#and then i was like omg i could go to the clinic they’re listing that’s closer to my campus and just go before i

[fappellmoan]

so stressed bc my stupid drug test results were too diluted the other day (god forbid a bitch is hydrated) (ok i overdid it a little bit but i’ve been thru the wringer of Not having enough water for tests but enough that i desperately needed to pee but had to wait and then have sonograms pressing into my bladder so ig that got into my head what Ever who gaf) and the fucking email i got said a second test being too diluted would qualify as a failure and they’d take away the job offer 😭😭😭 and i just pissed at home and it was like the Same color even tho it’s early yet in the day im not drinking that much ohhhh brother i hate it here

[digitaldiarystuff]

Need You

omg this was heartbreaking and cute to write at the same time, thank you so much for the request!! you can keep them coming and i can try my best 💕

also, slowly becoming a fermin fan acc but no complaining tho lol

————

pairing: Fermin Lopez x Y/N

summary: Fermin let the fame get to his head and wanted a break, that was 2 months ago. One night he’s pulled out of sleep by a phone call from a hospital saying you’ve been in an accident

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: mentions of car accident, bruises and sprained ankle but nothing too graphic

————

Fermin woke up to his phone buzzing constantly. The first time he tried to ignore it and not let it get to him but it started ringing again soon. He huffed with annoyance and reached for his bedside table. The number looked ordinary, he didn’t have it saved and he wasn’t planning on answering a crazy fan’s call at 2 in the morning. He let the buzzing stop and left the phone back trying to go back to sleep but something in him worried, with a loud sigh he reached over again typing the number on his search engine finding it belonged to a local hospital in Barcelona. His heart started racing, his initial thought was Pablo but he was okay at the match today so why was a hospital calling him at this hour?

He tried calling the number back but it went straight to a prerecorded message, Fermin was stressed until the phone connected to the reception.

“Hello, this is Alana from Hospital Clinic. How can I help you?” she asked

“Hey, um, I was just called from this number twice. Can I know the reason?” he said fidgeting with his hand trying to understand if it was just a misunderstanding.

“Can I have your name?”

“Fermin Lopez.” Fermin hesitatingly said, he was recently getting recognition from football fans and was also kind of overwhelmed with it.

“Oh yes, I found it Mr Lopez. It looks like your girlfriend Ms Y/N was in an accident, we tried reaching her family members first, they said they’d come as soon as possible but since they’re out of Barcelona it could take a while and you’re just below them on the emergency call list.”

Fermin listened but after he heard about you in an accident he lost focus, everything the woman said going unnoticed by him. If he thought about it, you weren’t his girlfriend anymore, he said he needed a break but hadn’t tried to reach you ever again. It’s been 2 months with no contact other than the night you called him drunk and cursed him for how easy he let you go and he took your scolding, he knew he deserved it and he also wanted you to be safe so he stayed on the phone with you until you went inside your apartment saying he’d call you to have a proper conversation. He didn’t.

He chickened out, he knew you were head over heels for him, that you’d do anything for him but he was just debuting in first team and his career just took off and everyone kept reminding him that he’s too young for this. He should just focus on his football and girls shouldn’t be a priority. He couldn’t do anything he wanted if he’s tied down at 21 and he let those intrusive thoughts get in his head and became irritated with your presence in his life.

He hated himself for it but couldn’t help himself and picked fights constantly tiring both of you. He’d became cold and distant, forgetting important dates and choosing to go out. Even then you tried to keep the relationship going but everyone has their limits and he crossed yours when he forgot your presentation for your finals. It was the most important thing in your whole academic life and he promised to be there but forgot, prompting your biggest fight ever. That’s when he proposed taking a break until he figured himself out, as he hated the state he put your relationship through. You didn’t even fight him on it, just accepted and went upstairs to gather your belongings. He stood still on his place on the sofa not trusting his legs to work if he’d stand up. You came out the room soon and said goodbye to him, kissing his lips one last time and left your keys on the dresser shutting the door behind you. Fermin still remembered that feeling he felt once he realized you really left, he thought it’d be relief as this is what he wanted all along but it wasn’t. It was pure pain.

“Mr Lopez?” the woman at the end of the line repeated as Fermin was too lost to speak.

“Is she okay?” he asked with a trembling voice. He couldn’t believe something this bad can happen to an angel like you.

“Unfortunately I can’t discuss her state on the phone but she’ll be okay, our best doctors are taking care of her.”

Fermin was already up trying to find any pieces of clothing to throw on as he was just in his boxers. He checked the location on his phone and thanked the receptionist quickly ending the call. He didn’t even realize how much he was shaking until he sat behind the wheel. He had tears on his face and in his eyes occasionally blurring his vision for a second until he finally made it to the hospital. He was shocked that he could drive without getting in an accident himself. He couldn’t lose her, there was no way he could lose her. Even though he knew he didn’t deserve you in the slightest, he loved you with his whole heart. You were his first real girlfriend, his first love, even after all the stupid things he did to push you away he knew you’re his person and he’d do anything for you.

He quickly ran to the reception who asked him for ID and sent him to your floor.

“Room 203” he whispered to himself as the elevator doors opened and he rushed over. A nurse was just coming out of your room with charts in her hand and he stopped her frantically.

“Is she okay? Is Y/N okay?”

The nurse was startled but she was used to seeing people going crazy for their loved ones.

“Yes, don’t worry she just has some minor bruises on her face and body and a sprained ankle. She’ll be here tonight but tomorrow after the doctor clears her she’ll be good to go.” the nurse smiled but Fermin couldn’t bring himself to return the kindness. All he could do was feel relieved, she was okay.

“Can I go in?” he asked

“Um, she should really get some rest. It’s been traumatizing for her.”

“Look I need to see her, I need to make sure she’s okay.” he pleaded and the nurse finally gave in opening the door to let Fermin in.

“Fine but not for too long, she needs some sleep.”

Fermin nodded and took a deep breath, it just dawned on him that this was the first time he’d be seeing you in two months and he was so distraught to even think if she’d want him there or not. Maybe she hated him.

