#a KNOWN character trait is he’s always right never once lied or told a non truth

[coybbb]

seeing bald slander on my dash need u all to consider max branning…

[seolhe]

I was wondering,,, why do you say the dark wife is one of the worst books you've read? I read it a few years ago, and I dont remember anything about it tbh, so I'm curious

Oh boy, where do I start? I had a lot of problems with this novel, both as a Greek myth retelling and from a writing standpoint. Now, keep in mind that I read thisabout 2 years ago, so I might be forgetting some small details here and there, but I’ll try to explain the main reasons it bugged me so much. So buckle up, because this is gonna be a long one.

Characters: All the characters are two-dimensional and poorly developed. None of them have any amount of nuance or depth.Zeus is moustache twirling villain who is evil for the sake of being evil. Hades is as good as Zeus is evil, endlessly noble and selfless and devoted. I genuinely can’t remember a single defining trait of Persephone? She’s such abland and generic protagonist, nothing really stands out about her in my memory other than her obsessive pining over Hades and hatred of Zeus. A lot of this feels like it’s pulled straight from the shallow and occasionally downright inaccurate readings of Greek myths that have become so popular in recent years, especially on places like tumblr (Zeus as an evil rapist, Hades as a pure cinnamon roll, Persephone descending willingly into the Underworld, etc.).But there are also more confusing takes on these characters, like turning chaste virgin goddess Athena into a self-centered, promiscuous lesbian (not to say that being a lesbian or being promiscuous is bad, it’s just such a strange interpretation of Athena’s character that doesn’t make any sense)And don’t even get me started on poor Charis! Charis, Persephone’s first lover in the book, exists solely to be raped and killed by Zeus. She’s fridged to show us that Zeus is BAD and giving Persephone a reason to hate him. The author’s treatment of this character is lazy and offensive. I’m sure this is something that won’t bother all readers, but as someone with a deep love for the mythology, I found the portrayal of the Greek gods franklyinsulting. Plot:“Three thousand years ago, a god told a lie.”Here we run into a big problem with the narrative. We’re told from the very prologue that the story of Hades and Persephone we’re familiar with is a lie, a narrative created by Zeus, and this is Persephone’s attempt to set the record straight.These are the first lines of our story: “I am not my mother’s daughter. I have forfeited my inheritance, my birthright. I do not possess the privilege of truth. The stories told by fires, the myth of my kidnap and my rape, are all that remain of me. Forever I will be known as the girl who was stolen away to be the wife of Hades, lord of all the dead. Andnone of it is true, or is so fragmented that the truth is nothing more than ashadow, malformed. The stories are wrong. I am not who they say I am.I am Persephone, and my story must begin with the truth.Here it is, or as close as I can tell it.”Well, this doesn’t really make any sense when, at the end of the story, Zeus is defeated and thrown into Tartarus. Why does this narrative survive into modern day when Hades and Persephone won? Why is Persephone only able to tell her story now, after thousands of years without Zeus in power? Speaking of Zeus and lies, the justification for the whole “What, Hades is awoman?!” thing really doesn’t make any sense. We’re told that Zeus calls Hades “lord” of the dead as a joke, Hades even refers to it as a “slur” in the story. The reason given for this is that Hades is only attracted to women. Well, if that’s the case, why doesn’t that same logic apply to Athena, who’salso shown to be attracted only to women? Or to Persephone for that matter? Same-sex attraction, even between women, is never shown to be frowned upon in their society, so why would Zeus single out Hades for her attraction to women? And why do all the other gods apparently go along with that “joke” to the point that Persephone literally didn’t know Hades was a woman until she meets her in person? And why, again, did this idea of Hades being a man survive into modern day? The story is constructed so poorly on so many different levels. There are so many threads that are just dropped entirely. For example:- The story starts with Demeter confidently proclaiming that Persephone will become the queen of the gods, setting up this big rivalry between her and the daughters of Hera and Aphrodite. This plot never goes anywhere, in fact, I don’t think it’s ever brought up again after the first chapter, and Demeter basically spends the rest of the book cowering before Zeus. - There’s a significant plotline about Pallas having Persephone try to deliver a message to Athena, a plotline that is unceremoniously dropped without anyresolution. After all the build-up, there’s a throwaway line about Pallas giving the note to Persephone right before the big showdown with Zeus, and that’s the last we hear of it. We never see it delivered, we don’t get to see Athena’s reaction to it, we don’t know how this impacts Pallas, if at all. In fact, Pallas basically doesn’t show up at all after this point. Then there’s the main conflict of the story: Zeus wants Persephone, and as we’re told over and over and over, Zeus always gets what he wants (the author really beats this into our heads). We’re never really given any motivation for any of Zeus’ actions, so this conflict feels weak and contrived. It doesn’t help that we get so much build-up for what a terrible threat he is, and then Persephone defeats Zeus, the most powerful god, feared by all, in like… two pages? It’s such a weak and anticlimactic end to the story.

There was also some sort of convoluted plan concocted by Zeus to, idk, have the dead rise up and overthrow Hades? For some reason? Again, we never get any clear motivation from Zeus. As far as I can remember, we’re never told why he hates Hades so much, or why he wants to overthrow her. I don’t even remember if the author explained what Zeus was going to do with the Underworld without Hades there to rule. I’m sorry, I genuinely can’t even remember the details, but it was just reallybadly set up and, once again, easily solved in a few pages.And that’s really the main problem with the story, everything is so easily solved. Our good guys all get happily ever afters with no sacrifices and no consequences for anything, and there’s always a quick and easy solution to any threat or conflict. Mythology:So how does it hold up as a Hades and Persephone retelling?Well, not great, imho. A lot of classical elements are incorporated into this retelling, but they’re stripped of any meaning or importance to the plot. The pomegranate? It’s there at their wedding, but it never figures into the greater narrative.Demeter causing famine by bringing infertility to the fields? She does freeze the world in this story, threatening everlasting winter, but unlike in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, it’s not an act of agency on her part, refusing to submit to the will of Zeus and fighting to be reunited with her daughter. Nah. She’s just being manipulated by Zeus and it’s used as a cheap reason to tear our lovers apart.And somehow, I don’t even know why seeing as it doesn’t tie into Demeter freezing the earth or Persephone eating the seeds of the pomegranate, butPersephone is still forced to spend half the year on earth and half in theUnderworld.In the epilogue, we see her in modern day New York*, acting as psychopomp (for some reason???), happily guiding the souls to the afterlife, which we’re told is her duty for the half of the year she spends above ground. I’m just so confused as to what the author was even going for here. Where did this come from? It doesn’t originate in the original myths, but it’s also not explained (as far as I can remember) in the book.*This isn’t a problem with the book per se, and it’s 100% a matter oftaste, but I personally really dislike it when mythological figures appearin a modern setting, especially when the author has to put them in anAmerican setting rather than the geographical location of their origin, whetherthat’s Greece or Egypt or Scandinavia or what have you. Romance: Hades and Persephone are destined soulmates and instantly fall in love pretty much the moment they first set eyes on each other, which doesn’t allow for any growth or progression of their relationship. They’re instantly deeply and madly in love with each other and their feelings never change over the span of the story. They spend most of their time together staring lovingly into each others eyes and when they’re separated for literally 3 days Persephone basically spends her entire days languishing in despair.It’s ridiculously melodramatic and cheesy, which again, personal taste thing,I’m just really not into. Other writing issues: - The worldbuilding is pretty much non-existent. The story doesn’t feel grounded in any particular time period or cultural context, and you never get any sense of the setting, or how the world works and what this society is like.  - The pacing was really poor, either dragging or exploding into rushed action. - A lot of page time is spent on describing things that doesn’t really further the plot or has any thematic relevance. One example would be the garden of metal and precious stones Hades made for Persephone. It’s cool I guess? But what purpose does it serve? We also waste a lot of time which could be better used developing the characters or moving the plot forward on watching Persephone play with puppy Cerberus or petting Hades’ horses (see poor pacing). - There’s a lot of talk about Persephone having some sort of grand destiny, and that her actions have been prophesized. This is never properly explained and it only serves to weaken Persephone’s story arc, stripping her of agency by implying that she doesn’t really have a choice in the matter. Prophecy and destiny are story elements that have to be handled delicately and are easy to screw up, and they’re just dealt with so clumsily here.  - Also the writing was just… not very good.I’m sure there are more things I could dig up and complain about, but I feel like this is probably too long and rambly already, so I’ll stop here.

