toast!!✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

i have the immune system of a victorian child they/he and sometimes she // 18 !! requests open !!  artist / writer

[dragonflyloveletter]

!! toast’s request rules !!

requests are OPEN!!

When requesting be as descriptive as possible for what you would like for me to write make sure you specify which fandom and characters you would like for me to write for. Requests will be answered slowly

My rules !! 

I will write angst but i will not write triggering subjects for the sake of my own mental health. I will write fem, male, and gender neutral reader, if the gender of reader is not specified in request i will write it as gender neutral. requests may have 1-3 characters at once.

I will write romantic, platonic and familial scenarios, i will also write polyam pairings. I will not write any NSFW 

Fandoms i write for !! 

genshin impact 

the arcana (the game) 

toilet bound hanako kun

horimiya 

wonder egg priority

mystreet

phoenix drop high

minecraft diaries

[the-muppet-joker]

Tump dies tonight while giving his speech in the hot hot sun. Like to charge, reblog to cast

[garliccloev]

Princess Ophelia von Winterfell

[garliccloev]

Amora Amastacia, Princess Ophelia's personal guard and lover

[rairoo]

racer stelle thing i never posted

[rairoo]

oc drawing!! been a while since i did sth

aaand the ref

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[dragonflyloveletter]

i am infact alive, well the jurys still out on that

i will post my requests soon i swear </3 life has been beyond hectic and draining the past few months

but soon! (maybe)

[starhvney]

Any Aphverse writers you could put us onto? (since you have good writing I assume you would know some good writers)

hi anon!! i’ve found a few, actually, and i keep a list of them on my start page for people to check out! but here’s a list of good writers here if you want to peruse!

this is definitely not all of the good aphblr writers, and i haven’t had much time to explore tumblr recently, so if anyone else knows of some good ones that aren’t listed here, please let me know so i can add them!!

@artists-who-rarely-draws ☆ @arienic ☆ @lovelaurs ☆ @sillyteenagegirlinlovewithblocks ☆ @pdpenpals ☆ @miniaturecollectiveendermen ☆ @aph-centric-fixs ☆ @izzybella1807 ☆ @xyurishux ☆ @dilly-dahlia

[caffeineecold]

i dont hate you guys i swear i just have really shitty memory

[starhvney]

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝟑 | 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟖: 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋?

𝐂𝐖: ptsd and descriptions of depression and anxiety, descriptions of reader’s hair being short, reader has scars, reader is medicated

𝐀/𝐍: this is the last chapter of subject 3! but not the end of this story…

𝐖𝐂: 8,800+

𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑: the absolutely amazing @arienic! she's so cool guys

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒

Your parents had brought you your favorite pair of pajamas to change into. The fabric's softer than you remember, soothing against your skin as you were ushered into the back seat for the ride home. After you'd settled in, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you were given your phone in a plastic bag. The screen was cracked, and when you turned it on a black line went down part of the screen. Apparently it had been dropped off the side of the road, likely to keep from tracking.

 Still, it was usable.

“It’s probably best for you to wait until you’ve settled in at home to respond to anyone's messages. And I highly recommend waiting until going on any sort of social media platform.”

Maybe it's for the best that you wait, because as soon as your phone turned on you were overloaded with more messages than your screen could even keep up with.

302 messages, 107 missed calls… So many random message requests from people you didn’t even know on social media.

Even if you weren’t still groggy from all of the anti-anxiety medicine, you don’t think you'd be able to even start unpacking most of this. Like the doctor said, it was best if you waited for a moment. You’re not even sure you can trust your parents at this point; not with how much they were clearly hiding. You’ll question them later. Later, not now, because right now… well, it’s just too much to think.

☆

The warm draft of the afternoon is gentle on your face as you gaze out at the street, the curtain sheers swaying behind you with the wind before settling across your back. This repeats in a rhythmic motion as you stay perfectly still with your chin on the edge of your windowsill, watching the world turn without you.

A silver car had pulled into the driveway about ten minutes ago, and since then there had been distant voices downstairs, too faint to make out but loud enough for you to know someone else was here in the house. So when there’s a gentle knock on the doorway of your otherwise silent room, you don’t startle or jump like you had been doing for the whole week you’ve been back.

“Good afternoon,” a man greets.

It takes effort that you don’t have to turn your head, still slouched against the wall as you examine the visitor. He has a kind face, the wrinkles that were imprinted on his skin showing he’s done a lot more smiling than frowning in his life; his voice is perfectly modulated and low in timbre.

“I’m Dr. August McCoy, do you remember me?”

He was the kindest doctor you'd spoken to in the hospital. You nod.

Dr. McCoy gives you a small smile and steps into your room. “Wonderful.”

You probably need to move now, to sit up from this spot you’ve been planted in for hours. So, after taking a moment to gather your energy, you do. The joints in your knees ache as you unfold your legs from beneath you, hands leaving your lap and flattening against the hardwood floor.

“Oh no, you don’t have to move. That’s quite a comfy spot you’ve chosen.” He smiles gently, walking closer and gesturing to a spot across from you, by the other side of the windowsill. “If it’s alright, I’ll just sit here with you.”

You nod again. With a quiet grunt, he takes a spot a few feet away from you, rubbing his knees when he’s settled in a cross-legged position.

“These knees don’t work like they used to,” he chuckles lightly, setting down a notebook and pen next to him before his brown eyes pivot back to you. “You seemed like you were pretty lost in thought, there.”

Yes—surely in the long period you'd been sitting here in silence, some train of thought had passed through your mind. But, truth be told, you hadn’t been thinking. Not at all. The emptiness making itself home in your chest was the only thing you could focus on, its heaviness pulling in your soul like a black hole, slowly consuming you.

“Ah, perhaps not thinking at all,” Dr. McCoy answers for you. “Simply sitting in silence and letting your mind rest is also quite the healthy practice.”

“I wasn’t really thinking about anything, yeah,” you admit. You're relieved when he hums in understanding.

“I see.” He casually rests his elbows on his knees. “Well, the last time we talked, you mentioned that you were going to talk to the couple who found you. How did that go?”

Donna and Logan. They came by to visit you a few days after you’d returned—by your request and their—or at least Donna’s—eagerness. She was a sweet woman with an endearing Southern accent. Her husband wasn’t so sweet in comparison, but he at least seemed to want to know if you were alright.

They'd been on a long drive back from their honeymoon when you'd ran onto the road, covered in blood, and collapsed in front of their car. Donna told you she recognized you when she saw the news, that she remembered you as the “cute little girl who came in the store with that punk ass Gene” sometime during the school year. After she brought it up, you remembered her as well—though at the time, skipping school and the… stalker were your biggest concerns. You thanked them both for saving you, and she gave you her number in case you needed any help, including “kicking Gene or any boy that gives you trouble's ass”.

“It was nice,” you tell Doctor McCoy. “Donna's… She's a good woman.”

“Yes, I’m positive she is.” He pauses. “After you had that conversation with them, can you tell me what you thought; what you felt?”

You glance away, back out to the street. After Donna had gone off about simple teenager problems like boy drama, the memories of your life last school year came flooding back.

“Ah, I see something there,” he notes, reading you like a book. “A thought? A question?”

Silence falls as he gives you time to answer.

“Will I ever be normal again?”

He smiles, tilting his head. “Well, what is normal?”

“...What?”

“To answer your question I need to know how you define normal. It varies from person to person, you know.”

“I… I don’t know. Happy. Not always feeling like something bad is going to happen.” You sigh, shrugging. “Like how I was last year. Even though I was still worried about things happening, I still had fun.”

He nods, looking very assured of himself. “Then yes, you can.”

“…How do you know that?”

“Because! If you want to get better, then you shall.” He leans forward again, tapping his finger against the side of his head “The human mind is the most powerful thing anyone can own. You can heal yourself by just believing more than any pill I give you.”

You lower your head. “You’re making it sound like it’s simple.”

“Oh, I never claimed it was. It’s going to be a very difficult journey, and you’re likely going to fall down, many many times. But… you know what?” He turns his finger towards you. “You are a very strong young woman. And the fact you’re thinking about getting better instead of just giving up is a big enough sign to me that you have the strength to get through this.”

“What should I do then?” you whisper, looking back up at him.

“Well, for starters, you said you want to be “normal” again, yes?”

“Yes…”

He gestures out the window. “Well, what would a 'normal' girl your age be doing right now? Where are your friends?”

The start of your junior year began yesterday. 

“At school.”

He leans back, now gesturing to you.

“Then why don’t you return to school?”

Return to school?

Was that even possible? Whoever had taken you still hasn’t been found. You’re a risk, a liability. The special treatment on top of having to deal with everyday high school issues… would that have to be your life? Were you supposed to deal with Ivy shit-talking you while downing your daily Citalopram at the same time? Could you do your Algebra homework while dealing with night terrors and only getting three hours of sleep again?

He chuckles. “Oh, that’s quite a face you made to that. I don’t blame you for not wanting to go to high school right now. I mean, being surrounded by so many people your age at such a time in your life…  Well, that sounds like a nightmare, doesn’t it?”

That’s an understatement. “Yeah.”

“That’s understandable. But, sometimes, the best way for people with PTSD to be on their way to becoming 'normal' is to simply return to the same life they had before—even if it’s a bit out of their comfort zone.”

