#micah para | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

emmawrxght · 2 years ago

Text

Tagging: Micah, mentions of Emma and Emory

Location: Aurora, Colorado

Timeframe: Solstice-Early January

Notes: Micah goes home for the holidays following the curse-breaking

It was a sixteen hour flight from Rome to Denver, then just a thirty minute drive to Aurora. Micah slept through most of it, coming down from the bender he’d been on the last few weeks. Showing up on his mother’s doorstep looking like he’d been through the ringer wasn’t a good look, it had been so long, so many years spent away from the place that had chased him and Emma out.

They’d been kids then, but the Starlings had never treated them as such. It wasn’t Micah’s only encounter with the sort of prejudice that came with being a halfblood, but it was the first, and the effect it had on his relationship with Emory - with his home - that made it the worst.

A taxi waited for him outside the airport, one of several in a stream lineup of yellow, white and black, chequered decals that were indicative of a finish line. It was late now, dark, long past sunset. Micah wished he could have savoured his first moonlight but this wasn’t the only one he’d experienced, he’d stolen so many nights from Emma last year that it sullied the experience. Through the cool glass in the backseat of the car Micah didn’t look up at the sky and see a future or new possibilities, it felt like a curtain was coming down. An inkling feeling twisted in his gut and told him the worst was still to come, that in terms of failures Micah had only just gotten started.

Emma hadn’t embraced him, no matter how much he’d tried over the Summer and at the beginning of the Fall, she’d been right, he’d fallen apart once again. Emory couldn’t stand him and neither could she, which was fine, Micah couldn’t stand himself either. Gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes, in sober light it was hard to look at himself, he saw the bits of skin at his neck that he’d picked raw a few nights ago when he was sure there was something crawling around underneath. Days without eating because Micah had forgotten, who needed an appetite when the party never ended?

The home looked familiar and foreign all at once, it was smaller than Micah remembered. He stepped out of the taxi and slung his duffel over his shoulder to look up at the house that carried so many bones.

“Now, at last, I’m free of you.” Emma said, her voice dry and curt as she levelled on him the most hateful stare she could muster, it was worse now, worse than it had been the night of the masquerade. She’d had time to marinate in her rage, and worse, Micah had managed to do even more damage. “Whatever you do, wherever you go, haunt no one but yourself.” Micah had grabbed her arm as she turned away but she’d only smacked it away. “Bastard,” she hissed, “I nursed your pride, I cleaned your messes, and you’ve never let me have anything. At least give me this: let me be rid of you, for good. Forever.”

“This time will be different.” Micah pleaded as Emma stalked off into the dark she’d been left in for too long.

“I don’t care.”

Old bones built with the memories of youth, the steps he climbed onto the porch had been last painted the Summer he turned nine. Micah remembered breaking twigs and shoving them through the planks to the dark depths below, like he and Emory were hiding a secret by chipping away at the fresh coat.

There was a light coming through the door, Micah peered into the glass and saw his mother in the kitchen down the hall, he could hear the soft rock of the 70s playing faintly from his position and he thought of a time when he used to know every word. When he’d dance around the kitchen in the middle of the afternoon and she’d tell him that he was born to catch the light.

He sniffed and pushed open the door, it was a small town and to this day she kept it unlocked.

“‘Mm home.” Micah’s sheepish voice cut through the radio as he looked at the woman who watched him from the kitchen, blue eyes and blonde hair, his own features stared back at him as a plate slipped between her fingers and shattered upon the floor.

He noticed now the lines upon her face, the wear of age and worry that he had no doubt been the cause of. How many nights had she sat up in this very kitchen, waiting for good news that would never come. Micah knew that she and Emma talked often, at least she had that - but him? He was a ghost, he’d buried himself long ago and it looked like she never stopped mourning, never stopped weeping.

“Micah-” she breathed as her arms came around him all at once, he felt tired all of a sudden, like all the energy and tension he’d been holding in his body evaporated all at once.

“I’m home.” He repeated, this time his breath quivered as he spoke and shook the vowels that made up the middle. Micah shuttered against her frame, his face buried in the place where the crook of her neck met her shoulder. He held onto her tighter unaware that he was crying until he felt her hand on his back move in soothing circles.

“It’s okay,” she promised. Even as the ground opened up beneath his feet, even as he felt the weight of the home’s old bones begin to break. “It’s okay,” she repeated.

“I met him,” Micah breathed when he could at last come up for air, his eyes full of water and salt, “the old man-” she looked momentarily perplexed as he smirked at his own stupid moniker for him, “dad.”

In the days that followed Micah got to celebrate Christmas at home for the first time since he’d left, the fear that the Starlings would turn up on their doorstep got smaller with each passing day. Then it was gone completely. He laid in his old bed in the room that had been kept clean but identical to how he’d left it. Micah felt like a spirit visiting a grave as his mind cleared and he heard the impressions of youth that pressed against his thoughts.

He heard Emma’s hopes, her dreams, she left them here. The longer they lingered the louder they got, so when he was brave enough, he headed into town for no reason beyond the chance to walk familiar paths with newfound nostalgia. All those years he’d taken home for granted, in so many ways he still did, he couldn’t come back here, not really, but it felt good to visit. Better than he’d thought. Micah had let himself think that his mom would hold the same rejection as Emma, maybe it was a fool’s errand, but she still managed to see whatever good remained in him.

They sat up late on New Year's Eve and cheered at midnight, popping party crackers that Micah had picked up from the drug store as some of his mom’s friends jumped around the living room with them. He remembered a few, but most were new pieces that the woman had assembled in the absence that her children left behind. They traded stories of their own kids, one in college, one in university, each wanted to know about Rome. Emma’s career, his own, who they were seeing, why his sister had stayed home.

In the silence that followed when Micah didn’t really know what to say, his mother changed the subject.

“What if they never forgive me?” Micah asked as he sat on the porch swing, an interrupted smoke between his fingers that his mother quickly grabbed, to his surprise, she put it to her own lips. “What if they don’t?” She said simply with an exhale, “They might resent you for the rest of your life.” “Hardy har har, you’re not helping.”

She didn’t laugh.

“I’m serious, you could spend the rest of your life alone. You have to be okay with that.” She knocked the ash off into an empty can between them before offering it back to Micah.

“When did you start smoking?”

“I don’t, but your dad always said I look really cool when I smoke,” she said with a short laugh punctuated by a roll of her eyes. A cold beat passed between them as smoke trailed from his fingers to the sky, he felt different now, stronger in a strange way. But was that enough?

“Do you really think I’m going to be alone forever?”

“No,” she said with an ease that made Micah feel as if he could breathe. “Not unless you want to be, and I don’t think you do. Do you?”

“No.”

“Well good, because you can’t stay here.” She said with a sideways glance that met Micah’s blue eyes with her own, she smiled, “You’re cramping my style.”