Fermin even thought about turning back and just waiting in the hall but he really needed to see with his own eyes that you were good so he pushed the door further, wishing he had peonies to bring you. They were always your favorite.

“Fermin?” you asked clearly shocked seeing him walk in. Your face had some red and purple marks and your foot was in a big black boot elevated. You looked so beaten and tired but Fermin could swear you’ve never looked so good. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, even when you were apart he tried not looking you up. He didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole and he knew if he started he couldn’t stop until he was begging on his knees at your doorstep.

“Mi vida.” he hesitantly said as he stood by the door afraid to come closer even though everything in him wanted to hug you and kiss you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked. If this was under any other circumstances you’d be pissed at him but you were feeling so ran down that you were just relieved to see him. You were in Barcelona for uni and your parents were back in Sevilla, you only had friends here. Well, and Fermin but not anymore.

“The hospital called.” he said and as scared as he was, he walked over to your bed and sat down on the chair next to it. You could see him lift his hand and then retract it until he just went for it and held your free hand. The other one had a tube in it.

As soon as your hands touched you felt your eyes tearing, you were too weak to hold them in.

“No no no please don’t cry. You’re okay, I’m here please don’t cry cariño.” he tried reassuring you.

“I hate you.” you murmured but leaned in his touch, it was like your mind and body were fighting each other but no matter how angry you were at him you were happy to see him.

You knew he loved you and that’s the reason your break was so painful, you knew this was just a phase but he wouldn’t let you help. He just pushed and pushed you until you were out of his life.

“I know. I know and I’m so sorry but I’m here now and I’m never leaving again. Y/N I know I can never undo what I did but I’m willing to try everything. I can give you as much space and time as you need, I just want to be with you and I can’t stand being far anymore. I’ll take care of you and I’ll do anything for you.” he ranted with tears in his eyes and kissed every single one of your knuckles.

You wanted to act tough, you wanted to make him pay for not giving you enough attention, making you feel insignificant but in this state there wasn’t much you could do other than relying on his words. You never wanted to be apart anyway and he said he was willing to do the work this time so you believed him. Maybe it was naive of you to do, but you did. You loved him.

That night Fermin never left your side, he held your hand until you fell asleep and when you woke up he was still there watching you with dried tears on his face. His hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot and bags under them but he never looked more handsome to you.

“You need to sleep, don’t you have practice in the morning?” you asked as you slowly came to your senses.

“No, what I need is for you to be okay. Everything else can wait.” he said while placing a kiss on your temple and you smiled at him, it had been a long time since you felt that at peace and it was ironic as you were at a hospital bed.

“I also talked to your sister, they’re going to be here today. It’s the earliest flight they could find.”

You smiled up at him, you were feeling a lot better with little pain left and couldn’t wait to be out of this room.

“Did the doctor say when can I go home?” you asked excited to see your family again.

“Yes, he was in here earlier and said as soon as you woke up he’d come and check. Then we’re free to go.”

Just as he finished talking the doctor walked in and asked you some questions about your injuries and looked at his charts.

“Well, I think you’re ready to be discharged Y/N” he smiled and Fermin helped you get up. You still had to use crutches for a while but other than that you were feeling fine.

Even though you tried to argue, Fermin found a wheelchair and brought it to you just for you to get out of the hospital. He was being over affectionate and helpful and you couldn’t help but feel blessed. You knew you had to have a long talk about what happened but right now you were happy to have him back.

“Wait, don’t you dare get up!” he said as you reached his car. You were about to ask him what until you felt his hands under your knees and on your back carrying you bridal style to his car. You missed him lifting you like a feather, you felt so good when he flexed his muscles like that.

You blushed a little when he placed you down and reached for your seatbelt even though you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself, as he buckled you in you couldn’t fight the urge to lean in and kiss him. He was shocked for a second and you thought maybe you misread the situation but soon his hands found your cheeks delicately holding you while deepening the kiss. You knew this was a hospital and you needed to be respectful but his lips on yours made your world stop, it was just you two. He backed off with a smile on his lips. You pouted a little but that changed when he pressed kisses all around your face and your new bruises. You felt safe and sound.

“Where are you going?” you asked when he started the car. “You don’t even know where I live.”

He turned to you looking a little unsure about what he was about to say.

“I was hoping I could bring you home. Like, our home.”

You thought about it for a second.

“I know I said I’d respect your boundaries and wait and I will I promise but I can’t let you be out of my sight ever again Y/N and I’ll do anything to make you feel at ease, I can sleep in the guest room as long as you want me to. Also, your parents have already been there. That’s our home and I’d do anything to prove it.”

You weighed your options, you could go to your 1 bed hundred year old apartment and be miserable with your parents and sister coming in and be far away from Fermin or you could do what your heart wants to and accept his offer and go back to the only place you’d consider home. With him.

“Vale, take me home Fermin.” you smiled and he smiled even more holding your hand and pulling it over to him kissing every bit of it.

“Thank you, thank you for not giving up on me.” he said.

“Thank you for being there for me when I needed you.”

[jessamine-rose]

Everyone, check out Anya’s fic!! (๑*ᗜ*)

My comments are under the cut, and they will be incoherent because these are live reactions + I wrote these before realizing I'd hit the tag limit. Enjoy my ramblings xD

AAHH IT'S OUT!! firstly i'm applauding anya and dragging her into bed cuz 22.2K WORDS?? ANYA PLS GET SOME REST AFTER ALL YOUR HARD WORK--

for starters ohhhh the title, kafka quote, and chapter titles!! very intriguing + contribute to the overall vibe of the story >:3

i also love the banner. the scrapbook vibes.....blade's picture....aaahhhh

I

'There are thoughts in your head. They’re dangerous ones, lingering in places that are grimy and soaked in something tarred. They should not be there.' two paragraphs in and i already found a line that i rlly like <3

kudos to the narration!! from the faceless clients to darling's repetitive, methodical way of doing her job. you can rlly see how desensitized she has become to the horrors :'>

'( Your thoughts unravel and they’re a mess in your hands like several bits of coloured petals. The scent has washed away. They almost seem to wither, bit by aching bit. )' THE PROSE!!

ahh darling's backstory...from innocent children to shady people who have experienced/ initiated violence...what a sad change in patients :'>

'The carpet was worn down by blood and heavy footfalls, over the thread work and your mother’s faded name in the bottom.' this detail is *chef kiss*

'This is yours and it's a feeling locked away in your beating heart.' shoutout to this line as well!! i am also looking at the heartline divider >:3

ohh i love how you wrote the action scenes!! it's so immersive from the adrenaline rush to darling's attempts at processing the numerous stimuli

'It paces like a starved animal, like a caged beast.' ohhh i love this detail about blade!! adds so much to his characterization....

