#however i did not realize what kind of morally bankrupt he was and i wish to see him meet his end by Giant Hammer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

concussed-to-pieces · 5 years ago

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To Tell You The Truth Part Eight

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: I may or may not have gone full tilt here, I apologize. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale @absurdthirst @cryptkeepersoul @fleetwoodmactshirt @88dragon06 @roxypeanut @walkerchick007 @peggers-n-beggers @robbinholland @chrisbostonevans @cinewhore

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains certain religious terminology used in a context that may be considered sacrilegious. Stay safe!]

Ezra might have prayed for temperance, but you prayed for strength. You prayed for courage, for the flourishing of the bonfire that wanted to roar like a lion in your abdomen. Admittedly, you did feel a bit silly approaching your eventual physical romance in such a militant fashion, but the vibrant hunger of his kisses (for all that he tried to gentle them) was intoxicating.

You were left wanting, craving, longing for more and fearing it all at once. Somehow, Ezra had known. Soothing your trembling away, adjusting himself before cradling you against his side, "I will not be a threat to you, gentle soul." And he wasn't. You were safely returned to your room, wholly unmolested aside from a final, lingering kiss that left your skin tingling.

You touched yourself that night for the first time in stands, hoping and wishing that he was doing the same in his own bedroom as you worked yourself feverishly to your orgasm.

The next morning, you were terrified that things would be different. That something might have changed and that he would have finally thought better of getting involved with someone like you. You lolled around in bed for far too long and then took your time getting washed up in the bathroom, but when you opened the door you were instantly confronted by your customary mug of morning beverage.

"I'm afraid I...missed you in the kitchen earlier." Ezra murmured, brown eyes meeting your own nervously. "The hydro, while a delightful invention, cannot hold a candle to your conversational wit."

He was worried, off-balance. It made your tension ease; you could feel your shoulders slouching a little. The sight seemed to get him to relax slightly, the furrow between his eyebrows lessening when you accepted the mug with a quiet sound of thanks. "Wasn't sure if you regretted anything." You mumbled by way of explanation.

"You are one of the few beautiful things in my life that regret has yet to gain a foothold on." Ezra assured you sincerely. "And it shall remain so for as long as I have a say in the matter." He paused. "Is that...acceptable?"

You smiled up at him, taking the first sip. "Entirely adequate."

…

Ezra was soft and lazy in the mornings, slow to really wake up, his sleep-tousled hair demanding to have your hands in it. You loved the way he would petulantly scrunch his nose when you kissed it.

Midday found him vibrant and mischievous, urging you to accompany him on his exploratory jaunts around the Pug's west dock and Ward Twenty Seven. His hand never left your own on these walks, that faint worry still there even in the safety and stability.

Ezra usually tried to plan something to occupy the evenings. On the rare clear nights during the late autumnal season, he would drag you out of the apartment to the barely-maintained west park so the two of you could watch haphazard performances by local artists in the ramshackle community gazebo. More likely though, the bad weather kept you cozy on the couch in the living room.

"I keep wondering when I'll wake up." Ezra announced abruptly one bitterly-cold night. "I posit that perhaps I perished in the Green; Bakhroma's noxious foliage nourishing itself even now with my carcass. It would be a certain poetic justice, I think, for someone as morally bankrupt as myself. My dastardly body serving to further the spread of such voracious verdance." His eyes were distant and troubled as he continued doggedly, "None of this feels real. It is all too...soft. Too kind. As though any edge that could wake me has been sanded down, dulled to a dream."

"I'm not a dream." You replied firmly, snuggling closer to his side.

"You are the most quixotic portion of this campaign, I have to say. That someone like you would even bother to glance my direction, to say nothing of the warmth you exude...gentle soul, you are a Stockholmian improbability of the highest caliber." Ezra's voice cracked, his expression haggard. "I long to be a man worthy of you. I don't believe in divine will, and even if I did I would be loathe to reduce you down to a simple compensation from some nebulous deity for patiently enduring their trials, but...but I can think of no other reason for you to still be here with me." He confessed wearily. "I offer nothing you can't secure yourself, I have-"

"Ezra?" You interrupted before he could spiral any further into melancholy.

"Yes, gentle soul?"

"I'm here because I love you, not because you have something I want to secure."

"That has never been in question, but-"

"No no." You climbed into his lap, your hands resting on his shoulders. "I. Love. You." You stated firmly, cradling his face in your palms after a moment. "Hey. I love you, Ezra. I love you. Even when you disappear into your own head. Even when you go where I can't follow." Your thumb accidentally grazed the scar on his left cheek and he flinched, the intuitively defensive motion making your heart clench. "I don't expect you to be perfect. Gods know I'm not! But don't think for a second that you don't deserve to at least be happy, okay?"

"I deserve none of this." He muttered dismally, still avoiding your gaze.

"What was it you told me the day you came to see me in the hospital? 'We have endured so much worse than having a little good fortune, yet upon being confronted with it, we do not feel worthy'."

His laugh was mirthless, raw. "I am remarkably eloquent, especially when I lie, gentle soul."

You huffed out a breath. "Oh that was a lie, huh? I guess you wanting to be a better man must also be a lie, right? A hackneyed platitude?" His chest shuddered, but you kept going, "All the times you've called me precious or beautiful or gentle, probably lies. A valkyrie? What a damn joke."

