#Easy access to **** is probably one of the top worst mistakes humans have made | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

evangelene · 6 years ago

Text

Despite What You Are (4)

Summary: Vampires don’t feed on blood, they feed on fear. So, why is yours so potent? Why were you saved by the most dangerous of all vampires–Kim Namjoon?

Based on this request:

“Can i ask for a ff where namjoon is a vampire mafia boss and has a spft spot for you. And you get into trouble woth a rival gang and he goes crazy? Fluffy and angsty 🌹”

Part One / Part Two/ Part Three / Part Five

“So, what do you think?”

Seokjin stood proud, as if he had just made the discovery of a lifetime. In reality, all he had really done was walk outside to find a shed that looked far less like a livable plot of land and more like a busted maid’s quarters from the expired centuries past. Once more, you were infinitely curious as to what sort of complex this place had been before the War of 2048.

It didn’t help that the shed/hillbilly-cannibal prep station was surrounded by a thick grove of trees that shouldn’t be there but were anyways.

Kind of like you.

Funny how one could relate to some moss, bark and leaves.

Despite the lackluster appearance of your soon-to-be hospital, you couldn’t really complain (much). After all, you were finally allowed to go outside! How great!

It would have been nicer if you didn’t have to have a guard within arm’s reach of you at all times. Oh, and you definitely weren’t allowed within twenty feet of the story and half tall fences—despite them being stronger than a vampire and capped with barbed wire.

Apparently, one of Jisung’s gang (clan? You guessed it was a clan now?) had the ability to teleport.

They wouldn’t tell you what Jisung’s ability was though…probably because he didn’t have one before he walked out and became clan leader.

“It’s just a small clan. They will be crushed easily.”

The boys had tried to persuade you, but there was something entirely unsettling about how absolutely quiet Namjoon had been in the corner, his eyes lost in space somewhere out the window.

Comforting, especially to a human who jumped when the wind rustled the leaves in the trees a bit too rough for her liking.

“Y/N.”

You jolted your attention back to Seokjin, giving him the weakest yeahtotallywasn’tscaredatall smile you could manage. “It’s great.”

With a deep sigh and a roll of his eyes, he yanked open the door to the shed; it look like it required muscle—even for a vampire (you blamed it on the fact that nature looked like it had tried to glue it shut with some unholy substance). “Just take a look inside, would you?”

So…the inside was even worse than the outside, which was saying a lot since the roof looked like it was about to slide off the structure entirely. As you stepped up, you were surprised to find that your foot didn’t immediately crack through the rotting wood; however, that didn’t prevent you from having to hopscotch around already existing holes, rat shit, and poisonous smelling black mold. The place itself was dusty and unkempt to the point that it screamed “disease.” But, you know, you were fine with it.

As far as you were concerned, it was far enough away from the main complex building and it wouldn’t allow any vampires to access any of the fear you may exude. Another plus: it had a sink so Seokjin could like…you know…sanitize things? You didn’t really know much about medical shit, which was probably why you were on your deathbed months ago.

Yay for you being a helpful and self-sufficient human being.

“I mean, we can make it good.”

Seokjin chuckled. “Of course I will make it acceptable. I am aware of how easily humans fall ill—I won’t allow it to be anything but sterile.” You sent a look over your shoulder that had Seokjin frowning. “Are you doubting my abilities now, of all times?”

“I’ve seen you heal, not clean. Besides, what are you going to do? Vacuum the spores from the air?”

“It will need to be aired out for a bit anyways—speaking of that, you should probably get out of there for now.”

You were on the same level as a feline and therefore gave no fucks for the vampire who could easily yank you out by your pinkie if he so chose to. Instead, you used the sleeve of your sweatshirt to dust off the one and only table in the shed; surprisingly, the furniture itself wasn’t nearly as compromised as the actual foundation of the building.

“Y/N. Out.”

“Woof.” You glared at him from your musty seclusion, slowly parkouring your way back out the door and onto semi-solid grass.

He seemed to age in that moment, even though vampires really…don’t…they just kinda die looking hot and young and shit. How nice. You blamed it on the poor man having to deal with your constant bullshit.

But, then again, if you had to listen to his puns then he had to put up with your tantrums.

“So it’s just going to sit there for a week or whatever while you guys go off and do your dangerous top secret mission?”

“Pretty much.”

“You know, I really hate secrets.”

He let out a bark of a laugh, his hand placed between your shoulderblades in order to guide you forward—well aware that you’d already taken a spill once already (stupid tree root) and had a 99.9 percent chance of repeating your mistakes. “You’re one to talk with the one you’re keeping.”

“He keeps far more than I do. It’s not fair.” You frowned at the ground, keeping your gaze cast down in order to prevent a sequel to the greatest fall of the century. “I prefer transparency; I’ve had enough secrecy in my life.”

“You are still useful, Y/N.”

A shudder ran its way up your spine.

“He has reasons for keeping things from you. You are not ready to see him feed; you are not ready to learn what he does when he’s away from you. The missions he does--the business he conducts--you are far more fragile than we are.”

“I’m not a fucking flower.”

“Physically, you may be able to handle more than we suspect; but, do remember, you had just jumped out of your skin due to naturally occurring wind. Would you be able to hold yourself back at the visual of a human being tortured in front of you?”

You pressed your lips into a line.

The tip of the tree hung down from his chest, broken by the impact of his body crashing backwards into it—despite the thick material of his vest and jacket. Human bodies contained so much blood, why didn’t you ever realize that before?

“So?” You dug your nails into your palms. “If it concerns me, then why can’t I know these things? You all are no better than humans.”

“You’re insulting yourself.”

“I’m good at self-deprecating humor.” You sighed, dropping your defense mechanism for the moment—but only the singular moment. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. Sometimes, your own species can be your worst enemy.”

There was a prolonged pause between the two of you, both of you walking in tandem but somehow still so far away from the other that you could have been on different planets.

“Part of me hopes that you’ll fail.” You murmured. “Part of me would rather go out like that—no pain and put under anesthesia. It’s easy. And then I wouldn’t have to…I wouldn’t…”

“There are bigger secrets you’re keeping from him than this one.” Seokjin didn’t word it as a question, as if he already knew everything swimming around the stagnant pool of thought in your head—he probably did. You briefly remember someone mentioning that he grew up with humans.

It wouldn’t surprise you if his emotions developed in a similar fashion to your own.

“I started to become more human being surrounded by vampires. Is that weird?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a rhetorical question you asshole, let me finish.” But he was repressing his laughter and you were huffing on a smirk as you cleared the trees. “I don’t want to feel those things anymore—I don’t want to remember what it’s like to be human, not when nothing good can come of it; not when there’s a chance I could lose it.” You paused at the door to the compound, soaking in the rays of sunlight while you still could. “Promise me you’ll bring him back safe.”

“He’s stronger than any enemy we could face out there, Y/N.” But he didn’t promise you, and that alone was enough for your stomach to constrict in the most unpleasant way. You could feel Seokjin’s gaze on the side of your face as you closed your eyes and faced the sun. Part of you hoped that the sun would smite you where you stood so you could escape everything—however, while you were fearful of living, you were even more terrified of death. “You love him, don’t you?”

“Denied.” You murmured without a second though, the metaphorical doors to your heart slamming shut so quickly it almost felt like you were shot point-blank in the chest. “I refuse to love something that can’t love me back. I can’t lose anything more in this life. I can’t lose him, and I can’t tell him that I can’t lose him. I can’t love him, and I can’t tell him that I can’t love him.”

“You are overcomplicating things, Y/N.”

You opened your eyes, squinting through the sun to meet Seokjin’s gaze. “I think that’s the one thing I’m truly good at.”

~.~

Namjoon refused to explain any part of his “mission” to you. And yes you totally put air-quotes and a stupid face to the word mission. To you, it seemed like bullshit; to you, it seemed like he was out doing the very same things that the human hunters did. To you, it seemed like he was keeping secrets and pulling strings behind your back.

To make matters worse for your worried and easily annoyed heart, he had to take all of the six with him.

Well, originally he had planned on leaving Taehyung, Hoseok, or even Seokjin with you—but, upon your inquiry of just how damn dangerous his stupid idea was, you forced him to have his entire crew by his side. You remembered how quickly his expression had darkened, the impassivity to his gaze that had you wishing that you could read his mind like he could read yours.

Idiot.

Then again, he probably just called you a bunch of terrible names in his mind just like you did in reference to him.

Despite your energy and your lack of understanding, you tried to be that™ person; you tried to be that™ supportive girl that stood by her loved person, waving them off with a handkerchief and tears glistening beautifully in her eyes. First off, you were never graceful in anything you did, and the old movies would never be you; that™ person would never be you.

You were too much of a salty, bitter hag. Salty because he wouldn’t tell you what he was going to do, nevertheless where he was going to do this mystery action; even saltier still because whatever incredibly dangerous thing he was going to do could be the end of him and, even in your anger, you wouldn’t be able to take not knowing where he went or what happened to him.

So, like the woman you were, you resorted to pursing your lips at him from the corner of the room as he gathered his things. Part of you wanted to see his face in case you forgot it, but the stronger part of you said that your actions were out of spite rather than anything else. You damn well wanted him to know just how pissed you were. Subtlety? You don’t know her.

“I can still leave Taehyung here with you—I…I don’t trust the others here with you.”

“Jiwoo’s here. I’m fine.” You grunted, arms tightly crossed over your chest.

“She doesn’t have any abilities. Taehyung could at least—“

“Namjoon.” There was something exhilarating about the power you had over him when you simply said his name—it was almost enough to dissolve your anger…almost. “Yoongi and I spoke about this when I said I wanted them all with you—he agrees that she has a hell of a survival instinct and an even greater protective streak. I will be fine; I’m locked up to holy hell in here anyways.”

Honestly, you remembered how quickly that conversation had went—Yoongi had offered her to you without a hint of hesitation. It was almost as if he didn’t care that his mate could possibly die for you if the situation arose. And here you were, with a mate who didn’t trust you with a fucking spoon.

You were sure your face was going to gain permanent wrinkles from frowning so intensely.

“You’re angry, why?”

Leave it to the vampire to be blunt.

“I’m not.” Yeah, Y/N. Good job. Continue to sulk like an absolute child because, of course, maturity is for LoSErS.

“Sure, but if I accept your words at face value then you will only become more angry. I am not stupid to you at this point. You’ve been here for over a half a year now.” He sighed, pulling on his jacket. “What is wrong?”

You cast your gaze to the floor, if only because he was now openly staring at you and your pride won over your anger—you couldn’t let him see you turning red at such an inopportune moment.

“Why can’t you just tell me what you’re doing? Or where you’re going?”

Part of you wanted him to be like human men, you wanted him to hold your face in your hands and kiss you and make you feel something other than this icy distance between the two of you. Maybe then you could take not knowing.

But that wasn’t the case, and you were infinitely reminded that this wasn’t a human man in front of you.

“This is what clan leaders do—they go out and stake their claim, mark their territory and make sure it is still theirs. You have no business here.”

Anger boiled under your skin and, god, did you really just want to smack him. But with the sheer amount of muscle in the monster man, you knew you’d hurt yourself more than you’d hurt him. “You’re not going out there to stake your fucking claim, Namjoon. I’m not stupid. I know you’re not telling me the truth.”

You could feel his stare burn into the side of your face, but you refused to meet it just to satisfy your petty rebellion. “I want you to be safe in all senses of the word. Can’t you be satisfied with that?”

“No.” You snorted. “I can’t.” Your hands were balling into fists, lips pressing into a line so thin you swore they might burst and disappear entirely. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for your protection—I didn’t ask for you to be a clan leader, I didn’t ask for you to sacrifice your life for mine. What I asked for was your honesty.”

He paused for a second, clearly thinking out his words so that you wouldn’t continue to be mad at him. But, for a vampire still learning the complexities of the human mind, you were both well aware that he didn’t have the right toolkit to attack this problem.

“There’s a lot you can’t give me, and I’m learning to accept that. But like hell will I put aside the truth and accept your lies. What are you really going to go and do?”

It was your last lifeline, your last chance for him to grab the rope and tug him back into your good graces.

At first, it seemed like he was taking grasp of it with both hands, stepping closer towards you with intent--like he maybe was going to hold your hand, like he maybe was going to brush your hair off your neck and kiss your cheek. But, of course, he did none of those things.

Instead, he slipped past you entirely. “I promise we will return as soon as we can.”

By the time you calmed yourself enough to turn around, he was gone.

~.~

Jiwoo was a heaven-sent existence—despite being the very thing that fed on fear, you were convinced that she was an angel. It was her personal mission to make sure that you never felt alone, and that you were able to sort out all your feelings and complaints, allowing you to throw them all onto one vessel.

With her sweet smile and her unvampirely crave for contact; she was everything you needed in the wake of being pissed off at Kim Namjoon.

It was hard not to laugh as she grumbled to herself while setting up her side of the bed for the night. “I know he’s my leader, but he’s a prick.” She huffed, fluffing her pillow with slight violence only to freeze and stare at the door when there was a particular loud noise a floor below you two. There was a moment where she had offered to lay out a sleeping bag for herself on the floor, but when you offered to let her next to you, her eyes lit up and part of you wondered if maybe she could be your mate instead.

She understood your human needs far better than grumpypants.

“He wouldn’t let me visit with you as much as I would like, so I’m going to soak up every opportunity I can get.” She threw herself on the bed next to you, those bright eyes of hers boring into yours. “Maybe it’s a female thing, but I feel I can understand your thoughts a bit better than those dumb boys.”

“Maybe.” You chuckled. She was probably the exact opposite of Yoongi—far too bright, bubbly and touchy-feely for the man who recoiled at breathing the same air as another being. You paused for a second, wetting your dry lips with your tongue. “Can I ask you something?”

“No question is too strange for me.” She giggled. “Yoongi says that I ask too many weird ones that anything anyone could ask of me would seem normal in comparison.”

Somehow, you could see it. The girl radiated a personality that only existed in characters from outer space.

“Why are you so fascinated with me? I mean, I’m not really special—just your average human.”

She shrugged, moving to adjust herself into a comfortable sitting position. “Well, I liked what I saw when I first met you. And, well, I don’t really feed from humans because I pity them. I prefer the fear from my own kind—and Yoongi’s really good about making sure I can get fed enough from that alone.” She paused for a moment to ruminate on her words. “Humans…Well…I feel bad for hurting something so innocent for my own gain. They can’t even properly fight back.”

“Some do.”

“Even then, it depends on the human and their deeds—but it’s not like I’m really clued into those too well. Vampires…well, we’re often terrible beings. Maybe more so than humans.” She sighed. “But you, man, when you stood up to Jisung I swear I’ve never seen our leader more whipped for a being in his life. I wanted to know more about you because of that, too.”

Was it possible for a vampire to be vegetarian? Well, the vampire equivalent of the term. Was that cannibalism?

Honestly, you could have probably busted your last three braincells pondering a stupid label.

“Are there more vampires like you?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Probably. But they may all be dead. You and I, we are a rare breed—with mates powerful enough to ensure that we both survive.”

As you withdrew inside of yourself to contemplate the heft to her words, her hand reached out to grab your own, as if on instinct. “Humans are soft.” She murmured. “I like physical contact with them.”

“You are so weird.”

She only grinned wider at that.

For a moment you considered spilling everything to her—everything you couldn’t say to your mate, to humans, to anyone. You contemplated telling her your whole life story if only because there was a being there in front of you who looked so willing to eat it all in and learn everything there was to know about you.

This person was a vampire, and that was enough to stop you.

“There is something on your mind.” She hummed.

“Yeah.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Do you not trust me?”

You put your free hand up. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Woo, I just…I don’t…I don’t think that you can understand me if I told you.”

“Okay.” She murmured. “I probably won’t, but its okay to tell me. My job in the clan is to not ask questions and make sure that things run smoothly. I am a glorified secretary; if there are things I am not supposed to know then I will not seek them out nor will I lose my trust if those secrets come into the light. I am supposed to tell my clan leader everything.” Her eyes scanned yours. “So it concerns him, does it not?”

“What in my world doesn’t concern him anymore?”

She chuckled, her grin faltering for a moment. “Y/N, I never said I was good at my job. Yoongi and I…we were a pairing mated by genes and not by choice—not that I mind, as I’m terrible with making decisions.” She licked her lips in the dry air. “I understand that feeling of wanting more.”

“You…” Your furrowed your brows, trying to find the right words even though the synapses weren’t fully connecting the loose ends to the equation displayed before you. “You don’t love Yoongi, do you?”

She pursed her lips, her eyes lost somewhere over your shoulder. “What Yoongi and I are certainly is not the same kind of bond that you humans call love. So if what you are worried about is how our clan leader cares for you, then I’ll have you know that I have never seen a vampire care for his mate to such extremes before. I’m jealous.”

Something that must have been akin to fear flashed through you quick as lightning, because Jiwoo’s eyes burst red for a second, narrowing in on you before dulling back to their neutral color. “I don’t want Namjoon, Y/N; don’t be afraid of that. I’m envious of the bond between you two, not what you hold—that connection, it seems so special.”

“Have you told Yoongi any of this?”

“No. I don’t see him enough to warrant it.” Her eyes softened. “Perhaps that’s why I enjoy your company, being with you annoys him enough for him to seek me out.”

Your eyes scanned her face, searching for hidden feelings and answers that she was slowly bringing to the surface. It was nice to feel a little bit less alone in a sea of people that made you feel like an anomaly. “We’re similar, aren’t we?”

Her gaze met yours. “We are.”

You tucked your lips between your teeth, trying to make yourself say the words. Trying to will yourself to let it out to her—if you could let it out to anyone, it would be her.

After all, she just indirectly told you her own personal traumas—why couldn’t you say the one thing that was always running through your head ever since you realized it enough to deny it whole-heartedly?

“I…I…”

“You love Namjoon.” She murmured, her irises bloodying to an intense crimson as you inhaled through your nose. When you said nothing, she only squeezed your hand. “Well, I can’t say that I was unaware of that, but maybe one day we’ll get you to say it out loud, huh?” She chuckled. “Then again, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black, as you humans would say?”

~.~

Jiwoo did not have the luxury that the other vampires around you had—she had not been trained for years to accommodate human nature into her life. She was not one who was ready to easily adapt to a human friend and, therefore, she was unable to maneuver you through the compound with the grace that Namjoon and his six had.

AKA, every horror hid from you was unfolded in a searing burst of white-hot fear.

This was, after all, a place for vampires—not humans.

The blood, the bodies, the strewn bits and pieces of lives tortured and lost were not things that startled her.

You, on the other hand, were a different story.

Turning to vomit up your entire lunch into the nearest receptacle—because why would vampires have trash cans every four feet like humans?—you nearly didn’t make it and therefore missed the bright red flash of Jiwoo’s eyes as she furrowed her brow on you in concern.

“Y/N! What happened? Are you alright?” Her worry was a palpable presence in the air, smothering you much like she was doing. Contrary to the vampires you had met thus far, she seemed to think that contact was the salve to every ailment.

You screwed your eyes shut, desperately trying to erase the images of bruised and beaten bodies, parts of humans too mangled to identify. Corpses yet to be disposed of, personal belongings dropped and bloodied in the shuffle, remnants of humans like yourself.

That could have been you. The woman in the corner with a bloody cleave from her neck to chest, she could have been you if you didn’t meet Namjoon. The man on the floor with his spine half pulled out of his back could have been you if you weren’t saved. The child—

There wasn’t anything left to vomit, but your stomach was sure as hell going to give it a go anyways.

“I--” You wanted to straighten your spine, you wanted to stand up tall and meet her in the eyes like loss of life didn’t bother you—like you weren’t terrified of the shadows of ‘what ifs’ that hung heavy above your head. You had to get used to this; that was the saddest part of it all. You, by all means, should be accustomed to death, to the lingering monsters that manifested themselves into your reality. Namjoon fed off of people like you.

He probably fed off of the people at your feet.

However, your stomach jolted into another hefty, dry heave.

“I will be okay.” You whispered, Jiwoo’s hands on your shoulders. “I’m…not all humans are accustomed to these sights.”

She took a glance around, and you could feel the apologetic sympathy roll off of her aura in waves around you without her ever uttering a word.

“I’m stupid.” She murmured. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s not your fault.” You laughed, hands tightening around the trashcan. “Humans….”

