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Blood In the Rivers: IV

A/N: I’m sorry. (But, on that note, chapter V will be out soon, because I had parts of that written long before I thought of actually posting this fic.) Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented, and read the last chapter. You deserve nice things.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T for brief suicidal thoughts, canon typical sexism, my overuse of italics

Word Count: 7k (I have lost my chill, apparently)

Read Chapters I-III here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Four: A Pentoshi Heart

Her mother once said, “You may have your father’s name, little one, but you have a Pentoshi heart.”

“What does that mean, Mother?” Y/N asked, eyes wide in childlike curiosity. Her little hands had grabbed fistfuls of her mother’s deep blue skirts as the wind rushed by, carrying the scent of evergreens.

“It means,” she paused and cleared her throat, words warbling on her tongue in her beautiful, Pentoshi accent, “it means that you fling yourself into adventures without thinking of the consequences. That you destroy what you cannot control.” Vaella bent and held her daughter’s face in her hands. “You must take care, little one, that you do not lose yourself to someone who will drive you to your worst impulses.”

The words meant little to young Y/N, but she nodded and smiled at her mother. “I will try, Mother. To not lose my heart.”

Perhaps she had been given too much time to think. Or maybe thinking was the only thing from teetering over the edge into despair. It had been almost two weeks since Tywin had announced that Loras had been raised to the Kingsguard. The second royal wedding was the day after tomorrow and she…hadn’t seen Oberyn since he’d kissed her in the Small Council chamber.

Ellaria had been scarce in her visitations, too. They’d met only twice in the gardens for a few brief moments. There was something Ellaria was hiding, Y/N was sure of it. But she was too sad to question it. To ask for answers. To ask where Oberyn had gone.

And the last time Ellaria had held her close, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her lips, she whispered, “you must be strong, My Tully.”

The sound of the nickname on Ellaria’s tongue almost relieved the weight she felt on her shoulders. She was Ellaria’s. She had been Oberyn’s, too. But that had been nearly a week ago. She’d only caught a glimpse of them at Tommen’s coronation celebrations. A single view of their golden and yellow skirts and robes and then they were gone and she was left to swear her fealty to the new king by herself. Little Tommen seemed too kind to really be king—but she knew he had been king before that silly crown was placed on his head. As soon as Olenna had shared the news of Joffrey’s death, she knew Tommen was king. Everyone had referred to him as king the day after Joffrey’s funeral anyway, the ceremony seemed redundant.

Y/N was suddenly brought back to the present as something sharp sunk into her shoulder. The Maester had the good grace to look apologetic as he continued to haphazardly pull the stitches from her skin. “Nearly finished, my lady.” Daisy was standing at her back as the maester worked, trailing comforting fingers up and down her spine to distract her from the strange ache the procedure created. “These have been some of my finest work. The scars shall be minimal compared to what it could have been.”

Y/N wanted to tell him that the scars were still ugly no matter how “fine” his stitching may have been. It twisted from the edge of her collarbone to just under her arm, raised and discolored like a beacon of her misstep. There was a matching scar on her back. They’d had to cut her open to clean the wound properly, pouring firewine into her flesh to stop a possible infection. It was a small solace that she had been unconscious for that.

To keep her mind from focusing on the pincers in the feeble hands of the Maester, she tried to think of anything else. It was a bit of advice her Uncle Hoster had taught her when she was still a girl and she’d fallen off her horse and into the rocky bed of the Tumblestone river, earning herself a nasty cut along her leg that required stitches. Uncle Hoster, she thought, dead and gone now—he’d died when she was on the kingsroad to represent the Riverlands at court and ask for the Crown’s protection against the raiders. Word only reached her after she’d settled into her chambers at the Keep. Gone. Just like that. Then there was Eddard Stark, calm and strong and if not a little sullen at times. He always had a kind smile for her. He was gone, too. Bran and Rickon killed by Theon in a coup at Winterfell. Catelyn and Robb dead as well. Arya was in the wind, as was her father. Edmure was a captive of the Lannisters and Sansa was in hiding in Dorne. Jon was at the Wall. What a mess. They’d been scattered like sand in the wind.

This obviously was not a productive train of thought so she tried to focus on the dark but happy reality that Joffrey was dead. Dontos, too. Dontos who had tried to lead Sansa away from her teachings and plan.

“Dontos said he has a plan to get me out of King’s Landing,” Sansa whispered as they pretended to pray. She had told her of the note Dontos had placed beneath her pillow, swearing his fealty to Sansa’s cause as recompense for her saving his life. “He says he has a friend with a ship that will get me out. Take me home to Winterfell.”

“Do you believe him?”

“He seems to believe it.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath through her nose and tightened her clasped fingers. “Has he said anything else to you? Mentioned who this friend is?”

“No.” Sansa shuffled closer on the stone.

The older of the pair paused for a moment. The knight-turned-fool was easily manipulated. There was no possible way he could formulate a plan—the fact that he managed to smuggle a note beneath Sansa’s pillow was suspicious enough. “Tell me what else he says.” She reached out and tugged at the end of Sansa’s loosened braid and a small smile finally touched Sansa’s pretty, pink lips. “But you trust me to get you out of here, don’t you?”

“You’re my family. The only family I have left in this terrible place. Of course I trust you.”

The maester finished and she thanked him before he toddled out of her chambers. Silence stretched for a few moments, tense and sad.

“What can I bring you, my lady?” And poor Daisy continued to fret, noticing her lady’s dour mood. “There are fresh lemon cakes in the kitchens. I watched them bake this morning.”

Y/N nodded and stood from her chair. “That sounds lovely. And any juice you can find.”

Daisy nodded and scurried away, happy to see that Y/N was eating. Her meals had been sparse the last handful of days and had taken to only drinking water. It would be good for her to have something in her stomach.

As the door closed, Y/N caught Daemon watching Daisy as she walked away and smiled despite her own melancholy. They would make a handsome match—and as Daisy was the fifth daughter of a Landed Knight, it wouldn’t be a preposterous one either. Perhaps she could speak to Daisy when she returned. But, for now, she rolled her shoulder and felt the pinch that came with disuse and the presence of new scarring. The blades she once sewed into her dresses and hid throughout her chambers had been hidden away at the bottom of her chest and covered with chemises and underclothes to keep any prying eyes from discovering them. She pulled two from the depths and carried through the familiar steps Ser Maegyr had taught her. One position into two and then the third and then back again, swinging and stabbing the blades through the air. “Aim for the eyes, the throat, and the upper thigh, My Lady. All men bleed.”

Her shoulder continued to pinch and quickly ached as she persisted in her steps.

“Move fast and sure. Indecision will cost you your life.”

She turned and did the steps across the floor, moving with each new pass. Thoughts trickled by as she tried to think of only Ser Maegyr and his training—but the thoughts came just the same. Of Tywin and his proposal. Of Ser Gregor and his threats. Of all the ways her family had been betrayed. Of Oberyn and Ellaria and their soft lips and beautiful words. She arced the blade in her left hand down and buried it into the soft wood of her vanity. The wood cracked and splintered as she yanked it out.

She hadn’t meant to do that.

A knock at her door had her stashing the blades beneath a pillow and throwing on a dark blue dressing gown over her chemise before she opened it just a crack to see who was there—it was just Daemon. His light eyes searched her face as it was revealed, worry coloring his features. “My Lady? Are you well?”

He must have heard the noise and thought something was amiss. “I am, Ser. I am sorry to have troubled you.”

His dimpled smile appeared and he ducked his head. “You are never any trouble, my lady.”

Before she closed the door, she briefly thought of asking Daemon of Oberyn and Ellaria’s whereabouts. Daemon had been knighted by Oberyn himself—and of course, there had been whispers that Oberyn then took the young knight to bed. And where Oberyn went, Ellaria always was. Could she ask him? But her proper manners reared their head and quieted her tongue. “You are far too kind, Ser. Daisy should be back soon with lemon cakes. Please, take some for you and your brother in arms.”

His smile widened. “Thank you, my lady. They’re my favorite. But are you sure Daisy will not mind?”

“If you ask nicely and say I gave you permission, I suppose she’d be agreeable. Your dimples can work wonders, I’m sure.”

A pretty pink filled his cheeks and she laughed for the first time in almost two weeks. She smiled at him and they said their goodbyes before she shut the door again and she picked up her blades and started to resume her steps. But then there was another knock at her door and she once again hid her blades away under her pillow. She smiled, thinking it was Daemon again or Daisy with the lemon cakes, but her face fell when Bernadette, Cersei’s handmaiden, stood in her doorway.

“My lady, the queen has requested your presence in her chambers.” Her dark eyes slid down Y/N’s hastily tied gown and chemise. “Shall I help you dress?”

“No. I can do it myself.” She closed the door and scowled before pulling open one of her chests and retrieving a simple, pale blue gown that tied at the sides instead of the back. She dressed before pushing her feet into soft-soled slippers. Y/N opened the door to see Bernadette eyeing Daemon and his counterpart with unmasked contempt and she stepped in front of them. “If you’re done eyeing my guards, you may escort me to Her Grace.”

Bernadette flushed and dipped her head. “Yes, my lady.”

The walk was tense and quiet and Bernadette’s heeled shoes slapped against the stone floor and the sound echoed through the halls, grating on Y/N’s last nerve. It was a strange relief to see Cersei’s apartment door.

Bernadette knocked and glanced at Y/N before opening it, “Lady Tully, Your Grace.”

Y/N cast one last look at Bernadette before stepping inside and making sure the maid stayed out in the hall.

“Sit,” Cersei said, pointing at the chair on the other side of her desk without looking up from the parchment and ink she was focused on.

Y/N did as she was told and watched Cersei write, scratching away at the parchment with a subdued flourish. It was a silly little power play. One she knew well. But she still knew how to play the dutiful loyalist and could sit still for hours while Cersei pretended to not see her.

After a few moments, Cersei set down her quill and looked Y/N over. “You are healing well.”

“Yes, Your Grace. The maester relieved me of my stitches this morning.”

Cersei hummed and sat back in her chair. “There has been such whispers about you, Lady Tully. You just cannot seem to stay out of harm’s way.” Cersei’s cold green eyes stared at her shoulder, knowing where she had been injured. “It seems being aligned with my family has given you scars.”

“Nothing that can’t be covered up, Your Grace. Scars fade with time.”

“Indeed they do. But, you have been remiss in keeping your maids beside you. Wandering the halls like a servant, unaccompanied.”

“I only have Daisy, Your Grace. I found it more timely to have her run to the markets or the kitchens for me than to follow me around the Keep. I did the same at Riverrun. I have never cared to have a shadow.”

“But you care for the Dornish guards outside your door?” Cersei asked, head tilting just so.

Y/N offered an easy, sad smile. “Prince Oberyn insisted, Your Grace, after the…wedding.” She pressed as much false sadness into her tone and dipped her head. “I have tried to tell him it was not necessary—that the Keep is safe. But who am I to argue with a prince? And the one that helped save my life, at that. I’m sure they will depart soon. I am terribly sorry if they have caused a fuss for the Kingsguard.”

“I would have them replaced. Two of the finest knights from the Westerlands outside your door.”

Another scheme, it seemed. Another move across the board. “That is a very kind offer. But I am afraid I must refuse. The finest knights should be guarding King Tommen, should they not? But I shall send the Dornish knights away today. It is not a matter to me.”

“His Grace has the King’s Guard.”

“Of course, but surely his protection is paramount to mine. Dontos-”

“Is dead, Lady Tully. Have you not seen his head on the spike at the gate?”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m afraid my injury has left me inside the Keep’s walls aside from the coronation and funeral. I’ve not had the opportunity to venture out otherwise.”

Cersei took a sip of her wine and arched a blonde eyebrow. “I offer you a great service, Lady Tully. And you refuse it. Father told me you tried to refuse sitting at our side at the wedding. Have we done something to insult you so?”

Cersei’s hidden meanings and loaded questions had not dulled with the death of Joffrey. If anything, Y/N saw that the queen had started to lean more heavily into thinly veiled insults or threats. A tired game, to be sure. “Of course not, Your Grace. Your family has been far kinder to me than I feel I deserve.”

“And you feel you are not right to marry my father?” Cersei asked point blank.

“I am not sure if I would be a worthy Lady of the Rock,” she said simply. “I am the only daughter born to a second son and a foreigner. One is dead. The other is a traitor. I am not quite the match a man of your father’s station should require.”

“And yet, he’s inclined to choose you still. Despite your…shortcomings.” Cersei almost smiled and took another drink of wine. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

Y/N stayed silent, watching Cersei watch her over the rim of her chalice.

Cersei set down her chalice and steepled her fingers atop her desk. “I’m going to give you advice. The same advice I gave that bitch Sansa before she disappeared.” She leaned forward in her chair. “The more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll do things for them that you know you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“I do, Your Grace.” And she did. The advice was cruel but kind in equal measure, a way to survive the perils of marriage to man you could not love in any capacity. It was easy to see that bit of advice had seen Cersei through her marriage to Robert Baratheon. It was another crack in her armor.

Cersei nodded and sat back and took another gulp of wine. “It’s just as well, you know. Father loved Mother with a fierceness that can never be replicated.” The Queen Regent fixed her green gaze on the younger woman. “He will never love you. All the stories you’ve read in the dark of your rooms as a girl, of dashing knights and love, they do not exist.”

Y/N straightened her shoulders. “I never cared for fairytales or love stories, Your Grace.”

Cersei smirked. “And of what did you care to read?”

“War.”

Cersei pushed out a short laugh through her teeth. “Perhaps you are more suitable than you think, Little Lamb.”

A knock at the door broke the tightly wound atmosphere of the room and Bernadette stepped in. “Lady Olenna, Your Grace.”

Olenna then barged into the room and her dark eyes swept from Cersei to Y/N. “Ah, I was told you were here. I need to speak with you.”

Y/N turned to Cersei who had pursed her lips. Of course, seeming to look to the queen regent for guidance was just another way to masquerade as someone who cared about what she said. Cersei paused and then nodded.

“Come, Little Fish. I don’t have the virtue of time.”

Y/N sighed and rose and followed the Queen of Thorns back out into the hall after quickly curtseying. Bernadette started to follow when Olenna turned and eyed her up and down. “You can stay here.” Olenna looped her arm through Y/N’s. “We are perfectly capable of walking on our own. Thank you.”

The handmaiden essentially shriveled up into herself at that and curtseyed before retaking her place outside Cersei’s doors, red in the face. But all Y/N could see was the hulking mass of The Mountain now standing guard in the shadows. His dark eyes raked down her form as they had hundreds of times before and he actually licked his lips like a hungry dog. Thankfully, Olenna didn’t seem to notice or did not care and continued to pull Y/N along. Two Tyrell handmaidens followed several paces back.

“It is as if they don’t trust me,” Olenna said loudly.

Y/N wordlessly thanked her companion with a gentle squeeze to her arm and let the older woman lead her out of the Keep and into the godswood without much passing between them aside from trivial conversation about the preparations for the second royal wedding. As they were firmly planted within the shade and greenery of the godswood, Olenna pulled them both to a stop. The two handmaidens had stayed at the gate, surreptitiously turning their backs to give the two high-borns privacy and to keep others away.

“You are quite the challenge, aren’t you, Little Fish?” Olenna chuckled and they settled on the stone bench Y/N and Sansa used to favor. “Everyone thinks they want your loyalty. Everyone thinks they have it.” Olenna patted her hand. “You would have made a fine Lady of the Reach.”

“No longer wanting to marry me to Lord Willas? I’m almost insulted, Lady Olenna.”

Olenna chuckled. “The Lions have their games, we have ours. But, no, Little Fish. It seems as if you are not meant to be a Tyrell.”

“A shame. I have heard Highgarden smells much more pleasant than King’s Landing.” She bit back a sigh. “Why have you requested my presence? We no longer have anything to offer one another.”

A titter escaped Olenna’s lips. “Abandoning hope already? I must have mistaken you for a fighter.”

Y/N turned and tried not to glare. “Tywin Lannister has essentially proposed marriage. There is no fighting him. No other man in this damned city would dare stand against him.” But the anger she’d felt bubbling slipped out of her like a wave and left her sagging in her stone seat. “I’m going to be his broodmare and provide him with another heir and then I can only hope that my second son will become Lord Tully. My home in the clutches of lions. I’m almost tempted to leave it to the Freys. They’ll never hold it.” Y/N closed her eyes and sat straight to angle her face toward the sun, trying to feel its warmth instead of the turmoil in her stomach. “It’ll be besieged and seized over and over again until they abandon it. It will become a mess of rock and rubble in a handful of years.”

“Are you a witch, too? Such terrible visions you have, Little Fish.” The tone of her voice was as close to sympathetic as Y/N had ever heard it but she did not pull away from the sun. “But I, too, would rather see Highgarden in ruins than in the hands of the lions.”

Y/N nearly startled as Olenna gently touched her cheek. Her eyes opened to see Olenna smiling softly at her, a look she had thought reserved for Margaery. “You offer something very precious. In time, you will see.” She tapped Y/N’s cheek and then stood. “It seems you will make allies of us all.” Olenna paused and fished something from the pocket of her dress and handed it to Y/N. “For your scarring.”

It was a small, green jar about the size of her palm. Y/N twisted the top of the jar off and the scent of mint and roses hit her nose, filtering from the white paste carefully spooned into the jar’s depths. That was the closest thing she would get to an apology for being maimed.

“Let us get you back to your rooms. You need your rest.”

Y/N stood and let Olenna once again wrap an arm around hers and they walked back into the cold shadows of the Keep. As they neared her chamber door, Y/N noticed that only one guard was standing sentry—and her door was ajar. The guard’s eyes widened just a fraction as she neared with Olenna at her side. Y/N arched an eyebrow as she stepped from Olenna’s hold and pushed the door open completely, letting the hinges squeal.

Daemon and Daisy were half dressed on the silk rug beside her bed, obviously in a heated embrace. Crumbs of lemon cakes and droplets of juice littered the rug as they continued to kiss and tug and haphazardly try to get each other’s clothes off.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Olenna said, fighting a smirk as she peered into the room. Her handmaidens were on their tip toes behind her, trying to steal a look, too. She waved them back and patted the remaining, fully dressed, guard on the shoulder before the door closed.

Even then Daemon and Daisy did not separate.

Y/N tilted her head to the side as she watched them, half amused that they hadn’t noticed her, half heated at the sounds they pulled from each other. Little gasps, muffled moans, as hands slid across skin and slipped under armor and cloth. It took Y/N a moment to gather herself before clearing her throat.

That was what finally did it.

Daisy’s eyes opened and she gasped and shoved Daemon off of her and he flopped onto the stone with a slap. She shot to her feet and curtseyed, “My lady.”

Daemon was slower to rise, a smirk already pulling at his lips as he bowed, uncaring of his bare chest or half-tied breeches. “Lady Tully.”

Y/N reached out and righted the strap of Daisy’s chemise. “Did you at least save me some lemon cakes?”

Daisy’s shoulders dropped. “No, my lady.”

Y/N turned to Daemon before bending and grabbing his tunic from the rug and handing it to him. “When I said to ask her if she’d share lemon cakes, this isn’t quite what I had in mind, Ser Daemon.”

He pulled the tunic on and then reached for his outer robe which had been rolled into a ball near her vanity, as if it had been shucked off in haste and then forgotten. “She is a master negotiator, my lady.”

Daisy looked like she was trying to scowl but a giggle slipped out instead. “I am so sorry.”

“You both are very lucky no one else noticed your indiscretions. Will you be a bit more cautious in the future?”

“Will there be a future?” Daemon asked softly as he looked to Daisy, eyes open and hopeful as his small smile pushed his dimples to full display.

Y/N felt the urge to look away and she was thankful she did as she heard Daisy whisper, “perhaps, Ser.”

Both of them redressed as Y/N settled on the soft blankets of her bed, a little selfishly happy that they hadn’t used her bed. The pair avoided eye contact with each other (and Y/N) before Daemon slipped out. It was quiet for a beat and then two.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“My lady, I am so sorry-”

“You deserve to be happy, Daisy. I’ve told you that. If Ser Daemon makes you happy, I am pleased.” She reached out and touched Daisy’s hand with a smile and fought the urge to tease. “But please, take care to be a bit more discreet next time.”

Daisy’s blush continued and she nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

The ceremony came and went and Y/N felt her cheeks hurting with how long she had to press a fake smile to her lips. Kevan Lannister and his wife were once again at her side during the ceremony and Lady Dorna had taken it upon herself to link arms with Y/N as the group walked from the Sept of Baelor toward the Keep for the festivities. Dorna prattled on about her life in Lannisport and Y/N managed to interject a time or two to make it seem like she was listening but she begged off as they reached the grounds.

“I must admit I’ve worn the wrong shoes, my lady. If I am to dance, I must change them.”

“Oh, you must!” Dorna agreed. “But do not be absent too long. Your presence shall be missed.”

Y/N smiled again, teeth near rotting, and hurried away. But she did not stop at her chambers. Did not stop at the Holdfast. She raced as fast as she could to the top of the west turret and only drew in a full breath as she touched the rusted railing and the door slapped shut behind her.

Sleep had evaded her the night before. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw Tywin’s face, Gregor’s face, Cersei’s face. All of them snarling and slobbering and growing pointed teeth to devour her whole. The fleeting happiness she had found in teasing Daisy or Daemon for their newfound fondness for each other was short lived when she realized that she would never be held like that, kissed like that. The Prince of Dorne and his Paramour had not looked at her as they walked by when the ceremony was over. Ellaria’s arm had been tucked into Oberyn’s and they spoke softly to one another as Y/N craned her neck to try to get them to notice her. They didn’t.

And as much as she had said that she had not cared for stories of romance or fairytales, she did. She had wanted what her mother and father had: an all-consuming, passionate type of love that stretched into the grave.

It had been a childish dream to think she had tasted it on the tongues of the Dornish couple. She realized that now. All she had been was a game to pass the time. Surely that was all she had been. A childish game.

And it had been childish to run up here, thinking the air and wind could ease the pain in her chest or the slow constriction she felt about her throat. All it did was give her a view of the city she hated and a small reprieve from the stench.

“Lady Tully.”

She turned at the sound of the voice and was surprised to see Jaime Lannister standing near the door leading down into the Keep. The wind caught his white Kingsguard cloak and it fluttered in the wind, giving him the appearance of some roguish prince. His golden hand glinted in the sunlight. “Ser Jaime.” She dipped her head. “I thought His Grace would have you at his side.”

“It is for His Grace that I am here. King Tommen has asked where you were.”

Sweet Tommen. And the small smile the knight gave her reminded her of the smiles the prince, now king, had happily shared at Joffrey’s wedding. “I just needed a moment, Ser. Just a moment.” There was no chance she was going to start confiding in the Kingslayer—even if there had been rumors he’d been much changed since his captivity and the loss of his hand. He was still a Lannister.

And it was because of his refusal to leave the Kingsguard that she had even come into this position.

A future at Casterly Rock. Unloved and used for the prize between her legs.

“You are standing close to the edge, my lady.” There was actual concern in his voice. How preposterous!

“I would not give anyone the satisfaction of throwing myself off a turret. And I would not spoil another royal wedding. Air, Ser, is all I needed. Away from…this.”