"Now, wait just-"

"You want to lie? Lie all you want. But you're not going to wallow." You scolded.

"Gentle soul, I do not lie about you." Ezra protested. "I yearn to be a better man, a man worth your avid ardour with every fiber of my reprehensible bein', yet I am unworthy of insomuch as the opportunity to enable me to do so."

"I wish you could see what I see." You ran a finger down the bridge of his pronounced nose, smiling when he wrinkled it. "I wish you believed me."

"As do I. More than you'll ever know." Ezra sighed, wrapping his arms around you. "If only to soothe my own damnable ego!"

"There's nothing I can do to convince you?" You quizzed him, wriggling a little in his grip to try and get more comfortable on top of him. He grunted, tightening his hold. "Maybe I should write you a poem."

"No, no." He replied breathlessly, his fingers digging into your hips. "You are already all the poetry I could ever desire, gentle soul."

"What about a sonnet? A haiku maybe?" Your brow furrowed as you noticed just how tightly he was holding you. "A...what, limerick?"

Ezra sputtered with laughter, his black mood finally seeming to lift. "A limerick, Kevva preserve me!" He chuckled.

"There once was a man named Ezra…" you began threateningly.

"I am not an innocent, and yet I implore your valkyrical heart for mercy. Spare me such torment, gentle soul!"

You pursed your lips, trying to think of a second line, but Ezra interrupted your thought process with a kiss. And really, it was incredibly unfair that his kisses always seemed to render your mind to soft static. He hummed into your mouth, obviously pleased with himself.

You didn't miss the way he settled you more firmly into his lap, however, making you break the kiss with a gasp. "No predation, gentle soul. I just crave you a little closer." Ezra breathed. "Is it too much?"

"N-No, not at all. I like it." You admitted shyly, toying with the buttons on his henley. He groaned, his mustache brushing the sensitive skin of your neck when he kissed you beneath your ear.

"I must confess to my shortcomings, gentle soul." He murmured against your neck. "I bear the cross of strong predisposition towards adoration and a certain...proclivity regarding devouring. I hope not to offend."

"I don't know what you said, but I trust you." You replied just as softly, shivering at the volume of the groan he let out. The way he sounded was enough to have you growing wet, your natural slick easing the drag of the seam of your pants over your clit when you shifted again.

"I said, I will worship you with every breath in my lungs, and I wish to put my mouth on you in a salaciously intimate fashion." Ezra translated, his lips curving into a languid smile against your skin as he spoke.

"Oh?" You asked, willing your heart to stop pounding excitedly in your chest and trying to adjust your stance on top of him surreptitiously.

"Kevva, I do not deserve you. I feel untried." He admitted shakily. "Pardon my lewd terminology, but the delectable undulations of your form against my own threaten to bring me to fruition. I am afraid I must insist that we-"

You rocked your groin down, eyes half-lidding when you realized what you had been absently rubbing against this whole time. You braced your hands on his chest, leaning close. "You must insist that we…?" You prompted him with a teasing smile.

"Gentle soul, such cruelty...you have me thoroughly turgid." He muttered through gritted teeth. His fingers cradled the back of your neck, as if he didn't trust himself to put them anywhere else. "Stay your hand, I beg you, before I make a mess of this."

"Of what, your pants?"

"...among other things, yes." Ezra growled.

"Hmm," you paused, as if you were thinking about it. "No."

"You-!" Ezra's words dissolved into a hoarse groan when you hitched your hips up to grind your cunt against the swollen curve of his member, barely contained by his jeans. "Martyr's malfeasance, I can feel the heat of you, please don't stop--may I touch you?" He gasped.

"Where?" You asked, not so wholly aroused that you forgot your caution.

He swallowed hard, the thick musculature of his neck rippling beneath your hands. "Wherever you'll permit me, please, please, gods, I have never craved someone as much as I crave you," he pleaded. "I want to grace you with as much benevolent joy as you grace me, more even, I...I will be nude for you, gentle soul, take me apart! Make me yours." He rambled on, his hands in your hair now as he urged your hips forward in their motion. "Permit me to taste and touch you, gentle soul. Allow me entry into the slick, sheltered hollows of your form, grant me succor where your divinity pulses to new life with every pass of my tongue." Ezra pressed his forehead to your own, his heated words stealing your breath. Half the allure was untangling them all. "I am but a sinner rendered wholly insensible by your presence, greedy and undeserving and yet I beg, I implore-"

You coaxed his hands out of your hair, smiling mistily at him before you kissed his knuckles. "Go ahead. I trust you."

"Rise then, you gossamer fae creature." He ordered, clapping a hand to your hip. "Titania's beauty pales in comparison to your own and I have not even divested you of your garments."

"Oh, here?" You bit your lip. "You don't want to...I mean, the bedroom?"

"Is that what you wish?" Ezra queried, his hands stilling. You took in the sight of him underneath you, hair thoroughly mussed with his shirt rucked up over his belly. "Whatever you prefer, gentle soul. Is this too fast?"

"No, no no, I'm more worried about how small the couch i--hey!" You yelped when Ezra cradled your body against his own and stood. Your knees grappled at his sides for a moment and he burst out laughing, fumbling to urge your leg up over his hip.

"I've got you! I've got you, don't fret." The former prospector soothed, still smiling. "You're safe."

