#which she cANT do because her face is fixed and cannot weep!

[finelythreadedsky]

come ON ajax telling tecmessa μηδ᾽ ἐπισκήνους γόους δάκρυε??????? don't cry in front of the tent. don't cry on stage.

[eerythingisshaka]

Will the Bell Ring?  Pt. 5

[Erik Killmonger x Black OC]

Word Count 5.3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The speed in which Kimara peeled out of the parking lot of the Korean BBQ place gave any witness whiplash as she channeled her anger through the accelerator.  Kimara cursed out the air and any driver in her way as she rode around the streets of midtown.  It’s a damn miracle no cops were around to pull her over or they would’ve caught some serious heat from her their damn self.  Not long after running her fifth yellow light turning red, Kimara began to feel her tears well over profusely.  Her whole body shook as the sobs came more powerfully and she couldn’t control the car properly anymore.  

Pulling over, Kimara puts her car in park as she lays onto the wheel causing it to honk one time before she unloads her emotions completely.  This isn’t what she expected, which is an outcome that is actually more common throughout this fertility process than she’d care to look back on.  She’s exhausted with all the waiting and trying and disappointment, Kimara just wants an answer or some quick fix that’ll give her what she needs.

*knock knock*

Kimara jumps at the sharp sound on her passenger side window, breathing out with relief once she recognizes the kind face.

“T’Challa!  What are you doing here?”  She sniffles as he opens the door to sit inside looking at her with pity.

“It’s not so taboo to be here shopping around as it is to sit in a car and cry.” He quips.

Kimara chuckles gruffly before getting caught with a hiccup from her weeping.  “I don’t do this all the time, I swear.”

T’Challa studies your face appearing suspicious.  “Are you…”

She stares at him trying to catch on until she rolls her eyes.  “Not every emotional moment with a woman is attributable to hormones man, damn!  I’m not pregnant, not on my period.  I’m just dealing with fuckboy bullshit.”

T’Challa melts in his seat with embarrassment.  Just two minutes with her and he’s already regretting making his presence known.  “How are things with Erik?”

“Terrible.”  Kimara mutters.

“Elaborate.”

She wipes her face, crossing her arms.  “You know he can be such a damn idiot sometimes.”

“Specifically?”  T’Challa draws out.

Kimara tuts at him, throwing up her hands.  “I thought you didn’t want details on our shit.  TMI and whatever.”

“I want details on what is going on with you.  Good or bad.”  T’Challa says softly, waiting patiently for her response.  

Kimara drops her attitude, playing with her nails anxiously.  “I had a doctor’s appointment today with Erik.  Nothing’s wrong with him.”

“That is good, right?”  

She lays back on the headrest, looking out the window.  “It is, health is always good.  Just...what else could it be now?  I thought that would give me my answer.”

“Does Erik know you are here?”

Kimara shakes her head.  “I left him at a Korean spot.  He was picking up his car anyway but I was tired of him too.”

“Did you like that place?”  T’Challa voice rises an octave in anticipation.

She nods, smirking.  “It was very nice.  Erik told me you picked it.”  Kimara looks over at T’Challa.  “Thank you for having good taste.”

T’Challa smiles softly.  “It is not something one can learn, I told you.”

Kimara tuts at him before looking away wordlessly.

“But why are you crying alone from your husband?”

“I don’t know.  I’m regretting what I said, or at least how I said it.  But Erik started off blaming the doctor and not taking the positive notes she gave us.  The whole appointment it was like he was stewing, ready for a fight or something.  I don’t know what came over him then but he flipped out.”

“That may be his way of accepting the news himself.  He is probably just as over the process as you are.”  T’Challa says.

“I know, I know.  But it’s like...what does he know?  How can he come in here blaming anybody for this when he’s barely wanted to follow instructions on how to better our chances.  He flip flops so much, then there’s work.  I’ve seen him act like this before.  When he wants something, he goes for it.  But this?  He’s in a whole other world. And I’m this close to done, I cant take his childish behavior anymore.”

“Have you told him?”

“No, this just happened.”

“I mean from before.  Your shame: did you tell him?”

Kimara goes quiet.  That said everything.

“Kimara-”

“I know!  I should.  But this isn’t the time.  Not when we’re rocky like this.”

T’Challa grows impatient with her.  “It has to be now!  You are not over that time in life and if he does not know you are harboring, your emotional duress appears out of the blue.  He will feel attacked.”

“Well he should!  I gave up a huge part of me for him and I don’t know if he could do the same.  He hasn’t proven that yet!”  

T’Challa grabs Kimara’s hand.  “Give him a little credit for what he’s been through.  Look.  Until you talk with him this is all speculative.”

“Well I have a right.”

“Do not be stubborn.  Remember this situation before?  I knew where Erik was, but you were not ready to let go of your anger to let clarity come through.  You must seek him out on this, be truthful.  If you do not, I cannot see this ending well, Bast forbid.”

Kimara holds his hand tightly before resting in his shoulder.  “I remember...I get that.  I don’t wanna leave him like that.  He doesn’t deserve that if he doesn’t know.  I’ll...trust the process.”

T’challa nods.  “That sounds familiar.  So you were listening to me.  You are a special woman, I just hate to see you go through this without all of the facts being known on his side.  The only way I can comfort you is because I know everything.  Whether I like it or not.”

They chuckle a moment as they held it together quietly, grazing their knuckles in small circles with their thumbs.  Kimara remember a lot about those times when Erik recovered from his combat brainwashing, how much coaxing it took T’Challa to see him through a new lens.  T’Challa never let Kimara down.  His word is always his truth and she appreciated that.  She didn’t give it a serious thought until just now.

T’Challa kisses the top of her head with a small peck, making her look up at him with a faint smile.  His eyes draw her into the features of his face, different from Erik’s but just as handsome.  She felt a dip in the pit of her stomach as her eyes fell over the bow of his top lip-

*brrrring!  brrrrring!*

Kimara’s phone breaks the trance as she nearly hops out of herself to stop the maddening noise.

“Hey Erik?  Yeah, I’m just over by the shops on 48th?  I needed some...I know…..It’s ok, really.  We’ll talk when I get home, don’t worry.  I’ll be there soon.  Love you too.”

She hangs up, growing timid.  “Sooo if you’re good I’m gonna head home.  Talk to this boy about stuff.”

T’Challa has his elbow on the passenger window, balling his fist up but with a calm expression.  His face reads a multitude of words just hanging from the cliff of his mind but his jaw is too tight to speak them.

“T’Challa?”

He nods, snapping out of his mind to give a tight smile.  “Of course.  Drive safely.”

--

Erik’s been working with his team at Boeing for a few weeks now trying to get some ideas off the ground.  He prides himself on being a superstar of the company, earning them easily millions and it’s all lightwork for his IQ.  But they were turning more commercial driven, and that doesn’t vibe with him.  And now that he works with Bryan, being the son of his boss, his wings are nubs at this point.

“Listen.  We have competition out there that are able to carry more passengers on longer flights.  We gotta keep up or we will be left in the dust!”  Edward exclaims.

Erik rubs his eyes as he leans back in the conference room chair.  “I’m not going rounds with you over this.  That’s the last thing we need to be focusing on right now.”

“Profits?  Profitability is never last Erik, it scares me how often I have to remind you of that.”

“Hey guys?”  Bryan says.

Erik tunes him out.  “When profit hunting cuts into innovation, TRUE innovation, that betters the product in the long run and sets an example for others in the industry, we fail!  And in your case we already are!  The Russians landed on the moon first bruh!”

“Guys!”  Bryan interjects.

Edward holds up a finger.  “One second son.  Listen here, I’ve been in this business for 30 years now, you think-”

“I think your father shoulda taught you better than this, yeah.”  Erik quips.

“GUYS!  I have a fucking idea, can you stop to hear it?”

Erik and Edward fume, looking at one another before going back to their respective corners.

“Sure son, and please speak with common sense.”  Edward says rolling his eyes as he sips some bourbon.

“How about we just knock out on engine on each side of the aircraft, so that gives room for the extra passenger space to be added?”

Erik’s face screws up “BOY THAT’S THE DUMBEST-”

Edward stops Erik.  “Hang on.  There are no wrong answers here.  Keep talking, what do you mean by that?”

Erik is incredulous.  “There are literally very wrong answers that can be given when discussing the composition of an aircraft!”

Bryan clears his throat.  “Well, of course we have to map out the logistics of it all.  But that’s the difference between us and our competitors.  They have constructed their aircrafts to be able to accommodate the extra passenger space by having the bodymore elevated from the ground.  The only thing blocking ours is the extra engines.”

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said, it’s hilarious honestly.  But you have a good time figuring it out.”  Erik gets up to leave.

“Oh actually, if you have space in your schedule, we need you to help with this one.  I really wanna get the ball rolling on this so we can be prepared to roll out by next spring at the latest.”

“Why the fuck would I work on something that ain’t my damn idea?  Your boy said it, let him handle it.  I don’t need no credit for this.”

Edward scoffs.  “That’s fine.  You can do the work and get none of the credit.  How’s that?”

“What?”

He pats Erik’s shoulder.  “We have a father son golf tournament we wanna get some practice in for anyhow.  Erik, I trust you.  You’re my most senior person in this department, and at your age, that is incredible.  I’d love to see you running this place one day, but to do that, you have-”

“I don’t like sports, I don’t do teams, and the only player I am has nothing to do with this company.”

Edward smiles amused at Erik’s tenacity.  “That is good!  I love that enthusiasm.  So I need something, anything crossing my office floor by month’s end or you know, we’ll talk.”

“That’s some bullshit, you know it.”

“Oh, don’t worry.  I did get you some help to soften the blow.  They should be waiting in your office.”

Erik rolls his eyes.  If he has to see one more white person giving him orders, he was gonna make the 5 o’clock news in no time.  He makes his way down the hall and around the corner to trudge his way to his office, checking his pockets for his phone.  He sees a text from Kimara and starts to open it as he walks in.

