Im Not Against Vaping, But Man, Vaping Two Inches From My Face On The Subway Is A Ridiculous Asshole

i’m not against vaping, but man, vaping two inches from my face on the subway is a ridiculous asshole kind of move. this dude was billowing like he was auditioning for the role of haunted house fog machine. the humidity in the whole car changed, he was ruining haircuts. just jump starting the water cycle. condensation was dripping down my glasses. people were slipping off poles, it was chaos. it was like watching one man try to terraform the moon. a planet with one dense, root beer scented atmosphere blocking out the sun and choking all life. 

Geto and our his girls 💖

There’s probably more but these are the ones I can think of at the moment! Please be considerate and don’t play pranks at other people’s expenses!

Have fun everyone!

smile, kageyama!

𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 - chapter three

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eris vanserra x reader warnings: mostly me playing and projecting, so angsty, themes of grief, depression, self deprication, etc. a few fluffy bits to break up the heaviness, in general this is a pretty heavy chapter, trying to build the relationship!!, unbeta'd i go down on this ship alone series - wip ; taglist open

series m.list -> please follow the "a dangerous game of love and trust" tag for all updates on the series including extras!

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I haven’t seen Eris for a few days, and I’m starting to think I imagined him.

If it weren’t for this room, I would have believed it already.

Eris doesn’t visit, but that woman does. I’ve since learned her name is Mabel, and she is mostly silent.

Her hair is a muddy sort of brown, like wet terracotta, slowly shifting towards a dull silver. She reminds me of a cardinal, nearly as delicate looking as one too, red fading into grey. Mabel’s eyes never leave her work, but I’ve managed to see that they are brown too. Aged and wise. 

I pay attention to the details of her. I pay attention because it is easier.

Her quiet voice is smooth and comforting, hot maple seeping through my bones. 

“Please, move this way dear.”

Her hands are withered but sure, calloused but soft. They never press too hard. They never startle or hurt, gentle and precise.

“May I see the other side?”

Mabel is only ever here in the mornings and evenings. She checks bandages, cleans scabs, and replaces dressings. She looks after me with her wrinkled lips pursed, and flinches when I flinch, as if my pain is hers. She does her work and does not linger. 

Mabel always gives me a sad smile as she waddles out of the room. 

I can never find it in me to smile back.

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I am at the desk tonight.

I keep coming back here, keep staring at the marbled wood grain, keep trying to find the energy to pick up the pen.

I know I should write home. I know they are worried about me. I know that they don’t know I am safe.

The past three nights I’ve sat here, unable to start, but tonight? Tonight, I am unable to stop.

There are crumpled drafts littering the floor, as well as a few broken pens. I start, and I write and write and write, but none of it is coming out right.

I give up.

Again.

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I am crouched in a corner when he comes in.

Eris’ eyes sweep the room as he closes the door. I watch him. I watch as his eyes wander over the books and papers on the floor, then the empty shelves. He sees the open window and the curtains fluttering softly in the cool night breeze.

Then he sees me. 

I watch him watch me.

Slowly he makes his way over to me, crouching low to meet my eye level. He holds out a hand and motions toward the door.

“Come on.”

Gingerly, I accept his hand and his invitation. I ignore the hairs that stand up on my neck when I do. He smiles softly as we stand together. He leads me towards the door, then down a hallway.

I don’t have the common sense anymore to ask where he is taking me.

Eventually, we make it out to a courtyard surrounded by trees. The moonlight trickles down through the leaves, and the wind floats over my skin.

“I figured you would enjoy being outside for a bit,” he says as he drops my hand. “I realized that you’d been stuck up in that room and you were probably going crazy.” 

He isn’t looking at me anymore as he rambles, favoring his shoes instead. The hand that was holding mine now rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

He looks like a boy.

Something about that thought has a laugh bubbling out of me before I can even process it, and I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle it.

Eris stops talking and looks at me with wide eyes.

“What?” He questions incredulously, “What did I say that was funny?” 

His reaction only fuels my amusement and I start to laugh openly.

“Nothing! Nothing, it’s just,” I say while trying to catch my breath, “this is the most normal interaction I’ve had in a while.”

My laughter subsides, although the smile remains, and I exhale. For just a moment, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.

Eris smiles and starts walking into the trees as I follow.

We wander and talk about nothing until the sun peaks through the canopy.

I smile the whole time.

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I’m at the desk tonight.

Again.

Although this time no drafts litter the floor, and my eyes are dry. The sleek black pen is weighted in my hand, and it feels as if I do not hold it, I will float away. A small, crisp sheet of parchment lay in front of me, empty aside from Rhys’ name at the top. The thought of writing my father makes me want to throw up.

I sit staring at the rough scratch of my handwriting for what seems like hours. 

What am I supposed to say to him?

Sighing, I lean back, the mahogany floorboards creaking under me. I should write him, the thought persists in my mind. This being one of the few times I’ve had the energy to drag my body to the chair, to pick up the pen, I know that if I do not write home now I won’t at all.