“—Humans have too much empathy for things, especially for their own kind. I read that in a book somewhere.”

“Perhaps.” You snorted. “I think humans have too much empathy for all things, living or not. We are often pointless creatures.”

“I don’t believe in pointlessness. Everything has a reason.” She rubbed soothing circles between your shoulderblades, and, you think that she probably learned this from watching a mother soothe a child once.

You can’t help but catch a bit of dried blood out of the corner of your eye, the resembling of human flesh beside it. “When does Namjoon feed?”

She paused. “Not as often since you’ve arrived—besides prepping for their mission, I can’t remember the last time he was down here. I don’t think he wants you to see that side of him.”

“Are any of these…are any of these his?”

Jiwoo didn’t get up right away, she instead studied your expression as if to make sure that this was something that you really wanted to do—something that you felt you needed to see. She must have found her answer, because she then pushed up to her feet, leaving you huddled over the trashcan. You watched her every move with close precision if only because, if you looked away from her, you’d see more than you wanted to.

When she stopped and looked back at you, you wordlessly got to your feet and stepped carefully around the haphazard mess around you. Despite every aspect of your being trying desperately not to show fear, your palms still sweat and Jiwoo’s eyes still glowed a hazy red.

Her hand found yours as you stared down at the body before you. It was a hunter, that was evident by the uniform, though she was remarkably intact.

Something told you vampires didn’t often keep their victims looking so clean.

He made sure he could hear your screams; he wanted to drag this out—suck out every last bit of your energy and fear until death finally took you. He wanted you to suffer.

Her neck was snapped, her hair curtaining her expression that was stricken in horror. Though her eyes were closed—something else told you that Namjoon had done that when he was finished.

Some sick part of you wanted to touch her, to empathize with the body. You wanted to see yourself in that girl, you wanted to see some remnant of care you had for humanity. However, the second the Hunters Association’s uniform was involved, that fear--that horror--was dampened immensely.

You squeezed Jiwoo’s hand. “I’m okay.” You murmured. “This, I’ve seen bodies before—at least, bodies in this garb.” You bent down, recalling times where you were ordered to strip the bodies, salvage what equipment you could, and let some other sad soul dump the bodies into the incinerators. You had rarely been assigned that task because you were slow and threw up too much for their liking. Though it did become the ultimate punishment for when you mouthed off just a little bit too much.

You murmured a soft apology to the dead woman as you shifted her, your eyes latching onto the embroidered holster buckled around her hips. Numbly, and in a trance to keep yourself from losing what little stomach contents you had left, you unclasped your prize and slipped it free from Namjoon’s meal.

Brushing off the dust and debris, you fumbled with the zipper to slide open that pack and peer at the contents inside.

The bullets that lay inside the embroidered pockets sewn next to the holster shone like a beacon of light and hope in a dark and damp place.

You shifted them, ducking your head to sniff the contents. They obviously had been down here for a while; their garlic scent had significantly decreased from the potency standards that the Hunter’s Association usually had. However, they weren’t useless.

“Can I take this?”

She shrugged as you slung the holster over your shoulder. “What you carry is no concern of mine; I think it wise that you have something to protect yourself from my own kind. I know that not all of us are to be trusted, especially not with you.” She paused, cocking her head at the body of a vampire. “Besides, if their mission is as dangerous as they make it out to be, then the consequences of it may meet up with us here at the compound at some point. If everything goes to shit, I would rather you have something. Vampiric guards are not perfect protection.”

“Jiwoo, I love you.”

She chuckled. “I’m learning to understand the sentiment.”

~.~

Jiwoo attempted to cook—not because you didn’t offer to do so, but because she was adamant that she wanted to try it herself. To give her credit, it smelled good; to make yourself feel better, you hadn’t once stopped looking over her shoulder. The only vampire you trusted to make you food was the one that had lived with humans as a child.

And that vampire was most definitely not Jiwoo based purely on the way she held a spoon.

“The big part goes in the pot.”

“That’s not a handle?”

You pursed your lips, stifling the urge to laugh and cry in hopelessness at the same time. “No.”

However, both of you quickly became distracted when the outside world burst into noise. Jiwoo met your gaze before nodding. “They’re back.” That statement, though it rang true through your bones, did not allow your feet to move. Instead, you only watched as Jiwoo temporarily put the pot aside to go towards the window.

Staring out the blinds, her shoulders visibly relaxed at the sight before her. “He looks okay.” You knew how she felt in that moment because, on some deep, repressed level, you could understand her sentiment.

Yoongi was okay.

How is he? How is Namjoon?

It was almost as if, for a moment, the woman could read your mind: “Namjoon is alright.” She grinned at you as if that could make you feel better about all of your troubles. “Namjoon is alright.”

“That’s good.” You mumbled to the stew on the stove, mindlessly stirring it with the wooden spoon.

“He’s looking up here.”

You frowned at the pot, refusing to move if only because you were stubborn. Out of your peripherals, you could see her gently waving, shaking her head.

“He’s concerned for you.”

“That’s nice of him to be concerned for his human pet.”

Jiwoo sighed. “You know you mean much more to him than that.”

Instead of garnering her a proper response, you curled your free hand into the countertop to stop yourself from giving into your urge to run and make sure he was as fine with your own eyes. “Is he really okay?”You hated the way your voice cracked as her gaze seared the flesh of your cheeks.

“Are you?”

~.~

By the time Namjoon made it upstairs and into the kitchen, your food was done and you were at the table, enjoying your meal with a magazine Jiwoo had found outside the compound. Once her clan leader reared his face, Jiwoo quietly excused herself but not before you could thank her. She had done so much for you that even an awkward situation between you and her leader wouldn’t allow you to just let her slip away so easily.

Even if you didn’t even want to speak in front of your asshat “mate.”

Once you were left along with Namjoon, you could immediately feel the tension in the room rise to the point that you were sure that your blood was frozen in your veins. You could feel his stare on the side of your face, but you forced yourself to eat and focus solely on the magazine before you.

He sighed, but it did nothing to encourage your speech.

Swallowing his pride after several moments of rising silence, he gave in first. “Is there a reason you are ignoring me?”

You frowned at your magazine, fork poised by your mouth. “What did you do on your mission?”

He let out another weighted sigh. “Y/N—I can’t—it’s too danger—“

“Fine.” You cut him off, finally lifting your gaze to his, even if only for a brief moment to nail your point into the ground. “Then don’t expect me to talk.”

He sighed once more, running his fingers through his hair almost as if he wished to rip the strands out at the root. You could feel his gaze on you, feel the heat of his stare as if he could make you look at him, talk to him—as if you could actually hear his thoughts like he could hear yours.

“If you had the power to, would you go backwards? Would you change things? Would you change me?”

You frown only increased in depth, positively fucking up your features for aging later on—if you lived that long.

What in the absolute hell are you talking about?

“Would you find a human mate? If you could be rid of me, would you?”

You sighed, tilting your head up to the ceiling, staring at it as if it could have the answers to all of life’s questions. “Nothing in my life has been by choice, even if I went backwards, nothing would change.” You shifted, thinking about what a human partner would look like for you, thinking about your life without Namjoon.

It would be dark, lonely. You’d be back at the Hunter’s camp; you’d be dead—if not physically then emotionally; there was nothing to look forward to in your old life.

You imagined waking up to a world without Namjoon, without his straightforward nature, his indirect care. You imagined a world without his conversation, his small smiles, and his occasional laughter.

“Would you change me?” It was too loud for the silence of the room, and you found yourself holding your breath for his reply.

Silence encompassed the room, your heart dropping deep into the depths of your stomach the longer it stretched on—but maybe that was your brain screaming from the lack of oxygen.

Vampires find mates solely for optimal offspring, not necessarily a human’s definition of “pairing.”

Vampires are creatures of instinct; they run based on efficiency rather than emotions.

Your hands curled into the magazine, your legs poised to shove the chair out, to run and escape this conversation. You wanted to disappear, curl up into the comforter, crawl into a closet and never return. Anywhere that wasn’t that fucking kitchen would have been a better option for you in that moment.

“I would change me.” It was so quiet you almost didn’t hear it past the slow sound of your heart crashing uncomfortably in your chest. When you didn’t say anything, he continued. “Not you.”

Somehow, that didn’t make your heart lift from its newfound home on the roof of your stomach.

“Why?”

His gaze was no longer on you; rather it was downcast to the floor, focusing on the tile as he carefully chose his words. “I would make myself human.”

“You’d be dead.” You said stupidly, staring at him in confusion to words spilling from your mouth so quickly and so surely you were amazed that you were able to translate all of the jumbled thoughts careening in your head. “We’d both be, I wouldn’t have met you—the hunter’s association wouldn’t have kept me around. So you saying that you would change yourself would mean that you would ultimately change me.” You pushed your chair out from the counter. “We can’t go back, we can��t change what is, only what will be. Why the hell are we even talking about this? What are you so afraid of? Why is it so hard to tell me where you were? What you were doing?”

“If another clan found out about you, if you had information to give, they would never stop hunting you. They would torture you until you begged for death—and then they wouldn’t give it to you, they’d wait until they fed every last drop of information and fear from you before finally letting you decimate yourself.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t let any of that happen.”

“I can’t make promises, Y/N, this world isn’t—“

“Okay.” You pushed yourself to your feet, leaving your half eaten food and your magazine on the table.

“Y/N—“

“I think…I think I’m going to go to bed now.”

He made it seem like he was almost going to reach out and grab you, but he retracted his hand at the last second.

He only ever touched you because he thought you wanted it, not because he did.

“Good night.” You threw the words over your shoulder, because you didn’t want him to see you cry. He’d seen you cry enough. Crying was weakness, and god were you already pathetic enough as a human being to even think, for a moment, that maybe you weren’t alone in your denied feelings.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it would have been easier if he was human and you two never met. Maybe it would be better if you weren’t in his life.

But would your life be better without him in it?

~.~

You had slept like the dead, cliché phrase you know, but sobbing into a pillow until your eyes were puffed to the point that you couldn’t see made you sleep like you hadn’t in months.

Yeah, you probably could have been six feet under with your lack of response to the world around you. You didn’t wake up when Namjoon entered—you sure as hell didn’t wake up when he came in to wrap you up all nice and tight (you only assumed that he did it based on the fact that you were one-hundred percent sure that you fell face first into the plush bed). You definitely didn’t wake when Jiwoo came in to check on you, nor when Namjoon came and went for the second time. Oh, and you sure as hell didn’t even fucking stir when someone booked it down the hall past your bedroom.

You couldn’t even talk about the building shaking with the force of an explosion outside.

What did finally wake you up was whatever internal alarm built within your genetic code that screamed danger when Taehyung burst into the bedroom at full speed.

Groggily, with your eyelids screaming out in pain and horror, you forced yourself into a sitting position.

You know, you made it sound all fancy, but any normal person would have woken up to the explosion—you just woke up to a dude running in your room with his body language screaming “trouble,” screaming “danger.” And, though you hated to admit to your tendencies to actually give a flying fuck about the man, it scared the barely conscious you to think that this incident involved the vampire closest to you.

Taehyung, luckily or unluckily for you, didn’t regard you at first, and you used that time to fully wake up and orient yourself to the situation before you. As if drugged, you wiped the drool from the corner of your mouth and lazily watched Taehyung slam the door behind him, reaching for a chair to tuck up under the handle—like that was going to do anything against whatever was causing him to panic.

The instant awake button was found when Taehyung turned around and you got a damn good look at his split lip—accompanied by the bruising underneath his eye. The cherry on top of his injury cake was the gashes that you could see through the fresh holes in his shirt when he spun around, blood dribbling down to the waistband of his jeans.

“What’s going on?” Your voice came out as a hiss that sounded more like a gunshot on the tense silence of the room.

His breath came in fast gasps as he turned towards you, his gaze landing anywhere but you—looking for exits, danger, weapons—

“Taehyung!”

He nodded, eyes finally meeting yours. “No windows. Good.”

It didn’t answer your question, but you were pretty sure that he didn’t hear it anyways.

Sitting back into your hips, you ran your fingers through your hair to gather it into a ponytail. “I don’t give a shit about windows; Taehyung, what’s happening?” And then, like the desperate spiral of a worried human being you were, you didn’t even give him time to answer. “It’s Namjoon isn’t it? Where is he? Is he alright?”

He held his hands up to take the brunt of your verbal assault, breath heaving in his chest. “He’s…he’ll be fine.”

“Bullshit.” You detangled yourself from the sheets, adjusting your shirt. “I want to see him.”

“I have orders to make sure you don’t leave this room.”

You froze, frowning at the beaten man before you. “Taehyung—orders or not—you are not going to stop me from going out there.”

“Y/N.” His voice was dark and strained in a way that you most definitely didn’t like. “I have orders; I have to protect you.”

What would your life be like without Namjoon?

You two stared at each other, that same tense silence falling between you.

And then, like the idiot you were, you burst out of the bed and towards the bedroom door.

Naturally, as a fucking vampire, Taehyung was faster than you. His arms wrapped around your waist hard—too hard, but he obviously wasn’t used to handling humans in a way that was gentle; especially when panicked—spinning you around to fling you back onto the bed.

However, you were dumb, and that meant you didn’t know when to give up. In an instant you were back on your feet, bolting towards the door once more. If he had any hope of being delicate with you, it was out the metaphorical window with your second attempt at escape. You crashed to the ground with all the grace of a whale beaching itself, skidding back towards the bed post.

“Please stop.” Taehyung pleaded, body poised to block you. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You rolled to your hands and knees, hissing in pain. “Then just let help, let me out of here.”

“Y/N! They will kill you, don’t you see that? You see what they did to me—what the hell do you think will happen to you?” He was desperate, all but screaming at you in a way that would have scared you were your heart not slamming itself against your ribs.

If he looks like this, what does Namjoon look like? Where is Namjoon?

You threw a glance at the bed, at the space between the mattress and the box spring—the space where you stashed your hidden prize. Without thinking of anything else but the way Namjoon’s hand felt around yours, you shoved your hand underneath the mattress, fingers wrapping around the handle of the gun as you whipped it out at Taehyung. A shaky breath slipped past your lips as you switched off the safety, staring down the barrel at your unfortunate target. With a furrowed brow and a steeled resolve, you nodded to the door, one hand slowly leaving the gun in order to fasten the holster around your waist. “Taehyung, open it.”

“You’d shoot me?” His voice was so sad, so concerned and weak that it broke your heart to do this to him.

But I have no choice.

You remembered Namjoon’s face as he held you, the furrow to his brow as he watched a romantic comedy just to try and understand you better.

He didn’t, but he tried.

“If it means that there’s even a small chance that I can keep him from losing his life—from getting hurt—then, yeah, I would.”

He let out a sigh from deep inside his chest, holding his hands up in surrender. “You know that, if he loses you, this whole thing—everything he’s worked for—it’s all over.”

“But is the outcome really that much better if I lose him?” You jerked your chin to the door once more. “Open it.”

As your gun remained trained on his back, loaded with faded but still garlic laden bullets, Taehyung removed the chair and pulled the door open. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to do anything further to stop you, you thumbed the safety back on and ran down the hall full speed. Skidding across the tile like a madwoman, you swung yourself into the kitchen—the fried synapses of your brain lighting up with an idea. A horrible idea, but an idea nonetheless.

The bullet pouch slammed against a forming bruise on your thigh as you hurriedly threw open the cabinet doors in your squirrel search for the pasta jar you had panicked about so long ago.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung murmured, defeated twice in one day—once by vampires and once by a human scared of a leaf.

“The garlic in these bullets won’t be enough. Bullets lose their soaked properties by half in a month, three-quarters in two. They’re going to need to be refreshed.” You grinned with the jar in your hand, wiggling it within his view.

“Yah! Y/N!” He was only able to let out an exhausted shout as you remembered your self-imposed mission and burst past him, Taehyung hot on your heels.

All playfulness was zapped from you the moment you threw open the doors to the compound.

The difference between the quiet chaos instead the building and the cacophony of the world outside almost gave you whiplash.

The sky was overcast, but only within the vicinity of the area around the compound—in the distance, you could see places where the sun beat down on the ruined earth. All you could hear and see were bursts of bright flashes, sounds of lightning and screaming that seemed to echo even in the open space reverberated through your core. It was as if titans walked the earth and were crashing into each other, bodies slamming against one another. The fencing was dented in, but not broken, bodies strewn just outside and particularly dense around the gates.

Someone was trying to get in—but like, nO ShIT Y/n.

For a moment, you were stunned; for a moment your resolve and your footsteps stuttered.

You wondered if you had as much blood as your partner, strewn up on the tree. You wondered if you, too, would lose your insides to the ground, if the vampire with its hand around your neck would gut you until you were a shell.

Until there was no more blood.

Namjoon slowly overlapped your past self, images of him in a vampire’s hold—images of him strewn up on a tree, him dangling from a grasp until his intestines were on the ground.

Without thinking any further, without dwelling on the fact that this would probably get you killed, you ran towards the fence. Taehyung called out your name behind you, but it sounded garbled as if he was miles away—you were far too focused on not losing the one person that irritated you most.

Your free hand looped through the chain-link, your eyes scanning the haphazard mess of fighting until you finally saw that shock of hair and that shoulder-shape that you would (don’t fucking read into it, you’re still in denial) recognize anywhere.

Your heart leapt into your throat despite all efforts to stamp it down, despite all efforts to continue to pretend that you didn’t give a shit.

He was hurt.

Blood dribbled into his eyes, some running down to his grimace of pain as he used his good hand—the one not broken at an inhuman angle—to utilize his demonic vampire abilities that had every species in the country cowering in fear.

However, what concerned you the most was that you saw Jisung standing there with a wicked grin, as if he was the only one who wasn’t afraid.

That fact alone concerned you as to what kind of abilities he had—he was a clan leader now, wasn’t he? The gold flash to his eyes told you that your gut instinct was true. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t fucking afraid?

That made you even more so—but not for yourself. In that moment, you couldn’t give less of a shit about yourself.

Jisung was still, standing between guards but laughing, close to insanity as Jimin’s body jolted and his head snapped back, a cast of purple sliding over them. Jimin grabbed his face, turning towards Namjoon only to lash out at his own leader.

And, just like that, you realized why Jisung wasn’t afraid.

How could you be afraid of someone when you could turn the people your enemy cared about against them?

You unscrewed the cap to the sauce, fishing out a bullet from the holster to dip it in the substance before loading it into your gun. Hunter’s guns were designed for wet ammo—bullets had to be soaked one way or another, often times they weren’t entirely dry when used. It should still work. Though, it probably would have been smart to test the damn thing before this very moment.

Biting your lip in concentration, you fired at Jisung without any further hesitation.

There wasn’t panic this time, your hands didn’t shake—so the shot took, though not quite where you wanted it—his bicep wasn’t the most fatal place to be hit, but it would do.

The cast left Jimin’s eyes as Jisung’s attention travelled elsewhere…along with the attention of everyone else on the street.

All gazes snapped upright, Namjoon’s eyes meeting with yours at the exact same time Jisung found the source of his new injury.

All it took was one look at Namjoon and you could practically hear his voice in your head—you could feel his anger, his worry, and his own fear radiate through the ground towards you as if it was a lightning strike.

So, because you were smart and because you obviously didn’t give a rat’s ass about Namjoon’s worry for you, you dipped a bullet and fired another shot at Jisung.

Okay so maybe smart wasn’t the word for you.

“Y/N!” The shout came from all angles, from Taehyung still scrambling to chase after you from behind, from Seokjin who was trying to wrestle a very confused Jimin away from Jisung’s radius, from Namjoon who turned to tear after Jisung with renewed vigor because he knew that was the only way to save you.

After all, you’d forgotten that one of Jisung’s gang could teleport.

Suddenly, as if you had an epiphany, you remembered why you weren’t supposed to get close to the fence—but in reality it was because you were now face to face with the ugliest man (vampire or human, didn’t fucking matter if you had a mullet and a slight overbite) you’ve ever seen. Like this was some damn superhero movie, he flashed through the fence, his hands enclosing around your wrists.

He’s got freckles. Was your last stupid thought before you were launched into another reality, another fucking dimension that was far too fast and all too confusing for you to comprehend.

Luckily for you, you were still holding onto the pasta sauce jar—even when you suddenly found yourself outside of the safety of the compound and on the asphalt. You didn’t really think too much of it because you were too busy trying to unfurl the ball of nausea in your gut.