Talking right now to this man one-on-one feels like pulling teeth, never mind going to a place with hundreds of kids your age every day. It was daunting before, but now… isn’t it almost impossible to imagine? Would the childish bullying you endured last year get worse, or will everyone treat you like a ticking time bomb?

“How am I supposed to act normal in school when everyone knows what happened to me? They’re going to treat me like I’m some—some case.”

“Oh, you will get quite some attention at first, good and bad,” he says lightly. It’s a little aggravating. “But, with time, that will fade, and your friends who truly care about you are the ones you can trust to help you through it.  I heard from your mom that you have a pretty great group of friends. Don’t you?”

You glance at your wall, covered in photographs, drawings, and notes—all from just one year since… today? No—yesterday. “Yes.”

“Since you mentioned you were having some trouble trusting people, I want you to take a moment to think about the friends you truly trust.” He emphasizes his words with a determined closed fist. “Do you have a diary?”

A journal with beautiful gold gilding lays on the corner of your desk, untouched since summer.

“...Yes. My friend Nana gave it to me.”

“Then, I want you to read over your journal and think about all of the people you know through the perspective of the journal, not through your current perspective. Then, on a sheet of paper, write down every person you trust. Don’t write down people you don’t trust, either. Only a list of people you know you can rely on. Maybe this Miss Nana can be one of the first you write down, yes?”

“Why not people I can’t trust?” Your eyebrows pinch together.

“Because, just like you have, people can always change. You don’t want to doom someone to be permanently on your untrustworthy list, just like you don’t want people to treat you differently because of what happened.”

“...Even people who I know are bullies?”

“Well if you already know that they are, you don’t need to write down that you need to stay away from them, do you? You seem to already remember!” he laughs, clasping his worn hands together. “Make that list, and think about what you want to do. Maybe try hanging out with the friends you trust after making it, and then decide from there if you want to return to school or not. How does that sound?”

☆

You stare down at the blank page on your desk, a freshly sharpened pencil twirling mindlessly between your fingers. Your hair was still damp from the shower; your goal of feeling warm under the running water quickly losing its appeal as you shiver in your chair. 

December 29, 20xx

Nana gave me this journal. It’s so pretty that I almost don’t want to write in it and mess it up. But I figured I shouldn’t let her gift go to waste, either. She’s always been so sweet. This isn't the only thing she got me, either—there's way more sitting on my bed right now, and all because she was so grateful I’ve been a good friend to her. I wanted to tell her that I was even more grateful that she and everyone else was friends with me, but I can't remember if I actually said it out loud like I meant to.

Speaking of gifts, actually—Vylad really loved the gift that I gave him! I was a little nervous he wouldn’t be all that excited about it, but I should’ve known better. He was as grateful and cheerful as ever. I’m really glad he’s become a part of the friend group, not just as Garroth’s little brother but as himself. I kinda wish Zane would try, too, but also… I don’t know what his deal is. I’m still mad at him for trying to be one of Gene’s little gang members. For how amazing Zianna is, I’m surprised he’s turning out to be a bit of a punk. It might be because of Garte. No, it definitely is. I just hope he gets his shit figured out before he starts doing stupid stuff to be “edgy”.

Anyway, right now everyone’s doing their own thing with their families, but I think we’re going to go to Laurance’s house for fireworks and stuff on New Year's? I’m pretty excited, cause I haven’t been to his and Cadenza’s house yet. Apparently they have a few sheep that their dad takes care of? So cute! Cadenza told me she was going to show me some string she literally spun HERSELF from the wool to use for making clothes. She is so much cooler than me.

You suck in a breath, then bring the graphite down onto the dauntingly white page.

People I trust:

Nana

Vylad

Garroth

Zane?? Not really 

Definitely Zianna

Laurance

Cadenza

Next pages…

January 8, 20xx

It’s the first day back from the break, and surprisingly enough I still haven’t had to deal with anybody being rude. At least for now. It’s pretty great, actually. Instead of being a loser freak everyone points and yells at, I’m just a normal loser with some cool friends. I think after Katelyn and Lucinda stood up for me and cussed out enough people, everyone took the hint and turned on Ivy. Who knows if that’ll last, though? I bet she’ll find a way to be as popular as before. But I’ll bask in my victory until that happens.

Gene, Sasha, and Zenix surprisingly have kept their word and haven’t messed with me. I caught them looking at me today during lunch, and Sasha even smiled at me in a not contemptuous way. I still don’t really like them, but… I don’t hate them, either. I guess we have some sort of weird mutual respect for each other now.

February 14, 20xx

Dante and Travis are weirdo little goobers, but they’re hilarious. I thought today would be kinda boring, but they started the day bright and early by attempting to use their best one-liners on me? All of them were shit, but it was entertaining, to say the least.

Also, PDH does this event where you can send flowers, candies, and sodas to people for Valentine's Day. I thought I was getting pranked when I got my entire desk covered in gifts. Some were from my friends (Teony sent me like three things, love her), but a bunch were from anonymous senders? I tried questioning everyone about it but—well, if they knew anything they were doing a good job of acting like they didn’t.

Aaron gave Aphmau a ton of gifts, one of them being a cute plushie. I was a little nervous about them being a thing at first, but with the way she talks about him and how sweet he is to her, I think I’m opening up to it. I still haven’t talked to him much at all, but he seems cool enough when I do. Maybe he was just going through something when school started up. Kinda like me. His friends (some of the werewolf kids I’ve kinda met—Blaze, Rylan, Dottie, and this kid named Daniel) seem pretty fun to be around, too. Anyway, I’m just glad Aphmau gets to have a boyfriend that treats her well. Sylvanna is not super happy, and I understand her overprotectiveness… to an extent. I guess we’ll see how that situation unfolds in the future.

Okay…

People I trust (cont.):

Katelyn

Lucinda

Maybe Gene, Sasha, and Zenix??? Maybe not.

Dante

Travis

Teony

Aphmau

Probably Aaron

Sylvanna

That’s already eighteen people you know at least aren’t wishing for your demise, and most of them are likely still waiting for a response to their messages. You’d replied to a few, but it was hard to know what to say.

“Hey, twentieth person to check in on me! Yes, I am super traumatized, and life will never be the same, but I’m doing great! Alive and well!”

Yeah, probably not.

Eighteen people is a lot of people to trust, doesn’t it? But, you suppose that’s the point Dr. McCoy was trying to make. Still, for this many people (or at least fifteen depending on how accurate you are about the Shadow Knights) to care about you… you guess you hadn’t really counted just how many people you’d become close with over the last year.

Above you on the wall are all of the pictures you’d accumulated; the memories held within the glossy paper are so fond, so warm in your heart, and yet… so distant.

Aphmau and you in your uniforms, posing by the entrance of the school. Your eyes look a little glossed over from how anxious you felt that day, but it was a little funny to look back on.

Katelyn, Nicole, and you: sweaty and laughing after practicing volleyball in the gym. That was the day Katelyn started begging you to join the team.

A candid of Lucinda applying your makeup for prom. You felt so pretty; she had taken extra care to make sure it was perfect for you.

A funny note Dante wrote you in class. He’d drawn a really stupid iteration of the teacher, and you almost got caught cause you'd laughed so hard.

Everyone sitting out on the Ro’meaves' back porch. Zianna had insisted everyone pose for pictures. You were cuddled between Teony and Nana, their arms draped over you.

The collaborative drawing you guys did at the Fall Festival. Garroth’s looks so silly—you remember having to defend him against Laurance’s teasing for a good five minutes. It was so hard to stop laughing.

A selfie Cadenza had taken with you, Aphmau, and Laurance in her car. The siblings’ silly bickering and good music taste started becoming the highlight of your mornings.

Travis, Vylad, Aphmau, and you at the movies, and the ticket you used. You all watched a corny romance movie Aph had begged you all to see with her.

Oh my God… why haven’t you talked to them? You cover your mouth, the features of your face crumpling as a whimpering noise leaves your throat. Why haven’t you seen them?

Shakily, you stand and reach for the closest picture pinned to the wall, weak fingers pinching onto the photo and pulling hastily. It gives easier than you expected, and your socked feet slip from beneath you, sending you tumbling down onto the floor. The tack holding the picture up slips from your grip in the process, finding itself unfortunately underneath you when you crash against the wood, lodging the pointed end right into your hand.

“Ah!” you hiss, tears springing to your eyes. Your turn your palm over to look at the injury. Damn it. “Ow…”

The pain's brief, replaced by a dull throbbing as you sit up. With a grimace, you pinch the thumbtack between your fingers, slowly removing the sharp metal. Though, where blood should’ve gathered in a small drop, the skin immediately seals over the puncture, as if nothing ever happened.

You wipe your face, aching weeps turning into a deep frown.

People I trust (cont.):

My parents…?

You recognize the footsteps of your mother approaching the doorway. “Sweetheart, are you okay? What was that noise?”

Staring at your palm, you offer a bitter response. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“...Are you sure?” She’s quiet, just as cautious as her footsteps as she inches towards you.

“Sure. It healed up in a second, anyway. You know how better than I do,” you snip, whipping your head up to glare at your own image reflected back at you. Her eyes are much more worn, though, the lines in her face creasing as she kneels down to your level.

You don’t want to be mean to her. She’s your mother. But why was she keeping things from you?

There's a shameful twist in the corner of her mouth. Tentatively, her hand reaches out for yours, fingers trembling as she waits for you to take them. Even through the bitterness, the confusion—you take it, your cold skin warmed by hers.