“Well how you, handsome?”

Erik’s feet make tracks on the tiles as he screeches to a halt.  Looking up he starts to turn warm, eyes widening as he catches a glimpse of a familiar figure.  

“My, my.  I guess you do recognize me.  I’m a lot different outside my work clothes.”  She says, rubbing the back of her neck as she clutches her leather satchel.  She does look a lot different than their first encounter, but the curves can’t hide under her tailor navy blazer with gold piping along the collar and sides, with matching pencil skirt to boot.  The only thing that didn’t change is the heels, that had to be flirting with workplace dress code etiquette for height.

Erik tucks his phone in his pocket.  “Uh, you, uh…Chanel, right?”

She rolls her eyes, fighting an embarrassed smile.  “Whatever I told you that night was a lie.  I never tell dudes I barely know my real name.  It’s Alaina.”

Erik walks across the way offering a hand.  “You didn’t seem too bothered with me being a stranger though.”

She shakes his hand firmly, still smiling slyly.  “Well, that was then.  And I was off the clock.  I can’t be held responsible for what happens after hours.”

“Mhm, if I wasn’t with my boy, you would’ve given me some trouble.  That wasn’t a meat market ma’am, I wasn’t lookin to cut either.”

She raises her hands.  “Hey, I get it.  Especially now.  You have my word I will behave myself.  God blockedt it!”

Erik takes a seat behind his desk as Alaina sits in the chair across from him.  “So you are the secret weapon to getting this bullshit idea off the ground, huh?”

Alaina shrugs.  “I’m here to get a paycheck and possibly a promotion.  I’m here on contract, I gotta make my moves while I can.”

“Ok, that’s cool.  It’s funny how he got all the Black folks working this together for him, but I won’t get into that today.”

She rubs her forehead.  “Please, refrain.  I don’t need a lecture on corporate politics from Brother Erik today.”

Erik chuckles, impressed with her wittiness.  Chanel, or Alaina, was more than just a fat ass in some FashionNova, but a brain on top to boot.  

“You right  Listen, Edward got you here close to my clock out time, so I was gonna go to my bar spot up the street, let off some steam.”

“The Magnolia?  Ooh, I love their martinis at happy hour!”

“And it just started too.”  Erik pulls out his keys and gets up to leave.  “So that’s where I’m headed.  We can pick this up tomorrow, if you not up for martinis.”

“When am I not up for a martini, is the real question.  One drink can’t hurt, I’ll treat you.  And don’t worry about what I said earlier.  I’ll be on my best behavior after hours too.”

--

Kimara comes home to the house dark and empty yet again.  Erik has been taking a lot of time to work after hours and it’s been killing her vibe lately.  When she comes home from the studio, she’d love to see her man welcome her home, but he hasn’t been available.

Phone calls from the fertility specialist urging her to start considering IVF as an option is stressing her out.  Erik isn’t getting the calls, nor is he there when they come.  The most he can give is a hurried, ‘oh what’d they say?  What you wanna do then?  Look I gotta go!’

Kimara was not keen on even thinking about trying to get fertility treatments yet.  One day she invited Lia over, a friend she’s gained from her recent sessions at the studio.  

Over a bottle of wine and junk food, Kimara opened up about her situation as of lately.  It’s hard to avoid as a topic since it’s been consuming her all this time.  

“Sheesh, it’s been that long?”  She exclaims taking a strong sip of her glass.

Kimara nods emphatically.  “I wish I was lying but yeah.  We are closing in on a year pretty soon, and I’m not getting any younger, so I may have to look into this pretty soon.  It’s not like we are having a whole lot of sex these days anyway.  He’s at work constantly.”

“Girl, fix that ASAP!  Nothing makes me more jaded than not busting one every so often.”

“No one said I wasn’t busting, I would like to have my man in on it too, every once in a while.  I need a new charge cord for my shit now!”

Lia guffaws.  “So who’s ignoring who though in this situation?  I know he can’t resist our fine ass.”

Kimara scratches her head.  “Well…”

“Oh!  Now we don’t have much to say!”

“I mean!  He comes in late as hell.  I’m in my bonnet, got on my mask, knee deep in Blue Bell watching my shows when he comes in.  By the time I’m in bed and he takes a shower, he tries to get handsy.  But I don’t wanna just be devoured and tossed aside, I want some damn communication!”

“Well at least you know he wants it still.”

“Yeah yeah, but when I call him on the bullshit he turns his ass back over real quick.  He won’t talk to me and I’m getting so damn tired of trying.”

Lia looks at her phone.  “Shit, I gotta go girl.  The sitter won’t hesitate to charge me extra for being late.  But girl, just take some deep breaths.”

Kimara does.  “Will air give me a baby and my hot and horny relationship back?”

“No but it’ll give some blood flow to that crowded ass brain of yours so you don't get to talking foolish.”

Kimara hugs her and walks her out the door when she sees some headlights pull into the driveway.  Lia looks back.

“Be nice, but stand your ground.”  She winks before walking on, waving wildly at Erik’s car.  He waves back nonchalantly as he walks in after you.

“Who was that?”   Erik asks.

“A friend from the studio.  Just keeping me company.”  You say, discarding you glasses.

Erik tosses his keys on the counter, taking his shoes off.  

“You want something to eat?”  You ask at the kitchen sink.

“Nah, you good.  I already ate.”

“This late?  So work came with dinner today?”

“You could say that.”  Erik sas in a monotone as he takes his jacket off.

Kimara stans there tapping her foot impatiently.  “Well, what do you say?”

“...you forgot to clean the dishes again?”

“Erik!”

He laughs.  “I’m just kidding!  Damn, how’s your day?  Love you.  Thanks for everything.  I’m takin a shower.”He kisses a fuming Kimara quickly sensing his job being done.

Erik heads upstairs to the master bathroom as she loads the dishwasher, which has become like a part time job for her.  Erik used to try and pull doing the ‘traditional’ household tasks mess on her.  But Kimara snapped him up quick with some facts, ultimatums, and peppered threats to get her point across that that was not how things would go down.  But he’s fallen off the wagon this month.  Kimara sets the washer on and rinses her hands with fury before bounding up stairs.  She hears the water running and open the door.  Erik’s silhouette is frosted and murky behind the foggy glass of the shower door.  The scent of his body wash fills her nostrils, lighting up her senses.  Kimara loves the soap he uses and can’t resist when he’s cleaned up to get him dirty all over again.  But like she told Lia, she hasn’t been in the mood as of late he didn’t earn that ass yet.  

Kimara sits on the toilet lid.  “Erik, what’s been going on?”

Erik opens the door a crack and peeks his head out, sudsy bubbles speckle his skin as he grins.  “Yo, what’s it look like I’m doin?  You tryna join me?”

She shakes her head.  “I wanna know where my husband has been spending his time.”  

Erik’s smile fades as he closes the door again talking over the water.  “I haven’t done nothing but work.  And trust me, I don’t like it no more than you.”

Kimara makes face of frustration.  “So what changed?  This isn’t normal for you still.”

“I mean...there’s nothing to talk about now, but I got this project on my head that had a strict deadline and me and this partner have just been…..you know, hammering it out.”

Kimara sighs.  “It’s not the same not having you here.  I don’t like it, it’s not fair to me.”

Erik shuts off the shower, getting out with his body glistening wet and clean, grabbing a towel across the way to dry off.  “I ain’t no fan either, but I’m tryna do some big things here that will hopefully make some history and that takes a lotta time and energy.”

“So does a relationship!  I been having dinner by myself, sleeping by myself.  I get calls from the doctor asking for us when there is no US to consider.”

Erik peaks from behind the towel on his face. “Hey hey!  We still us, don’t trip!  Like I said, I-”

“BUSY!  Sure Erik, whatever fits your conscience.  This project better have a break time, cuz WE have things to do too, remember?  So you and your boy, whoever your project partner is are gonna have to work something out.”

Erik wraps his towel around his waist before kneeling in front of Kimara.  “I know you think I forgot but I haven’t.”

Kimara’s eyes shift from him.  “What?”

Erik smirks.  “Now you gonna hurt my feelings if you forgot.  Tomorrow…..our anniversary?”

Kimara tears well up instantly.  Of course she thought he had forgotten.  He hasn’t said a damn thing leading up to today, what else would she think.

“I don’t want you crying on the happiest day of my life, you hear me?  We in that year three, third times the charm right?”

Kimara really starts to ugly cry now.  “Why you makin me cry if you don’t want me too?”

Erik kisses her hands.  “You are my life.  My one, my baby.   One thing we learned together no matter how far I go, we come back together as one, you know?”

Kimara sniffles, leaning her forehead against Erik’s thinking over their years together.  That statement didn’t always ring true to her, but in a small way he has been right.

“No decision I make goes without thinking of you, our family.  I got us reservations tomorrow, and tickets to that comic you love on the Boulevard.  We got the whole day to do what we wanna do, don’t trip.”

“Don’t scare me like this.”  Kimara says with an exhausted tone.  “Even for surprises, don’t.”

Erik’s eyes met hers.  “Nothing is keeping me from you.  Tomorrow let’s make that appointment with the doctor too.  I’m feeling pretty lucky right now, we are gonna get our shot.”

“You feelin lucky to get lucky?”  Kimara says stifling a laugh.

Erik pulls her closer to him by her hips.  “No lottery better in the world.”

They kissed sweetly at first, feeling a familiar urge that makes her legs tighten up.  Kimara pulls away first.  “I thought about something you said though before, about a different doctor.  My friend knows a fertility specialist that may be worth looking into, maybe we can them next.”

Erik nods, looking lost in her face, running his thumb along her cheek.  “Sure, I’m up for whatever.”

“Also, while you been busy, I’ve been looking at spots for a vacation.  I’m; narrowing it down to the DR, PR, Turks and Caicos, or Belize.”