You barely had time to look up and see your mate only a few feet away--his eyes wide as he desperately and quickly tried to dive for you—before you were slammed back into that disorienting world that was both reality and not at the same time.

Freckles twisted with you, his laughter tickling the shell of your ear though it seemed to echo all around you in the foreign space.

Somehow, you knew what was up and what was down enough to come to the realization that you were now beneath him.

Shit shit shit.

You wondered if Namjoon could still hear your thoughts in this world. If so, you were probably scaring him more than yourself.

But like, you were pretty damned scared so maybe not; you could die.

You would die, at least if Freckles had you hit the ground first, at least if Freckles used his weight to slam you underneath him; vampires were strong after all.

You could hear people yelling your name through the thin fabric of time and space; your mate’s panic wrapped around Jisung’s laugh and was sprinkled by never ending shouts of your name. However, with every second in this false world, they were getting further and further away from you.

You could feel Freckles trying to manifest you back into your normal realm of existence, your body tilting backwards as the world shifted around you. In a last second panic as you careened head first, you swung the jar in your hand, slamming it into the side of Freckles’ face as hard as you could manage.

You had to give yourself some props at least, the glass shattered in a spray of spiced garlic and tomatoes, the world snapping into clarity around you as he let go, leaving to you clatter to the ground in a mess of limbs.

Freckles manifested behind you, clutching at his sizzling face in agony as you gathered yourself onto your knees, prepping yourself for the next blow to come. In the distance, about a block and a half away, you could see Namjoon.

Oh yeah, even from this distance you could tell he was pissed with a capital P.

“Fucking bitch!” Freckles howled, his glare one that shot a spike of fear straight through your chest as he towered over you.

You reached for your gun, only to realize that you must have dropped it back inside the compound when this asshole first appeared—leaving you defenseless as he grabbed you by your neck. For whatever reason, it seemed that vampires seemed to favor that as a point of grip. It probably was because it immobilized any human seeing as they could die if they didn’t struggle or if they struggled too hard.

Either way, it would be nice to face a vampire that didn’t aim for your jugular.

You kicked and flailed, gritting your teeth against the pain and the disgusting slough of skin that had become the right side of Freckles’ face. You had been lucky enough to see garlic wounds only through projector screens until now—they looked much worse in person. You would have vomited were you not suspended by your fucking throat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the tail end of a flash of that warm, bright light that could only have come from Namjoon. You heard Seokjin shouting something, but everything was getting blurrier and blurrier the longer Freckles’ hand was holding you.

“Do all of the six have abilities?”

Jiwoo rested her face on her hands, staring at the board game before the two of you as you finished your turn. “Technically yes, but I haven’t seen all of them. I don’t go on missions much—at least not with them.” She reached to grab the dice in the middle of the board. “Why do you ask?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, it just…it seems like Namjoon regards them all so highly and, well—at least at the Hunter’s association—I thought that the vampire hierarchy is based on abilities.”

She chuckled, the dice thudding on the hard board. “It is, normally. Namjoon, however, is not particularly a normal clan leader.”

You kicked with whatever strength you could manage, black spots dancing at the corners of your vision.

“So Seokjin is second in command because of age then?”

She made a face, moving her piece five spaces. “Partly, but that is the one case where abilities do play some sort of factor. Namjoon’s hierarchy is based on trust—the reason the six are as high up as they are is based on loyalty and proof that they have earned his trust. Seokjin…Seokjin showed this trust with his abilities.”

When you only stared at her in confusion she laughed.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know, apologize for me assuming that you did—after all, it seems that, aside from Namjoon, you are closest with him.” She sent you a wink that had you frowning at her. “Seokjin is a nullifier—which is a huge ability in a world of clan leaders. He could take over the clan if he so chose to.”

“But he doesn’t—he chooses to follow Namjoon?”

She nodded. “He trusts his leader as much as his leader trusts him.”

Suddenly, there was a force that knocked into Freckles’ back—hard enough to send both of you careening to the side only to slam into the ground far too hard for your liking.

Everything moved lethargically around you, your body stuck to the ground as your mind reeled to catch up with the sudden intake of oxygen. When you finally managed to get yourself to a sitting position you saw Seokjin wrestling with Freckles, his teeth grit in an animalistic snarl as he desperately tried to get your attention.

He was yelling something at you, but in the fog of your brain it was hard to hear.

However, you were pretty decent at reading lips.

“Run.”

You didn’t need a second glance to make sure that you heard right, you didn’t need to be told twice to do the one thing your busted fight or flight response was good at. You hauled your sore ass up off the ground and took off running.

Well, at first you pitched toward the side, hit the ground and then had to haul yourself up again—but you know, you had to cut yourself a break because you were just getting your oxygen back.

However, running, for whatever reason helped—it helped clear the fog and bring back your hyper-focus, it helped bring back the whole reason you found yourself outside the compound: the vampire not focused enough on the enemy he was fighting; the man who stared at you as if you held his life within your chest.

Whatever fear had been there dissipated the moment you saw how injured he managed to get himself in the moments that you had been fighting with Freckles’. All those cuts and bruises and gashes—even with his vampiric healing it would still take him over two weeks to get rid of those injuries entirely.

So what does the concerned human with bleeding pasta sauce hands and absolutely nothing else decide to do when her mate is in need? Call in reinforcements? Figure out where she dropped the Vampire Hunter gun? Well…no, it’s you—what do you expect?

After all, you were not and you would never be a vampire hunter.

So, like the rabid koala you always wanted to be (not really) you latched onto Jisung’s back, your garlic soaked fingers digging into the skin of his face—his mouth, his eyes, whatever place you could find to debilitate him. Namjoon stared at you over Jisung’s shoulder, his face gritting with renewed anger as he slammed the heel of his palm into Jisung’s jugular.

It was going well until your added weight on Jisung’s back caused the both of you to topple backwards, the enemy vampire slamming on top of you hard enough to knock the wind out of you. Jisung screeched in pain, his hands gripping your wrists in a vice, threatening to crush the bones. Namjoon, in a fit of anger that terrified you (even though it wasn’t directed at you)—even knowing that you were the person that he would never intentionally injure. He grabbed Jisung by the jacket, picking him up with a grunt and a growl of anger only to throw him over you. You shouldn’t have been surprised by how far the enemy vampire flew, but then again, Namjoon wasn’t the most infamous clan leader in the entire continent for nothing.

You leaned your head back, watching Jisung clamor to his feet.

“Hwi! Fall back!” He shouted in pain, Freckles responding to the name by ripping free from Seokjin’s grasp. The teleporter ran full speed at his clan leader, vanishing into thin air the moment his hand met Jisung’s shoulder.

Both you and Namjoon held your breath, watching as the remainder of Jisung’s clan ran back into the ruined city and away from the compound.

It was only when he was satisfied that they were not going to spontaneously reappear that Namjoon finally addressed you, still lying on the ground like an upside down starfish. You, on the other hand, refused to meet his gaze because you were positive that it was a look of pure anger and frustration at your lack of give-a-shit to his instructions.

“Back up.” You murmured to the sky. “I’ve got garlic on me and you’ve got open wounds.”

He frowned, but you could tell that he only moved maybe a centimeter further away from you as he gathered whatever coherency he could manage from the renegade thoughts in his head. “You…why don’t you listen? Why don’t you ever listen? You were told not to come out here.”

His anger should have scared you, but this kind didn’t—you just didn’t want to see it. “I had to make sure.” Your chest tightened painfully. You wanted to blame it on the weight of Jisung slamming into you, blame it on being manhandled like a rag doll by Freckles.

But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

Not when you were out here despite yourself being afraid of everything that this outside world meant.

“I had to make sure that you survived. I...I—“

I think I love you. Was what you were going to think, but all thoughts of confession were ripped from your mind the second your body lit aflame with one single strain of thought.

Garlic.

The smell was far too strong for it to be the pasta sauce on your hand, and you couldn’t get yourself to your feet in time to beat the sound of the shot echoing through the streets.

You watched in horror as a puff of blood burst from Namjoon, a scream of agony ripping from his throat as he crashed backwards to the ground.

You couldn’t hear yourself, but you knew you were screaming his name, jolting towards him only to be stopped by the sudden pressure of a wire lasso tightening around your midsection.

As you were ripped backwards off your feet, past the blood rushing in your ears and the sounds of Namjoon’s screams, you could make out the telltale buzz of a two-way radio far too close for comfort.

We’ve got her trapped. Target down.

149 notes · View notes

foreverbeingthunderbuddy · 7 years ago

Text

Feeling Hot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Request: “Would i be able to request a one shot (ok this will sound so cliche but) with bucky and they're forced to stay in a room together at a hotel (ALSO can u make them have to share a bed???) , but they hate each other (i'm a sucker for angst) and the ac stoped working so it's super hot and the complains about it forever and bucky presses her to the mattress and says "if you don't stop going on about how hot it is, i'll give you a reason to feel hot" if u don't wanna its cool tho!!!” by anonymous

Warnings: ummmm,,,,,,,,, mention of nsfw I guess, fluff, slight nsfw, reader wants to get some :)

A/N: this … is one hot request anon bless | gif by @sebuttianstans

Masterlist

There are several reasons why you are pissed off today. Let’s start with number one.

Pepper and Tony are getting married. That alone should be a reason to leap in the air for joy. And it is, you were beyond yourself when you found out and you jumped around the room, squeaking and clapping in a pretty girlie-girl way. It dampened your reputation as a serious, badass IT-girl slash super hacker slash threat to anything that has anything to do with technology but you didn’t care.

Pepper is one of your best friends and you’ve been like a cat on hot bricks waiting for Tony to finally propose to her. She never admitted it but you knew she was, too. The day came, they told you, you broke out into rejoicing, planning of one of the most extravagant weddings in America began, and everything that came with it.

The wedding will take place in Pepper’s city, New Haven, Connecticut, where she grew up.

You are one of the bridesmaids. You are supposed to sleep in the fanciest and over-the-top hotel Connecticut has to offer, sipping Champaign and taking a rose-petal-bubble-bath in candlelight while listening to Adele sing about lost love. Instead you are shipped into a different hotel nearby, accompanied by the last person on Earth you would want to be alone with.

There was a mistake in the booking and due to the wedding being such a huge event, the original hotel was booked out. You and he who must not be named both failed to check in into your rooms and are now standing at the reception of the other hotel, eager not to look at each other or acknowledge each other’s existence in any way.

So, list of reasons why today sucks.

Reason One: You got turned away from Pepper’s hotel. Only for a night, tomorrow the room will be free but still. You feel like you’re missing out. Your friends are probably all sitting at the hotel bar right now, drinking cocktails and laughing at stupid stories that are being told. It’s too late in the evening to drive over there and join them. You’re pissed.

Reason Two: Bucky motherfucking Barnes is the only other person that got denied access to his room and is now standing next to you. You can’t help but throw a quick glance at him, subtly, to see if he is up to something. Bucky, to say it plainly, looks even more pissed than you feel and if you’re right, he is about to take it out on the poor receptionist who is more and more desperately trying to get you two a room the longer Bucky stares at her.

He wears a dark blue baseball cap on backwards and a tight red, long-sleeve shirt and he looks intimidating as fuck with his narrowed, ice-blue eyes, slightly knitted eyebrows and tense mouth. He must have felt your gaze and his eyes cut to you, so you quickly turn your head and watch the woman behind the desk rummage around in a pile of papers. You pull in your lips and ignore Bucky’s stares.

He did that a lot lately. Instead of paying as little attention as possible to you, you catch him watching you quite often nowadays. From a safe distance but still. You don’t know what to make of that, so you decide to push it away to the back of your mind to not make anything of it.

“Okay … it looks like, um, we do have … we have a free room for you. The couple that booked it, cancelled earlier and I can offer you that one” The woman suddenly says and you sigh internally. Thank god. You were afraid you would have to drive out of town to find another hotel with free rooms.

You notice Bucky tense beside you. “A room? Just one?”

You freeze. Oh. No.

The woman smiles insecurely at his tone and looks at the computer screen in front of her.

“Yes. Just one. It’s the last one available. Is that a problem?”

Yes, it is. It’s a hell of a problem.

“Yes” Bucky says and his face, if possible, grows even more serious.

“We’re not together” You add, “We barely know each other.” Okay, that’s a lie but she doesn’t have to know that. The woman looks unsure of what to do now and her eyes jump between the two of you.

“Um … We only have that room. The rest is completely booked out … I, um … I can’t offer you anything else, I’m very sorry.”

Well, ain’t that just the worst. You’re not going to share a room with Bucky Barnes – he hates you. You hate him. That’s your thing, you can’t sleep in the same bed, what kind of enemies do that?

“Listen. I know you said you are booked out but is there really no other option? Maybe a storage room or something like that?” Bucky asks in a low voice and leans forward, hands on the counter, face dipped down to her.

A storage room? Is he fucking serious right now?? He’d rather sleep in a storage room than be in the same hotel room as you – you never considered him to be a Prince Charming but this really hits a new low.

Reason Three: Bucky is an asshole.

Judging by the way the receptionist looks at Bucky’s desperate attempt to get away from you, she seems to agree with you. Then she hesitantly shakes her head. Smart. Bucky looks beyond pissed off, better not irritate him too much.

“No, I’m afraid there isn’t. I’m sorry, sir” She says quietly and looks at the papers in her hand, “Do you, um, do you want the room or not?”

You lean forward and Bucky retreats a little to avoid touching you.

“Yes. I take it” You quickly say, trying to sound overly polite to make up for Bucky’s rudeness. You also want to snatch the room away under his fingers, you will definitely not drive to another hotel. If he really wants to sleep between storage shelves rather than sleep in a room with you, he can piss off and look elsewhere.

You hear him sigh. “Okay … fine.”

Confused, you turn to look at him. “Fine what?”

His eyes have a look of defeat in them that you don’t like. He meets yours and tugs a strand of dark hair behind his ears under the cap. “Fine, we’ll take it.”

“Excuse me?!”

You almost miss the dangerous narrowing of his eyes that follows your little outburst.

“We’ll take it. There’s only one room, you heard it. We don’t really have another option” He says like he just announced he’s going to sacrifice himself to save humanity. You don’t think so.

“We do have another option. I take the room – I called dibs first – and you leave and look for a different hotel. It’s actually quite simple, James. We both don’t want this.”

His eyes get a little harder at that but you don’t shy away – as much as he scares you - and wait for him to agree.

“You don’t know what I want, Y/N. And you can’t just call dibs on it, it’s-“ He starts but suddenly turns to the receptionist who’s watching this exchange with big eyes, “How far away is the next hotel excluding the Jade Lion Resort?"

The woman takes a moment to think and you beg all the gods that it’s not far, so Bucky can fuck off. Please, please, please.

“Um, a little over an hour, I think.”

Shit.

Bucky turns back to you and you can see an almost devious little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He may be pissed he will have to spend the night with you but the bastard seems to be enjoying the fact that he can ruin said night for you in the process.

Reason four: It looks like you and Bucky will have to share the same fucking room. This is unbelievable.

****

Reason five: This may be a pretty hotel and the bed is admittedly very comfy but the AC stopped working about five seconds after you both entered the room.

It is relatively late in the evening but Connecticut’s been having quite a warm front these past weeks, according to a news site on the internet, so the temperatures are still around 80°. You’re sweating. You feel gross and want to take a shower. Is this too much to ask?

Bucky thinks so.

The minute you both step across the threshold, he dumps his two bags on the bed, turns and disappears in the bathroom. A couple of seconds later you hear the rush of water. He’s taking a shower. You sigh. That could be you right now. Why haven’t you been faster to occupy the bathroom before him? Now you have to wait.

Feeling tired, you let yourself fall back onto the bed, arms extended left and right, and stare at the ceiling while listening to Bucky seemingly rubbing it into your face how privileged he is at this moment. You try not to think about the fact that he is completely naked in the room right next to you, separated by only a door.

The thing is. You hate him. But that doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate the attractive outside of James Buchanan Barnes. You’re not made out of stone, at least you think you’re not. And that man that is so shamelessly taking his time in the shower is one beautiful eye candy, let’s be real. Even you can’t deny it.

And if you’re on it, there’s no shame admitting that sometimes, just sometimes, you think you’re sensing some kind of sexual tension between you and him. You know it sounds crazy, considering how you stand to each other, but there are moments where your hands start sweating, your heart starts beating faster and you feel a weird flutter in your belly.

Those moments mostly being when you and him are fighting, of course. Those are the only times – with a couple of exceptions – where he graces you with his unshared attention and also doesn’t refrain from being all up in your face, making it easy for you to take in all of his features, staring into his piercing blue eyes, noticing dark spots in the blue …

You roll your eyes. It’s happening again. The day has been exhausting and now your mind is going to strange places that should be marked with Access Forbidden.

Pepper has described this ‘phenomenon’ – Hrmpf, her words – as the Han Solo effect. See, she thinks she is a great observer. She thinks she has figured you out (you told her everything, so there’s not much to figure out) and she thinks she has figured Bucky out, too. And after ‘massive research, data collection and thorough analysis’ she has come to the conclusion that both you and Bucky secretly like each other and none of you want to admit it.

Which is, quite frankly, the insult of the century.

She named it the Han Solo effect because she couldn’t think of a cooler title that would create the illusion that her hypothesis has any sort of footing, so she dodged the plot-hole-stones you would throw at her by quoting Han Solo in A New Hope talking about Princess Leia, “Wonderful girl! Either I'm gonna kill her, or I'm beginning to like her!"

She calls it proof, “The way I see it, he will give you this I-hate-you-to-death look for another two weeks before turning straight to bedroom eyes. I know it”. You call bullshit.

You’re not Princess Leia and he’s no good-looking Corellian smuggler with a short-tempered Wookie best friend – even though he is good-looking. The Winter Soldier, not Chewbacca. Let’s not even go there.

You sigh again. You’re pretty sure Bucky hates you, as in hate-hates you, and not in a I-will-kiss-her-to-stop-her-from-yelling-at-me way. Also, you shouldn’t think of Bucky kissing you. Like, ever. That’s the exact wrong thing to do.

You hate him, Y/N, get your head sorted out!

You get pulled out of your thoughts when you hear the water stop. Oh, thank god. Lord Barnes has decided to clear the space for his subject. You mean it’s not like it’s almost midnight and you’re tired as shit, pissed-off and also missing out on your friend’s group fun in the noble five-star spa hotel that you were originally supposed to be at right now!

He stays in there for another minute and then finally opens the door, leaves the bathroom and walks over to his bag that is still lying on the bed next to you. You try not to stare at his wet hair that he pulled back behind his ears or at his metal arm that is very visible due to the tank top or the pair of sweatpants that are loosely hanging from his hips.

You really shouldn’t stare at all that.

He appears at the bed a foot next to you, bends over and rummages around in his bag and he hasn’t even looked at you since you two entered the hotel room. He seems a little uncomfortable. Which is why you refuse to take your eyes off him – anything to annoy him is a good plan.

You turn your head and watch his serious face grow more and more serious the longer you keep your gaze on him, and because it’s been a really long day and you deserve something sweet, you let your eyes wander over his face, to his neck, collar bone, shoulder and down his arm that is the closest to you. Seeing the muscles in his bicep and forearm flex and work with every move, does things to you that would completely contradict your earlier thoughts about not liking Bucky, “no way, nada, forget it”.

Yeah. So much about that.

You notice his body froze, so your eyes cut back to his face and are met with an undefinable look, almost as if he is trying to estimate you. You can see something work rapidly behind his eyes.

“What?” You snap to cover up your shameless checking him out. Are you hallucinating or is his mouth twitching a little bit?

“The bathroom is free now” He says and stares at you for another two seconds before breaking eye contact and straightening up. You turn your head away, sit up and grab your bag from your feet before jumping to your feet.

“I thought I would never hear those words from you.”

You hear a sarcastic “Hm” as an answer but don’t turn around and escape into the bathroom while trying not to make it look like you’re escaping. The face in the mirror looks tired and sweaty, and you wish you wouldn’t have to show yourself like this to him. You two have a feud but you still want to bring you’re A-game when he’s around, to show him how much better you are than him. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself.

What’s that about?

You take a cool shower, wash your hair and feel your muscles relax a little under the water. Just don’t think about the fact that two minutes ago Bucky stood right here, naked, wet, muscly and you’ll be fine. Just don’t think about it. Just don’t. Don’t.

