Tag: asks

m!a: You receive a bubble wrapped ornament that comes with a note. The note reads, “put this on the tree and Shihab will be back for a week. Enjoy.”

You are hesitant as all Hell to open the package, but as you glance at the note an what it provides, you’re breathing sharp and pulling the ornament gently out of its protective sleeve.

it’s silver with a Taurus symbol painted on in metallic bronze.
You look at the note once more.

Back?

Back for a week?

Shihab. 

Etoile is behind you and you let the note fall, and you’re sure he’s reading it as you make a step forward to the tree. 
You observe the tree and the perfect spots for the ornament.

Yet, as soon as you take the second step, you yell, grit your teeth and launch it towards the wall, watching it shatter against it as you drop to your knees.

Etoile is at your side instantly.
You don’t cry.
You’re tired. Tired of heartache. 
Shihab’s gone and they should STAY gone.

After some emotional sap, you decide to destroy the note while Etoile takes care of the shatters of ornament.

Another wooden box appears! Except this time, it’s a necklace case. long, with a mirrored inlay, and a frosted glass door. On its door, is the new note. “These three necklaces are weights that you carry. Distrust is the necklace with two hand pendants that should come together and shake. Social anxiety is the cameo locket, with the woman holding a fan over her face. Inner anxiety is the tacky rhinestone chihuahua pendant. Put one on, and feel it lift from you.”

You take no time after reading the note to throw the box across the room and you find yourself huddling into the corner of the couch.
This is tiring.
You’re sick to your stomach of this already.
Just as you were able to scream out again, your moirail asks you a question, jarring you from your state of rage-filled panic.

“-this shit just work for you?” is all you catch and you force yourself to look at Etoile, swallowing air before answering.
“..what?”
He repeats the question, but adds to it,
“do these just work for you, or…or they work for err’body?”

You start shaking your head as you just don’t know. All you can do is tell him he can have at it if he wants to. Then, you’re watching him half crawl to the box and open it, reading the note you just finished. 

He scoots himself towards you again, going off as he chews his thumbnail. Etoile talks about what he’d choose and asks what you’d choose for him. There was some disinterest from your end, not liking the options, but you admit that he’d do better with the inner anxiety necklace.

So, that is what he chooses.

As he chooses, you find your gaze dropping to your scarred up hand, looking at your faded scars. The box and necklaces disappear, and you immediately feel your chest feeling less tight.

You make eye contact with your moirail for a second and you both smile.
“Aight.”

It worked for both of you it seems.

BONUS ROUND! all the glass hearts glow and disappear. you won the bonus round! all four hearts work, though only the black heart gets its full capacity of strength. You know where to start, emotionally, with self-forgiveness, and self-assurance. Your scars fade.

Just when you’d compromised with yourself on what you wanted to keep and/or fix on your own, you can feel and see the change happen and it makes you mad.
You almost blow your internal gasket but you see a few scars on your arm.
Not gone, just faded.
After feeling your face burn in your temporary rage, you assure yourself this is fine. Hopefully these ‘magical’ gifts will stop.

You have another lovely little wooden box come your way. This time, it has three glass hearts. The calligraphy-writ note attached reads, “another choice is your healthy pump. The golden heart will teach you the lesson of self-forgiveness. The silver heart will teach you the lesson of self-assurance. The black heart will cure you of one deep fear. And the snowy white heart will heal your scars.”

You frown down at the box, and the note attached. 
“fuckin…”
You hiss to yourself and bite your tongue as you look over each heart.
Was this symbolism?
No doubt.
You don’t want to be force fed self…anything.
That’s for you to LEARN on your own.
You learn nothing from experience if you just suddenly have self forgiveness or assurance– 
To have no scars or to be down a deep, irrational fear (possibly) 
You shake your head
Each scar, though ugly, is evidence of your trials and hardships.

Immediately, you pick up the black heart, feeling your lower lip jut out into a pout.

A gift-wrapped wooden box appears. When you open it, there’s a note tucked into the top. Its calligraphic script swirls and loops to read, “Make your choice: there are three marbles in this box.” If you look down into the box, there are, in fact, three marbles in the box. “The largest marble will remove your trigger phrases. The smallest will restore your eye. The last will give you back all color.” When you pick up a marble, the other two will disappear.

You observe the box and the note that came with it. The more you read, the more upset you get. 
You. Hate. Choices.
Gritting your teeth, you look at each marble and back to the note.
What if you choose none?
You feel your one eye tear up and you reopen the box, looking over the assorted marbles. 
Without looking back over at your moirail, you reach into the box, hand surrounding a marble, picking it from its holster.
Slowly, you open your…eye. You still only have one.
Your gaze falls down to the marble in your hand and it’s apparent which one you have, as you see specks of green in the tornado of color in the glass ball.

For a moment, you don’t even identify the color as what it is, but when you realize.
You start tearing up again.

so you just going to pretend gam doesn’t exist anymore? moved on from him? what if he needs you still? you’re just going to push him aside? damn bitch, you live like this?

abusers require attention now? liars deserve people’s unrequited trust?
get out of here with this shit. we ain’t ignoring him. we working through the complications and tryna find stable ground.
don’t send shit about gam again.  – étoile

p.s.