'You think he could have been pretty.' + the kintsugi comparison for blade's sword....god i love this description

OMG DARLING HIT HIM?? i love her mental list of blade's injuries. in the wake of violence, it makes sense that she'd find comfort in the familiarity of medical terms

what a great meet-ugly >:3

II

the aftermath is so heartbreaking. from darling's self-perception to her damaged clinic :'3

the details in the 'pick up the pieces' dialogue are especially telling!! all the love and memories that have been put into this area....a medical sanctuary now converted into a place where criminals roam.....the perfect symbol of darling's decline

OH NO DARLING'S BREAKDOWN :'>

i think i've said this before but the dynamic between blade and darling is truly interesting. an unkillable man and a doctor who views him as an anomaly in her medical knowledge. a murderer and a person who is supposed to save lives....

‘You don't tell him about the death, the way deceitful monsters do.’ this line :’>

OH NO BLADE AND KAFKA ARE HERE!! one paragraph in and i already love your characterization of kafka…

‘She looks at you like you were an adorable specimen. A pet…or perhaps a bug to be stepped on. ( It’s a cruel sort of beauty that edges her face. You’d hate to admit you were staring a little longer than you should be. )’ KAFKAAAAAAAA <3

UEEEEE SADISTIC AND UNNERVING KAFKA

‘Bladie catches your wrist when you try to squirm free and you’re half dragged onto the seat between them.’ omg blade…..this would be kinda cute if you hadn’t just traumatized darling with your mere existence

HELP NOT THE BABYSITTING–

‘Would you be a lamb and do it?’ MOVE OVER BLADE I AM GOING TO BECOME A PATHETIC DOG FOR YOUR COWORKER–

‘The room is a blurred scape, a watered down stain ( ink tracked against damp paper ).’ THE PROSE!!

‘Because humanity despises the naked truths in the world.’ THIS ALSO!!

III

i am loving these insights into darling’s family >:0

she feels so alone apart from the company of aleena and the watchman……which makes her all the more vulnerable to the stellaron hunters

i love how blade is just quietly sitting there and behaving like a tamed dog. it reminds me of a tumblr post that goes ‘he’s got that previously neglected shelter dog rizz’

‘The paradoxical warmth in his body now, when for a moment there was none.’ anya keeps feeding us with great prose…..

‘Blade still stays an unwanted spectre behind you, treading in a way that is too soft to be human.’ NOMNOMNOM

‘You keep rambling, hysteria trickling down. It's a leaky tap, that anxious mess in your chest.’ !!!!!!

i rlly love the choice of ‘vermilion’ to describe blade’s eye color

‘You do not like Blade’s silence. His silence means he’d rather think about something and him thinking could involve certain death. There is a disturbed sheen glossing over his gaze. He does not look wholly there, the less he talks.’ ONCE AGAIN I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE BLADE

‘Horror stirs deep in your gut and a small sliver of morbid fascination shunting beneath the murky waters and glimmering up in those seconds of resurfacing’ i love darling’s fascination with blade’s curse >:3

‘His regeneration. Yes, his regeneration. Tissue rest and repair would be unnecessary with that, wouldn't it?’ the medical knowledge throughout this fic is such a treat <3

‘It likes to gnaw out any sense of humanity from his bones, in fact, scavenging away the bare ligaments and swallowing it whole.’ !!!!!!

NOT THE TEXT FROM KAFKA— poor darling stuck between a guy she can’t kill and a coworker who could easily ruin her……

you did such a good job at portraying darling’s helplessness

V

aww what a nice interaction between darling and her patient—aaaaand there’s blade

AW HELL NO NOT THE SUITED MAN—BLADE GET  OVER HERE I’LL EXCUSE YOUR MADNESS JUST THIS ONCE

'Blade does not leave. He never does, on that bitter note, looming over the two of you by the wall, that beast twisting in his eyes like a snake...' this part + the next few paragraphs!!

god you can rlly see how much time and consideration aine has put into analyzing blade’s character. atp hoyoverse should hire you to write for blade

omg the interaction between blade and kafka……ngl if i were darling, i’d assume i was third-wheeling on them (doesn’t know a lot about hsr and it shows. does kafka help blade with his mara??)

‘Do you like this one?’ UEEEEEEEEEEEEE

on that note, i love how you write kafka. mysterious, enchanting, equally threatening in her own way…

VI

NOOOO goodbye aleena. also ouch, the lines about love and hurt :’>

it’s cute to see blade acting awkward in civil conversations. def not his forte xD

i love the cooking scene!! very descriptive from the ingredients to the dull knife. ofc it would be the perfect opportunity for blade to prove himself to darling. the shaky beginnings of domestic ‘bliss’ and camaraderie if you will

‘Your old home smells like this, like comfort and nostalgia in the idyllic sorts of memories. They’re the ones you lock away in a box, nestling that key deep inside your ribs. Even so, that horrible weight swells up like a tumour. It could burst any minute. It’s wearing you down and frying the ends of your nerves.’ atp this reblog is just 75% of anya’s prose sksksnkdn

ohhh darling’s backstory :’>

‘It's hard to think of Blade as human in times like these, where he's either too robotic or too animalistic.’ you’re right!! in all of the blade fics i’ve read, it does sound like he struggles to find middle ground between the two

‘I'll drag you back. I will keep dragging you back till you cease this foolishness.’ ueeeeeeeeee

‘You want to scream at him till your vocal chords fray and your arytenoids collapse’ more medical terms!! <3

‘He can’t quite stop it, the rapid undergrowth, the rustling call of mara…’ yeah idk what else to say. i love love LOVE this part!! the graphic imagery, blade trying to make sense of his feelings, the earlier part about the script……..