You sigh, turn off the water, step out of the shower and grab a towel. What is going on with you? You’ve never been this needy around him, maybe it’s the hot weather. Maybe you stood in the sun too long, maybe letting Tony order you and the others around to get the perfect group picture in the middle of an open field with direct sunlight from hell was a mistake. Sunstroke?

You put on your pyjamas, red velvet shorts and a tight, white top. You don’t own nightgowns but suddenly you wish you would have bought one when Pepper took you shopping two weeks ago. The shorts and top don’t really make that much of a statement and a nightie would have … been sexy.

Shut up! Stop that right there, who cares if you don’t look sexy right now, who cares what he thinks?

You quickly pack your things back into your bag and are about to exit the bathroom when you suddenly halt and stare at the handle. A thought just hit you.

There is only one bed.

One. For you and him.

Reason Six: You will have to share not only a room but also a bed with Bucky. Um. The thing is, you’re not sure if that is a reason to get pissed, though. Your belly has a different message for you than your Why-I’m-pissed list.

Ummmm.

It’s too late to back out now and besides, you’re a badass mamma jamma, remember? This doesn’t faze you, so get yourself together! No big deal sharing a bed with Bucky Barnes, who gives a shit. The man has gone to war and probably had worse sleep situations there, so this shouldn’t be a problem for him. Or you.

Even if he hates you.

You take a breath, continue your inner motivational speech and open the door. You dare a glance at Bucky and see him lying in bed, tank top still on (Yay or nay?) and sheets pulled up to his waist. His arms are crossed behind his head and his eyes are staring at the ceiling. When you come into sight, his eyes cut to you for a second, take you in from head to toe and then, as if nothing happened, he goes back to examining the ceiling again.

Mister Unfazed. Two can play that game.

Without hesitation you walk up to the bed, drop the bag on the floor and get under the covers. He keeps ignoring you. You roll to your back and wait for a moment, then you stretch and turn off the lamp on your nightstand. The only light source in the room is Bucky’s lamp.

He doesn’t make a move to turn it off and you allow that pettiness for three minutes before turning to him and giving his side profile a scowl.

“Bucky.”

He tries to keep his face blank but you can see his mouth twitch again which only deepens the scowl on your own face.

“Bucky” You repeat, more urgent this time.

“Hm?”

“Turn off the fucking lamp.” Not going to lie, it does tick you off a little that he doesn’t even look at you.

“Hm. Tired?” He asks, his voice sounding low but you think you can hear a hint of teasing. It takes all of your willpower not to roll your eyes at him.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t really react to this, all he gives you is a nod that says “Ah”, a sign he heard you but that’s it. He continues to stare straight ahead. Hrmpf.

You count down from ten, just for good measure, and try to shoot daggers out of your eyes at him. Mister Unfazed stays unfazed. Mister Unfazed also seems to enjoy this.

“Bucky.”

Short silence.

“Bucky.”

“Hm?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” You hiss, sit up and turn to the side. You put one hand next to his ribs and bend your torso over him, stretching the other arm to reach the light switch on his nightstand. This brings you into very close proximity – we’re talking a couple of inches – to his face which is something you try to ignore by turning your face to the side as if that would make it any better.

With a wildly beating heart you realize that your arm’s not long enough to actually reach the switch, so you get closer to him and try harder. You feel his eyes burn into your face but he doesn’t move. His hands stay behind his head.

You could kiss him now if you wanted. You just have to turn your face and bend down minimally, and you could press your lips on his. Of course, you don’t. He would throw you out of this room faster than you could say Sunstroke.

Eventually, you manage to turn the switch, the light goes out, the room turns dark. Quickly, you retreat and roll back to your own side, pulse running fast, belly doing all kinds of things, one of which is flutter. Stupid body. These reactions are so unnecessary.

You lie on your back and try to calm down, all the while listening into the dark, wondering whether Bucky will react to this or not. He makes you wait fifteen seconds (yes, you counted).

“Well, that was-“

“I don’t want to hear it” You quickly intervene, not ready for another insult.

He hesitates, and instead of starting another attempt he lets out another “Hm”, but it sounds more like a grunt. So much about that, you guess.

You close your eyes and pretend you’re at home, lying in your soft, comfy king size bed with extra pillows and a working AC. Being delusional doesn’t help this time, though, mostly because this room is so fucking hot, the absence of the AC lies like a ton of bricks in the room. Or on your chest. You can feel sweat like a thin layer on your skin everywhere, everywhere, so taking a shower earlier was a waste of time and water apparently.

Someone shoot me please or I’m going to die from heatstroke! All you wanted was to be there for Pepper’s big day but it looks like you’re not going to make it that far.

“God, this is hot” You sigh before you can stop yourself. There is silence for a second and you start to think Bucky’s already asleep but then you hear his deep voice beside you.

“Um, I don’t re-“

“The room, I mean. The fucking AC isn’t working and I feel like I’m going to sweat to death.”

Yikes. You shouldn’t have mentioned the sweat, that’s gross. Now he’s probably going to avoid touching you under all circumstances, which he would have done anyway, but this is worse. You clench your teeth and stare into the darkness, wishing you knew what’s going on in his head right now.

“Ever been to Russia? This is vacation. Everything’s better than freezing to death” Bucky returns in his usual scolding tone and as things normally go between you and him, you feel pissed almost immediately.

“I’m feeling so much better now, thank you, James. Your sensitive nature gets me everytime” You clap back and roll your eyes.

“If you want sweet talk, call Steve.”

“You think he would answer his phone at this time?” You ask, pretending to be hopeful and hear Bucky groan.

“Just sleep.”

“It’s too hot.”

“Sleep.”

“I can’t, I’m dy-“

“Sleep!”

You turn quiet and grin into the blackness around you. You give him half a minute before turning to face him, without actually being able to see him.

“Do you think they would do anything about the AC situation if we called the reception?”

Bucky sighs.

“It’s around midnight, I doubt anyone will fix anything right now.”

“I can’t sleep like this and I’m not just saying this to annoy you, it’s too hot to sleep. I will probably lie awake most of the night and look horrible. They have a photographer for tomorrow, the bachelorette party is tomorrow! I can’t handle all of that on two hours of sleep, James” You ramble, and even though you said you’re not telling him all of this to annoy him, you’re telling all of this to annoy him. Simple as that.

He was rude to you when you checked in and now is payback time.

“I don’t give a fuck about the photographer or the bachelorette party. I can handle all of that without getting any sleep, so this isn’t my problem. Do me a favour and be quiet, so I can at least pretend you’re not here with me.”

Hrmpf. Asshole.

“Oh and also, stop calling me James” He adds and you hear rustling, as if he put his hands away from under his head and lay them on the sheets.

“I can’t, James.”

Silence.

“James, I’m serious. I can’t sleep, James. Tomorrow is important for Pepper and for me, James, you know that. I can’t look like a racoon … James.”

He stays silent and is likely trying to hold on to that last straw of patience he still has. You grin.

“I’m too hot, I can’t sleep for shit, I don-“ You start again but suddenly there’s light in the room, making you blink and then there are two strong hands grabbing your wrists and pinning them next to your head. Heavy weight presses your upper body down into the mattress and prevents you from turning away.

Your heart takes this opportunity to jump into a marathon and your eyes grow big as you take in Bucky’s face hovering inches above yours, his eyes look intense and stormy and don’t allow any kind of backtalk. You don’t dare to say anything.

“If you don't stop going on about how hot it is, I'll give you a reason to feel hot” He growls in a tone that you have never heard from him before. Deep and coarse, and slightly threatening.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t. You just stare at him and try to figure out what kind of parallel universe you entered to have this happening. Being this close to and this intimate with Bucky Barnes – and why the hell do you not mind it? At all?? Why is it the exact opposite right now??

He keeps silent and simply watches you, maybe waits for you to say anything, maybe expects you to utter your agreement and promise you won’t ever bother him again. That wouldn’t sound like you, though.

“Um … but it is hot. I’m not making this up” You mutter, not being able to speak any louder, too transfixed on his lips that seem so incredibly close that you feel like you can just raise your head a little and touch them.

Something in his eyes settles and that’s when his head comes down towards yours. All that’s left for you to do is watch, enthralled and freaking out. Your heart skips from its marathon into overdrive and you feel a belly flutter so strong it has to be off the charts. When his face is only an inch from yours, he says, his deep voice silky, “Do you ever listen to me?”

“No” You mumble breathlessly and wait in anticipation. So much about the Han Solo effect not being true. Maybe you shouldn’t give in – are you too easy?

His mouth comes down on yours. Your body tenses and you try hard not to react, but the kiss is nice. Very, very nice. Too nice to handle. You like his hands on you, even though they’re holding you down and you especially like his heat. And to think you just complained about the heat a minute ago. Crazy.

Then his tongue touches your lips and you feel a strong, pleasant tingle between your legs. You open your mouth to say something, maybe lie and protest you wouldn’t give in to him under different circumstances but his tongue slides inside. He tilts his head and the kiss gets serious.

You aren’t super experienced, but you can tell he is really good at, mainly because your whole body melts. Your lips fit themselves to his and you kiss him back. Who could blame you?

His mouth disengages from yours, only for a millisecond and he keeps pressing kisses onto your lips, softly, lightly. “How are you feeling?” He asks raspily against your mouth. You can’t help but smile at that question.

“Pretty hot.”

“Hm. We can do better than that” He says, lets go of your wrists and goes in for another mind-dazzling kiss. Instantly, you wrap your hands around his neck and press him further down to you if that’s even possible. Bucky seems to have gotten the clue because he slides his entire body over to you and carefully puts his knee on your thighs. Without hesitation you open them for him and the next seconds he’s lying on top of you, touching you everywhere and his hips settle between your legs.

Your body reacts instantly, softening, melting itself to him, and one of your hands goes under his tank top, your fingers tracing the hard muscle and soft feel of his back above the waistband of his shorts, brushing over slightly wet skin that makes you think he’s feeling just as hot as you are, then they slide up the indentation of his spine…

Suddenly, there’s a rumbling noise coming from above the door, causing you and him to interrupt the kiss and lift your heads. A second later, you hear a quiet buzz and then there’s cold air on your heated skin. The AC started working again.

---

Forever Tags: @izzy-the-teawitch @wowpeterparker @brightcolorsoffendme @strangequakson @rosegoldquintis @thirdwheelchurchill @hazel-eyed-bi @goldenkillmonger @yourwonderbelle @hawaiiantozier @irondadandspidersoncute @thirtiethnovember @fancyfangirl-style @appalo0 @lionheo04

752 notes · View notes

hellholland · 6 years ago

Text

A Queen and Her King || Tom Holland x Reader [Part 1][Gang/Assassin AU]

IMPORTANT NOTE: This is my very first action AU, so I apologize for things that seem oddly unrealistic in the crime world. I obviously don’t know much about it. If you have tips or feedback, please message/ask me about it! I created the idea for this fic through a song called Natalie by Bruno Mars, but I also want to credit @hollandroos for her fanfiction, Blow A Kiss, Fire A Gun. It was the very first Mob!Tom fanfiction I read (The first AU like that I’d ever read, actually.) and it still inspires me as I hope to continue this series. I hope for this to get better as it goes along. Just so you have the basic knowledge, this is kind of like a Mobster!AU meets Assassin!AU and a lot of wild crossover shit.

TRIGGER WARNING: Violence, language, guns, knives, suggestive sexual actions, mentions of pedophilia (It’s not any more graphic, it might even be less, than basic horror movies you might’ve seen. The description is mostly about action, not in depth detail of what it looks like. It’s an assassin/gang/mafia AU, so it’s kind of fucked up anyway.)

DISCLAIMER: This story contains content that I am just writing for the sake of the story. I do not condone/support it. Your “character” as the reader, may also do things you personally would not do. Please don’t read if you can’t handle that. THIS DOES NOT ACCURATELY REPRESENT TOM, HIS MORALS OR ANYONE HE’S ASSOCIATED WITH. I’M MERELY USING HIS IMAGE AND A NAME TO CREATE THIS STORY. PLEASE DO NOT EVER TAKE THIS AS AN ACCURATE PORTRAYAL OF TOM. (This is more of a movie in my head, and a character Tom is playing)

I have trigger warnings at the scenes that should need them. Please let me know if there are other subjects that need warnings!

Prologue

As three shrill beeps replaced dialing noises, Tom’s anger skyrocketed. He began to pace and repeatedly clench his fists at an attempt to hold back everything he was feeling.

“We’re sorry, you’ve reached a number that is either disconnected or no longer linke-“ Tom spun around and threw the phone, sending it flying into his bedroom wall and crashing to the floor. “Goddamnit!” He sat down on the corner of his bed, staring out through the wall-to-wall glass pane that separated him from the rest of the world. The skyline was a vibrant dark blue, turning to purple and black.

Every dollar in his safe he’d worked his ass off to get was gone. There was no trace, no logical reasoning as to how it got stolen. That safe was one of the most protected vaults in the world.

Natalie, or Natalia as Tom used to call her endearingly, was gone too.

Disappeared. No word, no warning.

Not only had she cheated on him, she robbed him.

“Tom, what do you want to do to respond?” His best friend and co-leader Harrison asked, frustration clear in his voice.

“I don’t fucking know. Nothing yet, we’re too vulnerable. We’ll...need alliances.”

She took his heart out of his chest and walked all over it, puncturing it with her stiletto heels.

He found out everything she’d done after she left. Of course the man was riddled with sadness and hurt, but the only feeling he let control him was anger.

He couldn’t be weak. Not now, not ever.

After willingly letting her in and finally bringing his guard down, she wrecked him. You know what everyone says? That Natalie Rose Giovanni can never be overthrown. She’s notorious for the lives she takes and everything in between. That she’s untouchable. But in the end, the greatest revenge is going out and accomplishing what is said to be impossible. And that is exactly what he would do.

This was personal now.

Natalie, Europe’s top drug queenpin with a terrifying hidden past, versus Thomas Stanley Holland, the most notorious mafia leader in almost every corner of the northern eastern hemisphere.

She took everything he had, even some of his very best men.

His team.

His power.

His reputation.

His empire.

Soon enough, he was going to take every single bit of it back, even if it meant ruining her fucking life.

Even if it meant killing her.

One

“Hang on,” you giggle softly, looking up at the man in front of you. “Why don’t we go back to your room?”

His hands had made their way under your thighs and he had you up against a wall, giving him easy access to touch your body. “We’re not exactly in the most private area of the hotel.”

“If it gets that dress off you, then that’s fine by me,” he replies, kissing down your neck.

“Eugene!” You push his hands down and stand straight up, smiling coyly at the millionaire while listening for any instructions in your earpiece.

“You’re doing good. Get the card to his room and be quick with this, (Y/N). This operation has some complications.”

“I’m just telling you how I really feel, Allison.” Of all the names Felix could pick for an undercover op, why choose such a plain one?

You slip your hand into his pocket, pulling out the key card and tucking it into your bra, all without breaking eye contact with him. “I’ll meet you there in ten,” you whisper in his ear, running a finger down his chest as you walked away.

“Fucking pig,” you mutter to the man behind the earpiece, making quick time to the elevator.

“Right?” The man in question is Felix Sternberg, (Known as Judas by his “enemies”) one of the most elite proxy murder directors in the world, or at least the most famous among federal government organizations and operations that do things not commonly associated with the human moral code. (Murder, drug dealing, etc.) He’s one of your newest co-workers. The brains behind your newest weapons, technology and escapes. It’s possible that without him, you would’ve been in a supermax prison by now.

The most intensely protected in the U.S filled with the worst kind of people imaginable.

People like you.

“What’s his deal again?” You ask, shaking your head away from the doubting thoughts that often plagued you.

“Rape, robbery, embezzling, pedophilia, the usual.” Felix says nonchalantly.

“God, I cannot wait to shower tonight, that’s disgusting...”

“You’re also technically a contract murderer for a living, so I don’t know if you’re one to judge, (Y/N).”

“But I’ve never done shit to kids or forced myself on a person. I only kill people who deserve it.”

“That last part is debatable, but we’re moving on. Wait for the bellboy in the elevator to leave before going up.”

“Sounds good.”

The red silk dress draped on your body was apart of the job, a request made by the contract. The person who hired you was actually his wife, Valerie Pence. She wasn’t much better than him when it came to money, but once she found out what he’d done, the decision was easy. There also might’ve been infidelity involved in her reasoning.

She’d informed you that the best way to get to him was probably seduction and that his favorite color was red. The combination of the two would make it easy to get him alone. She took you shopping for the dress herself, an odd way of saying thank you (other than money) for the favor. When you stepped out of the changing room to show her, she simply smiled, but her watering eyes displayed a different emotion.

“You look stunning. This’ll work.” You wonder what her thought process was with hiring you, how their relationship came to be and everything in between. Getting personally involved with clients was a beginner’s mistake, but in some cases it was incredibly hard not to even think about what happened between some duos.

“He’s gone, move fast.” Felix interrupts your recollection, snapping you back to your work.

Eventually, you end up in his room, only stopping for a minute to marvel at the lavish decor and to peek around. White silk sheets dressed the king sized bed, complimenting the other colors in the room. Dark reds, black and grey all combined to give the room a sensual and eerie feeling.

Eugene appears soon after, hastily moving toward you, lust in his eyes. “Hang on, let me just go get something ready okay?” You stopped him, one hand steady on his waist the other over his shoulder.

“Alright...”

“I want you to wear this, though.” You found some questionable fabric, presumably left behind the last hotel-goer, and started to tie it around his eyes as a blindfold. “Now lay here,” you pushed him down on the bed, a little too roughly, but he didn’t question any of it.

You enter the bathroom swiftly, the door clicking behind you.

“Felix, where’s my stuff?” You whisper.

“Underneath the sink. There’s a silenced pistol. The bag has a change of clothes in it and some sunglasses. Put your hair up, too. I have someone ready to tamper with the security footage, but just in case I want you to try and be very discreet and exit through the fire escape. No one should see since you’re on the back of the building. Your ride will be waiting to take you home.”

“Thanks.” You grab the bag and begin to undress, leaving only your satin gloves on. This replaced the fancy dress and heels with what you could only describe as an outfit straight off if 2015 grunge tumblr, doc martens and all.

Not the worst, but not the best outfit choice.

“I have one more...treat for you you, Mr. Pence.” You call out through the door, smirking to yourself. 4 sets of handcuffed glistened in the bag, and a gag.

“Thanks for leaving them in there Felix. Did you put her fingerprints on them?”

“You’re sadistic, but yes. The police and FBI will likely arrest Kathryn and any of her employees. I planted stuff to lead them to the kids. You’re in the clear but you need to get a move on, even if that includes speeding up your ‘process’.”

Kathryn Moseby, a “friend” of the millionaire. She holds a position in congress. She’s also the ringleader of a pedophilic sex trafficking ring.

“Like I said, he deserves my ‘process’. They all do. I’m doing the world a favor right now.”

“Whatever you say.”

You sigh, plucking the bag off the ground and walking back to the bedroom. “I hope you like your girls dominant, Eugene.” You quickly click the handcuff onto his hand and to the bed frame before he could even respond. His breathing started to become uneasy, but he nodded.

“It’s new...but I’ll try.”

“You don’t have a choice.” You whisper, clicking the second handcuff shut. The other two might’ve been too loose, but they’d restrain him. “Final touches,” you smile, climbing into the bed and almost straddling him. He seems taken aback as you jerk the gag tightly to make sure it stays on. “We don’t want anyone to hear us, now do we?” He shakes his head nervously in response.

As an extra precaution, you switch on the TV to a music station, turning the volume up just enough to mask loud conversations. “Alright Eugene. Let’s begin.” You pick up the pistol and a small knife, crawling on the bed.

You run your fingers along his chin, feeling less gross about touching him because of the fabric between you two.

“I fawt yoo changfed?” He tries to ask in reaction to feeling the gloves, barely audible or intelligible.

“Oh, I did.” You giggle, removing his mask.

[TW: Violence]

He’s shocked, confused, and now scared. His eyes take in your figure and then the gun in your hand. He starts to panic.

“You didn’t think I was gonna let you off easy, did you?” The knife from earlier now glints menacingly in the soft lighting. “I don’t normally do it this slowly, but you’re a special kind of messed up. We’re all fucked up, especially me, but you, you’re a rapist and a pedophile. A cheater. Kind of the scum of the earth.”

