#Jayden Reveri | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovelysho · 4 years ago

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natural sinners —

summary: you’re at a banquet with your family. it’s nothing you hadn’t experienced before. however, this night in particular provides you with more than you bargained for.

➳ eren jaeger x fem!reader, smut

➳ tw: nsfw/18+, stepcest, rough sex, choking, breeding, dumbification, slight praise kink

➳wc: 4.1k

It started off innocent. A tug of the hair here, a shove and a nudge of the shoulder there. Honestly, he annoyed you quite a bit of the time. So, how you ended up in this position? You had no clue.

Closing your eyes, you blow a stray curl from your updo out of your face and heave a sigh. You didn’t mean to, you just knew that this was going to be another forty five minute to hour presentation that you’d have to sit through. All before dinner being served too, and god you were hungry. You hadn’t eaten all day, too busy running errands and preparing for the night. You wonder what they were gonna serve this time. Probably something fancy you couldn’t to pronounce. How nice would it be if they didn’t though? You could go for a nice burger right about now. Yes, a cheeseburger with fries on the side and —

A voice snaps you out of your out of your reverie. “Is something wrong, honey?” You opened your eyes to see your mom staring at you worriedly.

You sit up straight, remove your elbow from the table and place your hands in your lap. You had almost forgotten yourself. “I’m sorry. I must be tired from all the running around earlier.”

“Think you’re gonna be okay for the presentation?” Grisha asked voicing his concern as well.

You give a soft smile in return before adding, “I’ll be alright.” You always liked Grisha. Not only was he was sweet to your mom, and amiable with you; but you could tell he valued family, and you liked that.

‘Speaking of which...’ you glance toward the entry way of the banquet hall, in time to see just the person you were looking for making their way to the table. Hair pulled back into a neat bun, dressed in all black from head to toe. You quickly let your eyes roam his frame before turning back to face your parents.

“Sorry, the line for the bathroom was longer than expected,” Eren says while buttoning his blazer and adjusting the sleeves, before pulling out the chair next to you to be seated.

“I’m glad you’re back, it should be starting soon.” Grisha shot him a nod before continuing to converse with your mother.

Arms crossed, Eren leans into you. “Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

“Oh, I think I managed just fine, even better if I’m being honest.” You extend your hand to view your nails smugly. A creamy shade of nude coming into view.

“Yeah, alright.” The tone of his voice was a bit too sarcastic for your liking, but before you could retort a group of four walked up to your table, three men and a woman.

“Well, if it isn’t the man, Dr. Jaeger himself.” Grisha stands to meet the male. “David,” he smiles embracing him with a clap on the back and a hug. You watched as both of your parents continue to exchange pleasantries with the three of them.

You were wondering when the remainder of your table would show. You look at their seating tags and catch their names: David, Naomi, Michael, and —

“Hey, the name’s Jayden.” You turn to see a man who looks to be around your age. He extends his hand so you follow suit, reaching out as well to shake it. However, he bends down and brings your palm to his lips placing a gentle kiss upon it.

You could feel your face heat up. “It’s nice to meet you Jayden, I’m [Name].” You place a hand on your chest.

He smiles, “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”

“Wow, thank you.” You look away sheepishly, catching sight of Eren whose eyes are trained on the man standing before you. “Oh, where are my manners?” you chuckle. “Jayden this is my brother, Eren,” you say gesturing to the brown haired man sitting next to you.

“Nice to meet you dude,” he offers his hand only to have Eren stare at it for a few seconds before looking back up at him, making no effort to return the sentiment.

“Well, alright then...” he lowers his arm and awkwardly rubs at his his pant leg, as he moves to take his seat to your left. You turn to face Eren, wide eyes saying ‘what the fuck?’ He only shrugs and fiddles with his name tag.

So, it was that kind of night. ‘Alright,’ you decided. If he was going to be a dick tonight, you’d leave him be. You weren’t going to let his negative energy, for whatever reason it may be, affect you.

The man in the front began to speak, testing the mic; and for the next forty minutes, you attempted to understand whatever medical terminology was being spewed.

Presentation having been over, dinner was served; Potatoes Dauphinoise as the main course and Apple Tarte Tatin for dessert. Jayden helped you out with the pronunciation of both. Now, you were all exchanging words, dining, and drinking champagne.