Erik buries his face in her chest, kissing the softness of her skin.  “I trust your judgement.”

Kimara defends herself against his ticklish lips.  “But I want your opinion too!  And since things been going good with T’Challa and his lady, they should join us officially.  We can have dinner with them next week to get acquainted and start talking about it.”

“Ok!  You gonna help me cook?”

Erik scoffs.  “Who said that?  We cookin now?  Why don’t we do like them damn Koreans and just say bring your meat and here’s the stove. Ge to it!”

She rolls her eyes.  “I’m am so sick and damn tired of that smart mouth of yours.”

He cocks an eyebrow, giving your thighs a squeeze.  “It knows what to do when you need it to.”

“Oh?”

They smile into each others mouth as their lips come together in an embrace.  Kimara’s hands play in Erik’s locs, carefully rubbing his scalp as he moans under the sensation.  Her knees rub around him causing his towel to fall.  

Erik picks her up, kissing at her neck with neediness.  “I know you not tryna fuck on this toilet?”

Kimara sighs erotically rolling her head back to take in his mouth.  “Like I give a shit where I get it right now…”

Eight Years Ago

Kimara sits in the studio after hours, playing around with the keys on a keyboard.  The day was done but she had plans to meet with someone so she was just biding her time.  In the distance she could hear the bells jingle on the front door of the studio as someone walks in.  She checks her phone for an ‘on the way’ text but there is none, and curses herself for forgetting to lock the door.  

She slowly comes out from the back room.  “Uh, sorry but we’re clo-”

The jean jacket he loves, little locs bound atop his head, and a pair of broad shoulders hunched looking through framed photos of musicians spanning decades in a display case told Kimara all she needed to know for identification.  Her heart lurches into her throat, cutting off her breath to produce sound as Erik slowly turns to look at her.

“Wassup?”  He says with a casual grin.  

“H-hey.  How did you-”

“Find you?”  She shakes his head looking back at the photos.  “It ain’t that hard to figure out.  Not as hard as getting to Wakanda to see me I guess.”

Kimara folds her arms walking slowly towards him.  “Erik, I couldn’t go all the way over there.  For what?  Your cousin told me you were safe, and frankly that’s all I was worried about.”

He nods, turning to face you with his hands in his pockets.  You take a deep breath looking him over.  Still as big as ever, and looking good to have gone through and done all T’Challa told her happened in Wakanda.  And in a small way his eyes seemed different and familiar, not like the night he left.  But like the friend she once knew.

“I’m glad he filled you in on that.  Yeah, it took a lotta counselling with my demons, but...I figured out what I needed to let go and change for the better.”

“Good.  I’m glad, really.”  Silence comes between the both of them.  Him just standing there looking at Kimara made her feel shy all of a sudden.  She thought about this day often: what she would say or do if she caught him out here after all he put her through on her own.  But now that spirit just isn’t in her.  She felt stagnate, like her whole system shut down and is preparing for a reboot.

“How have you been?”  He asks, scratching his beard humbly as his eyes drop a second from her face.  “You look nice by the way.”

Kimara shrugs.  “I haven’t been up to much recently.  I teach music to school kids and...since you found me here maybe you heard I do backup for artists sometimes.”

Erik shakes his head.  “Nah, I hadn’t heard that actually.  Congratulations!  You deserve that, your talent is outta this world, Mara.”

She gives him a weak smile.  “And we’re closed now,so I mean if you want to meet up another time, I gotta-”

“Did you miss me?”  Erik asks.

Kimara stammers.  “Uh…”

Erik leans on the case hanging his head low.  “I know I shouldn’t have come by your place that night.  I don’t know what has gotten into me but I promise you I hadn’t planned for any of it.”

“I know that now.  You came to me confused and left me just as such.  I thought you were staying with me.”

“I know, and I was.  I just wasn’t ready-”

“To be a man? To be grown enough to take responsibility head on?”

Erik shrugs looking slightly bewildered.  “Possibly, I don’t know!  I didn’t want to hurt you and leave you without me seeing you one more time but that night made it even harder for me to want to go.”

“Then why did you?  Why did my body become your test of ‘should I stay or should I go?’  You were planning to leave regardless, you just said!  So why weren’t you upfront with me?!”

“Because I love you and didn’t want you to get hurt!”

“But you hurt me Erik!  You did!  You came over feeling big and bold, I softened you up but a minute before you peaced out on me.  Like that shit didn’t matter?  Like that’s even something we did before.”

Erik’s eye hang low.  “I didn’t mean for the first to be the last.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the sex Erik.  I was just another in a line of females you wouldn’t look twice at.  You ain’t my first to do that, I don’t give a shit.  But if you weren’t interested in being my man, you could’ve at least been my friend and thought for one second how leaving to do a homicide suicide mission with who knows and where and leaving me high and dry!  I was a MESS!  I was inconsolable, Erik we practically grew up together and you just that easily forgot what all that shit meant?”

Erik shakes his head emphatically, walking slowly over to her with outstretched hands.  “Mara I’m sorry.”

Kimara gulps for air between sobs, feeling herself go weak.  “No!  Don’t do that.  I’m sick of you.”

Erik wipes his face eyes turning red, looking sorrowful.   “I been sick of my damn self.”

Kimara grabs Erik by the collar of his jacket.  “I’m so sick of you bringing this tye of shit outta me.  I was over you, I swear I was.”

Erik’s arms wrap around Kimara tightly as she burrows her face into his chest.  They shake with emotion together, swaying side to side and letting go on one another.  Kimara hugs Erik as tightly as she can, feeling rubbing his back, caressing his head to make sure he isn’t a dream.  But it’s real.  Erik’s hads travel the length of your back before finding either side of your face to pull your gaze to his.

“I won’t put that pressure on you again.  I’m not leaving your side either.  I don’t even care if you got a nigga, I got your back when he fuck up.”

Kimara makes a noise that’s a combo of a sob and a laugh while holding the back of his hands in his.  “You still a damn fool.”

When Erik’s eyes meet Kimara’s, there’s an energy that kept accelerating, building between the two of them.  It was tortuous, almost irritating how lonely her lips felt when she looked at his, and Erik definitely felt the same.  

God’s hand seemed to keep twirling around their heads, bringing them closer bit by bit until their mouths met.  Kimara’s body felt like a whole piece again once connected with his.  She had found a peaceful existence without him but she had no clue she missed him so much until he was right in front of him.  

When they parted for air Kimara rested her forehead on his chin.  “Erik, I can’t just jump into this.  I’m still not there.”

Erik pats her head gently.  “Mara, I ain’t worried bout that.  You here, I’m here.  I don’t need nothing else.  Imma work on my situation, get myself stable.  And you just live your life like you was.  Just this time you can call me.  For whatever.”

Kimara hugs Erik tightly, breathing him in when she feels a vibration in her back pocket.  

“Sorry, hang on.”  Kimara reaches for it, looking to see T’Challa’s name flashing as an incoming call.  She declines it, texting him back to cancel their night together.

Part 6

Masterlist

Ragtag

@chaneajoyyy @sarcastic-sunshines @muse-of-mbaku@dameshaemonique  @fonville-designs@destinio1@bakarisangel@wakanda-inspired@klaine15689 @savageiz@nickidub718@yoyolovesbucky @alexundefined @forbeautyandlife@bakarisangel

[cannibalisticshadows]

Nightcall (1/2)

Inspired and named after the song “Nightcall” by Kavinsky 

Rating: T

Pairing: Megamind/Roxanne

Tags: Angst with a happy ending. 

Summary: Megamind can’t take it anymore. He has to tell her.

(ao3 link) | (part 2)

He’s sick.

It’s shameful how badly the words sit on his tongue, begging as if it’s life or death to be said. And it’s sick. So, so sick. Evil gods above, common sense screamed that everything about this was wrong on a million levels. Though “common sense” never applied to him much, this was a boundary even he was unwilling to cross. Their relationship was professional!

But how can he help it when he sees her walk away, hips swaying side to side like a metronome that seems to beat to his heart. He wants to cry out from the tugging at his soul the farther she is from him.

So, he supposes that’s why he’s always taking her. Mr. Tighty-Whities goes out and entertains hundreds of woman, but there’s only one woman that’s worth the effort.

These day’s he’s taking her more frequently. Half-assed schemes be damned, all he cares now is seeing her face again, right in front of him and not on television. To hear her voice being spoken just for him, tones low and seductive and just for him.

Temptress...

He can’t even...

He digs his fingernails into his palms so hard that even through the kid leather it hurts. He can feel it behind his gums, unsoothable even with his own tongue, which drools with the mere thought of being allowed to touch her in the most chase of ways.

The need to have her to himself has become overpowering. He writes out absurdly poor or well-thought-out plans just for the sake of telling Minion to fetch Ms. Ritchi. Once every-other week has become weekly.

Weekly incidents have become twice, or even thrice, a week.

“Are you okay?” She asks suddenly, tied to her chair and being quieter than usual. No. No that’s not right. She’s supposed to be talking about the plan. Taunting him. Bantering with him. Why isn’t she!? "You kinda seem... tired."

He nervously runs his hands down the crappy built control system of today’s Evil Scheme. It’s cold here, biting at his exposed skin, but the heat of his desperate, sick want keeps him heated. Bitting into his lower lip, he hunches over the buttons and knobs with his back turned to her. But he watches her from the little mirror he put beside him.

“I am ecstatic,” he says with false, half-mad cheer. “Today is the day Metro Man will die.”

“Wow,” she says mildly. She pauses. “Never hear a death threat before.” Despite her tone they both know it’s true. He usually says defeat. Is she frightened for once? Nowadays he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He bites harder, this time on the tip of his tongue.

He tastes metallic, and it burns his throat.

“Just shut up and be a damsel for once?” He sneers, baring his teeth and turning around to show her. He’s angry at himself, not her.