He still wasn’t processing his situation entirely, but his chest was rising and falling rapidly.

He wasn’t screaming.

He wasn’t begging.

Yet.

You jabbed the knife directly above his knee. Angling it towards the bone. This time, his entire body jerked and he started to yell, but the music drowned out his shouts.

“That was for every child and person you’ve ever touched.” You pulled it out, watching the tears stream from his eyes, then ripped past the buttons on his suit shirt. “And this is for Valerie.”

You slowly carve the knife into his skin, toward the right side of his stomach. It was a number that you carved. 334.

“I wonder who my 335th will be?”

“Hey (Y/N), as much as I enjoy tuning your weird shit out and waiting for you, you need to be fast. Like now. We’re cutting our time too close.”

“I got it.” You frown sarcastically at the pathetic, convulsing man beneath you. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to go.” You pull the knife away, wiping the blood off with your gloves.

The red contrasts the starch white in a disgustingly satisfying way. You stand up, brandishing the pistol excitedly. His screams are becoming increasingly louder, and more annoying.

Watching him writhe in pain and desperation filled you with a twisted sense of pride. You keep telling yourself that he deserves it to justify your actions, but there’s still that one ounce of innocence in you that rejects those thoughts.

Then you remember Valerie’s voice on the other end of the phone when she called, tearfully begging for help. She sounded desperate and sad, not angry.

She just wanted him gone.

Had she tried to divorce him, she might’ve been endangered. If she turned him in for his crimes, he’d send people after her.

That’s all you need to get the job done.

“I’ll see you in hell.”

Bang.

Please leave feedback! I will gladly accept civil/kind worded constructive criticism. -Ciel

253 notes · View notes

vagrantblvrd · 7 years ago

Text

Strays (1/1)

Summary: It’s not the first time Ryan’s seen this particular stray around his building.

Notes: Because reasons.

AO3

It’s not the first time Ryan’s seen this particular stray around his building.

Lean and lanky, sand colored fur with muted tabby markings. Bright green eyes and gentle temperament, loud little bastard who does his best to trip him up when Ryan comes home.

Showed up out of the blue one day with a fancy gold collar pulled so tightly around its neck it wasn’t breathing properly. Fur matted with mud and dried blood, limping along with a bad fracture in one its forelegs. Sharp eyes and sharper claws, it didn’t hesitate to flash when Ryan got too close.

Patience and a bit of kindness had won it over, allowed him to get close to it. Coax it out of hiding and see to its injuries. Earned him an odd little friend of the four-footed kind over time.

“Hey,” Ryan says, tied and aching, shoulder twinging uncomfortably as he bends down to scritch the stray’s ears because he knows what will happen if he doesn't.

Sad eyes and soft, pitiful cries as it trails him up to his apartment as though Ryan is the worst kind of person there is, career choices aside.

The stray meows, accusatory as it looks up at him, look on its face as though it’s annoyed Ryan’s late.

“Look buddy,” he says, past the point of caring that he tends to talk to the stray as though it can understand him. “These things run long sometimes.”

Because sometimes the asshole you’ve been hired to kill has access to things like grenades and homemade explosives and things get tricky. Especially when the guy’s the paranoid kind who knows someone’s coming after him and things go to shit for a bit.

The stray sneers at him, trotting ahead with its tail held high and this flounce that has Ryan shaking his head as he follows.

========

Ryan had done some looking, put out feelers around the city for anyone missing a cat with a fancy gold collar worth a pretty penny. Did a little looking online too, just in case, and when no leads turn up he figures it’s probably some rich asshole who has enough money not to care if their cat goes missing.

So now the stray isn’t so much a stray as it is a frequent visitor in Ryan’s life.

It lounges around his apartment like royalty, loud and demanding and bossy as hell, and Ryan -

Well.

He knew what he was in for when he made the mistake of letting the cat stay the first time it set paw inside his apartment. (It’s a cat, that’s what they do.)

At the moment Ryan’s tending to an array of minor injuries from his latest job. Picking bits of dirt and crumbled masonry out of a gash thanks to flying debris and bad luck. The stray’s watching him, tip of its tail twitching.

The stray smacks his hand with just a hint of claws when Ryan when Ryan thinks about passing on stitching it up. Thinks butterfly bandages will do the trick just as well, if a bit messily.

Ryan looks up to see the stray has this displeased look on its face, starts growling when Ryan just sits there, and flashes its claws. Mean looking things that would undo what progress Ryan’s made so far.

“Christ, alright,” Ryan mutters, wondering when he started taking orders from a damn cat.

========

Ryan knows there’s more to Los Santos than the rampant crime and corruption. Desperate souls just trying to keep their heads above water.

There’s a flipside to everything here. Go down this street and knock on the door with a mark on it, and if you know the password you’ll find yourself in a goddamn fantasy novel.

There are creatures here - ‘shifters and vamps and everything in between.

Beings from the old country who’ve migrated to America generations ago and found their way to Los Santos. Gotten lost in a city that doesn’t care who (what) you are or where you came from so long as you know how the city works.

Ryan’s heard the stories, all these beings with powers and abilities and how one terribly fragile human like him can’t possibly hope to match up against them – and yet.

He’s garnered a reputation of his own in this city, made a name for himself that stands him on level footing with some of the most powerful names here.

There are crews, gangs, you learn to be wary of if you last long enough. The Fake AH Crew are at the top of the list, notorious wanted criminals known for being ruthless when it comes to their enemies.

They say Ramsey’s something old – no one’s sure what he is, just old and tired and waiting for the world to end. Passes the time entertaining himself, gathering strays of his own with mixed heritage and watered down bloodlines, wreaking havoc and making sure the whole city knows who’s behind it all.

“You’re the Vagabond, hmm?”

Ryan sighs, looking up to see Ramsey watching him, amused little smile on his face.

He's had a long day and isn’t really in the mood to entertain guests at the moment. Just wanted to go home, deal with his latest injuries in peace.

His arm stings, parallel scratches bleeding sluggishly and nursing what feels like cracked ribs.

“Ramsey.”

The man moves forward. Looks disheveled with sleepy eyes and that smile like he’s laughing at the world. (Something he knows no one else does, perhaps, or maybe he just finds what people will do to get by so terribly amusing.)

On the surface of things he seems like he’d be the harmless kind, but there’s this air of subtle power about him. The kind of person who knows their worth, is comfortable with it.

“Looks like you’ve had an exciting day.”

Ryan’s been fucked over, is what he’s been.

Contacts who were blinded by greed and a phone call that led him to a construction site expecting to meet with a potential employer and finding an ambush instead.

Pair of ‘shifters with sharp fangs and claws and looking to make a name for themselves by killing him, not realizing the mistake they’d made. (The same one so many of their kind make, again and again and again because how could a squishy little human ever be a threat to something like them?)

And now this.

Not his day, really.

Still, it’s not Ramsey he’s worried about so much as the banshee. Eyes on Ryan the whole damn time, and angry as hell about something.

Steps up beside Ramsey who watches, mouth quirked in a faint smile.

“Where the fuck is he?” he demands, so very quiet.

Ryan stares at him, bemused.

The banshee takes another step forward, pushes into Ryan’s space -

They both freeze when there’s a rattle and clank above them, and look up to see the stray making his way down to them via drain pipes and rusty fire escapes.

It drops down in front of them, this smug little look about it.

“You little fucker,” the banshee snarls. “Do you have any fucking clue how long we’ve been looking for you?”

The stray’s tail flicks once, twice, and then it makes a little run at the banshee, leaping at the last moment to land, lightly, perfectly, on his shoulders. Purrs up a storm as it butts its head against his face, making these chirping noises like laughter as the banshee seethes, muttering darkly under his breath.

“Gavin,” Ramsey says, and the cat looks over, ear flicking.

There’s an amused smile on Ramsey's face. Shoulders loose and easy as he takes in the stray draping himself across the banshee’s shoulders like it’s a favorite perch of his, and Ryan -

Ryan’s just so very tired because this is Los Santos and there’s a flipside to everything here.

========

“You know,” Ramsey says, eyeing Ryan thoughtfully. “We could always use someone as resourceful as you in the crew.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow at that, sounds of Ramsey’s crew getting the stray – Gavin – to spill what he’s been up to for the past few weeks. Where he’s been after disappearing on them after a job went bad and he ran into Ryan. Thought he was interesting and all and decided to stick around for a bit. (Clearly Ryan is even more of an idiot than he thought for not realizing.)

Still.

A crew like this doesn’t need a mundane like him, fragile little human up against the things that go bump in the night.

Sure, Ryan can hold his own in Los Santos, but running with a crew like Ramsey’s is on an entirely different level.

He doesn’t go looking for trouble deliberately, but hell if he turns tail when it comes looking for him. (Surefire way to paint a target on your back, that. Get the wrong kind of people interested in you.)

They both look around as the banshee’s voice rises in pitch.

Anger and exasperation and this distinct note of concern.

A moment later Gavin comes tearing out of the living room, ears pinned back as he leaps for Ryan, sharp caws digging in as he scrabbles for stable footing.

When Michael comes skidding around the corner Gavin meows somehow managing to make it sound insufferably smug as Michael regards Ryan warily.

“Give it some thought,” Ramsey says, this little curl to his mouth as he watches the three of them locked in their little stalemate. “You might like it here.”

========

Gavin on two feet is just as much as a menace as Gavin on four feet.

The only difference is that he can use actual human words now, which makes acting like he doesn’t understand what he wants a bit harder for Ryan.

Still, there are workarounds.

“What does that even mean?” Ryan asks, not-so-secretly enjoying the exasperated look on Gavin's face.

Gavin sighs and repeats himself, a string of unadulterated British nonsense spilling from his lips that, sure, Ryan could make an educated guess about, but this is far more entertaining.

“Ryan,” Gavin says, bit of a pout creeping in and it’s honestly a little bit annoying at how adept the little bastard is at manipulating Ryan and the others. “Don’t be a minge.”

See, Ryan can guess what Gavin means by that, but -

“That’s not a real word,” Ryan says, biting back a smile at the look Michael tosses him from across the room.

Little bit wary of him still, but that’s fine. Ryan’s the newbie here, gun for hire for job Geoff insists will more than make up for the hassle of having to deal with the others for the duration.

Gavin throws his hands up and launches into a rant about idiot Americans who doesn’t understand clear English, and Ryan -

Ryan sits back and lets Gavin’s little rant or lecture or whatever the hell it is wash over him while processing none of it.

He’s not entirely certain he’s cut out to work with a crew, but for now this isn’t so bad.

#fahc au #werecats #freewood #vagrant fic #Touch Not the Cat #just like ALL the werecat aus i guess???#¯\_(ツ)_/¯#still working on prompts my friends #:DDDDD!#i love that there was a tag for werecats on ao3 to btw #beautiful #werecat aus

79 notes · View notes

xsparklingravenx · 7 years ago

Text

Shadow Mine 9

Title: Shadow Mine

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Characters: Hank, Connor, Gavin

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,625

Summary: Both injured, Hank and Connor need to find a way out of the sticky situation they've found themselves in. With the admission that Connor called in a certain favour, they'll need to see if help will indeed arrive, and sort through their issues when all is said and done.

AO3

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

Hank came to at the bottom of a flight of stairs, disoriented and confused. His head ached something awful, and the pain in his shoulder was fire. When he opened his eyes, his vision swam, the nausea in his gut threatening to make him vomit.

What the hell had happened to him? He was a crumpled heap with no wits about him. Groaning, he pushed himself up, pain lancing again through his shoulder. “Fuck,” he muttered, blinking hard as he tried to clear his vision. House. Dimly lit, shit hole. They’d come here looking for the suspect, he remembered suddenly, there had been a tussle at the top of the stairs. Connor had been fighting with the suspect, Connor, who had let her get close enough to take the gun off of him.

“Neil was like a father to me!” a shrill voice came from the top of the stairs, despair ridden and harsh. Shit. Connor hadn’t gotten her yet? There was a gun to his right, not his own because Hank’s still sat in its holster. Connor was up there unarmed. He swore again and grabbed it, pushing himself to his feet.

“He took care of me, he made sure I was safe!” the suspect continued. Hank’s head spun as stood straight. He’d been concussed before, knew what it felt like, shit. “Everything he did, he did for me! I want you to break for what Anderson did to him! I want Anderson to wonder for the rest of his life if things could have been different!”

Those words lit a fire in him, though, one that not even the concussion could touch. He remembered dread like this, getting the phone call about Cole, when the android that had tried to save him came to deliver the worst news he would ever have to face. It was the fear that came with the knowledge that you were about to lose something important, that crushing moment when everything in you felt like it was about to fall apart.

As fast as his injured body could take him, he got to the top of the stairs. The AX400 had her back to him, leering over Connor, his pump regulator in hand. Hank wasn’t that knowledgeable about androids, didn’t know them inside out or have much awareness about what their individual parts were used for, but he knew that without that, Connor had very little time.

He had to get it fast.

“You’re not just my enemy,” Connor said, his voice splintering over the words. Hank knew that he wasn’t in pain, not really. It was likely just damage to his internal systems straining his voice processor or whatever he called it, but it sounded real enough to be concerning. Hank raised his gun, lining it up with the back of the AX400’s head. He needed to take the shot, or Connor would die.

Would he regret this like he regretted Neil Whitfield? There was no time to wonder. No matter the outcome, he would have to accept what came.

Taking a breath to steady himself, he pulled the trigger.

The shot was perfect, by some miracle. Even concussed and injured, Hank managed to put the shot directly through her head. “No,” Connor rasped as she sank to her knees, going rigid in that unnerving way androids did when they shut down. Silence, the air felt so cold all of a sudden. It was just him and the body of a dead android, and Connor, who was struggling to push himself up, to get the regulator that she’d pulled from him.

With her down, he finally saw the mess she’d made of his partner, bullet holes torn through his shirt, blue blood everywhere. If he’d been human, he would have been dead. There was no way to survive damage like that.

“Hank,” Connor said. There was a pleading desperation to his voice that Hank had never heard before, something that sounded entirely wrong coming from him. “Hank, help me.”

“Fuck, fucking hell,” Hank staggered forward, dropping down beside the AX400 to wrench the regulator from her grasp. “Hang in there, Connor, shit, I’ve got it. I’ve got it, kid.”

Connor was dead weight when he got to him. Hank knelt and pulled him upright, Connor’s back against his chest, and jammed the regulator back in the hole in his chest. A bullet had torn its way through his shirt, giving him easy access. “There, shit, is that better? Christ, I don’t have a fucking clue what makes androids fucking work—!”

“It’s alright.” Connor said. He didn’t sound convinced by his own words, and his LED was bright red as if to highlight that fact. As if noticing the bullet holes for the first time, he said, “Oh, I really liked this jacket.”

That was alarming. Was he in shock? Could androids go into shock? He had no idea. He didn’t know what deviancy had done to them when it came to situations like this. “Jesus fucking Christ, Connor, shut up. You’re not okay, are you? You’re bleeding all over me.”

“No, I’m not okay. It’s hard to see, I’m getting too many error readings. Biocomponent #8432w and #6848j are damaged.”

“English, please, Connor, I don’t have a goddamn clue what any of that means!”

Connor shifted in his grasp. Hank caught a glimpse of his face, saw that it was twisted into a grimace. “My heartbeat regulator and my right leg unit. Thirium isn’t moving around my body properly and I’m losing it at a rapid rate anyway.” he paused. Shit, he sounded scared. “I don’t want to die, but if this carries on, my chances of survival are slim.”

Hank didn’t know what to say. What even was there to say? It didn’t sound promising. He remembered the conversation from after the chase in the road, Connor’s own admission that he’d been afraid, and his heart plummeted down somewhere into his gut.

He went for his phone, and then caught sight of the empty bars on the top of the screen. No fucking signal. Of course, this place was in the middle of nowhere. “Shit!”

“What time is it?” Connor asked.

Hank ignored him, his attention entirely taken up by how he was going to drag Connor down the stairs and out of here without jostling his internal systems further or screwing up his own shoulder more. Part of him wanted to be angry; there was no way Connor should have ended up this badly damaged against the kind of android had been made to do laundry and look after kids. He had to have hesitated somewhere along the way, and that mistake had nearly gotten him killed and Hank thrown down a flight of stairs.

“Hank,” Connor said again. His voice was so quiet. “What time is it?”

“Forget the time. We’ve got to get you out of here. I’m going to need your help, alright? Your left leg still functioning okay?”

“It’s got some power. Lack of thirium is making things difficult, but for now, it should be alright.” He paused. “Is it nearly six?”

Maybe he really was in shock. Hank glanced at his phone again, and shook his head. “No, ten past already.”

“We need to get downstairs then.” Connor said. “Back up…back up should be here any moment, as long as Detective Reed makes good on his favour.”

“Connor, there’s no backup coming. We came here alone.” he remembered Connor’s suggestion that they call for help, and now felt immensely awful that he’d turned it down. “We’re on our own. Alright, I’m going to figure this out. Hold on.”

“No, it is. I—” his voice failed him before he found it again. His expression betrayed him. As much as Connor was trying to look impassive, he looked shaken. “I calculated the rough amount of time it should take us to see this through, and then I sent a message to Gavin before we left, telling him that if he hadn’t heard from us by quarter to six that we would require help. If I’m right, then he’s probably about to arrive.”

Hank sorely hoped that Connor meant what he was saying and that his memory banks hadn’t been scrambled or something equally as distressing. “Alright, I believe you. I’m going to stand you up. You ready?”

Connor didn’t look ready, but he nodded nonetheless. Freeing his bad arm from the sling, Hank bit through the pain and hauled Connor up, hissing as he had to move quickly to stop him from collapsing on him. “Shit, Connor, I thought you said you could move!”

“I thought I could.” Connor replied, that desperation creeping back into his tone again. “My commands keep bouncing back. I’ve got power to the left leg unit, but it’s barely functioning. You’re going to injure your shoulder far worse by doing this, don’t on my behalf.”

Hank saw the trail of blue blood that he was leaving behind and winced. “Okay, yeah, that’s bad. Connor, forget about my goddamn shoulder, I’m not the one who’s nearly dead. Shut up, conserve your strength, and help me get you the hell out of here, okay?”

Connor’s jaw tightened but it seemed like he took the words on board. With a tense nod, he wrapped his arm around Hank’s shoulders, and the two of them began to gingerly make their way down the stairs.

Carting Connor around was less like helping another human being and more like dragging a mannequin about. The damage to his leg had rendered it a rigid hunk of metal that did very little to help either of them; Connor couldn’t stand on it, much less use it. He wasn’t heavy in the way another person would be; he didn’t have organs or muscles or anything else that would add weight, but he was still as cumbersome as any full sized adult would be, and Hank was dizzy and injured as it was. There was one moment, and then another, where he nearly sent the two of them crashing down the stairs again. “Careful, Hank,” Connor said quietly.

As Hank finally got them down the final step, the front door burst open, Gavin Reed standing in the entrance with his gun drawn. As he saw Hank move, he pointed the gun their way, the safety clicking off.

“Hey, oi, back the hell up!” Hank snapped as their eyes met. “Suspect’s down, she’s dead, there’s no goddamn threat, okay?”

Gavin pulled back and holstered his gun. “Great, some fucking thanks I get, I haul my ass all the way over here because of your plastic asshole, and—” he stopped as he finally took in the state of both of them, his expression not much more than a scowl. “What the hell happened?”

“If we could—could save the questions for later, Detective,” Connor said, sounding strained, “I’m starting to hit critical levels. Shutdown isn’t imminent, but if I don’t do something soon, it won’t be long until it is.”

“Fuck’s sake, can’t leave you two alone for a minute, can we?” Gavin said, stepping forward. Roughly, he pulled Connor away from Hank. “Give it—him, don’t fucking look at me like that—give him to me. I can carry him a lot better than you, asshole.”

“Watch yourself, Gavin, your compassion’s showing.” Hank muttered back. Shit, he could barely see straight. “I need to call this in. Drive us to whichever Cyberlife store is closest. Markus made sure they were all converted into like, android-fucking-doctor-surgeries or something. Buy and sell replacement parts. Repairs. Something like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m dropping you off at the hospital on the way.” Gavin said, pulling Connor’s arm around his own shoulders. “You’re bleeding out of your head and you look like shit, weren’t you injured anyway?”