#micah #self para #y'all are proofreading? I don't know her #let go and let god #selfpara

3 notes · View notes

mycharacterdump · 1 year ago

Text

My Eleven and a Half Days At Priory Hospital North London

16 May, 2021

I don’t reckon I’ll be any good at this, but my counselor here says it’ll help me. I was stuck in intake for six hours, strapped to a hospital bed and poked and prodded and all that uncomfortable shit. I asked if they wanted a bone marrow donation as well, and that I had plenty below the belt. The nurse didn’t find it very funny. I thought it was hilarious. Thankfully, my psychiatrist and counselors think I’m a real riot, but they also say my humor is a crutch. Dunno about that. It’s not like I’m always making dick jokes. It is kind of hard not to when they just about molest you in order for you to be cleared here.

Anyway, I don’t know what else to write. My brain is foggy from the drugs they have me on. The sedatives haven’t worn off yet. I’ll get back to it in the morning.

Micah.

17 May, 2021

I had my first group therapy today. Listening to kids who haven’t even made it to college yet talk about slitting their wrists and microdosing Adderall is pretty fucking bleak. Some of them brought the composition notebooks we’re given at the beginning of our stay and read out of them. It made me realize I don’t really say much in mine. I’m a musician, not a writer. But I should give it a try. I will tomorrow. The medication I was put on when I got here is finally starting to wear off. I almost feel like I belong in my own skin again.

Micah.

18 May, 2021

Priory Hospital North London is the best of the best. I get an en-suite bedroom with my own bathroom and television and everything. I’ve been assured that there is no better place my parents could’ve sent me — aside from home, I told the nurse, who again wasn’t impressed. I don’t know why I’m kind of vying for the validation of people I normally couldn’t give less of a fuck about. I guess I’ll unpack that with my counselor in half an hour. Until then, I was given direction to write about what I remember before coming here. How I felt and the like. I can give that a try. I have to actually remember it first.

Tomorrow.

Micah.

19 May, 2021

On 15 May, my older sister Tallulah was called to hospital as she was the first person in my contacts list. I don’t remember how I got there. All I remember is the feeling of my heart in my throat and my blood pooling in my head and the ache of my bones underneath the cracked skin. I guess I got into a fight? I felt a sharp pain in my ribs for a few hours but the doctors said nothing was fractured or broken. It wouldn’t be my first time getting myself into trouble like that, but it must have been the worst since I woke up in a hospital room instead of my bed. All I can remember from before that is driving myself to band practice in my Mum’s car since I’ve never been trusted to own one. I barely got my driver’s license. I used to get angry at the idea that someone I never met could deduce whether or not I was entitled to a basic freedom, but I guess I understand now. I’m a lot different than other kids my age. Even the ones here, who are all fucked up with fucked up stories I can’t stomach. Half the shit they talk about has to be a joke. If it’s not, then I must be seriously demented. I think I am, because that’s all I can remember about that day. The persistent hurt that spread throughout my whole body until I was just one fast beating pulse.

Now that I think about it, that wasn’t the first time I felt that way. Like I was made of livewire. I think it was just the first time I recognized it for what it was.

Micah

20 May, 2021

I earned myself a day pass! Very proud of myself. I used it to go to the cinema. I don’t remember when I last went and sat down and watched a movie. Must have been at least a year, I’ve been so caught up with the band and schoolwork. I bought popcorn and chocolate and a large Dr. Pepper and watched Licorice Pizza, since it was the only appealing film at the box office. I thought it was funny. I don’t know how long it’s been since I laughed. It almost hurt. I showed off my ticket stubs in group today and made a fourth year red in the face because I know how to keep my cool and he throws tantrums whenever they run out of the green flavor of jello in the cafeteria. I thought he’d start foaming at the mouth. When I told this to my counselor, she said, “We can’t dehumanize our peers, Micah.” I almost said:

“Does it count if they weren’t human in the first place?”

But I didn’t. I should get another day pass based on self-control alone. That isn’t how it works, though. Figures.

Micah

21 May, 2021

Tomorrow is my 18th birthday. Mum and Dad already called to say they would be here, but Tal is stuck in New York. I think the whole thing that happened with me traumatized her. I feel guilty about it, even though I don’t remember. My counselor says it’s a good thing. Feeling like shit is good? I guess it proves I’m not a sociopath like everyone else seems to think. I promise I’m not. Sometimes I think I feel too much, like so much it actually hurts. I’ve been forced to experience life with the volume maxed. It’s why I can’t trust anyone, family included. Everything is always so loud and everyone is always shouting at me to snap out of it. Why can’t they see what I see? Or feel what I feel? It’d make everything so much fucking easier.

I guess I know what I’m wishing for tomorrow.

Micah

22 May, 2021

I’m 18. I didn’t think I would make it this far, to be honest with you. I and all my family figured I would have offed myself at this point. But I didn’t. I am still stuck in Priory, though. I didn’t have a terrible day. My mum and dad came to visit like they said they would, so I guess I was wrong for staying up all night thinking they wouldn’t and it was all just a sick prank. They brought me my favorite jumper to wear, it’s black with a red star knitted on the front. Jae got it for me for Christmas this past year. I wore it to sleep almost every night before my accident. They also got me a vanilla milkshake from a nearby shop that I could drink while we hung out in the fields behind the building.

“Just four more days,” Mum said, a kind of tired smile on her lips. I reached out and kissed her cheek, which was unlike me, because normally I’m not a very touchy person unless I’m super happy or sad. No in between.

The last thing I got was a Walkman. I’ve been asking for one for months because I’d grown out of my vinyl collecting phase. I wanted to walk around all my favorite parts of London with headphones on and listen to the crackling of static from a cassette instead of just dancing around my room. I value both very much still, but I’m excited to have my own cassette player and Straight Outta Compton as my first tape. I’m listening to it now.

Oh, one more thing: I got to text Jae. My parents brought me my phone and I was immediately confronted with a bunch of texts I never replied to, but the only person I could think of that was most deserving of a response was him. I only said, “I’m okay,” but I’ll give him a better explanation once I’m home.

But all of that isn’t why I’m writing now. I’m writing now because my mum told me the reason why I’m writing at all. I was afraid to know the truth, to be honest, but it was now or never. I was sipping on my milkshake while dad tried explaining to me the mechanics of my old but new Walkman while mum kept herself together as best she could.

I left the house at 6 A.M. It was rainy out. I had worn my band practice clothes overnight, which was what I was found in hours later: a cropped t-shirt (Ramones, because fuck the Sex Pistols), ripped skinny jeans with a studded belt, and my Doc Martens, none of which escaped the situation unscathed. I was walking around Camden in North London looking like someone dredged a raccoon in a vat of eyeliner and left it out to try on a clothespin. When I was found belly-up in the Moselle the police fished me out of the river and thankfully didn’t plant their greasy pig lips on mine because they realized I had not yet drowned, they did find traces of a white substance under my nose, and when I was brought to hospital they ran a thousand tests while I was incapacitated which deduced I had been high as fuck on, you guessed it, cocaine.