"Oh Ezra?" You called over his shoulder. "Some man is here to take me away, he says he's worthy of me or something, I dunno', I'll see you tomorrow morning okay?"

In reply, Ezra buried his face in your neck and blew a raspberry on your skin, making you squeal and wriggle. "You are so smug, I love it!" He laughed. "You piquant little thing, a vivacious rebuttal to Kevva's divine will."

"Oh I'm sacrilegious now?" You questioned as he carried you down the hall, feeling a tremor of fresh excitement when he entirely ignored your bedroom door in favor of his own.

"I am confident that you shall rapidly come to terms with your newfound paganism, gentle soul."

You slung your arms around his neck and held on to him a little tighter, enthusiasm and trepidation warring within you.

Once the former prospector placed you on the bed in his room, his eager demeanor shifted. "Lights on, or off?" He asked softly. "Would you rather undress yourself, or would you like me to undress you?"

"Oh, u-um. Can we have just...a small light on? Like your bedside lamp?" You requested, twisting the hem of your shirt. "I'll be okay as long as I can see you, but I'm...well, y'know." You shrugged anxiously up at him.

"I don't know, I'm afraid. What are you?"

Really, you should have known better than to assume that he would let you off that particular hook so easily. You sighed. "I'm not exactly in the greatest shape even after all this time, I've got stretch marks and that scar and I-"

"And you, are immaculate." Ezra whispered, leaning in from the side to kiss the rest of your self-deprecation away. "You are strength and wonder and all the good that has ever been, encapsulated in a stunning mantle of kintsugi. Every scar is drenched in gold, every mark forged anew in radiance. You are pure sunlight, gentle soul, rapturous air in this battered floater's lungs."

"Oh," was all you could say in reply, wide-eyed.

"I wish you could see what I see." Ezra echoed your earlier words, smiling when you huffed and turned your head away from him. "It's true! Don't hide from me, gentle soul. I know it is embarrassing, but honesty is the best policy-"

"Says the one who claimed he was at his most eloquent when he was lying!" You protested, half-laughing.

"I regret to inform you that that was a lie as well."

"You're incorrigible."

"And infatuated." Ezra returned to the bed from dimming the lights, shedding his shirt as he went. "Impossible. Infuriating. Vexatious. Precocious." His voice dipped to a sultry purr, the next word buzzing against the skin of your neck. "Garrulous."

"Ezra please, you're the best-looking thesaurus I've ever known but I want to die of embarrassment. Can we not have a vocabulary-expanding session in the bedroom?" You begged, covering your face.

"Best-looking--such flattery, gentle soul!" Ezra teased you mercilessly, "You could have lured me into your embrace stands ago with that silver tongue of yours." He bent close, playing with your fingers at the hem of your shirt. "Besides, you cannot deny your reaction to my expansive vocabulary. You love it when I hum incomprehensible nothings just beneath your ear, don't you?" He enquired, mouthing kisses down the curve of your jaw. You couldn't help your delighted shiver. "You tremble for me, which seems to indicate a level of enjoyment. Either that, or apprehension. Are you apprehensive?"

"Maybe a little." You admitted.

"Because of me? Am I too close? Should I stop?"

"No, gods no!" You protested wildly. Ezra settled back on his haunches, ever patient as you struggled to find the right words. "I'm not apprehensive about you, it's...I guess I'm apprehensive about me. About whether I'll be able to...um, whether I can make you feel good." You floundered.

"I would not trouble yourself with such concerns, gentle soul. If I can offer any assurance, it is in the knowledge that my love and, in kind, my making of said love, is decidedly generous." Ezra soothed, those brown eyes warm and guileless. "All I ask is your permission and consent, which can and should be revoked if you are discomfited by any advance I make."

"Promise?" You whispered.

"Martyr's malfeasance, I would rather lose my arm than cause you undue suffering. I swear it." Ezra replied simply, running a hand through his rumpled hair. "I will not be a threat to you. I will never weaponize myself against you."

"Will…" you hesitated, feeling like everything had gotten so incredibly serious so fast. "Will you let me win at Scrabble?"

He tried to keep a straight face. It worked. Briefly. "I will--I-dammit-" he snorted. "You drive a hard bargain, gentle soul. I may require legal counsel. I am loathe to relinquish my Scrabble dictatorship." Ezra sighed dramatically. "But if it is a question of pursuing carnal delights or intellectual, I must admit the former holds infinitely more allure. I will permit you to win one game."

"Only one?" You bit your lip, tracing circles on his bare chest over his collarbone. A few scars stood out starkly on the olive skin, and you cupped one that marred his right pectoral.

Ezra's breath hitched. "W-Well, perhaps I might be open to candid discourse in favor of justifying two wins. But you must understand, winning by underhanded tactics will give you no lasting joy." He cautioned you sternly. "A faux victory is naught but a festerin' wound that plagues your existence."

"I'll keep that in mind." Your fingers moved to the buttons on your shirt. "I know these small ones are hard for you to undo."

"Your charitable nature overwhelms me." Ezra breathed. "Leave the hooks, will you? I always delight in that particular chore."

"By all means. It's a pain in the neck otherwise." You smiled at how intent his stare was. "You see something you like?"

"Infinite somethings." He groaned, shifting his body down until he laid on his stomach. He pillowed his head on his arm as he looked up at you, his eyes alight. "I want to taste your skin so damn badly."