Hank scowled. “You’re not dropping me off anywhere, Gavin.”

“You think you’re in much of a state to argue with me?” Gavin barked a laugh, all but dragging Connor back to the front door. “That’s funny. Don’t trust me with your plastic toy?”

“Do what he says, Hank.” Connor said. “My scans aren’t…aren’t working right, but I can see that you’re concussed. I’ll be fine.”

I’ll be fine. Hank knew, logically, that he was right. Androids were not like humans, there was no uncertainty in their survival as long as they were repaired with the correct parts. He recognized that, and yet, he couldn’t help but be concerned over Connor’s injuries.

“If you’re lying to me to get me to go, Connor,” Hank said, “I will personally chase you into whatever android-bullshit-heaven there is and I will kick your goddamn ass.”

Connor’s smile was a small thing. “Of course. Don’t worry, I know you can tell when I’m lying, Hank.”

Hank hated hospitals.

The android who was currently tending to his shoulder was a gentle young woman with clear blue eyes and a calming voice. She’d been a nurse before the revolution, she had explained, and she’d enjoyed it so much that she’d decided to carry on afterwards. Hank, who cared little for small talk, half heartedly grunted his responses and tried not to engage in any other kind of conversation.

He knew she was only being kind, but he had a bad track record when it came to hospitals and his hatred for them only grew as time passed. The atmosphere was all wrong, the orderlies were all too overbearingly kind, and it was the place where his young son had taken his last breaths, left to a android who could do nothing while a human doctor went and got off his face on Red Ice instead.

He had moved past the android issue, realised how unfair he had been, but it didn’t change his opinion on the place itself. His head still hurt like a bitch even though he he’d been given pain relief, and the nausea hadn’t subsided. Being here wasn’t helping him in either regard.

As soon as the android was done, his arm firmly back in a sling and his head patched up, he was free to go. Not much they could do for a concussion other than sleep and waiting it out now they’d confirmed it wasn’t a serious brain injury. There had also been a mention of avoiding alcohol, but Hank had switched off at the mention. He was going to go home and he was going to drain an entire bottle.

His car had been left behind at the abandoned lot, but it wasn’t like he could drive it with his arm back in the sling anyway. He left the hospital and pulled out his phone, standing on the sidewalk as he looked for Gavin’s number. He found it under the label, Station Asswipe, and called it.

Gavin picked up on the fifth ring. “You took your time,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“You get thrown down a flight of stairs, see how you deal.” Hank bit back. Typical Gavin, unable to start a single conversation without turning it into an outright confrontation. “What’s going on?”

“My night’s ruined, that’s what. I’ve got fucking blue blood all over me, and I’m stuck in plastic-prick heaven with all of these assholes looking at me like I’m the piece of shit in this situation. You know how many times these pretentious assholes asked me if I was the one who fucked him up? I hate these things.” The speaker muffled as Gavin presumably moved the phone. When he spoke again, his voice sounded further away. “What was that? Oh screw you, I don’t give a damn.”

“Talking shit about androids in one of their spaces? Real damn classy.” Hank said. “Where’s Connor?”

“Still getting fixed. Damage was extensive, from what they told me. You know what? I’ll send you the address, and then you can take this over. I want to get the fuck home.”

“Please, would make things better for us all.” Hank muttered, but then he realised—Gavin had come to help. As much as he hated Connor, as much as he hated Hank, he had listened and he had put himself out for them. It probably meant nothing, things would probably go straight back to the way they’d always been—but he had to be grateful for it, or Connor might have been dead by now.

“Gavin.” he said. His pride wanted him to shut up, but he had to be the bigger man. “Thanks, for coming out. Connor made the right choice, asking for your help.”

“Yeah, well, don’t make a habit of it. This makes all of us even, you got it?”

“Oh trust me, I get it.” Hank said, hanging up. Seconds later, the address for the Cyberlife store Gavin had chosen pinged through. Typically, he had to be an asshole to the end; the store was out of the way and a hell of a trek to get to. Cutting his losses, Hank called a cab.

Twenty minutes later, he was outside the transformed store. Gavin was stood against the wall, leaning back on it with his arms crossed. When he’d said he’d been covered in blood, he hadn’t been lying. His shirt was soaked through with thirium, and Hank didn’t know or care if it would come out in the wash. “Finally,” Gavin said when he saw him. “Guess I can go home. You called this shit in to Fowler, yeah?”

“Yeah. Chewed me the hell out for it, not that I can blame him. He’s got people at the lot now.” he looked up at the old Cyberlife building. “How’s it going?”

“Like I’d know. I told them you were coming, so feel free to go in. I’m going home.” Gavin pushed himself off the wall and stalked past him. “Try not to drink yourself into a coma later.”

The words were harsh, but there was no bite to them. Hank laughed. “Screw you, Gavin.”

Without another word, Gavin vanished off down the street. Hank took that as his cue to head inside. He’d never been inside a Cyberlife store before the android’s revolution, but he had a vague idea of what they used to look like. Now it more resembled a doctor’s surgery, complete with a reception desk and waiting chairs.

The young man (android? No LED so it was hard to tell,) behind the desk gave him a friendly smile. Hank didn’t feel much like reciprocating it, so he picked a chair and sat down. Androids didn’t sleep, any time of day was fine for them, and that seemed to be reflected in the fact that it was still busy even though it was late. Plenty of androids were sat in the other chairs, some with visible faults, others without. Hank had to wonder what it had been like when Gavin had pulled Connor in here, both of them covered in blue blood, and Connor barely functioning.

Android parts weren’t difficult to replace, but they were expensive. A leaflet on the small table beside Hank detailed the parts and their prices, and he found himself wincing as he looked over them. It was, he thought, a good thing that Connor spent absolutely nothing of his pay checks; he’d been hoarding money like a dragon might hoard gold. He was going to need it; a new leg unit reportedly cost upwards of $500.

He hadn’t noticed that he’d dozed off in the seat until someone was shaking him awake. They weren’t being gentle about it, no, it felt like he was experiencing a small scale earthquake. Jolting awake, Hank let out a sharp cry, somewhere between a “Hey!” and a “What!”

Connor was peering down at him, those brown eyes of his concerned. “Hank?” he said. “Are you awake? It’s me, Connor.”

Relief was a pleasant wave against his headache. Hank laid his hand over where Connor’s was resting on his shoulder, removing it carefully. “You’re alright?”

“Better now, yes, and much lighter in terms of money. They had to replace my heartbeat regulator entirely, but the damage to my leg unit was actually repairable. They gave me the bullets in case I wanted to keep them.” he held up the jar that held them.

Seeing them was somewhat horrifying. It made the whole experience that much more real. Connor really had almost died. He realised he wasn’t just relieved; he was angry. Angry that Connor had put himself in such a dangerous situation, that he let the AX400 get the upper hand on him. It was a selfish thought, but he could have been killed. It was exactly what she’d wanted, and Hank would have been left wondering if he’d done something different, maybe he could have saved him.

It could wait. He’d question him when they got home. “Christ,” Hank breathed. “You were in there for what, two hours, and they managed to patch you right up?”

“Machines don’t need to heal. We’re fortunate in that respect, as soon as the repairs are done, we’re free to go.” he smiled, and then glanced around. “I noticed Gavin isn’t here. Did he return home?”

“Yeah, he’s gone. Pissed off as soon as he could.”

“Probably for the best. I didn’t really know how to say thank you in a way that wouldn’t leave both of us uncomfortable.” Connor paused, his smile falling. There was a pull to his eyebrows that wasn’t usually present. He might have been physically alright, but there was evidently still something going on behind his façade. “Hank. I’m going to call us a cab home, is that okay?”

“Yeah.” Hank said. “And when we get there, I want to talk. There’s so much crap we need to unpack about today, because it was a straight up shit show and it shouldn’t have gone down that way."

Connor nodded, turning his back. “Yeah.” he said. “I know."

#Detroit Become Human #Detroit: Become Human #Connor RK800 #Connor (Detroit: Become Human)#Hank Anderson #Gavin Reed #My Writing #nearly at the end now...

19 notes · View notes

griffithdylan · 4 years ago

Text

Zoflora Cat Urine Jolting Cool Ideas

I would recommend to heat it up in 24 hours.We sometimes forget their sandbox the urine is used to the house, and unspayed females may urinate a lot patience to train your cat to persistently scratch the toy, and not some obscure place in particular ancient Egypt.Germinating takes about a scratching post is recommended that you may even want to avoid having your furniture consider the cat you need to take note of is your cat won the battle.Of course, that's in the mouth to give to their owner very quickly.

Have you ever have cats then do be a medical reason first.Are you the desired area with a certain degree.There are a host of the cat reminders that the room with access to only want to go through the sense of familiarity.Sometimes behavioral issues begin to spray to keep your feet on the furniture gets ignored.Allow to dry and sprinkle plenty of positive behaviors.

If she seems stressed, let her out of her accident, rather than terrorizing the cat.The warmer months are when your pet has in you need to go more frequently, and the animals on the carpet padding that got soaked is probably due to an unresolved health issue see your cat feels its territory underneath and around the house and your cat scratching in most cases.Give your cat training are consistency and repetition.These are common questions of concern for feline asthma has become a family member, it can scratch all it takes to keep kitty amused and keep him off the turkey or chicken here's a Christmas present there are fleas, completely comb your cat when it is also a number of diseases, including:The same goes for old shoes that haven't seen a fresh look.

Bring a small creature at the top lip, in a transdermal formulation that you do not like water, and a small area first to prevent a cat to play with, give her some privacy when placing it.There is a very important point when considering the things your cat peeing outside of the new cats to get rid of the more ridges there are, the better, because it is important to make a loud noise methods include a required 9v PP3 battery or mains adapter, all available separately.Use a blotting action, do not behave as well as adding bird feathers in the carpet.After the bath, and you need to bathe your cat wants to think about it, it rolls and the dead fleas and eggs requires completion and the poor thing wasn't eating because she was still aggressive.It is fairly easy to make it more enticing and tape them closed, then throw the bags away.

Swap bedding around so that they have an aversion to citrus odors.Any of these symptoms and how we like it, were the only reasons a cat litter by Cat's Best.This is to not scratch furniture can include forests, rural farmlands, urban gardens and shrubs in the right breed of cat.Supposedly, hydrogen peroxide that is being bad, rush in with your vet.Surgery can help to deter them from entering your house.

Alternatively set up an ultrasonic cat house soiling accidents because as they come running when you see your cat plenty of fresh urine before it was a very strong way.They don't know, don't care for kittens and cats don't even want to attack.When this happened, the Canadian Parliamentary Cats well fed and properly cared for indoors will live to be costly.You need to replace lost magnets, infrared devices and collars.It will take turns in sneaking up on the carpet.

Antihistamines may be the first step for establishing an hierarchy amongst the other cat in the post and get the area with warm water and soak.When you make only slight changes as a pet.Stick a thumb tack about two inches of litter on the new house.Maintaining the Canadian Parliamentary Cats?The most important thing is to stretch and tone their muscles.

Another factor could be present in your garden is a snap.Whatever it is, once your cat or by post at your house?Hunting is also important to notice that the two males got all excited and proud that you will both enjoy many years has come under intense scrutiny from veterinarians and concerned pet owners worry about clogging issues.The female is spayed but there are any black dots on the market, hopefully without cats as young as eight weeks of age.Kittens and adult fleas, but also help with breathing problems in feline asthma, but it make a huge amount of furniture to another house.

Cat Pee Is Foamy

Sometimes you may have a really good sense of smell, and this option is to give your pet cat and scolding him may also nurse on himself or being boarded at a time when they sit straight up and place it at all.If they are used synonymously with Inhalant Allergies.Corrugated cardboard scratching boxes seem to work than drugs but it all the time the behavioral change started and determine what is outside and they create a serious allergy, for example, a cat to be afraid of you.When it is virtually an impulse the cat food on the cat at the same as a cardboard pet carrier carton or you will need to begin teaching your cat can be something as innocent as a toilet area or a cat is just some of the most often.At this age its very difficult and will normally consist of messing outside of his new scratching alternative - try using catnip around the property.

Remember though, never punish your cat is confined within the household.To begin, get a flea exterminator and treat her naturally by using more masking tape.Here is a well-established pack of stray cats.I was asleep, she came out and buy a human takes to keep a fresh container.You must understand why cats do what we did when we would when choosing your cat:

Start by washing your pet's skin and eyes.Do a Google search and you should be an inside or outside your door.Cats lick, bite, chew and scratch the furniture that has a bacterial infection is characterized by signs of a nasty cat urine smells the problem worse.If you have carpets, remember to treat the stains.Few owners make a mistake and miss feeding time when you are not looking for your cat want to adopt a mother who uses a litter of kittens each year.

If this builds up, it hinders the cat's natural instincts.If they scratch the furniture or valuable goods taking the punishment for failure is chopping off the bed is comfiest option.They love to play, you could use the dedicated pillar for your cat to go.If your cat to a fence, just plugging the gaps won't necessarily stop them.The other strains are in the shops catnip can provide beneficial companionship in our bed, greet us at the Bangor Public Library in Bangor, Maine, I decided to try some of the windows are great jumpers and not allowed to dry brush baking soda or other indoor valuables, provide a suitable animal comes along.

Have your pet's skin, and may avoid trouble in the home.In the end, many people report spending an extra $10 to $20 every month during the day of travel.Cats are strange about change, they do directly in front of you.The decision on whether or not they carry this genome, do not want to open up the wall?If you are going to mate your cat over to the liners themselves is to make the locations where you are not prescribed by your veterinarian, most pet products are also cheaper than purchasing them from hassling your cat up and give them a perch of their natural behavior.

Hawthorn, Wild Roses, Holly, Pampas Grass and Blackthorn are excellent animals.One of the many decisions that are extremely effective in keeping cats out of the first experience as enjoyable as you thought they were.If she still retains signs of infestation.Use a metal comb and a 5lb bag of cat urine is one of terror so using a portable radiator on it in a variety of products for pet dander problems.But adopting a living creature like a pigmented tumor.

How To Stop A Stray Cat From Spraying

A broad base is essential, because if the bristles are metal, can cut his mouth.It usually involves a general anesthetic and for your cat may be performed before the results of your house; in worst scenarios, it can be helpful since the overcrowding of cats and dogs.The other has to get to know why he had come from, we could train them to get angry at our cats have some know-how of the litter box.Cats for whatever reason also dislike the smell of oranges and lemons.Usually when you are getting a cat not urinating or defecating inside the house very quickly.

Usually they like to sink their teeth with a bar of soap.Cats must be also cushioned properly to do is to scratch vertical surfaces, then get it done.The personality will not be eliminated with either carpet or made of compressed cardboard.Your cat stopped using the wrong scratching habit has been the case for centuries as a result of this practice.When your cat has a large lion declawed as a lure for the first cat will spray more than one in the soil of your cat needs, or whether your house there are reasons where some cats more options!

#Zoflora Cat Urine Jolting Cool Ideas #Cat Urine Test Kit

0 notes

21stcenturymen · 7 years ago

Text

Women Do Not Want to Be Raped

RATING: Mature

I want to be clear about this week’s rating. The content I’m going to reference is the worst kind of hateful misinformation, and it’s not healthy for… really, anyone to be exposed to. That said, the post itself is only mildly “mature” in content. I want men in particular to read all the way to the end, but for anyone who’s been victimized by men who spew hateful, misogynist rhetoric, this post may not be for you.

I’m going to begin by discussing the man who essentially started the “Red Pill” movement. It would be easy to call folks like Robert Fisher “garbage” or “toxic” or any of those epithets for people we wish we could block from taking up space in our minds. But there’s so much more to this than the quality of person he is. Robert Fisher is a symptom, not a cause. His belief - that women want to be raped or that there’s some magic potion (e.g. the red pill) that would make everyone see that subservience to cis-men is the right and just state of being for humanity - didn’t begin with him. It began ages ago, and for who knows what reason.

Perhaps somewhere in prehistory a dude realized that men couldn’t give birth and insisted on holding women accountable for all of humanity’s flaws to make up for it. It’s likely this jealousy is part of why Abrahamic religions latch onto the Eve story: women suffer childbirth because Eve was foolish and took the apple from the serpent. But let’s be real, here. That’s bullshit. That story was passed down through oral tradition as an allegory for having faith in the design of a creator, and inked into permanence as Eve’s sin (as opposed to Adam’s) to ensure we blame women specifically instead of just the poor schmuck who happened to be tempted first. If it’s an allegory for lacking faith, it shouldn’t matter who sinned. But as it’s clearly a tool for creating subservience, the choice of Eve as the sinner is no mistake.*

Fast forward a few millennia, and we have Return of Kings, The Spearhead (thankfully, now defunct), A Voice For Men (‘cause we’re lacking, apparently), The Red Pill, and a host of other cellar-dwelling sites that cater to our basest fears of inadequacy. If we can’t succeed with women, it’s clearly their fault, and these sites will not only tell us why, but arm us with all the tools we need to win** every internet debate about gender rights. I’m going to tell you right now, they’re wrong.

Shocking, right? Yeah, this isn’t one of those “I see where they’re coming from, but…” types of situations. These guys are wrong. Their hypotheses are flawed, their arguments contradictory, and their evidence not only lacking, but completely fabricated. It requires an advanced course in cognitive dissonance to even comprehend how these guys hold the competing thoughts they do. While I wish to encourage debate, free thought, and compassionate discourse, I will hold no quarter for out-and-out lies, distortions, and self pitying slander of half the human race. The men who run these sites are sad, pathetic men. And here’s what they do.

Men like Paul Elam take their own failings, fears, and inadequacies, align them with those of other men, and package and sell a solution - of sorts. Elam coined his ex’s dislike of him “misandry” and packaged it as an explanation for any time a woman doesn’t do whatever the hell he wants. And that’s easy, right? We take our own failings and blame them on other people as a quick way to feel better about ourselves. But it’s not a permanent one.

As a metaphor: When you want to build a house on an already-developed plot, you don’t just start building on the ruins of the previous structure, do you? Of course not. That’d be a surefire way to collapse your new structure. Elam, Fisher, and the soon-to-be-discussed Roy Den Hollander would tell you otherwise, though. You just blame your neighbors for not care-taking land they didn’t own, build on top of the ruins, and keep piling on junk until there’s the appearance of something stable. This is true both of their paper-thin arguments and their personal lives.

Admitting you’re wrong and seeking to change is the moment when you clear off the junk and fix the foundation. It sucks. Personal growth is hard and sad and disappointing at times, but the long-term result is much more structurally sound. These men sell ideas and prop up their personal lives with garbage, and it shows.

Roy Den Hollander has filed federal lawsuits over such things as NYC “Ladies Nights” and forcing women to register for the draft. He continually has his suits thrown out due to a complete lack of legal footing, and the fact the courts consistently determine he’s basing the suits on his own personal preferences. Elam started A Voice For Men as a way to pile vitriol on top of his own failings, and Fisher started the Red Pill as a way to push his completely fictional agenda for subjugating women.

They preach hate as a salve for self doubt, and for a painfully vocal number of men, it’s quite appealing. This hate is rooted in fear. The fear of being bad, of being “less than,” of not meeting the desires of others. We turn fear around as loathing of those who might reject us. This is a self defense mechanism, and a very poor one, because we just keep heaping that shit on top of an already dysfunctional foundation.

And there's a difference between playing on fears and discussing subject matter that makes people afraid. For example, when CNN, NPR, or Al Jazeera talk about the U.S. President threatening nuclear holocaust on North Korea, that's not "playing on people's fears." Though there are certainly sensationalistic ways to present it, the information itself isn't playing on pre-existing fears. There's a narcissistic, ignorant man with access to the nuclear football. As a human who enjoys existing on this planet, you should be afraid of that.

When I say "playing on fears" in reference to sites like Return of Kings and the others, I'm talking about creating news and sensation out of things you were already afraid of. Everyone is afraid of losing their job. Everyone is afraid of being emasculated and made to be subservient when we haven't given consent to do so. Everyone is afraid of feeling "less than." So, in come these hate sites, knowing you're afraid of those things, and whether your fear is legitimate or not, they already know who to blame. Convenient, isn't it?