Another thing I couldn’t remember was supposedly getting into a fight with someone during my journey from my house to the river Moselle. My lip was split open and I had a gnarly black eye for a while. I’ve been told it could’ve been a lot worse. I guess they’re right. I could be dead.

But I’m not. I lived to see 18. Now I just have to see if I can make it to 27.

3,287 days to go.

Yes, I did the maths. I’m good at more than just drumming.

Micah

23 May, 2021

Some girl on my floor killed herself this morning. Her name was Eve, at least, that’s what we all called her. Whenever her mum would visit and refuse to call her anything except for Beula. I only learned after they unfastened the sheets she made into a noose that she had this grand delusion she was a reincarnation of the Eve from Genesis in the Bible. I should’ve seen it sooner, considering all she drew in the rec room were depictions of rainforests and unicorns that vomited candy; she also gave herself a sharpie tattoo of a snake that took up half of her arm. She thought I was taking the piss when I showed her my half-sleeve of crows I got at 16 and tried rubbing them off with all her brute strength. I nearly pinned her to the floor before a nurse intercepted. Six hours later she was dead.

I wish I could have said sorry. I feel like no one says it enough nowadays. They’re too concerned with I love you and I miss yous to think about the third forgotten sister: I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I fucked up, that I did all that coke and forgot about it, I’m sorry I made you find me there, Tal, all pale and violently ill, I’m sorry I disappointed all of you, I know I was supposed to make right the wrongs of my predecessors and all that shit parents expect from you, and even though I’m a little bit sour about it I’m still sorry.

All of that to say we’ve been on lockdown since then. If it wasn’t selfish enough she killed herself, she let her parents foot the bill of not only her treatment at a highly prestigious institution, but also her funeral. I can’t say that out loud, though. I won’t even read this part to my counselor — who, thank the God that made Eve and all her psychotic daughters, firmly values privacy. (Unless I act too skittish. I never said the values were unconditional.)

Three more days and then I’m free.

Micah

24 May, 2021

There was a candlelight vigil held for Eve tonight after dinner. It kind of reminded me of a cult ritual, because I couldn’t recognize any of the church songs they were singing. I assume they were church songs, anyway. I think she would have liked that. People worshiping her and all. Clearly she didn’t get enough of that in life. Everyone in group read an excerpt from their notebooks except for me. I normally give them a taste of my brilliantly phrased word vomit, but I didn’t feel like I had enough good things to say, so I kept it to myself and only read some of what I’d written to my counselor so she knows I’ve been keeping up with what I promised I would.

Since I’m nearing the end of my stay, I’m receiving a lot of cards and gifts from other in patients. It’s made me realize I’ve never written about any of them aside from Eve, and even that took her dying for me to think to include in this notebook. Maybe because I know I won’t read this once I’m gone, so why immortalize them? I have fantasized about burning this fucking notebook since the day it was handed to me. But I’ll give it a try now, in case I feel differently by the time I leave.

Eve’s best friend was a micro internet celebrity named Amythest who had an impressive TikTok following and also had a self-diagnosed dissociative disorder. Everyone called her Amy before despite her insisting she was a we and they had a ‘system name’. Can’t remember it now, it was something cringe and stupid, but as of yesterday we’ve all been calling her by whatever she wants. I heard someone refer to her as Bakugou at lunch.

“Isn’t that an anime villain?” I spoke up. I’d never spoken to Amythest before.

Her brown eyes cut into mine suddenly, and I felt taken aback. I could tell she felt a little out of place not wearing cat ears and colored contacts. “My source material doesn’t define me.” she defended. I didn’t argue. I didn’t know how.

Next there’s Amythest’s secret partner, Sock, a nonbinary artist who was actually good at what they did. I am much more familiar with Sock’s realm within the queer universe than I am Amythest’s, admittedly. Half the kids I go to school with don’t confine to gender norms and sometimes I don’t either. Sock is mostly nice and for someone dating over three hundred alters manages each one with a grace I’ll never have.

Sock’s roommate Emily Yang, who deserves her full name being said, is the prettiest girl at Priory. She’s half-Korean with nice sunkissed skin and blue, blue eyes, has her hair dyed half blonde, wears all-black no matter the occasion since her stay was planned and not as emergent as mine and she actually had a bag assembled, has had a fancy bipolar diagnosis since she was 14, and because of all that she and I are who get along the best. We both have a deep appreciation for American west coast rap and have spent countless nights staying up past curfew to smoke contraband cigarettes in the fields and listen to my one cassette tape.

My counselor thinks I’m in love with her. I only have four words to answer that question:

I AM A FAGGOT!

Anyway, Emily went to the vigil while I lingered behind. When she got back she told me I didn’t miss much, only Amythest sobbing so hard she ‘switched’ into her protective alter named Mysterion, and when I said, “Isn’t that from South Park?” Emily and I stared at one another before we started laughing. I think Eve would laugh too. We’re all kind of fucking ridiculous in the end.

Micah

25 May, 2021

I had my final group discussion, final rec room argument with Amythest and two of her alters, final breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the dining hall, and was excused to my room early since I have a big day tomorrow. All my things have been packed for me — Emily insisted. She’s the best. I’m now sitting at my desk eating a bread and butter pudding I stole from the cafeteria and snuck in, watching the sunset on my last full day at Priory Hospital North London.

I’ll be honest, I don’t entirely know what I got out of this experience minus some trauma and a new friend. I feel calmer now thanks to the new drug cocktail they have me on, which I’ve been forced into taking everyday as per my schedule that they’ve INSISTED I maintain while I’m away. Like I’ll be coming back soon. I guess people expect less of me than I already assumed.

Emily told me it’s my chance to prove them wrong. So I’m going to do that.

Micah

26 May, 2021

I’m giving this notebook to Emily so she can carry on my legacy. She needs it more, anyway. She doesn’t know when she’s going home. I hope it’s soon. It’s forbidden for us to keep in contact after we leave, as we might feed off of one another’s bad habits etc., etc., but I wrote my Insta in morse code at the back of this notebook for her to try and figure out. Only thing that huge library we have did for me, give me infinite knowledge of absolutely nothing applicable to real life. Until this moment.

For now, I’m going home, and I am never doing drugs again. Minus pot. I’ll even buy one of those D.A.R.E. shirts. That’s how serious I am.

So long and goodnight.

Micah

#micah — character study.#self-para #3k words

0 notes

stuckonvenus · 2 years ago

Text

On the Nature of Forever

Micah died for the first time at age six.