“Then I shall stand here until you are ready.”

And it was said with such soft conviction and that damned concern that it snapped in her chest. Maybe she should throw herself from this turret and be done with her warring emotions and the frivolity of wanting to be loved or thinking she could make a smidge of difference in this wretched world. To end it before it began. It would be a hollow victory, to be sure. She’d rob Tywin of another wife for a moment but he would find another. The Freys would hold Riverrun for a time but it would be destroyed and returned to the mud from whence it came as the riverlands devolved into infighting. The Crown would have to deal with that, again. But she would not see it happen. And Sansa would still be alone in Dorne, without an outside ally.

She was crying in earnest before she could stop it and the metal groaned under her tightening grip. Y/N heaved under the weight of it all. How stupid she had been. How optimistic. The only good thing she had done was save Sansa.

And, as she looked up into the clear, blue sky, she knew that had to be enough.

Y/N sucked in a breath and calmed her tears, wiping the salt away from her skin with the dark blue cloth of her bell sleeves. The wind dried the rest. She took a calming breath, then another, before turning and looking at Jaime. “Shall you be my escort to the festivities, Ser?”

He looked like he wanted to say something, mouth open and expectant, but he closed it and nodded. “Yes, my lady.” He held out his arm for her and she took it and let him lead her back into the fray.

“I would…I would prefer if no one else knew of what transpired on the turret, Ser.”

“No one will.”

She nodded, almost believing him, as they entered the grounds. Once again, it was awash with Lannister red and gold and filled with food and people and entertainers. The famed knight led her through the throngs of people and toward the head tables reserved for the Tyrells and Lannisters and her stomach sunk at the sight of the empty chair at Tywin’s side. The smirk on the old lion’s face when he saw her only confirmed it: she would be sitting beside him.

“My son, you are kind to deliver Lady Tully to us.”

“I needed to change shoes if I was to dance, My Lord.” She smiled. “I apologize for my absence.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady.” Tywin stood from his seat. “If you would join me.” He held out a hand toward her as he reached her side.

And she left Jaime’s hold and slid into Tywin’s without blinking. There would be no fight. “Thank you, Ser Jaime. For escorting me.”

Jaime dipped his head and glanced at his father before standing beside the other members of the Kingsguard, hand over his sword’s hilt.

Tywin wordlessly led her out into the couples already dancing and pulled her close as he began the steps. The familiar scent of leather and clove swept under her nose and it took a concentrated effort not to wrinkle her face in an attempt to get away from the smell.

“Cersei has said you refuse to send your Dornish guards away.” The tone was reminiscent of Hoster scolding her as a girl when she would not eat the fish on her plate for supper.

“I only thought it polite.” Thankfully, the steps of the dance were easy and the turns kept giving her opportunity to slip from his grip, if even more a moment.

“Yes, you seem very polite with Prince Oberyn.”

“He saved my life, my lord. I would not repay his kindness with enmity.”

Tywin pushed out a long breath through his nose as he stepped back to let her turn under his arm. “You are overly concerned with politeness.”

“It is a woman’s duty to make sure guests are respected and cared for. Prince Oberyn has a seat on the Small Council and is a renowned warrior, I would not deem myself above him in any circumstance. If he feels the need to put guards at my door, it would be rude to refuse him, would it not?”

Tywin’s thin lips pulled into a smile and she had never been so terrified. “A fine lady you are, Lady Tully.” The dance ended and they clapped but Tywin did not move from her side. “But Prince Oberyn has said he will no longer fill Dorne’s seat at the Small Council. He leaves in three days’ time to return to Sunspear. He has promised another will be elected to fill the seat.”

Tywin did not care if House Martell filled the Dornish seat on the Small Council. She knew it. He thought he had won the game against Oberyn and his quest for vengeance against the Lannisters and the Mountain. Perhaps she did not know Oberyn as well as she thought. But how well did she, could she, have known him? What were a handful of conversations and stolen kisses?

Nothing. They were nothing. And something cold and broken settled in her bones then. They were leaving. Even if they had not spoken to her in weeks, she still felt the news like a slap to the face. And perhaps that is what it was. She was tossed aside in the end, a sad little thing to be scooped up into the paw of a lion.

After another dance, Tywin excused himself to speak with Mace Tyrell and Y/N curtseyed as he left her side, thankful to see Margaery waving her over. It was an easier distraction, the fake smile was almost real. Tommen was smiling beside his new queen and their hands were clasped together, nearly hidden under the table cloth.

“It is good to see you well, my lady,” Margaery said.

“I am happy to be able to fully enjoy the festivities, Your Grace.” She turned to Tommen. “And you look happy in married life.”

Tommen’s cheeks pinked and he looked at Margaery who smiled sweetly at him. “I am. The Seven have blessed me with a fine wife.” His blush only grew as Margaery pulled their clasped hands up and pressed a kiss to his hand.

“You must ask your fine wife to dance then, Your Grace. Keep her happy.” Y/N winked as Tommen paused and then scrambled to his feet and held out his hand for Margaery to take. She did with a wide smile and the crowd parted for them as they made their way closer to the bard and minstrels. Y/N watched them dance, Margaery smiling as she coached Tommen through the steps. They were a pretty picture.

Tyrion stepped to her side and handed her a full chalice of wine. Y/N took it with a soft ‘thank you, my lord,’ and quickly drained its entirety. “You are not well, Lady Tully?” He took the chalice from her and signaled for it to be filled again as he led her closer to his table at the far end of the raise dais and away from some of the crowd.

“I’m waiting to be shot again, my lord. The last wedding I attended was much bloodier.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed. “You are safe here,” he murmured.

“Is anyone truly safe anywhere?” She took the refilled chalice and took her time sipping on the burgundy liquid as she turned to look out over the crowds, half-hoping to see the Dornish prince and his paramour. She took a hearty gulp when she didn’t see them, in relief or sadness, she did not know. “But my feelings should not spoil your fun, Lord Tyrion. I thank you for the wine.”

Just as his brother did before, Tyrion looked as if he had more to say. But he didn’t and dipped his head. “I am at your service, Lady Tully.”

The rest of the festivities slipped by. Tyrion danced with her twice and then Kevan Lannister asked for a turn, too. Margaery pulled her from her seat when the minstrels played a tune and called for a dance for only the women to enjoy. She ate roasted boar and honey-coated carrots and drank wine and smiled when she needed but kept quiet in her seat for most of it. Tywin did not offer any conversation and she glad for it. Simply sitting beside him was exhausting. It was as if she was constantly waiting for him to do something, say something. But, as the sun started to set and painted the grounds a soft pink, a knight from the Westerlands approached their table and whispered something into the Hand’s ear.

Tywin’s lips pulled into a thin line and he stood. “Excuse me.”

Y/N watched him go and briefly wondered what had caused him to leave so abruptly. But soon calls for the bedding filled the air and Margaery and Tommen were carried away by a riotous crowd and the festivities were quickly devolving into more lecherous frivolity as they usually did at weddings—the dances were closer, the music faster and heady. Wine was gulped and kisses stolen as the shadows grew darker. Y/N let herself enjoy being a voyeur for a moment and waited until the sky was a beautiful, deep purple before she excused herself. Daisy was waiting for her near the gates to the grounds and they quietly walked back into the Keep, both tired for different reasons. They spoke softly of their time at the festivities, vastly different experiences glaringly apparent. Y/N thought Daisy must have managed to sneak away with Daemon by the blush still touching her cheeks.

They rounded the corner toward her chambers and froze as they watched servants carrying her belongings out of her room. “What are you doing?” She reached out and pulled a dress from a bundle in a girl’s arms. “Where are you taking my things?”

“Lord Tywin has said your rooms are to be moved to the Tower of the Hand.”

“No!” Y/N barked out, pulling more and more of her belongings out of the strangers’ arms and Daisy quickly followed suit. “I have not accepted this move. You cannot just take-”

“Of course they can. I ordered them to do so.”

Y/N spun to face Tywin, clutching her chemises and dresses to her chest like armor. “You overstep, My Lord. I have not accepted your proposal. It would be indecent of you to put me in such a position.”

“Accept my proposal and it would not be indecent.”

“I must have time to think.” She hated how weak she sounded, how desperate. “I have to speak with the Grand Septon, for guidance and prayer before I can make such a decision.” She didn’t and she never would but she hoped playing to his sense of chivalry, no matter how skewed it had become, may work in her favor. She felt her arms starting to shake with how tightly she was holding her mess of fabric to her chest. It felt like there was a hand over her throat, squeezing the air from her lungs as she stared at him.

Tywin stared at her, eyes hard. Then, he held up a hand and the flurry of movement ceased. “Bring Lady Tully’s belongings back to her original room.” There was a murmur of acknowledgment and she watched as they filed back into her room, like a group of soldiers from the corner of her eye. But she did not take her gaze away from Tywin as he stepped closer. “This will be the only time you defy me.” He then stepped away and disappeared into the shadows.

It wasn’t until Y/N was alone in her room with a chair against the locked door, did she collapse, struggling to pull in air as she wept into her blankets. Daisy had quietly left after helping her to refold her dresses and chemises and placing them back in her chests. Y/N curled into a ball on her featherbed and tried to remember something Oberyn and Tywin and Cersei couldn’t touch. Everything was slipping from her grasp.

“Let me be your champion!” Jon’s voice echoed, followed by Robb, “I am your Dragonknight!”

But where were her Dragonknights now? Dead or wearing a cloak of black. She had no knights. Not anymore.

“You must be your own knight,” she whispered into her pillow. But she knew she wasn’t a knight. She was a fish out of water. Surrounded by lions.

A/N: The next chapter will probably be up some time this weekend. Please let me know what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell #game of thrones

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detectivejay-chuckles-halstead · 5 years

Text

Jay Halstead x Reader

Description: Write a story about someone cleaning out their attic. They find an old piece of clothing, and inside of its pocket is an old keepsake.

Words: 4238

Warnings: MCD

Pairings: Jay Halstead x Reader

Sammy was at school, so you took the opportunity to do some much needed cleaning. You hadn’t touched the attic in months, not since...You didn’t like thinking about it, tried to avoid it. Most of his stuff had been shoved up in the attic with the help of his team. You’d told them you’d go through it when you were ready. It had taken a while, but you were finally ready.

It was a slow process to even get into the attic, trying to tell yourself it wasn’t the right time. But if it wasn’t the right time now, it would never be the right time.

There were three stacks of boxes, about nine boxes total, all labeled with his name. Jay. You couldn’t figure out how his life could be boxed into nine boxes. He had taken up so much room in your heart and in your life. There were things that weren’t in the boxes, that were around the house. Pictures. The cased flag from his funeral, his badge, his dress blues hat. His favorite clothes. His ashes in an urn on the mantle. You couldn’t help but finger his wedding ring on the chain around your neck.

You brought the first box down from the stack, sitting cross legged in front of it, methodically going through each item. You weren’t going to get rid of anything, but you knew you had to go through it, to process everything.

It had been six months since you’d lost him, the hardest six months of your life. There was no doubt about that. Each day was a little easier than the last, but you couldn’t help but remember those first few weeks which had been the hardest. You couldn’t help but remember the day you found out he was gone.

-----

Six Months Ago

It was a normal day like any other, smiling as you woke up next to your amazing husband. His arms held you close to his body, perfectly molded to him. He’d always said you were his missing puzzle piece, how perfectly the two of you fit together. It was a nice calm morning, until your five year old came bounding in, joining the two of you in bed.

He was the best thing that had happened to you. For a long time, you’d thought it had been Jay, until Sammy came around. You would kill for your little boy, and would definitely die for him without a second thought. And you knew Jay felt the same way. Sammy was your miracle. For a long time, you thought a child wasn’t part of your plan. You’d suffered through two miscarriages, countless doctors appointments. There had been countless nights crying into Jay’s chest as he held you close, as you wondered why the universe thought it wasn’t meant to be. You’d been hopeful when the pregnancy test came back positive, but very reserved. Nothing scared you more than losing another baby. Jay had been the optimistic one for the two of you. And the day Sammy was born, you thought you were dreaming until you held that crying baby in your arms with Jay smiling at your side.

“Do you have to go?” you asked Jay when his phone went off on the bedside table. He just gave you a smile and a kiss.

“You know Chicago. Crime stops for nothing. I’ll call you when I can,” he assured you as he got up, your eyes scanning over his perfect body. You no longer counted the scars, or the bruises when he had them. You still worried, but it was something you were used to by that time.

“Just no visiting me at work, got it?” you reminded him, getting a laugh.

“I promise I’ll do my best.” A visit at work usually meant he’d gotten hurt. Most of the time, though, it meant a victim or criminal was the one that got hurt.

“You better, Jay Halstead. I love you too much to lose you.”

“I love you too,” he seconded, kissing you before kissing Sammy. The little boy -- who was a spitting image of his father -- giggled, smiling as he pulled his dad in for just a second longer. “I love you, little man.”

“Love you, daddy.”

You’d gotten Sammy off to school without a hitch, which was a miracle in itself. Usually, there was a lot of kicking and screaming and crying. You were thankful for the easy morning, strolling into work like any other day.

“How’s my favorite sister-in-law?” Will asked you from his locker as you hung up your jacket.

“How many times do I have to remind you that I’m your only sister-in-law?” you countered with a smile, pulling out your phone to show him pictures of his nephew.

“I swear, he’s looking more and more like Jay every day.” You couldn’t disagree with that.

“Yeah. Eighteen hours of horrendous labor, and he comes out a carbon copy of his dad,” you joked before heading off to start off your morning in the ED.

There’d been no texts from Jay that day, which didn’t worry you too much, considering it happened sometimes. Especially when caught up in a case. It was a little suspicious, though, when you got a call from Voight to not expect Jay home that night. Usually, it was Jay letting you know he’d been gone for the night. Again, though, it didn’t worry you too much.

Going to bed that night, you’d just had a gut feeling that something wasn’t right, but didn’t ask. Oh, how you wished you’d asked.

Getting Sammy to school the next morning was harder than the previous day. You couldn’t figure out why, the boy kicking and screaming. He’d been crying for Jay all morning, and you wanted to do nothing but swing by the station to show him that Daddy was okay. But something in you stopped you. Instead, you dropped him off at school with tears still on his cheeks.

You went to work, trying to shake off whatever feeling you had. It was difficult, not letting it affect your job, but it was doable. That was until you heard the ambulance report on the radio. You were on the trauma doctor that day, but Maggie quickly pulled you, telling Ethan to meet the crew in Baghdad. That didn’t mean you didn’t hear what the paramedics were saying.

“Forty year old male, CPD officer, shot by offender. GSW to the left chest, no exit wound. Hypotensive and bradycardic. GCS 8, blunt force trauma to head and face. Pupils are equal and reactive. Two large-bore IVs bilateral ACs with 2 litres fluid wide open. Five out.”

You didn’t know it was Jay, but at the same time you did. In your gut, you knew. And your fears were proven correct when they wheeled him through the door. The short glimpse you got of him told you things were not looking good.

They’d cut off his shirt, the same one he’d left the house in the previous morning. EKG stickers were stamped across his chest. A non-rebreather was strapped to his face, giving him oxygen that was much needed. Blood covered his face, matted in his hair. His eyes were closed, chest heaving with each breath. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, even as they pulled the curtain to block your view. Not until you felt a firm hand on your shoulder.

Anger grew in the pit of your stomach, quickly drowning out the worry and fear. Voight stood next to you, a look of pity on his face. You couldn’t help it, it was your instinctual reaction.

“You were supposed to keep him safe!” you yelled at the older man, but he didn’t flinch. “He is supposed to come home every night, safe! And you couldn’t do that?”

“Y/N, let me explain,” he said, voice unwavering, as if he didn’t care. You knew that wasn’t true though, Intelligence being a family after all, which at this point you scoffed at. What family would let something like this happen?

“Explain? Explain what, Hank?” you continued, cutting him off before he had a chance to say anything further. “Explain how you couldn’t keep my husband safe! Huh? Explain that to me, because that is your job! It’s your job to make sure he comes home to his wife and to his son every night!” You felt Will grab your elbow, shaking him off quickly as you shoved your hands into Hank’s chest as you continued. “Explain to me how my husband is in that trauma room fighting for his life! Because you better have a damn good reason, because it’s your life on the line too! Because if he doesn’t make it, I’ll kill you myself.” There was anger and truth in your words, spitting them out like fire as the rage began to consume you. Because it was easier to feel rage and anger than it was to admit how terrified you actually were.

“We were chasing a lead, weren’t expecting the deal to go south. Jay was caught in the crossfire.”

“He better pull through, Hank,” you reminded him again, before letting Will walk you to a chair at the nurse’s station, knowing you didn’t want to be far from Jay.

It didn’t take long for him to be whisked away to emergency surgery, and for Will to take you up to the surgery waiting room, along with the Intelligence team. None of them said anything to you, or even looked your way until you mentioned something to Will.

“Sammy’s at school. Usually, Jay would pick him up,” you said softly, not knowing any of them had heard you.

“I’ll go get him, take him back to your place,” Kim assured you, taking Adam with her. You nodded, not wanting to leave the hospital. Not until you knew Jay would be okay.

Honestly, you didn’t know how long you’d been sitting in the waiting room, eating when Will brought you food and drinking when he brought you water. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, worried you’d miss when the surgeon would come out to tell you what was going on.

“Dr Halstead,” Marcell said when he walked out, taking a seat next to you. A quick glance at the clock told you it was going on eight hours since ay had been brought in. “He’s out of surgery. Luckily the bullet missed a lot of the important stuff. Just a small knick on his subclavian artery, which we were able to fix fairly easily. His internal bleeding is also controlled. What we’re most worried about is the extent of his head trauma, which time will only tell. He should be waking up soon, if you want to see him,” he told you, letting out the sigh of relief you didn’t know you’d been holding in.

Sure enough, there he was, skin pale, but chest rising and falling. You sat next to him, taking his hand in yours, waiting. Just waiting. For some sign he was really okay. Even when Will told you to rest, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. There had been times before where you thought you might lose him, but this was different. This felt like the real deal, and you didn’t want to waste a second away from him.

Around two in the morning was when you felt the pressure on your hand, looking up to see his eyes fluttering open. Your eyes met his, those beautiful ocean eyes. Those two seconds of looking into his eyes felt like an eternity until they closed again, a deep breath exiting his mouth, and the worst sound you could think of.

All of your medical training went out the window, as you sat there as the wife. Not as the doctor. Because if you were the doctor you would have known that his heart was no longer beating. But you did know that, your instincts kicking in as you pressed the blue button on the wall, hands pushing hard on his chest, feeling his ribs cracking underneath your hands. The sound of his flatline piercing the silence of the room, mingling with your heavy breathing as you held back your tears.

Hands were on your arms, pulling you away. Vaguely you heard someone say your name, but the sound of the blood rushing in your ears was too loud to hear what they were saying. Not as you saw them keep pushing on his chest, shove a tube down his throat, push multiple medicines to try and get the electricity flowing through his heart again.

“Time of death, two fourty eight,” Marcell said to the team, to you. Whoever had pulled you away was the entire reason you were still standing as your legs gave out from underneath you. The love of your life was gone, and you weren’t sure what that would mean for the rest of your life.

-----

Remembering that day was difficult, it would be for anybody. But for you, it hit a little harder every time. The fact that there was nothing you could do. They had later told you it was a blood clot. One blood clot took away the love of your life.

As you continued through the boxes, you couldn’t help but remember some of the better moments between the two of you, flooding back with some of the items you’d pull out. Like a tie. Who knew one tie could remind you of one of the best days of your life.

-----

Six Years Ago

Your mom had tears in her eyes as you stood in front of her, white dress hugging your body tightly. Your hair was in a loose updo, makeup done up. The last thing you needed to do was begin crying as well, considering how long it had taken for the makeup artist to do your makeup.

“You look so beautiful, honey,” she told you, taking your hands in hers. You couldn’t help but smile at her. “I wish your dad was here to see you. He would have loved Jay.”

“I know he would have, Mom. But at least I have you.” You hugged her before pulling away again, glad you had the photographer capturing these seemingly small moments.

“Let’s go show Jay how beautiful you look.”

The two of you walked out, waiting for the bridal music to begin before beginning your walk down the aisle. As soon as your eyes met Jay’s, a smile was on your face, and you could see the tears welling in his eyes. You weren’t expecting him to cry when he saw you, but it was a nice surprise. As soon as you reached him, he took your hand in his, wiping away tears with his free hand.

“You look absolutely, stunningly beautiful,” Jay told you softly, squeezing your hand before you had the urge to straighten his tie, which apparently Will hadn’t done for him. Then, the priest started talking. You didn’t pay much attention, too focused on looking at Jay. That was, until it was time to speak your vows.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Jay started, clearing his throat with a smile when you heard it crack. “When I met you, I never thought we would get to this point. Mainly, because I thought you would have the common sense to run far, far away from being with a cop. But you didn’t, and you have given me the best three years of my life. And I cannot wait to spend the rest of our lives together, and creating as many memories as possible. No matter how good or how bad it gets. Because I love you, and that’s what love is about,” he told you. Afterall, the vows weren’t for the guests, they were truly between you.

“There was a split second when the reality of your job came crashing down, where I had the instinct to run far, far away, but I couldn’t. Because I realized how much I love you. There was no describing it. I knew that I had to be with you until I died, because we work. We work perfectly, even when everyone thought that we wouldn’t. A part of me knew that it was meant to be the second I saw you, as if our souls were already connected, even before you asked me when your suspect was going to wake up, no hello to begin. And here we are, three years later, Jay Halstead. I sure didn’t think we’d get here either, but I wouldn’t want to be here with anybody else. Because I love you, more than anything else,” you told him.

The priest finished, the two of you sliding rings on each other’s fingers before sharing a kiss that conveyed more emotion than you thought possible. But it was official. You were Jay Halstead’s wife.

-----

You knew he’d kept his suit from the wedding, but coming across that tie reminded you of that moment more than a picture ever did, if you were being honest. You couldn’t help as the tears welled up in your eyes. There wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do to have Jay back with you.

More memories came back as you went through the boxes methodically, gently handling each item as if it were treasure. Because it was to you. These were the things you had left of Jay. You’d take no boxes, no possessions at all, if it meant he was alive.

There were things you’d kept downstairs in your bedroom, things that were too hard to pack away. So, when you came across his favorite black hoodie, you were a little surprised, thinking it was downstairs in your closet. There were a lot of memories associated with this hoodie. Slipping it on, it felt like he was holding you again, and if you closed your eyes, you could imagine it for a little while longer. That was, until you felt something in the pocket.

With a shaking hand, you pulled it out. It was a note and a small box. The note you recognized, it was one you’d written years ago.

-----

Eight Years Ago

“Detective Halstead!” you called from across the ED.

It got some head turns, but the only one you cared about was Jay’s. Which as soon as you saw him, you smiled. It didn’t take long for him to recognize you, getting a smile in return. You were holding a small piece of paper in your hand, not letting him see it as he walked over.

“Doctor Y/L/N,” he said as he approached. “I came to see Will. Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, he took a patient upstairs to the ICU. He should be back soon. Do you maybe want to go get a cup of coffee while you wait?” you asked, hopeful.

