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// content warnings for weed and body dysmorphia
Vale tapped a black fingernail against the sink, glancing between the smoking joint between vis fingers and the mirror’s reflection. The punk wasn’t questioning the chain necklaces, the studded leather jacket, or the mohawk. Though ve’d seriously considered a suit and gas mask before deciding on skull face-paint.
Was it a good idea to date after reclaiming power? After the breakdown?
Ve raised the joint and breathed in. The motion was more mechanical, muscle memory than intentional.
The face in the mirror, the fake skull, resembled Vale’s internal representation of verself more than vis skin. Maybe in an alternate reality ve had already ripped the flesh right off vis skull.
The knock at the door startled ver. Ve grabbed the revolver off the toilet lid—heard Jor’s voice, relaxed—and shoved it in the jacket’s inside pocket. If Jor wasn’t carrying, ve’d be surprised. He should. Not because of ver. But risks came with their business.
Keys and half-joint in one hand, Vale opened the door. “Hmm, yes, I did.” Though ve hadn’t committed on the date until now. The wounded piece of ver, the one longing for Brym and Dante, wanted to wallow. But there was only so much wallowing you could do before it became boring.
“The honeysuckles are a unique choice.” Vale waved the joint and stepped out. The door shut and locked automatically behind ver; with the easy exit blocked off, Vale could stop thinking about long-gone friends.
“This is the only flower I brought. If it’s not to your standards, I don’t mind not sharing.” Vale had a strange way of offering to pass a joint.
Though, now that ve saw him, ve was tempted to run back inside and change into the suit. Probably not the gas mask—people got weird when they couldn’t see someone’s face—but, then again, did ve really want to match Jor? Because matching always meant one looked better than the other, and… goddammit, ve was overthinking this.
“Either way, weed and honeysuckles suit you. As does the smile.” Vale smiled back—close-lipped, because toothy looked weird with a skull face—and reached to take the flowers. “So, where’re we off to?”
YOU NEVER TRUSTED ME ★
BUT I’M OVER IT NOW
[sub][W]isker[/sub]
graphic gore ★ genderfluid ★ human au
// content warnings for weed and body dysmorphia
Vale tapped a black fingernail against the sink, glancing between the smoking joint between vis fingers and the mirror’s reflection. The punk wasn’t questioning the chain necklaces, the studded leather jacket, or the mohawk. Though ve’d seriously considered a suit and gas mask before deciding on skull face-paint.
Was it a good idea to date after reclaiming power? After the breakdown?
Ve raised the joint and breathed in. The motion was more mechanical, muscle memory than intentional.
The face in the mirror, the fake skull, resembled Vale’s internal representation of verself more than vis skin. Maybe in an alternate reality ve had already ripped the flesh right off vis skull.
The knock at the door startled ver. Ve grabbed the revolver off the toilet lid—heard Jor’s voice, relaxed—and shoved it in the jacket’s inside pocket. If Jor wasn’t carrying, ve’d be surprised. He should. Not because of ver. But risks came with their business.
Keys and half-joint in one hand, Vale opened the door. “Hmm, yes, I did.” Though ve hadn’t committed on the date until now. The wounded piece of ver, the one longing for Brym and Dante, wanted to wallow. But there was only so much wallowing you could do before it became boring.
“The honeysuckles are a unique choice.” Vale waved the joint and stepped out. The door shut and locked automatically behind ver; with the easy exit blocked off, Vale could stop thinking about long-gone friends.
“This is the only flower I brought. If it’s not to your standards, I don’t mind not sharing.” Vale had a strange way of offering to pass a joint.
Though, now that ve saw him, ve was tempted to run back inside and change into the suit. Probably not the gas mask—people got weird when they couldn’t see someone’s face—but, then again, did ve really want to match Jor? Because matching always meant one looked better than the other, and… goddammit, ve was overthinking this.
“Either way, weed and honeysuckles suit you. As does the smile.” Vale smiled back—close-lipped, because toothy looked weird with a skull face—and reached to take the flowers. “So, where’re we off to?”
BUT I’M OVER IT NOW
[sub][W]isker[/sub]