His cheeks still swollen when he would smile with two missing front teeth, his knees always inexplicably bruised, and colorful bandages decorated nearly every finger. He had this thing where he’d chew at the skin around his nails until they’d bleed. That was one of his many vices, another one of them being the innate desire to climb and wander and touch every surface of the earth, which is what led to him scaling the willow tree in the suburbs they’d just moved to from New York City, where everything was gray and cold and you couldn’t climb anywhere, really. He reached his chubby arms up and latched onto each branch, one after the other, until he reached the tallest one and mistakenly thought it meant that he owned the world. The world would give a swift and unambiguous response by shoving him off the branch, and as he spiraled to the ground he realized that there wasn’t very much of a life he’d led to flash before his eyes.

He could feel the impact of his fragile bones against the hard ground, the snap of bone and the crack of teeth shattering in his mouth. Everything went dark for a while after the wire between his spine and brain got cut. He was floating, endlessly, uselessly, throughout time and space; this sort of in between that he liked to call the Middle. He stayed there for a long time. Longer than they had math in school. And even longer than it took to drive from New York to Virginia in the first place. Then, right when he thought everything would be boring forever, he woke up, and it was all blue skies and his mother’s big brown eyes that were wet with tears as she cradled him against her.

I’m still here, he thought, but he couldn’t speak for a while. He glanced up further and saw his father, who was consoling his wife, and then there was Tallulah, three inches taller than him and all gangly and awkward and with no place in this situation. He liked to think he learned a lot that day — but he would always wonder what his sister took from it.

Life carried on. He wasn’t allowed to climb the tree anymore, even though he’d escaped relatively unscathed, only adorning a cast on his severely fractured left arm for six weeks, but it was okay because the kids at school would carry his backpack and lunch tray for him. Tallulah was around more often. She was a third grader, so she was always busy, yet she made the time for him. They would sit in his room during the after school haze in silence. She was always doing homework. He would watch her, observe the human noise she made. Breathe in. Scratch her nails against her temple. Breathe out. Glance frantically around the sheet of paper until her brain caught up and her fingers would flex around the pencil and scribble an answer.

“Just because you almost died doesn’t mean you get to stare,” she spoke up. He hadn’t noticed she finished ahead of schedule. Of course she did. She was always an overachiever. She and their cousin Jules were the family jewels. Micah was widely regarded as a stain. “It’s rude.”

Rather than say anything, Micah issued a response by tackling her. She yelped and fought back, and since she was already nine and had swung on the monkey bars everyday at school, he wasn’t difficult to overpower. By the end of it, he had a chunk of her flesh between his teeth and she had a lock of his hair. They would never be in the same room alone again.

The second time he died happened two years later. He was eight years old but he hadn’t met the average growth percentile for his age group. They said he’d always be a little smaller. Which made sense when you think about how he ran after his soccer ball, even into the street, and could only see the flashing of headlights before his underdeveloped body was crushed by the grill of the speeding car. For a moment, he felt like he was flying. Then he was back in the Middle. When he woke up two weeks had passed, and he was sitting in a hospital bed with flowers and stuffies and cards surrounding him like he was a gravesite. He might as well have been. All that remained from the accident had been a jagged scar on his torso, from where the doctor said his spleen had ruptured and they needed to perform emergency surgery on him.

He began to think this affliction had to do with how good he had been — which wasn’t very good at all. He didn’t listen to his teachers, because they never had anything interesting to say, he avoided his older sister, because she started it, he threw these nuclear fits in the middle of the grocery store when he’d accompany his father, because he never learned how to properly discipline a child like Micah, and the only person that could see through him was his mother, but she was too busy for him. That made him more angry. His Nana’s husband told him about this thing called karma, which was responsible for balance in the universe, and if you did good things, the scale would tilt in your favor, but if you did bad things, the scale would tilt against you. It would weigh you down.

Micah didn’t understand. He was little when he first felt a weight on him. Had he been bad all along? He tried his best for a long time. It was his first time living, too, after all.

His third death was unremarkable, because the only evidence of it had been his blood-smothered pillowcase. The doctors at the hospital said it was likely an aneurysm that burst overnight. He was miraculous for surviving it. No one else seemed to think so, minus his mother.

“Why does this keep happening?” Micah asked her as she was tucking him into bed. He could still feel the crust of blood lining his nostrils. They stuffed cotton balls there in the hospital. They made him sound stuffy and stupid, said Tallulah.

His mother perched on the side of his bed and reached out, her gentle fingers caressing his forehead as she brushed aside his overgrown bangs that he refused to have cut. “I don’t know, Meeks.” she answered honestly. “All I know is that you’re meant to be with us. I like to think I’ve known it since you were born, but something keeps thinking to remind me.”

Micah’s lower lip began to quiver as he cast his gaze up at her. “It’s starting to not hurt anymore,” he admitted.

She inhaled steeply and offered him a warm, tired smile. “We count our blessings where we can find them, don’t we, huh?” she said. “That’s what Nana always told me growing up. I’d get hurt a lot, too. Not like you did, but… We’re tough, Meeks. You might even be tougher than me. I don’t know where you came from, really.” A chuckle surpassed her lips and he perked up a little, because this time he knew the answer.

“I came from you.” he said.

The fourth time was the worst one he could remember. He was almost thirteen. It was late winter. All the trees were trying to come back to life, desperately sprouting leaves that would shrivel up in the bitter cold, and the breeze was only partially miserable to walk through on his way to school. A sleek black car pulled up beside him as he trekked uphill. He was wearing a cap and a puffy sweater that made him look bigger than he was, which boosted his confidence even though one kid told him he looked like a balloon. Before he could do anything, the driver rolled the window down and asked him if he needed a ride home. Not being entirely incompetent at these sorts of strategies, he declined the offer and carried on — but instead of narrowly avoiding disaster, he had fallen directly into the trap that had been set out from the moment he was spotted. The car drove around the curb and came to a sudden halt in front of him. He froze, watching in a daze as the driver grabbed him by the wrist and began dragging him ahead. He stumbled over his ankles, then started resisting, using all his might he’d gotten from following in his sister’s footsteps and climbing the monkey bars and the rope in gym class to get away, but he was still too small and weak.

His cries were silenced by a piece of cloth, which smelled like bleach and rubbing alcohol, the kind his mother would use for his fingers whenever they’d peel. He was thrown in the backseat and glanced out the window, the world dripping away like watercolors on canvas as the darkness engulfed him once more. The Middle was always eerily quiet, and with no place to go he would wander aimlessly until he awoke again. Wandering, he could sometimes hear echoes from the world he once lived in; his mother’s soothing voice, a doctor’s calm and collected reverence, his Nana’s singing. Those were the only things that kept him connected to the life he couldn’t ever seem to escape from, no matter how hard anyone had tried.