But it makes Roxanne jolt in her seat, comically surprised. Then she goes still, eyes wide with... Something. He can't read her. Always guessing, with her. She doesn’t respond, but shrinks a bit in her chair, glowering at him with suspicion.

It’s a weird feeling to drawl out this reaction from her.

~.~.~

He’s becoming more desperate to help his vice. Withdrawal starts the second Wayne throws him into prison, keeping him quiet and brewing over the duration of his stay. The guards notice; they steer clear of him.

No one is surprised when he breaks out not twenty-four hours later, snarling at the one puny guard who dares to raise a gun at him when he comes charging out.

Minion, barely given the warning he’s breaking out on his own, manages to catch him a few miles away from the prison he’s running from.

He’s sick. Still sick. Still wants to barrel himself through this confusing life with the little bits of the drug that’s pretty much the only thing keeping him afloat. An unquenchable hunger that has nothing to do with food, and it gnaws at him like a flesh-eating parasite. And it’s so, so wrong. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. Shouldn’t be physically shaking everything she moans his name in tiredness at yet another kidnapping. Shouldn’t be crying into his pillow at night because he wants to hear her voice outside of the television.

Kidnappings are more frequent. At the third kidnapping this week, Roxanne is barely awake which slightly pisses him off. This is a two-person job. He can’t just broadcast their trysts with her snoozing!!! He wants to grab this little woman by the shoulders and shake her—gently—because he just wants to talk to her.

Curse his alien psychology. Because he damn well knows what is happening to him. He knows why he’s resorted to spending more time in his room, biting at his own flesh because he can’t have what he wants. No. What he needs. Minion is starting to catch on, a bit, and Megamind cannot let that happen. No. No he doesn’t feel anything more than an annoyance for Ms. Ritchi, Minion! I am not falling into the same cycle my ancestors did!

He has to convince himself that his tone is somewhat convincing. Because it isn’t.

Tonight he’s determined to do it better. Today’s kidnapping ended before it even began, thanks to a sloppily build machine. It ended with a bitter, nasty remark at her choice in dress. He feels like a boy on schoolgrounds, tugging at the cute girl’s hair to get her attention.

But anyway. He fixed the machine and he demands a do-over. Tonight. At this very moment.

She’s at home, according to one of his spy-bots. not gonna admit that he’s so wretched over his own alien heart he’s started to spy on her in an indirect way.

He’s already on his hoverbike, because Minion, bless him, finally passed out from being worked too hard. He’s getting really close to Roxanne’s place when—

“Oh, no you don’t,” says a disapproving, gruff voice.

Snatched out of the air, his bike’s handles caught in the same beefy hands used to grab his collar, Megamind finds himself dangling and flailing his limbs.

Fucking Wayne. Fucking fucking fucking Wayne. What does he have to do at this time of night around Roxanne’s place, the bloody creep.

Oh. No. Megamind’s the creep, he viciously realizes, eyes ablaze with fury. Wayne’s the perfect boyfriend. Fuck him, Megamind weeps internally.

“Listen, little buddy,” the meat-head starts, pissing off the other alien even more. “You’ve kidnapped Roxie four times this week. What’s your problem?”

“You are my problem,” he hisses vehemently. “Let go!”

“No,” Wayne sighed, flying off closer to her apartment. Still spitting curses, but also rather confused, because why bring him to his destination when he was usually dropped off at the prison when caught? “You need to see this.”

Wayne drops him on the balcony without delicacy, making Megamind hand on his side with the air sucked out of him. Huffing, he stands and wipes dust off him. He breathes in, catching the faint vegetation scent of her potted plants.

His long-time enemy lands beside him on his white-clad toes, staring inside of the glass doors. Peeved, he meets where his gaze lands.

It’s Roxanne. Yes, she is home, and not at all conscious.

She’s still dressed in the same outfit from earlier; a sleeveless, deep wine-red—almost black—dress that flared at the knees, hugging her hips and derrière like a godforsaken glove. She looked good enough to drink. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, earlier,

That could have been a terrible, terrible tease if she hadn’t spent the duration of their short encounter today falling asleep. Why was she so tired lately?

She’s conked out on her red couch, one leg hiked up over the back of the couch, the other hanging off with her heal barely hanging onto her big toe. Her hair is completely disheveled, her mouth parted open as she drools slightly onto the couch’s fabric. One of her arms is curled up behind her hair, with the other hanging off the side of the couch.

And with that hand she’s gripping onto a bottle of wine. Her mascara has smeared down her face like black veins.

“You need to back off a bit,” Wayne said, his heroism voice gone and replaced with something that actually sounded human. It made things a hundred times worse because Megamind knew what his problem was.

He stood and stared at his poor Roxanne. Why. What the fuck is wrong with him!?

Wayne grabbed him by the collar before he could linger another moment, and he’s being thrown back into prison, to the bewilderment of the Warden. Can’t blame the old man; everyone could see Megamind was finally losing his marbles. He could see the thoughts in their eyes.

But as he sat in his cell, the tv on but muted, familiar orange jumpsuit scratchy against his sensitive blue skin, he thought over this hell of a month. He was sick of this. Sick of his wretched alien secret of this… need.

It should be below him. It should be abolished from his DNA; a trait his pre-evolved ancestors needed for… things. He was a scientist; an evil genius; a lone wolf. He shouldn’t be made weak by the simple, kind smile of a blue-eyed reporter.

Yet he was.

And he knew what he had to do.

Before it destroyed him.

[mortimemedoodles]

Lotor Friendsim?

Hey yall, this isn't much I just took the mc of Homestuck-Friendsim and replaced them with Lotor bc I'm out here to have fun. without further ado, here.

You have just crash-landed on a planet called Alternia, and staggered from the smoldering wreckage of your ship. You don't recall how you found your way out of the quintessence field, but better here than there, you guess. You are now completely alone in a strange world. Desperate for information, for provisions, and possibly a bit of medical attention. But most of all, you are desperate for...

FRIENDSHIP? 

Won't someone on this godforsaken rock be your buddy?

....Actually, no. You really are looking more for medical attention and provisions more than anything else. A buddy would be a good provider of these things, but really any weirdo will do. You're not that picky. You know more than anything that making friends can have disastrous side effects if you are not careful. You decided not to dwell on the series of events that lead you to be here and put voltron out of your mind. After all, your ship is ruined and you don't think you will be going anywhere any time soon. Best to look for help. Hang on... What's this now? Is someone approaching...?

Yes, someone is approaching! A strange, grey-skinned alien, clad in blue. Perhaps they will make for a good friend? You smooth out your hair and try to look half presentable despite your blatantly horrible wounds and burns.

ARDATA: dear god. ARDATA: and just what are you supposed to be? Your stammering reply eventually conveys that you are a lost traveler to keep this interaction simple, you also let her know you are hungry and probably in some need of medical treatment. You're also quite disoriented from your sudden landing in a strange new world and wouldn't mind making a new friend right now. ARDATA: oh. oh my. mmmmhmhm. ARDATA: hmhmhmhmhmhm... ARDATA: hmhmmhmmwahahahahahahaha. ARDATA: oh how funny thiiis iiis. how very droll. you... ARDATA: YOU want to be MY friiiend? ARDATA: iiit's too much. thiiis, thiiis THIIING at my doorstep, wiiishiiing to know me iiin any capaciiity. the hiiilariiity somehow escapes my abiiiliiity to capture wiiith maniiiacal laughter. how rare. You apologize for your presumptuous request. You replace your helmet, turn around, and begin to walk aw-

ARDATA: and just what the fuck do you thiiink you are doiiing? ARDATA: who iiinviiited you to leave?

You stop in your tracks, and turn to face her again. Your possibly broken ribs are throbbing in pain. But this does not strike you as the right moment to exhibit weakness. ARDATA: iiit dawns on me that we may have gotten off on the wrong saunterpod. where are my manners? ghastly behaviiior on my part. ARDATA: after all, iiit iiisn't YOUR fault you seem to be some sort of hiiideous freak, iiis iiit? and such a tragiiic creature cannot be held responsiiible for such a devastatiiing shortfall of sociiial competence. ARDATA: iii would weep for you, really. except that cryiiing out of three eyes at once gets a biiit messy. so iiinstead, iii thiiink iii'll be saviiing my tears for someone less offensiiively worthless. You... aren't sure if she's inviting you inside? Or if she just got you to stay a little longer, so she could insult you some more. You cant say youre fond of it, but after all that you have been through with voltron you cant say you feel you are above being criticized for many things. You try to remain stoic, while your confrontational new friend decides what to do with you. You have objectively been through much worst. Still you cant help but wince. Not only over your broken ribs but the stabbing pain of being abandoned once again. You would think this would be something you were used to by now. You sniffle slightly despite yourself. ARDATA: oh. ARDATA: oh my, oh dear. you're... ARDATA: sad? hmhmhmhm. ARDATA: hmhmhmwahaha. so amusiing to me. miiildly endeariiing, even? ARDATA: perhaps. iii'll decide later iiif iiit's endeariiing, once iii have more iiinformatiiion. iiit's entiiirely possiiible iii wiiill retroactiiively deciiide iiit's diiisgustiiing. ARDATA: but for now, try to put yourself at ease. you completely piiitiiiful fool. not one more sniiiffle. ARDATA: do you understand? You nod, while practicing exemplary control over your nose. ARDATA: you have gotten yourself so agiiitated. iii wonder why. you have nothiiing to worry about from me. ARDATA: of course iii wiiill be your friiiend. condiiitiiionally, iii mean. there iiis a chance the desiiignatiiion wiiill be formaliiized, iiif you behave iiin ways that iii approve of, startiiing now. ARDATA: let's call iiit a friiiendshiiip iiin progress. agreed? Your heart swells. This is what you've been waiting for. A new friend... oh gosh. All you have to do now is try not to fuck anything up at all, possibly for many hours. This seemed very good until you thought about it like that and now you really just want to leave. ARDATA: come iiinto my hiiive. thiiis way, after me. you look liiike you could use nouriiishment. ARDATA: iii don't know what iiit iiis that whatever you are eats, generally. but iiit doesn't matter. you wiiill eat whatever iiit iiis iii have on hand, iiif iii tell you to. how does that sound? How DOES it sound? It sounds good. I'll do whatever you say. You tell her. You can tell by her very unpleasant disposition that she is the type you want to speak with respect to to get what you want. God, its almost like your father decided to come back in the form of a strange looking teenaged girl.