“I… I know you aren’t stupid.” She squeezes your hand. “We do know things about… who it was that took you—”

“Then why are you keeping it from me?” Immediately, your voice raises. “It happened to me! I of all people deserve to know why!”

She tilts her head, her expression pained as she looks at you. It’s love and guilt in one confusing mix.

“I know. I know. And I’m not keeping anything from you on purpose.” She sighs, her shoulders sagging and head dropping. “There are… mistakes your dad and I made. We trusted people we shouldn’t have trusted, and—”

She sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes welling up with tears. “Baby, I’m so sorry. There’s things we kept from you because we thought that—maybe… maybe it'd be easier to protect you if you were in the dark, but…” She closes her eyes, swallowing. “We realize now that was a mistake.”

“...Then why won’t you tell me?” you whisper, your own voice trembling. “And why are other people involved? The Ro’meaves, Sylvanna, Katelyn’s dad—Travis’s dad? The Lycans? Mom, I’m so—I just—I'm so confused—”

“I know it’s frustrating, sweetie. And I don’t blame you for being upset with me. You have the right to be.” She nods, opening her eyes again and squeezing your hand again. “Right now we’re all planning to tell you and… their kids together. In a meeting. We're just trying to figure out the best time to do it. I promise you. We’re going to tell you.”

Your heart drops as the suspicions that have been haunting you for the past few weeks are confirmed, outweighing the relief in the fact that you would be brought to light in everything else. The words that leave your mouth next are panicked and rushed. “Why do they need to tell them, too? Are they targets?”

Her free hand reaches out, clasping onto your shoulder in an attempt to steady the spiraling of your mind—of the possibilities that were already forming into nightmares. “No, no, everything is okay now.”

It was getting hard to breathe. Your lungs strain to get in a full breath, the muscles tightening like a vice and causing your head to spin. “No, the person who did this is still out there. They’re going to get me again, and then they'll go after them! And then maybe, they—mom, what about you, mom—”

“Shh, no they won’t,  baby.” She swipes at your face. “You and everyone are perfectly safe now. Your dad and I aren’t… to let anything like… to… or any of—”

No. No, no, no.

Her voice is—it's gone, overpowered by a terrible ringing in your ears.

There’s the metallic clang of a door shutting to your right, and suddenly the room is dark. The bitter taste of blood stings your tongue, and long, shadowed fingers creep along your shoulders. Ready to dig in and rip apart your flesh. It’s going to get you. It’s going to get you. You never left. You never—

“Look at me…” The owner of the gnarled hands taunts you, in a voice so menacing and deep that you find yourself curling down into a ball, trembling and begging for it to stop, for it to spare you from its malicious intent.

“Look…”

It calls your father’s name.

“Help her!”

Strong, warm hands tug you up by the arms, wrenching you from the dingy stone floor and onto your feet. When the soles of your feet settle flat beneath you again, they’re greeted by the rug in your room instead, the material warmed from the sun shining through your window. The hands that hold you now are lifting you up, sturdy and protective—no claws. No claws..

“Sweetheart. Sweetheart, look at me.”

Your father’s eyes stare down at you, full of indescribable pain as his eyebrows furrow, creasing his forehead. Your mother is behind him, though her face is turned from you as her shoulders tremble.

Oh.

Your heart still pounds, blood swirling through your veins much too fast; fingers prickling at the tips, lips numb.

“I–I’m sorry.” A lump sits at the base of your throat, choking your next words. "I'm so sorry, I—I'm sorry, I don't know—"

“Don’t.” His voice is strained. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He pulls you into his arms, cradling your head to his chest, where it shudders with a shaky breath. You close your eyes, trying to ignore the lingering panic trying to trick you—trying to convince you that you were still clawing at bars to escape your surely lethal fate. That you were still there, with all the stone and grime and—and blood. No, you were in Dad’s arms. He wouldn’t let that happen, would he?

What was it that Dr. McCoy told you?

“...it can be very disorienting when you get intense flashbacks. But when it feels like you can’t get out of that memory, I want you to use the 5-4-3-2-1 technique. Do you know what that is?...”

You see… the color of your room’s walls. The pile of letters you’d received at the hospital lying on your bedside table. The sun glinting off the medal you won at the Athletic Fair. The fuzzy pink blanket from Nana, hanging off the side of your bed. Your mom coming to stand beside you, wiping her face as she joins your dad in embracing you. 

You can feel Dad’s arms. Mom’s. The light breeze through the cracked window brushing against your skin. The soft rug under your feet.

You can hear the cars, when they occasionally pass over the street below. Your parent’s synced, yet shaky breaths. Dad’s calming heartbeat against your ear.

You can smell your mother’s perfume. The lingering scent of the candle she’d burned somewhere in the house.

You can taste the leftover saltiness of the tears that had landed on your lips.

“We want to wait until it’s a good time to tell you,” your mom whispers, her fingers squeezing against your shoulder. “Because we don’t want you to hurt anymore. I’m sorry, baby. I know it’s hard, but please trust that we’re doing everything we can for your safety. Not just your physical safety, either, but your mental wellbeing, too.”

…You know.

Of course you do.

…They’re confused and scared too, aren’t they?

When they held you as a small child in their arms, did they ever think the sweet laughter and innocent twinkle in your eyes would slip from their fingertips in this way? They never imagined the baby they once rocked to sleep would grow up to be someone they didn’t recognize, someone broken and distant, trapped in a world of pain they couldn’t reach. You were gone, scared you’d never make it out—but they were scared too. They’re trying to cope as well, aren’t they?

People I trust (cont.):

My parents.

☆

You stare at the dark screen of your new phone, fidgeting with your hair and trying to recognize the face staring  back at you. With a held breath, you lift your chin, fingers brushing along the scar that swept across your neck. It was so straight and smooth, the indent lacking any evidence that whatever caused it was violent. Though, when the pad of your thumb trembles over the healed wound, it fills you with a sense of dread; like this is the defining line between the girl you once were and the unrecognizable one you were now.

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” Dad asks, interrupting the silence that had strung out over the car. You glance up at him through the rearview mirror as he mindlessly taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. You can still back out.”

“No, I do,” you murmur, turning to look out at the wealthy neighborhood around you.

You're only a minute from the Ro’meaves’ house, now. Your lips press together as you steady your breaths, the long driveway leading up to the tall brick colonial home—a familiar sight. Several cars already fill the driveway, and though you recognize them as belonging to the very people you had begged to see, the fact there are so many of them is daunting.

All of their eyes, their expectations—everything would be trained directly on you. Will they hesitate when they realize how much you’d changed? Will the month of separation feel more like a year? Will you still fit in their puzzle, now that your edges were jagged? Will they still try to make you belong, even if your image is awkward beside theirs?

Truthfully, you couldn’t tell if the tightness in your chest is excitement or anxiousness. The two could be interchangeable, after all. But as you wipe the sweat from your hands on the fabric of your clothes and the car comes to a stop, there’s nothing you want to do more than jump out and run inside.

Everyone seems to be inside, but then you notice a familiar boy jump up from where he'd been waiting on the front porch steps, his light brown hair bouncing as he sprints to your car. Before your parents even have a chance to get out themselves, PDH’s soccer captain himself is flinging open the car door, eyes wide and hopeful as he looks you over. 

“There she is!” He leans forward with a wide grin, arms spreading for a hug. From how his fingers are twitching, he looks like he wants to lunge on you without a question—yet he holds himself back, waiting for your reaction.

“Laurance!” you cheer through the surprise of his swift greeting, unbuckling your seatbelt and turning into him—a sign he takes in full stride as he pulls you into him.

He makes a happy noise as his arms squeeze around you and he pulls you out of the car, your feet leaving the ground when he spins around. You can practically feel the joy he radiates, the warmth of it seeping into your skin and rushing into your lungs, forcing an eruption of giggles from your mouth. The sound is… odd. Not because it wasn’t right, or it sounded weird, but because you forgot what it felt like to feel this giddy—to have someone be this elated to see you. How could you forget?

“Wasn’t everyone supposed to wait inside?” Mom chimes in lightheartedly as Laurance sets you down, tucking you under his shoulder.

“Well, yeah…” he chuckles sheepishly. “I made an excuse that I was taking a phone call so I could be the first one to see her.”

“Oh, how sweet,” she coos, eyes darting to meet yours slyly as she walks towards the front door.

Your dad hasn’t said anything, but as he passes you to follow Mom, he gives Laurance’s shoulder a rather intimidating clap, patting him a few times with a serious look before moving on. The boy smiles nervously in return, before guiding you both after them, squeezing your shoulder as you go.

“Are you doing okay?” you blurt. 

He smiles down at you, an amused huff leaving his lips.

“Today? I’m way more than okay,” he reaches up to poke your cheek. “Thanks to you.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and basking in the moment, before you step up the stairs. The cheerful chirping of the birds, the smell of freshly mowed lawns, the distant sound of your friends laughing and talking in the house; you really were here. You were safe. And now you can actually imagine it: being… normal again. Soon enough you’ll be surrounded by their warm laughter, able to join in on all the inside jokes and cuddle up by everyone’s side. This is real. This isn't a distant dream—it isn't just a sliver of hope to cling to as you curl up on the dirty floor.

You see your parents walk in first, the muffled voices beyond the door loudening as they slip through, leaving you and Laurance alone for just a moment.