“I’ve meet Eren, but Grisha has yet to let me meet his daughter,” Jayden’s dad, David you recalled, expressed to you. He introduces himself officially, and you give him your name and a hand shake in return. “You’ve got a beautiful young woman on your hands,” he vocalizes to your parents. His wife, Naomi, her tag reads, nods in agreement.

The praise you’ve been receiving tonight has left you bashful more times than you can count.

“Could’ve sworn I told her the exact same thing,” Jayden turns to you, a smirk on his lips.

“Tch.” The table goes silent. It came from the left of you. You see Eren, utensil in hand looking down at his dessert. Upon closer inspection you realized his chair was a bit closer to yours. Was he always that close?

“Is something the matter, Eren?” You hear Grisha voice from across the table. To Jayden and his family, it probably sounded like a genuine question, but you could hear it, a certain sternness hidden behind his words.

“I spoke the truth did I not?” Jayden pipes up.

Eren finally looks up at you, the few seconds being the most you’ve acknowledged him since before the presentation began. “Oh, she’s something.”

You held each other’s gaze for a little longer before you decided to look away. You didn’t know what to take from that. The tone in which it was said making you question whether or not it was an insult; but by the look on Grisha’s face Eren may as well had outright said you looked like dogshit.

You furrow your brows. Something’s been off about him all night and you don’t understand it. He’s being an actual asshole. At least it seems that way.

Clearing his throat, “So, [Name], tell me about yourself.” Jayden spoke, putting a halt to whatever tension had arisen. Everyone went back to their respective conversations.

“Well, what do you want to know?” You could feel the table cloth graze against your knee.

“Hmm,” he tilts his head back, seemingly in deep thought. “I can’t say everything can I?”

“We can bounce off of each other so shoot,” you reply offering him a kind smile. You could feel the cloth, a little higher above your knee and you absentmindedly use your hand to swat it away.

“Alright, favorite food?”

For some reason you weren’t expecting something so trivial. He’s actually trying to get to know you. You assumed this whole thing was just for the business of it all, but you suppose you didn’t mind making a new friend.

Raising a finger, you shake your head. “Nope, I’ll do you one better. Go to meal: a cheeseburger and fries, topped off with a milkshake.” You laugh, “I was actually thinking about it earlier right before the presentation.”

“We should exchange numbers at the end of this. We could go grab exactly that, sometime when you’re free?”

“Um, there’s ice cream involved? Count me in.” Translation: duh!

You feel a tight grip above the knee, and you swiftly turn your head to Eren, only to find him staring past you at Jayden. Was that him touching you before?You wanted to ask him what was wrong, but his hand began to move.

You were wearing a high slit satin green dress, and boy did you know it. With his soft yet calloused fingers making their way up your exposed thigh, your stomach began to twist.

You were looking at Jayden, but could barely pay attention to him with the hand of the man to your right sneaking along your skin.

You were holding a breath, scared that if you so much as breathed wrong, it would alert everyone of what was happening below the table.

You gathered yourself enough to ask his favorite color since he seems to be into laid back questionnaire. You were appreciative of that. Questions that didn’t require intensive thinking, or really any thinking at all. Especially in this moment.

“Blue, and yours?”

“Mine? Favorite...uh...favorite color, yeah it’d have to be green.” If your voice wavered, he didn’t comment on it.

“Alright, since we’re going for cheeseburgers and ice cream, what’s your favorite flavor?”

“It’s vanilla,” the voice from your right cuts in. “sweet and simple,” he adds, hand never straying its course up the slit of your dress. By this point his fingers were pressed well into your inner thigh, thumb gripping the outer.

What you thought first started as some act of irritation on his end quickly turned into something else; and you become hyper aware of the moisture beginning to form between your legs. What the hell was he doing? Your mom and dad were seated right across the table. Jayden was sitting on the other side of you too. What the hell was he doing, and why do you like it?!!

“Good to know,” Jayden takes a mental note, completely oblivious as to what’s transpiring beside him. Eren’s proximity being greater than his was obscuring his view luckily for you. “So how about you,” he asks Eren, feeling a little bad for having left him out.

He began to rub circles on your inner thigh and you intake a soft gasp. “Personally.” Rub. “I like the taste...” Rub. “Of something a little more,” Rub. “Saccharine.”