"I'm right here, y'know."

"Yes, and I am utterly ruined by that fact. So close to me, so near." His hand moved upward, trembling fingers tracing your knee. "I am so greedy for you, gentle soul. To think that I would spend a lifetime courting danger and avaricious pursuits, only to be rendered timid and a-quiver by the simple knowledge that everything I could ever possibly want is here, here, I can reach out and fill my arms with it."

You slipped your shirt off of your shoulders and Ezra swore under his breath. "I'm not dumb enough to believe that you've had an easy time of it yourself." You murmured. "You've got more scars than I do."

"By the hubristic tendency of my own hand, I assure you." Ezra urged you upright, his fingers battling with the fasteners of your bra. "Old wounds, made infinitely less caustic by the knowledge that you anticipated me as tenderly as I anticipated you, gentle soul." Your bra finally gave way and the noise he made in his throat was delicious, a helpless little croon of excitement that had you squeezing your thighs together for some meager relief. "Gods, I am woefully underprepared. I would beg for a lifetime to observe you even in this hapless state of undress, yet I am ushered onward by the siren call of this wonderful skin. I would...I would very much like to touch you." He said faintly.

"Where?" You whispered. His hands slid beneath your arms from behind in reply, cradling your own hands before he raised them to hover over your newly-bared breasts. You bit your lip anxiously. "Be gentle, please?"

A nearly overwhelming sense of relief washed over you when Ezra nodded his forehead down into the nape of your neck. Knowing that he wasn't actually looking at you yet, all he was doing was feeling you...it made it more bearable somehow.

So far, so good.

His index fingers slipped over the still-soft peaks of your breasts and you couldn't help the sigh you let out, feeling your nipples begin to wake under his touch. "Gentle soul, I...words fail me." Ezra admitted quietly. "To coax you to blossom by my hand is all that I could ever want in this lifetime. Lean back, please?"

You obliged, turning your face to kiss his neck so he couldn't see your expression. Ezra's motions were unhurried, tender; calloused palms chafing your breasts with care. His breath stuttered every time you lavished his throat and jaw with kisses.

"It has been so long since I have been able to touch another, I only pray I do not disappoint. My technique may require some calibration." He apologized with a self-conscious chuckle. "I'm afraid my own imagination is a poor substitute for the flesh and blood fantasy you have presented me."

"I wish I could talk like you." You whimpered against his ear, feeling his chest expand with a sharp inhale.

"Martyr's malfeasance, I am uncertain that I would be able to endure that hypothetical iteration of reality." He said shakily, delicately rolling your nipples between his thumb and index. You arched your back, gasping. This was impossible, it had never been like this, even before Damon! The only time it had ever felt this good was when you were masturbating, because you knew what you needed, you knew how everything worked, but now-

Maybe you weren't the only one who knew just what you needed.

"I wonder," Ezra mused, "I wonder just how drenched you are from this alone. I know you are working yourself off on the seam of those wonderfully tight jeans, gentle soul. Would you indulge me for a moment?" He ducked his head down, nudging his nose affectionately into your burning cheek. "I'd appreciate it if you would unzip your jeans. You do not have to, naturally, and I do not expect it of you. But it would be...appreciated."

You fidgeted for a moment, then moved to undo your button.

"Stay, now." Ezra murmured. "Slowly. No demands, no rush. We are relaxed. We are peaceful. Climax need not be a grasping, headlong event. There can be such a build, a gloriously languid indulgence, where pleasure laps heady at the senses and completion bleeds into itself. You make me wish to take my time, gentle soul."

"Right, sorry. I just...I'm used to it. I'll try to remember." You panted, not missing the sorrow that flickered across his rough features. It made your heart ache and sing at the same time, his patience and understanding for your previous experiences.

"Do we need to stop?" Ezra queried.

You shook your head, nearly hitting his nose. "No, no. I'm having a great time." You insisted, making him chuckle. "No way I'm stopping now, we're just getting to the good part!"

"I am of the belief that any moment I spend with you, clothed or otherwise, is the good part. Perhaps I am too sentimental." The man allowed, still smiling. You bit your lip, skimming your fingers down the surface of your stomach. "There you are, gentle soul. Serene. Taut with anticipation, grinding those beautiful hips up for an echo of touch. Slowly, slowly, make your body beg for it. Draw out the moment of arrival." Ezra instructed as he continued to tease his fingers over your breasts, his voice rasping slightly. "Open your placket as if you have never encountered one before, feel the ticking of the zipper teeth as they slip open."

You closed your eyes if only because you knew you were safe, sliding down your zipper and arching yourself a little to wriggle your hips free. Your panties were soaked, wet enough that they made a soft noise when you tried to tug them down.

Before you could think to feel self-conscious, Ezra groaned long and low in your ear, and you didn't have to open your eyes to know exactly where he was looking. "You are dewy, gentle soul."

"For you." You dared to say, relishing his gasp for breath when you slid your fingers down over your slit.

"Slick from such hard labor, and I confess I am aching as well. But slow now, temperance. Will you touch yourself for me, gentle soul? Bring yourself pleasure?" Ezra paused, like he was fighting for air. "Allow me a taste of the sheltered, trembling divinity that is your womanhood, gentle soul. I am a man adrift in a desert of sensation." He begged hoarsely.