“Sure, but please tell me it’s the kind you pay for and not the free watered down shit in the waiting rooms?”

You couldn’t help but laugh and nod in agreement, shoving the paper in your pocket for the time being. The two of you walked in silence out the coffee cart in front of the hospital, thankful for the warm weather. This wasn’t the first time or second time you’d ran into Jay, having enough of a working relationship to randomly ask him for coffee, but this wasn’t a random thing. This was something you’d been wanting to do for a few weeks now.

“So, Jay,” you said. “You seeing anybody?” You weren’t expecting him to choke on his coffee when you asked, but couldn’t help but chuckle when he did.

“Can’t say that I am. Why do you ask?”

“I’m not usually this straightforward,” you answered. “But, here’s my number. You should give me a call sometime soon, go get dinner.” You handed him the note. It was more than just your number, but that’s what you played it off as. He unfolded the paper, a blush flushing across his cheeks when he read it, clearing his throat again.

“I’ll give you a call,” he assured you, tucking the note away in his pocket. “Thanks for the coffee.” You nodded, watching him walk away.

Three days later, you were sitting in your living room at home, a rare day off. It was nice, to just lounge around, not worried about anything. No life or death or decisions needing to be made, nobody calling for a doctor. You had a glass of wine, and a stupid reality show playing on the TV. You weren’t really paying attention to the TV though, more focused on a phone call that you weren’t sure was coming. Or maybe he was just busy, you weren’t sure. You were pulled out of your thoughts by a knock on the door.

You didn’t even look through the peep-hole, not worried. There stood Jay, holding up the note in his hand.

“Bold move putting your address and your next day off on here,” he told you as you stepped aside, letting him in.

“Do you want something to drink? I just opened a nice bottle of red, or I have beer?” you offered, ignoring what he’d just said. You knew it was true, but you figured you needed to be bold to get his attention.

“I’ll have a glass of whatever you’re having.” You nodded, going to the kitchen to grab another glass. You brought it back, pouring him a glass as the two of you sat on the couch. Jay looked at you hesitantly before kicking off his shoes and making himself comfortable. “This isn’t something I normally do,” he told you.

“And you think I give every cute cop I come across my phone number and address?” you countered with a smile as you handed off the glass.

“I don’t know what to think, Y/N. I mean, it’s very straightforward.” That definitely wasn’t a lie.

“Well, it seemed like you were never going to make a move, so I did it for you. Plus, if you weren’t interested, you wouldn’t be here,” you reminded him.

“When a pretty doctor lady invites you over, you don’t just turn that down,” he added, taking a swig from the glass.

“You always have a choice, Jay.” He just smirked and shook his head. You had a feeling it was more than that, that he actually wanted to be there with you.

The night was full of good wine and laughing. A few hours later, you looked over at the clock to see that it was nearly midnight. The two of you had naturally gravitated towards each other, your head resting on his chest with his arm around you. It was natural.

“You should stay the night, Jay,” you told him, knowing he probably shouldn’t drive. He’d graduated from a couple glasses of wine to a couple of beers.

“I can call a taxi,” he assured you. “I don’t want to impose.”

“What if I told you I wanted you to stay?” you asked with a sly smile. You really did want him to stay. The night was still young, plus, you were really enjoying his company. You’d learned more about Jay that night than you had in the weeks of knowing him.

“I’d ask if you were absolutely sure, because me staying the night means everything is going to change between us.”

There wasn’t a second thought when it came to what you wanted. Your mind had been made up, kissing him softly. It seemed to take him by surprise, but he seemed to go with it pretty fast. He was a really good kisser, better than you had originally imagined.

“Jay,” you said against his lips before repositioning, straddling his lap with hands in his hair.

“I’m kind of glad I took you up on this offer,” he told you before kissing you again, hands on your waist as he pulled you flush against him. This was definitely your best idea yet.

-----

You wouldn’t have believed anybody if they told you you’d end up married to the man. But you were. You eventually brought yourself to open the box that had been residing in the pocket of the hoodie for at least the past six months.

“What?” you asked softly, carefully opening the small box to reveal a locket. Quickly popping open the locket to look inside.

“Jay…” You saw a picture of the two of you on your wedding day. On the other side was a picture of Jay and Sammy right after Sammy was born. The smile on Jay’s face was as bright as the sun. He loved every second of being a father. You figured he’d gotten it for your anniversary since it had been coming up right after he died. There really was no other choice than to wear it.

When you looked at your watch, you saw it was getting to the mid-afternoon, and Sammy would be home soon. Carefully, you packed the boxes up again, still wearing his hoodie. It still smelled like him, comforting. As you began your descent down the attic ladder, you could have sworn you heard his laugh, saw him out of the corner of your eye. You were a firm believer he was still there with you, and all of this -- the memories, the locket, the memory of his laugh -- just solidified that even more.

#jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader

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hunterenough · 4 years

Text

I am Dean.

I am Dean. I’ve identified with the character essentially since the show aired. We’re about the same age, both oldest siblings, and we’ve both had a lot of responsibility thrust on us that we just had to learn to handle. We’ve learned to stuff down what we feel because it’s our job to get shit done, and most of the time, feelings just get in the way. We love deeply, but most people think we’re unfeeling because after 30 odd years of boxing shit up, we’re damned professionals at it.

Right about the time the show started, I’d dropped out of graduate school and was living back at home while I worked up enough cash to find a place of my own. There was very little about my life that I felt was my own, and it was very much like being back in high school. All of the things that I’d learned about myself in the years I was away were erased, and I was very much trying to act like the person everyone thought I still was. I think Dean was the same, that each time he was out on his own, he learned a little more about who he actually was, and that each time they came back together, he had to act like nothing had changed, like he was still the perfect little soldier his dad had raised. I had to act like the quiet book-smart girl my family knew. But we knew, Dean and I, what we were hiding from the world in those moments. For Dean, I think it was a recognition of grey areas, an understanding of what love really could mean, how different his life could be.

I was a lot less successful at hiding it in the long run. I didn’t come out to my family intentionally. My dad happened to come home from work early one day, and found me napping with my then girlfriend. Shit hit the fan, I was essentially kicked out of the house, and wound up living with my girlfriend. I’m really lucky. It was a pretty smooth transition, and my brothers were incredibly supportive. It took nearly a year, but my parents eventually realized that having a queer daughter was not the end of the world, and they’d rather have me in their lives than not. It wasn’t perfect, but I’ll give them every bit of credit for learning to not only accept me, but to show that they had never stopped loving me. My mom even tried to explain that they just didn’t know how to talk to me about it at first. That relationship ended, not well really, but that didn’t matter, life went on.

I met my husband-to-be the same year Dean met Cas. I won’t pretend we danced around starting a relationship like they did, but I think Dean and I had a pretty similar approach. I performed my role as a new girlfriend the way I figured people thought I should. I held hands and we kissed in public. Honestly, that’s not how I’d ever been in a relationship before. I’m not huge on touching in general, less so in public, but nobody had ever seen me in a relationship with a guy, and, after everything, I just didn’t feel like trying to explain myself again.

Performing is exhausting. When I realized that this guy was important, that I really might want him around long term, it felt even more so. Again, I’m lucky because when i started to let my mask slip, this guy fell in love with the real me too. Our relationship settled into a comfortable safe space, and I was happy. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but at the end of the day, he was always there for me.

Dean, I think, had that with Cas. Regardless of their “relationship” status, whether they were best friends or something more, Cas was Dean’s safe place. He was the person that knew all of his weaknesses and flaws and still chose to stand by his side.

Fast forward to season 12. A lot happened in those years, both for Dean and for me. Honestly though, this is where Dean and I found our next huge plot of common ground. In 2017, my husband was diagnosed with cancer. I watched Dean wrap Cas for his funeral pyre while I was sitting in a hospital room next to my husband who was hooked up to IV’s in his arm and a central port in his chest. I completely understood the stoicism of the act. Our practicality and sense of duty serves us well when our world is going to shit. Dean turned to drinking, I learned exactly how to be responsible for my husband’s at home care. I’ll never be able to explain how well I understood exactly what Dean was feeling when he met Billie. I didn’t want to die, but honestly if it was my time, then so be it. I’m not suicidal, never have been, but I didn’t have a lot of fight left in me after I lost my husband.

Now, to the end of Season 15. I think Dean’s characterization after Cas was taken was spot on, but I can say that primarily because nearly all of what we saw was him with others. Remember, we’ve had years of practice stuffing our feelings down, doing what needs to be done, and acting fine.

I held my husband’s hand while he died. I did exactly what I promised him I would and told him I loved him and that everything would be okay. (We’ll get back to how much that part of the finale kicked the shit out of me in a bit.)

When he was gone, in the living room of our house mind you, because that’s what he wanted, I got shit done. I called his nursing service to report his death, called the funeral home to retrieve his body, and started notifying our friends and family. I smoked a pack of cigarettes and kept my shit together because I knew that if i started to cry, I might never stop. I watched the home nurse and the funeral director prep his body and roll it away, sent his mom home, and when I was finally alone, more alone than I’d been in years, I sat next to his bed and cried until I couldn’t breathe.

By the time my brother showed up a couple hours after I’d called to tell him my husband had passed, I was doing the dishes. It was well after midnight at this point. I’d told him I was good, but...he’s my brother, and he knows me. He came with a bottle of whiskey (another thing Dean and I have in common), and sent me to bed after we’d shared a few shots.

The thing that you don’t know, unless you’ve been through it, is that there is a TON of shit that needs to be done after someone dies. I planned a cremation, a memorial, dealt with insurance companies and our mortgage and all of our joint accounts, and by the time all of that was underway, it was time to go back to work.

When someone you love dies, there is an expectation that you’re going to grieve publically. For me, for Dean, that is unacceptable. If we’re weak, if we lean on someone while we’re dealing with our grief, then we’re letting down the people that depend on us to be strong. Yes, that’s a completely acceptable and normal thing for a good chunk of the population, but that’s not who we are. I can honestly say that moving forward with my life was literally the only thing that kept me going.

So, the final two episodes.

I didn’t question for a second that Dean didn’t talk about Cas’ declaration or his sacrifice. I sure as hell didn’t. I didn’t doubt that he’d make a seamless transition back to casework in the same way I went back to my own job. Having a role to perform that I understood and knowing how to act in specific situations made it so much easier for me to push things down. He had to prove to Sam that he was fine for the same reason that I did, so that the people who love us wouldn’t be watching our every move waiting for us to run screaming off the next cliff. My brother, the same one who showed up with whiskey, did essentially the same thing that Sam did. He didn’t push me to talk. He helped me clean all the medical supplies out of the house, made sure my house and car weren’t going to kill me, and texted me weird random memes daily just so I would text him back.

I also didn’t question the empties in his bedroom or the coat in the trunk. In private moments, when no one is around to see, it’s ok to loosen the relief valve on all of the shit that’s been tightly contained. I slept in my husband’s hoodies and emptied my bar. I understood those things. No one knew about the nightmares, and I ignored the fact that I was drowning in a million memories of my husband every day I spent at home.

To me, those things go hand in hand with losing the person you love most. Regardless of whether or not you think that Dean loves Cas romantically, you can’t argue that Cas was his life partner in a way completely different from Sam. Sam is his responsibility, Cas was his choice. He loves them both, just differently.

Disregarding the revival of an old character for no apparent reason and the fact that it was one of John’s old cases, I didn’t struggle with the handling of the vampire scene in the barn either. I don’t believe that Dean would have ever killed himself intentionally. He would have seen it as his responsibility not only to survive, but to live. Cas just died to save him, again, and there’s no way that Dean is going to let that be for nothing. For me, it was finally going to a Supernatural convention and taking a trip to Paris. For Dean, it was Pie Fest in Akron. They drove fifteen hours for pie. Live, don’t just survive.

He didn’t intentionally throw himself at that hunk of rebar. It was a byproduct of doing his job. But, I think, his reaction to it was the most real thing that could have happened. He didn’t want Sam to call an ambulance or try to save him. He didn’t want Sam to do anything but give him permission to stop fighting. He needed to hear that it was ok.

I’ve never been close to my own death. I don’t have that perspective, but in the year and a half that my husband fought cancer, I was taught to understand this moment as well. When we moved to the palliative stage of my husband’s treatment, the part where medical care is no longer about treating the disease but is now focused on providing comfort, we talked about everything. The thing that scared my husband the most was leaving me behind. He worried about how I would deal with my grief, he worried about me being alone, he worried about how I would manage a sixty hour work week and four pets and a four bedroom house and a two hour round trip commute. He didn’t worry about being dead, he worried about me being alive.

The night my husband died, we all knew it was coming. There are a variety of medical indicators, blood pressure changes, muscle changes, and most critically, at the very end, the fucking death rattle. I cannot explain this sound, I hope you never hear it, but you’ll know if you do. So, at the very end, when my husband was fighting for every breath, I held his hand, and I told him I loved him and I told him that everything would be ok. It was my way of telling him that he didn’t have to fight for me anymore, that I would be ok without him. It didn’t have to be true, but he had to hear it. I couldn’t let him die with all of that worry and guilt swirling around in his head.

Hearing Dean ask Sam to tell him it was ok hit me so fucking hard. For me, it was the clearest declaration of his love for Cas that he could have given. He literally looked at his brother, who he has sacrificed his life for in a myriad of ways, and asked for permission not to fight anymore.

Sam did the same thing for Dean that I did for my husband. He recognized that Dean would hold on as long as he could just to make sure that his little brother would be ok once he was gone. He knew Dean was miserable and suffering, so he held Dean’s hand, told him he loved him, and that it was ok. It didn’t have to be true, he just had to say it.

To be honest, I didn’t have a problem with Bobby being the one to welcome Dean to heaven. In fact, I think he was a great choice, regardless of whether or not it was a Covid related decision on the writer’s part. Bobby was his dad, someone he trusted, and was the logical person to let Dean know that Jack had revamped heaven before sending Dean out to do what he had to do to find his peace. I didn’t expect an emotional scene, it would have been out of character for both of them.

I didn’t have a problem with Dean climbing into Baby and just driving. Two years after losing my husband and I still do the same thing when the shit in my brain is moving too fast for me to deal. Baby is home to him, a place he feels comfortable and in control, and driving is the best way he knows to find some perspective.

I didn’t have a problem with the montage of Sam’s life. I thought it was terribly constructed, but the content of it was predictable. Sam stayed true to character and did what he asked of Dean before hopping into the pit. He went out and made himself an apple pie life. I would have been surprised and disappointed if it was anything different.

The thing that made me hate the finale was the end. When Dean turned around on that bridge, what we should have heard was “Hello Dean.” That hug should have been Dean and Cas. Regardless of whether or not you think they shared romantic love, Cas was family, name on the table and all. I didn’t need a love confession, I didn’t need a kiss, I didn’t need some grand romantic moment. I just needed that thank-Jack-you’re-not-stuck-in-uber-hell hug like the one Benny watched in purgatory or that Mary saw after the soul bomb. Dean’s been in heaven for a bit, long enough that Sam could have witnessed this one from the passenger seat with a grin.

There’s no way Dean would have found peace without seeing for himself that Cas was safe, and you’ll never convince me otherwise.

#spn spoilers #spn finale

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thisartofeveryday · 4 years

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For those of you who thought I should make my life story into a book…here is the outline. For the sake of clarity as you are reading, let me explain who the characters are. The kids from my Dads first marriage: Jim1, Patty, Seana. The kids from my Mom’s (Mary Ellen) first marriage: Mary Jane and Jim2. My brother that I am a full sibling to is Charles (chuck).

I think you might know that 95% of our lives are lived from the unconscious mind. From birth to age 7 a childs mind is in Theta wave (hypnosis) and everything that they learn in those years (mainly through observation and repetition) is the program that their minds run for their entire lives. Knowing this – I look back on the first 7 years of my life.

I think we moved 7 times in those 7 years. I am certain it was because of Dads extreme anger management problems and the fact that he is a sociopath, a pedophile and a rapist. Zero stability or chance to make lasting friendships. My dad was sexually abusing me and unpredictably violent. I was terrified of him. I was being terrorized/bullied by my brother, Chuck, who was every bit the sociopath that my dad is. My mom was overwhelmed by the number of children she was responsible for - none of which she actually wanted- and add to that, her husband was sexualizing all of the kids, so really being the last of her kids I was the last of her problems. Being the youngest (and as traumatized as I was), I was quiet and easy to forget about or push to the side. The older kids were the ones in the spotlight and where all the attention went. They were enrolled in activities and they were more the same age, so they were a unit. I was just an observer of them. I felt so left out and forgotten. Always.

I was a mistake and a burden (dads exact words to me on my 11th birthday). Mom made sure I knew that she thought I was mentally retarded- she would joke about it all the time. (I guess she never made peace with her sister being autistic) She also loved humiliating me even when I made it clear she was hurting me. Remember her sausage fingers joke or how many years I got called Boomer? I absolutely hated both of those things, made it clear, and yet she refused to give up the name calling and humiliation. There was very little respect for my personal boundaries. Dad would assault me in the middle of the night and I would wet the bed out of fear- then he would make me sleep in it to teach me a lesson. Mom would do nothing to help me, though she was awake in the middle of the night when I would work up the courage to go into their room to ask for help. She let him treat me like that. Goddamn…I remember the night terrors and being scared to be in my room at night because the scary man was sitting in the rocking chair, in the dark, next to my bed.

I have a memory of being in the garage in our house in South Windsor. I was playing with our basset hound, General…I was crawling around on the floor and the dog mounted me and was dry humping me. Dad got this sick laugh and let it happen. Mom walked in and got mad at him, but did nothing to help me. My personal boundaries were nonexistent. Nobody was protecting me from him. I remember him eating the food off my plate at dinner…or kissing me on the ear or touching me when I would tell him I hated it and to stop. I remember the baths dad would have me take with him and how he taught me to touch and work his dick. I remember the photos he would take of me after the bath. I remember being 7 years old and trying to lay on his bed and be sexy enough for him. I remember kissing mom passionately the way that dad taught me to and mom getting upset and asking me where I learned that. I remember having a baby doll that I drew all over, angrily, with lipstick. I remember being scared because my ass was bleeding and I told mom while her brother and sisters were visiting and she shushed me and scurried me away. I remember him also beating the shit out of me…sometimes for no reason. I remember being deeply attracted to and absolutely terrified of him. I was 7. These are the only memories I have of my dad. I don’t remember him being there for me, or interested in me as a person, or engaged in anyway. I just remember him being what I now know is a predator.

7 to 13: I remember some stability in Connecticut because we stayed there for three years… but I also remember having moments of being deeply depressed and hiding in the basement of the house writing notes that I hoped someone would find, asking for help to get me out of there. When I look back, those were my first experiences with disassociation from stress and waves of major depression. While I was being assaulted during those years, those years were all about Mary Jane, Seana, and Jim2. These three had each other. These three were a team. I was just an observer to your lives. I had no voice, no opinion, no importance, never truly included and absolutely my feelings went unheard and did not matter. We can say it was the age difference, sure, that’s part of it…but that’s also just an excuse. Things could have been done to validate my importance too. I had Charles bullying me….I had my Dad assaulting me. I was so alone.

My internal voice wants to shout: Why did nobody see this? Why did nobody help me? Where were my siblings? I guess everyone was doing the best they could…

Literally anyone looking in knowing the truth could have easily assessed that this was a horribly destructive environment for any child to grow up in. I know dad was doing this to all the kids. I wasn’t the only one. It is absolutely stunning to me that through the years of my life I have consistently been blamed by my Mary Ellen (narcissist/borderline personality disorder) and the people who chose to listen to her twisted opinions that there was something wrong WITH ME. I mean, logically the mental health issues I have faced my entire life are perfectly normal and healthy reactions to a situation that was deeply flawed. But somehow the blame has always fallen on me.

The very first thing I think when I think of my mom is her asking me “Whats wrong with you Melissa”. Ive lost count of how many times she has asked me that very question.

I now know that its just deflection. Queen Narcissist cant take responsibility for her actions so she puts it on the person who she always denied a voice. That’s nice. Very loving and motherly. Doesn’t fix the 40 some odd years of my life that I believed her and wanted to die.

Right around age 9 or 10, we move again. I remember it being a big scandal – I think the truth came about that my dad is a sociopath, a pedophile and a rapist. (By the way, that’s in my DNA. I get to live my life connected to that. I look just like my dad. I think like a Painter. It’s fucking unsettling.) I remember all the pressure to say nothing about the move and to constantly behave as though we were the perfect family and nothing was wrong. So incredibly demented.

I remember a HUGE fight about Seana and Jim2 staying behind in Connecticut. (by the way: I also remember Jim1 leaving for the Marines and wondering where my brother went and why he never talked to me. At one point he came back to visit and gave me a beautiful geisha doll in a glass box that mom destroyed in a fit of anger at me…she intentionally violently knocked it off the top of my dresser in one of her vindictive off the handle rages…Im sure at 8 years old I totally did something to deserve it, right.)

And, of course I remember the night Seana was killed. (why did the man that killed her not serve jail time? Why are bad people never held accountable?) Dad wasn’t there. Again, Dad wasn’t there. As I recall he was having an affair with some woman in Arizona? Mom was already distraught to be back in Michigan. That night, I remember being awake before the call came in…watching the clock radio in my bed… it had a short in the wire that would spark. I was listening to the Beatles: My guitar gently weeps…. To this day, I hate the Beatles.The phone rang. Mom screamed to you “Mary Jane, OMG, Seana is Dead”. I didn’t understand what happened. I just knew we were packing up like we did so many times before to take yet another long drive across country. It felt to me like another move. I didn’t understand death or that my sister was gone forever. I didn’t get it.

(an aside: I struggled in school. When I was in Beginning Algebra One for some reason that class would make me check out and I would always soul travel to the night Seana was killed and it felt like it was happening to me. I took that class 4 times including summer school before I passed.)

(later, when I was maybe 13, my dog got hit by a car in the street and now I knew what death was so I freaked out like Mom did when Seana died and I remember Mom shaming me: You cried more over than damn dog than you did at your sisters funeral. Very nice. Very motherly. Very supportive and kind of her.)

At Seanas funeral, I remember not knowing what was expected of me. I was just so focused on getting it right and who I was supposed to kiss (because that sexualized stuff was already so ingrained).

There were so many goddamn rules for behavior, (rich white republican ex-military country club going family that we were) and I remember getting it wrong and being scowled at all the time. Mom was always angry and stressed out. We had to BE someone and over and over again: “Don’t forget the family name” and how important our clan was (hilarious that she kept the Sterling last name because her current husband is too ethnic and this sounds classier to her than her own actual last name)….

Meanwhile, My developing sense of self was being assaulted and neglected/ignored out of me and I felt wrong all the time for every single action I took.

I think we moved back to North Carolina briefly and then to Florida? Whatever the case….

Then we move again. Again. Again. Now we are in Florida. Im 10. My parents are getting divorced. Mom is deeply goddamn depressed. My family is falling apart. I don’t know where my brothers and sister are. Everything is exploding. Im powerless and hostage to all this. I cannot underline the importance of that sense of being hostage to a situation that I was powerless to escape and having my feelings and my personhood completely ignored and erased. It consumed me. I wanted to die. I am, as always, the least of moms concerns.