Gripping the pen tightly, I drag the tip across the paper, the sound grating against my ears.

Rhysand,

I am safe.

Am I? I know that it will calm his worried mind if I say I am, and as much as I don’t want to trust Eris, I can’t help but relax when he’s nearby. That doesn’t mean I should. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t either, I think to myself.

Before I lose myself in my thoughts, I sign the letter and fold it. 

I haven’t tried using my powers since that night, but I can’t risk this getting into the wrong hands. I don’t know who has sticky fingers here.

Focusing on the small rectangle that has become a temporary lifeline, I close my eyes and breathe deeply.

It sends small earthquakes through my lungs.

Warmth licks at my bones, a smothered fire reigniting, and I try to focus on my brother’s face as it grows. Slowly the warmth gets stronger, heating me through until it almost burns when all at once it disappears.

I open my eyes as another earthquake shakes my body.

The letter is gone.

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Eris is sitting at the edge of the bed today.

He’s visited more since we walked in the forest. I don’t complain, and neither does he. Sometimes he just sits with me, sometimes I ask him questions, sometimes he asks me.

I hardly ever answer.

Today, he reads aloud. Whether it is for his or my benefit I don’t know. I can’t remember what book he said this was, and I wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was about, I’ve been too busy examining him.

He wears a tan shirt today, tight around his shoulders and chest, billowing out gracefully around his stomach and forearms. His hair, glinting in the fading sunlight, drapes around his face and down his back.

I feel his eyes on me for a moment. If he notices my staring, he makes no comment about it.

His eyes. They burn everywhere they look over me, not that they ever stray from my own for very long. As they now sweep over the pages, I wonder how it has not burst into flames. 

Even his voice, as it drags through the air, is warm. It sticks to my insides, melting and reforming them, licking up my sides and back. 

“Are you even listening?”

I wonder if I am on fire yet.

“No,” I admit.

Eris rolls his eyes and the lines that only show when he smiles wink at me.

“I don’t want to read anymore,” I huff as I lay back on the bed.

The bed shifts and I feel him lay a few inches away from me. There are a few moments of quiet as we stare up at the ceiling.

“Why did you bring me here?” the fleeting thought makes its way through my lips.

“Because you needed help,” he states matter-of-factly, “why did you stay?”

“I don’t know.”

I don’t tell him it’s because I am scared to leave. I don’t tell him it’s because sometimes it feels like I can breathe again when he’s nearby. I don’t tell him that I am terrified I won’t be able to anymore. I don’t tell him I’m afraid that the ghosts will follow me home, but it’s easier to face them with the light of him nearby.

“I like it here,” I do tell him.

We stare at the ceiling and pretend I mean it.

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I’m going home tomorrow.

I’m going home tomorrow.

I’m going home.

The thought isn’t as comforting as it should be.

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Sun streams in as Mabel unwraps my bandages for the last time.

She is gentle as always, although chattier than usual. We make conversation, and she keeps saying things trying to make me laugh. She reminds me of a grandmother, although I have none to compare her to.

She looks back at me as she leaves the room and says a choked goodbye.

She is not smiling today. Instead, she is holding back tears as the wrinkled corners of her lips wobble.

I smile for her.

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Eris and I walk through the forest one last time today. 

It’s still early, and the birds sing happily as the rising sun warms their wings. The leaves rustle in an invisible breeze and the smell of dew coats the inside of my lungs.

We dare not break the silence between us.

Eris stands a little closer to me today than usual. I can feel the radiating warmth tickle the skin of my arm and fight the urge to engulf myself in it.

Eventually, we sit together underneath a birch tree, and I absentmindedly pick at the white wisps of bark that cling to it. 

“I hope you’ll write me,” Eris breathes. Almost too soft to hear.

Too many seconds of silence pass.

“I want to tell you something,” I say, just as softly.

I want to tell someone. Just one person.

He turns to look at me with severe eyes, and nods. We both know what I mean.

So, we sit. I talk, and he listens. I cry and he comforts. I spill the tattered messes of my insides on the ground in front of him.

He treats them like they are polished gold.

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The light is fading by the time we’re ready to leave.

Eris and I stand and dust the mud off our clothes. Eris holds out a hand and I take it as a metallic twinge takes to the air. 

We take a step and the forest I’ve spent nearly a month exploring morphs into the gray outline of my home.

Eris drops my hand as I turn around just in time to see his tall form disappear into the darkness.

I hope you’ll write me too.

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note: hehe, this was fun. if you haven't noticed i LOVE writing angst. i also love writing about mental health. speaking of, i was struggling with my own quite a bit when i was writing this chapter so i wonder if that came through or not. anyways, i really like how this turned out in the end, and i like the build-up we're getting here. its setting up really nicely for the next major plot point. also bonus points if you caught the imagery with Mabel! if not, I'll give you a hint: 🕊️. let me know what you thought, i hope you enjoyed this chapter!

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taglist: @owllover123 @sol2694 @theviewfromtheotherside @bankerfrog @ummmmmwat @wishfulwithwine @baebeepeach @emptyporsche

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