"You want…?" You trailed off, flushing hot at his rapid nod towards your hand. "Are you sure? I mean, what if it's weird? What if-"

"Nothing about your sensuous form could lessen my desire for you, gentle soul." Ezra licked his lips, pupils blown black with want. "Give me your taste. Anoint my mouth with your arousal as we indulge in this carnal rapture."

You were certain that if he said anything else you would spontaneously combust, his words like gasoline on the roaring fire in your belly. Ezra took the opportunity to lick into your mouth, muttering fractured, helpless adoration under his breath as you whimpered and rocked beneath him. Your fingers dove back to your cunt, slipping through the slick folds to tease your entrance and then retreating up over your clit. With a hiccup of loss, you pulled your hand free and shyly extended it to him.

"Lay them on my tongue, you angelic creature. We engage in a communion older than the stars themselves; gods, that I were a worthier man!" Ezra urged your fingers into his mouth, the brown-haired man moaning and laving at your soaked digits with an enthusiasm that you didn't anticipate. "As I suspected," he groaned, "heavenly ambrosia, nectarean. You have sundered my very spirit with your taste, gentle soul."

"You...it's okay, then?"

"It is an offering from your body. Longing given delicious, lascivious form. It will never be less than the most precious thing to me." Ezra assured you, devilish fingers tormenting the stiffened peaks of your breasts. "Stroke yourself for me, please? Bury those nimble little fingers back into that sweet cunt and bring yourself to fruition."

You squeezed your thighs together, arousal pooling heated and dark in your stomach. He loved you. He didn't feel entitled to you. He wanted you to feel good. "Ezra-"

"My name from your lips is at once agony and ecstasy, gentle soul. I could listen to your voice quivering for hours." Ezra crooned, a smile pressed to the skin of your shoulder. "Are you close? Are you rising turbulent, gentle soul? Threatening completion?" You could barely manage your nod before his large hands palmed your breasts, your nipples tenderly caged between his knuckles. "Then grant me that vision, gentle soul, let me witness you fucking resplendent." He grated out, the uncharacteristically blunt curse sending a searing jolt through your body.

You were helpless to resist his plea, the blood roaring in your ears rendering you numb to the world for a few moments while your orgasm crashed over you.

Ezra cradled you close to his chest; kisses landed on your neck, forehead, shoulders as he murmured praise and…

And you might have briefly lost consciousness. Briefly.

Part Nine

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alpaca-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Mystics, Chapter 19

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, everything seems to be going well- in fact, their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems….

Read Chapters 1-18 and more HERE

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror, @livingforthewhump

CW: psychological whump, emotional whump, memory whump, angst... like so much, Lyrem centric chapter

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CHAPTER NINETEEN: A BLAST FROM THE PAST

Daffodils and tiger lilies.

Lyrem had to admit that they went well together. The sunshine colours would brighten the deathly cold winter’s day in an instant, and he desperately needed some warmth right now. The frigid January day was threatening to bring him under the tide of darkness. He had been away for a while. A job that was supposed to take a week turned into a month of running around and making deals with all sorts to please a certain U.S. senator. A republican, no less. He was dying to have Maria back in his arms again. It had been too long.

The radio lit up on its own.

“-great start to 1991 from Janet Jackson, folks! Next up we have Madonna with ‘Justify My Love’”-

“Scared?”

Paimon appeared in the passenger seat. Lyrem looked past him to glance at the bright yellow door at the end of the walkway. The snow had been cleared already, and the lights in the house were all out save for the porch.

“Why would I be scared?” he asked.

“You missed Christmas. Women love Christmas. They build up so much hope and sing Baby Please Come Home!” Paimon chuckled. “And you know, if you’re not coming, then she might be singing it to someone else- in more ways than one, if you know what I mean.”

Lyrem scowled at him and opened his truck door. It closed with a loud creaking at the hinges and being stupid in the moment, re-opened the door to retrieve the lovely blooms that he had picked out.

“She’s my true love,” he stated, peering in to Paimon. “Isn’t that what you promised me? She’d never hurt me like that. She’d never betray me.”

“She’s not a robot, Lyrem, she’s a human being with control over her own choices. Even true love can’t compete with free will.” Paimon shrugged and forced a small smile. “But, you know, perhaps she’s one of those really special ones. You best take care of her.”

Lyrem grew disgusted at the insinuation and slammed the door. Paimon had already vanished into thin air.

Before he realized it, he was facing the yellow door, and holding the flowers close to shield them from the cold. The door was unlocked, and he stepped through. It was just after dinner-time. Something about the house felt wrong. There was too much energy. Lyrem wasn’t much of a psychic, but he could feel the heat in the air- oppressive and… suffocating. The words that Paimon had spoken lingered in the back of his mind- or maybe it was the front of his mind disguised as the back of his mind…

Get rid of the thoughts Lyrem. They are not yours-

He turned, kicking off his shoes and flicked on the light.

“SURPRISE!”-

He ditched the flowers, and pressed his back against the door. Lyrem prepared to defend himself with a knife that would have been on his person if it weren’t for security confiscating it as he tried to take it as carry-on. The rest of the lights in the house lit themselves with the help of some extra hands from recognizable faces- but Lyrem was on high-alert. They may as well have been strangers. In reality, they were friends.