“I was there everyday when you were asleep, y’know? Well, except for the day when you actually woke up,” he says suddenly—you think that somehow, he'd sensed your need to prepare yourself. “I was pretty upset when I found out the cyclops got to see you before I did.”

You offer a quiet laugh. “Still refusing to let up on that nickname, huh?”

“Of course. The little twerp deserves it.”

Laurance guides you the last few stairs up, making the distance between you and nearly everyone you hold dear only a polished door away. You hold your breath, chest feeling tight again as he reaches out to close that distance, his hand clasping the metal.

Before he turns the knob though, he pauses, peeking at you from the corner of his eye.

“You look nervous,” he whispers, nudging you with his elbow, “and a little teary-eyed. You okay?”

“I just…” You take in another, shaky breath, licking your lips. “I’m so different now. And not just in how I act, but I also… look different.”

He smiles warmly, reaching up to pinch a lock of your hair between his fingers. “I don't know, you look as cute as ever to me—the pixie cut suits you. And you sure as hell seem like the same girl I’ve been getting to know for the past year.” He leans in closer. “I promise no one is going to think differently of you or act weird because of it. If they do, I’ll beat their ass for you. Understand?”

You try to roll out some of the tension in your shoulders, sending him a grateful look. “Thank you, Laurance.”

“No need to thank me.” He straightens, patting your head before finally letting you go from under his arm. “Ready?”

“...Yeah.”

The door pushes open, and Laurance takes the liberty to step forward first, holding the door open for you. The first thing that hits you is Dante's unfaltering, boisterous laughter, even as Nicole and a few other girls yell at him to your right—likely about whatever dumb joke he made. The next thing that hits you is the sophisticated scent of jasmine and amber that permeates throughout the house, thanks to Zianna’s investments in luxurious candles. The smell's welcoming, familiar, reminding you of a time in your childhood you can't quite remember.

You step forward, glancing over to the doorway to see Garroth leaning against it, arms crossed as he watches the group of rambunctious teenagers in his living room. Even as your hands shake and your breath trembles, you don’t hesitate to stride forward, placing a gentle hand on his arm as you step by his side. His head is quick to whip towards you, his amusement with the scene ahead of him replaced by a tender look in his eyes and a quiet, fond call of your name.

As he wraps his arm around your shoulder, you look ahead, feeling the corners of your lips curve up and the heavy pit in your chest lightening. Katelyn has Dante in a playful headlock, rubbing her knuckles into his skull as he thrashes and tries to escape. All of the girls—Lucinda, Teony, Nana, Nicole, Cadenza, and Aphmau—cheer her on, declaring her as their knight in shining armor and giggling at his pain as they lounge on the couch. Vylad and Travis were laughing along too, seeming to agree this punishment fit for whatever the mischievous boy had blubbered stupidly from his lips.

Travis was sitting on the floor, cackling with his hand over his mouth. He looks… a little different from what you remember, hair trimmed to flatter his face more and skin clearer. His eyes shift slowly to your direction when he sees you from the corner of his vision, the bright green somehow lighting up even more, his eyebrows shooting up on his forehead. His hand comes away from his mouth as he points directly at you with a wide smile.

Oh! His braces are gone. Did that happen before or after you saw him in the hospital…?

“She’s arrived!” he announces theatrically, pulling everyone’s attention to you.

At first you flinch, almost pierced by how they lean forward and stare at you with wide eyes. Even though alarm bells set off in your head, and the urge to turn and hide in some corner is powerful, so is the bittersweet tenderness and care you force yourself to see in each and every one of their faces. Shouts and cheers of your name replace the previous bickering.

They’re all on the list. You know them. You trust them.

It feels like a bright light has been shined against you—and not a spotlight highlighting your new flaws or your hesitations, but a beacon chasing  the heavy weight from your shoulders; permeating your soul, warm and loving. It's so real, so genuine, that the light burned away at your fears and replaced it with hope.

They love you.

Laurance—who was still behind you and Garroth—ruffles your hair with his hand before nudging you towards them. Your footsteps stumbling forward is what breaks the unspoken barrier, encouraging Nana to leap up from the couch and rush over to you. Everyone freezes when she practically jumps on top of you without a second thought, breaths held as you yelp from the sudden weight.

You lower your head onto her shoulder when she nuzzles her face into yours, raising your arms to hold her back. Her voice comes through cotton in your ears, the pleasant melody harmonized by everyone else's as they join in, arms overlapping and warm breaths mingling, heating up your cold skin; praise and greetings fizzling out into a peaceful embrace. This group hug is lasting much longer than usual, but you won't be the first to pull away.

“Sooo… are you gonna come back to school?” Dante suddenly cuts through; he's answered by a chorus of groans.

“Dude, can you not talk for, like, five seconds?” Nicole hisses.

You feel him shift to your right when he laughs defensively. “What? I’m just wondering!”

Nicole pauses her beration of him when you start to laugh, shoulders shaking. You missed this.

After the group's settled into a comfortable silence, you say, “Actually, I think I might,” earning a few shocked gasps.

“Wait, for real?” Nana squeals, jumping up in her excitement and nearly toppling everyone over into a huge doggy pile.

“Y-yeah,” you say through stuttered laughter, focus quickly shifting from the conversation to staying on your feet as the whole group shuffles around.

“Are we gonna keep talking like this or can we sit down and give her some space like normal people?” Cadenza interjects, grunting under her breath. You look up to see Laurance ruffle her hair, the boy laughing when she sends him a deadpan look.

“In what world have we ever been normal?” he snorts. “But she’s right. C’mon guys.”

Soon you find yourself settled on the couch, squished in between Teony and Lucinda while Aphmau and Travis cling to your legs. Everyone else is sitting on the coffee table or on the couch as they lean in, latching onto every word you say.

“When will you be back?” Teony continues the conversation, fingers gently rubbing circles into your back as she tilts her head. Everyone else nods along, intent on knowing the answer.

“Probably in a couple weeks, maybe two from now,” you murmur, biting the inside of your cheek. The attention was getting to be just a little overwhelming, so you shift it back to them. “...What’s school been like this year?”

Everyone glances at the other, trying to gauge who should go first.

“Well, volleyball season just started—we still haven’t had our first game yet, though.” Kate makes a point to make eye contact with you as she adds, “We still have an open spot on the team, by the way… just saying…”

“Can you not talk about that sport for one second?” Lucinda teases, reaching over to pinch Katelyn's side and dodging a slap to her shoulder with a giggle.

“I’m just suggesting it. In case she wants to find things to do when she comes back,” Kate huffs, looking back to you. “Even if you don’t want to play, being a manager could be fun, too.”

“Hey! I was gonna ask her to be our manager,” Laurance argues, crossing his arms and sending her a dirty look, earning himself a fierce glare in return.

“Nuh-uh, she’s definitely gonna be the baseball manager,” Garroth chimes in, his hand covering Laurance’s face and pointing at himself insistently. 

“Okay, you sports nerds.” Teony rolls her eyes. “She can decide that later. Why don’t we update her on other things?”

“How about the entire werewolf population in the school now looking to Aphmau as the Alpha,” Vylad says, waggling his brows and nudging the girl’s shoulder. Her cheeks warm, and she sighs under her breath.

“Oh yeah. That’s a whole thing I’m glad I’m on the outskirts of.” Katelyn leans back on her hands, shaking her head. “I don’t even wanna know about that Ein dude that keeps clinging to her everywhere she goes. Just seeing his face pisses me off.”

“...Who is Ein?” you start, not quite sure how to unpack this as you glance down at Aphmau. “What about Aaron?”

Her face drops and she wrings her hands. “...Um, he’s not going to school here anymore. His parents made him graduate early and go to a private college. That’s what he told me before he stopped talking to me, at least.”

You frown, recalling the conversation you’d overheard in the hospital—what the Lycans had said.

“…And just what are we supposed to do about this? We can’t send our son back to that school. What if he’s taken by those psychos, too? That girl is lucky she made it back in one piece!”

“Aaron won’t be staying anywhere near that high school or your kids.”

Derek, was his name? Was he really serious? Would he really do that to their son? Even force him to stop talking to Aphmau, who was basically his girlfriend?

You stay quiet for a moment, reaching to pat her head to soothe the saddened expression that had started to form on her face. “I’m sorry.”

It’s your fault, isn’t it?

“…It’s okay.” She shakes her head, smiling. “It’s a little stressful leading a bunch of kids, but it’s kind of fun! And it gives me more experience as a mentor, I guess.”

“Following in my footsteps,” Teony coos, placing a hand over her chest.

You glance over at Laurance, lips wobbling. “…Baby’s first leadership role?”

His face lights up in recognition; he snickers. “She’s growing up so fast…”

“What? Ugh, this again!” She kicks out her feet childishly, looking back up at you with reddened cheeks. “Anyways! About Ein!”

You raise your eyebrow in amusement at her not-so-subtle change in topics.

“Why do you wanna talk about Ein so bad? Interested?” Dante butts in before she can continue. She groans, taking her jacket from her lap and chucking it towards him—she misses by a good foot.

“Shut up!” she huffs. “No way!”

“You better not,” Katelyn says, tone protective. “That guy has a bad rep, probably for good reason.”

You frown, glancing back down at Aphmau.