In Florida I was so incredibly dissociative. I was experiencing C-PTSD. I remember feeling numb all over. Having no ability to react to this little girl that fell off her bike in front of me….I just stared at her…the adults nearby yelled at me for doing nothing. I went further into my head. I was so checked out. People just thought I was quiet or shy or retarded. I was deeply traumatized and needed help.

I remember Mary Jane and I sitting on the bed watching this music video by The Cars. In the video there is a woman who is laughing and crying. I remember asking MJ what she was doing because I do that too and I think she told me she was having a mental break down.

I remember getting a Walkman and listening to the Police nonstop. That was my only retreat from how much I hurt. WHY DID NOBODY SEE THIS AND HELP ME?

I remember during that time that I was given another baby doll. I remember MJ and mom watching me play with it to see what I would do. I felt scared of them both and the creepy way they were lurking to watch me. I felt ganged up on. I couldn’t trust anyone. I was so alone. I wanted to die.

In Florida, I remember my birthday and dad cocking his fist back like he was going to punch me in the face…he did that sick laugh and told me he wished I was never born and that I was a mistake. (later when I told this to Patty she explained he punched her in the face on her 11th birthday. Im related to all that. That’s in my dna.)

My body was changing. I was getting my period. I felt crazy. I was in that HUGE school in Jacksonville and I had no friends and I was so scared. Everything was terrifying….and Dad was getting more unhinged thus Mom has Jim and Lynn move in to protect her and had you come back… and then I remember walking in to the living room in the middle of a sunny afternoon and mom on the pull out sofa, trying to make dad jealous, was fucking the guy who was there to buy the house that we had just moved in to because we were MOVING AGAIN….

Not to mention, I remember MJ and I quickly taking Dads gun to the beach to bury it so he because he wanted to kill us all.

Im not even 13 yet….. Are you exhausted?

Any one of these things would make a fully functioning stable adult fold like a house of cards. “Whats wrong with you Melissa?”…. It took something like 20 years of therapy but now I have some clues to answer that question. Here are some more clues:

We finally make it to Boone. Mom followed her best friend, Mary Jane. After all that… that incredible pressure cooker of my pre teen childhood we arrive in bumfuck nowhere, North Carolina….and everyone is gone except the sociopath brother. The house is basically empty. Everyone abandoned ship. Where did my brothers and sisters go? I remember coming home after school and there would be nobody home. For my entire life I had come home to my family but now there was no one. I would sit on the couch and watch the clock with growing anxiety and cry until mom came home from work. It was beyond torturous. And then she would be pissed off that I needed her because she just got home from work. At this point Mom is just angry and exhausted all the time. She had to get a job outside the home for the first time in her life which she hated, she was sick of being a mom…she wanted it all to be over so she could have HER life. Charles was getting more and more abusive- physically and mentally and had to be sent away for our protection.

And then she starts dating Don Bailey. I think the sex must have been amazing because the guy was an utter low life. He was living off of her/my child support money… and beating the shit out of her. Their fights were never goddamn ending. I would hide in my room after school and not come out. I was so alone. I had no friends and no escape. Mom was friends with Mary Jane, not with me. Mom wanted nothing to do with me. One day we were driving home and I was so attached to her. I needed my mom so goddamn bad… I was struggling to make friends at yet another new school and the PTSD made me feel so distant from everyone but I had no words for what was wrong with me I just thought I was terrible at making friends (I remember this: pathetically I checked out a book at the library: How to be your own best friend)… She pulled the car over and told me “we cant be friends.” Mom has some glorified memory of us driving around looking for our favorite tree in Autumn… the only thing I remember is that conversation…her rejecting me when I needed her the most… after we moved to the town my sister lived in so she could be close to her.

Again, still no help with the major depression, the CPTSD… just a lot of blame “why cant you be happy Melissa…whats wrong with you?” and I cant be clear enough about this: all her spare time at home was spent on Don, not me. I didn’t have clubs and groups and activities that she as sure to enroll me in. I didn’t have my brothers and sisters there with me. It was just me, after all that, trying to figure it out.

I was a burden to her. She couldn’t wait to get rid of me and be done. I felt it always.

An aside: When she was unsure if she wanted to stay in Boone, I remember her asking Charles if we should stay or go back to Florida…after he chimed in with his answer, I gave my opinion which she angrily scoffed at me and told me it didn’t matter what I thought, Id go where they tell me to go. My voice didn’t matter, I was a burden to her. I had no value as a person. I was powerless. So there I was in my bedroom that was the walkway between the living room and her room… at the mercy of whatever happened with no privacy or power over my life….. whats new.

Another aside: During that time we had gotten a dog that was a total pain in the ass for her to take care of. She gave it away while I was at school. I came home and the dog was gone and I was tearful thinking it ran away. She gave my dog away without telling me.

Then we moved out to Valley Crusis (9 miles outside of town…so isolated. I was so alone. The isolation was killing me. Where were my siblings. I needed help. I needed someone who was just there for me.) and Dons abusive behavior got even more extreme. I remember him picking me up from a concert that I was at….because he had sent Mom to the hospital with a sprained wrist and a busted lip. He was laughing about it when he told me to get in the car. Another time I remember Don looming in my bedroom door when Mom was at work and it was just us in the house… telling me: “Go ahead and call the police, nobody will believe you anyway.” I remember the woman who lived up the hill from us, with the curly hair…I think her name was Susan… coming down to the house while Mom and Don were gone and telling me If it ever gets too bad, you can always run up here. The neighbors knew I needed help. Where were my brothers and sisters? Where was my Mom? FUCK.

I remember Mom having many off the handle rages at me because I looked like a boy and my hair was crazy and I was so fucked up. I remember one morning after she had raged at me so hard that I was in stunned silence… we were sitting at breakfast at St Sinners and MJ kept looking at me, she knew something was wrong, I was clearly checked out and fucked up. I needed my sister. I had no voice or ability to speak up. I was scared of her husband, Glenn. Nobody helped me. Mom was the star of the brunch party!

I remember getting my first job at 15 and working at St Sinners…. Then, when mom bought the restaurant I stopped getting paid. She cut me off from my paycheck and told me it was my “duty to the family”… but she had Jim2 and his first wife Lynn there working and they were getting paid…and also stealing her money to fuel their coke habits. She didn’t value me, or my efforts but her golden son Jim can do no wrong even when he is fucking her out of her business.

I remember Jim2 offering me coke at a house party and John Golden and another friend getting me out of there away from my own brother. I remember Lynn being LIVID that I would stop by their house when I was lonely and wanted my family but instead I got shamed for thinking I could stop by and see them…and mom would tell me that “they had BUSY LIVES and I should leave them alone.”

I remember being so fucked up and alone in Boone….I mean, I now know I was just in shock and experiencing major depression. Mom kept asking me Whats wrong with you Melissa…when I was your age I had to choose between boyfriends… etc. Its incredible to me how Mom normalized my childhood abuse and completely erased my feelings or my personhood then blamed me for somehow being a problem child or wrong in whatever way….more incredible: people believed her.

During those years in Boone I remember her doing things like openly making fun of me when I thought I might be gay, fixing regular hamburgers and telling me they were tofu when I became vegetarian…starting a burn pile in the back yard full of toxic things after I told her how important recycling was to me and laughing at me as I cried…..every chance she had to make me feel awful about being me and disrespected she took.

Once I visited her at her office and she told me I was “too ugly to look at and she didn’t want anyone to know I was her daughter and to never come to her office again.”

Shes right, we were not friends. She was a jealous mean girl, obsessed with appearances and her shitty boyfriend.

Lets not forget when she, with Mary Janes help, stacked my portfolio with MJs lithographies and coached me how to lie to get me in to Governors school for the summer. She wanted me gone and she got her wish. I remember feeling like a fraud that summer. I wasn’t good enough to be there. I had to lie to be included. I remember she didn’t even drive me there. She had Don do it. He harassed me in the car all the way there, 3 hours…. then dropped me…16… off on the curb in front of the college and drove away. All the other kids had parents excitedly helping them get set up in their rooms…excited about their major accomplishment of getting in to Governors school… I was there with my milk crate of shit, a fraud. alone. Acting like a tough girl who didn’t need anyone. I was a pro at that. Mission accomplished, she was rid of me.

I remember how deep my depression was becoming by the time I was 18. That last year of high school I would bang my head against my bedroom wall in an attempt to knock myself out, in hopes that I would get sent away to a treatment center or something. I couldn’t take all the fighting between her and Don. I fucking hated him and he was in my house and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to throw myself down the back stairwell at school. I barely graduated high school my depression was eating me alive.

Amazing that nobody IN MY FAMILY SAW THAT I NEEDED HELP. I was invisible. Mary Ellen cast her proclamation that all was well, she was amazing and I was a problem child and that was that.

I have a million stories about Mom demoralizing me during those years…. Whats weird is that I have no memory of my Mary Jane there. I think she was so involved with Glenn and way up the mountain, I had no way to reach her. And I was scared of her husband Glenn. And, we were never close. And, she was Team Mary Ellen…. So I was just alone and wanted to die. Sincerely. Goddamn. Let it end.

I remember Don telling me that Mom was using my child support payment to make her car payment. So I asked her about where my child support was going and she told me she used it for my Blue Cross Blue Shield Insurance…. So I called the insurance company to see if I had coverage…. They had no record of me. She was, again, a liar….

When I graduated high school she couldn’t get me out of the house fast enough. She pawned me off on my boyfriend Gebeaux and expected him to simply take care of me. We broke up. He didn’t sign up for that. I was basically kicked out of the house in valley crusis. I wasn’t prepared for life on my own. I wasn’t ready. She just wanted to be done being a mom so Hey..I came back to the house one day and all my stuff was packed and that was that. I had to figure it out. Fuck me.

At one point during that time I was living in a trailer with my friend Stacy. Mom was horrified about this. I was getting food stamps and she was so ashamed of me for being so low class. She came to the trailer and was completely off the handle. She said there was “no air” in there and grabbed a 2x4 and smashed out all the windows. Mind you from her perspective it was just another example of what a loser I am, living in a trailer on food stamps how did I end up such a piece of shit when she is such a wonderful mother… it must be because there is something inherently wrong about me.

She has seen me as trash who is incapable of being anything great my entire life.

Somewhere in there she stopped dating Don and started dating lawyer Rand Sterling…who broke her ribs multiple times and literally pushed her out of a moving car and then she walked 5 miles back to his house to be with him. That relationship took her to Texas. She followed the money. The insanity of that relationship is all I heard about from her. She needed Jim2 to come protect her from her husband multiple times. I absorbed all of this through her very rare but insane emails to me. She has always used me as her emotional manipulation dumping ground.

I had my first total mental break right around 19 years old. I was fetal position on the floor at my girlfriends house… Jenn… I couldn’t stop crying for multiple days and I felt my mind split in two. I literally went into a black hole and was begging for death. Jenn and the next door neighbor scooped me up off the floor and drove me to the Watauga County Mental Health and got me some help… but at this point I was having a total mental collapse… the part of me that was traumatized was a child denied her voice or any recognition of her Self, so I had no way to articulate what was wrong and Mom had denied and normalized the abuse and denied me voice and my personhood for so long that I had ZERO chance of articulating what was wrong… it was buried so deep inside of me and I was so scared to trust anyone…. I was experiencing schizophrenia and Major depression.

Jenn helped me with my depression. Jenn made sure I was housed and fed. Jenn took care of me. I owe her my life.

I mean, that is an extreme mental health episode. Where was my family? How could none of the people who were supposed to love me the most see any of this? Why did none of them help me? Why did all of them think I was to blame? (my guess: Team Mary Ellen)

Somewhere in that year my friends were moving to Chapel Hill so I packed up the car that my child support paid for and I went down the mountain. She threatened to call the police on me for stealing the car. She told me I needed discipline and needed to go into the Army. She just didn’t know what to do with me…such a problem child. If I remember correctly, you echoed her sentiments. Everyone was always so angry at me for being so wrong and so bad. None of my family (meaning MJ and mom because my brothers had long bailed on me and my extended family has never made a single attempt to reach out to me or know me at all.) were my friend, or loving, kind or compassionate.

I got away….I went to Chapel Hill and lived with my best friends Kerry, Lesley, Julie, and two other guys in Kerry’s Moms rental house. I was working at the Columbia Street Bakery and dating this boy, Richard…. Who happened to be a really abusive drug dealer… who held me down one night and violently orally raped me and when I called mom for help she told me with the exasperation of a mother who had supposedly tried so hard to do the right thing and raise her child with love and support but that child was just tragic and terminally fucked :

“I don’t know whats wrong with you Melissa, I guess you just like the bad boys.”

Again, no self reflection on her behalf…she did nothing to help me.

I didn’t know how to get away from Richard who was playing mind fuck with me and I was getting high with him (LSD) …which was basically, me being drugged and him using me for sex but not being loving or kind in any way (felt like home) Eventually, Richard got busted for selling a page of lsd to an undercover cop and threatened to kill me because he thought it was my fault… so I had to get out of there and I went to New York to chill out and work for the summer at the Omega Institute of Holistic Learning… to just be around hippies and eat good food. I hung out with Baba Ram Dass and Ben & Jerry…and took a class on the whirling dervish… These moments when I wasn’t in the pressure cooker of my life were both brilliant because I needed healing but also the worst because all this trauma would start to surface and I didn’t know what it was or how to speak about it. I would start to shatter again.

I believed it was my fault and there was something inherently wrong with me.

I was so lost. I needed help. I needed a parent or loving compassionate family or someone trusted to guide me through that time in my life. I had no one but my friends from North Carolina who were just as fucked up as me. I needed help. I needed help. Oh my god, I needed help.

Omega ended…I had no money to get out of there, nobody to turn to for help, no clue what to do next, I certainly couldn’t go back to Mom who hated me and was living with Rand so fuck that… I had no idea where my brothers and sisters were and no relationship with them so that wasn’t on my mind as an option…..so I caught whatever ride I could get and ended up in Boulder. One of my friends from Omega hooked me up with her cousin for a month and I tried to make it work… it was basically winter in Colorado at this point and I was out there door canvassing for Green Peace making no money and freezing to death. Just walking door to door for Greenpeace… looking in on other families and their loving lives together. I was so fucking sad. I was hungry and scared and completely out of options. I had to get out of there.

I called Mom for help. She said: “You got yourself into this, get yourself out”…. And hung up on me. The bitch hung up on me. I was stranded and so scared and I needed my mom. She hung up on me. She blamed me. She wanted to punish me for being such a problem. She was done being a mom. She hung up.

I remember having gone to the Planned Parenthood to get some medical help because I was sick. I explained my situation and the nurse looked at me incredulously and said “where are you parents?” I explained to her that Mom hung up on me. I was devastated, living in a constant state of shock. Scared out of my sense of self or ability to connect to the present moment.

I was a fractured soul in every possible meaning.

My month at my friends place was over and I had to find an apartment or live on the streets. It took me another month of begging whatever guy I could find to give me a place to stay and then I contacted the boy I was dating at Omega, Scott, and asked him for money to get a bus back to North Carolina. He helped me. Bless him. He got me out of there.

I got on the Greyhound and ended up going to Idaho to visit with my friend Stacy (who I lived in the trailer with) and stay with her for a couple weeks to get grounded and feel safe with a friend for a minute. My mental break was coming back full force. I was inconsolable. I remember laying on her bed fully having an out of body experience from the stress and being so disoriented. She is so patient and kind. She took care of me. When my time with Stacy was up, the next layer of insanity: I got on the Greyhound and took a 5 day no sleep, no food journey across country. I got chased down, carrying all my bags of things and looking like a little hippie… on a layover, by a group of drunk men in Wyoming…they almost got me but I found a laundromat that was open and full of people so I ran inside and hid until my bus was leaving again. I was terrified. By the time I made it back to Lesley and Kerrys house in Chapel Hill it was New Year night…I got some hours back at the Columbia Street bakery I was working at and got some money rolling in.

I want to mention that Poverty, which I have lived most my life in, is no joke and more damaging than anyone outside of the experience can understand. It is cyclical, like bi polar…. Living paycheck to paycheck or however you get just enough to maybe hold on for a moment longer but never knowing if more will be coming is a terror. Always feeling like the bottom is going to drop out…and never knowing when youre going to eat…and what that does to your hormones and your mental health…. Poverty is proven to damage people on a cellular level and have lasting effects that lead to chronic illness.

After making it back to NC, few weeks later the boy from Omega came to Chapel Hill and told me he wanted to marry me and wanted me to move to Boston with him. So we took a little road trip and eventually ended up in Boston. As a surprise to no one sane, that was not a lasting relationship. So after a year of misery in Boston, (more poverty, more loneliness, more no family) Scott drove me back to Chapel Hill and that’s when the girls and I all moved up to Asheville. All the while, checking in with Mom who was yelling and shaming me for being such a fuck up.

I can’t underline enough: I was disassociating the entire time. I was having episodes of schizophrenia. I was experiencing major depression and bi polar disorder. The stress of my entire life was more than I could handle and I had no support and no compassion and nobody validating my experience or me as a person. People just thought that was who I was. I was just fucked in every way possible and believed she was right and all that was normal and I was a terrible piece of shit. She had everyone believing that.

Mary Jane believed her. She echoed her sentiments to me. Go Team Mary Ellen.

I moved up to Asheville and got somewhat stabilized. I was again living with my friends and I got a decent job at the Laughing Seed Cafe. I met Mark and I had decided to go to college because I thought that would make Mom happy and I needed to DO something with myself.

Mark and I were together maybe 8 weeks before we moved across country and started a life together. Eight weeks.

I was so adept at being a high functioning dissociative major depressive and I had no way to articulate what was wrong with me (all that stuff that had been normalized and ignored…all the ways my feelings and personhood was erased)… I just knew something evil bad was in me and it took me out from time to time. I thought it was my fault and I was ashamed of myself. I was living in a constant state of shock. CPTSD.

So, I get myself into college and thanks to Mark and his truck we move across country.

When I hear my friends now talking about saving money for their kids college and really setting them up for success by helping them choose a school and get settled in or making sure they don’t have to work so they can focus on their studies and have a healthy social life with friends and do activities Im so confused. I didn’t know parents and families helped their kids with such things. I didn’t understand that in other families they help, protect and support. I made it through without any of these blessings.

Mark and I get a shitty apartment (the ceiling caved in out of rot and the place was full of roaches. The property managers stole my drum set and we would catch them on the roof at night peeping through the skylight to watch us), I get a full time job managing a restaurant…in addition to schooling full time...Im overwhelmed by the workload, scared to be across country, freaked out by college and the expectations… it was too much. I was away from the source of my abuse and things started to surface… I NEEDED HELP.

I needed my family except, honestly, I have none. Additional mindfuck: when I tried to talk to people about this I get the old trope about how everyone has tough relationships in their families and I need to love my mom and work it out with her.SO I KEPT GOING BACK FOR MORE WITH MOM BECAUSE I NEEDED HER LOVE SO BAD AND I THOUGHT THE PROBLEM WAS ME. Further, because I was so regressed I just sounded like a petulant child when I tried to talk about the abuse I had no accurate words for so nobody outside the experience really got it or could conceive how bad things really were for me… why would they? My family is extraordinarily fucked up, like nobody I have ever known.

In college, nobody comes to check on me and make sure Im ok. Nobody was calling. Id get rare emails or letters. When I would tell mom how hard it was, mom would mock me and tell me to suck it up when I would reach out to her and “complain” about how things were going for me… See, because its always my fault and Im never measuring up.

An aside: To this day, 40 years later, Jim2 has yet to even send me a single email to check and make sure Im ok or get to know me at all. He has never responded to the multiple emails I have sent him, so I stopped reaching out. I used to cry to mom about it and she would tell me that he “has a busy life” and I had to understand that’s why I wasn’t a priority to him. Personally, I cant imagine anything being more important than making a connection with your little sister, but I guess Im biased and not like him: busy getting high and drunk and being a cool party guy.

During my college is when he married Lori. I worked over time and got a plane ticket to be at his wedding. I was sick to my stomach at the idea of having to be around my family but I love my brother and I wanted to be there. He ignored me the entire time I was there. I was a HUGE FUCKING DEAL that I could afford the ticket and made the effort to be there for him. I showed up for him….He ignored me. I was devastated and felt invisible and so worthless.

Another aside: I was 24 and that very first Christmas on the west coast Mom calls me, driving herself to the ER to get her stomach pumped from a suicide attempt. She was dramatically telling me her goodbye in case she didn’t make it. I was stressed and powerless beyond the telling of it. I cried all the way through that Christmas. Again: Mom always uses me as her emotional manipulation dumping ground. Out of all her children, Im the one with heart and she gets the sympathy she is working me over for.

During my college years, I would ask Mom for help she would mock me “Im sending baby Sava (MJs daughter) a care package…are you a baby? Do you need one too?”

Mean girl jealousy that I went to college and her life was taken from her by her children….

In college I had no friends, just Mark. No time for activities and my mental health was so fragile I had no ability to form friendships. I was barely hanging on. I would be catatonic in my time at home. We had this geometry screensaver on the computer and I would be frozen staring at it for hours while my brain felt like it was going to shatter. I was an absolute wreck and a shell of a person…but I was determined to prove I could graduate college and I wasn’t a fuck up. I wanted Mom to be proud of me.

I guess it should come as no surprise that after 4 years of no time off, working and schooling 80 hours a week, getting zero support emotionally or financially from my family …. that absolutely NOBODY FROM MY FAMILY CAME TO CELEBRATE ME AT MY GRADUATION.

Nobody came. Nobody celebrated me. Nobody saw the value in me or my hard work.

I remember being on the phone with Jim2 the day of my graduation. I had called him to ask why he wasn’t there for me. I was in tears. He told me that if that was the worst thing that ever happened to me, congratulations on your nice life. He thought it was bullshit that I was so upset. He thought I was being a baby. This loser dropped out of college which he had a scholarship for and did nothing with his life but drugs and alcohol and saw no value in me or what I did on my own. He didn’t show up for me.

Me going to college and graduating on time with full credits was a major fucking accomplishment on so many levels.

Not one of my family was there for me and I will never forgive or forget that.

We moved to the same fucking town Mary Jane was in when she was in college and never ONCE did anyone come to check on me and be interested in what I was doing or validate how amazing it was that I was in school and making it happen on my own.

When I talk about how alone I feel in life, its in my bones.

I had worked over time to get Mom a plane ticket so she would be there for my graduation and she called me a couple days before to tell me pathetically “She couldn’t get the day off work.” (Lie: I think she has some legal issue and couldn’t leave the state or something like that.)

After she called to bail on my graduation… at 27 years old… I had a heart attack on my walk home. I collapsed in my living room. Mark found me on the floor when he got home from work. She literally broke my heart. I was devastated. I was in shock. I was dissociating. I was so fucked up. I needed help. Poor Mark. He didn’t know what was wrong and neither did I.

Shortly after my graduation, MJ graduated and she drove to see her and was sure to tell me about it. I mean, they are BFFs so, no surprises there. GO TEAM MARY ELLEN, right?

Whats wrong with you Melissa? My family. My family is whats wrong with me.