Obligatory disclaimer:This is obviously just my personal opinion. There are a lot of people who love this book (going by Goodreads ratings, I am clearly in the minority) and I am genuinely happy for them! I also mean no disrespect to the author who seems like a genuinely lovely person. 

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Half As Good As You (1 / 2)

Jax Teller x Female Reader

A/N: I know i’m late to the party, but I am finally catching up with Sons of Anarchy, also known as one of the greatest shows ever made. I absolutely adore it, for so many reasons (Charlie Hunnam obviously being one of them). Jax Teller is such a promising character, with such an enormous literary potential, I couldn’t resist. 

This two-part story is loosely based on Tom Odell’s song “Half As Good As You”. 

Please enjoy, feedback is appreciated if you feel like leaving something. 

Warnings: a lil’ bit of angst and heartache. 

What a spectacular day for murder, you thought, grabbing your Balenciaga bag from the passenger seat right next to you, your cold take-out coffee’s smell still hanging in the confines of your car.

Charming welcomed you back with cloudless, infinite azure and blinding yellow sun, an airplane chalking a line on the canvas of the sky above your head.

Swinging that bag over your shoulder, you let your gaze wander back to the house in front of you; the empty driveway, those colorless roses and the unwelcoming cold blue paint that you never thought you’d see again.

Your sister might have lived in that house now, but the vibe of it hadn’t changed much - it still stank of bleach, burned leather and filthy secrets. 

And to think you were to spend a weekend in these walls, where every little detail, everything - reminded you of him.

It felt like it had been ages; all your memories were just some stories someone had told you at some point, with no beginning and no end, pages ripped from old dusty journals for which no one had a care in the world anymore.

You lied, of course, when you told your sister if you’d come down it’d strictly be out of the goodness of the heart. Over the phone, you insisted on not wanting to leave the house before the wedding - that fucking house you hated the most in the entire world, that gas chamber in which you knew you’d have trouble to breathe - because you’d only come to watch her kids, while she gets drunk & partially naked before she ties the knot.

The sound of a roaring engine a few blocks away interrupted your train of thought as shivers ran down your spine, your fingers gripping steering wheel so hard your skin turned white.

Coming to Charming was a mistake.

Leaving the city in the first place was a choice, with which you’d learned to live.

Or so you thought.

Dawns were always the worst.

The subtle shift of light at around five in the morning gave the shit in his room back its color: the deep navy of his crumpled sheets, striking whites, yellows and greens of his underwear, scattered around, and the soft amber of the dresser, with framed pictures on top.

Jax would look at these colors perfect themselves, come out in all of their intensive glory, yet this would never amount to anything - no change in his black-and-white routine.

The rising sun later chose the best angle for its mindful rays, whitening out the faces on those photos. Most of the time, if Jax would let his eyes slip over the paper’s polished surface - accidentally, he kept telling himself - all he saw was perfect squares of bright light, the sun doing the job his brain couldn’t - saving him all the heartache.

The morning would paint his misery a new, less lethargic color as he’d drink his coffee at the bar, surrounded by his brothers, all laughing and talking in hoarse, morning voices. That would shake him up a little, the claws of last night’s dreams letting go some. Those dreams died eventually, but the nightmare of reality went on, and sometimes it was difficult for Jax to tell one from the other.

He didn’t know it yet, but today was going to push his coping mechanisms to a whole new level.

Sitting at the bar, his long fingers wrapped around a big cup of coffee, Jax kept digging holes in the middle of a microwaved cherry pie with a table spoon. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he had to get some food into him - the day promised to be busy and chaotic, he’d get lucky if he got a chance to eat before dinner.

“Aye, Jackie-boy, any news from Ope?” Jax slowly registered Chibs’ words as the Scot called for his attention, carefully sipping on his steamy tea.

It took a moment for Telford’s words to settle in; retrieving his phone from the side pocket of his sweats, Jax powered the display.

“Yeah, he’s...”

Words stuck in his throat, a lump he tried to push down, swallowing hard. He dropped the phone flat on the bar table, the sound deafening. Inhaling deeply, Jax brought one of his hands up to rub his eyes, his elbow knocking over the cup of lukewarm coffee.

The drops of brownish liquid landed on your face, smiling at him from his phone, with Opie’s kids on either side.

Y/N’s in town. I’m sorry, man, we didn’t think she’d actually show. I’m on my way.

‘He’s on his way.’

Wiping his phone with the white t-shirt he still wore from last night, Jax scrolled down to see if Opie sent more of that stunningly pretty, makeup-free face of yours.

Winston didn’t.

It didn’t really matter, because one look at you had already sent his imagination reeling, his heart twisting in regret while beating ten hundred miles a minute.

You were back in Charming. The idea seemed outrageous, his thoughts even more so.

Maybe, it was a sign. Maybe, this was his past coming around to give him another shot to do this different. Better.

Maybe you two could work the shit out in the end of the day, maybe... maybe you came back for him.

“Hey Prospect, clean this shit up, will you?”

Grabbing his phone from the table, Jax motioned towards the black puddle on the floor once he got Half-Sack’s attention.

Running his fingers through the dirty-blond mane of hair, Teller headed to his room to take a shower, wash those bullshit thoughts away.

That’s all they were. Bullshit.

Your arrival lit a match in his mind, anger consuming him quicker than fire licking at dry paper.

And to what end?

The anger would come and go, leaving not even a fucking hint of solace behind.

So would you.

You never got around to babysitting that evening.