Well, Maria’s friends. Lyrem didn’t have any friends- not human friends.

There was a bright flash of light, that caught his scowling glare and froze it in time. The grinning face of a dark-haired man looked back at him over the camera as it spit out a polaroid.

Slowly, Lyrem caught himself up. There were streamers of bright colours draped along the ceiling and a shining banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY hung across the entranceway to the living room. Realizing that his reaction to the event was less than ideal, he smiled. Maria popped in front of him, escaping her hiding spot from behind the couch.

“What… what is all this?” Lyrem started. He knew what it was. It was his 42nd Birthday, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled.

“It’s your birthday, you goose!” Maria wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him quickly on the lips.

“Right.” He picked up the flowers off the floor, and handed them to her, in a less ceremonial fashion than he was hoping.

“Awe, aren’t you sweet.” She accepted them and played with the petals idly. “You forgot last year’s too, but this time, when I heard you’d be coming home, I knew you couldn’t miss out on Christmas and a birthday party! Just wouldn’t be right.” She ran off into the kitchen, abandoning him.

The rest of the guests, couples mostly milled about and filtered into the hall. Lyrem nodded and smiled to them kindly.

“Good trip?”

He nodded, taking the questions like a politician surrounded by nosey reporters.

“Where did you have to go this time?” Kelly, a blonde lady with thick lenses in her bright pink bifocals inquired of him. Her husband wrapped an arm around her waist. Lyrem always forgot his name but it was something very basic. He was the one with the camera.

Valhalla. “Norway,” he replied.

“Remind me, what is it that you do again, Lyrem?” the husband asked.

“I’m… a liaison. A third-party negotiator of sales. Very boring work, I assure you.”

“Oh? What kind of sales?”

“Depends on the client,” he answered shortly. “I’m a freelancer.”

“Happy Birthday, to you… Happy Birthday, to you…

Happy Birthday, dear Lyremmm, Happy Birthday too you!”

The chorus of voices broke out amongst the chit-chat as Maria carried the cake all the way into the hall. It was lit up and lighting up her face. Kelly’s husband lifted the camera, and snapped a quick photo.

“What are you all still doing in the hallway?” She snapped playfully. “Get in the dining room already so we can eat cake and play Pictionary.”

They all filtered off to the dining room to the side of the Georgian style house. Kelly ran off to bring in the wine that had been left chilling in the fridge. Her husband handed off the pictures to Lyrem.

“This one of you didn’t turn out, I don’t know what happened. Your face went all black and fuzzy- but this one of Maria’s looking pretty cute, eh?”

Lyrem took the photos graciously and clicked his tongue.

“Philly, could you open this one for me?” Kelly ushered her husband away to help with the wine bottles. She giggled out loud and sneered. “I have the worst grip.”

“Lyrem!” Maria scolded. “You need to blow out your candles! Make a wish!”

He sighed. He wished that the party would be over. He wished that these people would go home. He wished he could get a night alone with his fiancée. He wished that he could find something… anything that would bring him comfort. Then, he wished he wasn’t constantly wondering if he was a bad man.

And that was all he wished even before he reached the end of the table.

By the time he leaned over the cake he was completely out of wishes, but blew out the candles anyway. Maria smiled. He loved it when she did that.

The room went dark, delving into the shadows and engulfed by the confusion, Lyrem blinked, and realized suddenly that he wasn’t back in the old Georgian house, with Maria and surrounded by friends and… Phillip.

. . . . . . . .

“No, go back!” A light voice said through the dark.

“Persephone, it is unkind to spy on the lives of others, even if they are guests in our realm”-

“Pfft,” the higher voice brushed off the scolding lower one. “This isn’t our realm and you know it.”

“Nevertheless, he is our guest. We ought to treat him with respect.”

“But I want to see them kiss again”-

“Persephone, stop”-

. . . . . . .

Lyrem almost woke, but was jolted back to a time… different than his birthday and he lost control over his own mind once again.

They were awake and lying in their bed, bodies bare and snuggling beneath the quilts as the powdery snow fell, piling against the bedroom window and onto the boughs of the trembling aspen outside. It was a bit less than a year later. They were married now. The little gold ring was on his finger and hers matched just as simply. Carolers were outside, they were a week too early, but then, he didn’t mind the soft sounds that seemed to leak their way in through the window on the second floor.

He wasn’t looking out the window, entertained by counting the snowflakes like she was. He was enjoying her, watching her. Kissing her olive skin and wrapping himself in closer to her back as one hand played with her soft hair and the other stroked her waist. He felt like himself. He felt warm, and safe, and loved.

“I have to tell you something.”

He stopped kissing. Maria rolled over to face him and stared into his eyes. Suspiciously, he leaned his head away from hers and she pursed her lips nervously.

“What do you need to tell me?” he prompted.

Maria took a long breath, putting Lyrem on edge.

“You were gone a long time for this last client, you know? I didn’t have a lot to do, and I tried to start my own travel company after Jet Rover let me go. I tried to stay busy�� you know?”