“He’s actually really nice once you get to know him,” she’s quick to defend. “You guys shouldn’t believe all the rumors you hear about him…”

“Speaking of rumors, there’s already a few circling around. I've heard some about Laurance and Garroth having girlfriends.” Lucinda quirks a brow, looking the boys up and down with pursed lips. “Seems the fan clubs are only getting more intense this year, hm?”

The two boys make similar faces, lips curling in discomfort and eyebrows pinching.

“Uh, let’s not…” Laurance mutters, scratching the back of his neck.

“Ahem! Sorry to interrupt, kiddos, but I’d like to steal the sweet girl away for just a second!” Zianna announces from the doorway, waving at you with a smile. “Do you mind?”

“Oh, of course not…” You rise up, untangling yourself from limbs and stepping around everyone's pouting faces.

“Be right back, yo!” Zianna cheers to the teens, placing a hand on your back as she leads you towards the garage.

“Mom…” Vylad and Garroth sync their groans of embarrassment, earning an amused laugh from her before the two of you step through the door.

Parked inside is a new Toyota Highlander, the pretty grey-blue paint looking freshly polished and shining under the overhead light. Huh, Zianna must’ve wanted a new car. Her SUV must’ve been parked outside and you didn’t notice.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” She reaches into her pocket, turning to face you. “Are you happy to be here with everyone?”

What exactly did she call you in here for…?

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m happy.” You rub your arm. “I’m happy to see you again, too, Zianna.”

She tilts her head, smiling softly. She seems emotional at your words, and you're suddenly reminded of how Garroth once described her as a delicate flower. You can definitely see it now, as her eyebrows turn up.

“There’s a reason I always call you 'sweetie',” she sighs, pulling something from her pocket and stretching it out towards you. “I wanted to give this back to you.”

The locket.

It glints in the garage lighting as her fingers tremble subtly, the surface slightly scratched. Despite this, though, it looks as freshly polished as the car next to you, like she'd made sure to take great care of it. When you close your eyes, the dark street of that night and the harsh slap that knocked you down and sent the locket flying replays for a split moment.

“It didn’t quite have the use I intended it to, but it’s yours. So if you want it, you can keep it…”

You breathe deeply, ignoring the shuddering of your lungs when you do so, open your eyes, and take the necklace into your hands.

“Thank you,” you murmur, glancing back up at her.

With her eyes a little more watery than before, she’s quick to turn her head, gesturing to the Toyota as she clears her throat. “How do you like this new car?”

When you turn to take in the vehicle again, you don't miss how she brings a hand up to swipe underneath her eyes.

“It’s really nice.” You nod. “It was the first thing I noticed when we walked in here.”

“Well, good,” she smiles, reaching in her other pocket and pulling out a set of keys. “Because there’s something else I want to give you.”

Your brow furrows when she holds her hand out again, dangling the set of keys in front of you to take. She tilts her head for you to take them, but you’re frozen, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“...What?” you breathe.

“After everything that happened, I was talking to your parents and they mentioned how you shouldn’t walk alone anywhere anymore,” she explains, shaking the keys gently. “And while my boys and I are perfectly fine with being your chauffeurs, Garte and I decided you should have a car of your own, in case a friend can’t be there.”

You close your mouth—it’s your turn to tear up now. “I… Zianna, I really can’t accept this. This is too much…”

“It’s not too much,” she insists. “I won’t give this car to my boys, so if you don’t take it, it will keep sitting in this garage until it doesn’t work anymore, so I’d suggest you do.”

There’s no words to even begin with as you take the keys, blinking rapidly and shaking your head. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything, dear.” She pulls you into a gentle hug, petting your head in a motherly display. “Just guaranteeing your safety is enough  for me.”

You hug her back, sniffling as you stare at the car. Sure, you might be able to accept a few flowers and teddy bears, but this? The Ro’meaves may not be running out of money anytime soon, but this is still an insane gift for someone that wasn’t even their own kid.

“Also,” she continues, “I won’t pressure you to join in if you don't want to, but I’m making my boys take some self defense classes, and I think it would be great if you attended as well.” She sways a little, rocking you with her before letting go. “I believe Aphmau, Travis, and Katelyn are going to do it as well. You don’t have to answer now, but it’s something to consider.”

“I will,” you murmur, too overwhelmed to consider it at the moment—even if it was a good idea.

“Oh, and one last thing before I let you go, sweetheart,” she says, quickly dashing over to the passenger side of the… of your car, reaching in and pulling out a small bag. She giggles when she turns around and catches your wide-eyed expression. “I promise it’s nothing big.”

You press your lips together, accepting the bag quietly and looking inside. Inside are two things: pepper spray and a…

“A taser?”

“Stun gun. Thirty-thousand volts!” she chirps, much too cheerful for someone who'd just casually gifted you two highly pain-inducing weapons.

“Uh… Thank—thank you.”

“Again, sweetie, not anything big.” She waves her hand dismissively, taking the bag from you and placing it back in the car. She gestures back to the door, smiling. “I shouldn’t keep you for any longer. Your friends are waiting for you!”

You nod slowly, following her back out. As soon as you enter, everyone is quick to pull you back right into the center of the group, the conversation flowing once again about the silly, mundane things of teenage life. As the minutes ticked into hours, not once did you find yourself bored, the calming voices almost surreal to listen to as you sink into the couch cushions.

How easy was it, to take all of this for granted? A few weeks ago, you were sure moments like these were distant dreams, ones you’d never get to experience again. Such simple moments; the way Lucinda overdramatized her stories, or how Katelyn and Nicole would lean close to threaten someone playfully. How Vylad smiled wide at anyone he made eye contact with as he looked around the group, or how Nana would squeal anytime anything cute or romantic came up. How Aphmau giggled at every corny joke. When Cadenza dramatically sighed or tossed her hair. How Laurance always made sure someone got their word in when they were interrupted, and how horrible Garroth is at controlling his expressions when someone is telling a story. 

There’s a quiet understanding in your chest. You'd thought the edges of your puzzle piece were too jagged, but they aren’t. You slid right back into place. Even if the paint was a little chipped, a little smudged, you fit. Despite everything, you're still you. Everything is falling back into rhythm.

You almost died at seventeen. But you didn’t. This is reality now. You’re alive, and real. Being safe is real. Being protected is real. Being surrounded by the people you love—that's real. This is… normal. What you’ve always wanted since the beginning.

You could be normal again.

…Right?

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

tag list: @orinlin @pain-in-the-ashe @youmake1mistake @arienic @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @remiechu @valentique @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @marst4rz @vyladsgirl @rune-balot83

[canridauis]

trainposting

[starhvney]

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝟑 | 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑  𝟏𝟕: 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍

𝐂𝐖: ptsd and anxiety, hints to reader being malnourished and scarred, descriptions of reader’s hair being cut into a choppy ass pixie cut

𝐀/𝐍: happiness is on the bleak horizon 

𝐖𝐂: 6,100+

𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑: the incredible @arienic! she basically coauthored this chapter so incredibly huge shoutout to my amazing friend ^^

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒

Rain patters on the windowpane, the rhythmic tap tap tap of the drops soothing against your ears. You always loved it when it stormed back home. The world always became so quiet when it rained, the pure water washing away the dirt and making the greenery flourish. The rain lilies that would pop up the next day were always so beautiful. You remember studying under your window and…

Wait… window?

Your eyes snap open as your heart begins to speed up uncontrollably, provoking an uncomfortable tightness in your chest. Slowly, you sit up, feeling the firm hospital bed mattress below you. The room you're in is dimly lit, but there’s no blood dried on the sheets, or bars caging you in. No, there's a window on the wall next to you with cards arranged across the sill, and vases filled with flowers alongside them. 

But you aren't safe. You aren't.

Where are you?

When you swallow there’s a horribly unpleasant feeling in your throat, invading your nostrils and restraining your breathing. Reaching up, you feel a plastic tube line that’s been inserted in your nose. With a sense of urgency, you tug on it, the feeling of plastic sliding up your throat making you want to gag. Still, you keep going until you've relieved yourself of the unnatural feeling, then toss it to the side.

“Miss?” A hand lands on your shoulder, clasping against the bone that now forced your skin to stretch over it.

You can’t control the reaction that comes out of you: as pure fear shoots through your veins, so does a scream through your throat; one that tears at your vocal chords and sends you flailing over the edge of the bed. 

“NO! DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

There has to be something you can use to defend yourself—you skitter back on the cold tile, searching the room desperately.

“Code Violet… I repeat, Code Violet—Ma’am, you can’t be in here!”

Water splashes on you as you stumble to your feet, the nearest flower vase clenched tightly in your hands. It reels up behind you as you raise your arm, ready to be thrown. 

“That’s my daughter! Yes I can!”

Your breath immediately catches, a knot twisting in your throat as the familiar voice of your mother echoes against the sterile white walls. It freezes you in your tracks, and through the watery film cast over your eyes, you see her, staring oh-so-desperately at you as a nurse attempts to hold her back.

“…Mommy?”

You’re not sure if your voice comes out loud enough. The childish name had fallen from your lips in a hoarse whisper. But she hears it, and with every ounce of strength she can gather she pushes past the nurse again, plucking the vase right out of your weakened hands and pulling you into her chest.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re safe.” Her words are choked as loud sobs and quick breaths ring loudly in your ears. You're not sure where they're coming from—you can't tell if anyone else is in the room, with your vision so blurry. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Shhh, my sweet girl. Shh…”

Why is she telling you to be quiet?