Dua Lipa’s voice blaring from the speakers, you could feel your chest rumble to the rhythm. The place was swarming with people; the bar welcomed a big crowd tonight, and under flickering lights you zeroed in on a face now and again, pacing your evening by the number of people you managed to make out from the human drunken mass.

Donna was having the time of her life as she swayed her hips to the beat. Her cheeks a lovely shade of pink, she laughed at something your friend Chloe said, wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, silent witnesses of her happiness.

Fumbling with your Margarita, you watched your sister closely, trying to convince yourself it was okay. It was Harry she was marrying for God’s sake. That teddy bear of a man that’d kill for her if needed.

And that was exactly what didn’t sit quite well with you.

You threw your head back, finishing your drink in one single gulp. Slamming the glass against the bar, you motioned for the bartender to approach. The young man with a messy man bun flashed you a smile, silently asking what your next choice would be.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” you yelled over the music, leaning over the bar so he could hear you better. Smiling still, the guy nodded, getting to it right away.

You plopped back on your seat, scanning the crowd with your eyes, again, trying to pass the time.

The scene hadn’t changed much since the last time you checked - most of the faces remained the same, the only difference being the cloudiness in people’s stares and sloppiness of their movements.

Yet your eyes narrowed as soon as you caught a young, handsome man staring at you, averting his gaze as soon as you spotted him. You were pretty sure you had never met him, yet something about him felt familiar... and suspicious.

Paying for your whiskey, you slipped off the bar stool, and slowly made your way to Donna.

“I’m going to get some air,’ you screamed into her ear, the beat of the basses making your knees tremble. Donna looked at you for a moment, as if trying to figure out your motives. Then she quickly nodded, lightly squeezing your wrist before letting go.

Gripping your whiskey glass tightly in order not to spill its contents, you made your way through the shifting crowd and into the hallway, slowly but surely.

Just as you walked out from the bar area, you noticed that young man you caught staring before turning around on his heels, following you.

It was a fleeting moment kind of realization, as you noticed Prospect written in bold letters on the back of the kutte the guy was wearing. Immediately you squirmed, pushing your way out of the bar with your elbows, slamming your glass on one of the unoccupied tables as you advanced.

“Shit,” you cursed, your eyes dashing around in search for a place to hide as soon as you reached the hallway.

You were being fucking followed. From the very fucking beginning. And by whom? By the Sons of Fucking Anarchy.

That would definitely up the number of candidates on your list for a well-deserved one night stand.

Thank God they didn’t think of sending someone bigger and meaner-looking, like Tig. Then your chances of getting laid tonight would have been non-existent, with the blue-eyed biker following you around like a shadow... shadow of death.

You froze at the thought, your mind painting the reaper tattoo before your eyes, angry black traits marking Jax’ ripped back.

The Prospect didn’t stay inside with Donna. It’s you he’d been told to follow around.

Clutching both of your fists in a sudden wave of anger that hit you like a speeding train, you muttered obscenities, your chest heaving.

Trying to swim against the current was useless at this point - you couldn’t change the way things were in this town years ago, why jump headfirst into that fight all over again? - yet two could play this game, you thought, Jax fucking Teller.

“Hey there, beautiful,” you were so lost in your thoughts, your eyes drilling a hole in the marble floor, you hadn’t noticed a pair of bright classy purple shoes walk out of the men’s restroom. Your eyes instantly flicked up to face a handsome stranger with deep grey eyes and a three-day black stubble on his razor-sharp cheekbones. The stranger smiled at you warmly, slipping both of his hands in the pockets of his expensive-looking jeans.

Bingo, you thought, mix of liquid courage and adrenaline spilling into your veins.

“Hi,” giving him a half-smile, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder.

Damn Prospect was watching you through the small dirty window in the door.

Grabbing the stranger by the lapels of his leather jacket, you pulled him in, your lips smashing against his.

You couldn’t even register one thing at a time, whirlwind of sensations and puzzle-like thoughts flooding your mind. He smelled of leather, cigarette smoke and musk, a sinful mix so familiar your stomach ached in an overwhelming need to stain yourself with it; steal it, carry it. The only thing stopping you was the absence of an important undernote, something sugary and spicy like oud or patchouli...

You figured it out in a matter of seconds, and even though the detail was bound to ruin everything, you still tried. Tried to fool yourself.

Even though his lips were a little too full for your liking. A little too soft. A little too innocent. A little too different from what you loved.

With your eyes closed, you bit his bottom lip, focusing on the way his rough cheeks felt against the palms of your hands as you cupped his face.

He didn’t bite back. He didn’t grab your hips with his hands, pulling you in closer. He didn’t moan into your mouth.

You didn’t click and that was that.

You still tried.

Holding on to that familiarity of rough beard under your fingertips, his scent completely engulfing you, you thought whether he hollowed his cheeks when he inhaled the smoke. He wasn’t a manual worker - you could tell from the softness of his touch as he positioned one of his hands on the nape of your neck. Exactly, positioned - that was the word. To describe a nearly mechanic movement of those soft little fingers.

Probably ain’t that good with his hands, darlin’ - Jax’ shit-eating grin appeared before your eyes for a millisecond, exactly the time it took for you to try and get a hold of yourself again.

You tried.

Your eyes fluttered open as the stranger rolled his tongue over your bottom lip - a little provocation that made you lose your mind back in the day. This time it felt like an ice-bucket full of water being dumped on the top of your head. It felt invasive, arrogant and wrong. It felt wrong, fault of his lips, his smell, his cheeks... Fault of him not being who you wanted him to be.

The stranger kissed you with his grey eyes open. And it shouldn’t have mattered at all - for all you knew, you’d have never seen him again - but it fucking did; the man you wanted always closed his eyes with your lips on his.

‘Hey, could you...’ you whispered, your lips still touching his. ‘Could you please close your eyes?...’

No answer followed. The stranger moved his head a little, confused look of those grey eyes settling on your face.

You ransacked your mind for something to say that could justify the shitty stunt you pulled; nothing came out. Luckily, the outside world came knocking soon enough.

‘Y/N!’ swinging the door to the bar open, Donna and her flushed and happy face came into view. ‘We’re doing shots, you with us?’

‘Yeah!’ you answered a little too quickly, relief in your voice almost tangible. ‘I’m coming’.

You gave the stranger a sympathetic look before letting go of his jacket.

‘I’m sorry,’ you told him blankly, not sure what kind of emotion he’d expect from you, given the context. ‘It was nice meeting you, uh...’

‘Gabriel’, he filled in, his lips still raw from the kiss you shared.

‘Gabriel,’ you repeated, knowing you’d forget his name the moment you’d turn away. ‘See you around, I guess’.

Just as you left the man with purple shoes behind, following Donna, you noticed the Prospect by the bar. He caught your eyes and gave you an uneasy smile.

For a spy, the guy isn’t exactly hiding, you thought. Biting the inside of your cheeks, you decided to finish what you started for once and headed his way.