Moving higher, index finger almost grazing your clothed clit before removing his hand entirely. Jade irises meet yours, “but I guess vanilla will do.” He picks up his fork and takes a bite out of his dessert.

After dinner, you were all let out into the main hall where people could engage in conversation before taking their leave. You and Jayden exchanged numbers and you didn’t see Eren again until the four of you were packed into the truck on your way home. You were staying at your parents place since you knew you’d be leaving the banquet late.

Upon entering the house you a lean hand against the wall, bending down immediately to remove your nude colored heels. Sighing contentedly, you wiggle your toes to gain some feeling in them. Your parents had shuffled themselves up the stairs uttering tired ‘love you’s’ and ‘goodnight’s’ to both you and Eren.

You make your way to the bathroom on the first floor and remove your hairpins, letting your hair fall smoothly past your shoulders. Flipping it over you ruffle it up a bit, and cut the light off before leaving.

Barefoot, your feet dragged across the floor. Scratching your head as you made your way to the kitchen, opting to get a glass of water before heading upstairs to bed. Only, you find Eren leaning back against the kitchen counter beside the fridge.

Hands in pockets, head tilted back with his adams apple in clear view; and one leg crossed in front of the other, at the ankles. You could see his black blazer was draped over one of the kitchen chairs. He was standing before you in just his black shirt, dress pants, and oxford shoes. The man looks like a model, even at this time of night. You almost laughingly scoff at the thought.

Sensing motion, his eyes snapped open and trailed over to you. You reached into a cabinet, to grab a cup, and made your way to the fridge to pull out the glass water pitcher.

You hadn’t talked about what happened, nor had you any plans in doing so. You don’t even know what you’d say because truthfully, you don’t even know what that was.

You were unaware of his eyes following your every movement.

“So, you and Jayden huh?”

“What are you talking about?” You scooped some ice from the ice making machine behind him on the counter, slipping it into your cup, adding the water shortly after.

“Did you get his number?”

You take a sip before turning to face him head on. “I did.”

“Of course.”

“Alright, what’s your problem? You’ve been more annoying than usual this entire night.”

Pushing himself off the counter he takes a step forward. “Why haven’t you brought it up?”

You avert your eyes away from him, taking an interest in the marble lining of the island table instead. “Brought what up?”

He grabs your chin, bringing your line of vision back to him and only him, his eyes boring yours.

“I got jealous, you know.” You furrow your brows, butterflies starting to rise within your stomach. You weren’t sure you liked where this was headed. “The man was practically drooling at the sight of you, and you were flirting back. No hesitation.”

“He wasn’t drooling, nor was I flirting. Look, Eren it’s getting late we should go to bed.” You try to break away from his grasp but his hold on your face tightens.

He didn’t say anything more, but you knew. You just knew. “Eren,” you said sternly in warning. You were about to cross a line that was best left untouched. You could feel your own resolve chipping away.

He loosens his grip, but runs a thumb along your bottom lip. “You look so goddamn sexy in that dress.” His eyes roam over your body. “I thought about ripping it off you all night.”

Your eyes widen. You could feel the dampness between your thighs for the second time that night. Between his grip on your face, his words, and his lust filled eyes? You had found yourself already soaked. You had to cut it off before you both crossed that line. “Eren, what are you —” you were cut off by lips smashing against yours.

It took you a second to register what was happening. Hurriedly placing the glass on the table, your hands made haste to find some part of him to grip on to, fingers deep within his silky locks.

Abruptly, he flips you over and pushes your upper body down. Your face and breast flat against the island table, shoulders cold. He runs a hand up the slit of your leg, and lifts your dress up to bunch around your stomach, catching sight of your lacy black underwear.

“I’ll only ask this once,” he leans over from behind you, bringing his head closer. Lips are against your ear before he whispers, “Do you want this just as badly?” Yes, god yes.

“Our parents are upstairs.”

He knew you were deflecting, “Then, I guess we better keep quiet. What will it be, [Name]?”

You look back to get a better look at him. Your eyes locked and he remained still, patiently awaiting your answer. In that moment you think that maybe the hue of his eyes is why green is your favorite color. Always has been.

You had already kissed, and now you’re bent over the island table, pussy on full display for him. It had gotten this far because you wanted it to, and you knew that.