Oh.

The loud sobbing was coming from you.

A prick in your arm makes you gasp, and it feels as though a large wave crashes over you, gradually forcing your muscles to relax. Your breaths slow and a pain you didn’t realize had been squeezing your lungs slowly dissipates. 

With your mother’s arms still hosting you dearly against her, you turn sluggishly to see the same nurse from before backing away from the two of you with a wary look in her eye, an empty syringe situated between her gloved fingers.

“Ma’am, could you please return your daughter to the bed? She ripped out her IV line; she needs to finish this drip.”

The nurse is at least gentle with her words, this time, gesturing to the hospital bed as she moves back to the other side of the room, giving you both a respectable amount of space. At least four other staff members are standing in the doorway to your room, you realize, but most importantly your dad was pushing through them, eyes glued to you.

“Okay. Come here, sweetheart.” The arms around you lift you up, and like a child, you let them, legs giving in as you’re placed back onto the mattress.

You feel relieved.

Strong, calloused hands of your father gently pull you to lay back down just as a small wave of dizziness swirls your vision. Even now as you lay down, he squeezes your smaller hands in his, a strange mistiness in his eyes you haven't seen before.

You feel suffocated.

There’s too many people, but whatever the nurse gave you in that syringe keeps you from expressing your panic. Your humiliation. Your fear. Why are those other people still in the doorway? You want them to leave.

Still, they stay, and the nurse from before cautiously approaches your side—squeezing beside your mom as she grabs the IV line. You hadn’t even noticed it in your skin, or registered or getting ripped out in your fall.

You feel confused.

But… your parents are here, and they don’t lean back from the woman in scrubs or scorn her. So… she must be safe, right?

“Miss, I am very sorry for startling you. It was my honest mistake for touching you without consent. I deeply apologize,” she starts, lifting a hand over her heart. “I understand you must be very disoriented and scared, but I assure you I won’t harm you, and you are completely safe here. You’re at the Nahakra Hospital. Today's the third of August, and you’ve been unconscious in our care for two days now. Is it alright if I touch your arm to hook the IV line here?”

Her voice is calm and soothing, and while something about her still has you cautious, there’s a warmth in her words that makes you nod. 

“Thank you, miss. It’ll only take a second.” She nods, blue latex taking gentle hold of your arm. “Now, we’re going to have everyone here—including your parents—leave the room so that you can have a moment to process everything and calm down. Is that alright?”

Slowly, you nod again.

The IV is attached again, and after she turns to the panel and makes adjustments you don’t understand, she and your parents—reluctantly—leave the room. You’re left alone, just the pattering of rain left from the crescendo of chaos.

You’re in Nahakra Hospital.

It’s the third of August.

It’s August? You came back from vacation on… July nineteenth. That’s two weeks.

Everything between Then and Now is so patchy. A damp room. Lights that were much too cold and much too bright. Something… blue. And pain. So much pain.

The more you think about it, the more your head spins, and the more the memories slip just past your fingertips. You remember... You remember something. Something important. Very important. Something you had to tell everyone... But what is it?

A deep breath leaves your lips as you start to look around again, now with the knowledge that you at least weren’t in immediate danger. Your throat is sore, you realize, when you glance at an unopened water bottle on the bedside table. You practically jump at it, cracking open the lid and chugging the liquid life. The hoarseness is at least slightly alleviated by the coolness, and it calms you down even more in combination with whatever medicine that nurse had nicked you with.

The flower vase you'd grabbed is back in its spot, the pretty flowers inside now smushed and some even snapped from your mistreatment. A small wave of guilt washes over you as you glance over the window sill. Did people visit and leave you these?

You stand, a bit shakier this time, setting down the empty water bottle and grabbing on the metal of the IV stand. You pull it with you as you walk over to the display, a deep frown on your face. On one of the snapped flowers is a note, with bubbly, cursive handwriting on it.

If I’m not here when you wake up, talk to me as soon as you can. I’m so relieved you’re back, lovely girl!

Much love, Cadenza

You swallow thickly, an indecipherable emotion rolling over you as you reread the words. Holding the note to your chest, you let go of the IV drip and move on to the next note, attached to a stuffed bear.

Hey, I’m sorry I wasn’t allowed to come but I had Travis deliver this. Hope I can see you soon.

-Dante

P.S. Gene helped me pick out the bear, so it’s a gift from both of us!

And then you pick up the next.

Here’s a picture of us at prom that I really loved. I thought you might want to have a print of it, maybe. I love you.

<3 Luci

And the next.

I made you cookies but they didn’t let me bring them in for you! I can make them again when you’re feeling better. Or maybe even before you feel better! I really missed you.

Love, Nana

And the next.

I consider you one of my not-alone buddies, even if you and Katelyn thought the title was a little goofy. I’m happy you’re back. :)

-Travis V.

I know we aren’t super close, but you’re still a friend who means a lot to me. Thank you for being so kind to me and everyone. I’m glad you’re okay.

Sincerely, Nicole

I’m sure some things won't be the same when you’re back. Regardless of what happened or what you feel when you see us again, I will always be here for you.

Love, Laurance

I love you so much.  I can’t describe how sorry I am that we couldn’t stop this from happening. But I will always protect you from now on, and I know you’re strong enough to get through this.

Love, Kate

I’m so sorry about everything. I hope you’re okay. I’ll be downstairs every day until you’re awake. As soon as you’re feeling up to it, I want to see you as soon as possible. I left these flowers for you! The pretty pretty dark red ones reminded me of you.

Aphmau <3

You have no idea how hard I cried when I found out you were here. I can’t wait to wrap you in a big hug again when I see you.

Love you dearly, Teony

You mean a lot to everyone, and especially to me. I’ve thought about you every day. I’ll be here for you if you ever need anything.

Vylad

I’m so sorry that I

Please forgive

I’m sorry.

Garroth

Several notes find themselves crumpled and clutched over your heart as your hands tremble. This is real. You were gone, and everyone was worried about you. They wanted you back.

You want to see them.

You remember that you'd wanted to see them again. That they were the light at the top of whatever dark place you were in; the light at the end of your long, dark tunnel.

You glance over to the IV. For a moment, you hesitate, but not even a second later you've pulled it out. It tugs uncomfortably on whatever part was connected to your arm, but you barely flinch at the pain. There’s a small voice in your head telling you that you shouldn’t have done that, but right now you just want to get out of this room. You need to get out of this room.

You’re not sure why you feel the need to be quiet, but the closer you move to the closed door the more your ears ring—a voice whispers: this won't end well. The blocked doorway makes you feel trapped, like you need to break free and run. Your vision locks on the handle, everything else blurring around you as you grasp onto the cold metal.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips when the door gives smoothly, opening without even a squeak.

Why were you worried? You’re in a hospital, not a prison.

When you step out, you quickly scan the hallway—thankfully, there’s no nurses around to stop you from leaving. But even still, where are you supposed to find your parents? Were they down in the lobby—wherever that was—or somewhere in another room near you?

Your thoughts are put to a halt when you hear voices chatter around the corner, one of them rising high enough for you to hear before lowering again. They sounded… worried. Angry?

As you inch closer, you’re grateful for the socks you were given; they help silence your steps. The voices become clearer as you reach the end of the hall. The first you hear is an unfamiliar man’s voice, his tone assertive, the sort that commands respect.

“…And just what are we supposed to do about this? We can’t send our son back to that school. What if he’s taken by those psychos, too? That girl is lucky she made it back in one piece!" The man pauses for a moment, then scoffs. "Then again… based on her reaction when she woke up, I'm not sure she did.”

“Enough!” Is that… Garte’s voice? “Fact is that she is back. Alive. That’s what we should be focused on. Besides, we can’t know for sure if she was the one who took her.”

“Who else could it be? You heard what the cops said. She was found near the same exact lodge. Is that just a coincidence? You seriously believe this isn’t exactly what we think it is?”

A heavy silence falls over the group. You lean against the wall, straining your ears to make out every word. Were your parents with them?

“Quiet, Derek. This isn’t helping,” a woman’s voice speaks up coolly. “We need to focus on what to do with the kids now.”

“…Rachel is right.” Sylvanna, too? “And… since we can’t know for sure—”

“We do know for sure. You can't all be ignoring the signs like this.”

“Derek!”

“…We need to think about if it was her,” Sylvanna continues. “Or… Zack. There’s no telling what their next move is, especially if she got away from them too soon. We’re going to have to be extra protective of them.”

“We can’t possibly uproot our babies.” …That’s Zianna. “This is already hard enough on all of them, and there’s no telling what kind of trauma…”

Her voice breaks, and the group is silent again.

“They clearly tracked her down after you both moved back here. There's no guarantee they wouldn't do it again, even if we all moved. We need to keep our kids together, and we have to decide if we’re going to tell them about all of this sooner or later. They need each other, especially now, after all that's happened. Don’t you all think so?”

You swallow. They’re talking about you, you're sure, but you can’t make any sense of it. Do they know who was responsible for what happened? How? Why didn’t they do anything?

Breath caught in your lungs, you lean forward, peeking around the corner. Your parents, Garte, Zianna, Sylvanna, Eric, a white-haired man, and a couple you haven’t seen before are gathered in a circle, all with grave looks on their faces.

“I agree. It’s hard enough moving schools at their age without this whole mess,” your mom speaks up, hand on her forehead, head hung low, “let alone now.”