When he came to, all he could feel was this heaviness surrounding his body. He opened his eyes and felt stinging immediately, and darkness still overwhelmed his vision. When he opened his mouth he swallowed something thick and nasty, and as he was forced to chew he realized it had been dirt. He was underground. Thankfully, it was a shallow grave, and he dug his way upwards with the minimal upper body strength he had after returning from the Middle. He coughed and sputtered and vomited grass and mud whenever he resurfaced, and as he looked down at himself he could see his t-shirt was bloodied and he’d been stripped of his jeans and sneakers. He reached up when he felt a divot in his throat. It’d been slashed. A deep scar remained. The only surviving evidence of what had happened.

He was picked up by a well-meaning couple that already had children packed in the backseat of their minivan, so he knew they could be trusted. He said that he’d run away from home. He would have told them the truth if he could pick out the details of his assailant’s face, but it had withered the longer he spent in the Middle, and deep down he didn’t want to worry people more than he already did.

When he made his grand homecoming, everyone was delighted to see him. He could feel every last touch, every press of skin against skin, and it made him writhe around uncomfortably, so he shoved everyone away and told them that he wasn’t a kid anymore — he didn’t need to be coddled after running away. There was a tint of white in his mother’s face when she realized her son had no other choice but to surrender, for the first time in his life.

School was different. The scar on his neck was visible and he excused it by saying he had an unfortunate encounter with a stray cat, which damaged his reputation but dissuaded others from haranguing him about it further. The only person that didn’t buy it was Tallulah, because above all things she was a know-it-all.

“I’m gonna figure it out,” she warned him as they waited for the school bus. Their twin cousins were with them. He wasn’t allowed to be alone anymore. (And Tallulah was still on probation.) “I hope you know that. I’m not stupid or blind like Mom and Dad.”

And maybe she wasn’t, but she never did learn what had happened. Maybe she lost interest at some point, Micah didn’t know, nor did he care. The older he grew, the less he seemed to think about life and death and karma and the universe as tangible things. It all felt like a thinly veiled illusion; a puppet show where everything was made out of construction paper and glue and glitter to make the ugly things shine brighter so people didn’t lose their minds watching it all unfold.

By the time he was a freshman in high school, he had picked up the habit of sneaking out just to kill himself for the dopamine rush, as everything had lost its color. He used a popped out razor blade from one of his pencil sharpeners, felt the searing of it penetrating his forearm, witnessed first hand half his blood volume pour from the wound and stain the linoleum floor. He bought a rope after school one day and hung himself in the forest behind his house — a couple hours later he awoke in the same position, awkwardly dangling five feet off the ground, and had an embarrassing struggle trying to get himself out of the noose. He downed all the mood stabilizers he was given as a result and puked up stomach acid and blood clots until he asphyxiated and fainted. And finally, he stole one of his uncle’s poorly kept guns and shot himself in the head on the beach. He would watch the sunrise from the shore the next day with a migraine.

It was the last beautiful thing he thought he’d see before the world went static again.

He had made a bucket list of suicide methods that he had yet to try, and was contemplating on it one day before he heard chatter from downstairs. He closed his journal and shuffled into the hallway, looking over the railing where he could see his Nana and her husband and what looked like their entire extended family in the living room. Oh, that’s right. It was his cousin’s birthday. He had forgotten. It’d become difficult to retain much of anything after dying so many times. It didn’t help that he was a certified basketcase, either. Whenever he was spotted, his mother motioned him downstairs and he obliged her, going to greet his Nana first and then his cousins, who had shot up in height over the summer and leered over him at uncomfortably tall measures.

Then, after greeting his step-aunt, he looked up and saw a pair of green eyes gaze down at him in return. He swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of himself, and he could feel his palms begin to perspire for no reason as he reached out to shake the stranger’s hand. Except he hadn’t been a stranger at all. They’d known each other once.

��M-Micah, right?” he stuttered out. How adorable.

Micah nodded slowly. “Oh. You’re Jae.” he said as it dawned upon him — the last time he saw Jae, they were still small, and he was often too busy being put in time out for them to spend any real quality time together. He still seemed the same, though. He looked… Well, definitely grown. But kind. There weren’t many people in his life he could say that about. Almost everyone had either a grudge or vendetta against him. So, he let his heart guide him for once, and he asked: “You wanna smoke?”

He could have probably gotten a sign-off sheet from his psychiatrist for a small dose of medical marijuana, but he much preferred buying it himself on the street corner like it was still the 90s. Plus, he got more that way. He didn’t want to have something as limitless as drug usage be mandated. Regardless it didn’t really matter, because no, Jae didn’t wanna smoke, but Micah was resilient and said he could watch him smoke and they could just talk, so they settled for that.

As Micah unearthed the baggie of weed he acquired over the weekend and grabbed his pipe to begin packing it, he couldn’t help but recall a conversation he had with Tallulah a few months before.

“I just don’t get it,” Tallulah said, her breath strained as she held the smoke in her lungs, gradually easing it out between her lips after she let it linger. “You’re so fuckin’ secretive and shit, like we’re not the only ones who know. Like you’re the whole reason we’re even here.”

They were sitting on the rooftop, which they had access to via Tallulah’s front-facing room. All the stars were at their disposal, constellations that had written stories which Micah had forgotten all about, only remembering the names in their simplest iterations. The Big Dipper. The Chameleon. The Lion. They had moved to Nylaende from Richmond two weeks prior at their mother’s behest. Tallulah had thrown a fit over it, so Micah offered her spliff as a peace offering.

“I figured you’d have forgotten about it by now,” Micah replied truthfully as he accepted the pipe that was passed over to him. He held it up to his chapped lips and inhaled, a cough sputtering out as the smoke ascended into the night sky.

“You were gone for three months.” Tallulah deadpanned. “There’s no fuckin’ forgetting that.”

Micah’s brows scrunched together in thought. It didn’t feel that long. Then again, time operated differently in the Middle. He figured it lacked a presence there whatsoever, but still. He’d assumed he would’ve been able to wager how long he was out for, but he never really gave it much consideration. His eyes drifted slowly to his peripheral, where he could see his sister’s expression in anguish, and although he couldn’t normally emotionally attach himself to others, he felt a panging in his chest for her then. It must not have been easy, constantly watching someone you love die while the rest of the world carries on. But that was life anyway, he naturally assumed she would understand that.

Maybe the fact of it still wasn’t enough to dilute the unspoken bond between them. He liked to think so, in that moment. They hadn’t been the closest siblings, but she’s all he had, all he ever would have.

“You don’t wanna know the story,” he told her as he watched the cherry burn brighter and then blacken. “I hardly remember it, anyway.”

Tallulah didn’t appear convinced. “Try me.” she challenged.

He stiffened at her response, and then took another toke off the pipe. He had tried to eradicate the memories from his mind, push them as far back as they could go until they simply disappeared, but there was no ridding himself of that kind of torment. And now he had to decide whether or not it’d be right to extend that onto her.

Fuck it.

“I was… Coming home from school,” Micah began slowly as he gave her the pipe. She’d need it. “Walking. Listening to music. Uh, Kid Cudi, I think. Anyway. This car pulled up and asked if I wanted a ride, and I said no, but… They followed me. Some guy jumped out and came at me and I — I didn’t know what to do. For once I didn’t know what the fuck to do. I froze.”