“Shit, okay. Yeah. Yes.” You go back to your original placement, cheek against the cold surface.

He wastes no time unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows. He pulls your panties down to your ankles and snickers.

“Already wet for me, huh?” He lines his index and middle finger up, running them against your folds, and earning a soft hum from you. “That’s what I like to see.”

You couldn’t even blame him for being smug. You could feel more heat pooling in the pit in your stomach. If he kept talking like that you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself.

He squats down and uses both hands to spread you open. “You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he asserts, voice deep and low. Closing the distance he brings his tongue to your core and does one long lick from your clit to you entrance.

“I just knew you’d taste sweet.” And then he’s back in, lapping expertly at your cunt.

“Mmm fuck, Eren.” His tongue felt so warm, a nice contrast to the cold surface you were bent over on. If you had something to grip on to, you would.

He stood up and you instantly missed the warmth of his tongue; but found yourself letting out a gasp as he inserted a digit inside of you. He begins pumping in and out while rubbing his thumb against your clit. “That feel good babygirl?”

“Feels so good,” you let out.

“Good,” he said, middle finger now being added, continuing his strenuous pumps. “Think you could cum like this?”

“Y-yes, please.”

He was delightfully surprised at that. Usually the two of you were going back and forth. He always thought you had a smart mouth on you. “Good, because I need you nice and stretched before I fuck you.”

Your hand covered your mouth, muffling your moans as you came all over his fingers. Slowly you turned around and he got a good look at you. Hair draping your face, eyes lazy, and limps plump.

“Fuck, just looking at you makes me hard.” His dick twitched at the sight of you.

You kicked your underwear off of your ankles and grabbed his hand bringing it to your lips, licking his fingers clean, the taste of you evident on your tongue. You stared at him intently. “So fuck me already.”

“Shit...you’re gonna be the death of me, [Name].” he lifts you up by the thighs, placing you on the counter. In a second his lips have found yours again, slipping his tongue in to caress yours. You found yourself hastily unbuttoning his shirt, but it was proving to be too much of a hassle. In a fit of annoyance you rip it open. You had half a mind to apologize but he didn’t seem to mind.

Tugging his arms out he tosses the shirt. His chest exposed, you trail kisses from his neck to his pecs. His hands are roaming over your waist and grabbing your ass before being brought to the spaghetti strap of the satin material clinging to your body. He slowly pulls it down, and places a kiss on your shoulder, littering kisses around the area before nipping at your clavicle.

You hissed at the action, and he moved towards your neck, tongue running along each part of your exposed skin.

You were hot all over. It’s like you were set ablaze and he was the only one capable of dousing your fire. You were too deep within your thoughts to notice him slide the other strap down. Your breasts now bare, his tongue swirling over one of your pert buds. You couldn’t take it anymore.

You reached down to rub at the bump in his pants causing him to groan. Quickly unbuttoning, you pull them down his thighs along with his boxers. You watched his cock spring free and smack against his abdomen and lick your lips at the sight. ‘Shit he’s big,’ you thought, thinking back to his earlier comment about stretching you.

You rub his pre cum along his tip. He lifts the hem of your dress once again, this time now completely bunched up, resting mid stomach. Hands push you down so your back is now feeling the shock of the cold surface, goosebumps layering your skin.

He glides his cock up and down your folds before positioning it at your entrance, making him bite his lip at the feeling. He slowly slides into you inch by inch. “Fuckkk...” he tilts his head back, eyes closing.

Finally bottoming out, you clench around him.

“You grip me so good, [Name], so fucking good.”

Your name on his tongue in such a filthy way sounded like music to your ears, and you soon found him ramming himself into you, the calm Eren dissipating completely.

You brought your hands up to your mouth again, trying to keep the wild noises you were making contained.

He grabs your hands to remove them from your mouth. “Ah ah ah, I wanna hear you scream for me. Keep your hands on the table.”

“B-but —” you began in protest, struggling to get a word in, in between thrusts.

“I said on the table.”

You clench around him. “You like that huh?”

Eren stares at you in awe as he fucks into you. Your hair was splayed behind your head, tits bouncing, and pussy glistening. Your legs were spread wide open for him, and he wanted it to remain that way.