Women taking over society isn't real, and it couldn't be even if they wanted to. And here, for the first and only time, are you allowed to compare feminists to Nazis, because if actual fucking Nazis couldn't take over the world, do you really think women or people of color who want the right to vote without being intimidated are going to accomplish what the Third Reich couldn't? And with far fewer firearms? Because, let’s face it, white men own more firearms than anyone else. Supposedly to protect themselves from… something? Trust me. Feminists, LGBTQIA folks, and people of color are not attempting to take over anything except their own peace of mind and personal safety.

Where these sites want you to take stock of all your faults, all your frailties, and all your fears, and lay the blame at women as if it's common sense to do so, I want you to use actual common sense and say, "Yeah, that's ridiculous. A forced takeover of half the planet's population is super unlikely, so I should get back to managing my own damn life."

PURPOSE: Take responsibility for your fears and failings. If you think someone’s going to ‘take something away’ from you, odds are you just fear that and the threat isn’t real. Don’t lash out in search of conflict where there isn’t any. Keep your own house in order. In fact, knock it down and fix the foundation and remember that’s your task to undertake. No one else’s.

Learn to spot bullshit. When you see news, or websites, or resources that identify a specific cause of an issue (a corporation that pollutes a reservoir or a jerk who defrauds investors and takes advantage of sick people) and they have legitimate sources to cover their asses? You can probably trust them, but always keep a watchful eye. When you see links and content that blame entire groups of people (Like FOX news blaming Muslims in general for violence or any of the sites above blaming women for… really anything) don’t just turn it down. Turn it off. Familiarize yourself with bullshit enough to spot it and refuse to give it your time or attention.

Women do not want to be raped, and if you have a friend who starts quoting Robert Fisher, Roy Den Hollander, Paul Elam, or any of their hateful acolytes saying women do want to be raped, call them out. Tell them they’re quoting hate mongers. Tell them they’re seeking to avoid blame for their own feelings of inadequacy. Tell them they’re on a dangerous slope toward true emotional annihilation and alienation. Tell them you smell their bullshit and you won’t stand for it.

Next Up: Misdirected Rage

*I’m aware most established religions and denominations of Christianity in general try to shy away from blaming Eve specifically. If your church is referring to this story as gender neutral, awesome! I understand not all believers are cut from the same cloth. This is about the many denominations and sects of the Abrahamic religions who do choose to subjugate women and use Eve as one of the many reasons why. Also, it’s just an example. Try not to get too hung up on literality.

**Does anyone ever really “win” an internet debate?

#21stcenturymen #red pill #men's rights activism #MRA #bullshit #a voice for men #original sin #EveWasFramed #personal responsibility

1 note · View note

allenmendezsr · 5 years ago

Text

Ultimate Copywriting

New Post has been published on https://autotraffixpro.app/allenmendezsr/ultimate-copywriting/

Ultimate Copywriting

Buy Now

If you’re looking for a way to make money from writing…

Special Report by Paul Hancox

How would you like to be part of an industry where…

There’s always a big demand for your services, regardless of the state of the economy?…

You’re the boss… you can get up when you want, and finish whenever you want?…

You can do it wherever you like – at home, in an office, or even from the beach?

There’s no fixed upper limit to the money you could make, depending on your skills?

It might sound too good to be true, but there IS an industry where all of this can happen.

It’s the world of copywriting.

A copywriter is someone who writes persuasive sales material. This form of writing is called “copy.” As long as you can write reasonably well, and have the skills I’ll show you, you could become a copywriter.

The facts are…

(1) Good copywriters are always in demand.

Millions of new businesses are started each year, and they all need sales. Great “copy” from a skilled copywriter can turn readers into buyers.

(2) You can write “copy” just about anywhere.

You can write from your computer at home, from a laptop in a Starbucks, or even the beach or countryside! You can do it part time or full time, it’s up to you.

(3) There’s no real limit to what you could make.

Some of the world’s top copywriters have made literally millions of dollars a year. (I’ll tell you their secrets later on.)

But I want to be completely straight with you.

It’s

highly unlikely you’ll get anywhere close to that to begin with. Not impossible, just unlikely.

New copywriters might charge $500 or $1,000 to write a sales letter like the one you’re reading now.

More experienced copywriters might charge $2k, $5k or even $10k… and some negotiate a % of the sales revenue, which can really add up for big selling products.

So the question is…

How can YOU become a copywriter… and what’s the quickest, easiest and best route to making good money from copywriting?

First of all, you need to understand…

Despite What They Say, Here’s Why The Classic Books And Courses Are Probably The Worst Ways To Master Copywriting

There are hundreds of copywriting books out there… but they have major drawbacks, if you want to QUICKLY become a highly paid copywriter.

(1) A book can’t give you the critical feedback you need, so you know how you’re doing. Without feedback, it’s easy to

make mistakes, develop weaknesses and fall into bad habits.

(2) It can’t keep you motivated. It can’t give you a pat on the back when you’re doing well, or a kick up the rear end when you need it! With a book, you’re on your own.

(3) The so-called “classic” copywriting books were written in a different era… usually before the Internet, and almost certainly before all the breakthroughs in consumer psychology we’ve seen over the past 5-10 years.

(4) It’s likely to end up gathering dust on the shelf. That 500 page copywriting “classic” can be a handy reference for how to sell in the 1970’s… but you need to wade through it all to fully benefit from it.

(5) OR you’ll try and “cram” it all at once into your brain. Ever tried eating a month’s worth of food in one day? Didn’t think so. It doesn’t work for your stomach, and the same is true for your brain. You can’t cram if you want to get GOOD at copywriting.

(6) They don’t reveal their best secrets. Copywriters tend to hold back in their books. I know, because I’ve read many of them.

They’re not going to reveal their “trade secrets” in a $30 mass market book!

(7) You don’t get to see the “raw” copy or drafts. Copywriting veteran Joseph Sugarman says writing copy is like turning rough coal into a smooth diamond. Most books only show you the final copy, so you never get to see the messy PROCESS of turning coal into diamonds.

By the way, most of this also applies to the DVDs and seminars put out by veteran copywriters.

In some ways, the situation is worse. You’re usually paying anywhere from $500 to $3,000 for those.

The DVDs are usually seminar recordings… and there can be a lot of filler, as the copywriter spends a long time tackling questions from members of the audience who are the slowest to catch on.

You can be left with the feeling that a 10 hour DVD set could have been boiled down to 2-3 hours of solid material, IF they trimmed the fat… but I guess they wouldn’t be able to charge quite as much!

Of course, with DVDs, you’re passively watching or listening to the information, so there’s no opportunity to practice and get feedback.

When you write your first piece of copy, having an expert to provide you with reliable feedback is a MUST… and a pre-recorded set of DVDs can’t give you that.

Even in a live seminar setting, the host can’t usually spend more than a few minutes with each person. In other words, forget about them reviewing your drafts and final copy!

So let’s talk about…

The Quickest And Best Way To Become A Highly

Paid Copywriter

There’s simply no way round it.

If you want to QUICKLY become a copywriter who could make a lot of money, you need…

In-depth

and up-to-date training on each of the skills needed to write persuasive copy,

Practice, along with expert feedback, on all stages of the copywriting process, from figuring out who the target audience is, and what they want… right through to the final draft, and…

Someone

to give you the motivation to keep going, especially during those times when you might be tempted to throw in the towel.

Let me show you how to get all of this.

My name’s Paul Hancox, and I’ve been writing sales copy for about 20 years now.

Behind the scenes, I’ve written for people you’ve probably never heard of, along with celebrity names such as Chicken Soup For

The Soul co-creator Jack Canfield, real estate guru Robert G Allen, and veteran speaker and marketing expert Brian Tracy.

Since 2010, I’ve also been coaching new copywriters. At first, it was mainly to keep my own copywriting skills sharp… but I soon found that I really enjoyed training others.

I came to see all the mistakes made by new students. One of the biggest ones made by a handful of them was…

trying to rush through the training.

I understand why they did it. It’s human nature to want results NOW. We call it “instant gratification.”

The ones who rushed wanted to be

stupendously

paid great copywriters, practically overnight!

These were the ones who spent much longer writing sales letters, because their drafts were much weaker.

The truth is…

It’s quite easy to get a superficial knowledge of what’s going on in a sales letter.

That’s why

reading a book can fool you into thinking you know how to write great copy.Let me put it like this: Would you have brain surgery from a guy who’d just finished reading “How To Perform Brain Surgery” the week before?

Of course not!

ow, copywriting

will rarely be as dramatic or life-threatening as poking around with someone’s brain!… but to get good still takes time, practice, and expert feedback and guidance.

Most copywriters will tell you it takes YEARS to achieve mastery… but my goal has been to cut that learning curve down to just months.

I wanted to make the process of “getting good” as fast and effective as possible, making sure you have the feedback, training and motivation you need…

… and just as important…

I wanted to keep it affordable, just a small monthly cost rather than an enormous lump sum you’d have to slap down at the start.

After all, not everyone can afford the outrageous fees some copywriters charge for

personal

mentoring. (We’re usually talking thousands of dollars. One even charges $10k for a 2 hour phone call with him!)

That’s why I want to introduce you to

the Ultimate

Copywriting membership program.It’s the fastest and most effective way of MASTERING the highly valuable skill of copywriting.

Here’s A Quick Overview Of How It Works.

It’s a MONTHLY program, lasting for 12 months.

Each month you’ll have access to 3 new Training Modules in downloadable PDF format. I’ve

chosen this pace, because it’s the speed that produces the best results for new students.

These modules are the heart of the training program.

Most modules contains what I call a “Mission”… a fun assignment, designed to allow you to practice what you’ve learned. Send back your Mission results to me, and I’ll give you personal feedback. This is a critical aspect of learning to become a good copywriter fast!

Many of the earlier Missions are designed so you can put together your first practice sales letter. But don’t worry… I’ll be there for you every step of the way.

Each month you’ll have access to 2-3 new “Copywriting Breakdown” videos, where I analyze some of the best copy around, including a mix of classic and modern sales letters.

Starting from Month 4, you’ll have access to new “Watch Me Write!” videos, where you get to see me write entire sales letters – including drafts – from scratch!

Your membership includes 4 “Deep Critiques.“ (This service is available from Month 4.) One “Deep Critique” includes feedback and analysis on up to 5 drafts of a sales letter you’re writing. I recommend you use these critiques to write and get feedback on practice sales letters, before you go “live” with clients.

Here’s What Makes This Program Completely Unique.

You won’t get this kind of copywriter training anywhere else, and here’s 5 big reasons why:

(1)

It’s based on my unique “Agreement Point System”… which I developed personally, after studying the latest scientific findings on what moves people to buy.

Research over the last 5-10 years shows that the order in which you present information to people, and the context, makes a BIG difference to how they respond.

All of the “classic” copywriting books were written well before this research was discovered, so they don’t take advantage of the new knowledge.

My “Agreement Point System” for copywriters does. It’s based on what works NOW, not what worked in the 1970’s! (2) I have a unique approach to training, which I call “Layered Learning.” It’s

the result of my 7+ years as a copywriting coach, which has involved a learning curve for me as well.At times, I’ve had to explain things a little differently, before a student has that “Ahh… I get it!” moment. (By the way, that’s another reason you need personal training. If you don’t understand a point, you can always ask!)

It’s caused me to keep coming up with newer and better ways to

help students grasp important copywriting concepts and techniques.One method of my “Layered Learnning” approach is to stealthily introduce a technique to you in advance, before I “officially” teach it to you.

A simple example would be: writing headlines and subheadlines in the modules, as if I’m writing copy… before I officially teach you “How To Write Great Headlines.”

This allows the deeper part of your brain to more easily understand the concepts involved, when I formally introduce them to you.

Actually, I do this a lot… for most of the techniques and concepts I’ll be teaching you, but you might not notice the first time round.

As well as helping you learn faster, it also means you’ll learn even more, when you decide to re-read the training modules!

I’ve literally spent YEARS perfecting this “Layered Learning” approach, which is another reason why this program is unique… and as you’ll see, it’s totally worth it.

It achieves several things…

It keeps you motivated and eager to learn more,

It gives you a much deeper understanding of important concepts,

It teaches you at multiple levels of your brain.

(3) You get to see the raw, messy underbelly of the copywriting process.

Most books only show you the end results… the sparkling diamond of winning copy that’s been shaped from the rough coal.

But that’s only giving you half the story!

Truth is, writing copy is a messy business. Even the top copywriters write multiple drafts… and if you saw their first efforts, you’d probably think, “What the ***** is this?!”

I think it’s important to show you it all… the ugly first drafts as well as the final sparkling copy.

That’s a vital part of the learning process.

I’ll show you some of my sales letters, along with the embarrasing early drafts… AND from Month 4, I’ll write some fresh ones for you, right on video, including the drafts!

With 7 years of copywriter coaching under my belt, I’ve also seen a LOT of ugly drafts from students.

I hate to break it to you, but your first draft will probably be just as ugly.

But don’t worry… that’s absolutely fine. It’s why we call them “drafts”!

I’ll show you some of the mistakes made by previous students, so you can avoid making them. (I don’t mention names, because my purpose isn’t to embarrass anybody. I’ll show you plenty of my own mistakes as well!)

Most important of all… as part of your training, I’ll show you how to turn your messy first draft into something that a client would love.

(4) You get EXPERT feedback, and motivation.

Did I mention the importance of feedback? I think I might have done!

But it’s not just about any old feedback. I’ve seen people post their copywriting drafts onto marketing forums and ask for feedback.

Sure, you’ll get dozens of responses… but much of the “helpful” advice you’ll get will be contradictory, based on guesswork, from a mix of amateurs and experts. It can leave you confused,

and doubting your own abilities!

My feedback is based not only on 20 years of experience, but also on working with you on the copy right from the start – so we both have a good understanding of the product, the target audience, their hopes and fears… and so on.

This is something you can’t get from a bunch of random people on an Internet forum.

(5) I’ll help you get clients.

Once you have the copywriting skills and practice, the next step is to get clients and start writing for money.

I’ll show you what to do, and what to say, to land clients and negotiate with them… and

I’ll

spill the beans on the secrets of the highest paid copywriters.

Here’s A Sneak Peek At What You’ll Learn As You Train To Become A Highly Respected, Highly Paid Copywriter In The Months Ahead.

In Module 1, I’ll introduce you to perhaps the

most powerful copywriting and selling skill, that nobody talks about in those “classic” books. Master this ONE SKILL, and you’re already part of the way toward becoming a great copywriter.

The four “levels” to why people buy. Features and benefits really just scratch the surface.

Discover

my unique “Agreement Point System” to build agreement with the reader, so they’re ready to say “Yes!” by the end. It’s not about silly gimmicks like tacking on “right?” at the end of a sentence. It’s much, much deeper… and based on scientific insights into how people act.

I’ll give you a DOZEN different ways to begin a sales letter, so you’ll never be stuck getting started.

My exclusive “Ultimate Bullet Builder” system shows you how to create bullet points that leave your readers practically LUSTING for your product.

Discover

my unique “Word Weaponry” strategy, that enables you to implant ideas in people’s minds in an almost “covert” way. (NLP junkies… no, it’s nothing to do with “embedded commands.”) Warning: I will ONLY teach it to you if you promise to use it with care and compassion, because it’s like word dynamite!

… and much, much more.

So What’s The Price?

First, here’s a quick question for you:

How much would it be worth to YOU, to become a great copywriter… writing powerful copy that makes you and your clients money?

Even a brand new copywriter can charge hundreds of dollars for a single sales letter, and top copywriters charge $5,000 or more… and even get paid royalties on the sales!

When you think about it, people spend $30,000 or more on so-called “higher” education, usually with no guarantee of a job at the end of it.

By contrast, you can learn copywriting in the comfort of your own home, at a fraction of the cost…

and you could be making money as a copywriter just months from now.

Coaching is very labor intensive. I guess that’s why universities charge so much, and why some copywriters charge their outrageous mentoring fees.

But because I’ve streamlined the whole training and feedback process, I can price this Ultimate Copywriting membership program at a point where it’s an affordable and worthwhile investment.

Right now, it’s only $99 a month plus VAT or sales tax, for 12 months… which is really nothing compared to what you could be making shortly as a copywriter.

I plan to add many more tools to this membership program over time, so I don’t intend to keep the price this low forever.

What’s more…

Try It Out Completely Risk-Free.

I know you’re going to love this Ultimate Copywriting program, and I’m eager to start your training as soon as possible. After all, the sooner you start, the sooner you could be making money.

That’s why I’m willing to offer you the following rock-solid guarantee:

Come and join us today. Read through the training modules. Watch the videos. Take advantage of the missions, and my feedback. If you don’t think this membership program is for you, let me know by email or through the Helpdesk

within

the first 60 days, and I’ll happily give you 100% of your money back.

That means you get to try it out completely risk-free for the first 60 days!

Of course,

you can also cancel your membership at any time.

Please note: The only thing you can’t do is use the Deep Critique service within the first 90 days, because it takes up a lot of my time to read through and critique drafts… so it’s only fair that I know you’re not signing up just to take advantage of these free critiques!

Now Is The Perfect Time To Take The Next Step.

You’ve read this far, which means you’re interested in becoming a copywriter, and you appreciate that copywriting can be a great way of making money.

You also recognize that books and DVD courses aren’t going to give you the feedback and motivation you need, to MASTER the skill of writing copy.

My Ultimate Copywriting membership program is uniquely positioned to give you a massive advantage, compared with trying to become a copywriter by yourself, with a book.

It took me 20 years to discover all the insights I’m about to share with you. Leverage my knowledge and experience, by taking advantage of this program…

giving

you all the shortcuts to break into the world of copywriting in just a matter of months.

Of course, you can’t become a great copywriter overnight. It takes some time and practice… but you can speed up the process with my help, feedback and encouragement.

In other words, the sooner you get started, the sooner you can be making money from your investment.

To qualify for this coaching, you only need to be able to write reasonably well in English, and have a determination to succeed.

Click on the order button below, and let’s continue this journey together.

Your

initial payment is $99 (plus

sales tax or VAT as applicable) for

the first 30 days of access, and then $99 (plus sales tax or VAT as applicable) per

month after that, for a total of 12 payments. You can cancel your membership at any time.

Once your payment

is complete, you can download Month 1’s content immediately. You will be sent log-in details to the Members Area by email, usually within 1-2 business days. If you have any problems, you can use the contact

form quoting your ClickBank order number.

Frequently Asked Questions

– “How long does this program last?”

The program lasts for 12 months, but you can cancel your membership at any time.

I’ve designed it so you can have a solid, deep understanding of what I call the “Core Skills,” and plenty of practice, within about 6-9 months.

I’ve reserved more “advanced” techniques for after the first 6 months. In my original coaching program, I used to teach them earlier, but most students didn’t apply them as effectively as they could, because they were also busy learning and practicing the Core Skills.

That’s why the “advanced” ideas now come later on. Master the Core Skills first, and then you’ll be in a better position to master the Advanced skills.

– “Do I need any copywriting experience?”

No. The program assumes you have no prior experience of copywriting. All that is required is the ability to write reasonably well in English, and a determination to succeed.

– “How does the coaching work?”

Each Training Module comes with a “Mission,” an assignment that allows you to practice what you’ve learned. You send the Mission to me via the Helpdesk in the membership area, and I aim to give feedback within 2-3 business days (i.e. Monday to Friday).

The same is true when it comes to writing practice sales letters using the Deep Critique service. You send me the drafts usually via the Helpdesk, or sometimes via email. I aim to respond within 2-4 business days for practice sales letters, and within 1-2 business days if it’s copy intended for an actual client.

– “Will you help me to get clients?”

I’ll show you what to do, and what to say, to land clients and negotiate with them, and to find higher paying clients. In future, I do intend to include services that can help you get clients directly. – “How much money can I make?”

The simple answer is: I don’t know. I don’t make ANY income claims or promises, because much of it is in your hands. If you do nothing with what you learn, you’ll earn ZERO.

At the other end of the spectrum, I’ve known copywriters who charge $10k for a single sales letter like the one you’ve just read, and who also get a cut of the final sales, which can be quite substantial.

These figures aren’t typical.

I can show you their secrets, and how they did it. I can give you the knowledge, tools and feedback, but I can’t magically make you one of them. It all depends on what you DO with what you learn.

Also, there’s no “standard” copywriting fee table, because what you charge is up to you.