During college I was stressed to the point of being catatonic when I wasn’t at work or school. My mental health was tanking in every possible way… but the pressure cooker of school and work kept me hemmed in and my desire to prove that I was someone worth loving (because god knows I wasn’t going to be loved just for being me…No one was simply going to show up for me or simply be there. I had to earn it.)

…. then we moved to Seattle and I had three years at Amazon in that pressure cooker of a job… (10 to 14 hours a day, 6 days a week) working as a Lead running a team of 200 people to keep me too busy to feel my feelings or connect to emerging myself.

At some point after I graduated and it no longer mattered, I remember MJ came to visit me one time. That was nice of her. Thank you for trying, MJ.

But heres the fun part: Mark. Mark loved me.

Mark is the very first and to this day ONLY person who has been intimately involved in my life who loves and respected me just as I am.

It was Mark loving me that allowed me to start developing a voice and for that very young very traumatized person inside of me to start coming to the surface. Mark was the very best thing that has ever happened to me….and, ironically, it was because he loved me that all that evil finally came to the surface…and was our demise.

All the things dad did to me, all the never ending abuse from mom that sought to vilify and demoralize me… all of the hurt from the abandonment from my brothers and sisters… all that evil came up because he Loved me enough to make me feel safe and supported…I just didn’t know that then and couldn’t see or feel that he was the most tremendous gift this life has ever given me ….

and I started sexually assaulting myself in my sleep (woke up one time with an entire box of tampons inside of me and had to go to the doctor to get them all out). I would throw punches in my sleep. I was having an utter mental breakdown/ breakthrough… and then I started acting out sexually with other men that I met online. I felt like I was being puppet mastered from some evil unknown source. I was manic and acting out sexually. That default programing from my childhood was calling the shots. I didn’t have a sense of self so I was acting from what I knew and what Dad taught me about myself and the self-worth that mom made sure I didn’t have.

I say acting out sexually. What I should say is reenacting the trauma…which there was so very much of. I was on auto pilot and at that time if you asked me if that’s what I wanted to be doing I would have said yes out of programming but the core truth of who I am knew it was not at all right or who I am or what I wanted…that core didn’t have a voice yet.

2001, Amazon had laid us all off. I got hired working at a treatment center for abused youth. I was major depressive and would be fetal position on the floor and cry for a month at a time but I didn’t know why or what was wrong… I was just deeply goddamn depressed and wanted to die. All the time. Goddamn. Let it end.

Poor Mark. He didn’t know what was happening. He was the perfect boyfriend. He tried so hard to help me. I honestly could not have asked for a more perfect man to come in to my life…and he was stuck with me. Mentally fucked Melissa with no clue what was wrong… and worst of all, I thought I had to get out of my relationship with Mark.

Crazy,right?….I asked Mom for help. She had no relationship with me and no clue what was going on in my life…She is a complete train wreck of a human and so deep in her own denial and so wrapped up in her latest abusive relationship with a rich man that she could honestly give a fuck about me and thought the worst of me anyway… so yeah, break up with him and oh my god Melissa I don’t know what to do with you.

I kept cheating on him over and over again. I was off the rails with my manic depression. Spending, fucking, driving my car too fast…. Through a chat room, I got mixed up with a man that felt like Dad to me and I was entranced and captive to him. Mark asked me to marry him and I broke up with him, moved out.. I was off the rails with the sexual acting out/re traumatizing myself.

(Mark immediately met the woman he has since married and has been with for the past 18 years. I would give anything to have that man back in my life…Throughout these years, my memory of how he treated me has been the standard by which I have held all other men and nobody measures up….Beyond his character and integrity, the art, music and intelligence that lives within this handsome and kind man is incomparable. I blew it. Fuck. I pushed away the most incredible man I ever knew and he loved me. I still love him to this day.)

At that same time I heard a rumor at work that one of the counselors (reggie, 24) had slept with a client(raya,16). I knew reggie was capable of it (I had slept with him) so I reported it to the Unit manager, Big Mike. ……What I didn’t know is that Reggie, Mike and the guy I was so into, Cash were all friends who grew up together and in the same gang……

and so it was that month that I moved out from Mark that the man that I was so “in love with”, Cash, drugged me at a house party and raped me with 4 of his friends to teach me a lesson for reporting Reggie.

I remember sharing a beer with Cash and then feeling tired and dizzy and asking to lay down and then multiple hours of being barely coherent and having no control over my body and being passed around for everyone to fuck over and over again.

Cash was a sex trafficker and grooming me all along. No wonder he felt like home. My need for family and my daddy issues in full effect, I couldn’t break the spell. I was terrified of him and wanted him to think I was so sexy…..He was masterful with the mindfuck and kept me under his thumb at all times which felt like attention and love to me and was intense enough that I could feel it.

At that time, in Washington, you had a statue of limitations of 8 years to report a rape.

Mind you, I was so dissociative and still had no idea I was a person or had any rights to my thoughts or my body… I was really goddamn checked out at that point in my life….I was in shock. The childhood assault trauma was just surfacing and I had no words for it because it had been normalized and my feelings negated by my parents So, I didn’t know if I had been raped or not….it took me years to figure out that its wrong to drug someone and have all your friends fuck them…

I didn’t know I should or could ask for help. I didn’t believe I could be helped. I didn’t think anyone would help me. I didn’t know I was a person. I didn’t know I had rights. I didn’t know I could escape or how.

ANYONE CONFUSED ABOUT WHY I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO GET HELP OR THAT I DESERVED IT???????

Whats wrong with you, Melissa?

In the meanwhile, Cash was making sure I wouldn’t report it.

He knew I was away from Mark, had a history of sexual assault and no family, and that I lived in absolute poverty so there was zero chance I could escape him.

I was in so much trouble. I needed help. I called Mom. I explained that it all to her. I explained that they were a gang. That it was sex trafficking… that I needed help…. To which she said “Let them play godfather. Whats the worst they can do?”….. (nice way to minimize the extreme danger I was in and negate me as a person, don’t you think?)

that bitch loves to see me suffer and struggle, doesn’t she. Doesn’t it make her look amazing when I look like shit? So she didn’t help me. She shit talked me to the rest of the family like I wanted to be in that situation because I was trash. Nobody helped me.

I remember talking to Mary Jane around that time explaining that I was getting counseling and she, like mom, shamed me and told me I didn’t have bipolar or something like that… She was Team Mary Ellen all the way and me getting counseling was just attention seeking or something like that.

See, this is why MJ and I have never been friends or close. I cant trust her. Shes not someone I think of as an ally. Sorry about that, MJ. Im not trying to be mean but… look at why I think that.

I really do look up to her though. She is so smart and capable. But I cant trust her and this is why.

By the way, here’s just a few of examples of the worst they can do while “playing Godfather”: They were so invested in making sure I never spoke about the rape they made sure I was living in such constant fear for my life (mental domination) that I was too scared to talk to anyone about it:

*They had voyeur cameras in my house…that they were making money off of.

*They had software on my laptop to collect all my personal data (social security, passwords, answers to security questions) so I am owned by them to this day.

*They had GPS on my car to track me everywhere I went and would leave notes on my car to let me know I was constantly being watched.

*They flipped my therapists office and stole all her files to make sure there was no record

*They poisoned my dog every day for a month while I was at work…I would come home to Milo cowering in the corner like he had been abused all day long and diarrhea all over the floor until one day I yelled out in my home with nobody there that I would find Cashs son and do the same to him…and I went online and found his childs home address…yelled that out to my empty apartment…and after that day Milo was never sick again….

*Then there are the 2 times they broke into my apartment in the middle of the night, drugged me in my sleep and did whatever and dumped me at the park. One of those time I woke up with half my face slack and paralyzed as though I had a stroke. By the grace of god I got the feeling back but to this day its still a little droopy.

*They sent their equally psycho boy Alex into my life to keep watch on me. He was horribly mentally abusive. I was so broken and demoralized. I needed to get away. Instead, I got pregnant. Alex also gave me syphilis ..and so I had an abortion. I had to get two Orders of Protection to get Alex away from me. When I called mom for help with the pregnancy, she was off the rails hysterical and I was yet even more scared and alone. Mom blamed me for all of it. Further evidence Im trash. I got pregnant by a mistake by a black man.

There is more, I mean it was 8 years of daily torture… but I think you get the idea. Complete mental domination was the name of their game.

I had no friends. None. I was so fucked up. I was terrified to speak to anyone because everything felt like danger. Just these men showing up when they felt like to to fuck me and terrorize me. Eight years. My 30s. I was miserable beyond the telling of it.

Whats wrong with you Melissa. I needed help. I was so scared. I needed my family. I got yelled at and shamed. I was so alone. I wanted to die. I was so depressed and fucked up. Goddamn. Let it end. And the worst of it all is that I really didn’t even have myself. I never had a chance to be safe enough to develop a self. I was a shell of a human. I was out of my head. I was so checked out with the PTSD and the trauma of it all. I was scared to be alive. Soul fracturing is real.

This was how I spent my 30s. Somehow pulling myself together to go to work during the day because I didn’t want to be homeless, coming home and having a total mental collapse at night and all the while being mentally tortured by a gang of sex traffickers and when I reached to my family for help I got blamed for being a fucked up piece of shit.

I had no one. When I talk about my isolation and how alone I am, its cumulative. Its all this and more.

I don’t need to volunteer at a shelter on Christmas to be with someone for the holidays. I don’t need to get a dog. I need family. I need to be validated on a daily basis that I matter and am loveable just as I am. I need someone safe who is simply there. I need people in my life who celebrate me without me asking. I need people who are there for those simple mundane acts of living that define us…I need to come home to love.

The miracle: I kept myself employed and was successful in my corporate career path, I kept myself housed, and drug and alcohol free the entire time. I had the where with all to get counselling and try to work through my shit. I never gave up on myself even though I didn’t yet know who I am and my family had absolutely written me off from day one.

Then the Recession happened. I, of course, had never learned money management skills so there really wasn’t any savings to rely on. I was comfort eating like a motherfucker, I had student loans, a car payment and insurance and a foolishly large and expensive apartment, I had these lecherous men that were taking advantage of me financially too… I was manic depressive… I was paying for counselling (which if I am not mistaken over the years has totaled $100k) But to be honest, I don’t know where my money went… so when the Recession hit it took about 2 months before I was selling off everything I own and living in my car….where I stayed for the next year with my dog.

Nobody help me stay safe or in my integrity. I had no friends in Seattle to turn to. Mom told me to put my things in garbage bags and throw it all away…take the dog to the pound… and work with my counselor (she was angry about me getting help because she perceived it as being me trying to vilify her and this was her chance to punish me for getting help) and find a shelter to check in to because I wasn’t welcomed at her home.

Let me say that again: My mom knew I was losing everything, told me to throw my life away, dump my kid at the pound and told me to check into a shelter, I wasn’t welcomed at her home.

MY MOM.

Shes sees me as trash. She threw me away. Doesn’t she look amazing when Im failing?

Work in Seattle was impossible to find. I literally had 700 resumes out. Understand, I have held a job consistently since I was 15 years old and somehow mom thought this moment was me being a lazy piece of shit and just trying to manipulate her for money when I asked for help.

Sure. Ok.

I spent the next year in my car with no money coming in other than whatever odd jobs I could grab on craigslist to make my car payment. I drove back to North Carolina to seek help from my friends and my brother. My friends back home were not in a position to help me in any long lasting way but bless them all for what they did…

but Jim 2, who lives in Raliegh, was. He just declined. He made me a sandwich…told me there was nothing he could do for me (he has three houses)…and I spent the night in my car outside my brother’s house.

I had an ex acquaintance from Seattle who lived in Raleigh. He was part of the abuser sex trafficking gang. He let me sleep on the floor but would beat the shit out of me if I tried to sleep on the couch. I was so demoralized and out of my head, I needed literally anyone to be there for me….so, I stayed there, on the floor, for a month.

My brother was 15 minutes away, could have kept me safe but my brother chose to do nothing to help me.

Whats wrong with you Melissa. My family. Definitely gonna say my family.

When it was clear that North Carolina wasn’t going to be any better for work than Seattle I decided to drive back to the west coast. I had to drive through Texas and I didn’t stop at Moms house. I didn’t even try. Why would I? I was so hopeless and out of my head with depression and PTSD. I was screaming into the great black nothing. I was cutting myself all over to get the evil out. I would punch my own face black and blue from self loathing… again, thinking it was all my fault and that I was defective. I mean… my own family didn’t want me. Nobody did. It was me. I was a horrible piece of shit and deserved to die. Nobody loved or wanted me. Nobody kept me safe. I was deeply lost in the void. I wanted to die. Goddamn. Let it end.

That year in the car was by far worse than the 8 years of being tortured by sex traffickers or the 13 years of living with my sex predator father or the 7 years of being stuck in bumfuck North Carolina with my moms abuser boyfriend stealing the show.

Without question having nobody and knowing that nobody cares if you are safe, in your integrity, have a door to lock, privacy of any kind, if you are fed or showered… knowing for a demonstrated fact that there is not a single person on earth who cares enough to validate your humanity is the absolute worst feeling I have ever known. Being completely dehumanized, demoralized, erased. I begged for death.

Whats wrong with you Melissa?

Fun fact: during that time, instead of helping me or offering me a job at her business doing the exact job I did so well at Amazon (I asked for one and told her I would sleep in the attic at the office and she told me No), to mock me and show me what a failure I am and that I was just trying to manipulate her for money because Im a lazy loser

Mom went to her local Costco and applied for a job to show me how easy it was for her to get hired.

I mean, if youre going to be void of a soul, you should really go for it. Kudos, Mom.

I drove through California on the way back home to Seattle and met my sister Patty for the first time. We look like two peas in a pod. We think exactly the same. She is undeniably my sister. It was the most incredible feeling.

For the first time in my entire life I actually felt and thought the same as someone else.

She casually declined to introduce me to her family. They kept looking at me incredulously because we look just the same… but she would shoo them away when they would come over to talk. I met her at her restaurant and then she took me to her palatial home. She has a huge family. She had tons of photo albums… and then she started talking about Dad…like she was in a trance and talking about a favorite lover… it was clear that Dad had sexualized her and maintained that relationship with her well into her adult life and that was the reason she had no contact with us and didn’t want a deeper relationship with me. One conversation was all I got with her. I slept in my car outside her home. My sister didn’t help me. Whats wrong with you Melissa???

In one shot from LA I drove back to Seattle. I figured out that the Queen Anne neighborhood had the lowest crime rate so I parked there. I was so sick to death of all the nights that year that I would wake up with someone trying to break in to the car. Thank god I had Milo with me. He saved me multiple times from intruders that year. My body was a wreck from car living and shit food. My mental health beyond destroyed. I was really just done. Run through. All the way run through.

I did a brief stint staying in Silverdale with my friend from NC that I managed to re connect with on my drive back… but the hour drive into Seattle from Silverdale was too much so I lumped it and just slept in my car in Queen Anne once I secured my job…..

I went in to Top Pot Doughnuts every day for a month and demanded a job until they gave me one. I was 8 weeks into that job, still sleeping in the car but I had forward momentum when I totaled the car. I had the very last car payment in the seat next to me I had worked so fucking hard to maintain my payments in good faith despite it all and come out of that situation with my car but nope…fuck me. I was on my way to the gym and I was giving myself a pep talk telling myself everything was going to be ok….and I ate it…40 miles an hour into a stopped truck on the West Seattle Bridge. Entirely my fault. Milo went to the pound. All my earthly belongings went to the impound yard. I went to the ER…. And I called every single person I knew and who I thought could help me.

Just when you think you have nothing left, turns out you can go lower. Nobody returned my call.

Me, the unwanted, loveable piece of shit. I could die and nobody cared. Whats wrong with you Melissa?

I got out of the hospital, I had made contact with my online friend Rishad and he let me stay for a couple days… BLESS HIM… In those two days I got on the bus. I took the bus that goes through Capitol Hill and up to Queen Anne where my job was. I wrote down every apartment for rent phone number I could see and I started making calls. In the first true lucky break I had in years, this apartment manager woman at a really sweet little apartment on the hill heard me out…heard my story… it was the 15th of the month. I had my car payment check and I cashed it and gave her the money… She gave me the keys and a wink and told me I could move in “on the first”, that’s what the money I gave her would pay for…. and that she definitely didn’t know anything about a dog so no pet fee was needed.

I went right upstairs, LOCKED MY OWN DOOR and laid on the floor with literally nothing left to my name and cried so fucking hard.

I had whiplash from the accident. I fractured 4 molars on my steering wheel and over the years as my dentist promised they have slowly one by one fallen out of my face. I had broken both my feet and wracked my knees…. But I had a place that was my own and a job and that’s all that mattered.

I went right to the pound the next day and got Milo. I went to the impound lot and got what was left of my life. I missed a sum total of two days of work…. I was so thankful to have a job again I blocked out the pain from my broken body and I just kept going.

(Mind you the only thing Mom has ever been proud of me for in my lifetime is losing weight. That’s what got her attention…that’s what she was impressed by. I went on a diet.)

That next year, I lost 70 pounds at the gym. I perceived my training team as the family I never had and I was good at lifting weights. They weren’t honestly my friends or family but it was something consistent and I needed that stability and I needed them so fucking bad. It took 5 years to start to return to a somewhat functioning human... Lifting helped me get back into my body and stop checking out so much. My nutrition plan made me focus on myself every moment of every day…and nothing beats depression like clean food and working out. Structure and consistency.

My PTSD was off the rails though. I was worse than a soldier coming back from war…I never signed up for that shit and it started when I was a child. I was suffering. I wanted to die. Every moment of every day. I was miserable to be around. Nobody wanted to be my friend. So, trust me…just work and the gym with my illusion that people were there for me and me inappropriately and overly attached to them.

The irony is that I looked amazing and strong and I was, yes. The reality is that I wanted to die. I begged for death. I had two suicide attempts in those years….I surprised myself and cut my wrist with my house keys on the way to work one day and another time I walked into traffic but the car swerved.

Coming out of all that happened and processing all that trauma took more will power and resolve than anything I have ever done. It was so dark. I felt demon possessed. I was out of my head. I would find myself walking out of my place into public with no skirt on just my tights or other crazy shit like that. I was talking to myself, having heated arguments with nobody there all the fucking time. I was punching myself in the face. I was cutting and other such self harm.

It was really bad. I was hurting so fucking much.

And, I had another sociopath boyfriend taking full advantage of my disadvantage…keeping me fucked up because it kept me there for him. Thomas was in my life for 7 years. Absolute Scum. But he was the only person who would show up in person for me. I needed to be held. I was so out of my head and I still had no friends in my life…just people on the internet.… So again, this familiar situation: I just let him use me so I could have literally anyone there. The social and emotional isolation was killing me and I was convinced I was in love. He felt like home. He kept telling me we would be together if I waited. That he loved me. That I was the Key! I was the only time he was happy. The reality was he wouldn’t speak to me during the week. He would just show up on a Friday or Saturday night when he felt like it, from 1am to 3am…literally show up with his dick out to fuck me…very often wouldn’t speak to me when he was there…then he would leave and that was what I considered my relationship and love. It was about 2 years into our “relationship” that the truth slowly started to surface that he was in a long term relationship and he lived with her….

The details of how twisted he is and how he manipulated my daddy issues is disgusting. How he used neglect to keep me working so hard for him to be there and begging for his attention….really sick.

He felt like home which is the worst part. He was exactly like home.

It took me three years at the doughnut shop to get emotionally stabilized enough to make a plan for next steps. I was too emotionally fragile to go back to corporate work or be in an office environment. I knew I wanted to go to massage school and I really thought it could be an answer for me even though Mary Jane and mom had previously shamed and mocked me when I said I wanted to go. Mom didn’t think I could be anything better than a waitress. She told me to stop complaining that I hated my work and just go do it.

It was around this time that I had to move out of the apartment because they raised the rent by double on my sweet apartment and I found my way into squatting in my Art studio, where I have been for the past 7 years.

This studio has been so needed and healed me in so many ways. It is private enough to have a complete mental collapse and since it was a former isolation tank/jail… Nobody can get in here….bars over the windows and a steel door…so, I could sleep at night for the first time in years. The rent is crazy affordable which allowed me to go to school and later afford activities to try to learn social skills and be a real person in the world…. This place is my everything.

When I had my first art show… consisting of the photos that I took when I was living in my car. One of the ways I survived and changed my paradigm to get out of the car alive was that I would walk around and task myself with Looking through the eyes of Love. I would try to find one thing each day that I could see beauty in so I could continue to see good in the world…thus my collection of flower photos that I maintain to this day as my gratitude practice.

Mom picked up the phone and called me the night of my show.

(Mind you, she has never been there for me. Over the years since she kicked me out I think we have talked on the phone maybe 10 times. There have been years where she refused to give me her phone number…she made a game of it for years…I would email and ask for it she would say she was going to give it to me in her reply but never would. Then she finally did and a week later she changed it again. Psycho. Another time I can remember a time we talked on the phone and I ended by saying I love you and she was silent and struggled to say it back. Whats incredible is that she has always pretended to be someone who knows me and knows whats going on in my life and talks about it with such authority. This is a narcissistic abuser in action. What she was doing was scanning my social media and whatever scraps of information she could get and twisting it into whatever story she needed to support her storyline about me being a problem child and a fuck up and what a wonderful mother she is so she could continue to live in denial. She cant face the past and she has never done any work to own her part or apologize. So, now Ive cut her off. She does things now like call the place where I get my mail and had the people who run the PO box office tell me my mother called and she is worried about me and she asked them for whatever information they had on me -so I had to get a new PO Box place where the owners have English as a distant 2nd language- or she will go through my friends list on social media and contact people to see if they will keep tabs on me for her and share her story about what a problem I am and how she is just a loving mother who I have scorned and of course people believe her. She said the magic word: Mother. Nobody would suspect what kind of Mother she actually is and they see me all angry, regressed emotionally like a child and so fucked up and struggling in the world so she must me right about me, yeah? Text book actions when you try to break away from a Narcissist)

So…I get into the studio and Im all set up for my show and she called me to say this: “So, youre having an art show huh? You think youre so great. Youre still alone though aren’t you? (the mean girl was jealous that I somehow retained a sense of self and did something neat to be proud and again, she wanted to punish me…the woman is demented.) You know, the longest relationship you’ve ever had is with that damn dog.” And then she laughed at me. Made some shit comment about my basement studio “not having air” and some other bullshit and we ended the call. My party guests were arriving. My self-confidence was missing in action for the rest of my night. Nice, right? That’s my mom.

Shortly after I get in to the Studio Milo got sick. Really really sick. As I promised him from day one, I would never let him suffer for my own selfish reasons…. So, I rented a car, took him to the vet and had him put down. The love of my life and my great protector. This sweet soul that was my constant source of love and hope for 14 years. When I posted on my facebook thread about his passing, mom commented that she was devastated at her loss. Because, you know… Milos death, this dog that she wanted me to throw away, was about how it impacted HER. …yeah….ok.