“Jayden wants you, [Name]. I won’t allow that. I don’t want him to lay a single finger on you. Do you understand me?”

“O-oh my god...” you moaned as the sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you filled the space.

He wraps a hand around your throat, fingers digging into the sides making your head fuzzy. “I said do you understand me? Whose pussy is this? Say it.”

“Yours. F-fuck, Eren it’s yours. All yours,” you struggle to get out, his grip on your neck firm.

“You being a good girl underneath me? Huh, [Name]? Are you a good girl?”

“Y-yes,” you nod hurriedly. “I’m a good girl.” You’d be whatever he wanted you to be in this moment. Say whatever he wanted you to say.

He laughs, actually laughs. Voice coming out gruffly he declares, “Nah you’re not. Good girl’s aren’t taking their brothers dick with their parents asleep up the stairs, aren’t screaming his name.”

By this point your tongue was lolling out of your mouth drool threatening to spill. You could barely make out what he was saying. You were at the tip of the precipice teetering just over the edge.

He could see you nearing the climax and going completely dumb on his cock. “Want me time fill you up baby?”

“Mhm,” you give a slow nod of your head, the pleasure was just too overwhelming. “Be a good brother and fill me up,” you mutter weakly.

He had let up from his grip on your neck now lifting your legs higher from the back of your knees. “You gonna cum on your brother’s cock, hmm? Can you do that for me?”

You nodded your head rapidly and screamed his name for the last time as you creamed over him, just like he asked. Somewhere in the back of your mind you prayed that your parents were still deep sleepers and that the walls were as thick as you remembered.

The sound of you screaming his name had him releasing in time with you, his seed warm and coating your walls.

He rubbed your clit, bringing you down from your high before pulling out. He placed your shaky legs down gently, watching as his cum oozed out of you.

You laid there, spent. Mind still hazy and filled with post orgasmic bliss. Eren was feeling the same, but you came first and foremost.

He lifted you off of the table and pulled your dress back up your body, carrying you to the living room couch. He laid you down while he went into the bathroom to prepare a bath for you. He knew what you both did was wrong, but he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t do it again a million times over, and little did he know you’d agree.

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toxicpineapple · 5 years ago

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I did a writing yesterday for Inktober day ten (and I've been doing writings for all the other days too) about depression because it was world mental health day. I decided to post it here because y'know,, life is short.

TWs: Depression, light suicidal ideation, nihilism.

The prompt was "pattern".

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Life is really just a bunch of patterns.

It’s just a load of things that stay the same from day to day. Things you do habitually, naturally, just because you’ve done them so many other times that it becomes muscle memory. Get up at the same time every morning. Go to the same place, park your car in the same spot if possible. Greet the same people, eat the same things, do the same work. Go home. Unwind in all the same ways as you always do. Deviating from the routine is considered a privilege. Taking a break, getting up later, eating different things. So much as wearing a different colour tie can be considered living a bit on the edge.

In a way there’s something nice about it, that endless routine, because it gives people an appreciation for the smaller things. It makes people more grateful for things that they wouldn’t be, living extremely exciting lives. If every day was different, people would probably stop appreciating the little differences in their day-to-day lives, such as the flavour of their coffee creamer, or the pretty little flower the secretary had tucked behind her ear this morning.

And even so…

Most days, Jayden doesn’t remember what they cover at school. In her classes. She doesn’t remember talking to friends (of which she has very few) and she doesn’t remember what she eats at lunch or how many times she raises her hand to be excused to the bathroom or how many times she has to bend over and retie her shoelaces. The days, being so much of the same and all the time, tend to blur together unless something really terrible happens. Or something really good. But the former is a lot more common than the latter, so she doesn’t tend to consider the latter as a possibility. Because it’s not, not really. And she doesn’t like to lie to herself.

She has her little rituals memorised. That’s pretty normal, she thinks, to do things instinctively without putting much thought into it until they’re called into question. Whether or not her habits are normal has never really been a concern of hers, because she knows that they are. Waking up at six thirty to catch the bus in the morning isn’t uncommon. Brushing her teeth and skipping out on breakfast are pretty universal. Tying her hair up into a ponytail certainly isn’t unique, because many people wear ponytails, and many people wear them better than she does. Her same hoodie, her same ratty Adidas, her same backpack and notebooks and unfinished homework- no parts of her morning routine are special.