‘Do you hate me?’ + ‘You can kill me then.’ ah yes how romantic of him </3

dw blade. give darling some more time and she’ll be killing you to your heart’s content. whether it’s out of hatred or to satisfy your masochism, we have yet to see

‘He muzzles himself as most dogs should be. His teeth are blunted, his claws filed.’ no anya you can’t do this to me THE SADIST IN ME IS SMILING NOOOOOO

VII

the scene between aleena and darling……ohhh. you did such a good job at exploring the familial love + conflict as experienced by both :’>

‘Am I not a good daughter?’ …i think something in me just broke reading this line :’>

HELP KAFKA’S VISIT?? kafka what are we T0T

‘Pity weighs in her sentence, cloying it together like resinous amber and sundew. She looks delighted.’ atp if anya were to create a writing course, i’d be the first to enroll

‘Then again, Bladie's always rough with the things he likes. I'm almost tempted to take you with us.’ give me a moment i gotta simp

‘Your fear is a feast to her, one lazy bite after the other.’ god i love how you don’t hold back on kafka’s ruthlessness whilst maintaining her charisma

THE CHEEK KISS?? atp are kafka and blade down for a polycule—

the way you write darling’s distress coupled with her rationality is so…..aaaaahhhh. it’s a perfect balance. you can rlly feel her defeat in the last part of this chapter

VIII

‘You're trapped in your own burning house, doors jammed shut and the window too high to take a jump. You'll suffocate in here, choke till your lungs collapse and your organs scream and fragment.’ ANOTHER BANGER LINE–

‘Don't you dare tell me I'm being—’ ‘that I'm being difficult.’ ohhh this line hits hard when you consider darling’s backstory with her family :’>

‘Your mind, your ribs are barren spaces.’ HUHUHUHUHU

i love your description of the guy’s death. i shall now proceed to slap blade for letting darling see that and not considering the additional trauma it would give her

THE KISS SCENE?? IT’S SO GOOD WTF—the adrenaline rush, the ongoing violence, the horror of it all + the nearby corpse, darling’s breakdown aadkdndeknndkdenkdendkendeked

i love how you subvert a couple’s bath, normally something viewed as domestic and fluffy/ spicy, into a scene of horrible numbness <3

also shoutout to the asian-style bath. nothing more romantic than pouring water over your lover’s head xD

aahhh yes what wonderful pillow talk. tsk tsk blade

IX

OH MY GOD THE SMUT??

the double cruelty that is blade’s hornii and darling’s own body betraying them…..

the confession aaahhhhhh

i’m bad at commenting on smut scenes but just know that it’s SO GOOD!! the noncon and hatred and blade getting strangled add so much flavor to it teehee

‘( There are many things you want to tell them. Many angry things, many quiet, introspective things. Many with a little more love lining your words, a little more longing. They still wait for you, even after shutting their doors. You know this too. )’ brb gonna cry—

the ending…..darling choosing to fully dissociate from the violence…..but oh no is that her family?? welp at least darling has blade now T0T

atp let’s hope kafka and blade do take darling with them bc there’s not much left of her. she can be their onboard doctor instead!! lots of wounds to treat if you get what i mean :’>

dkndkdendekndekdenk god this fic was amazing

it’s difficult for me to give an overall review but just know it was amazing. a rollercoaster of emotions

i love darling’s character and her dynamic with blade!! they are *chef kiss*

anya, your writing style + stories are fcking incredible and i’m truly blessed to be living in a world where i can read your work and interact with you

 and it pains me to say that i like blade a lot more now bc of you…..damn it >:’T

ノㅤTHE DEVIL'S ANESTHETIC ;; blade.

syn. [ 22.2K ] you were just a doctor, at the start of it all. then came the chaos, the knife, the bits and pieces of madness and coming horror. and in the center of it all, stood him ( a gentle cruelty ).

CONTENT WARNINGS. slight yandere + dark content ahead. reader is south asian coded, blade is a little fucked up and inevitably fucks the reader up a little too. murder, corruption arcs i suppose, medical terminologies i only half know spare me i'm studying in aslp not pediatrics, breaking of medical ethics, the reader is a wet cat and is absolutely pathetic, gang violence, death, kafka being a manipulative milf, angst, acts of murder and mentioned dismemberment, suicidal ideation, SMUT ISTG SMUT, dub-con, non consensual kissing, hatefucking, blade having violent thoughts bc mara, seriously the reader is not daijobu, blade getting off on being killed.

ENTRIES. HAPPY HALLOWEEN! this work has been marked mature for containing smut & dead dove content. readers below the age of 18 / ageless blogs and antis, do not interact. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING. ( this is my THIRD fucking repost because tumblr KeePS EATING MY TAGS )

playlist ノ author's notes ノ masterlist.

"you can hold yourself back from the sufferings of the world, that is something you are free to do and it accords with your nature, but perhaps this very holding back is the one suffering you could avoid."

— FRANZ KAFKA.

I. NEWLY DECEASED

“We have another one.” The receptionist echoes out from the front desk.

Another one. The words still the twitch in your muscles, the incessant cleaning and arranging and scrubbing away blood from medical chairs and forceps that should not be here. There are thoughts in your head. They’re dangerous ones, lingering in places that are grimy and soaked in something tarred. They should not be there.

Another one and that’s enough to coat your stomach with ugly, stifling coldness. You don’t reply, keep your eyes down and let the man walk in.

There were never any faces to your clients. They had hands, ringed, tattooed, scarred. Some had suits. Some stank of iron. And they all had guns, or bats, or rusty crowbars and attitudes that were knife edged and brutally coarse. This one is much like the rest. He tells you he was shot in the waist and his voice is static and white noise and discord leaking out of your ears in droves till —

“— will you get moving?! It fucking hurts.”

“Yes.” you choke out. “Yes of course.”