Swallowing, he glanced up at the sky and hoped his gathering tears would evaporate.

“... But I got it together,” he said, closing his eyes momentarily. “I got it together and I socked him in the nose. I ran away and I just… Didn’t turn around. Wasn’t thinking clearly. And I figured… What harm could the rest of the world do to me that I couldn’t do to myself first?”

It was a well-intentioned lie, and it worked numbers on Tallulah, who was a bright girl, but didn’t deserve to have all the intuition in the world so she could figure out what had actually happened.

“Never again,” Tallulah said as she took his face into her hands. “You understand me? Never again.”

“Yeah,” he nodded along, sniffling faintly. “Never again.”

And so, sitting by his bedroom window beside Jae, listening to him stutter about how painstakingly long the drive was with three sisters and a brother and how his mother and step-father were looking into moving in nearby sometime soon, Micah realized he hadn’t yet seen all the shades of green, or brown, or that tawny color the other's skin was when the sunlight caught on him. He was a whole new person, a whole new perspective, and for the first time since he dug himself out of his own grave — he felt like there was something left in the world worth living for.

#micah — character study.#self-para

0 notes

museinitalics · 3 months ago

Text

Micah had been joking at the start but as she continued to speak and her words felt more and more genuine, the playful lightness in his eyes and smile shifted as his head began to slowly tilt like a dog's would while it listened intently, focused wholly on her. "Oh," he said softly, fatigue from the long journey kept his smile gently spread across his features, a natural expression for him whenever he was around her to always be smiling so it was the neutral place his face chose to rest in while with her. "You're serious," he said, not asking, but realizing.

His palms came up to either side of her face, thumbs caressing affectionately atop the rise of her cheeks, calloused fingers threading through the hair behind her ears, "Are you sure? You know, I'd love to have you along for the ride," Micah said to her warmly, "but I don't want you to give up something you enjoy." She'd said she felt like it wasn't something she needed to do but he still needed to double check that she was wanting this for herself and not because of him or something he'd done to make her believe she couldn't have both.

Sofia laughed as he adjusted her weight. "You're filthy, you'll have me all those places?" she teased as he moved them, trying to carry herself as much as possible so the weight was not as challenging to move, not so hard considering the core strength required for her work.

He had laughed, his nose in her cheek as he kissed the edge of her mouth, the pair falling back onto the couch, him leaning over her while she looked up at him. Though the movement itself was messy, the sort of awkward that meant you could have stubbed your toe at any second, once she was seated and her gaze was up at him she saw light reflecting around his hair, the stubble that had grown from being away and almost forgot he had asked her questions, ready to reunite with him after so many days apart. Only when she heard Nibbler's telltale 'meow' from the distance did she recall he had spoken.

"No, I'm thinking I might quit," Sofia responded, unaware that to her boyfriend they were playing some pretend game. His words were light but since they still engaged real life concerns about her choice she did not understand the potential game being played. "I could do online stuff, maybe, but I just want to be with you. I love dancing and I liked the money but the confidence and the community, I have it with you, it doesn't feel the same as it used to. I don't feel like I need it anymore to be me. I'd rather be where I feel the most me and that's with you."

#para: micah #para: sofia

6 notes · View notes

museinitalics · 8 months ago

Text

location: bathroom, micah & sofia's flat in sune's harbour

with: @thesofiavaldez

The young male leaned over the tub to turn the faucet on and flip the drain to plug, rushing water beginning to now fill the basin with cool water. A few adjusting turns of the handle would set the water to a warmer temperature. He already wasn't wearing a shirt and the tattoos that decorated his slender frame were on display, along with the scars from his top surgery just beneath the rise of his chest, not very visible but still there. He'd briefly considered covering them with tattoos but decided against it, he didn't mind the scars.

"Okay baby, so run it through with me again," Micah said to Sofia in the room with him as he settled to sit on the edge of the filling tub, simultaneously tucking a brown curl of his shoulder length hair behind his ear with one hand and motioning for her to join him with the other, either beside him on the tub's edge or on his lap, fingers that were usually adorned with chunky silver rings bare for now as they were in the comfort of their flat. He had selected a couple of rings out to potentially wear for their little content shoot that this whole set up was for, but right now wore no accessories save for piercings in his ears. "Why am I half naked in the tub?" There was amusement in his voice as he spoke. He was still getting used to social media, having missed the surge of it during his prison sentence. Sofia and his band members had their work cut out trying to fill him in on the latest trends which were so fast evolving that by the time he grasped one the rest of the world was already moving onto the next.

#para: sofia #para: micah #prison tw

13 notes · View notes

tortademaracuya · 1 year ago

Text

Garabato de Mini Micah que iba a usar en el coso de comisiones pero probablemente ya no pero igual quiero que lo vean

#*dibujando une micah para añadir al resto de wips de micah a mi alrededor* odio a Micah. literalmente mi peor OC #probablemente lo redibuje despues para usarlo de pfp aksksksl para variar(?)#voy a usar a Lisandro seguramente porq a ese pobre diablo no lo uso en nada a pesar de ser el protagonista de la tesis #originalmente la planilla(?) con los precios iba a tener tematica de compu asi q. Micah. pero no mg asi q lo cambié #ig esa tematica tmb iba para lisandro ahora q lo pienso tho...#anyways! Micah :)#haunted.txt #ignoren su mano estaba en plena crisis

6 notes · View notes

museinitalics · 8 months ago

Text

location: the little duck with @evanoraray

Micah knew good music when he heard it, it wasn't something he boasted or took much pride in but he was always eager to share a well deserved musical compliment when it was due, so he didn't hesitate at all to give the woman who had just performed a set at the pub some praise. "That was really good," he said to her, "What guitar is that?"

#para: evanora #para: micah

3 notes · View notes

museinitalics · 6 months ago

Text

"I'm in a band," he responded easily enough without offering any further clarifying details, not entirely out of a desire for privacy -- though there was certainly an element of that for he was at least somewhat in the public eye and considered a 'minor celebrity' at least to those who listened to his genre of music and liked what his band made -- but mostly out of his own humbleness. He'd in the past tried to lie entirely to avoid having the conversation altogether but he hadn't ever been a good liar so that didn't last very long.

Luckily, they had the event to redirect some focus and once they started to head down the hall in the direction indicated sniffed a little because they caught a whiff of something, "Do you smell that?" He didn't have heightened senses and even he could start to smell something absolutely foul in the air.

“It was,” he agreed. Nishant tended to not do great at those, despite his lycanthropy, he wasn’t the most agile person. But he’d learned a lot, and he’d gotten home sore. He’d even snuck in a few kisses with this very lanky guy who could only speak a few words in English but mostly whispered to him in Albanian. “I wouldn’t be surprised that they’ll end up doing it again, they’ll probably dress it up different, and certainly won’t learn from their mistakes, but they’ll do it again regardless.”