She doesn’t notice them, more often than not. Typically Jayden only becomes aware of herself when she’s on the bus, gazing out the window at a world of grey, and wondering when her world ever became so colourless. The bus route she takes is one that many of her classmates take, and the time she takes it at is a pretty universal time for kids wanting to get to school early enough so that they’re not late to class. It’s usually pretty jam packed, but her house is at the beginning of the route, so she’s always on the bus in time to secure herself a seat by the window.

It would be a good spot for people watching, Jayden thinks on some days, if she had any interest in the sea of warm toned faces floating around her.

As things are she trudges off the bus when it rolls up to the spot closest to her school- the one before that, actually, because Jayden doesn’t like the large crowd so she gets off a little bit earlier than everyone else so she can spend the rest of her morning in solitude. It’s just a few minutes longer by foot, so she doesn’t mind it. She is hardly conscious for the walk anyway.

Jayden isn’t exactly a model student. She’s not good at paying attention in class, doesn’t like taking notes until her hand cramps or asking clarifying questions about the material or writing essays or solving equations or even playing the violin, which is her only elective. She doesn’t like homework, either, and so she doesn’t do it. Grades are a minor annoyance to her at best, because she never pays attention to them, and a small part of her is pretty sure that her teachers hate her for it, that they think she doesn’t care about their classes, and they’re not wrong, exactly, but it’s so much more complicated than that and Jayden wishes sometimes that she could explain that it’s not that she doesn’t think their teachings are important, it’s just that she thinks nothing is important. Everything is futile. There’s no point in trying hard if there’s just going to be more of the same.

She sits with the same people at lunch every day. People who call her edgy and depressing, make fun of the hoodie she wears every day without stopping and the bags under her eyes. They rarely call her Jayden. Being friends with them has made her respond to the word “emo.” She doesn’t hate them, though, because it’s not like their assumptions about her are wrong, necessarily, she just doesn’t think they’d understand her feelings so she doesn’t bother trying to correct them. Or talking to them, most times.

A lot of times Jayden exits the school building able to count the number of times that she spoke throughout the day on one hand. Sometimes she doesn’t speak even once.

She sometimes remembers the bus ride home a little bit better just because she’s never able to get on in time to get a seat (much less a window seat) after school so she has to stand, clutching onto the railing for dear life and getting jostled every time to bus makes a stop. Her eyes glaze over and she thinks about nothing- futility, often- but sometimes she snaps out of her reverie, aware that someone is trying to move by her, or speaking to her about the tiny insignia on the sleeve of her hoodie, or that there’s a seat available and she needs to hurry if she wants to snag it before someone else from her school.

When Jayden gets home, usually she sleeps. Sometimes she stares at the ceiling, a large block in her chest and her limbs weighing a million pounds, and occasionally she takes out her homework, blinking uncomprehendingly at all the words and concepts that she doesn’t understand, hasn’t paid attention to since she entered high school three years ago. She’s staring another session of summer school, which she will likely also fail, right in the face, and she has the audacity to not even be intimidated anymore.

Because what she’s learned through experience is that adults say a lot of words like potential and future and integrity but what they actually mean is that they’re not going to make an effort to understand you, they’re just going to keep on asking you to be the person they want you to and be like all the other kids your age until eventually they deem you a lost cause and a problem kid and give up on trying to lecture you.

Her least favourite time of year, by far, is the beginning of a new school year. For a number of reasons (she hates it when her teachers call attendance aloud and she has to announce her identity in front of the class, hates name games and surveys and syllabi even more than that) but mainly because all of her new teachers are bound to assume that she, like everyone else, cares about grades and continuing the loop of wake up, do things, go to sleep, repeat on and on until she ceases to comprehend her own existence. All of those teachers are going to ask her why she doesn’t do her work, and try to work with her.

The more annoying teachers, the ones who act like they care, will send her to the counseling office, and there they already know who she is, so of course it’ll just turn into another staring contest, but when their attempts yield no results, Jayden tends to be the one who is blamed. Because she’s disrespectful. Because she’s apathetic. Because she’s directionless and has no perception of her future.

Not her fault that she understands that she doesn’t have a future.