Lyrem nodded and swallowed. The travel agency went bankrupt soon after. Maria had been left by the wayside to pick up her life and start something new just before Lyrem needed to travel out to Belize for work. He came back with one hell of a tan. The tone of her voice grew shakier. The anxiety was growing stronger for both of them.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He said gently. He was gone too often. For too long. Dammit all. He should have told Paimon to shove it instead of going along with his ridiculous schemes. Huitzilopochtli, an Aztec God of War, never did end up striking a deal with them to give the Pentagon a little morale boost after all. Lyrem ended up losing money in that charade too. Not the wisest bet he had ever made. He wouldn’t blame her for leaving him- for sleeping with another man. These winters were hell on earth, after all-

“I bought a place,” she said.

Lyrem twisted his face-

“You bought a place?” he repeated, confused. They had a place. It was a beautiful place. He wasn’t always in it either. She didn’t need her own place.

“On seventeenth. I thought to myself, you know, there is no point in me wandering around and trying to make a living for myself in travel if you’ll be off travelling for work too. And I can’t just eat, cook, and clean for myself all the time- I’d lose my mind so... I’m starting a business!”

“Oh,” Lyrem’s eyes grew wide, and then interested. “What kind of business?”

“I… I don’t know yet”- Maria grinned excitedly, glad that his interest was showing. “I just bought the space on a whim. I don’t even really know why. I just needed to do something.”

“Well… That certainly is something.”

“You don’t like the idea?” She asked. Puzzled by his sudden change in demeanour, taking it as a briefly condescending tone.

“No, no. It’s not that. I just…” he was lost in thought as the air grew chilled. He watched the skin on her shoulder pebble up as she sighed.

“You thought I was about to tell you I was pregnant,” she surmised.

“Mm.” he nodded, even if it wasn’t true.

The thought of having children had crossed his mind. She wasn’t as old as he was. It wouldn’t be so risky to bring kids into this world except-

“Not really on my mind, you know that,” she commented in a rush.

He nodded again.

“I know… But what if we did try?” the words fell out of his mouth suddenly and without much thought. Entertaining the idea of being a father was something that he often did before Maria had announced her opposition to the idea. Perhaps something had changed in her since she was let go from Jet Rover Travel Inc.

She turned away from him, focusing on the snow as it fell from one white blanket to another.

“I just... I don’t want to be a mother,” she said quietly.

He didn’t remember how painful this moment was. Though quiet in her refusal, his heart was still brutally torn open by her words. That was her choice, and he would respect it. That didn’t make the reality any less painful to accept. True love didn’t include a perfect family. There wasn’t a written agreement for something like this, but if he wanted Maria to be happy, he would have to learn to live with her decision. He rolled off his side of the bed.

“It’s fucking freezing in here, isn’t it?” he commented, rubbing one eye. “I’m going to turn up the heat.”

. . . . .

“Are you happy, now?” the voice from the darkness asked.

“No, I thought there was more love here than that”- the light voice said annoyed. “Ugh! Did I skip over something?”

“Look at what you put him through, the man is crying.”

Lyrem searched the darkness as it quickly enveloped him once again. He remembered his place, a dead man reliving his time with Maria and how it had been squandered and painted with resentment.

He always imagined it happier than this.

“The poor thing was enraptured by her- there’s just something so bittersweet about that.”

“Hey!” Lyrem shouted into the air angrily. “I can hear you, you know!”

There was a low grunt from somewhere in the darkness. “We cannot waste our time. We need to find the right moment. The one with his call, or else we will never be able to find him again.”

Lyrem spun around. There was nothing. Nothing up, nothing down, nothing anywhere. The voices, however, emerged from every direction.

“Find who?!” Lyrem called out, brimming with frustration and an added vulnerability to the idea that these intruders could see whatever they wanted.

“Fine,” Persephone settled reluctantly. Slowly, her voice faded away. “But I get to watch their wedding after! I want to see a happy ending after all this sadness…”

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iblamemikegreen · 4 years ago

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nobody talks about the destruction that being sexually abused as a child actually causes

ramblings by a survivor fighting to survive: pt 7

narcissism (noun) - selfishness, involving a sense of entitlement, a lack of empathy, and a need for admiration, as characterizing a personality type.

my mother was beautiful. it’s true. a real bonafide beauty queen. armed with poise, grace, talent, natural beauty, carefully practiced soft spoken words, and a constant polite smile.

so shiny and perfect and wonderful. on the outside.

on the inside, however, she was one of the ugliest people to have ever stepped foot on this earth. she was mean, vindictive, manipulative, vain, narcissistic, cruel, selfish. ugly.

another doll in the dollhouse. fooling everyone she came in contact with, having them all think that she was so demure and innocent.

when I was 11 and finally came forward about being repeatedly sexually abused for 6 years by my own grandfather (my mother’s father), my mother decided to sacrifice my safety and well being in order to protect her “Christian reputation.”

