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skwigelfskwisgaar · 1 year ago

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You have been hiding from your mother ever since you found the tool of your trade, the instrument of your very soul. And yet there she was in her trademark red high slitted dress, as you scrambled backwards further away from her sight as if almost ashamed. You could see part of Anja's robe behind her and you almost felt tickled at the irony.

While you and Toki were what most people called bitter rivals, best friend, or even just frenemies, constantly at odds and constantly hanging out - Surveta and Anja were like sisters who never stopped just being themsleves and with each other. There was times you could see why people so adamantly swore you and Toki were up to no good - the way your mother spoke of Anja had you secondguessing everything you knew about the sex addicted woman. And you didn't like it.

Even by European standards of friendship and affection, the way she held Anja in tender hugs or caressed her face after a tender kiss goodbye with promises of more get-togethers made your skin squirm.

On one hand you liked that she had a steady presence that wasn't repulsed by her actions, and once so willing to accept her - Odin knows she's ruined so many people, inclhding you to some extent, over her lifetime. On the other, you didn't want that person to be Anja Wartooth and you definitely didn't like --

"You amnst going to keeps hidings - I amns tired of tryings to talk to you!" She takes a meaningful step forward and immediately you feel like the small kid packing your things because Surveta fucked the wrong man or she wasn't able to pay rent with sex anymore - between all those movings from Stockholm and Gothenburg, you could count on one hand the amount of times you stayed for more than a year in any town.

It was the feeling of failing. Of being scared. Of being small and insignificant.

The feeling of being a bitter disappointment.

"Efter allt jag har gjort för att du ska vara klädd och ha bostad och mat, vill du inte ens prata med mig...."

You remember it completely different - eating snow at night when she forgot to buy food, sleeping in the same room in your room where she and you could cuddle and stay warm, the clothes you wore having to be gifted by your grandmother (until she passed away and gave Surveta the cabin you callex home) because your own mother couldn't afford clothes for herself, much less a boy growing way too tall, way too quickly.

You remember how during those hard days, before she settled finally in the cabin you called home in your later years, she would say 'it's just you and Mommy - we will take care of each other'. You remember telling yourself you would, despite the feeling of never being good enough or being a nuisance during her dates. The feeling bubbles up in you, like magma under pressure.

That itch.

The itch to play, to drink, to have a pile of groupies, the need of that needle piercing your skin under the strap --

"Surveta, he needs space. They all do. Just like Toki needed time, so does your boy. Come, let us enjoy the company of Rose and Stella. Molly said there would be wine and cheese from her province she will provide for tonight."

Anja comes up to your rescue, her simple Swedish breaking the growing maw of silence between you and your mother. You realize without looking at your mother in the eye that you are clutching your guitar much too harshly, your hands aching like they did when you wanted nothing more than to ignore the hunger and the cold.

Anja lays a gentle hand on the small of Surveta's back as she takes her other arm and pulls her back. You manage to make eye contact for a brief second - Surveta looks worried, concerned at you or at your pathetic display of refusal. But it's there, and the guilt begins to chew at you and burn with a fiery strength that look look down to your guitar again before you say something.

"I hope to enjoy your company at dinner, Skwisgaar," says Anja, as Surveta take a deep breath and lets her friend guide her away, "and I hope my son finds strength with his friends to do the same with me. Come, friend, we must unpack and find time for ourselves." Anja gently tugs at Surveta's arm, who is clearly upset and sniffling, and you fight back the urge to curl up and disappear.

They leave, the clacking heels a jarring comparison to the almost silent boots next them as you process the turmoil of emtions swirling in you.

//ooc: i luv your writing -pls tell me you have an AO3, I need a link now -- a read more has been made

The very first thing that Skwisgaar does when he finally sees the iconic red dress is to clutch his guitar. He had seen Pickles get called to help wrangle his mother, and he had decided to remain with the empty vodka bottle and the last of the joint. That was hours ago, and he was beginning to build blisters on his calloused fingers from the incessant playing from the paranoia of seeing his mother.

He was sitting down and playing the Duncan Hills Coffee jingle when he heard Serveta talking, and Anja responding back. When they found him, he was still seated on the plush carpeting, plucking away at his Explorer.