She doubts that things will ever change. Regardless of the way the world shifts and changes in her lifetime, she’s still not one of the rich, the famous, the talented. She’ll remain where she is, a faceless, nameless, zombie in a crowd of unimportant people without identities. She’ll keep on keeping on, forever.

Even death can’t be counted as an escape. What happens when she dies? Nothing. Obviously, Jayden isn’t religious, or else she would have something to be working towards. She doesn’t believe in an afterlife, or any greater purpose. There’s no reason to exist. No reason to continue. Just the inevitability of everything all ending. Drawing closer and closer with every day. With every meaningless decision she makes. With every awkward dinner with her parents, avoiding eye contact but knowing what they’re thinking. Knowing what question they’re asking themselves in their heads, and each other with their eyes.

Most days Jayden attends school. She copes with the embarrassment that is no longer real embarrassment over not having her work done, over not knowing the material. She shrugs and averts her gaze when the teacher calls on her for an answer. She shuffles through the day, gives thin smiles to her friend, heads home and stows her phone in a drawer so that she can’t see it blinking red with texts she doesn’t care to answer.

But sometimes she doesn’t. Sometimes her alarm goes off at six thirty and she sleeps right through it. Not because she’s particularly tired, or because she can’t stand going to school, but because she just can’t make her limbs move. Her joints feel sore and heavy and stiff, like they need an oil change, and her eyelids weigh a million pounds, so she just lets them fall shut again and allows dreams to wash over her like a shower. She thinks about nothing and stays in bed for the whole day, only crawling out from under the covers to use the bathroom and occasionally splash water on her splotchy red face with the gross stuff in between her eyes and marks from the pillows on her face, wondering why she is this way.

Jayden considers herself (well, she understands herself, rather) to be a disappointment of sorts. Clearly, in this society, the goal isn’t to completely give up like she has. Yes, everything is futile, but working hard at least allows people to pretend that there’s some sort of reason for existing. Going through the motions only becomes tedious when one stops coming up with reasons to keep going through them. If you lie to yourself and say things like, well, after I save up enough money, I’ll move into this city I really want to! you’ll feel motivated enough to keep going. Jayden just lacks the energy to lie to herself.

She knows when she’s lying, after all. Some things she just can’t hide from her own mind. One of them is her cynicism. She knows how things are. There’s no point deluding herself, of all people.

Jayden wakes up at six in the morning one day, half an hour before her alarm, and without thinking much about it slides out of bed and dresses herself. Her movements are sluggish and heavy but she performs the same tasks as always. She doesn’t think about flavour or changing things up because she doesn’t care to. Wearing a different coloured hoodie wouldn’t excite her, it would just make her uncomfortable. That, she thinks as she ties her hair up into the same ponytail as always, might be a part of the problem.

The bus ride to school is different, emptier, but she knows that’s just because everyone is planning on catching the bus half an hour from now. It gives her room to spread out her legs across the seat next to her. She doesn’t, though. She just stares out the window as always, eyelids drooping like she’s going to fall asleep. Part of her wonders what would happen if she did fall asleep on the bus, just rode until the very last stop on its route and slept after that. Slept through all of the other routes, and then all the way to the terminal. Jayden briefly entertains the notion of sleeping on this bus forever, lost and forgotten to time. She decides the idea isn’t so unappealing.

But when the bus rolls up to the stop she usually gets off at, she climbs off, gripping her backpack straps and pretending that she’s invisible. In a way, she kind of is.

The walk the rest of the way to school blurs, and Jayden finds herself in her first period, and then suddenly she’s in fourth, gazing dully at the clock and wondering where the hours went. All the faces around her look the same, now, like they’re all just one person in different clothes, staring at her and judging her and wondering why she can’t even do something as simple as pretend that there’s a meaning to it all.

Lunch arrives and she sits at the same table as she always does, in the same spot with the same sack lunch with the same carrots and apple and peanut butter jelly sandwich that she never eats. She rests her chin on the table, wondering where her friends are, but they never arrive. Instead, someone else sits across from her.

Another one of those blurry, insignificant faces, and Jayden prepares herself to think about something else when the person talks, but then they talk.