“this is embarrassing” “what will the rest of the church think of us?” “Lindsey don't say anything to anyone about this, it’s shameful and gross” “I cant believe this is happening to me”

she never told me that it wasn't my fault. because she blamed me for ruining her perfect world. her perfect family. her perfect image.

instead of blaming my abuser, she blamed me, the terrified and lonely 11 year old victim.

she made the abuse that I had to endure, about herself. her permanent victim mentality bled through into everything, even her own daughter’s sexual abuse. she decided to stick her head in the ground like a coward and pretend like the abuse didn't happen, and if I ever tried to bring it up or exhibited a behavior attributed to PTSD she would cry and make it all about herself. because everything was always about her. always.

more often than not, I find myself wishing that I had a mother that loved me. but she never did, and she never will. so I've decided to lay it all out in the open here and write a public letter to her in order to obtain the closure I need to move on with my life:

Dear Stephanie,

I would like to start off by saying that you lost the right to refer to yourself as my “mother” the second you decided to protect the man who destroyed my childhood instead of protecting me. because of you, the monster that ripped away any sense of safety, happiness, comfort, trust, and humanity from me didn't go to jail. he wasn't even registered as a sex offender. a cretin that sexually abused his own granddaughter from when she was the ages of 5-11 wasn't even registered as a sex offender because YOU and your wretched family cried to the judge and prosecutor because you wanted to protect your false pious reputation. what you did was beyond the realm of evil, and I hope you feel shame for it for the rest of your empty pathetic existence.

when I was 13 I overheard you while you were talking to your morally bankrupt mother on the phone. you were complaining about how I “wasn’t getting any better.” and how “it was embarrassing that I couldn't just let the past go.” well, while you tried to pretend like the abuse just never happened, I couldn't. you don't know what it’s like to have someone hold complete power over you. you don't know what it’s like to live in desolation as a child, fearful of being trapped in a room alone with your grandfather because you know he takes pleasure in hurting and destroying everything that you are. you don't know what it’s like to have your innocence and childhood completely ripped from your tiny fingertips before you even know how to spell your own fucking name. you never even bothered to try and understand the pain and suffering I had to endure. you didn't care about anything other than yourself, and your public image.

you never apologized. and you never will, because you’re too far gone to even being to understand the calamity of your shitty parenting, and your heinous decisions. you created your own false reality, and separated yourself from the true world because all you wanted was attention. me being the victim of sexual abuse was just too much of the “spotlight” not being directed to you, so you decided to make yourself the victim in all of this. any mention of what I had to endure and you’d cry, asking why this happened to you. your reputation, your family, you you you you you you you.

a few years after the “scandal,” as you so gracefully put it, happened, you and I were shopping at the mall. all of a sudden you pulled me aside into a store, giggling as you did so. when I asked what was going on, you pointed across the hall and there he was. the monster that tortured and molested me for six years, walking with his enabler of a wife, hand and hand, shopping at the same mall as us. you were treating it as if it were some kind of innocent game of hide and seek. acting as though me having to see the embodiment of detrimental and ground wavering fear and pain was no big deal. you got angry at me when I started crying, because I was ruining your shopping trip.

you’re impossible to reach, because you don't even exist anymore. you just don't get it. you’re not even human. you’re just a phantom, remnants of some washed up beauty queen who was so narcissistic and vain that she couldn't stand her own daughter surviving life destroying trauma at age 11 because it drew attention from you.

you were my biggest bully throughout the entirety of my life. no matter what I did, it was never good enough for you. or maybe it was, and you just thought it was fun to build me up one step, then cut me down five steps. I was always too ugly, too fat, too smart, too stupid, too untalented, too poorly dressed, too bad at makeup, too this, too that, not enough this, not enough that. it was exhausting, talking to you. being around your suffocatingly negative and jealous aura. you were so insecure about yourself and your fading beauty queen looks that you took it all out on your only child, like a miserable old hag. and yet you wondered why I never wanted to cultivate a relationship with you.

I still vividly remember the moment I realized that you never loved me. it was June 2010, I was 15, and you and my dad were in the midst of a stressful divorce. it was stressful because you refused to leave the house, even though you weren't welcome, because you just loved to make everyone around you completely miserable; but I digress. we were sitting in your car in front of the house, and I told you that when the divorce was finalized I wanted to live with my dad full time, and for him to have full custody of me. it was then that you turned, looked directly at me, and said, “Lindsey that’s not fair. I don't want to have to pay child support.” you truly a miserable monster, just like your mother, and just like your father.

there aren't enough words in this galaxy to explain how much you completely and utterly failed me in every aspect of being a mother. and honestly, I just don't have the time to waste on you anymore. I'm writing this to fully stop all of these thoughts, all these words left unsaid, from continuing to circle around in my brain. you aren't worth the stress, you really aren't. I cant even remember the last time I spoke to you, or saw you, because I cut off all contact years ago. maybe once upon a time I needed you as my mother, but when I realized that you were never one to begin with, that need faded. I grew strong on my own. I am who I am because I made me, and I did a hell of a good job. you don't get to take any credit in my successes, in my life, in my survival, because you are nothing to me. congratulations, Stephanie. you finally get what you’ve always wanted, the unwavering heat of the spotlight, because I'm exiting your stage for good.

I don't forgive you, I'm not sure I ever will. because you don't deserve it. saying, “I'm sorry for whatever I may have done to upset you,” is NOT an apology. it’s not even a small step in taking actual accountability. but I don't expect much from someone as selfish and fake as you.

before you try to pretend to cry and say that I'm being mean to you, just know this, you aren't a victim. I'm not your true adversary here. you are your own worst enemy. these are just the consequences to your own narcissistic and evil actions, and you have to live with them forever in your empty, loveless, fake life.

you’ve always preached about how much of a “good christian” you are, and threw me away in order to protect that precious reputation of yours, so I'll end with this: I hope you’re somewhere praying.

Sincerely,

The Daughter Who No Longer Thinks Of You

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