I want to mention out of the context of a clear timeline that somewhere in here I trained for and ran two Tough Mudders. They are 12 mile courses with 20 really fucking hard obstacles. They are designed to be run with a team. I ran them both solo because nobody wanted to join me. On the days that I went to the events, neither my Trainer or the man I was so in love with, Thomas, sent me as much as a good luck text to wish me well or acknowledge my accomplishment. My previously 215 pound ass had shrunk to 140 pounds and, at 40 years old ran a team event solo and made it through in TWO AND A HALF HOURS completing every single obstacle, no excuses…. And nobody who should have been excited and invested in my success said a word.

I was still invisible. I still did not matter. I was still not celebrated by the people who should have been there for me.

I want to point this out: Even I did not think I mattered or what I was doing was noteworthy. I was still so checked out and erased to myself that it didn’t click in my head that my life and all that I was doing and surviving was me doing the impossible.

My friend Luke (who I met online dating but I knew we were meant to be solid friends for life) made a point to come with me to the first Tough Mudder. He spent the entire day out there and he took photos of me… He is the reason that I can now reflect on what I did and actually SEE MYSELF. That gift is immeasurable. Luke evidenced me. Im here today as a whole person in part because of him. Also of note, the transition time between the apartment and the studio: Luke let me stay with him. He kept me safe and he was my sounding board and my true friend. I have nothing but the deepest most heartfelt love and respect for him. His story is equally harrowing and he is a miracle in action. Thank you Luke. I love you. Youre in my inner circle for life.

Now that Milo was gone and I was feeling somewhat more stabilized as a human, I knew it was time to make my career plan and try to get into massage school. Here is the next great stroke of luck in my lifetime: I went to Discovery Point and I talked to the women that run the school I explained my situation and that I was completely broke. They let me go to school for free in those 9 months with the understanding that I would clean the school on the weekends, make what payments I could as I went along and work out a payment plan immediately after graduation and that they would hold my diploma until that was complete. OH SWEET MERCY.

My days during those 9 months were 17 hours long. I would manage the café in the morning 5am to 1pm, go to the gym to lift and run from 2 to 4, then to school from 5 to 10pm…all the while walking to get to each place. I was getting something like 12 miles a day. I did it. I made my 9 months of cleaning the school and keeping my life on track ( no cheering section, nobody doing laundry, cooking, keeping bills paid or there to comfort me but me: Whats new?) , I passed my exam and I was on track to move my life forward.

I feel like there should have been a celebration when I graduated because that’s fucking astounding…. but, hey… nothing happened, nobody in my life said a word of congratulations about it. Surprise.

I live alone. I have no friends beyond those that exist on the computer, acquaintances from community, and a few co workers that I have hung out with from time to time and I always make a big deal about that on social media which gives the illusion that I have people, but I really dont. My only contact with others is at work. I go home to an empty room and there is no support or comfort. Its really impossible to describe to people who have people what it is like to live with this constant isolation and utter lack of emotional intimacy and how it eats you alive…but this has been my life.

People who don’t understand tell me to get a dog or volunteer or pay for therapy for companionship. That’s a cruel tone deaf response. People need people and it is reasonable to want to be loved, intimately, from the outside in. What I want is to simply matter, and be loved and valued, and have someone who is there without having to do something to receive that…..

Because I have yet to be understood when I talk about it, I have for the most part stopped talking about my isolation that is to this day very real for me.

Im so lonely I just want to die. Whats new.

In the next year, I was waiting tables still and somehow managed to pay off $10k for my license… on a year where I only made $24k. again, no celebration when I told my co workers about it…. I thought it was a big deal.

During that year I went to the doctor and discovered that I was literally malnourished. I was pushing it too hard with working out and keeping everything on track and my personal trainer wasn’t actually reading the food journal I sent him each night… so I got pneumonia as well….but just kept going.

I also got my Personal Training Cert and my Nutrition Counseling cert that year and started working as a Personal Trainer while I looked for a Massage job. Things were lightening up for me. The tremendous crushing weight of my entire life was lightening up.

But the reality of who my Trainer was and what a fraud he was came to the light. He was sleeping with some of his clients and I have a laundry list of unethical things he, and his business partner, were doing. When I held him accountable that was the last straw for him. He was sick to death of weathering my PTSD and how fucked up and sick I was and how fucked up I was over Thomas all the goddamn time… and additionally I was calling out all the ways he was unethical: I was bad for business. I was bad for him in the fitness community.

He kept gaslighting me to try to get me to leave but that was my community for 5 years and I didn’t know what to do…….So, Matt did whats guys do: Shes crazy… and shit talked me throughout the fitness community. He kicked me out of his gym and I now have no gym to work out at and no trainers willing to work with me. Thanks Matt! Super appreciate you!

I maintained my own lifting program for another year but honestly, I was in it for the community and sense of belonging that I never had before in my life. Without that and with Matt shit talking me in the background so I had no support elsewhere my program started to slip…. Add to that, I had begun working full time in massage and my shoulder got burnt out. I have a repetitive stress injury from my Amazon days that was made worse at Tough Mudder when I got my arm yanked nearly out of its socket in an obstacle… so, Lifting started to fade… and honestly, I was burnt out on the regiment of it all. I needed a break. I deserved a huge break.

I think it was right around 2014 when Mom had me come to Houston for Thanksgiving as though we are friends or she was a Mom. The highlights of that visit include her telling me the reason I wasn’t welcome in Houston during the Recession was because her husband Rumi forbade it.

(I forgot to mention that all through the years of her being with Rumi she has painted this picture of him being physically and emotionally abusive. That she was hiding money to escape him and what a horror he is. She had some secret email account that she sent me emails from at one point and told me that she was trying to hack his email to see who he was having affairs with or some other drama….. but you know if you ask Jim2 who his best friend is, its Rumi…apparently they text all the time…so, you know…she loves to lie and paint these horrific pictures of who people are to support whatever her manipulation is to get sympathy or whatever pay off)

Anyway, While I was in Houston visiting her she was acting like everything was normal and fine and that I had just made up whatever it was that I went through during the Recession. She reminded me that since I “left home” at 18 she has had to give me something like $20k in support and implied what a burden I am and how I always have my hand out. She has kept track of the financial support she gave me as a parent and wanted me to feel like shit for needing her. Cool….

Another example of how mentally deranged she is: While I was there we went out to lunch. Mind you, I have maybe $100 to my name at that time. I offered to pay for lunch at this fast food place and after we ordered she commanded me to go pick a table. So I got a booth with a chair. I sat on the booth side so I was facing the café and could see her when she came out of the restroom… I waved her over and she sat in the chair. Unbeknownst to me, the booth side made me taller than the chair side…. She got this twisted angry look and became livid that I thought I was better than her. Paying for lunch and sitting above her like that….. The next day Mom and Rumi started playing a really fun game where they forgot my name and kept calling me “Savannah” (my niece) for the remainder of the time I was there …. You know… because at 44, they saw me as a child. Nothing like a little game of erasing your daughter’s person hood and replacing it with infantilism to let your daughter know you really see her and respect her.

I really hope this is making clear why I have a strict no contact in place with her that I will never change.

Now its 2017 and I get hired at my dream job. The Spa that I am at is beautiful. My co workers are the best. I make really fine money. My mental health is slowly coming together. I got Thomas out of my life and have enough mental clarity now to really see him for who he is. I had spent yet another holiday season alone and the isolation was killing me, as per usual…so I decided that the best thing for me to do to help pull me out of my PTSD and stop being so scared to be seen or heard would be to go to music school…. Learn how to make friends for the first time in my adult life and be with people who were not my co workers. Try to trust people again. Try to trust that I could be liked for who I am….though rejection has been a very prevalent theme in my life… Try to learn some social skills that I missed out on basically my entire life.

How to simply hang out and play….was brand fucking new to me. Music school was really really really hard… not to mention I have no musical ability and I get triggered by stress pretty quickly and freeze… but I knew it was the right thing to do to reparent the kid inside me who never learned to make friends or be in activities with others and who wanted to play drums…. So hell yeah. I did it.

Thank you to Katy,Tracy,Melissa,and Kiyan for coming out to see a couple of those shows and being there to support me. You have no idea how much that meant to me.

I thought if I could make friends there I would have people to go out with and maybe could have a chance to meet a man and have a relationship… but all the women there were married with children and had little interest in going out at night, and I still wasn’t fully integrated as a Self yet… so that was a bust.

Music school was really me making up for my 20s and 30s when I should have been out at shows and hanging with friends and making art and and dating but instead I was being mentally tortured by my entire life. I gave it a good shot, but Im a mixed media artist not a musician and that’s really that. I have to take it in stride: Bless my heart for trying. Thank you to all my bandmates for being so kind and supportive of me and for being stellar humans

I was in my first year of Music school when I met the most amazing man, Joe. He was magical. He honestly loved me for me and I loved him right back. It was fast and deep and I felt so completely seen and wanted by him and OH MY GOD I NEEDED THAT FOR SO LONG. He made incredible things happen and took me on dates that made me feel like a Queen…. But Joe was terminally ill and two months later took his own life. I was in shock again….but kept going as I do.

Also out of context of timeline: When I got into that sweet little apartment I would go down to Edge of the Circle which was just a couple blocks away and get Tarot readings from Raven and Kiyan. I didn’t know how to simply ask for friendship so I would buy Tarot readings to have someone to talk to. These two helped me so much in so many ways…through their compassion and through helping me develop my Self and my skills. Over and over again these two have shown up as real people who have treated me with integrity. People who genuinely care about me and support me in my developing personhood. Ive made it through because of them and so many others along the way.

The shitty thing about being knocked out of your self is that even though you have people around you who care, you often cant see it or feel it and like a dick minimize what people are doing for you because the all-consuming feeling that nobody is there is so much larger than the gentle loving efforts of those around you…. And what happens: you push away the people who are there for you because they have self-respect and youre unwittingly being a dick. I want to say Im really sorry about this because I know for sure Ive done this.

Also out of context of timeline: Somewhere in here I started working in Tarot and caught a lucky break and got hired at Percys to be their Reader. Huge shout out to Krista who made that so possible for me. That Tarot night did more for my sense of Self and well being than I can explain and I was a success there largely because Krista made it so beautiful and kept that night going for me.

I also want to say Thank you to Tracy, Katy, and of course Brian who were my friends and co workers at the RowHouse Café… through those early massage school years. Endless support and encouragement from these guys, even when I was too fucked up to really receive it or reflect it back. Im really lucky to have met you and have had you in my life.

It was right around the solar eclipse and the night before that hurricane hit and flooded Houston and moms house got flooded that I emailed her a long list of things she had done that hurt me and explained that I would be taking time away from her and Id let her know when we could speak again. The next morning after I sent that email I again felt puppet mastered…. But this time by the little kid inside me… I literally woke up, jumped out of bed and started to dance. I was filled with glee. I was amazed by myself. I don’t know where that came from except to say that the kid inside me was OVERJOYED to be free of her.

In the coming years I kept proving to myself that I wont let her back in and that Im safe now… and as I have been staying true to this practice of not letting her, or anyone like her, back in my life… I have become happier and more whole as a human being…. More capable of making good choices in friends and finances….

She made an attempt to contact me around the holidays this year. I saw her call but let it go to voice mail. The message she left was something to the tune of her wanting to know if I had forgiven her yet and gotten over it. …See, because its about me and what I need to do because its my damage that is the problem here…. Nothing had changed with her. It was still my fault. No apology. No self reflection. Had I forgiven her yet. For fucks sake: I will never forgive her.

I have learned to celebrate myself, take my self on vacations and to my great delight I had friends who spent time with me and took care of me!!!!!! Incredible!!!!!, give myself the compassion and nurturing that I always wished I had and reasonably should have had from my family. I have been working on being able to see the love that is there for me from the people that I have in my life, though I still struggle with that. I have been working so hard on Self Love, Self Respect, Healthy boundaries, creating safety and stability in my life in all way and I know that Im doing great work because my inner me, those little kids inside of me that needed a parent are really responding to the parenting Im giving them…. Check this out:

A month or so after I declined her call I was out at the café in my neighborhood, having a treat and a coffee and doing some writing. I was sitting at the table and this incredible feeling came over me as though a golden light was shining on me and I could see it glittering down on me. I started laughing and crying like when you cum really hard and youre filled with ecstasy and bliss. And then I had a vision of being in a hospital room that was in the forest… it was just two walls of the room and then the woods…I could see deer and birds. In the hospital bed there was a person in a full body cast. The cast had moss growing on it and tiny sprouts of pine trees. The Doctor walked in to the room to check on the patient. I was both the Doctor and the Patient. I told myself: Hey, its time to get you out of there. And I grabbed my circle saw and started to cut my cast from end to end and crack to open like a sarcophagus. I told myself Welcome Back! We are so glad you are here!!! Go slow, take your time getting up. No rush.

I was so elated. I walked home immediately. Upon arriving at my studio I had another vision of all the ages of myself, down to the youngest and up to the oldest and wisest all linking hands. I recognized these women as my Sisters/MySelf… all of us agreed that the next would watch out for the next and that nobody would ever hurt us again. SOUL RECLAMATION.

For the first time in my life I am here, in this body, in this present moment. The first time in my life I am ME. Im currently 6 months in to my actual LIFE. THIS IS ME. I AM HERE. OH MY GOD. I MADE IT.

Yes now, of course, the world is ending and my career in massage is tenuous at best and I might be fucked again…. But so not worried because honestly, Ive survived worse with less. So I will figure this out and keep myself alive, housed and fed.

Over the years my attempts to talk it out with Mom were pointless… she would erase my feelings and angrily tell me that it was hard on all of us. She would hold no space for me and just be my mom and have some compassion for her baby girl. Nope: It was hard on all of us so stop complaining… but see, I was a child and they were my parents and that was my family and I had no choice…. So really, at this point, Im done. Im better off on my own.

I don’t know what else to say other than those yearly years were tremendously bad for everyone in my family, yes. I can now at this time in my life see and understand why everyone did what they did…. That my parents were also victims of abuse from their parents and all that and yeah, I have compassion and Im really sorry they had to go through that….But it doesn’t make it ok or make mom someone I will let back in my life. I mean, I went through it and Ive dedicated my lifes work to helping others heal and I try to be so good to everyone around me so…. No excuses. And, I still have questions like: Fuck, why did dad never go to jail? Im guessing it was about the money…..and really, how did nobody in my family see that I needed help?

Anyway… Ive done epic amount of self work to be here today as a whole person and really change my reality to one where I have value and can share love. Im still working on it… My social anxiety is still the worst. I can barely form words into sentences when Im out in public and I dont have a job to do as my role to play....but you know, I keep trying and its easier and keeps getting easier… and I have amazing friends like Brad to have mini adventures with… and I have my Studio to do my art in and now that Im feeling so much more whole as a person I think I might actually see some work through to completion that I can be proud of… and I have a job that I love and Im getting training for some other skills to expand my skillset and I feel that things can only get better from here so

I feel so lucky to be alive and so fucking grateful to be me and I really like myself. It’s a miracle. All things are possible if you just remember: LOVE IS THE KEY and keep moving in that direction.

That’s my experience and now you know.

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jawnjendes · 5 years

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shawn meets... | isabella

SUMMARY: in the life of a rockstar, shawn mendes comes across some unique people. sometimes, things stray from the norm. (AU, shawn x every one of my oc’s)(continuation/spin off of goth gf)

AN: time for a new oc! and by NEW i mean, new to yall,,, ive had this oc since i was 15

***let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist

previous chapter

isabella’s origin story not available | isabella’s playlist | masterlist

Out of all the places he’s been to, London seemed to bring the most interesting people to Shawn’s already interesting life. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was an international singing sensation, or because of his own strange luck. Was his college life this weird with people?

College… it felt like somebody else’s life. It had been a few years since he walked through the massive campus, but there were still days that Shawn found himself missing that life. He especially missed it these days because he still had Brian in that life. Not to mention it was all mundane and normal. A number of people knew Shawn, but it was not the colossal amount that knew him now. Back then, he could go to a karaoke bar and get as trashed as he wanted, and the only consequence would be a killer hangover. Back then, he would be going to a karaoke bar with his best friend.

These last few months were a grieving period. Shawn hadn't planned on taking time off, but the funeral was the last straw. Hearing the broken wails of Brian's mother as the casket was lowered into the ground was all too much. He couldn't handle the guilt that sat on his shoulders, or the grief that weight down on his chest. He couldn't look his friend's family in the eyes and say it was his fault why their son was dead. So time off was taken, and a tour was canceled, and much therapy was had.

Now, four months later, Shawn was getting back into the swing of things. He was back in London with the intention of songwriting and possibly some recording. His mind was still cloudy and his chest was still heavy, but he was deemed functional enough by Andrew and his therapist.

However, Shawn couldn't wander the streets alone. That was the case ever since his first fan mobbing in Los Angeles a few years ago. More recently, ever since the girl who bruised Shawn’s wrist happened, Jake had to be at his side at all times. Even at a crowded karaoke bar where his face blended with everyone else under the dim lights, and where everyone focused on the person singing onstage.

Shawn looked down at his right wrist. The bruises were long gone, and he could still play guitar just as he did before. The thought of never playing again gave him an uncomfortable chill. He couldn't be thinking about that, not when worse things had happened. Brian was the one who pointed out how odd and nonhuman that girl was. Shawn wouldn't have been able to figure out the truth about her and her employer. He really needed the karaoke bar tonight.

At least Jake was considerate enough to sit a couple of stools away from Shawn, giving him the illusion that he was here by himself. He nursed his beer and scanned the room, not really listening to the karaoke host introduce the next singer. Shawn was not really sure what he was looking for here. He chatted with the handsome, blond bartender, but he got busy with the night rush. All Shawn knew was that he didn’t want to be stuck alone in a hotel room, and he really didn’t want to be around more people who would share their condolences and fond memories of someone they hardly knew. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar song play on the speakers did Shawn finally focus on the stage.

If it was his own song, Shawn would have had to leave the bar. But it was Niall’s On My Own, making Shawn briefly consider texting the Irish singer to see what he’s up to tonight. However, he quickly zeroed in on the girl singing, and he started to wonder if he really did have a type.

She had short, choppy black hair, like she had cut it herself. These round purple sunglasses hung on the bridge of her nose, and it was the only thing that stood out from her all black ensemble: a low cut tank top, ripped jeans, and Converse high tops. She moved animatedly around the stage, that short hair bouncing and getting disheveled. She didn’t seem to care about how she looked.

Shawn turned back to Jake and gave him that look. “Are you seeing this?” Jake merely gave him a thumbs up.

The other thing about this girl was her voice. Every person that sang before here was… not good. This girl had a strong, rich voice. She could give Niall a run for his money with all the runs she threw into his song. She was talented. Shawn hadn’t heard a voice like that since he heard Bella Santiago sing in person for the first time. (Still a shame that girl won’t accept any record deal she was offered.)

Everyone in the bar seemed to like this girl too. The crowd roared with applause and cheers when she hit the bridge of the song. Shawn bopped his head along to the beat, feeling a genuine smile on his face for the first time in weeks. He clapped as hard as he could when the song ended, but then his heart dropped as he saw this girl walk off the stage and head for the bar. He turned to face the bartender, but looked down at his half empty bottle. His heart nearly stopped when the girl took the empty stool next to him.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t a British accent that came out of her. At least, not a noticeable one. She sounded more American than anything else.

“Thanks, Seth,” she said to the bartender as he seemed to make a Blue Moon magically appear out of nowhere. “What’d you think?”

“Showing everyone how it’s done, like always.” He winked.

She giggled. “We getting outta here soon?”

“After last call, won't be long now."

Shawn felt a blow in his stomach. She was here with the bartender. Well, time to call it a night.

Then, there was something like magic. Shawn had turned towards Jake to signal him to get out of here, but there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned back around to find the girl looking at him.

“I sat here for a reason, you know,” she said, eyebrows raised.

Magic!

Shawn grinned. “That reason being?”

“Handsome chap, alone in a bar? Too good to be true, so I had to investigate. You here alone, mysterious stranger? I mean, apart from your bodyguard, of course.” She took a gulp from her beer.

Shawn was thrown off by that entire string of words. He couldn’t even try to play dumb. “How did you-”

“He’s had that protective look in his eyes since I sat down,” she explained. “And I know protection like nobody’s business.”

“Oh, you’re a bodyguard, eh?” Shawn asked, his eyes shamelessly trailing down her petite body. Yes, it was an excuse to look at the decent amount cleavage she had going on.

“Eh?” she repeated with a chuckle. “What, are you Canadian or something?” She laughed like it was such a ridiculous thought.

He blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

The girl laughed even more, her eyes squinting. “Are you joking? Canada’s not real!”

Maybe she had a few too many drinks. Shawn watched her with a polite grin as she hiccuped.

“You’re alright, mysterious stranger.” She held out her hand. “Isabella Montgomery.”

“Nice to meet you,” Shawn said as he shook her hand. For someone who just danced around onstage, her hand was quite chilly.

She quirked a dark eyebrow. “Gonna stick with the mysterious stranger thing, are you? Suit yourself.”

Either she recognized him and pretended like she didn’t or… she just didn’t recognize him. Whatever the case, Shawn was perfectly content with being a stranger tonight.

“You gonna sing tonight?” Isabella asked him.

“Oh no, I’m not drunk enough for that,” he said. “Besides, I don’t think I could follow up the show you just put on.”

She smiled. “You’re probably right. But I’ve got the smallest feeling you might be an alright singer.”

Okay, she definitely recognized him.

“I don’t really want the attention on me tonight,” he admitted.

Isabella nodded understandingly. “I see. Well, would you wanna get outta here?”

The two of them looked at each other for a split second. Shawn was quite forward himself, but he wasn’t that quick. Not to mention, he just overheard her make plans with Seth the bartender.

“To another pub,” Isabella hastily corrected. “There’s a place my friend over here and I are gonna head to. You wanna come along?”

“Oh!” Shawn felt a little more delighted now that she clarified the bartender situation. “Yeah, I’ll go with you. Where's this place at?”

Isabella licked her lips and grinned. She looked for her bartender friend, who just announced last call on the microphone. When he returned to his post, Isabella waved him over.

“Yes, my dear?” Seth asked.

“My new mysterious mate wants to come with us,” she told him.

“Oh, does he? Think he can handle it?”

“I can handle it,” Shawn piped up. “What kinda place is it, anyway?”

Isabella and Seth shared a look, silently communicating. Then, they both turned back to the mysterious stranger.

“It’s, er, a nerdy… type of place,” Isabella explained slowly. “People cosplay… Dungeons and Dragons type of things. They take it very seriously, won’t even break character if you talk to them. It’s a weird environment, but it’s fun nonetheless.”

Shawn nodded as he took in the information. Wouldn’t be the first nerd-themed place he’s been too. But it has been a while. “I’m down. Sounds fun.”

“There’s karaoke there too,” Seth added. “And, we can promise that you will continue being a mysterious stranger while we’re there.”

A karaoke bar where no one will recognize him? Sounds like a dream.

“Let’s do it,” he told his new friends.

This nerd bar was hidden. The shelf behind the bar was actually a secret door. Seth pushed it open with surprising ease while Isabella hopped over the bar. Shawn looked at Jake, who didn’t seem suspicious or hesitant. Yet.