ARDATA: obviiiously iiit sounds good. you wiiill defiiiniiitely enjoy it.

ARDATA: you wiiill enjoy everythiiing iii proviiide you wiiith, and tell you to do. iii can't iiimagiiine any sort of negatiiiviiity or diiisagreement comiiing from one of my friiiends.

ARDATA: iii wiiill assume that we share thiiis phiiilosophy, when iiit comes to friiiendshiiip?

You say, oh yes, absolutely. You nod as enthusiastically as you can, without aggravating your broken ribs. You resist the urge to roll your eyes into the back of your skull.

You consider giving her a thumbs up as well, until you realize one of your arms is probably broken too. You'll try to make sure she doesn't notice though. It would probably leave a bad impression.

ARDATA: come wiiith me. there's somethiiing iii need your help wiiith.

You follow her into her hive. It's a bit gloomy in here. You suppose she's going to fix you something to eat soon, as promised.

You pass through her kitchen, and... out the other side, to another room? Ok, you guess dinner can wait. Better not to piss her off and get kicked outbefore she can help you.

ARDATA: thiiis way. try not to let any of your broken liiimbs slow you down.

ARDATA: a good friiiend wouldn't allow such triiifliiing physiiical aiiilments cause me any iiinconveniiience.

Ah. Shes seen your injuries and does not intend to do anything to fix them. At least this is what you gather from your observation of her personality so far. You want to be angry but at the very least she has decided not to do something that would force you to work with your broken limbs. You are absolutely not in the mood to fight for example. You hobble a little faster, through another door into a much darker room. And now, down a flight of stairs?

It's hard to see. There are torches along the wall ahead. A monstrous noise rumbles below.

ARDATA: don't miiind her. she's just hungry. she's always hungry though.

ARDATA: what's that? you're hungry too? iii have not forgotten. what sort of piiiece of shiiit friiiend do you take me for?

You didn't remind her that you're hungry. You thought it though. Can she... read your mind? You hope not. That's going to make this friendship slash food excursion in progress a bit awkward. Not to mention that most of your thoughts on her thus far have been particularly kind.

ARDATA: here we are. thiiis iiis where you wiiill be most useful to me as a friiiend.

You look around. With a sense of relief, you see no sign of whatever hungry thing was grumbling down here. You are less relieved to see several other kids trapped in cages of various shape and size. If anything you are rather disgusted but decide to quickly clear your mind of that repulsion.

One of them makes eye contact with you.

The boy is the same kind of alien as her. Horns and all. He has a dark red symbol on his shirt. His expression seems to plead with you.

He struggles to say, "Hel..... p". Your new friend looks unamused and twitches her finger. "Hel... plo!" he says.

"Helplo. By which I mean, hello of course. Looks like you're the new friend in progress chosen by the great and beautiful Ardata."

"She's my savior, my reason for being. I am nothing without her. I'd hollow myself out and let her make a nest inside of me, if she'd permit it!"

You turn away from this boy. You don't want to hear anything he has to say, ever again.

ARDATA: hmhmhmmmm. don't miiind hiiim. he's always regarded hiiimself as a comediiian.

ARDATA: come. over here. thiiis iiis what iii need your help wiiith, iiif you're goiiing to have any value to me as a friiiend.

You're led to a dank corner of this, well, you're going to call it like you see it. This dungeon. Your new 'friend' has a dungeon full of sad, suffering children, and presumably a monster lurking somewhere in here as well. It's not ideal.

Then again, beggars like you can't be choosers. Not yet at least.

ARDATA: iii've been haviiing an awful tiiime wiiith iiit.

ARDATA: you can do iiit for me. iiit wiiill save me tiiime.

You look at the thing in question. You doubt she's been having an "awful time" with it. You doubt this because it's still in its box, looking completely untouched since it was brought down here.

It's a box containing a... table? A table that looks ominously like it was designed to keep a person strapped to its surface. You somehow find yourself missing the quintessence field looking at it.

ARDATA: iii wiiill need you to assemble iiit.

ARDATA: here's a screwdriiiver, iiin case you need iiit. iii wiiill assume other requiiired tools are contaiiined wiiithiiin the box.

You take the screwdriver with your non-broken arm. This isn't exactly what you had in mind, but you cant say its unexpected in hindsight.

You don't know what you had in mind, really. A warm meal, and friendly banter? Perhaps a sling for your arm, and a remedial balm for your ribs. Still, you open the box without protest.

ARDATA: hold on. before you start, thiiis wiiill make for excellent content.

ARDATA: my fans wiiill appreciiiate thiiis.

She sets up a video recording device on a tripod, and points it at you. A video feed comes to life on several monitors just behind you. You see in one corner of a screen, an unflattering angle of your torso hunched over the furniture box.

Other rectangles contain shots of the other kids in cages around the room. You suppose cameras are pointing at them, too. You had no idea this so called friendship came with the perk of instant stardom. Fucking fantastic.

ARDATA: now you may begiiin.

She's suddenly sitting in a comfortable looking chair facing you, and holding a chalice, swishing around some viscous liquid it contains.

You have all the parts spread out on the floor, organized according to their labels in the instructions.

You remember the last time you assembled something like this. You don't recall enjoying it. To be perfectly honest... this doesn't look like it will be fun at all. She frowns conspicuously.

ARDATA: oh. how sad for you.

ARDATA: iii'm sorry. iiis thiiis actiiiviiity not to your liiikiiing?

You reassure her vigorously that, no, it actually looks amazing. You love shit like this. It's what you were born for, you say, as you swoosh the screwdriver around, demonstrating your plainly evident skill with the tool.

Forget the thing you just thought. Completely arbitrary and WRONG thoughts pop into your head all the time. It meant nothing, you swear.

ARDATA: mmmhmhmhm.

ARDATA: yes. iii hear that a lot.

ARDATA: contiiinue.

You open the little bag full of screws. goodness, there are about, fifty screws to this thing. Where could most of these screws POSSIBLY even go? Judging from the picture, the table really doesn't seem that complicated.

You look at your screwdriver, then study the screws. Every single one requires some sort of wrench. Does this even come with a wrench? The instructions seem to suggest it does.

You look around, but don't see one. Did you open the bag too forcefully? Did the wrench go bouncing off into a dark dungeon crevice nearby? Maybe you lost some of the screws too... damn it.

You hold back a sigh and look around curiously. You check underneath one of the parts. No, it's not under there. You grip the screwdriver a little tighter to fight back frustration.

You wonder what to do next.

> Get the hell out of there.

First, you clear your head and try to think innocent thoughts.

Altea. your lovely little cat Kova. Your trip to Oriande. Ardata's long black hair spilling over her cloak. Her tripping down the stairs and breaking a horn. Her...wait. These are NOT innocent thoughts. If anything theyre more likely to make her want to berate you again for imagining such foolish things. Shut it down. SHUT IT DOWN.

There's no time for thinking. You have to act. You hurl the screwdriver at her and run.

She calmly lifts a hand towards one of the kids in the cages. The kid tenses up and lifts a hand in the direction of the screwdriver. The screwdriver freezes mid-air, right in front of Ardata's head.

You run up the stairs. She twitches a finger, the caged kid does a full body spasm, and the screwdriver goes sailing toward you. It stabs deep into your leg, and you buckle over, tumbling backwards down the stairs.

You're a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, bleeding, and you think your arm is broken in two places now.

ARDATA: that diiidn't seem very friiiendly to me.

ARDATA: luckiiily for you, iii'm very determiiined to make relatiiionshiiips work.

ARDATA: even ones wiiith people who flee siiimple furniiiture assembly projects.

She stands over you. You attempt to pull the screwdriver out of your leg, but your entire body locks up. You can't move. She holds an outstretched hand just above you.

ARDATA: you shouldn't try to move yet.

ARDATA: and you certaiiinly shouldn't try to pull out that screwdriiiver. you'll get blood everywhere.

ARDATA: to my three liiittle eyes, under the present condiiitiiions, iiit seems to me that only one of us should attempt walkiiing up these staiiirs.

You feel somewhat relieved. Perhaps she has some... alien means of levitating you up the stairs? Wait... no. That doesnt sound like something she would do.

Your body is tensing up again. It's moving without your permission. You get to your feet, without taking the screwdriver out. Wow that hurts. What is she making you... wait. What? She can't be. There are many things she could be doing to you right now in your mind, but surely she doesnt intend to..?

You use both of your arms, and all your strength, and pick her up entirely. The pain from your arm is excruciating. Arms with broken bones are not meant for heavy lifting. The additional weight on your wounded leg isn't great either. Wonderful.

You hold her as a groom would hold a bride. She wraps her arms around your neck, to hang on to you in what strikes you as an overly familiar manner. She looks directly into your eyes, and grins.

ARDATA: thiii2 iii2 better.

ARDATA: now. onward and upward, new friiiend.

ARDATA: mmmwahahahaha.

Your legs begin to operate without your consent. They wobble and struggle under the weight, the wound throbs. You lumber back up the long flight of stairs, carrying her all the way.

You take her back to the kitchen and set her down in a chair seated at a table.

ARDATA: you diiidn't thiiink iii'd forget about diiinner tiiime, diiid you?

ARDATA: let's put your unfriiiendly behaviiior behiiind us. iiit's a good thiiing for you that iii'm benevolent enough to overlook diiisgustiiing acts of betrayal.