Micah, that was a familiar name. His handshake was firm, and he looked rock-ish. So maybe it was Sofia’s Micah after all. “What do you do?” he asked, as he attempted to start small talk. “At least it might help with one of us getting out of this semi-unscaved. And nope, haven’t,” he said, as he moved in the direction pointed out. At least with his heightened senses he could stop some of the craziness from happening to the other.

#para: nishant #para: micah

8 notes · View notes

tortademaracuya · 2 years ago

Text

Rediseñando mis OCs de 0 y accidentalmente volví a una de las eventuales parejas la combinación más infumable de la historia (gringo x porteño)

#son casi todes latines ahora pero hay uno que sinceramente no habia con q darle tenia mucha cara de gringo #de donde ni idea. ni importa. gringo #el segundo que me di cuenta que el otro era el porteño perfecto fue como una puñalada #encima es uno de los que siempre termino garabateando cuando no se q hacer (como con Micah) lpm ajajajajajja #haunted.txt #la realidad con el gringo es q le puse kyle por algun motivo cuando tenia como 16 y ahora me cuesta pensar en el con otro nombre 😭#...y si mando al gringo a la uba para hacerlo peor...no. basta

2 notes · View notes

princessimotep · 4 months ago

Text

Tienes Mi Corazón - Chapter 6

~*~ 18+ content. Minors do not interact ~*~

A lot had happened since Javier’s confrontation with Micah. Things had turned bad back in Horseshoe Overlook when Pinkerton agents had revealed themselves to Arthur whilst he was on a fishing trip with young Jack. Dutch had deemed it best that they move camp for the safety of the gang members. Charles and Arthur found a camp called Clemons Point and it was more beautiful than the latter. It was well hidden and had a lake which stretched out for miles. Hosea reminded Miriam that she was more than welcome to stay until she figured out what she wanted to – so that’s what she did; she stayed. She concluded she was safer with these people than out on her own, escaping from her past. More importantly, Javier was the main reason she wanted to stay. With each passing day, the man filled her mind more and more. Thinking back to the rescue, the horse ride back from Strawberry, to him standing up to Micah for her… but not just those things. Little things influenced her infatuation of him. The way he would tie his bandana around his neck, how he stood tall whilst on guard duty. The way he would shave, leaving his goatee and moustache. How he would shine his boots, taking pride in his appearance. To Miriam, he was the best dressed in camp and most of the other gang members would agree. She even caught Sean one time telling Javier that vanity was a sin and Javier threatened him in that suave way of his. He had such an alluring appeal to her when he would subtly threaten people like that.

It was the first night at Clemons Point and everything had finally been set up by the best efforts of everyone. Once everything had been done and Miss Grimshaw was happy with the layout, Miriam was finally released and able to wander around camp. The wavy-haired woman rolled her head back and sighed in content as she made her way over to the water. The scenery was so tranquil. The crescent moon’s glow bouncing off the surface of the water making a most mystical haze. The stars twinkled, splattered like paint across the dark night’s glassy veil. She had only read about such landscapes in her books and it was truly breath-taking to see such sights in real life.

Normally, Miriam would be reading at a time like this however she decided to spend her free time to help a certain someone with a clothing repair. Earlier, Javier explained how his jacket had gotten a tear in the arm area and Miriam offered to help fix it. Despite his pleads of telling her she didn’t need to trouble herself, she insisted. She explained that she wanted to do this for him, she just needed to help Grimshaw with her chores and she’d get right to it. So that is why Miriam now had Javier’s jacket in her arms. Finding a spot a little away from camp, sat on the shoreline by the water, Miriam tucked her skirt neatly over her folded legs that were out to the side and started threading a piece of cotton through a needle.

“There you are.” A familiar warm voice spoke out, followed by his footsteps on the shore. “I thought you finally decided to leave us.” Miriam grinned at Javier’s words. She didn’t break her eyes away from the thread and needle.

“I couldn’t possibly leave you all. Not just yet.” Javier leant down, peering over her shoulder.

“And why’s that?” Once she finally pushed the thread through the end of the needle, she looked at him with a coy expression.

“Well, you all just have… so many clothes to repair.” She flicked Javier’s jacket out so it was now across her lap. “You’d all have nothing left to wear if I were to go.” She joked to which Javier laughed.

“Ah so it’s my clothes that keep you here, hm?”

“Why of course Mister Escuella.” She teased, holding back a laugh. “You are the best dressed man in camp.” He cockily smiled, looking away.

“Well, I try.” He fiddled with his white sleeves, rolling them back into the crevice of his elbows. “Especialmente para mi chica.” (“Especially for my girl.”) Miriam looked at Javier, raising an eyebrow.

“I wish you would teach me more, Javier. I’d like to know what you’re saying to me.” Javier gestured his hands out, straightening his back. He tried to find an excuse to delay his teachings for her, after all, he still got drunk off that innocent and puzzled expression she would give him every time he spoke to her in Spanish.

“I’ll teach you if… you teach me something.” She scoffed looking around.

“Like what?” There was a pause. His eyes then shot to her sewing needle. He pointed.

“Teach me to sew.” She blinked a couple times.

“What, now?”

“Sí.” Javier then sat down behind her with his legs either side of her body. His closeness got Miriam nervous again. “With you as my teacher, I’m sure I’ll pick it up quick.” His body arched over hers, his head able to look over her shoulder to get a full view of her hands and lap. He took the needle from her hand, the thread falling out from the end. “What do I do with this?” Miriam smiled, shaking her head. Both her tiny hands grabbed onto his large one. He couldn’t help but adore the way they looked holding onto his.

“First you need to thread the needle.” His eyes dropped down to where the thread was and picked it up with his spare hand.

“This?” He gruffly asked.

“Yes. You need to push it through that tiny hole at the end of the needle.” Miriam let go of his hands so he could try and connect the two. He strained his neck forward, frowning at the difficulty of it.

“Mierda. How are you supposed to do this?” She smiled softly at his frustration.

“If you can’t get it through, you just need to wet the end.” Once again, Miriam held onto Javier’s hand; the one which was holding the thread, with both of hers. She looked at the small piece of cotton that poked out from his fingers and she placed her lips over it. The tip of her tongue poked out, soaking the thread with her saliva. Javier watched intently with his copper eyes. To him she had the most pretty little mouth. He fantasied putting his index and middle finger between her lips and how she would obediently run her tongue over them. He swallowed watching Miriam pull her lips away. She let go of his hands so he could thread it through which he successfully did after a couple attempts. After that she taught Javier the basics of sewing with her small hands guiding his big ones, he started to repair the jacket. Every time she would let go of his hands; Javier would make out he needed help just so she could hold onto him again.

God, he thought she looked beautiful between his arms.