Nighttime had always been the time for his demons to come out to play. To bring out the worst in him.

Tonight, however, felt different.

The night was silent, save for the car engines revving miles away from Teller Morrow. Stars dotted the inky sky, their shine so bright they looked like holes in heaven’s floor.

Jax’s mind was clear – not a single stray thought corrupting the peacefulness of the moment. The roof may have trembled under his feet, good old tunes rocking the walls of the club, but he heard none of it, not a single note. Hollowing his cheeks, he took a deep drag of his cigarette ; the smoke eddied coolly down his throat, until he puffed it out slowly – milky white and circular.

This stillness was new to Jax, the feeling of time rolling by in its silent and endless way soothing him. He wallowed in it for a moment ; until the thuds of careful steps reached his ears.

Dumping the cigarette butt over the roof and straight down on the parking lot, Jax watched Opie’s impressive, broad frame block the harvest moon from the view, as he slowly climbed the stairs.

‘If this ain’t the man of the hour,’ Jax said, his lips bearing the semblance of a smile. ‘Tired of enjoying your last days of freedom yet?’

Opie chuckled quietly, making his way to his best friend. He shook his head slightly, taking a seat next to Jax, his eyes immediately drawn to the beauty that was the night sky.

‘I’ve belonged to Donna since forever, man,’ Opie shrugged, moonlight reflecting in his dark eyes. ‘This is just an excuse for boys to enjoy booze and pussy’.

Jax rolled his tongue over his bottom lip before biting on it, smiling knowingly.

‘Yeah,’ he let out, nodding slowly. Fumbling with his cigarettes, he offered one to Ope. Winston gladly accepted, lighting it up.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, listening to downtown Charming snore softly in its agitated sleep.

‘Saw you talking to Ima at the bar,’ Opie was first to break the silence, exhaling the smoke. ‘She still carries a torch for you?’

A crooked half-smile graced Jax’ face at the question; he slowly stood up, raising both of his hands and stretching, the hoodie he was wearing rolling up a tad, thus showing toned muscles.

‘Don’t even get me started on this one, man’, Jax shook his head, raising his eyebrows in desperate gesture. ‘She keeps pestering me about that old lady shit…’

Opie whistled, watching Jax lean over the roof barrier, and following him shortly.

‘Ima? An old lady?’ Opie repeated in disbelief, Jax watching him with a blooming smirk. ‘She’s really getting desperate ain’t she?’

Jax let out a booming laugh before staring down into the ground, his thoughts taking him elsewhere.

Comfotable silence settled over the roof again. It were as if the world had stopped, came to a much needed halt, yet both Jax and Opie knew the feeling wouldn’t last.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever get around to what you’re doing, Ope’, Teller suddenly confessed, unblinking, voicing the thoughts that’d been plaguing his mind for what seemed like ages. ‘How am I supposed to ask someone to just open themselves up to the neverending load of shit we’re dealing with on a regular basis? I deal arms, I sell porn, I hurt people. That’s all I’m good for. Who would ever want to be associated with this kind of psycho, huh? Maybe Ima is my end game.’

Jax smiled bitterly, stealing a quick glance at the Teller Morrow sign on his left, even unlit a painful reminder of who he was. Opie grabbed Jax’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly.

‘Bullshit,’ he protested, shoving Jax back a tad unintentionally. He looked Teller right into the eyes, holding that heavy stare of stormy blue orbs for a moment. ‘I know someone who did want that, Jax’, he finally said, letting go of his friend, sadness lacing his words. ‘You’re not asking for a goddamn moon’.

The Vice-President of SAMCRO sneered, biting on the inside of his cheek. Opie knew he took a plunge in dangerous waters with that statement, but he also knew he needed to put this shit Jax’d been going through ever since that fight of yours on the table.

‘Damn straight I am,’ Jax bit back roughly, not even trying not to rise to the bait. ‘That someone you know made sure I was aware of that,’ he spat, his voice dripping with anger.

‘You’re not being fair, man’ Opie stated sternly, taking a step back and shoving both hands into his jeans’ pockets, his eyes never quitting Jax’ face. ‘You both said things you didn’t mean that night. Besides,’ his voice softening up a bit, he continued. ‘Can you really blame her? After what we did to the A.T.F.?’

Jax scoffed, turning his head in Opie’s direction. The fire that anger lit in his eyes wasn’t quite gone yet, its sparks still lingering on the surface of Teller’s irises.

‘Donna didn’t seem to mind,’ he observed spitefully, turning around and leaning on the barrier, folding his hands across his chest, as if protecting his bleeding heart.

‘Donna doesn’t know!’ Opie retorted almost instantly. ‘That’s why I’m still marrying her on Tuesday!’ once the words were out of his mouth, he rubbed one of his hands against his beard, looking away, exasperated. ‘Y/N didn’t tell her shit’, he added quietly.

Gritting his teeth, Jax faced the barrier again, grabbing it with both of his hands. Rocking himself back and forth on his heels, he let out an irritated, rumbling sigh.

There was something in that sound of air pushing its way in between Jax’s lips that made Opie freeze; the fierceness of heartache behind it. Opie watched. He watched Jax’s face, as Teller bit the inside of his bottom lip, shaking his head, lowering his gaze – hiding those glossy baby blues of his.

Then he knew.

Jax’s anger was nothing but a shield for pain. Empty bravado. Signifying nothing.

Each word coming out of Teller’s mouth was an activated grenade; Jax was a soldier, cornered by his pain, scared, desperate and so damn lonely. Bitterness was his surviving mechanism. Little did he know that those verbal grenades he threw would eventually end up backfiring at him. And then that anger – that shield he carried – would clatter to the ground and the pain would hit him like a tsunami. Choking him. Drowning him.

‘I don’t care,’ Jax finally spoke, facing his best friend again. Strangled emotion seeped out of his words, only confirming what Ope had already knew.  ‘If I had to choose between Y/N and that A.T.F.’s wife again, I wouldn’t have done a damn thing differently. I will always choose Y/N.’

Protectiveness rang in Jax’s voice, like bullets falling on the ground. He eyed Opie almost threateningly, daring him to challenge his statement.

Opie nodded slowly, reassuringly. This simple gesture made Jax’s body relax a bit, as he rolled back his shoulders.

‘I know, man,’ Opie spoke calmly. ‘Y/N knows it, too, and she’s grateful, trust me. There was only one way to do it with her getting out alive,’ Winston frowned at the thought, watching the same kind of expression darken Jax’s features. ‘She now lives with the weight of two deaths on her shoulders, for God’s sake, cut her some slack.’

‘She didn’t pull that trigger on the A.T.F. when he came asking about his old lady, Ope,’ Jax rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands tiredly. He clearly did not want to have the same kind of conversation with Ope that he would have with himself in the darkness of the night. ‘I did’, he said, more to himself than to Winston, not even looking at his brother. ‘I killed him.’

Jax vocalized what he’d been telling himself ever since you left, forcing himself to believe that this – he – was the reason you two broke and could never be put together again.