It comes easily to you now, after months of repeating it over and over with varying degrees of perfection and prompt. Find the shrapnel, pull it free, clean the wound, suture it. Find the shrapnel, pull it free, clean the wound, suture it. Find the shrapnel, pull it free, clean the wound, suture it. Find the —

( Your thoughts unravel and they’re a mess in your hands like several bits of coloured petals. The scent has washed away. They almost seem to wither, bit by aching bit. )

You step away. “Done.” you tell the suited man and ask for no payments. Your receptionist does not either when he strides outside and it’s smart because patience was a whim when you reeked of viscera. That brazen naivete was drilled out of her a long time ago ( and you too ) and the rules were set forth, rules that must never be broken. You’d seen too many zipped up body bags scattered in the gutters to dare to. You do not want to be one of them.

( Coward, that spiteful half of you snarls and you know it’s right. )

Only he does reach in and throw some loose notes against the counter. You shuffle up to her, nails crusted with brown and red and count fifty kaas. It’s peanuts. It will do.

You were a doctor.

Or at least you’re certain you were. You’d spent the better part of your decade rooted within a small university where standard IPC dialect was taught as a secondary language and the fans hadn’t been replaced for the last thirty years. It was torture during the summer and the hospital adjacent had patients who spoke in tongues you didn’t quite understand. But you manage. You tried, you graduated.

You were a doctor. Your license reads you specialised in paediatrics. Children were all you needed to deal with, some too loud to listen to their parents' chides for silence. Some so young they were small enough to fit in your desk drawer. Some of them liked to talk too and ask questions during checkups and vaccine appointments ( nerves, you reason and you answer the questions ). It wasn’t much. It was peaceful. It was alright. This is your clinic, something you'd built from sleepless nights and mountains of referral literature.

Then you’d see less children and more of those suited men as the streets grow with a cacophony you can’t call safe after this. The carpet was worn down by blood and heavy footfalls, over the thread work and your mother’s faded name in the bottom.

You weren’t treating children anymore.

Still, you hold it together. This is yours, all of this. This is yours and it's a feeling locked away in your beating heart.

When the man returns — and you know it’s him because the birth mark on his hands were hauntingly similar — he brings company. The company in itself would have seemed unassuming, and they were, lingering by the doors speaking in words too fast to comprehend till the gunfire rang out and the windows shattered.

A part of you is thankful that it’s so late, where the streets are silent and the bustle is calm. The files you were rearranging fall to the floor. You duck beneath your desk and stay there, enclosed within tumult, within chaos, within something you wanted no part of ( and you grip your hands tight, quietly wondering if that persistent cat would be fed, if your father would care to know what happened to you ).

You hear glass break, fall, fall and hit the floor with a sadistic sort of tinkling.

You hear frantic footsteps thundering up by the door.

You hear the screaming.

( You hear your heartbeat. You want it to stop. )

Something crashes into the storeroom. It was large, heavy, clothed and it let out a strangled cry before iron clogs up your nose and heat and cold fizzles up and hammers into every crevice and pore and turns your chest inside out. The man tries to shift, to get up and out of the way, shoulders knocking against the shelves in panic that feels painfully palpable. He’s crying. You see that when you bundle into a corner, eyes burning.

His body jerks and is dragged to the door.

“Don’t,” he begs till the desperation chokes his reasoning and it meters into panicked threats. “You’ll be torn apart by this, I swear, you’ll be hunted down — ”

He’s pulled at again, his limp form slipping out of sight. You hear a sick sound — a squelch, the dripping of blood and viscera and the gamey crack of bones. Your teeth dig into your cold fingers. The stinging is numbed, dim and distant, while you press against the wall and try not to wail.

There is only a single set of footsteps now. It paces like a starved animal, like a caged beast. Leave, your thoughts scramble and correct themselves. Just leave. And it repeats, over and over like a maddening chant. Please leave, leave, leave. The footsteps stop at the door followed by a slow scrape against marble. A shadow falls over the doorway. That’s when you see him.

You think he could have been pretty. But there's terror beneath that veil of frozen numbness. You don’t think he’s pretty now, when he’s stalking into the room, bloodied sword in hand ( it’s mired and cracked and mended like kintsugi but twisted and terrible ). He walks like a man who’d been broken and sewn together and he reeks of death and a sickening sweetness.

His gaze meets yours for that fleeting moment.

( it felt like that throbbing helplessness. Of everything going wrong. )

One of the suited men had not died. Not yet, in some inane act of stubbornness. He’s tackled down immediately and you flinch back and finally scream, watching the writhing pile of bodies smack each other down with ease. The swordsman ends it. There’s a chilling disparity in strength with how his bare hands tear into flesh and rips his opponent’s arm off. He’s laughing, laughing like a madman and the insane hysteria sparks a primal instinct nestled in your mind.

You’re moving before you realise it, when you spot his fingers twitch for his fallen sword. Your hands close around metal. You’re surging forward, taut at the edges. That part of you screams into the void, stripping away morality, reason, the simpler parts of shame that could have stopped you then and there.

When your fractured mind pieces together and lets the spinning room rest into clinical stillness, you’re aware of the hysterical laughter that man trembles into. He slumps against your legs, weighted, boneless. He’s still laughing, like the world had whispered a funny joke into his ear and left him to rot.

The dislodged pole slips out of your hands. You watch him crumple down onto the floor, staining the tiles. A swing, a hit to the back of his head, a break to the vertebral artery, a medullary haemorrhage, a stroke, neuron death —

You spend the next hour tucked away in that storeroom, watching the man’s body convulse, then his breathing still and his body run cold.

II. DISTENSION

Once upon a time, you told yourself that you could get by. You could get by and let yourself think you were a good person despite the ugly cracks tucked away and the bated disappointment breathing down your neck. It’s the human experience, a conditioned way of convincing yourself, a way you wish to live in the quieter corners of you.

It’s a lie. A lie. A lie.

The body does not move, as dead bodies usually do. As a frame of reference, dead bodies don’t do much to begin with. You stand back up and feel nausea coat the back of your throat, then wordlessly stumble to the man. Your fingers press against his pulse. Nothing.

A part of you wants to laugh at yourself for hoping.