ARDATA: you may have notiiiced iii keep several friiiends iiin my hiiive who iii have siiimiiilarly forgiiiven.

ARDATA: consiiider the transgressiiion blood beneath the abattoiiir.

You exhale. Now that she mentions it, yes, you are hungry. Somehow you feel this is not going to end well for you, but you also know that thinking negativly is not going to make things better either.

Maybe a warm meal, if you even get it, will lift your spirits and get this heretofore turbulent friendship back on track. Maybe you'll even get the chance to pull this screwdriver out of your leg.

You pull out a chair and attempt to sit down. But your legs lock up, and then you stand again. Apparently this was not the right thing to do. As you expected, but you tried to have hope.

ARDATA: oh. but why are you siiittiiing?

ARDATA: there's cookiiing to be done.

Of course this is happening. You stagger mechanically over to the fridge, and open it. You pull out a large hock of some sort of alien mystery meat, and put it on the counter.

With your broken arm, you reach in anguish for a big dangling meat cleaver. You chop the hock, wincing with each swing of the cleaver.

You didn't know that's the way she likes it, but you surmise this is what she prefers in a piece of meat, since technically she is the one doing the cooking.

You put it on the table in front of her, along with a fork and knife beside it. Your muscles relax, as you apparently are allowed to control your own body again. She does nothing, except look at you with a pleased expression.

You eye the meat in front of her. Then the meat on the counter. And the chair on the other side of the table.

What should you do? Prepare a plate for yourself? Is that what she wants you to do? You hope it is but you know its not.

ARDATA: well?

ARDATA: iiit looks liiike you're confused.

ARDATA: iiisn't iiit obviiious what to do next, under your own voliiitiiion?

ARDATA: a good friiiend would know what to do. iiin fact, iii don't thiiink a good friiiend would take nearly as long to deciiide what the riiight thiiing to do next iiis.

ARDATA: iiit actually seems to me that a very rude friiiend would hesiiitate for as long as you are hesiiitatiiing.

ARDATA: or perhaps. someone who iiis not a friiiend at all?

You hold back on sighing again. You clearly don't have much time to make up your mind. If you wait for even a few seconds longer, you will probably be guilty of being a bad friend. Maybe even a dreadful one.

you are already neck deep in this and going through this hell for nothing seems pointless to you now.

What will you do?

> Feed her.

This feels like the only obvious thing to do. She is looking up at you quite expectantly. You reach for the fork with your good arm. You go for the knife with your other... ow.

You can't do it. The arm is much less serviceable when the muscles are not being forced via psychic override to disregard the pain response.

Nevertheless, she looks at you patiently and smiles. That's nice for you, you think, for her not to be mad about it. You feel like you're pleasing your new friend more and more by the minute.

You put the fork down, and pick up the knife with your good arm. You cut the meat into several pieces with a careful sawing motion.

You put the knife down and pick up the fork, and stab a piece. You put it close to her mouth. She seems pleased.

ARDATA: very good. niiice techniiique.

ARDATA: well siiized morsels, too.

She chews the meat with excellent form. She has very good table manners, you think. When she finishes the pieces, you slice off some more, and continue.

The meat looks very good. Your mouth is watering, but she doesn't offer any. Oh well, when it's the right time for you to eat too, you're sure she will let you know.

The meal is finished. There is no more meat, except for a few pieces of unchewable gristle, which you did not try to feed her. That would be thoughtless, very bad service.

She reclines, and steeples her fingers, looking quite pleased with how her evening has gone so far.

ARDATA: mhmhmhmhmhm.

You aren't sure why she's laughing. Does she have more cruelty up her sleeve shes ready to dish out?

ARDATA: mwahahahaha.

ARDATA: oh my. hahahaha.

ARDATA: what a fool.

You point at yourself, wondering if she's referring to you. You don't know what you've done that was foolish, if so. You're also still not sure what she finds so amusing.

ARDATA: hahahahaha.

ARDATA: hahahaha.

ARDATA: mmha. haha.

ARDATA: ha.

ARDATA: ...

She pauses her laughter for a minute or two. Then slowly begins to frown. A faint blue tear rolls down her cheek, from her bottom eye.

ARDATA: the truth iiis. iii don't even know why iii'm laughiiing.

ARDATA: thiiis iiisn't very funny, what's happeniiing here.

ARDATA: iiit was a good diiinner. you diiid a good job. whoever you are.

She puts her face in both of her hands, and sobs quietly. You have no idea what to do about this. You stand there, still holding the fork, feeling a bit useless. Shes tortured you horribly but you can see shes still just a teenager. You feel a little bad watching this.

ARDATA: there iiis a lot of pressure, you know.

ARDATA: beiiing so respected and admiiired for your hiiigh status iiin thiiis world.

ARDATA: iii diiidn't ask for thiiis. to be so superiiior to so many.

ARDATA: much iiis expected of you. much iiis presumed about what your personaliiity wiiill be, before you even develop one.

ARDATA: you work hard. and buiiild a brand. based only on what you thiiink people assume you should be liiike.

ARDATA: sometiiimes iii wonder. am iii even that GOOD at beiiing siiiniiister?

ARDATA: could iii be MORE siiiniiister, iiif iii triiied harder?

ARDATA: maybe thiiis iiis not my true calliiing after all.

You begin to offer words of sympathy. This all seems heartbreaking to you. this child needs some sort of support you think. But your jaw muscles contract, and your mouth shuts involuntarily.

You guess it's not your turn to speak yet? Fine, that works for you. You dont really know what to say anyways.

ARDATA: but what would happen iiif iii changed my brand? iiif iii stopped beiiing so siiiniiister onliiine?

ARDATA: my friiiends and followers wiiill deriiide and reject me.

ARDATA: and my superiiiors wiiill eat me aliiive.

ARDATA: iiif iii show weakness. iiif iii scale back on my bloodthiiirsty content.

ARDATA: wiiill iii iiincur the scorn of a wiiise ass clown wiiith a hundred miiilliiion subscriiibers?

ARDATA: wiiill iii be iiin a cage some day. liiisteniiing to a fuckiiing fool honk hiiis horn for liiikes?

ARDATA: no. iii must persiiist.

ARDATA: how lonely iiit iiis to know thiiis iiis all iii can do, untiiil the day iii leave thiiis planet.

ARDATA: iii have no materiiial or sensory comforts left for me here.

ARDATA: untiiil iii can get on a shiiip and fly away. paiiin iiis my only solace.

Your hand holding the fork grips it tighter. You're horrified to realize what it is in the process of doing.

You bring it down hard on her hand which is placed flat on the table. She doesn't flinch, or react in any way. Three trails of cerulean blood flow from the tines where they pierce her skin.

That wasn't very friendly, you think. You expected her anger from that. But then, you weren't the one who did it, were you? You're so confused.

ARDATA: my subscriiibers are not real friiiends.

ARDATA: they adore me only for my siiiniiister content. the show iii proviiide. my wiiicked, iiinfectiiious laughter.

ARDATA: iii get jealous of them someiiimes, because they get to watch my content. iiit must be thriiilliiing, iii thiiink. but maybe...

ARDATA: iii'm just jealous of them because they get to be people who aren't me?

ARDATA: thiiis iiis fucking deep. iii know. apologiiies iiif you cannot relate.

She pulls the fork out of her hand, and lays it gently on the plate of gristle you didn't feed her.

ARDATA: the people downstaiiirs iiin theiiir cages aren't my friiiends eiiither.

ARDATA: they act liiike they're my friiiends though. and sometiiimes, iii even beliiieve iiit.

ARDATA: but they don't really want to be friiiends wiiith me.

ARDATA: nobody does.

ARDATA: the only person who has ever really wanted to be my friiiend. who's ever TRIIIED to be...

ARDATA: iiis you?

You clear your throat, and point to yourself innocently.

ARDATA: that's iiit. iii've deciiided.

ARDATA: you have passed the test.

ARDATA: you wiiill become my friiiend. offiiiciiially.

ARDATA: as such, iii thiiink a reward iiis iiin order.

You are overjoyed. Your heart starts racing. You can't believe it. A new REAL FRIEND. You hope this means the hell shes put you through is over. But you don't have much time to enjoy this achievement. Your body is doing something again.

You bend down in a strained motion and pick up the plate and fork. You position the plate over your wide open mouth, and scrape in all the remaining gristle, and begin chewing.

It's virtually inedible. Your mouth humors the act of chewing for two seconds, and then you swallow all of it whole, in one painful gulp.

Tastes like friendship.

[kissme-hs]

Don’t wanna know

Hey guys! So I’ve got some requests and i’d like you to know that i will try to post them till next week because I’ve a lot of college stuff to do, so yeah. And here’s one imagine about Y/n being in love with Harry but he is in love with another person. Please do tell me what do you think about it. Plus English isn’t my first language so i’d like to apologize for the all the grammatical mistakes. Ending of this can a bit low-rated Because i ran out of ideas so yeah. Let me know is you’d like part 2 of it with ideas.

And I’ve to sing for the first time and i’m nervous at hell so please wish me luck that i do good and DO NOT FORGET MY LYRICS. 

Enjoy!

————-

“You like him don’t you?” Niall kept nudging you as you tried to ignore the topic he was talking on about. You’ve denied Niall like thousand times that no-you did not liked harry at all but little did he knew and he did knew that you were lying. You just didn’t wanted to say it by yourself and make it a statement.

“No. And I will keep saying no till you get it.” You said trying to mind your own business. You were not in the mood after what happened just a few hours ago between you and harry. Harry was your best friend. Only friends is what you guys were. But you wanted more than that. You didn’t wanted to but no one can help themselves from not falling in love. It just happens.

“Don’t lie to me Y/n i know yo-” you didn’t even let Niall finish his sentence when you exploded out of no where.