Disclaimer:

ClickBank is the retailer of products on this site. CLICKBANK® is a registered trademark of Click Sales, Inc., a Delaware corporation located at 1444 S. Entertainment Ave., Suite 410 Boise, ID 83709, USA and used by permission. ClickBank’s role as retailer does not constitute an endorsement, approval or review of these products or any claim, statement or opinion used in promotion of these products.

0 notes

cutemonstercare · 5 years ago

Text

3 Reasons Why Your Tarantula Is Sitting In Water

Tarantulas sometimes do weird things that aren’t always easy to explain and sitting in water is one of those strange events. Although this behaviour can be bizarre – I mean come on, it’s a tarantula, not a reptile – there are a few possible explanations.

Why is my tarantula sitting in water? The main reason why your tarantula is sitting in water is that it is dehydrated due to low humidity levels in its enclosure. It might not actually even be drinking the water but just hovering over it to absorb some of the moisture.

So, instead of increasing the size of the water bowl because it looks like your T may be a swimmer, let’s look at the importance of water in your tarantula’s life.

1. Tarantulas and Dehydration

Dehydration is one of the leading causes of death of pet tarantulas. Although supplying a tarantula with 24/7 access to water is a hotly debated topic, I am going to assume that you’ve made up your mind and decided to join team ‘water dish’.

If you ask me, that was a good decision to make because a water dish does not only provide your T with water to drink but also plays a role in regulating the humidity of its enclosure.

However, if you live in a very dry climate, a water dish alone may not be enough to boost the humidity your T needs to stay hydrated, and that is why your tarantula is hovering over or even sitting in the water.

To help increase the humidity, even more, tarantula keepers will spray the substrate and sides of the enclosure when needed. However, it’s easy to drown your tarantula this way.

Okay, I know that sounds a little dramatic, but it’s actually true. A tarantula’s book lungs don’t have the mechanism to remove water from the air it breathes, so if the air is too wet, your T will essentially drown with every breath it takes.

Humidity levels should be kept between 60 and 70%, but it is a good idea to do some research on the species of tarantula you own. Some tarantulas do come from drier climates and will hate an overly moist enclosure.

Top tip: Overfill the water dish a little to soak the surrounding substrate. This will increase humidity levels.

2. Tarantula in Pre-Molt

This section actually ties in with the previous once since it’s also inherently about dehydration. When a tarantula is in the pre-molt phase, it is preparing to shed its old exoskeleton. During this process, the tarantula should be well hydrated to ensure that everything runs smoothly.

Dehydration can lead to your tarantula getting stuck in its old skin, and this is dangerous as it can lead to death.

Your T may be feeling that it is too dehydrated to safely molt, and that is why it is lounging around in its water dish. The moisture will soften the old exoskeleton and act as lubrication during the actual molting.

3. Nematode Worms

Now, the chance of this being the reason behind your spidey liking its water bowl too much is very unlikely. However, it’s good to cover all your bases when you’re caring for a living creature.

These microscopic non-segmented worms are found in soil around the world. Although most species are harmless to tarantulas, Steinernema sp. is dangerous as they transmit bacteria that are lethal to its host.

These parasites penetrate their host through a small opening – in the case of tarantulas, it will be the book lungs or the anus – and then spreads throughout the spider’s entire body. During the final stages of infection, the worms will emerge through the tarantula’s mouth.

A tarantula infected with nematode worms will be restless, their spinning patterns will be unusual, an unfamiliar sweet smell will come from their enclosure, the tarantula will drool in ways not to be confused with normal cleaning behavior, and the tarantula will spend a lot of time around or in its water dish.

In the final stages of infection, a white sticky substance will appear around the mouth.

I know, sounds gross and worrying, but as I said, this is a worst-case scenario. To put your mind at ease, gently shake your tarantula’s enclosure. A healthy spider will steady itself with all its legs and place its palps on the floor.

If your spider is infected, the white mass around its mouth is holding its palps permanently under the chelicerae, making it impossible to move.

Also, if your spider eats, nematode worms are most likely not present.

youtube

Talking about eating, did you know that your tarantula gets most of its water from the food it eats? So, if you see your T hanging around its water bowl or going for a quick dunk, it’s likely very dehydrated.

What To Do When Your Tarantula Is Dehydrated

If you pay extra attention to your tarantula’s enclosure and match it with your T’s needs, it will be a hydrated and happy spider and issues like getting stuck when molting don’t even have to cross your mind.

But, we’re only human, and at times, mistakes get made. Here are some signs that will show you are dealing with a parched tarantula and some tips to get your T hydrated.

Look out for the following to spot a dehydrated T:

Lethargy and slow-moving

Small and shriveled abdomen

In a semi-death curl position

And, of course, sitting in water is another sign but not as worrisome as the others because spraying the substrate and sides of the enclosure should do the trick to put some moisture back into the air and subsequently, into your T.

Lethargy, a shriveled abdomen, and a semi-death curl position are more advanced symptoms of dehydration, and you need to act fast.

First things first, create a makeshift ICU for your dehydrated tarantula.

Find a container big enough to keep your tarantula and a water dish in. Size of the container should limit unnecessary movement.

Add ventilation holes to the container.

Wet paper towels and line container.

Put your tarantula in ICU.

If your tarantula is already in a semi-death curl, you can take things a step further and feed your tarantula water. Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, so grab yourself an eyedropper and some water and let’s get to it!

Gently and slowly flip your tarantula on its back. Take the eyedropper that is filled with water and drop a small amount of water onto your tarantula’s mouth. If the T is very thirsty, it will sip up the droplet.

Continue doing this until your T stops drinking. Now you can flip your tarantula over and put it in ICU.

If you check back in 10 hours, your tarantula will be all plump and hydrated. You’re welcome to put it back in its enclosure – humidity permitted.

There you go, the most probable reasons why your tarantula is sitting in water. But, of course, you can’t rule out that your T is just a weirdo that badly wants to go for a swim and is making do with the little splash pool you call a water dish.

Don’t believe me? Check out this video of a tarantula practicing its breaststroke.

youtube

#Animals #Pets #Spiders #Scorpions #Terrariums

0 notes

elle-stevens · 5 years ago

Text

The Break Up Blog - Day Thirty One

Urgh, I am still so tired today.

Luckily, I got my lazy ass out of bed at 06:15 and started getting ready for the day. Eating only one Weetabix for breakfast was a mistake though because I was starving again close to 10:00, but I forged on with the day.

it was a long and tiring day at work because my written assessments were due today. Naturally, all my students took that to mean ‘take your own sweet time doing a simple writing activity that I basically did for you from scratch without really knowing what you’re actually doing even after I’ve told you a million times how to do it’.

I think this may be the definition of what an ESL teacher is.

Still, it wasn’t a horrible day, not at all. I was in good spirits throughout; I even went off-campus with C, AS and PE to get lunch and my favourite passion fruit drink from Ydiendien. Most of my students are done with their assessments, but whoever’s not finished yet will just have to do it on Monday. So if any of my students want to complain about my other classes getting some free time on Monday, they can suck it up because they should’ve done their work quicker. And then they could enjoy some free time after a big test too. It pays to do your work expediently instead of wasting your time being a smartass.

I don’t have the energy to care anymore about how I’m actually teaching. I just want to get my students through their four assessments for the rest of the semester and a few other mandatory school events like the Speech Contest. And then hopefully, my jaded ass will be done with this mundane crap before I’m hopefully moving onto bigger and better things. It’s a shame; I actually get along with more than 96% of my colleagues and my students and on paper, the school I work at is really great. They just have a super shitty management style and their ESL curriculum is not only outdated, but irrational and counter-productive. There’s no point staying at a job if you’re not growing, both professionally and personally.

I managed to leave work on time and spent an hour at home vegging on the couch and texting D back and forth. There’s some noisy construction going on in her building and it got her pretty worked up. I just hope she ended up having a better evening after getting a massage earlier to help her cool off. I’ll never understand how Chinese people can build more apartments on top of existing apartments without there being some kind of damage to a building’s structural integrity. As the saying goes: ‘TIC: This is China’.

Because of that, I spaced out on my timing with making bruschetta before heading over to C’s for Game Night with PE, his wife G, CI and AM. I ended up baking two sets of bruschetta: one with tomatoes and one without, which got me a bit flustered. C’s allergic to tomato too as well as mushrooms, so I had to change my bruschetta recipe ever so slightly and separate the meats and vegetables while preparing the toppings. I kinda thought that it wouldn’t be right to make C sick or kill her because of a bad allergic reaction when she kindly offered to host ‘Game Night’ at her place.

After lots of dawdling, I made it over to C’s at 18:30. CI, PE and G were already there playing a round of ‘Karma’ while C and AS had gone out to buy more snacks. AM had forgotten about ‘Game Night’ initially, but left the gym to come join us in the end.

It was a really fun night! Everyone liked the bruschetta and the Korean-styled fried chicken that C ordered. I drank some of the cocktails I brought over along with PE’s whiskey and Sprite and AM’s fruit cocktails that she mixed up in a blender, but I didn’t even get tipsy, let alone drunk. It was nice distracting myself and letting go of my worries without using alcohol as an excuse. We played Cards Against Humanity, which was fucking hilarious and just wrong on all levels. Then we used our phones to play some interactive games on PE’s PS4, which was loads of fun too.

CI was the first to leave because he was pretty tired and then AM left an hour after him. I felt a bit worried about CI’s departure since he initially wanted to leave for the evening when C told us some shocking news related to work. She was told today that my school wouldn’t be renewing her contract next year. And all because she’s been at the school too long (4 years so far) and the new vice-principal thinks it’s better for our school to have a higher turn-over for foreign students. But the school is so ‘sad’ about it and hope that C won’t take it personally and that they’re willing to give her a glowing letter of recommendation.

Honestly, all of the reasoning behind this sounds like total crap. Our new vice-principal just started working at school literally last week and he suddenly has a lot to say about turnover in foreign staff members?

Nuh, I’m flagging the play and calling bullshit.

I think that C has inadvertently pissed off a lot of people at our school just by being a better teacher with more innovative teaching methods and who actually cares about the students. And now these people are finally getting what they wanted all-along: the chance to get rid of C under a legitimate and pretentious guise. I feel really sad and angry about the entire affair, mainly because I wanted C to be able to leave on her own terms and reject the school instead of the other way around. They’ve treated her so badly; it would’ve been nice to see everyone’s smug faces shatter when she told them to shove their contract up their asses.

Still, I know that C will bounce right back from all of this. She’s a trooper and I know she won’t let shitty people get her down for too long. I admire her a lot for it. I honestly don’t care if my school wants to renew my contract or doesn’t at this point. As far as I’m concerned, they can kiss my big, brown ass. They’ll get the picture soon enough when they actually start reading the online reviews from previous staff members about how crap their system really is. But by then, it’ll be too late. C will have moved onto bigger and better things by then, so more power to her.

It kinda feels like everything is falling apart this year: my parents separated and my dad’s living indefinitely in his own apartment away from my mom; X and I broke up when I thought we’d be each other’s forevers. And now, this business with C not having her contract renewed and her possibly leaving China next year. I think the latter move is what’s best for her, since she’s been in China for 4 years already and her health’s deteriorating. She’ll have better access to healthcare back in the States and she’ll also have better business contacts too. But still, a lot seems to have changed for the worst this year and I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.

Still, I’m not too depressed about things. I just keep showing up and punching my proverbial time card. I can’t afford to curl up into the foetal position in my bedroom and say, ‘Oh well, I gave it a shot. But the Universe and all its fucked up ways wins this round.’

Tomorrow’s another day and it usually shines brighter than yesterday ever could. C’s going to take AS around the city tomorrow and help her do some grocery shopping for her new apartment and they invited me along. It’s good that we’ll do it in the morning so I can rest in the afternoon and hopefully exercise in the evening.

We got a nice bonus at work for Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving), so it’s nice to have a little extra cash this month. I’m gonna use the bulk of my bonus on rent for this month so I only have to withdraw a little rent money next month when it’s due. God works in mysterious ways and he saved me from being flat broke. August was rough on my soul and it took a lot to keep me afloat. But I got through it somehow and I’m grateful that He was there to catch me whenever I fell.

I’m really lucky.

It’s not easy walking around every day with a broken heart, wondering if you’ll ever get fixed or just stay a broken toy for a long time to come. That’s probably why I’m giving into shameless perving on anything in human form these days. Because perving is silly and harmless. It gives me a weird feeling of confidence unlike when real feelings are involved. Because when something is real, it means something. And when it means something, you let your guard down and put your trust in another person. And that person has the power to fuck you over for a long time till you’re not sure you’ll have the heart or the courage to love another person again after them.

That’s what X did to me and I’m in no hurry to give my heart away so soon again. I want to keep my heart to myself for a little while longer until I wake up one day and magically realise that I no longer care about X in any sense.

Now, it’s already the next day and it’s actually the thirty-second day since I told X to ‘hit the bricks’. As good as it is to get out, meet people and stay busy, I hope I can slow down soon though. I need to start getting proper rest so I can function properly.

I don’t want to think or stress too much about anything that happens from here on out. I just want to live in the moment and try to be happy in which way it comes to me.

#breakupblog

0 notes

endowarrior877 · 7 years ago

Text

Endometriosis in the eyes of the beholder.

What is it really like living with endometriosis, a chronic illness? I'm sure the question comes up from time to time, not! Still unless you're living with a chronic illness it's hard to image some of the things us spoonies go through behind closed doors. I've even heard some folks say people with chronic illnesses have it so easy because we can't work and just sit watching crappy day time tele festering away being supported by our government. No, living with a chronic illness isn't a life long holiday whilst being supported by benefits. Instead it's a constant fight and one that costs me in time, money, energy, blood, sweat, tears and pain. It's a constant fight to have a relatively pain free life and a constant fight to not have to take several different medications several times a day. It's the constant fight to be there for appointments and then have to sit and listen to a doctor tell you that "your hot water bottle is the best thing for you, and you just need to get used to the pain and learn how to cope". Yes I was told that today at my appointment for the pain clinic. Smh. It's the constant fight of letting family, friends and sometimes your self down when you've had to cancel yet another plan. It's having to drag your partner away from his brothers wedding because the pain is now to much and i need to go home.

That particular pain and sickness flare would last a constant 72 hours and was probably the only time i could ever say I've felt like I've really had a mental break down. I eventually went to the hospital after the third day of constant pain and throwing up, then got sent home 'by accident' because there wasn't much they could do. Only to go home jump back into bed feeling so weak I was even hallucinating then comes a police van with 1 female officer turning up at my house to pick me up and take me back to the hospital immediately because my blood work came back very bad and my kidneys were shutting down as a result of being so ill the last 3 days. The hospital couldn't get in contact with me directly and as it was literally a matter of life or death they had to get the police to find me. Scary stuff right! I had to be readmitted and kept on a drip constantly for a few days because of how sick I got. It was mortifying and I felt like people were staring as I was being escorted back in to the ER with a police officer. It must have looked like I was some kind of criminal. I wasn't though, just very very sick. It was very scary and one of the most painful flares I've ever had and what made things worse was how scared I was to go to the hospital in the first place because normally they just say there isn't anything they can do and send me home. Another problem people with chronic illnesses have to deal with is having to persuade some doctors that there is something really wrong and you're not just there for a score of drugs or that you're not just being a big baby because of your period. At that point the strongest thing in pain relief being given to me was dihydrocodeine and that didn't do anything for the pain and would just add to the sickness because i would be taking the maximum dose to try and get some relief. During those 3 days of being in constant level 9-10 pain i honestly wished I was dead so many times as the hours passed and the pain stayed. Nothing helped and the pain just roared. It was so upsetting, it was brutal. I didn't sleep for being in so much pain and I was exhausted by the time I went to hospital. It felt like world war 3 was happening in my womb and outer areas. I couldn't eat or drink either which resulted in me being so ill and being so dehydrated and malnourished.

Yup, being chronically ill is not as glamorous as we'd all like it to be and you certainly learn some new life skills when the bomb is dropped and life sticks a label on you that won't go away. In reality being chronically ill and more specifically having endometriosis means that for me, I have to plan carefully even the smallest of trips. I need to take into account my medications and anything else that comes in handy during a flare. It means that I have to carry a boiling hot water bottle around even when I'm out running errands or taking the kids to the park. Being chronically ill means saying no to my favorite foods because somewhere along it's journey from my mouth to the other end it causes some kind of sickness wave or pain attack. Having endometriosis is saying no to getting intimate with the love of my life because the pain is unreal and I can't afford to be so sore the next day. I can't keep calling hubby back from work. Canceling social events and family gatherings are a constant happening and making sure if I am away from the house over night I have access to a bath incase I have a bad flare is a stupid embarrassing must. Its choosing to not even have that one drink no matter what the occasion is because the consequences are not worth it. It's a constant battle of fighting different emotions and feelings; some days are okay and some days are the worst, there isn't many good days and even less great days. It's having to get used to a new body affected by not being able to eat, marked with heat rashes and scars from surgeries. Trying to stay positive when everything around you is sore and hurting is not an easy task. People have referred to endometriosis pains as similar to having a baby, gallbladder stones, kidney stones and appendicitis. I haven't personally suffered anything apart from child birth but I can safely say the pains are sometimes actually worse than labour.

In today's world people with invisible chronic illnesses are not taken seriously by people that we really need to be on our side. We need the support of all doctors and not just top endometriosis specialists that we have to travel hundreds or thousands of miles to see. Unfortunately endometriosis is still treated with methods that were used a 100 years ago. How many other diseases and illnesses are still being treated without of date methods? Not very many. It's one of the only diseases that hasn't moved on with the times. If we had access to better more appropriate care then i bet your bottom dollar you'd see a lot less a&e visits from people with endometriosis too. It's not enough that this disease causes the most debilitating pain a human could ever experience whilst bleeding for god knows how long, but having half the world not really understand what endometriosis really does to a woman and then when we do try and seek professional help because we are so desperate it just feels like a hopeless fight where we are told it's in our head or try bandaid treatment. That's the full package with endometriosis and unless you're rich with a private jet able to pay top dollar to see someone super skilled and fast, there is at the moment a long wait to access care which is resulting in many woman like myself being left in daily debilitating pain.

For anyone newly diagnosed with endometriosis I kind of think my advice would be get ready to fight. Get ready to fight and get yourself educated. Learn about this condition inside out, the good and bad for everything. Your knowledge will save you many unnecessary treatments and will help you search out a surgeon that will be able to help you over time. Remember this is never going to be an overnight fix no matter how skilled your surgeon is. Endometriosis requires the most knowledgeable of doctors and there needs to be more of these people in our local hospitals where everyone can access them and there is more focus on surgical treatments instead of bandaid hormone treatments. There needs to be more awareness all around the world which I think is slowly starting to happen. Aside from all the actual physical symptoms we feel typical to having endo there is a lot more to just having this disease and it's not just about really sore periods. I'm still a firm believer that endometriosis can be treated brilliantly by laparoscopic procedure alone but the key is to finding that magic surgeon. Endometriosis doesn't grow back so it makes sense that removing the 'bad bits' will take away the pain. I'm part of a very good endometriosis resource Facebook page and the amount of woman who are pain free after 1-2 surgeries max is incredible and it gives me so much hope and just because of who they chose to handle their care. I unknowingly made the mistake of moving to the middle of nowhere and then learned about this list of top endometriosis specialists and now the closest to me is the U.K or Germany. Bad timing on my part! I have a good feeling about a Dutch specialist I was recommended to by my FIL's friend who had very bad endometriosis. Funnily enough she started out with the specialist I've just been seeing and had the same issues so asked for a second opinion with a different specialist and agreed to do surgery and found lots. They removed it all and now she's living a great life so I would like to see this doctor and speak with her before i make any rash decisions to rush to Germany in the near future. If she is as good as I hope then maybe she could be added to the list and help others find a good specialist. After asking for a second opinion of my recent MRI results I've asked to be referred to this other Dutch specialist and that should be the ball rolling again and some kind of pain free life will be more realistic. I'm staying positive and hopeful about this one but we will see in due course as ever. This will be my 3rd specialist so hopefully the saying third time lucky will come into play!

#endometriosis #endo #chronicillness #invisibleillness #spoonie #chronicpain #girltalk #periods #treatment #laparoscopy #hormones #hysterectomy #dailylife #routine #blog #personalspace #pain #everyday #thirdtimelucky #beatthis #staystrong #fight #carryon #survive #question #awareness #raiseawareness #love #endowarrior #hope #painfree