The police take it all away. They don’t know what you did. Or maybe they do and care so little they swat that detail aside. Death is so natural here, so common and where is the sympathy for the damned when the damned were everywhere and your kindness wears thin?

( You’re left to pick up the pieces. The cracked photo frames, the toys and magazines salvaged, the bowl of tamarind candy tipped over. Bits and pieces gathered together and sewn back together. There was a heart in these walls. The pain was always there, but a dogged part of you loves this place. )

You answer what questions were asked and let them walk away, knowing they’ll do nothing about the situation to begin with. They never do. Most policemen were tucked up in the pockets and played dogs to gang members. Some lost themselves to apathy. Money could buy loyalty in droves. It was an open secret.

You get back home and let the hot water run into your bucket. You feed the visiting cat. You wipe the counters down and unearth some food from the previous night. You turn the water off. You bathe. You eat.

( “I’m fine.” you lie to Aleena when she calls you, frantic, scared. More frantic and scared than you present yourself to be. You don't tell her you’re a murderer.

“I don’t think you should go back tomorrow. I’m not saying this to get off of work or anything but after all that?” she falls silent.

“Maybe. But I need to keep the income coming in somehow.” )

Walking into the bedroom feels harder than it should. Lead bleeds into muscle as you patter along and try to keep yourself steady against the walls. For a moment, you stop and lean your forehead against it and tell yourself not to cry ( because cowards cry, and idiots cry and it was a pointless endeavour anyway because nothing — nothing about this would change ). Your degree falls into your line of sight, framed up against the wall.

You are a doctor. You are a doctor. You are a doctor.

That guilt knocks you in the knees. The guilt, the disgusted guilt that comes from killing a man.

( It’s engulfing, like tar and cloth pressed up against your face. The breathlessness, the storm rattling against the window, the messiness of it all. You’re screaming at the pillow. You’re clawing at it. You swipe till your arm bleeds and the cacophony dies down. )

The veneer shatters and the frame is clenched and thrown to the floor. The casing cracks. You heave, look at the mess at your feet and think to yourself :

What were those eight years for?

You killed a man.

You killed a man.

You killed a man.

A gasp tears through. It's painful, heavy and it's glass and shrapnel. The voice in your head whispers. Nothing. It's all for nothing.

Another one crackles through the muffled distortion, straining and rattling. A clear “I told you so.” grating past the chaos, disappointed, smug, knowing.

You shut your eyes and dream of jasmine and marigolds.

( You listened to Aleena when you passed the register and took a day off in the end. It’s the one kindness you let yourself have.

You did not eat for most of the day. Your gut gnaws. Your limbs feel weak. But food, as delicious as the thought seemed, invoked a visceral response. Of corpses and blood and things that you thought yourself too far removed to disgust you. A caved in skull did all this. A caved in skull made you retch and empty your stomach out into the toilet.

You think you deserve it. )

Your watchman stops you when you head back out again a few days later for a grocery run. "Are you alright?" he asks, peering through sleep. The cat curls round his legs and he gives it a gentle pat. You can hear the content purr it lets out from where you stand, and you venture a little closer.

"A little." you reply, smiling a little. The watchman tilts his head in consideration. You'd lost count of how long he's been here. Some of the older tenants mention he'd settled in over a decade ago, when the building still had four floors instead of five and a little more space to park out back.

"You still seem scared is all." he glances over at you again. It's the worry in his furrowed brow that makes you give pause. He reminded you of your grandfather then, strong jawed, stern eyed before that softness pervades through when he'd let you scoot over next to him to sneak a look at the newspaper ( cricket scores and stock prices were all he looked at. And the Sudoku ) .

You shift in place, tugging at the hem of your jacket. "It was a little jarring. The sudden attack, that is." you admit. You don't tell him about the death, the way deceitful monsters do.

The watchman shakes his head. "Horrible thing to go through, I agree. Especially for one as young as you." The cat slinks pat his legs and under the bed. he leans forward, tire heaving at his bones and his joints. A decade. One would assume he'd retire at this point given his age. "Try not to let it wear down on you, is all."

"It's easier said then done." You mumble.

"It is." the watchman snorts. "I told my daughter about you though. She's taking medicine too…Oncology. I scraped together every Kaas I had to pay her tuition fee off." he flexes his arthritic hands. You keep listening, that sliver of curiosity winning out. "She hasn't met you…but she knows about your clinic. the children your helping…suited men aside. It gives her a bit of spark at least. So you keep going too."

You feel gutted, eyes stinging a bit. He puts too much faith in you, you realise. But there is a small touch of warmth against the rattling cold. "Thanks…" you nod. The watchman leans back.

Keep going. What a mess, really.

You return to your clinic, the day after. You decide it's the last time you'd let reckless hope bar the instinctive tearing in your gut.

There is a woman sitting on the waiting room chairs with a dangerous smile. She’s dressed well, like those elegant omen-bringers or dapper businessmen. She’s dressed like the coming consequences and it’s there, that sadistic delight, hidden behind that lazy tilt to her head.

“Good morning.” she greets, like she hadn't broken into your clinic. “Hope we’re not intruding.”

You look to her companion next to her.

The dead man ( and he was dead. He was supposed to be — you were certain ) stares right back.

“Do you have anything to drink?”

“There’s a coffee machine…”

“Hm, never mind. I was never too fond of the instant stuff. What do you think Bladie?”

'The man named ‘Bladie’ does not respond. You’d have laughed a little — if your nerves weren't frayed. You’d have laughed over a silly, inconsequential nickname slapped onto some scary looking man, then gone on your way. But the scary looking man was a murderer. And you were certain, so certain, that he was dead.

( His blood coated your hands days ago. You can’t have imagined it — not something so innately ingrained within your psyche like some sadistic firebrand.

How is he alive? How is he alive?! Why is he — )

“I could pick up some tea.” you suggest, because playing meek was the way of a coward and you were that in the end. You still had to open your clinic in another half hour. There are still parts of the storeroom that need cleaning and a window that needs replacing. The woman laughs. She looks at you like you were an adorable specimen. A pet…or perhaps a bug to be stepped on.