“YES I DO! I DO FUCKING LIKE HIM. WELL NO! I DAMN LOVE HIM! WHAT CAN YOU DO ABOUT IT HUH? TELL ME!!” You couldn’t help yourself from shouting at him like that and turning on your heel to walk away from the situation you were facing right now. Of course you weren’t a stone hearted person but Niall, he just went on your nerves. You felt bad for him but who were way too hurt to turn back to him and apologize.

–Flashback–

Y/N’s POV

Monday. 10:45 am. That’s what my phone displayed. I was suppose to meet up with Harry today. Well that’s what he asked me to do. Recently we haven’t been able to hang with each other a lot like we used to. He hasn’t been acting like himself since he returned from shooting Dunkirk. Even Anne and Gemma thinks the same. It seems like he has been hiding something from us. Especially from me. 

Groaning I got up leaving the warmth and coziness of my bed. I shivered at soon as the wooden floor came in the contact with my bare feet. Cold. It was damn cold. The weather was cold and so was my life. But when i was with Harry coldness was replaced with the warmth of Harry’s arms. He always used to say that no matter what he will come to keep my warm. Well more like promised but i guess some promises are made to break.

I walked to the bathroom and admired looked at myself in the mirror. Why would he? Why would he love someone like me? I am not one of those perfect models but i am myself. And maybe that’s why he might love me. I smiled and tuck hair behind my ear and admired myself. I was in love with Harry and that’s what made me feel beautiful. I am sure no girl would walk to mirror and say ‘i am beautiful’ while staring at herself, but i do because Harry made me feel beautiful.

Sometimes you cannot see the real beauty hidden within you but does when someone comes and digs the real diamond you’ve been hiding. And that diamond digger was Harry. He brought the best out of me. Whenever i was with him I felt alive-like I’ve been set free as who I am and not the made up me. I never thought that i can love again after what happened in the past. But i did. I am loving the most beautiful person from in and out.

—

I knocked on the heavy wooden door holding my breath. I wasn’t meeting him for the first time but the butterflies in my stomach flutters every time i see him like they did for the first time. After like what 15 seconds Harry opened the door. His hair were longer than the last time i saw him. I smiled softly at him and he returned it. He was just standing there not moving a muscle, so i had to lean forward to hug him. This was an awkward feeling. He did hugged back but not like he used. It was like i was hugging a stranger. And this time it didn’t felt warm. He was cold. Cold as an ice.

“Come in” he finally opened his mouth, as I pulled away shortly after he hugged me as clearly he wasn’t in the mood to hug me. I nodded and walked inside his house. Warmness of his house hit my face. Nothing wasn’t the same. Neither Harry nor his presence. But his house never changed. It was still warm and soothing. 

“Sit.” Harry said, more like demanding.

“are you okay?” I asked him as I said and he sat beside me not making any skin contact. Harry nodded with an annoying expression on his face. I didn’t had any idea of what it was because of. Maybe me?

“i love you” Harry blurred. For a second i thought, that the-Earth stopped moving. My heart felt like bursting out with overdose of love and happiness. 

“I-I LOVE YOU. Gosh i cant even say this properly to my friend then how will I tell her that?” Harry said running his hand in his hair in annoyance. Wait what? Her? My smile faded when I realized that whoever Harry was talking about wasn’t me.

“He-her?” I sturred looking at him, Harry nodded and for the first time he looked at me. He looked perfects as ever. Gosh it hurt me like hell knowing he loved someone else but i couldn’t help myself, falling for him again.

“oh god! I totally forgot to tell you” harry said sinking back in his couch.

“ Well there’s this girl Susan, I met during the shooting of Dunkirk. She is such a lovely person. I don’t think i’ve ever loved someone more than her.” Harry had such a passion and shine in his eyes as he talked more about Susan. He was in middle of telling me how they met on set when i stood up. I wasn’t able to control my tears anymore. My heart was aching and nothing was’t helping.

“I-I think i should keep going.” I said gathering my purse as i kept my gaze on ground controlling the water droplets which flooded my eyes.

“Why?’ Harry asked. I could sense the little disappointment in his voice as he pouted. I think he wanted me to stay just to listen to him talking about Susan.

“I-I’ve some work” i said. and before harry could say any further word, I left his house.

—End of flashback—

I kept running away. Crying, weeping, sobbing. It was the pain. Pain of losing the only thing i had. Though he never was mine. Everything was ruined within a matter of second. I won’t lying saying I was happy. Seeing harry in love with someone else hurt like hell. But it was the destiny i guess. 

My feet started paining when I gave up and fell on my knees crying. He was my everything and now my everything was gone. All this time i was wrong. He wouldn’t love me ever. I kept weeping until I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder. I turned my face around to see who it was but my vision my blurry. I wiped my tears and stood up when I saw who it was.

“I know you love him. And I’m sorry I cannot help you.” Niall said with sympathy in his eyes. His kindness and sincerity towards me made me cry harder as I engulfed him tightly.

“It hurts Niall ! It hurts!” I cried. Clutching his tee shirt in a fist, I let all my emotions out-first time in front of a person. He rubbed my back trying to calm me down.

“Shhh it’ll be okay” he whispered hugging me tight.

“How? What do you know I’m feeling huh?” I said pulling away so that I could look at his face which was filled with care.

“Believe” Niall whispered as he cupped my face and pecked my forehead. That gesture of him calmed me down a bit. But the scares and the wounds on my heart weren’t gonna be healed so easily. My heart was broken and it wasn’t easy to mend a broken heart.

The worst part was, it kept aching as I thought of Harry. It ached whenever I tried to remember my love for him. It ached with the thought of Harry being someone else’s. It just ached

I knew this wasn’t gonna be easy. But I had to survive. The only person who broke me was the only person who could fix my heart.

[farfromdaylight]

i have no idea which episode this was. 82? 83?

critical role spoilers

I CAN'T DO THIS AGAIN, MATT, I JUST FUCKING CAN'T

schrodinger's percy was awful and that entire week was awful but I CANNOT FUCKING DO THIS AGAIN. I CAN'T. I CAN'T DO IT

ESPECIALLY BECAUSE HE ENDED THE EPISODE RIGHT THERE JUST WHY MATT WHY

AUGH

god this episode was really good it was just. emotionally devastating in so many ways

first of all: raishan was easily the worst dragon in the conclave despite having only 520 hp AND LIKE JESUS. JESUS.

that feeblemind was hands down the greatest moment in the entire fucking show. oh my god. i don't care who killed the dragon, that feeblemind is what saved the god damn day. that feeblemind kept the body count down. GOD. JUST. GOD

i actually have no idea why scanlan didn't counterspell meteor swarm because HOLY FUCK, THAT METEOR SWARM. JE-SUS. maybe he was too high on suude.

[continues weeping about scanlan]

all of those egg puns at the beginning were amazing but also the tide turned so quickly

THAT DISINTEGRATE ON PIKE, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST MERCER. i know that that was a logical move for raishan and i agree with him in that regard BUT WHAT A DICK MOVE, JESUS. IMAGINE IF THAT HAD WORKED!!!

im sure ill have more thoughts about the fight later im just. drags hands down face

aftermath:

everything after the fight was so. IT WAS SO MUCH, MAN. IT WAS SO MUCH

vex's reaction to dead percy

i mean just fucking kill me jesus christ

trying to escape the chamber, not being able to, the way they all just lost it

grog screaming 'fix it fix it fix it' LIKE JUST FUCKING KILL ME NOW HOLY FUCK

the god damn flame skulls

mercer why

I GET THAT THEY RESPAWN, AND THEY WOULD BE THERE, BUT DID WE HAVE TO GO THROUGH WITH THAT

the failed

fucking

teleportation circle

oh my fucking GOD

OH MY FUCKING GOD????

THE WAY THEY ALL JUST FUCKING COLLAPSED AT THE IDEA THAT ALLURA AND KIMA WERE OUT IN THE OCEAN SOMEWHERE. LIKE JESUS. JESUS.

and then THAT NATURAL 20 FROM KEYLETH THAT ACTUALLY FOUND THEM

GOD DAMN

GOD DAMN

it was all just

you guys i cant

it was so much

then they finally got back and the desperation was awful. it was just awful. matt roleplayed gilmore perfectly, responding with confusion to vex's desperation, and it was fucking heartwrenching.

ALSO GROG THINKING HE COULDN'T GO INTO THE RQ TEMPLE

LIKE TRAVIS WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DO THIS TO ME

the entire back half of this episode was an assault on my emotions

SEE ALSO, THE FACT THAT THE TABLE WAS EMPTY, JESUS CHRIST THAT WAS DEVASTATING

THANK GOD TALIESIN CAME BACK SO QUICKLY BUT FUCK NOT HAVING SAM AROUND WAS TERRIBLE

and then kaylie :( :( :(

i love. that vex was the one to go get her

because she really truly gets it

that was just. that was a lot. it was a Lot.