Seth let the others pass through first before shutting the shelf door behind him. Then, Isabella led them down a hallway lit by dim blue lights. She pushed open another door, revealing a bar that was much darker than the previous one. It felt more like a nightclub.

Shawn could barely make out people wearing long colorful robes, dancing under the strobe lights. Definitely nerd space. An unrecognizable song was blaring over the speakers. As Shawn tried to figure out what exactly the lyrics were saying, Isabella nudged him.

“I’ll sign us up for karaoke!” she yelled over the music.

“Wait-” he tried to say, nerves building up in his stomach.

“You’re singing with me no matter what!”

And she disappeared towards the stage.

Before Shawn could stop her, Seth came in for the distraction. He pulled Shawn over to the bar and ordered something for the three of them. Soon enough, there were shot glasses lined up along the surface of the bar, and Isabella had found the boys.

“Oh, fuck yeah!”

Each of them grabbed their tiny glass. Shawn looked around for his guard, now nervous about being left alone, but he found Jake in the far corner of the club. Watching. Waiting. Unbothered.

That was enough for Shawn to down one, two, three shots of whatever the fuck with these people. He felt fire in his veins, euphoria surrounding him. Everything he was previously worried about didn’t matter anymore.

“We’re gonna sing Panic!” Isabella told him at some point.

“Can’t wait!”

Next thing he knew, Shawn was onstage in front of a massive group of nerds, High Hopes blaring on the speakers. Isabella was next to him, microphone in hand as she belted out the beginning of the song with her killer voice.

Shawn took over the first verse, and the two of them harmonized wonderfully. At least, with the alcohol in his system, it felt that way. The two of them danced around on stage like fools, not caring about looking cool or composed or even trying to sing well. Isabella sounded naturally good, though. She messed up her hair and nearly tripped on her feet a few times, but man could that girl carry a tune.

“Had to have high, high hopes for a living Didn’t know how, but I always had a feeling I was going to be that one in a million Always had high, high hopes”

It was liberating. It was spiritually healing. It was different than performing in an arena of thousands of people. He could just be silly and not have to put on his tour persona.

They only sang one song, but it was enough for Shawn to feel something other than the crushing grief that was frequently on his shoulders. He felt good, almost happy. He danced with these strangers and drank some more. He saw pretty lights dancing around the ceiling, he could almost see the stars and the moon through it too. It was magical, to say the least.

"Guys, I'm getting hungry!" Isabella exclaimed after a while.

"Well, I'm getting tired!" Seth told her. "What about you, mysterious stranger?"

"Fooooooood!"

The three of them (Jake in tow, of course) left the way they came in. Seth pushed open the shelf door and let the others through. Shawn's ears were ringing once he was back in the quiet, but there was still adrenaline coursing through his system. He wasn't ready for the night to be over.

But Seth was. He stretched his long arms over his head and yawned once all of them were out in the humid night. “I’m out for the night, lads. It was cool hanging out with you, stranger.”

“You too, brother,” Shawn said, clasping his shoulder.

Seth then turned to Isabella. “I’ll see you at home?”

“See you at home,” she confirmed.

Then, Seth stalked off down the street, practically disappearing into a dark alley. There was a cracking sound that broke the quiet night, but Shawn wasn’t exactly preoccupied with that.

"Where we gonna eat?" he asked Isabella.

However, Jake stepped in. "We should really get going. It's late enough as it is."

"But I'm hungry!" Shawn whined.

"Yeah, the boy is hungry!" Isabella assertively repeated, placing her hands on her hips. "Can't let him starve now, can we? There's a burger joint down the road, 's not that far."

The two of them stared down the bodyguard. He usually took Shawn away from the fun despite the singer's protests. It was always because they had something to do or somewhere to be the next day, but there were still a couple of days left before the demands came back… before the prominent absence of a certain Brian made itself known yet again. Shawn wanted to savor this time, drunk or not.

Jake seemed to realize this as well, because he suddenly approved. “Alright. You eat, and then it’s back to the hotel.”

Isabella bounced on her feet. “Sweet! Let’s go!”

She linked her arm with Shawn’s and led him literally ten steps up the road. The burger joint was empty apart from the cashier working the graveyard shift. Jake went to sit at the booth in the corner, continuing to do his job.

“God, I’m dying for a veggie burger,” Isabella said, looking up at the menu.

“Are the garlic fries any good?” Shawn asked.

“Wouldn’t know, I have a garlic allergy.”

He looked at her, surprised. “Shouldn’t we go somewhere else? What if your food touches garlic?”

She waved it off. “I don’t have severe reactions or anything. And I’ve been here loads of time. Trust me, it’s safe.”

Well, if she knows her own body… The two of them ordered, and Shawn made sure to keep the allergen out of his meal as well. Then, they sat down two booths ahead of Jake, still keeping the illusion that Shawn was out and about on his own.

Under the much brighter lights of this establishment, Shawn could make out Isabella’s face a little more. She had the babiest baby face a person could have. If they hadn’t met in a bar, Shawn would have thought she was a teenager. The pink blush on Isabella’s cheeks only added to that. Maybe she had used a fake ID at the bar… she could actually be a teenager.

Isabella caught him staring, and immediately knew what was on his mind. “I’m twenty-four, just so you know.”

“Oh, I wasn’t-” he tried to say.

“Lots of people give me that look. You know how many clients of mine think I’m an intern?”

Shawn blinked slowly, his hazy mind still processing what she just said. “Um, what is it that you do?”

“I’m a lawyer for muuu- ah, uh - immigration lawyer.” She grinned nonchalantly.

“That’s awesome,” Shawn said.

“Yeah, a few years back I volunteered my services when people in the States were being wrongfully detained at various airports,” she explained. “I got hired by a law firm in New York, so I lived there for a bit.”

Shawn was impressed, but he thought about exactly how long ago those events took place. He was still a little weary about Isabella and her age, so he counted backwards on his fingers. However, the math got difficult and fuzzy in his still inebriated mind, so he took her word for it.

“I promise you I’m older than I look,” Isabella said with a laugh. Then, she turned serious. “Can I be honest with you?”

He nodded rapidly, numbers still flying around in his head.

“I know you’re not just a mysterious stranger,” she admitted. “I know who you are.”

His eyes widened a little bit. Was this another disturbed fan interaction? Oh god, maybe he should have listened to Jake and gone back to the hotel.

“You performed at Sapphire Lilith’s birthday party,” Isabella clarified, seeing the look on his face. “I was there.”

“Oh,” Shawn said, his shoulders relaxing. “Yeah. I performed at her house.” And he spent a blissful week with Sapphire, only to result in her ghosting him and the death of his best friend. He cleared his throat as that memory came to mind. “How do you know Sapphire?”

“Her parents died few years ago and she needed me to look over their wills,” Isabella said casually. “Oh, and she got robbed a few times and needed to me look into the legal part of it.”

Shawn tilted his head. “But aren’t you an immigration lawyer?”

“Yeah. We also went to the same sleepaway school years ago.” She shrugged. “Uniforms for girls were pink, but you would never catch me in that shit. I spray painted my dresses black and wore sneakers. I got in so much trouble.”

“Wow. Got ourselves a rebel here.” He chuckled, his hand sliding across the table.

Isabella was faster than him. A single blink later, and she was standing. “I think our order is ready.”

Something fell out of her pocket, making a small clattering noise. Shawn immediately reached down to pick up the item, only to be confused at what it was.

“You dropped your… wand?”

He didn’t even get a good look at the dark wood before Isabella snatched it out of his hand and shoved it back into her pocket. Her eyes were suspiciously wide again.

“I, uh, I love Henry Popper. Be right back!”

As Isabella went to the cashier, Shawn looked back at Jake two booths behind. He seemed more confused than suspicious. Or, spaced out. His eyes were staring back at the guy he was supposed to be guarding, but it didn’t look like he had processed anything that just happened.

Then, Isabella came back to the table, non-too-gently setting their tray down on the table. The noise was loud enough to make Shawn jump and face her again.

“Sorry for freaking out,” she said, somber.

“It’s okay. Hey, I love Harry Potter too,” he replied. “I’m obsessed. Did you get your wand at Universal?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m a Gryffindor.”

“Me too!”

Isabella pointedly grinned and tilted her head. “Really? You give off big Hufflepuff energy.”

“Why does everyone say that?” Shawn chuckled before taking a bite of his burger.

“Because it’s true?”

“And how would you know that?”

“Who has the wand between the two of us? And don’t talk with your mouth full!”

Shawn playfully narrowed his eyes as he chewed and swallowed. “Didn’t realize I was talking to the queen of all things Harry Potter!”

Isabella chuckled. “You could say he’s like a friend to me. As a matter of fact, I saw him yesterday when he came round for tea.”

That got a laugh out of him. Any worry he had about this girl was now gone. He would much rather be here than be alone with his thoughts in a hotel room. How often does he get a genuine conversation like this anyway? How often does he get the time to talk to anyone and form one-on-one connections?

He was doing exactly what he wanted to do: make music and perform it. Six years ago, Shawn had no idea what it would cost to be able to do this. When was the last time he had spoken to any of his friends? His family? He looked down at his meal, suddenly not very hungry.

“Hey!” Isabella said, lightly tapping his arm. “Don’t get sad on me now! Am I really that depressing to be around?”

“Of course not,” Shawn said without missing a beat. “And I’m not sad.”

“Please, you reek of stress, loss, and…” She sniffed the air. “Guilt?”

Shawn scrunched his brows, pretending like he was not just attacked. “Where do you get all that from?”

She coughed. “Just a guess. I imagine, being a mysterious stranger, it’s hard to come by actual friends.”

That was something he could talk about without getting too deep into his drunken feelings. “I… yeah. People define you by what you are on the outside and see nothing else. Don’t even take the time to see what’s inside, in your heart.”

Isabella was playing with her fries. “I know what that’s like. All I’ve ever been is a blood sucking parasite with a wand. Doing what you know you’re destined to do comes with a lot of sacrifices.”

“Absolutely,” Shawn agreed. His own cave of regrets came to mind, but he wasn’t drunk enough to share any of them.

next chapter

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taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @someoneunimportantxx @iloveshawnieboi @shawnsunflower @chillingbythesea @theprivatesmutacc

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #shawn x oc #shawn meets fic #no one reads my shit anymore but whtv

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btamamura · 5 years

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Sorry, this is a long post so you can feel free to just scroll past. I wrote this on the app since the web page hates my devices, so there is no Read More cut.

Time to open up to my followers.

If you’ve known me for a while, you’d know my battles over the last few years. For the new folks, here it is - I have been living with a chronic illness since November 1, 2014, and it has been awful.

It started out as just chronic nausea. We thought it might’ve been something I ate or a lingering case of gastro. But, that changed February the next year when the pain started.

I woke up one morning to find I was in extreme pain in my feet. I hadn’t injured myself but my feet felt like the bones had been shattered. The lightest touch made the pain even worse, so I was just lying on my back, feet in the air, crying and crying, trying not to scream and wishing it would just go away. The pain faded over the next couple of weeks, but never left completely. It was just an annoyance or painful but not excruciating. My grandfather offered for me to see a podiatrist, he would pay if not bulk-billed, because he thought maybe it was from the many years of walking on my toes.

The next day, right before my cousin’s birthday party, which I had planned on attending for at least an hour just to say hello to the family, the same horrible pains started in my hands. Dad just had to take one look at me to know I would not be going. I asked him, through my tears, in half-seriousness if he could find his axe and chop my hands off so I never had to feel that pain again.

I found a clinic to attend with my grandfather’s help. I saw a doctor about my symptoms. She focused on the nausea, even if I kept saying “I’m in worse pain today!”, so I tried seeing a different doctor in the clinic. The first doctor had ordered a gastroscopy to be done to see if there was something going on in my stomach.

The second doctor kept ordering the same blood tests - iron, b12, vitamin d. And even once those levels had been corrected, I was still sick and sore. I had since had my gastroscopy, which came up clear. The second doctor looked me in the eye and said outright that she believed I had to be faking in order to get out of looking for work. I was already upset that the gastroscopy had no answers (I’d already said I would cry if it came up clear, just as I would’ve if it found a tumour developing in my stomach), but then to hear that from someone who was meant to help?! I broke down crying and told her if everything I had missed in the time I had been sick. By this time, it was early 2016.

I told her of missing visiting my niece as a newborn. Of how I couldn’t attend my cousin’s engagement, Hen’s night and wedding. Of how I couldn’t attend my pop’s funeral. Or the missed annual dinners with Nan and Pop before his passing. (Pop is my dad’s stepfather and was a big part of my life growing up despite living far away.) How I had planned a holiday to the Gold Coast for my 30th birthday but instead spent that day in bed, struggling to down my food and avoiding the family as they ate theirs because the smell made my nausea worse. Of the Christmases I spent sick in bed and unable to visit my mother’s grave. Of not being able to hang out with my sister and spend time with my young nephew and much younger niece. I refused to see that doctor again and left feeling terrible.

New doctor at a clinic my great-uncle visited. He decided to do the usual blood test but also tested to see if I was autoimmune. Yep, so he then tested to see if I had lupus. Nope. But, he still seemed to be doing more for me than the last two doctors. A week after the autoimmune result came in, I wound up in hospital. I hadn’t been able to eat or drink for a week because I was having difficulty swallowing. I wasn’t in a dangerous condition, so I was only admitted overnight for observation, having some fluids by IV and to speak with a speech therapist the next morning as I was put on a purée diet. While being observed, the doctor in hospital noticed something - a goitre.

Eating troubles started becoming more frequent at that time. By the end of 2016, I was struggling with abdominal pains and low appetite. There were sporadic days I couldn’t eat a thing. I attended another appointment where the doctor forced me to have two jelly babies because my blood sugar was low - no, I’m not diabetic. They came to a head in late-March of 2017.

I hadn’t eaten more than a nibble here and there and only barely sipped at a drink for a week. I was very unwell and after the third time of being sick, I decided I had to go up to the emergency department because something was very wrong. I was right - they saw me right away. I was in the early stages of Refeeding Syndrome due to starvation, my blood sugar was low, my ketones had gone up and my organs were slowly starting to shut down. My blood was acidic. I was told to try sipping at apple juice, but it was no good, I couldn’t even muster that.

I was moved to short stay while waiting to transfer to a ward. My time in hospital was scary, and not in the usual “I’m afraid of hospitals” way. I was in danger. I was diagnosed with starvation ketoacidosis (similar to diabetic but I’m not diabetic), as anorexic (no appetite version, not anorexia nervosa) and even if they tried to get me to eat, I struggled even with crackers. They put me on Ondansetron (usually for chemo and radiotherapy patients) to ensure anything I did try to eat would stay down. I was put on different infusions - saline, glucose, potassium (THAT HURT SO MUCH, I THOUGHT SOMEONE WAS TRYING TO SNAP MY ARM IN HALF AND I ACTUALLY PASSED OUT FROM THE PAIN!!) and others. I had blood tests at least twice a day and tests for my blood sugar and ketones every time I was about to eat or if I looked a bit more unwell. I had to be hooked up to a portable heart monitor, but the first night of that, my heart rate reached 150bpm just slowly walking to the toilet, and a Med Call was made to make sure I did not go into cardiac arrest. The doctor who made his rounds had to outright tell me that if I failed to eat, I would need to be put on a feeding tube or else I would die. That’s how bad it was. I was in for a week before I was deemed well enough and safe enough to go home.

The third doctor started to let me down, ordering the same blood tests to make it look like he knew what might be going on. No good. Wound up feeling too ill later in the year so I missed my uncle’s funeral.

In 2018, I started going downhill. Wound up hospitalised with starvation ketoacidosis again following a bout of gastro the day before. Falls also started occurring. But, it was no good, I couldn’t find a good doctor who could help instead of just playing around with the same old blood tests. I missed more events including my other niece’s first birthday and my great-uncle’s funeral.

2019, still struggling. I’m seeing a new doctor, but she very quickly lets me down by saying EVERYTHING is just tied to my anxiety. At least she took the lump in my breast seriously - thankfully not cancer. But, as the year progresses, a good doctor is finally found. My cousin helped me find a clinic that bulk-bills and is taking on patients.

My current GP listens every time I see her. Every. Time. I go in with a new symptom or concern, she orders the right tests or refers me to someone who can help. Through her help, I’ve been able to see a speech therapist about the ongoing swallowing issues, a physiotherapist about my falls, a dietician about my dietary issues which contribute to deficiencies, a surgeon about my goitre (he put me on medicine because my thyroid was a bit overactive - suspecting hyperthyroidism or any other forms of it - in the most recent blood test through the hospital when I went up by ambulance with chest pains, ordered a CT scan and believes the best course of action may be to perform a complete thyroidectomy, meaning removal of my thyroid), had me undergo full blood tests (not just the usual), had me undergo an ECG and TTE (trans-thoracic echo, an ultrasound of the heart) just to make sure all is well there since I keep having chest pains and most recently referred me to a neurologist because she believes my symptoms line up with a rare genetic condition. She’s also looking into finding a neuropsychologist who can help with an autism assessment.

Because of the help I’ve been receiving, I’ve been a bit more hopeful of a diagnosis finally coming in the near future. Because I’ve been seeing a physio who helped me with strengthening exercises for my legs, I have been able to go out walking for a little while - never out on the streets but yes in shopping centres, that way if something goes wrong, someone is nearby to get help.

I still feel nauseous (still on Ondansetron for that). I’m still in pain every second of every day. I still feel that weakness. But, I’m starting to have those okay moments where I can go shopping or play with my niece and nephew - both occurred over the last couple of days, a water fight two nights ago where I just stood there shooting a water pistol at them as they ran around me, and an hour out shopping with my niece. Yes, those hit hard the next day and up through the next week. I do not intend to push myself so hard I’m at risk of hospitalisation. But, I also need to work at rebuilding my stamina. My father and grandfather have special birthdays next year and I want to be able to attend the dinner organised...even if I can’t eat while there, as long as I’m there is what matters.

But, for now, it’s baby steps. Sitting up and watching a movie. Washing some dishes. Carefully playing with the kids. Try to keep the shopping trips short. Eat what is possible, not what is a must.

#life #chronic illness #long post

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catvampire · 5 years

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All on The Prince’s Seal / Ch. IV

[ Masterlist ]

Luke heard the door closed behind Matt and another person entering. It took him a blink longer than it should have for him to realise he should stand up to greet the person, especially now that his security had left him on his own for a moment. He turned around to face the visitor: a brown woman with light brown hair and dark eyes. A woman he knew.

“Lady Douglas.” He couldn’t keep a small surprise from his voice. She seemed almost as surprised as he was.

“Your Highness,” countess Lisa Douglas spoke, giving a curtsy much deeper than felt right for the situation. Last time they’d met, they’d both been in formal attire in a ballroom: the change from that to her simple dress and his sweater---Matt’s sweater, no less---and a chance meeting in a hospital room was stark. “Should I leave you alone?”

“No, I--umh. I was just here to see Mr Brooks.”

“Yes---of course.”

Luke gestured towards the chair Matt had just vacated, and Lady Douglas bowed her head as she sat down, placing her bag and flowers down next to the chair. She glanced at Phil, took the image in, sorrow passing her face---Luke followed her gaze, the shadow of the emotional outburst passing his mind, reminding him to build up walls around it. It was time to be Crown Prince again.

“I didn’t know you know Phil,” he said to offer something to talk about to break the weighted silence.

“He used to work for my family’s estate before the royal palace. My brother would’ve paid him anything to get him to stay there---he said it wasn’t about money.” She gave a pointed look to Luke.

“Yeah, you know him. When he makes up his mind, there’s no turning him around.”

Lisa let out a laugh… and then the conversation died down. There were some birds chirping outside the opened window, and he could vaguely hear a news report coming from a few rooms away---other than that, it became silent for a minute.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, your Highness.”

The reminder of Teresa’s death hurt a lot more than he expected it to. Luke kept his eyes out to the window but could feel Lisa looking at him, the few intakes of breath sounding like she was trying to say something but feeling hesitant about it. When she moved in her chair, straightened herself up for courage, Luke turned to look at her.

“Can I pry something?” she asked, unsure if she was stepping over boundaries. The way she asked made him uncomfortable; she had done nothing in the past to invade his privacy, and her uncertainty gave the moment a strange edge. Luke didn’t answer but didn’t do anything to say ‘no’ either, so she continued: “I saw in the news you’d given permission for the Day of the Roses to go on as every year. Are you not planning to be coronated today?”

He understood her hesitancy now. “No.” It was the one thing he was sure; he would not take Teresa’s day. He could not sit on the throne Teresa was supposed to sit down today, not let the crown be pressed on his head when the person it had been fitted for had passed just hours ago. This was Teresa’s coronation---even if she wouldn’t stand as a Queen on the stage today, he would not steal the day for himself. Not in these circumstances.

“How long are you going to wait?”

“I don’t know. Matt---umh, my bodyguard, a friend---suggested I could wait to next year to keep the tradition. It’d give me time to prepare.”

Her confused look gave him an incentive to continue.

“Teresa was always going to be Queen. Her kids after her. Of course, there was always a chance she’d fall down the stairs or run away or just refuse the throne and I’d end up ruling, but for the last ten-twenty years, it’s felt so obvious she would become Queen and rule until she was sixty and then give the throne to one of her adopted kids. I was just the spare. And this I get a knock on my door this morning at six telling me I’ve just become King because my sister died on her way to the coronation. I haven’t known any longer than anyone else in Valosia. And I don’t know if I can run a country like she could have.”

It felt like too much information to give someone like this, even someone noble, even in a private setting, but the weight of the day gone past was finally crumbling him. Matt understood, but he hadn’t had the chance to say these things out loud to him---and Matt knew anyway. Now that he knew he was going to spend the rest of the day under camera lights, it felt like the last moment to get these things out to someone before it’d crush him.

“I know how you feel.” Lisa seemed genuinely empathetic. “I have five brothers. When I was born, everyone assured me I wouldn’t have to worry about the county. Then Daniel decided he wanted to stay in the military and Christopher married abroad, and suddenly there was just Marcus before I’d be in the line of inheritance. Marcus didn’t want the burden either but thankfully held on to it while I studied. Daniel and Christopher helped me learn what they’d been taught, and the rest I learnt on my own---and my younger brothers know what to do if I suddenly have to step down. But it was a tough two years.”

This was surprising. Despite knowing the Douglas lineage from lessons in childhood and the occasional tabloid headline, all of this was new information to Luke. He’d heard about Daniel and Christopher in passing, on the gossip circles in galas he’d paid little attention to, but had never stopped to think what it meant for the family. And Lady Douglas had done great work in keeping it from becoming a national story. He couldn’t even recall seeing articles about the county doing poorly.

“Wow.”

She seemed genuinely flattered by that for a moment before her expression turned serious again. “But I’m no Queen.”

A pause. “And Valosia has been without a monarch for almost a year already. Teresa didn’t marry or have an heir, and now the crown is compromised. You’re the last of your family, Prince Lucas. If anything happens to you...”

‘...it’s the end of the Alvez lineage.’ ‘...who knows who will have the crown?’ ‘...the monarchy could end here.’