( It’s a cruel sort of beauty that edges her face. You’d hate to admit you were staring a little longer than you should be. )

“There’s no need for that.” she looks to the side for a moment. “Bladie was here a few days ago, you know.” you flinch, perhaps knowing the ugly scene to follow. “Got into a bit of a tussle. Of course, I wasn’t worried…he’s got a knack for seeing things through, you know…” She’s staring straight at you now. “And he’s good at not dying, one could say.”

“That’s nice.” you mumble, shifting uncomfortably. Your cheeks are cold. Don’t look at me, you try to tell the should-have-been-dead swordsman. Like that would have worked ( he keeps staring ).

The woman continues. “It's funny though. After that affair at your clinic, I had to pick Blade up at some hospital’s morgue of all places. Quite the detour if you ask me.”

You still.

She knows.

Fuck. She knows.

“I…I see.” you play into stupidity, wring your hands a bit and force a far away smile. “I wonder how that happened.”

“Yes.” she nods, solemnly flicking dust off of her velvet coat. The playful lilt to her tone is back, delicately poking and prodding away and you feel the walls close in bit by bit. You can see the man tilt his head. You want to disappear. “I’d think you know though…so how about you tell us?”

You don’t look at her. You can’t, with that horror filtering through and spotting your vision.

“Now….listen to me.” she stands, saunters up to you and you stay rooted. Your mind fogs over with cotton wool and the aftertaste of wine blooms through your mouth. There is consideration there, her pointedly dragging her eyes across your figure and taking a sick pleasure in the fear that trembles at your fingertips. A tiny part of you that still remains too torturously aware recoils. “Were you the one who killed Bladie?”

“Yes.” you reply and it isn’t you. You wouldn’t have said that. You wouldn’t have.

Her lips curl. “How did you kill him?”

“I hit him on the back of his neck.”

Her face glows. “Good girl.” she pats your cheek. “We have a favour to ask you. How about you hear us out?”

She gives your shoulders a squeeze and you’re gasping for air. “That wasn’t so hard.” she grins. The cotton wool strangles and is caught at the edges, whisping, grasping, stubbornly trying to stay. You still pull at it incessantly while you back away from her touch. It burns. What did she do to you? What did she fucking do to you —

You’re pulled closer. It’s just a tug, a simple coil of her fingers round your arm. “I’m sorry.” you blurt out. “I’m sorry. I never meant it.” There are cracks against the surface, a spiderweb and it keeps going and going and going the more you talk ( you need to shut up ).

“There there.” She coos. “How about we sit down, hm? Bladie, think you could make some space?”

You don’t want to sit down with them. You try to pull back, to run because that’s what you should have done in the first place; instead of entertaining a pair of strangers with that stupid, naive hope of safety. She pulls back. Bladie catches your wrist when you try to squirm free and you’re half dragged onto the seat between them. “Honestly. A drink would have been nice. Oh don’t worry. I could hardly blame you for that.”

The woman fixes her sleeve. “I take it you don’t know who we are?”

“No.” you admit.

“Ah. the IPC influence here isn't as deep, huh? I heard there was an overhaul a few decades ago. The revolt drove most of them out…I wouldn’t count on it staying that way.” She passes you a measured flash of her teeth. It’s all good manners and etiquette you can’t return. “But we’re not here to talk politics. I’d like you to babysit Blade for a while.”

Blade seems to be expecting it. He does not mirror your dismayed shock.

“Why — ”

“Can’t say. It’s all a part of some very important work.” She holds a finger to her lips. “Would you be a lamb and do it?”

You grip at the metal armrests hard. The room is a blurred scape, a watered down stain ( ink tracked against damp paper ). “I won’t.”

“Come now. After that stunt you pulled with him, it’s the least you could do.”

It settles hard. “I told you I didn’t mean it.” you snap. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t mean to kill you.” Your unravelling seeps into something dangerous. You try to step back. To keep it together. It tangles, knots, frays and snaps and tangles again and the foundations crumble. You cannot think despite the clarity slowly creeping and the fog metering out. You cannot think because the man you killed is alive and right next to you and dead men don’t just come back to life.

The woman forces you to turn her way. “You didn't mean it?” she repeats, inquisitive, amused. “Doctor please, any normal person would have gone for the head. You made a very calculated move there…and I'm sure that pretty little brain of yours knows the consequences that come with it.”

It’s a coveted part of you that dies there, withering, burning, clipped away and cast aside and you shake your head as you’re retrained. “Don’t touch me!” you scream. “Don’t touch me!”

Because humanity despises the naked truths in the world. They’ll deny, deny, deny what stares them in the face for those fleeting, selfish little comforts skewed in ignorance. Better the downy coverlet to the thin blanket, better the sweeter lie that bitter sincerity. You’re no different. Not really. You’re not different at all.

And that woman was not a liar.

III. RUPTURE

Aleena doesn’t take well to a strange man lurking within the backrooms. Her eyes always flit to the doors and her shoulders stay tense as she directs a few straggling patients to the waiting room and updates their details into the salvaged computers. “I don’t like the look in his eye.” she whispers hurriedly. “Doctor. Have you seen him?”

“Yes . I have.” you reply simply. “Could you pull up the files from a month ago? We have a follow up due today.”

She hums, and you nod to the messy clattering from the keyboard. “He’s not from here, is he? His clothes aren’t local.” her voice dips. “Is he an outworlder?”

“Yes.” You flit through a case history. The ink has run a bit, the edges flicked a dirty red. Bile and acid sears the edges of your mouth. You don’t think throwing up here and now would be professional. And your receptionist has a very nice shawl on. “Have the police called?” you add, helplessly rubbing away at the browned stains.

“You know they won’t.” she clicks her tongue, wrinkling her nose to the injustice of it all. You bite back your tired humour. She might descend into an angry little ramble then curse those men in three different tongues. You were guilty of listening in ( it’s amusing, and she had plenty of anger for the two of you, and then some more for the smaller things ). “They’re too busy sipping cha at the local angadi.”

She keeps tap tapping away. “Do you want me to send a soft copy? Or will you directly look into the logs?”