AND THEN IT ENDED BECAUSE MERCER WANTS ME TO SUFFER

WHY MATTHEW

WHY

i seriously don't know how i'm supposed to take a week of schrodinger's scanlan like honestly how

fuck and this

[yamlog]

today i allowed myself to take a good hard look at the rows of photos i have buried at the bottom of my feed and i made sure to focus my eyes, not let them blur and glaze over his face. i really looked at him. i looked at the way the light hit the cheekbones i really loved, i looked at the curve of his eyelids, i looked at the hint of ribcage beneath his tshirt. i think i had to, because seeing how mj is avoiding-but-not-avoiding her ex is making me understand that avoiding is not the way to go. her heartbreak is fresh, not even a month, but in many ways i am still behaving like her. i don’t listen to good advice and i avoid and avoid the source of pain. i think that by locking up and burying photos of him that i took when i was in love, i can grow out of it. but of course i am wrong, again, as usual, because even now when i stare at his face in the photos, knowing full well that i can never see this again in real life (he might as well be dead and cremated) i feel an ache. a real ache, not a metaphorical one. my chest literally twinges inside as if something’s twisting. and it gets hard to breathe. meanwhile all i can think about is how much i like what i am seeing and how sad it makes me to never reach it again. what is wrong with me though like seriously is this an imprint? did i grow some kind of dysfunctional neural pathway in the short time i was with him? it’s like programming i cannot change, what the fuck. at this rate, i wish i could turn blind so i will never have to see his face again or feel tempted to look at photos. but that’s silly, bc i need my eyes to earn a living. so i guess the next best thing would be to wish he really was dead so i can cry at his urn at the crematorium every week until i have properly mourned and can move on. i feel like a zombie. or maybe he is the zombie, neither here in my present reality nor there in a past that can be said to no longer exist. or maybe my heart is the zombie. or maybe my feelings for him is the zombie. aiya this is a difficult metaphor to wrap my head around. bottomline is, i’m pretty sure i still love him. i’d go back to him in a heartbeat. but he’s gone. dead, figuratively. i dont think i am living in the past because i am really making an effort to be here in the present and be here for all my friends who need me sometimes. but i have brought my feelings with me. they’re not “past feelings” they are PRESENT FEELINGS. right here and right now i still have living feelings. for a dead person. so what does that make me? stupid?? probably. maybe i should enforce a rule whereby i make myself stare at photos of him until the pain subsides. like cutting yourself until the nerves in your skin are so damaged and scarred over you no longer feel pain. i don’t know how long i can distract myself by going along with everyone else’s pace and physically doing the things to “move on” when in reality thinking about him still makes my nose sting and my eyes water. but he doesnt exist!!!!!! he cannot. so much time had elapsed it is so unlikely he has remained the same. employment, politics, interactions with others, maybe even new lovers must have reshaped him somehow. the person i love is probably not there anymore, or he’s been melted down and recast into a different form that i will not recognise.

i wish he wanted to meet me, and cared to see what kind of person i have become after all this. i miss him every single day. i still think about him every single night. sometimes i catch myself about to say his name and i have to close my throat before i utter and commit the atrocious act. i don’t dare find his socials because i’m terrified of what i might see. im afraid i’ll go to the cinema with mj next week, 2 heartbroken girls, and run into him holding hands with a woman i don’t recognise. i dont know how i’ll handle that. i may fling myself over the bannister of the spiral staircase and end my miserable existence on the spot. maybe i’ll take out a knife and slit my wrists on the spot so i can bleed to death with my eyes fixed on him and leave earth looking at the person i love most. on some level i do hope he has found happiness and is capable of making someone happy in a sustainable way that doesn’t put a strain on his career too much, but a big part of me still wishes i could be that person. it’s so pathetic to admit that i still wish and wish and wish i could be the recipient of his love. isn’t it so stupid to pine for treatment i won’t receive? why cant i be happy with someone else giving me double? a serious question. why does it have to be him? if only i could email god to ask.

if i do reach my deadline without being able to find happiness elsewhere and i do fling myself off some building or another, i dont think i’d like to be a ghost haunting and cursing him for all eternity anymore. i much rather there be no afterlife. no women living in banana trees. no vengeance, no reincarnation, nothing. i just want to stop existing and stop being conscious or anything. i want to disintegrate and take all my hurt and futile desire with me. no more boundaries no more self no more singularity. it would be so blissful to just dissolve and leave the fabric of existence and no longer think of him because there will no longer be a “him” because there will no longer be a “me” who “thinks.”

i wonder if he thinks of me still. i wonder what he thinks of, of him in relation to me, of me in relation to him, of me like this, of the suffering he MUST know he has caused. i dont think ive been the same person since october. it’s not like a simple apology can patch up a hole. i forgive, but the wound doesnt disappear with forgiveness. i forgive the stake in the heart because at my core i love love love love him, but the stake is still lodged in there. and i can’t die. not yet, at least. i dont think he knows the extent of the damage done. i still have nightmares every single night. i can’t remember the last time i had a good dream. i consider myself lucky when i wake up and immediately forget 95% of my bad dreams. i am so busy everyday but when im asleep i can’t manifest happiness. it’s all violence, and hatred, and meeting spectres from my past, and decay and weeping and pain. sometimes i feel the pain in my body itself. phantom and ungrounded but pain demands to be felt. i can’t just Wish it away.

i no longer believe in the possibility of miracles. but i still believe in a divine plan. if i am still unable to kill my love for him, there must be a reason. a good reason. maybe my ache makes me the friend my friends need when they get dumped. maybe i will be led by my pain to decide to join some event or cause, even if as a means of distracting myself, and end up meeting someone who really needs my support and friendship. maybe i can contribute to society in a way that i wouldnt be able to if i were perfectly happy. i like to believe that there is a purpose behind everything, even failure. and im not naive enough to think that the reason god has allowed to me suffer is because he will bring deliverance and turn a stone-cold heart back towards me. life isn’t a storybook. he won’t come back, and he won’t love me again. it’s fine. it’s fine if my continued misery could serve a greater purpose SOMEHOW. let me save one person. let me have the wells of empathy needed to say the right thing at the right time and improve someone else’s life. i cannot live like this with just myself and no contribution to the nett happiness of the world.

i did a tarot card reading for SH today, she visited my cats and we had lunch and talked about books. despite what happened at the start of the year ive found it in my heart to forgive and reconcile and take the first step in repairing our friendship. ive readjusted my expectations so i wont feel betrayed or letdown again in the future. and i recognise that she needs me more than i need her, which is a good enough reason to stay. pride is stupid. i decided years ago that i will not let pride get in the way. even if he thought i was pathetic. i dont care. love IS pathetic. my only regret was running away from him that day because i didnt want him to see me cry again. not because of pride but because i didn’t want to burden him even more. he would have been late for dance if i had allowed myself to stand there and cry. but maybe i should have. so now i will just put myself out there and move past friendship-level hurts. the reading was eerily accurate, even down to her sun sign. and extremely extremely apt for her because she’s starting uni soon and everything on the cards aligned. she jokingly said i was a witch. i only wish i was a real one so i can do Something, Anything.

[thenotsotypicalgirl-blog1]

The empty seat

You notice my seat is empty and I'm not there. Oh she can't be bothered she don't care. Just because my scars are internal doesn't mean they're not there. If my wounds were external then people would just stare. Just because I have a smile on my face doesn't mean I'm happy. Because behind that smile I feel all broken and crappy. Just because I meet the deadlines and works always handed in. Doesn't mean that stress doesn't build up till I feel like I'm going explode from within. Just because I'm there today doesn't mean I can cope. Struggling so very much I'll get through it I hope. You can't see me inside breaking. I'm not cold I'm anxious and I can't stop shaking. I'm not ill I feel sick with worry and fear. Inside my thoughts destroy me you just can't hear. I act everyday I've become quite good. Never to reveal ones true self, run a mile they would. The days when my seat is empty those are the times. Where I cant bring myself to smile or act there the worst you will find. The days when I don't text I'm not ignoring you. I'm not dressed or even out of bed and no one has a clue. Thoes are the days when I can't even face myself nor can I eat. Thoes are the days when there's an empty seat. The days when I become a prisoner in my own home Those are days when i hide away alone. I'm not lazy I do want to go. But the struggle to even leave my bed is greater then you're ever know. But you can not see my pain you can not see my tears and you can not hear me cry. So when my seat is empty you know no why. Today I got out of bed I don't know about tomorrow. If only with happiness you could lend or borrow. Today I put my scars away and my acting and I was just me. Today I was actually happy. TBut that fear of not knowing when it will end. If only my feelings could be on the mend. The days when I'm in my seat and I can just about keep myself together. No one would think I wasn't okay never. I make other people happy and laugh but when inside I'm not at all fine. Because I don't feel bringing people down by you're own troubles is kind. The Times I cannot do that I'm not in my seat. Life carries on and time does not keep. But just because you can't see it doesn't mean I suffer any less if it were a broken leg or bone. It's all in my head but the pain is no less because unlike a broken leg it will not be fixed on medication alone. Instead you have to learn to deal with it because it's not going to go away. It will be something I have to deal with everyday. Sometimes I don't give myself a break. I'm like it's not a real problem "it's all in my mind" for goodness sake. And there are days when I think it cant get any better but my mind is just unwell. But it's so awful it's a living hell. Because I feel so upset so lost and down. Like all my happy emotions have been swallowed into the ground. There the days when there's an empty seat where can I be. Nothing wrong with her she's always happy. From the outside I look okay that's true. But I'm having a meltdown and I don't know what to do. I get really scared when that happens I'm worried I will freak out in front of people because I'm so terrified to show people what I get like. I completely shut down and I pretend I'm invisible out of sight. I cant sit and cover my face. Because I can't bear for people to see me this way what a disgrace. These are the times when my seat is filled. When slowly I feel my emotions take over and I'm slowly being killed. You can't see me , you can't see my face because I have to hide. These are they times I have cried. I feel so vulnerable and weak. I can't even bare to stand on my feet. It's just so dark and I'm scared and alone. And nothing brings me comfort not even being in the four walls of you're home. You just feel so trapped in you're thoughts in you're mind No escaping you can't run and leave it all behind. It feels like you have been placed in a room with no doors no windows no light And nothing seems to behopeful or bright You're trapped and you're not getting out you are stuck. you close you're eyes hoping that you would just die with any luck. And from pure emotional and physical exhaustion after hours you cry yourself to sleep which is good. Anything to put and ending or pause you just would. But as you drift asleep it almost feels like you been dying this whole time and now it's time for the suffering to end. Like you honestly would never wake up again. But you do wake up and no it wasn't all a dream. But to be dead would it be as bad as it seems? That's what you question because one of the battles is over and you're left with the internal or external scars they will still be there. Others may not notice but you are always aware. These are the days.....when there's an empty seat. When no happiness returns and you continue to weep. So it's 03:14am on Sunday morning and I have not slept and now time is getting long. What about the next time there's an empty seat .......the fight just goes on. 16/03/14 © copyright Stephanie Meikle 2014