‘Those two deaths are on me,’ he added, hoping his mind would be satisfied with the self-hatred audible in his confession. But it wasn’t. He knew the same thoughts would be back to haunt him in the night all over again.

‘This is on Mayans, Jax, all of it’, Opie tried to counter, watching Jax being submerged with the idea of who he thought he was. The idea that was, of course, complete and utter bullshit. ‘All you did was protecting your family. Protecting the club.’

‘Yeah, whatever’, Jax managed a small smile, almost free of bitterness. ‘It’s over, Ope. It’s done’.

Lowering his head, Jax searched for his cigarettes in his pockets, slapping his palms against the leather of his kutte. Finally finding what he’d been looking for, he took a Zippo lighter from Opie’s stretched hand and lit up the cancer stick.

Hollowing his cheeks, inhaling deeply, Jax raised his eyebrows at Ope, judging from his uneasy expression that he wanted to speak, but weren’t sure how to go about it.

‘You know it ain’t over, man’ Winston finally managed, his voice quiet and hoarse. ‘You still love her’.

The statement made Jax chuckle for some mysterious reason ; he threw his head back, slowly exhaling the smoke as it carressed his lips. Watching Ope with the same amused yet hard expression he learned to master, Jax spread his arms, as wide as they would go.

‘Yeah, well, I guess I’m shit out of luck then, ain’t I?’ a wicked smile grew on his mouth. ‘I’ll just have to find someone half as good as her, and that’s that. Consider myself lucky if I do.’

Opie huffed out a breath, looking away and down at the parking lot, shaking his head. Jax leaned against the roof barrier, taking another deep drag of his cigarette, dropping his gaze.

‘Or,’ Opie broke the silence all of the sudden. ‘You can just talk to her. Work this shit out’.

Jax gave his friend a sideways glance, a ghost of hope settling along the curves of his red lips.

‘She won’t see me, Ope,’ Jax’s words were contradicting his body language. He stood straighter, letting his chest open up as he leaned backfirst onto the barrier. ‘I’m dead to her’.

‘Guess she’s here to visit your grave then,’ Opie smirked, motioning towards the parking lot with a slight movement of his chin.

Jax’s immediate reaction was a deep, skin-creasing frown, his mind a surging perplexity. Opie could literally see the realization dawn on him, the walls he had spent all these years bulding high and deep crumbling at his feet. All it took was one look at you ; one look at that black car that brought you home.

Dread flashing in his blue eyes, excitement creeping up his spine, Jax didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath for three minutes straight. His heart trying to escape the rattling cage that was his chest, Teller closed his eyes. Anticipation tingling through him like electric current, down to his Nike-cladded feet, he bit his bottom lip, regaining control over his body.

His blue sparkling eyes flashed in the darkness as Opie’s gentle, yet slightly mocking voice cut the tension like a knife :

‘If I were you,’ trying to keep the urge to smile at bay, Winston pursued his lips. ‘I’d hurry downstairs before Ima spots Y/N at the entrance…’

‘Shit !’ Jax hissed, already climbing down the stairs as fast as his feet would take him. In one adrenaline-fuelled jump he leapt towards the entrance door of the club, his brain on fast-forward and his heart skipping several beats at a time at the thought of seeing you…

[confusedunit]

A Faint Divergence - Day 2

12 Days of Ficmas - Day 2 Gen, as always. Angst Characters: Tommy. Featuring background Mr. Coolatta, Benrey, Mentions of Gordon and Bubby

Tommy knows a lot about grudges, for good reason.

Tommy had been told, when he was young, to be careful holding grudges.

His father had been the one to tell him that, when he was still small, that he must direct his anger with care. Sitting on a couch, a program on the screen in front of him that he could not read or understand, his dad gently ruffling his hair as he told him important information.

It wasn't healthy for most species in the universe to make and hold grudges, but it was especially not great for them. Beings made of star dust and solar flares, if they had a festering anger turn into a grudge, it would be very difficult to put that flame out. And Tommy had taken that to heart, remembered that once he'd been exploring Earth on his own.

Humans, however, seemed to hold grudges over even the smallest things. Someone messed up your lunch once? Time to never forgive them. Break something minor, like a borrowed keyboard, or an office coffee cup that someone else preferred to use? The grudge pact was sealed. In Tommy's professional opinion, he thought it was 'fucking bonkers', and he didn't understand it at all. With so much of the world to experience and explore, why spend so much time being angry?

He later realized it was tenseness, an anxiety and stress constantly bubbling under the skin, that caused humans to be so aggressive at the smallest of flaw. He was disheartened to discover that this state was in fact preferable, to upper management in businesses and laboratories.

Well...all the more reason for him to take that Human Resources job his dad offered him, right? Plus, the irony of having a non-human be their HR guy was far too amusing to him. Help others, and get free entertainment out of it, plus learn a thing or two about human nature. Sounded perfect to him.

- 

It was years until he thought about grudges again, this time after he'd transferred to be taking care of the 'Resonance Project', which had long since changed it's tune, ha ha, to being what felt like a dumping ground for the experiments Black Mesa didn't want to deal with anymore, but didn't want to get rid of either.

His friends, of course. Black Mesa might give up on them, but like hell he was gonna do the same. These were his. His friends. His humans. You could take them from his cold dead and burnt out hands.

The lingering anger had built as they'd disappeared, but he'd ignored it. The metaphorical festering wound in his metaphorical heart was pushed to the side, as he tried to help those who remained. As he tried to hold onto hope that his dad could fix things. But once he'd arrived, and seen what had been done to his friends, heard what they'd said, or hadn't said...the smoldering embers burned into a deep, intense flame.

The grudge was sealed. Black Mesa would never be forgiven for their transgressions.

- 

Benry was an...interesting person. Not from Black Mesa, and really cagey about where he actually came from. Tommy couldn't blame him, he couldn't even begin to explain where he was born and grew up. But there was something about him that seemed, familiar. But he couldn't piece it together.

Until he heard the other tell his name to someone. And then it clicked.

Not Benry. Benrey. Two e's. And Benrey-With-Two-E's was someone he'd most certainty heard of before. From his dad.

He hadn't been told what had caused his dad's anger towards the other man, but he could tell a grudge when he saw one. His dad rarely held them, in fact the only two that Tommy himself knew of were against Benrey-With-Two-E's and one against some higher up at Aperture Science.

He'd known a bit about the latter, that his dad really hated someone there with a vicious passion, and that when he was a kid his dad said he had to stop coming with him to work and playing with the other children there. It had made him sad, because he'd liked visiting with the human children, and he'd gotten super good at not revealing he wasn't human! Plus, they repeated so much science that their parents taught them, which meant he learned more. He'd even made a friend. But, well...when his dad said something was dangerous, that meant it was really, really bad.

But as for Benrey, he had literally no idea what the other had done to gain his ire. And even when Benrey had approached him later on, and asked him what his dad's problem was with him, he didn't give any info. Just asked why Mr. Coolatta couldn't let go.