“So… can you please teach me some Spanish?” Miriam hummed. He didn’t say anything, just smirked. She turned her head just a little to look at him. Their lips were inches away. “Or least just translate what you said earlier?” He let go of the fabric, leaning back on his hands to take a break whilst he cracked his neck. Miriam helped finish off the repair.

“What’s something you like?” She contemplated the question and looked up to the sky.

“Well… I like the moon and the stars.”

“What about them?”

“They’re… beautiful. They truly make me feel safe. At peace. Others find nights like these lonely, but I find them comforting. Whenever I’ve felt alone in the past… I always look up to the night sky. It makes me realise I’m not alone in this world.” Javier cocked his head to the side to try and see her face. The moon’s light sparkled against her skin. She looked as though she had been touched by an angel. To him, she had a sweet way with words. He leant forward again and pointed up to the moon.

“Luna.” Javier stated. She repeated the beautiful word. He then gestured out to the stars. “Estrella.”

“Es…strella.”

“Sí.” Without thinking about it, Javier’s hand went to her waist. “So, you could tell someone you really care about, this… tu eres mi luna y estrellas.” Miriam turned around in his lap, now on her knees looking up at him. She playfully raised an eyebrow.

“And what does the first part mean?”

“It means…” His middle and index finger held onto a few strands of her hair and placed them over her shoulder. “tu eres… you are… mi luna y estrellas… my moon and stars.”

“Tu eres… mi luna… y estrellas.” She repeated. His fingertips brushed over the lengths of her own fingers. She was too captivated in his gaze to notice. Javier’s eyes bore into hers.

“Sí.” Then something in her clicked. The way he was looking at her; it made her realise that he was saying those words to her. Her heart sped up in its beats. Her blood felt on fire as it rushed down her neck and chest, straight to her core. He was looking at her so serious. His eyes were hungry yet needing. Full of want. ‘Could he…’ She thought to herself, her heart swelling at the idea that this man could possibly feel the same way about her as she did for him.

“Javier…” He held tightly onto her hand, making sure she stayed.

“Miriam.” He sharply stated.

“THHHH…EEERREEE you two ARReeeee…!” A low voice belonging to a woman echoed across the shoreline. The couple pulled away from each other, looking at who it was. It was Karen and she was clearly in quite a drunken state. “I’ve been lookIN’… EVERYWHeeeeRRee for yoouuu.” Javier scowled, running a hand through his hair, stopping when he came to the band that held his ponytail.

“I think you’ve had too much.” He muttered with a hint of annoyance in his tone. Karen’s mouth went into an ‘o’ shape at the remark.

“What’s PISSED in yuuuurr BOOOts. HM?” Miriam smiled nervously, not wanting the two to get into any sort of conflict. She gave the fully repaired jacket to Javier.

“Karen…” Miriam got up, placing her hands on Karen’s arm to guide her back into camp. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I DON’T neeeeed BaByInGG!”

“I know. But you want to end the night on a good note, right?” Karen slumped over, looking at Miriam. Slowly Karen broke out into a huge grin. She booped Miriam on the nose.

“Yuuuur a good friend.” Shaking her head with a small laugh leaving her lips, Miram helped guide the blonde to her tent.

After Karen had been settled down and passed out in her bed, everyone else had retired to their own tents by that time aside a couple members. Miriam was in her own tent, led down on her back in just her undergarments. It was raining outside and the sound of the droplets smashing against the tent soothed Miriam’s ears. The very sound gave her goosebumps and would often lull her to sleep. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to fall asleep. Miriam’s mind was on Javier and the man was driving her insane. ‘Was that a confession?’ She’d think to herself along with many other impending thoughts. ‘Does he… like me? Like really like me?’’ ‘Does he do this to all the other women?’ ‘What if he’s just teasing me? What if… it’s some sick twisted game.’

Miriam panted at the idea. If it was just a game to Javier, it was the cruellest thing he could do. She rubbed her thighs together to relieve the desirable feeling growing between her legs. ‘God… I like him so much.’ Her hand trailed down underneath her undergarments, her middle finger touching her clit. She hissed at how cold her finger was compared to her core which was burning hot. Her middle finger went further down to her opening and she couldn’t believe how sopping wet she was from just thinking about Javier. She swiped her finger back up to her clit, coating it in her juices. She rubbed it in circles, toes curling at the sensational feeling that coursed through her veins. ‘Oh Javier…’

The cocoa-haired woman rolled onto her front, pushing her arm further down into her undergarments. She pretended it was Javier’s fingers instead of her own. After teasing her clit for a few seconds, she pushed her middle finger into her pussy. She could hear the squelch of her liquids over the sound of the rain. She gasped at the cold temperature inside her. Miriam pressed the back of her hand into the ground and angled her middle finger out straight so she could begin to ride it. She imagined Javier whispering words of Spanish in her ear before telling her how much of a whore she was being for him, getting all worked up like this.

“Javier…” She whispered. A small patch of drool formed on her folded-up dress coat she used as a pillow. Her hips rolled more into her hand, her palm brushing against her clit. She frowned, tears welling up in her eyes at the thought of him being so cruel to her whilst he pumped his fingers into her. She added her index finger, a couple tears rolling down her face. ‘Can you handle it, cariño?’ She imagined him whispering in her ear. ‘Or should I stop?’

“N-No! Don’t stop…” She begged to herself. By the Gods she could just imagine the smug look on his face, seeing her in this state over him. “M-Mmm… Make me come… Javier…” She arched her fingers into a hooklike shape to scrape against her g-spot. ‘Like this, cariño?’ “Y-Yes!” She panted harder, almost starting to hyperventilate. She grinded harder into her hand, going dizzy at the immense pressure building up in her core. Miriam’s chest went tight. “J-Javi… Javi…” Her back arched and she lifted her head with her eyes shut feeling her orgasm overtake her body. She badly wanted to cry out his name but she knew she would wake everyone up, even if the rain was loud tonight. All she could do was hang her mouth wide open and grind harder into her palm, feeling her clit twitch in undying excitement. The ecstasy shot through her body, all the way to her toes.

When it was over, she let out a huge sigh, shaking violently as she dropped herself onto her belly. She pulled her fingers out from her undergarments and looked at them seeing how wet they were. Her cheeks blushed into a violet glaze as she grabbed a rag that was beside a bucket. She wiped her fingers clean before soaking her hands thoroughly in the bucket. She even splashed some water over her face to make herself cool off from the intense experience. She had touched herself before but it had never been as wild as that. Just thinking of the man now, even after her orgasm, shot a hot arrow into her core. Miriam could easily get herself worked up again over him.

Trying to push her impure thoughts away, she laid down on her side and shut her eyes. She focused on the rain and smiled. Perhaps she didn’t just like him.

It might have been something more.

#javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella x original character #javier #escuella #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #van der linde gang #javier's hands are sexy

19 notes · View notes