None of the options with which she could finish the sentence was appealing, and she seemed to come to the same conclusion when she cleared her throat and closed her lips. The air had suddenly turned heavy---and as much as Luke wanted to think this all was his alone to deal with, she was right. For centuries Valosia had allowed the crown to pass to adopted children and to spouses to avoid this very situation, and Luke found himself, very briefly, feeling angry at Teresa for waiting so long and leaving him in this situation before rectifying himself.

She didn’t know. And neither did you.

A knock on the door shattered through the tension. “It’s me.”

A welcome relief. “Come in, Simmons,” Luke called out, and the doorway opened, Matt stepped halfway into the room. Luke could hear the crinkle of plastic as he moved, and while the door covered the source of it, Luke could make a strong guess towards ‘flowers’.

“Am I interrupting anything, your Highness?”

“No, I was just---...” Luke stood up. “Leaving.”

“I’m sorry, your Highness,” Lisa voiced, “if I overstepped.”

“No, not at all, Lady Douglas… Thank you.” She stayed sat down, and it came to Luke she was likely planning to stay until Phil woke up. “If he wakes up, will you tell him I came by?”

“Of course, your Highness.”

It didn’t feel right to give longer goodbyes, so Luke simply exited the room after Matt.

Luke’s guess for the sound of the crinkling had been correct: in his left hand, Matt was carrying three bouquets of varying colours, each with a card hanging from the Luke could just barely make out printed text.

“What’s this?”

Matt’s expression turned from serious to slightly sheepish as he offered the roses towards Luke to give a better look.

“Flowers. For the three other people who got hurt in the explosion. I sent one for the family of the one person who died. I told them that if they want someone from the palace to attend the funeral, it could be arranged. But these were coming here, so I wanted to get your signature while we are here.”

Matt offered a fountain pen to Luke, and without saying a word, Luke signed the cards one by one, quickly giving a glance to the well-written cards giving condolences and offering help should any be needed. They weren’t written by Matthew, he could tell from the wording, but knew better than to ask at this point.

“You’ve thought of everything.”

Matt passed the flowers along to a shorter woman Luke hadn’t noticed before who left with them. When he turned back to Luke, his face had turned serious again. “I actually wanted to pull you out because I have news.”

“The head of National Security ruled the explosion as a result of attempted arson. There had been leaking gas pipes in the building, so when some anarchist tried to set the building fire as a protest, presumably towards Teresa, it had blown up instead of just burning.”

Luke stared at him for a moment, completely frozen in his place. The emotional whiplash seized all thought process, left him speechless until he could properly take in the situation. “Arson?”

“The guy is in the wind. Barnes, Prentiss, and Atwood are giving a press conference about it now. JJ is waiting for us outside. They want you in the palace to give a speech as soon as possible.”

A small beat. “We should go.”

#this chapter is an emotional rollercoaster i apologise #luke alvez #matt simmons #simmvez #mine: fics #mine: writing #fic: all on the prince's seal

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pinkpoundcake · 6 years

Text

DESERT DEVIL

CH. 1 THE HISS

All Might/ Reader as Female OC

NSFW AU ( Yes there’s smut)

4k+ words

Here’s the first chapter of something I’ve been working on during off time at school. I like writing drastically different AUs, because they give me a lot liberties. I intend for this to be a short series, so maybe two or three more chapters after this one. Hope ya enjoy if you read!

I’m not sure if FF.net will allow second person, so I’m posting it here. I aint got no AO3. I also apologize for any mistakes! I’ll go back an’ fix as I see em.

EDIT: Went back and fixed some things. Also, I changed the category of this fic. I’m warning the reader that you’re an OC! Kinda like you’re a preset character in a dating sim? If that makes any sense. Those be my only terms of free service.

Dusk had gone and night finally draped over the still view of the valley. You were a silly girl, really. No one in their right mind would pick now of all times to draw water from one of the wells. Maybe once upon a time they would have. It wasn't impractical to wait until the sun stopped cracking its infernal whip to get things done, but once upon a time, the valley had nothing to fear.

II.

You were walking quickly. You kept your wooly head low as you neared the crudely built structure. Only one bucket of water. No one would mind. You just couldn't go to bed with a clear conscience without finally giving your poor, overworked horse something to drink. You'd take the risk, because glory knows you hated having cottonmouth. It was cottonmouth season...all year round it felt, except for the few praise inducing weeks the sky would show mercy and weep. Dry mouth, dry eyes, dry coat, dry everything. Such is the way of the desert.

You gave your heavy water bag a hard yank to make sure it was sealed before you hightailed it back to your plot. The locust had stopped gossiping in the weeds, and it was making you nervous.

III.

You were the sort of gal who liked to blend in, but your talents made that hard. You had an ability, A Gift, as folks liked to call these sorts of things, that made you incredibly valuable for trade.

You engaged in it as well, because you had to, to get along, but it made you an easy volun-telling target for other croppers and craftsmen and all manners of citizens with business

“Could you chat with this fellow for me? He speaks...sumfin’. The hell if I know. He owes me money.”

“Tell that eastern cheapskate I won't go any lower on price!”

“Hey, goat girl, tell the front counter dame in the Apothecary she's welcome in my bunk any time of day~”

First of all, you were a sheep. Second of all...fine.

IV.

Your Gift was nice for the most part. You had your own upper hand when it came to sale. You could understand anyone, no matter the spoken language. Absolutely essential for such an oddly diverse patch of scorched Earth. You could even help filter a speaker to an entire audience if you held their hand. You didn't like to advertise that though, otherwise the mayor and sheriff and whoever else, would be breathing down your neck even more than they did now.

If no one around knew you, then they usually assumed your appearance was all there was to your Gift. So, what you loved most was eavesdropping. Conversations were mostly mundane in other languages. That's how talking worked, but there were days when you were served some pretty interesting dirt or juicy news by unknowing hosts.

They're going to start rationing water tomorrow. Some serious limits, I reckon.

I didn't think it would be this bad this year?! It rained just enough in the early season, didn't it? I wonder where it all goes.

You wonder the same. It gets worse and worse every year. Every year it's a point of serious tension. They don't call this valley Struggler for nothing. Struggling was this town's first, middle, and last time. Maybe it's old maiden name, too.

The commonality is, is that if you made it halfway through the desert, you stopped in this crowded, little town and clung to it for dear life. You personally knew what it was like. Everyone knew what it was like, to fear that you weren't going to make it to The Oasis at the end of your journey. After the promenade that chewed you up, and spat you out, you don't even try.

We don't have enough water for all the people we keep letting stay here!

But what kind of person could keep a cold heart here? What would it take to let someone waste away elsewhere, or worse, face the beast this desert had to offer.

The Hiss.

More chilling than a rattlesnake's warning.

This broad blue sky. The hard clay and sand beneath his form, the cacti, the dry bones and evaporated watering holes. Every scavenger to circle overhead belonged to him.

The hard, hot wind. The mirages that danced in nauseating ribbons. They were his. He could lift his head, and think about howling to his old lovers, the stars, if he still had the singing voice. But he lost that a long time ago with one of his lungs. He was getting old, too, but his bloodlust was getting stronger every year, along with a lot of puzzling urges.

He hated that he could only claim his seared kingdom at night, but it couldn't be helped. He was a partial coward who couldn't hope to understand himself. He still had a deep sense of decency. He was a hypocrite, in a sense. He didn't want to be a bother during the day, if he was such a big bother at night. But being a menace at night was to be a nuisance in the day, regardless.

And nuisance was...too light of a word. Far too light. Crows in his sunflowers were nuisances. Locust in his house were nuisances.

Him?

Oh, he was

VI.

“A killer...A fuckin’ killer!”

You watched as the town sheriff swore and covered the body of a, now former, foreman with a bit of canvas. Splotches of blood bloomed in the fabric over the inclines of the older man's face. From what you saw, he was mauled real good. Or...bad. A big bite right out of his jugular, clavicle, and most of his left shoulder. You weren't the only sick one in the crowd. You would have upchucked your breakfast if this wasn't something you were becoming accustomed to.

First it was Mr. Dandy, gnawed out chest, who used to rally up hunting parties with the German twins who could shoot right out of their fingers, no guns needed. Then it was Eclair, you didn't know her last name, who sold pungent perfume from her own sweat out of her tacky little shop. Y'all never found her head. Big Cat Capri from Cameroon, was torn in two. Though he was a menace with a forgettable Gift that wasn't much missed. Then there was another fellow. Japanese you think, but actually he was still limping around somewhere.

The only one to see The Beast and live… The fella's pretty busted up as far as you know.

Anyway, time for another funeral.

VII.

Speaking of that old Japanese fellow…

You didn't give him much of a glance at any given day, but you could see him out of the corner of your squared pupils, watching you hand off chunks of unwashed wool to craftsmen who were probably going to fashion saddles or boots. It wasn't quite the right time to start plucking from your melon patch, or any of the desert dates, so you were selling off some old stock of your hair. Everyone knew it was your hair, and no one really cared.

God, you couldn't recall his name. You've never actually heard him speak, but the fella always sat at the posts near the trading square and just watched the street; waiting for someone with their hands full to need help lacing up their boots. Or for someone's goat to go astray so he could bring it back to them. Or to help some kid out on errands tether their family horse. You wonder why he would go through those little efforts on a limp. He walked with a cane, bright red like a dragon, with a yellowing cattle horn handle. He wore a big brimmed, leather hat so that he didn't catch perpetual sunburn, thick slacks, a poor fitting button up that used to be white, and strapped riding boots, too, but no spurs.

He was a strange sight, you noted with slight nervousness as he stood, and then made his way over to your shabby booth. He was a tall, tall, tall fella. Tall and skinny, like he didn't fancy eating much. You knew a couple of people who were like that. He had wild, blonde hair, he obviously didn't comb. And honestly, he had the prettiest blue eyes. At least you assumed they were. He was swallow enough that his eyes were sunk deep beneath his brow, but that blue struck out like an aimed double barrel. It made you wonder what he looked like when he was a colt.

“Afternoon, sir,” You cleared your throat. You watched his face to gauge how much he understood you. You didn't want to be rude. “No food. Just some wool today.”

The older man, squinted, seemingly thinking, and then gestured to your freshly sheared head with the handle of his cane.

“It's all mine, yes.” You laughed and scratched one of your horns to release some of your anxiousness.

“How...How much for it?” His accent was somewhat thick, but you were happy you wouldn't have to reach out and grab one of his massive hands to get on some equal ground.

“Five pieces for a small bundle. Ten for the big bundles there.” You watched the fellow consider which size, and then finally he made a decision. Slowly he lifted one of the large cottony wads, and then absentmindedly brought it to his nose. He gently inhaled the intriguing scent there.

You stared, perplexed, and confused. He seemed to pick up on your confusion, and righted himself. He gave you his own awkward smile, almost an apology for…whatever that was. He counted out ten small pieces for you, politely dipped his head with a thank you, and then moseyed along.

Strange…

VIII.

He was drunk. Absolutely drunk, and he'd never had a drop of liquor in his life. Tequila couldn't have been stronger than this. Your scent, your scent was so...He didn't know.

Good.

It made him hungry for things he'd forgotten the name of, forgotten how to describe. He didn't know what he was doing alone in the shack he called his home. Hiding his shame maybe. He'd locked the door with the big expensive chains and padlocks ( that were decor at this point) from the top shelf hours ago as night began to fall. He was paranoid, and feeling ravenous for a completely different, mysterious reason from what he was used to.

He held your wool in one hand, pressing it flush to his nose as he paced from one side of his home to the other. The misaligned floor groaned and weazed beneath his heavy, bare footsteps. His shadow, flickered from a candle or two, and swept the peach papered walls like a dark, lumbering menace.

What was it that he wanted now?!

He didn't understand himself anymore! There was no one to teach him his purpose.

He inhaled again, deep. His exhale emerged with a low rumble. It rattled the chains strapping the front and back door, and shifted the glass in the kitchen window.

It was happening again much too soon.

There used to be a time when he could command the other half of himself. Where he could be whoever he wanted, whenever, but now he was stripped to nothing but incomprehensible impulses.

His wrath. His hunger. His pride.

Something new. His lust.

IX.

You just finished putting the blanket on Kissy, your horse, when the stars began to rub the long day from their eyes and glint down at you. Though still warm, the wind rolled over your fuzzy scalp and settled in the cooling sweat beneath your dark hide. You rubbed your arms, figuring you could use a blanket, too. Your draft's loud chewing in the stable cover was a calming background noise as it mingled with your thoughts. The flat distance, with it's mountainous levels was a pretty sight, despite being empty.

You've always wanted to roam at night, finally figure out what that fabled Oasis was on the other side of hell. You hoped it was heaven, or something close. You wanted to explore more than your town, to see what was out there while the sun wasn't scheduling your funeral. You were bored of being too scared. Stressed with not having enough of the bare minimum essentials. Lonely, too. Kissy kept you company, maybe, but he wasn't all that good with conversation or cooking.

He wasn't good at stopping you from taking 'walks’ either. You found all sorts of excuses for yourself to roam at night. Kissy needed more water, or you needed to find some wild aloe for a wound, or you needed to find sand grubs for your greedy gossip of chickens.

Excuses, excuses.

Mr. Aizawa, was another Japanese fellow (you think), who wasn't the sheriff, but probably could have been. He'd tell you you were full of excuses. The town had a curfew of sorts to 'keep people safe’. Under what authority this curfew came from, you had no clue. If you were caught, the runner up sheriff hogg tied you with a lasso and a warning, and dragged your sorry, law breaking ass back home. Or fined you. Something like that.

He had an annoying Gift that kept others from using their Gifts to get away. You didn't know how he did it. Much to what was probably Deputy Aizawa's disdain, he was plucked out of the crowd the day he arrived. He had a scruffy grifter appearance, but the fellow was awfully strict, perfectly bilingual in relation to you, and knew exactly what your own Gift entailed, so you couldn't pretend you didn't understand any of his honorary demands.

You didn't even give yourself a chance to consider he might be out and about on patrol. You didn't even consider where the hell you were going. All you knew was that you were:

Literally and figuratively hard headed.

And

Dumb as rocks because it was half past night noon, and anywhere beyond the aloe thicket was Hiss county.

The danger zone.

A scent was a scent was a scent. Something to follow to a target. His prey were rotten. He caught the next foul stench on the hit list floating on the western wind. It filled his flared nostrils and made his mouth water with anticipation. His long, thick fingers were still raw and full of splinters from clawing his way out from his pathetic attempts at shutting himself in.

The night was a blur. He was unbothered by the grit he kicked up in his full run. Adrenaline pumped in his veins with the incredible accumulation of power that drove him. There was a roar in his ears. Something he rushed by sliced him; thin little scratches in several places, but he didn't notice. His heart thrashed beneath his ribs as he sensed himself drawing closer and closer.

Wait.

Suddenly, he came to a halt, giving the surrounding weeds severe whiplash.

Everything aside from his heart and his laboured breathing were still. Not a sound from any creature. Nothing was brave enough to disturb him.

There was something... something else on the wind he wanted much, much more that seemed to be coming from the same direction.

XI.

The last thing you wanted to hear was a voice while you were trying to be sneaky. You kept your body low and tucked your tail close to the full round of your bottom. It was going so nicely, your 'stroll’. You were going to take some notes in one of your books, maybe stuff some natural souvenirs in your pocket, and then head back home.

You held still for a while and used a few big, healthy stragglers of agave as your cover. You were hearing the voice again, now two voices. You didn't know what dialect they were speaking, so you closed your eyes, and used your Gift.

He's been shelling out a lot for this reroute. Keeping a lot of people's mouths shut. It's gonna be a lot harder to get this done without the foreman.

Yeah, I thought that, too. It's strange. I'm sorta...spooked. Mr. Dandy and now him. You’d think this whole thing was cursed.

Or someone knows…

They looked mauled, couldn't have been some poor bastard with a pistol. What do they call the thing that's been chewing people up?

Depends on who you talk to. Yok... something. Yokay? Yokai? Chupacabra, though it's not gettin’ goats, that's for sure. Werewolf. Howler. Beast. Plain old monster.

I just hope it's a coincidence. I don't want to be next…

Now...what in the world we're these fellers talking about? You frowned while quietly slinking around to another perch. You watched your footing and hoped they would talk more, but now they were getting further and further away. Headed…somewhere.

Somewhere you kept your eye on. Might want to check it out next time you take a stroll.

XII.

The air pressure flipped like a coin and cut through your moment of reprieve.

Bullseye.

You were so shocked you couldn't even scream. It was caught in your throat with a pinch of desert sand. Something massive and unyielding and menacing had ripped the ground from beneath your feet.

The sky was spinning round and round as the earth teetered wild on its axis. The moon was mocking you. The stars cackled as they danced, blurry streams trailing like faded candle lights behind them.

There was a black patch of sky that didn’t budge, and it only held two stars far above that didn't move either. Because they weren't stars,

they were vivid blue eyes.

XIII.

This was it. This was how you were going to die.

You were already nauseous from hitting you head, and now you were nauseous from hitting reality. You couldn't make a sound, could hardly breathe. Your throat burned like a shot of fireball. Your eyes were wide as you tried to make out the Beast's form. It was hard, with hot tears in your eyes, now shrouding the moon’s pale light. You could hear him, though, the hiss of death. It was high pitched, akin to the sizzle of a hot brand.

Would it have ripping fangs when it bit you? We're those its claws digging into your ankles as it dragged you elsewhere? You were in a bit of pain, and you could sense the stickiness of blood on your back, but you were mentally preparing yourself for a lot more. Images of the sheriff draping canvas over your mangled body caused you to wretch.

You were so stupid!!!!! SO GODDAMN STUPID. HOW COULD YOU PUT YOURSELF IN THIS SITUATION? NO WEAPON. NO NOTHING. THIS IS WHAT YOU GET. HOW COULD YOU-

It stopped.

You stopped.

Confusion boxed you good over the ears.

You were staring up into the face of a man now, and he was staring right back at you.

Your confusion subsided into renewed fear. He was just a man, but the most unnaturally large man you had ever seen. Large was the wrong word. He was...immaculate. A threadbare shirt was struggling to hold itself together as his massive chest flexed. He had a heavily shadowed face and unreadable, though somewhat tense expression. His golden hair stood upright on his forehead head, like a red bat's ears or jack rabbit. Pure, wild, chaotic energy wafted from the heat of his skin. He shifted slightly while sizing you, and your eyes darted to the massive, bear paw of a calloused hand on the other side of your head.

He could sneeze and snap your neck. You believed he could tear a man in two. Oh God in heaven, he did! And you were next!

The Beast made a sudden movement, and you shut your eyes. You clenched everything from your horned head, to your cleft, hooven toes, and waited.

You had no choice but to hold your breath as his big, otherworldly body pressed into yours. It felt like being pressed between something more solid than a rock, and a really hard place. His breath, that you realized was rushed, cooly ghosted your forehead. Was he going to take your noggin like Eclair and mount it over his fireplace?

Greedily, he was drinking in your scent. So much stronger, so much better right from the source. He had to sample more of you. Sip you. Lap you up.

Where was it?! Where was more?!

You didn't think you could tense beyond how much you were tensed now, but you did as his nose left your head to wedge its way up into your neck. You felt the unnatural rumble of his voice in the hollows of your bones, filling your throat and chest. You prepared for hard, life ending bites, but all you received we're moderately painful nips and what could only be described as sloppy kisses. He received the sensation of kissing your fur with intrigue and almost groomed it with a big, wide tongue.

You didn't know what to say, or what to do. He hadn't said a word. You didn't know if the brute mounting you was really human, or …Something. Was all of this even real? Or were you home, wet dreaming about a good rut in your bunk again?

He needed more! More! More! More! Where was more of you?!

He left you one last bite on your shoulder that you were ashamed made you bellow out like the animal you were similar to. You slapped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late, the sound excited him. His nose grazed you, his rapid breaths through his nose like the pumping steam from a piston, a panting dog, frantically looking for more of your tastes and smells. Your clothes were in his way, but he didn't have the patience or current cognition to remove them.

He rubbed his cheeks against your generous chest, nipped your stomach through your tattered apron, and then zipped straight to your crotch. You were shocked as he unashamedly, obliviously, pressed his face there and very audibly inhaled. There was another rumble, loud enough to buzz through your entire body.

“A-Ah!” You cried out. The sharp, pleasurable tingle and sting from his deep voice, the pressure from his cheeks, and the heat of his breath was sudden. You were so…you were…

You could end this year's drought right here, right now.

You bit your lip, desperately wanting to access the situation. To think! To sort out what in the HELL was happening, but he had ripped through your overalls with his teeth and was lapping at your plump pussy through your knickers. He'd sniffed out the wetness that had slickened the fabric and was eager to taste. You moved closer and hissed out a pathetic Yeeessss!

Whimpering, you tried to push yourself up on your elbows. Your shoulders hit some hard, cool clay and the back of your head scraped more of the rough rock there. He was suckling like a thirsty calf, drawing the fabric of your knickers into the heat of his mouth along with your long, throbbing clit beneath. The suction was strong, unrelenting, almost painful.

“H-hey, hey! Easy, partner!” Your thighs involuntarily snapped around his head, but he was undeterred. You shoved your hands against his brow, trying to get him to release.

“Please!” You were relieved when he finally did, but it was only for some adjustments. The brute drew his hands beneath your legs and dragged you further into the shadow so he could keep his meal all to himself.

His mouth attacked you again and you wriggled and writhed. Your own breath matched his labored huffs. You bit chunks out of your sense of morality while you bit your lip. With a shaking hand, you brought your clawed fingers to your crotch. His thick tongue grazed your knuckles as you worked to tug the fabric aside and reveal your dark, generous lips, and generously engorged clit beneath. He immediately took what you revealed to him, going from hungry to downright glutenous. You couldn't tell if the additional wetness you felt was from your own cyprine or slobber on his chin.

XIV.

“GOD!! Who are you?! What is your name?” Now was not the time to be asking these sorts of questions, but again, you did say you were a silly woman. You gritted your teeth to attempt to contain your cries. He didn't respond at first. The only reply for several deliciously, agonizing moments was the thick, slurping sound of his attention between your legs. This stranger, no demon, was trying to shove his tongue as far up your womanhood as he could, and at this point, he had your loud, keening permission.

“AH! AHH!” Your slapped the hand that wasn't buried in his hair over your mouth again. You couldn't contain yourself. You'd never felt something like this before. You were a maiden who could only daydream, and you weren't sure if you could consider this that, or a nightmare.

“I said!” Your voice cracked and your back arched from the ground as you racketed up to an orgasm. Your voice was weary and hoarse. You were shrieking “what is your name?!”

He still had yet to respond, but if he chose now, you wouldn't have heard him. You came for the first time in your little life ( bless your heart); your mouth stretched wide open, waiting to catch flies. But all you caught was a big, wet kiss.

You could taste yourself. Taste his breath. Your legs were shaking. You were high like you'd been huffing gasoline, so you didn't put up a fight when he lifted you to his chest.

Someone was coming…

He had to take you elsewhere.

The open night sky. The owl judging you both from the whole it ate out a cactus. The earth beneath his feet. The howl of the wind as he ran and you both became a blur.

And you, clinging to his chest:

Belonged to him.

Chapter 1 End

#all might #toshinori yagi #yagi toshinori #writing #DESERT DEVIL

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