After Tommy explained how grudges worked for them, Benrey had just widened his eyes and nodded, and never brought it up again. For Benrey's sake, Tommy let it go.

It probably wasn't important to their situation, anyway.

- 

During the Resonance Cascade, he'd already been on edge. Nothing like that had happened on his watch, and he couldn't believe it was happening now. Why was it? He knew the speed was a factor, but even then, why had it caused such a catastrophic failure?

And then while searching, he'd heard Bubby berating Gordon, outright declaring it was the younger man's fault, and that didn't sit right with him. Gordon was respected member of their party, and whatever had gone wrong was obviously so much bigger than just the few of them.

He set that aside, ignoring his frustration to keep moving forward. For the good of their party.

And yet, to quote Benrey, they kept fucking up all the time. Things kept going wrong, danger kept getting worse, and all he could wonder in the back of his head is where his dad was. Did he know what was going on? Would they all be okay? Why was everyone being so antagonistic, especially to Gordon?

Tommy saw movement, lifted his gun and shot, startled when his shot hit glass instead of a target. Had it really been a flash of light that he'd seen? Was he that out of it? He had no time to process, having to hurry through the door, and startling when Benrey was crushed under it. Why had he done that? Why had he shot that, and why had Benrey just lied there?

He almost felt a bubbling under his skin, and he blinked rapidly as he processed. Tension. Anxiety. Stress, just beneath. Increased anger, unprovoked reactions.

Shit.

- 

He'd heard them. Tommy had heard Benrey and Bubby talking, and he'd done nothing. How could he? He was so focused on keeping everyone alive, he had no time to process their rambling nonsense.

And now it had cost them everything. His failure had cost the whole group valuable time, valuable resources, and a friend's stability.

He reached out his shaking hand from his crumpled spot on the floor, focusing on the cords. At least that confirmed it wasn't a friend's life. Though...he checked on another cord as well, finally letting out a breath as it was alright too.

He can't believe he did that to Bubby. He'd justified it at the time, even let it temper his anger to a simmer. But now he felt no anger, no fury. He felt grief, and hollow. In spending so much time around humans, he'd picked up a trait or two, but he'd never have even had nightmares about grudges being one of them. A time out for Bubby it certainly was, but it was a betrayal of it's own, too. A 'taste of one's own medicine'. And Tommy did that to him.

He pressed his face into his knees. He'd...he'd get up soon, and...go find Gordon. Then they'd find the rest of the team, get everyone back together, and they'd...fix it. They'd fix everything. They'd fix everything.

They had to. All they had was each other. They couldn't afford for anyone to break for good.

[britbrodcast]

Friday The 13th

Hey! i’ts the li nobody here with another horror/angst fic!

tags: @what-even-is-thiss @fandomsandanythingelse @prinxiety-logicality-ss @lackingroman @analogically-prinxiety @parsnipit @softlogic @6midnight-alpha6

TW: extreme violence, mentions of hanging and impalement , lots and lots of blood, guts, murder, gruesome detail, slow killing off characters one by one. 

im %100 serious when I say that this is very bloody and there is graphic descriptions of gruesome murder, if you think reading a fic with the warnings above might not be a good idea then please. Do. Not. Read.

Anxiety knew something bad was going to happen to him, he'd managed to trip over his black cat named Curiosity, he tried to fix a broken umbrella and opened it indoors, he stepped on a handheld mirror walking to the commons, he walked under a ladder while Prince was painting a mural on the wall, he broke the salt shaker while trying to find cereal, and to sweeten the pot of bad luck the day was Friday the 13th.

Anxiety told the others about what happened and they all laughed knowing that most bad luck omens are fake, but what they didn't know is Anxiety's shadow had disappeared and a strange figure that showed on the walls was holding a knife and it appeared to be laughing.

No one noticed Anxiety's disappearance until Morality finally convinced the others to check up on him and found him in his closet with a gag in his mouth and a dark figure whispering next to him, "No one cares about you, you're unwanted, nobody has checked on you yet so why would they come now?" They untied the ropes holding Anxiety and after that they never let him out of their sight...

That was the wrong thing to do, when Logic wasn't heard from for two days Prince came to check up on him and what he saw made him scream.

Logic's body was hanging from the ceiling fan slowly rotating and his throat was slit, no blood was falling but the circle splatter on the floor showed that he was quickly put up there after the blade had cut his neck.

The others quickly ran to Prince's scream, Morality fainted and Anxiety ran to the nearest bathroom and threw up.

After a year of the murder the Traits hadn't gotten over the death of Logan, the worst thing is that he was still with them, floating around as a dark blue hologram like figure and speaking in a language that wasn't known to man. The worst thing about it was that he had a cut on his neck the same as to his body before death but it constantly dripped blue blood which would vanish before it even touched the floor, his jaw was bruised, and when he lifted his shirt you could see a hole shape of a hand in his abdomen as if someone had cut the shape or someone ripped through his skin and took something out, that thing was his small intestines which looked like they were in the process of falling out but they were permanently stuck there as if he couldn't even touch it or put it back in place.

The next Friday the 13th was in two days, they had found how to communicate with Logan, Prince held a recording device next to the shimmering ghost and explained that he had seen something of the sort happening in movies and books but a strange idea was all he had.

He started the recording "Hey Logic, what's my favorite Disney song?" *g͢a͘͟͠r̡b̸l͜͠e̢҉͢d̷͜͠ ̢s̵p̵ee̕͢c̶̨h̡͝͠"̨͏̀ ͜͜͞

He stopped the recording and played it, "Hey Logic, what's my favorite Disney song?" "All of t̶he̡m b̵u͏t҉ ͞wh҉y ͟wo̕uĺd ͠y҉o͢u c͘are, f́o͡r som̢e re̡as̶on y̴ou can͢'͢t͘ ̧u͘n̡d͢ers̛t͝a͏nd ̨me."̛

Logan made a sound that was easily noticed as yell of triumph

He pointed at the record button and prince did so *g͜aŗbled͢ ̛g̕ib̷be̢ri̸s҉h f͡o̶r͡ a lo͞n̕g t̵i̧m͟e* After a few minutes he pointed at the stop button, Roman did as he asked.

Roman pressed play, "O̡hm͘ygod͏yǫu̡c͢a̧n̸hear̴m̷e I'͠v̴e ̧be͠e̢n͘ t̨a͝lki̡ng͜ ̢to ̀y̕ou̕ norm̨a͝lly ̨b̨ut͘ ҉f͞o͜r̴ ̷s̀omè ͜r̢eas̡o͘n y͢o҉u ͏ça̢n̡'t un̷der͢s͠t͝and me̴, what҉ h̕a͞p͢p͟en͜e̛d t̴o̶ ̨ḿe?! ̧I l̸ơo҉k n͜o̶rmal͘ t̡o ̷m͝ys͡e̢l̸f͜ ̴but̵ I ̸ca̛n'̡t s̡ee ́my̸se͟lf͡ ̵i̸n a͞ny refle͜ct̕ive҉ ́sur̨face ̵a͝n̕d̨ w̷h́ene͘v̛e҉r I ̢loơk҉ a͞t ̡m͜y҉ ̶abd̡o͝me͜n ̛wit̕ho̸ut m̀y̶ ͜s͞h̷ir͝t̵ ͟t̛h̸e wor͞ĺd see̴m͞s to̸ ̢b̷l͢ur͢ ̶ąnd ͘canc͠el out͏ ̧my̕ v́i̛s̛io҉n̢, Ro̴man̴,̛ what'̷s h́a͠pp̀e͟ne͜d̸ ͢tò m̢e͟?!͘"̵ ͢ The recording ended.