“Hi, can I sit here? Sorry, I’m already sitting here, you can still say no, I’m just, like, new here, and it’s so awkward looking for places to sit when it seems like everyone already has friends, y’know?” It’s a girl, Jayden’s age, probably, a junior; her hair is short but a bit unkempt. It curls under her ears, which are slightly pointed at the tops, like she’s a fairy, or something. Her skin is a bronze colour, and her eyes are a striking amber-brown, warm and a little nervous and very friendly. She’s looking at Jayden expectantly, and it takes her a moment to figure out what the stranger is talking about.

“That’s fine.” Jayden replies softly. She averts her gaze, so that the other girl doesn’t think she’s weird for staring.

“I’m Margaret, but people call me Maggie, and you can too.” The girl (Maggie) introduces herself, holding out a confident hand to shake, and Jayden looks at it for a long moment, not sure what to do. After an awkward silence, Maggie seems to take the hint and retract her hand. Though her smile doesn’t even falter. “What’s your name? Are you a junior?”

“...Jayden.” Jayden speaks again in the same quiet voice as before. She’s not sure whether or not it would be acceptable to keep talking, but she does, figuring she should answer Maggie’s second question. “And… yeah. You are too…?”

“Uh-huh! What a bad year to transfer in, right? Halfway through, too! But when your parents move, they move, y’know?” Maggie laughs, like this is something relatable, and her laugh is pretty and nice like church bells so Jayden sort of wishes she could laugh as well. “So, is this a good school?”

And then, for the rest of lunch, despite receiving extremely bland answers, Maggie keeps on talking to her. It’s strange, because logically Jayden knows it’s a perfectly normal interaction, and yet… something about it sticks out to her as different. Perhaps it’s the fact that, when Jayden mentions that she doesn’t really pay attention in her classes, or do well at all, Maggie doesn’t treat it like it’s strange. She just shrugs, and says that everyone has their reasons.

When lunch is over, Maggie asks Jayden if she’d like to go somewhere after school.

“Nothing fancy,” Maggie says quickly. “Just, y’know, like, hanging out around the area. Maybe get some ice cream or something. It should be fun! At least, I think so. You don’t have to answer right away, though- if you want to, I’ll be hanging around the front entrance for a bit right after school anyway, so you can come find me. Alright? See you!”

And it’s not as though the prospect of going is a bad one. Jayden thinks that Maggie is a perfectly pleasant sort of person to spend time around. If she should be hanging out with anybody… Maggie works just fine. But at the same time…

Maggie said that it should be fun. And Jayden isn’t sure that she’s even capable of fun anymore. Jayden isn’t sure that she’s even capable of anything anymore. She thinks about all those text messages on her phone from friends who wanted to make plans but she never responded to. All those counselors she avoided eye contact with, the teachers she ignored, her own parents, who she never speaks to when they ask how her day was when she gets home from school. All she knows how to do anymore is disappoint people.

And knowing that everything is futile, that they’ll all end up dead anyway… she’s not sure that this’ll even have any significance to her. It’ll probably just turn into another one of those going through the motions things eventually, if Maggie keeps asking her to hang out and if she keeps saying yes.

Jayden looks out the window. It’s sixth period now. The sun is shining outside, like it has been recently despite it being winter, and the way that it streams through the bare branches of all the deciduous trees is… rather beautiful, actually. She wonders why she’s never noticed that before.

After school, she still hasn’t really made up her mind. She leaves the room and lets her feet carry her, expecting auto-pilot to take over and deliver her, dutifully, to the bus stop, as always. Instead, though, her legs take her to the front of the school, and she looks around for a moment before she spots Maggie. The other girl is sitting on the steps in front of the school, browsing some social media on her phone. She hasn’t noticed Jayden yet. Which means that if she turned around right now and left, Maggie would never know. Her bus will be leaving soon, so, she should probably head out right now if she wants to catch it and be home at the same time as usual. Get back to her routine. Keep trudging through her life and not experiencing any of it.

But…

She takes a deep breath, and then cups her hands around her mouth. “Maggie!” She calls out, and when the other girl turns around, she beams, and Jayden forces her feet to move her forward.

(Blocks away from the school, the afternoon rush of students piles onto Jayden’s bus, and it drives away without her, breaking the pattern.)

#inktober #inktober day ten #pattern #depression #world mental health day #mental health day #mental health #suicidal ideation #writing #original writing #my writing #writing piece #how many different ways can i state this is the tags.jpg #original work #introspective piece #hopeful ending

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