#lostmason

@lostmason​

Maggie had the closing shift. It wasn’t anything worth mentioning usually, just a little longer before she got to sit at home with her plants and the parakeets. Everyone had cleared out of the main gym, and she’d just finished going through the side rooms. Putting away the equipment and locking up had become a soothing routine at this point. Maggie could’ve done it all in her sleep.

Generally made sure to take her time with everything else, giving the patrons a chance to clear out of the locker rooms and showers. The cleaning staff had keys and would take care of the sanitizing, but she was in charge of getting the rooms cleared and putting any gym towels through the wash.

Today felt different. She’d just finished clearing the woman’s locker room and had opened the door for the men’s when she heard someone’s shaky, raspy breath coming from the back.

“Hello?” She asked careful to keep her voice calm even as she itched for the firearm locked away in the safe at her house. “Can I help you?”

He came back to himself with a start so violent he nearly lost his footing, sensation rushing to him all at once: the ground was cold and wet beneath his bare feet, rough concrete, there was rain in his eyes, he was shivering, blinking through the hazy dark... Oh. 

“Mierda... ¿Dónde estoy?” Jesus glanced around the dark street as he mumbled to himself, before realizing that he wasn’t alone, although he was the only one who wasn’t wearing anything except ragged old sweats that were speckled with light rain. He must’ve been sleepwalking again, forgot to lock his door. Javier was gonna be so pissed when he found out. “Did you- wake me up?” he asked, squinting and trying to figure out why the man in front of him looked so familiar, while the street around him definitely did not.

🍓  how is my muse typically seen by others?  does it ring true to who they really are?  does their reputation matter to them?

Jesus looks how he looks; a stereotype, an extra from a crime show, a guy with plenty of mugshots in his back pocket. Even though he’s usually either smiling, or just looking like he needs a nap, most people’s snap-judgement of him is a great, blaring STAY AWAY: DANGER. At worst, he’s a violent menace to the public. At best, he’s just a hoodlum. 

Jesus honestly doesn’t care about how he’s seen, because he knows the kind of person he is, so the only time he takes issue with views like that are when it keeps him from helping someone. In truth, although Jesus can be dangerous, is a member of a gang, does sell drugs for a living, he’s also generous, kind, funny, loyal, and doesn’t have a truly malicious bone in his body. He knows who he is; his parents know who he is; God knows who he is. As far as he’s concerned, those are all the people that really matter. 

Normally Wendy really hated doing things on her own. She hated going out in public on her own, and she hated eating alone, and she especially hated doing any kind of themed attraction alone. To her, it felt like and innate sense of rotting anxiety began to form when she was out and about alone. Also a slight sense of dread. She’d be a dirty, filthy liar if she said that Grimmbrook was as safe as the picturesque town looked from the outside. And Michelle had said she was just going to be right back. She’d absolutely be here before the forest tour started. And so Wendy was okay to wait, for a moment. She piddled around on her phone for a bit while the tour guide (who looked absolutely gone from this plane of existence) shuffled from one foot to the other as a few other people joined the little ragtag group outside the woods. 

She threw an apprehensive glance back towards where Michelle had disappeared to and wondered--not for the first time--where her sister had disappeared to.

She felt that telltale flip in her stomach the longer she realized she was alone and kept looking around as the tour started off into the woods. Even if Wendy was incredibly mad at Johnny and Chelle right now, it didn’t mean she really wanted to do things without them. The dread feeling started creeping up her throat while she glanced around at the mixed tour group and tried to see if her sister had snuck back in without Wendy realizing. Instead, she laid her eyes on another familiar face and waltzed over a little awkwardly. “Hey, stranger,” she chirped.

I would kill you. ✧ I would physically hurt you. ✧ I would attack you unprovoked. ✧ I would manipulate you. ✧ I dislike you. ✧ You annoy me. ✧ You scare me. ✧ You intimidate me. ✧ I hope I intimidate you. ✧ I pity you. ✧ You disgust me. ✧ I hate you. ✧ I’m indifferent toward you. ✧ I’d like to get to know you better. ✧   I’d like to spend more time with you. ✧ I’d like to be friends with you. ✧  I’m unsure what to think of you. ✧ I’m unsure how I feel about you. ✧ You are my friend. ✧ You are my best friend. ✧ You are my mentor. ✧ I look up to you. ✧ I respect you. ✧ You are my hero. ✧ You inspire me. ✧ You are my enemy. ✧ You make me happy. ✧ I want to protect you. ✧ I would fight by your side. ✧ I consider you an equal. ✧ I think you are beneath me. ✧ I think you are above me. ✧ I would lie for you. ✧ I would lie to you. ✧ I would sleep with you. ✧ I would sleep by your side. ✧ I would hug you. ✧ I would kiss you. ✧ You are family to me. ✧ I would die for you. ✧ I would kill for you. ✧ I would trust you with my life. ✧ I would trust you with my most precious belonging. ✧ I would trust you with a secret. ✧ I would trust you with my biggest / darkest secret. ✧ I love you (platonically). ✧ I love you (romantically).