“So, what? We’re just supposed to sit like ducks in a pond, wait for them to take another one of our kids? And we won't even tell the kids why they're getting targeted? Stalked? Hunted down? No way.” Now that you're seeing everyone in the group, you're able to connect the stern voice from before to a man with dark hair standing closest to… Rachel? His face and outfit matched his voice: harsh. Corporate. Authoritarian, and demanding of respect. “Aaron won’t be staying anywhere near that high school or your kids.”

“Listen, as many issues as I have with your son making moves on my daughter, pulling him out of this is too harsh,” Sylvanna snaps, pointing at him. “How is sending him off going to help anything?”

“Excuse me?” The man’s nostrils flare in annoyance. "At least he won't be lined up with the rest of your kids, waiting for his turn to get whisked away and experimented on."

“Enough,” the white-haired man says, his voice cutting across the conversation. He looks… directly at you. Something about his gaze pierced through you and was distant at the same time, like something familiar and far off was looking through his eyes instead of him. It sends a shockwave of paralyzing fear through you, and you can’t bring yourself to hide from his sight. “We have an eavesdropper.”

All nine adults are now looking at you, and you can’t help but flinch as you’re discovered.

“Oh, sweetie,” Zianna calls, her voice delicate. “It’s okay. Come here.”

You know these people. You know them. Yet your steps are hesitant as you approach them, a heavy sense of unease slowing you. They all look… horrified as their eyes stay locked on your form. It definitely didn’t help the sick feeling in your gut.

“It’s okay, mija,” Sylvanna reassures when you pause, walking closer to you and holding her hand out.

You stare at it—her small, tanned hand oh-so-familiar and comforting in your cold, white surroundings. Reaching out, you place your hand in hers, letting her pull you closer to their group. 

“Oh…” Zianna gasps lightly, reaching up to touch your hair. Her fingers feel strange against your scalp, and you realize it’s because the longer length that used to be there now only grows a couple of inches from your head. 

As her hands gently move down to your wrist, you turn your attention to the rest of the group; your parents start hovering close to your side.

“…What were you all talking about?” you ask, ignoring their fussing as you look each one in the eye. They all startle, a mix of guilt and upset written all over their faces. When neither Sylvanna nor Zianna say anything, you look to your parents for answers. It takes a few moments for you to realize that you won't be getting any; they only walk to your side to pull you under their arms.

Why are you getting nothing but silence? They know more about something awful that happened to you that you can’t even remember! Resent builds in your chest when you’re met with nothing but pitiful eyes. 

“Excuse me.” A woman announces herself quite suddenly, making you jump in place.

You turn to see a tall, blonde cop, her hair tied back in a tight bun. Her face is kind, but stern—it's clear she takes her job seriously. A younger-looking man stands next to her, who, from the look of it, likely works under her.

“I’m sorry for interrupting this talk, but we heard she was awake and wanted to ask some questions to help close out the missing person's file, if that’s alright?” she says to your parents shortly, before glancing over to you. “My name is Detective Azura from the Phoenix Drop Police Department, and with me is my colleague, Detective Gale.”

“I don’t know if now is the best time. She’s barely awake…” your mom says, turning to look at you with a deep frown on her face.

You glance around the group. They should be the ones answering the questions, shouldn’t they? Clearly, they knew more than you did.

“...It’s okay. I don’t mind,” you say quietly. “I don’t know how much I can tell you, though. Everything is kind of… gone.”

“That’s alright. Whatever you're able to recall would be more than enough.” Detective Azura nods, giving you a polite smile. “Would you like to do this in a room, for privacy?”

The offer makes your heart rate spike, and you quickly shake your head. “No, I can answer them here…”

“Okay, that’s fine, too.” She pulls out a notepad. “So, what can you tell us? Do you think you could begin by telling us what you were doing before the incident?”

You swallow, looking down at the lines between the tiles, tracing each outline as you attempt to pull anything.

“I… had just gotten back from a trip with my friends, and wanted to walk home to take a shower and get some things from my house."

“And—sorry to interrupt—you were at Ms. Salome’s house at this point, correct?”

You nod, and she gestures for you to continue. “I felt like something was off, but I shook it off because I thought I was just paranoid. And then—” You suck in a breath. Suddenly, talking isn't as easy as you thought it would be. “I saw the black SUV and started freaking out. I tried rushing—running to my house, but a woman was standing in my way.”

“And what did this woman look like?”

“It was too dark, but…” you trail off, thinking back to that moment. The memory is so hazy, so far away, but you remember the rough asphalt digging into your skin as you looked up at the silhouette of the woman above you; a head of blue hair hanging over her shadowed face. “...Her hair was blue.”

“Blue hair? You’re sure of that?”

“...Yeah. The street lamp was shining on it. It was light blue.”

Either the air surrounding the group shifts, or you’re imagining the eyes of the parents darting at each other in… panic? Fear? 

Detective Azula quickly scribbles something onto her notepad. “Okay, I see. But you don’t remember any other details about this woman? How about where you were held?”

The more you try to think past that point (your cheek, scraping against the pavement; your limbs, impossibly heavy), the more the thickness in your throat grows. Like the fog over your memories is filled with poison, stinging your hands any time you reach in.

After a deep breath, you start again. “I only remember… everything hurting… and I think I was in a room with bars, but…" You exhale sharply, reaching up to massage your temple. "I don't know. I'm sorry, I don't know, it’s—it's all blurry.”

Your head hurts.

“I see. Can you recall anything else?”

“I don’t think I can… I just remember there was something very important I needed to tell everyone, but—” you look down, “—I can’t remember what it was.”

“No worries, miss. It’s quite common for people in missing cases like yourself to block off traumatic experiences,” Gale speaks up.

You nod, eyebrows pinching as you look at the white tiles under your feet, missing the harsh glares the man receives from the group of adults behind you.

Detective Azura clears her throat. “We won’t bother you anymore about it, miss. If you ever do remember something in the future, please contact us. We want to prioritize your safety and the safety of anyone else who could get involved in this case, especially as your kidnappers are still at large.”

But… the adults around you know more! Why weren’t they saying anything? How are you supposed to figure out what happened if you don’t even know how you got here?

“Thank you for your time. We’ll be leaving, now.” Detective Azura nods, then spins on her heel and gestures for Detective Gale to follow.

“Wait!” you call out. “Could you tell me who found me? I… I want to thank them.”

She looks back at you. “It was a couple who found you. I’ll let them know you’d like to speak with them and send their number to your parents if they want to talk.”

“...Okay. Thank you.”

Once the detectives have rounded the corner, a silence settles over the group, and the man with silvery white hair from before steps forward, holding his hand out to you. His hair color might've aged someone else by a few years, but it didn't seem to affect this man at all. If anything, he looked pretty young; it's possible that he's one of the younger men in this group, even if only by a couple of years.

“Hi, there.” He offers a smile, the curve of it strangely familiar. “I’m Terry Valkrum, Travis’s dad. We’re both glad that you’re back. It’s nice to meet you.”

While you shake his hand, it's hard for you to return the smile or the greeting. This is just too weird.

“Yes, excuse us for not introducing ourselves earlier.” The dark-haired woman you didn’t recognize earlier leans forward, a hand curled delicately over her stern-looking husband’s arm. “I’m Rachel Lycan, and this is my husband, Derek. We’re old friends of your parents. It’s good to see you safe, though I'd hoped to meet under better circumstances.”

Lycan? As in… Aaron Lycan’s parents?

“...What are you all doing here?”

“Well, they wanted to see if you were alright. And your friends did, too,” your mom begins, her hands gentle on your shoulders. “We're all just trying to figure things out.”

You step away from her, brushing her hands off your shoulders. “Didn't sound like anything needed figuring out—not when you were talking like you knew all about what happened to me.”

Your mom's hands hang in the air for a moment before she tries moving closer to you, hurt flashing across her face. “Baby—”

“Excuse me! You aren’t supposed to be out of your room,” a nurse calls from the end of the hall. “You still need to finish your IV drip and get a check-up!”

☆

Your eyes droop as you stare blankly at the TV screen. It's been hours since you were escorted back to your room, and then poked and prodded at by three different doctors and several nurses. Between the anger you felt towards the adults and the bouts of anxiety you felt any time another doctor came in—well, it wasn’t long before your energy had been depleted once again. It seems three whole days of sleep can only do so much for you.

One of the doctors who'd come to see you was a psychiatrist, who—despite your reluctance—was a lot more helpful than the others you’d talked to.

“...showcase symptoms of retrograde dissociative amnesia, with your difficulty recalling memories about the incident. You also exhibit signs of PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Neither are directly curable, but treatments and a good support system go a long way.

Of course, getting better will take time, patience, and keeping on top of the meds I’m going to prescribe you. The good thing is that if you keep up these meetings with me and a therapist, your symptoms will become much easier to manage. In fact, it's possible for symptoms of PTSD to fade away. At least to the point where they won't affect your daily life…”

The corny drama movie characters were fighting about something on screen in a language you couldn’t even understand. The volume was low, and you hadn’t even bothered to turn on the subtitles; the drone of their voices and trying to guess what was happening had provided you with more entertainment and distraction than anything else that could be offered in this room.

“No! Shh…”

Your eyes snap towards the door, muffled voices making themselves known on the other side.

“You’re… literally going… us caught!”