Roman had to bite back a sob, Logan didn't know he was dead, he couldn't see himself in any reflective surfaces or see his abdomen which meant he couldn't see his injuries and to top it all off, he was acting frantic and he acted just like Anxiety, no fancy words and I'm a strange way his voice started to fill with hope the more he spoke.

Roman stood up, "I need to tell the others that I can talk with you, could you stay here?" Logan nodded and watched Prince leave, he waited for a half and hour and he was starting to get uneasy, when it reached the fourth five mark he gave up staying put and went out to find Prince, when he did he screamed, to the others it sounded like very loud static.

Logic ran to the words that he presumed had been his last effort, the words "p̷̡҉͘r͘͏e̴̶s̶̨̕͟ş͘ ̸́̀͘̕ṕ҉̨ļ̴̨̨͝a̴̡͝ý̡̧͟" were written in his own blood. An arrow pointed up where the voice recorder lay. A bloody finger print was seen on the start recording and stop recording buttons, there was a problem. The recorder looked as if it was cut in half by a sword. Prince's last efforts were for nothing.

He turned to his friend, it was a gruesome scene. His body was held onto a staircase by his red sash which tied around the banister of the railing, the other end of the sash was wrapped around his neck, his shirt was removed showing that his attacked had cut the shape of a crown into his chest, above each prong of the crown was an object impaled into his flesh, all three were Roman's favorite trophies of war. the right object was a claw of a dragon witch, the middle was a tooth of a serpent that had been terrorizing his kingdom for fifty years prior, and the left was his favorite katana which skewered him and stuck him to the wall. Logan then looked up, Prince's throats was a mess of blood, tissue, and bone, it was clear that his vocal cords were ripped out. Logan then realized that this must've happened to him. He was dead.

Romans ghost came around a week after he died, his lack of voice box lady him unable to speak but he communicated in another way that the others were not fond of, whenever he wanted to say something he would dip a finger into the gaping wound in his neck and write on the nearest surface, the blood would always vanish a few minutes after he wrote.

One day Anxiety asked Prince if he remembered the night he died he wrote "caǹ'͡t ̧reme͢mb͡e̷r, o͡ņly fel͜t p̵a̛i͠n. ͏Theń ̷w͞o͟k̡ę up͡ h͡eŗe͏."͞

Prince showed the others how to talk with Logic, even though he was able to talk in a way to the others he didn't want to be Logans translator.

*Timeskip brought to you by the next characters death*

Anxiety used to love his room, the Bright white place always gave him a sense of calm whenever he entered, but ever since Logans death the room seemed to whisper to him and set his nerves on edge. The room was slowly turning a shade of grey, He never stayed in his room for more than three days, the darkness and shadows started to engulf him whenever he set foot into the room.

He was laying in his bed reading a rant on tumblr when he noticed a corner in his room which was full of light had a dark blob like a shadow, as he watched the blob turned into a shape of a person, the shadow crawled up the wall and solidified into a black mass right next to him. A searing pain on his neck made him scream, then the pain grew and grew and grew until he passed out from the pain. The world went black for the last time.

After a day Morality was starting to get worried, Anxiety came to every meal but today he didn't even leave his room for a snack. Pat walked to Virgil's room and knocked on the door.

"Anx are you asleep?" No answer. He opened the door and saw to his surprise a bright white room, his eyes landed on the only non-white thing in the room, Anxiety and his bed. He relaxed for a moment since Anxiety's back was to him. But he couldn't be sleeping, he heard no breathing, and the color of his bed was a deep crimson. When he first saw it he thought it was just the color of the bedsheets, until he saw the red liquid pooling around the bed.

He ran to Anxiety and when he saw him he vomited. "Nononononononononononononowhyiseveryonedyingpleaseletthisbeabaddreampleaseletthisbeabaddream."

But it wasn't, Anxiety was dead and the sight of his friend made him hurl once more.

Anxiety's left arm was ripped off its socket and was shoved into a hole in his chest impaling his right lung, broken pieces of his rib cage held the ripped off limb in place. On his neck was a brand which was burned deeply into his flesh, morality could see bits of singed tendon and muscle along with burned flesh, the brand read 'Property Of' and nothing else, no name no nothing, as it was saying Property of Anxiety.

A black flower crown was embedded into his head by metal spikes, blood from the wound fell into his eyes, his mouth in a silent scream of pain.

Morality hugged his dead friend, ignoring the black blood that now seeped into his clothes. "I'm so sorry Anxiety," he kissed Virgils forehead carefully avoiding the blood that was still flowing down his head, "I was too late to save you like everyone else, I hope you can forgive me."

He let go of his dead friend and left the room.

The next day Anxiety was found floating near his room by Morality, he looked up and blinked some of the blood that obscured his vision, "g͢a͘͟͠r̡b̸l͜͠e̢҉͢d̷͜͠ ̢s̵p̵ee̕͢c̶̨h̡͝͠"̨͏̀ ͜͜͞

Morality unclipped the camera from his belt, you see, a few weeks after Prince's death they found out that devices that show you the footage of the recording while filming it will immediately give you the translation to the ghost speak unlike the voice recorder in which you'd have to wait until you pressed play and then you would hear the translated ghost gibberish.

Anxiety looked up at Morality, "I͡'̡m͜ d͞e͜a̧d ̕are͢ņ't ̢I͝?͡" ͟ Mor nodded. Anxiety wiped away more of the blood with his hand."F̶͟i͏g͟͢u̸͟r̡ed,͞ ̡̕w̧͞͏h̡͢e͏͏̕r҉è͡͞ ̨͢ar̀e ̨t̡͝hè͜͢ ̴o͘t̸͜her͏s̨?̵"̷̕͡

"How on earth are you not freaked out that you're dead?!" Mor demanded.

"My̷͢͏ ̴͟bra̡i̧҉n̕ ̧i͟͡ş͡ ķ́ind͘á̡ ̡͢n̵ù͞m̡b̵̵ ̵f̴ró͘͢m͏̶̀ th͏̀e̵̵͝ sh̸̢͟oc̛͘k͟,̢̀̕ ̷̧yǫ̶͘ų͘͜ ̡̛d͟i͢d̴͏n̕'͡t̨͘͘ ̢͘a̧n͜͞s̀͝͝w̶e̶͘r̸͜҉ ͘m̵͝ý͝ ́͜q͢u͏es͡͠t͘͟͝i̧ó̷͡ņ̕͠.́"̨͘͟ ̶̕͏ Morality thought for a moment, "The last time I saw them was the kitchen, I think they were trying to pick up grains of salt." Anxiety stood up and started to walk towards the kitchens and Mor followed.