The brief 5 minutes in that closet felt like an entire day, and it was Anja that decided to break off the very one-sided conversation with a very obviously shocked and ashamed Skwisgaar. Anja was another stressor on him now considering Toki's own complex ties to the woman.

As much as he loved seeing his mother have a long-term stable friendship finally, it bothered him to no end that it was Anja Wartooth of all people. Toki, his best friend, his closest friend, had literal scars that mapped out her inaction across his skin; perhaps it was just perfect irony that they both found companionship in the other.

Serveta left her own on Skwisgaar.

Serveta was never physically abusive with Skwisgaar. She was emotionally manipulative when his grandmother chastised her, negligent at best of Skwisgaar and herself and verbally abusive if he stepped out of line from the picture perfect child she wanted.

Jag är ledsen, mamma.

How often had those words come out of his mouth, his soul poured out into each syllable only for Serveta to dismiss his words and actions to find another man? How often had she presented him to a new partner, giving him hope that this was going to be his new dad, to be what he craved only for her to crush those dreams again and again?

How often had she caused him to burst into tears?

He took in a shuddering breath, feeling his throat constrict, and blinked to clear his blurry vision.

He was crying.

He dropped his Gibson Explorer and wiped his cheek, and then and again as more kept falling.

He's 35 now, crying because she was crying.

He's 5 again, leaving grandmother's home with a full belly and a good night's rest, the first he's had of both in a while, and he's crying in Serveta's arms as she soothes him after she forgot to pick him up the night before. He's 9 again, coming home to hear Serveta call him her sweetest mistake that ruined everything to one of her 'friends', and he's crying because she told him he was her favorite person and that she loved him. He's 13, walking into his grandmother's home looking to find his mother finishing lunch and instead finding her with 2 men, crying when he's back because he's aching from his fall and he was hungry and tired. He's 17 again, plunging a needle into his arm to ignore the pain of being her son, tears from the high striking him too soon and removing the strap too early. He's 21 and crying because he foolishly reached out to his mother, only to have her tear him apart with vicious words and verbal lashings for running away from her the way he did. He's 23, leaving a rehab center after overdosing again and his flatmates called the ambulance 'for the last time'.

He's 30 and crying because he's absolutely too drunk and high, and Pickles and him are both hot wrecks from the first time their mothers reach out and berate them. He's 33 and he's crying, because his life is falling apart as Toki's book destroys his career and the one person he expected to comfort him, the one person he wanted support from had told him that he wasn't good enough and that's why everything was falling apart around him.

He said he would never make her cry despite her own track record on him. He wouldn't be like the other men who she hopelessly did grow to care for and left her in tears when she inevitably self destructed. He wouldn't stoop to her level and make her cry.

And yet she was, sniffling as she walked away from the disaster that was Skwisgaar Skwigelf.

There was some kind of poetic justice in that he had drawn tears from her for doing what she had to him his whole life - ignored the other, neglecting them and resenting them, considering them a source of stress and anger and blaming them for their problems.

Anja had spared Skwisgaar the sight of his crying mother, but she also spared Serveta from seeing her boy cry. He once again failed her, disappointing not just her but himself. Serveta represented a mirror in the dynamic now, and as he looked at her, he found himself now the realized what he was doing. He even inherited her sex addiction, and it's baffling how quickly his chest feels tight.

She was Miss Sweden, he's a guitar god. She had partners every weekend, and he had partners every night he could. She loved to dress up still and take care of her skin and hair, and what did he just do a few days ago? He had his bi-monthly spa day; his was more necessity than for vanity, but they went hand in hand with his status as Skwisgaar Skwigelf. Not to mention, he's blamed her for a lot of his personal issues and problems, his inability to connect with people, and his issues with poorly hidden addictions like drugs and sex. He's ignored her as best as he could, only doing the bare minimum when she reached out.

He's become the very person he came to resent the most in this world.

This is what makes the first of many more sobs bubble up in the otherwise quiet closet.

#skwisgaar rp blog #rp blog #skwigelf answers #skwigelf talks #asks #ooc:#ooc: momageddon #skwisgaar vs his personal demons #me 🤝skwis #issues with negligent mothers

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