“Just… in, stupid!”

You flinch back when the door is practically thrown off its hinges, the faces of familiar teenagers toppling over one another to get a look at you. Aphmau is the first to rush forward, and she doesn't seem to care about sneaking around when she yelps your name. You sit up just in time for her to throw herself onto the bed with you, pulling you into a tight hug.

Her hands are impossibly gentle over your shoulders, like she's almost afraid of hurting you, but then at the same time her arms are wrapped just as impossibly tightly around you—like she's almost afraid of losing you. For a moment, it's only Aphmau hugging you. Then someone else's arms wrap around your back, and another pair around your legs. Cheeks rest against your skin; feeling your pulse, hearing you breathe. It's almost too much, but you can’t bring any complaint to leave your lips, eyes drifting shut and taking in this warmth, this peace. Quiet hitches from in-between people's cries interrupt the delicate silence. 

This whole time, even the faces that have been familiar to you your entire life—your mom, your dad—have given you a sense of unease. You're still disoriented, still unsteady. But this... it was right. 

You trust them. 

You pull away to look across the group. There's Aphmau, clutching onto your hand as you pull away; Zane, standing in the middle of the room; Travis and Vylad leaning in from the foot of the bed; Garroth, looking down at the floor with furrowed brows. 

You know them.

But then, as you're about to call Garroth over, you see her. She's there—she's there. To your farthest right, caught in your peripheral: a pale face, waves of light blue hair, and those piercing features—so, so piercing—as she hovers over you, stretches a hand out to your face—

Your breath catches. You flinch back, hard.

But you blink, and it's not her—it never was. It's only Katelyn. And after you jerk away from your best friend's touch, her face twists in hurt. In concern. In hesitation. In desperation. It twists with the crushed hope that you would return the sentiment of sisterly love overflowing from her fingertips. 

It's only Katelyn. Just your best friend, Katelyn. And just like how you know the rest of them, you know her.

“...Are you okay?” she whispers, hand hovering over your shoulder, afraid of being rejected  again.

You swallow, then reach out to grasp her hand in your clammy one. “I think so.”

The group watches you intently as you take a moment to look over them all. They wore comfortable clothes; clearly, they’d been waiting around here for a while.

“I mean… I can’t exactly answer that yet,” you murmur after a moment. “I feel okay now, but I'm kinda tense. It’s just hard to explain because I don’t—I can't remember what happened, or what I’m supposed to be feeling upset about. It’s just… there.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Vylad assures you, glancing between everyone else before giving you a soft smile. “We'll understand, no matter what you do or don’t say. We’re just glad you’re back with us.”

How is it that the kids your age are less demanding than the adults?

“Yeah, we really wanted to see you so we kinda snuck in,” Travis adds. “But if you want us to leave, we can.”

You shake your head at that. Though you aren't sure of your exact feelings right now, one thing you are sure of is that you want them to stay. 

The silence that follows lasts almost long enough to be awkward before Aphmau speaks up again.

“What do you want to do when you get back?” Aphmau asks, scooting closer to you.

What to look forward to? The quick and rather abrupt change of subject was obvious, but you still send her a grateful look.

“Take a long shower,” you say quietly. “And I want to see everyone else, too, I think.”

“We could all hang out at one of our houses, maybe!” she suggests, and Katelyn is quick to nod along. “When you’re ready, of course.” Travis and Vylad nod as well.

Everyone's heads snap towards the doorway, however, when the door's pushed open and a doctor steps in—and immediately gapes at the sight of your friends scattered around the room. “You kids aren’t supposed to be in here. How did you even…?” he trails off expectantly. When no one offers up an answer, though, he shakes his head.

“Never mind,” he sighs, stepping all the way into the room to reveal your parents standing quietly in the hallway. “All of your tests went well and future appointments are set. You are now free to go home. Now if all of you would give her some privacy to change back into her own clothes, please.”

Reluctantly, everyone stands, save for Garroth, who lingers by your side. He hasn’t said a word until now, but with the way his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, you can see he wants to.

“Sir,” the doctor calls by the door, the poor man likely exhausted from everyone—including you—refusing to follow instructions.

“Just one second, please,” he calls back, fingers digging into the bed sheets anxiously.

The doctor glances over at you, dark brows furrowing as he searches for your consent. You nod, and he relents with a sigh, shaking his head and closing the door on you both. Silence falls over the room as you slowly look back at the blond.

His mouth twists as he stares down at your hands, shoulders slouched under some invisible weight. With his hair unkempt and his eyes red and swollen—from what you assume to be a lack of sleep and an inordinate number of tears—he's a far cry from the Prince Charming you’d met on your first day of school. You can practically see the crown falling from his head as his lips wobble, the usually bright color of his irises misting over in shame.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“...What?” you breathe, confused.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice cracks as he leans forward and drops his head into his hands, “that I didn’t go with you. If I did—”

“Stop.”

You're both surprised by the power in your voice. The pure conviction, the wholehearted belief: that he was wrong. Slowly, Garroth looks back up at you, eyebrows pulled together as he swallows thickly.

“Even if you'd gone with me, who's to say it wouldn't have happened anyway? You might’ve even gotten hurt trying to help me.” You reach out to grab his hand. “I don’t remember much, but I know that’s true. Not a thing about this was your fault.”

“It was—”

“No. It wasn’t. How could you even think that?”

He closes his eyes. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again and closes again. He's left to purse his lips, unable to come up with a good enough response. All this guilt, this blame, with nowhere to put it. He seems confused by your response, like this wasn't the reaction he’d thought up in his self-deprecation. Had he let this guilty turmoil brew in his head? Blamed himself for the entire two weeks you were gone? The dark circles under his eyes say enough of an answer, and it’s not one you like.

“How are you not mad at me?” he whispers. “You could be. You should be.”

“Because you’re one of my closest friends. And this was something that was going to happen eventually.” You lean forward, pulling him into your arms. Strong shoulders tremble and shake, and the boy cannot hide the sniffles and choked breaths as he breaks down. “How could I be mad at someone who wants to protect me so much? Seems counterintuitive.”

He shakes his head, tucking it over your shoulder, and in one quick motion reaches out, returning your hug desperately. His arms curl tightly over your back; his fingers crumple the fabric of your hospital gown; his tears wet your neck, a rare show of vulnerability even from him, who doesn't shy away from expressing his emotions at all.

Oh, Garroth. Sweet Garroth.

“Hey. I’m back and alive and you’re crying?” You poke his side, attempting to lighten his guilty shoulders with a tease. “You could at least pretend you’re happy, you know.”

Quiet, breathy laughter hits your shoulder, his trembling shoulders switching from shaking with tears to shaking with amusement. After a moment, he pulls away, hands coming to rest on your shoulders as he sucks in a sharp breath, you assume to control what must be an intense storm of anxiousness piled up in his chest.

“I am happy.” His eyes search yours.

You smile at him the best you can. “Then I am, too.”

Garroth gives you a shaky smile of his own.“Hey, I…” He pauses, looking off. “I overheard some things about what happened to you. When the doctors were talking to your parents…" He frowns, shaking his head. "Maybe it should wait until you’re feeling better.”

“What is it?” you breathe.

There’s a knock before the door's pushed open, the doctor from before peeking in. “Mr. Ro’meave, was it? Please, you can continue this conversation later.”

Garroth gives you a last, tentative smile. "...I'll tell you later."

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

tag list: @orinlin @pain-in-the-ashe @youmake1mistake @arienic @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @remiechu @valentique @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @marst4rz

[dragonflyloveletter]

HEAD IN HAAANNNDSSSSSSSSSSS

THE GARROTH DRAWING????

ALL THE NOTES?? GARROTHS NOTEEE

[deathgasmic]

i will not lie, friends in my phone, i have been imagining affection from time to time

[deathgasmic]

[starhvney]

☆ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐇𝐕𝐍𝐄𝐘’𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐅𝐄! ☆

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐃𝐄𝐂.𝟐𝟔-𝐃𝐄𝐂.𝟐𝟕 (NOW CLOSED)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

as of this post, i have 𝟔𝟓𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒!! WHAT?!! that is so incredibly insane to me, and i want to thank each and every one of you for your support!! i started this blog thinking maybe i’d reach a hundred followers, but all of you blew that expectation way out into space!! i still can’t believe it. i hope you all are staying warm and safe this winter. <3

as a thank you, i’m hosting a request event! choose your date or friend of choice and sit down for a drink~

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟏 | mys gene

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟐 | pdh zane, gene, dante, and travis

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟑 | mys gene

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟒 | mys zane, garroth, and laurance

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟓 | mys laurance

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟔 | mys laurance and gene

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟕 | mcd garroth

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟖 | mys travis

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟗 | mcd travis, garroth, laurance, and gene

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏 | mcd laurance

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐 | mcd laurance

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑 | mys gene

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒 | mys dante

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓 | mcd garroth

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔 | mcd zenix

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕 | mcd laurance and travis

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟖 | mys gene

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗 | mcd gene

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎 | mys gene

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟏 | pdh laurance

taglist: @ny0000mw00m @joyousbeetle @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique @arienic @dazedbydeath @theaquaticplant @starsbrightly @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @xyurishux

[coin-z3fs]

*insert that one song that plays on Levin’s music box*

.

.

[dragonflyloveletter]

i could finish my long overdue tumblr reqs... OR!!! i could write more lore for my ocs :3

the cold is making it hard to do anything