When they got to the kitchens Anxiety froze, "T̴͞-́͠t̸͠h͠͞͏ey l̨̀o̢̨͘ò͠k͡͝ ̵̨l̵͜i͜k̴̢e͏͝ ͝͡tḩ̀é͟y̨͠ ͟w̢͝e̛ŗ̸͘e̕ ̴̀͜nęv͘͢e͟͝r҉ ̷͝k͟͡i̵͝l͏ĺ̴̕ȩ̕d." Anxiety ran to Prince and hugged him, to Morality it looked quite odd since the sword and Anxiety's arm seemed to phase through each other. "Y̕o҉u͡ h҉á͜v͜ȩ ͜͟n͜o̶ i̢d̕͟͠e͜a̷̢͞ ҉͏h̡o̧͏̧w ̵҉l̷͘o͝ng̕͠ ̶͠I ͞w̨ą͢͡ńt҉͢éd̢ ͡ţo̷̕ ̛ḑ͝o͘ ̴̀͘t̷͜hi̡s̷." Anxiety mumbled through what Mor guessed was his shirt. Roman froze, he walked over to the table and wrote Y͜͝-̶͝yo̵̵̡u̴͘'r̴͝e̕͏̶ ͟͝d͞ea̡d.̶"̡́ He turned to Patton and scribbled on a drawer ͟҉̢"͏̴͜Ex͠͏͠p͘l͘̕a̢͏̶ìn.̵"̸

The four talked until Patton's camera died.

*timeskip brought to you by the new outfits*

Morality used to love dreams, they would always comfort him when he was down and would never turn sour. That is until a few weeks ago. Nightmares started to invade his sleep, the cold hands of fear grabbed him and watched him suffer through vivid images and sleepless nights just to keep the horrid nightmares away. One day they would rip out his heart, the other they would tie him by his tie on a fan and slowly suffocate him, another they would tear off his arms and force him to run in a corridor of locked doors, and then he woke up. The only thing keeping him going was the thought "they are only bad dreams."

That is until he woke up from another nightmare when real hands grabbed him, hands that were so cold Morality thought they were made out of ice, he then saw a shadow that was holding something metal, a knife. The shadow brought the weapon down on his left eye and quickly after his right eye was also stabbed. Everything went black, not only from lack of sight but also from the pain of the shadow tearing ripping through his skin seeking out his heart.

When Patton 'woke up' he was able to see. He was confused since he remembered his eyes being injured by..... he couldn't remember. When he turned around his memory flew at him at full force since he was now looking at his corpse.

He ran to the nearest trash can and hurled, his shock from seeing his dead body made him not notice that he was able to actually touch the waste bin. His body looked like someone decided to randomly slice a knife on wherever part of him didn't have blood seeping over his being. Large deep cuts covered his arms, legs, and torso. His cardigan was wrapped around his neck and was stained bright blue with his blood, his eyes were closed so he couldn't see the stab wounds but blood poured from underneath his eyelids as if he was crying blood. His heart was ripped out of his chest, the wound was shaped like a cartoon heart. On top of his head lay a tiara with little red hearts on it and in the top tier of the tiara was a fist sized case that held his heart, but it was hard to tell from the blood covering most of the case. He couldn't stand the sight any longer, he left the room.

When he found the others they looked as Anxiety depicted, as if they had never been killed. They looked normal and not a single drop of blood was to be seen. He ran and jump hugged Logan, "̸͡I̵ ḿiś̶̸s͟e͏̶d̴ ̨y͘͏o̧u̶͟ ͏gu͞͠ys͝͞͠ ̛so͡ ̧m҉̴ùc̸h̡͝͠.̵͜"̷̧҉Mor whispered. Logan smiled, "A͏s̨̢͜ ̛d̢í̧͠d҉ ̶͢͜I̢͡͝.̀҉"

Bonus:

Thomas hadn't summoned his Traits in years, he just never had a reason to. A week ago he had felt as if his heart feel as if it was being ripped out but he brushed it off when nothing else happened but the worry still lingered. He recalled this and decided to see how the facets of his personality were doing.

When he summoned them they looked different, they seemed to glow and their feet didn't quite reach the floor. Thomas frowned as his concern grew. "What happened to you guys?!"

Morality pulled out a voice recorder, ever since they became ghosts they only were able to touch things they already had touched in real life, his camera was nowhere to be found so they fixed the one Roman used. Morality spoke "g͢a͘͟͠r̡b̸l͜͠e̢҉͢d̷͜͠ ̢s̵p̵ee̕͢c̶̨h̡͝͠"̨͏̀ ͜͜͞

Thomas thought this must be an elaborate prank until Mor pressed play on the recorder. "We'r͠e de҉ad. Í die҉d̵ a ̀wȩek̸ ́a͘go ͘an͏d the̵ ҉o͡t͠h͜èrs͘.̨..̸.͘ b̷e͟twȩen҉ three ́y͜ea̶rs̷ a̸nd͠ n͏ow. In ͞short҉,̀ we ͝àl̶l ̶kic̀k̛e̴d t̡ḩȩ ̴buc̷kȩt͠ f̧r̕o͜m̨ so͠me̡ ćr̛a͜zỳ ̵k̨illȩŗ shad͟ow.̴" Thomas's frowned deepened, "but I don't see any injuries."

The Traits looked at each other, Logic grabbed the recorder and spoke into it. "I̵..̢. ̕don͟'t t̶ḩink҉ ͏yo̴u̢'̀ll b͝e͏ a̛b҉le͘ ̢to ͡k͜ée͏p̸ you̷r ͜meal̴ ̢w̨h́ere ͡i̕t͝ ̢i͠s ҉a͡t̢ the͞ ̛çur̡re̷nt ̡mome͞n̷t ͠i̸f́ ̵w͜e ̢śh̨ow̧ y͏o͜u̶." Thomas scoffed, "Try me." The Traits were still weary but if Thomas said he could do it... they showed Thomas their true forms. Thomas shut his eyes almost instantly after seeing them. "Oh my god." They changed back to their non mutilated bodies, Thomas opened his eyes, "I never noticed this, in so sorry I should've realized-" Thomas paused, "Wait, how the heck did this even happen?!"

Virgil smirked and recorded himself, "I ͠h͏o̢pe ̵you ̷l̸ike̶ ́ho̢r̴ror͏ ͏an̴d ͏h́a̸v͜e͢ ̵not̸h̴in͘g to̵ d͡o ̧c̨aus̶e ̡th͠is͝'ll̢ ̷ta̢ke̡ á w͟h͝íle̷." ̢