You cease flipping through the files. “Just send me a PDF.” you mutter. “You still have a few cases to input from yesterday right? I won’t hold you up.” Another report is pushed your way. Two more patients, two more medical histories to pore over. The throbbing in your forehead is incessant and stubbornly clinging on.

Gang activity in your neighbourhood has stifled from its initial raucous to a cautious thrum. There were still glimpses and the ignored nods, and that delicate rope-work still standing strong despite men from their brackets dying some terrible death. They don’t suspect you. It would be stupid to ( because you could hardly hold a gun in their eyes, or fight back. Your claws are chipped and your fangs blunted. It’s not a mystery ).

It does not stop the occasional loitering goon up front as parents grow a little braver and a little more desperate to bring their sick children in.

You settle with your work email, tapping your foot against the faint buzz from the streets outside and the waiting area. There is the occasional loud call. Kids being kids, shushed by mothers and fathers with warnings of naughty ones being fed the nastiest medicines for bad behaviour. You’re not cruel enough to do so maliciously, but it quiets them down amidst the worried ogling.

A ping pulls you from sinking further into your pit of thoughts. The document pops up in your inbox and Aleena slows her typing to two finger taps. “Can I take a week off?” She pipes up, nervously picking at her fingers. “Next month, that is.”

“For the agelu?” you guess, a new sort of weariness settling. “I suppose you can.”

Aleena stifles away a relieved smile followed by a : “You're not going?” She looks a little surprised, then lets her eyes sweep across the clinic. “I mean…yeah I guess you won't, given the state things are in right now…”

You wince. Your father had sent a text in. He asks for you, in his own, distant way. Maybe he misses you. Maybe you miss him beneath the hurt and the anger. But feelings were messy, scary things and it was better to look away and stick your head into papers and books and words that could be read. “I’m not sure.” is the soft admission. “It's a little early, I think, for me to make a proper decision.”

( Going home feels like a fever dream now. You’d almost come to loathe the smell of marigold and incense smoke. )

That and you can't be certain if Kafka would pick your guest up any time soon. She never gave you a timing, or any sense of clarity and control in this mad scramble. Blade was to lurk in his little window in the backrooms with all the year-old files for as long as he should.

“Besides.” You finish with a hint of good humour. “I'll take full responsibility for any ancestral hauntings after. Maybe my great grandmother could make a nice home on my couch.”

Aleena purses her lips. It’s says enough. A little more if you squint hard.

“Okay that wasn’t very funny.” you admit.

“No. It wasn’t.” She tilts her head sympathetically, pressing the pads of her fingertips to the edge of the desk, half pushing up against hardwood and paper. “I have plenty to say…but you’re my boss and that would be unprofessional.”

You bite back that twitch to your lips. “A wise choice. Take care of yourself now…and don’t forget about the rest of the reports.”

Primal fear rear its ugly head and scrapes at the bars when you meet Blade’s gaze.

“I have two patients due in the next hour.” you manage to pull out, turning your heel immediately after. Any inch for a quick escape, really. “So don’t come out. You’ll scare them.” you add for good measure, like he’s a child himself, or a feisty dog muzzled and chained up.

( The kind of dogs who bite at anything and everything. The kind who quietly bare their teeth at cruel hands and kind. You aren’t certain of Blade’s stance here and now, if he was pleased with his arrangements — stuck in a room too small for him, with someone who clearly didn't want him here.

Because you don’t. There’s something about you and your face and the way it’s a traitor. It gives away your thoughts, your heart, the things you want to keep tucked away at the back but seep under the doors and stain the carpets. And your displeasure seeing him is on full display.

His corpse comes to mind. Still, dead, cold took the touch with the beginnings of rigour mortis settling when he was hauled over the stretcher and wheeled away. )

He says nothing back, unsurprisingly. He didn’t even bother speaking out as much when Kafka came in and dropped him off with all the unceremonious sneaking and threatening. You think he’ll carry on with his silence, letting whatever this delicate little semblance of distant amiability stay within its stagnant state. An untouched web.

You turn. Keep walking. You really don't want him here, you think miserably. The paradoxical warmth in his body now, when for a moment there was none. His gaze, unsettlingly intense. You don’t want him here at all.

Still, you turn once more. You speak. “Is there anything else you need?” be polite. Be polite.

Blade considers it. He looks at you. You fool yourself into believing the hunger simmering beneath harsh vermilion does not exist.

“No…” he finally relents. His voice is coarse, heavy, the whisper of a growl.

( You leave faster than you should have. )

He follows you home after the day is done ( you wish he didn’t ).

Blade keeps you within his line of sight — just within reach and just close enough to feel that faint prickle of body heat against the back of his neck. It’s an uncomfortable itch. It’s unwelcome. So you turn your head back to his silent figure and test your fingers against your bicep.

“Could you walk in front of me?” you ask.

Blade seems to consider it. “No.” he finally decides with finality edging every word. “You might run.”

“I don’t think you’d let me get very far to begin with.” you mutter under your breath. His footsteps are heavy, kicking aside loose concrete you avoid. Blade still stays an unwanted spectre behind you, treading in a way that is too soft to be human.

“I won’t.” he agrees, sounding sure of himself. Bored even. There is a scuffing sound, cloth against cloth. You’re tense again, anticipatory ( and yet, you don't dare to look back, to look at him ). “It saves inconvenience. That is all.”

You decide you’d like to be an inconvenient annoyance. That should drive him back to wherever he came from.

“I still don't think you should walk behind me though.” You repeat. Your fingers curl. You wish you had a taser. Your last bottle of pepper spray was spent as is on a few other thugs the past couple months. “You look like a creep. And a stalker. You might mug me.”

“I won't.”

“How do I know that?” You keep rambling, hysteria trickling down. It's a leaky tap, that anxious mess in your chest.

Blade blinks. “Kafka told me not to.” ( like it was the most obvious thing. You might be imagining the heavy condescension oozing through ).

That does not make you feel better. Kafka seems as reliable as a tsunami, or a flood, or any natural hazard creeping into its first few stages of utter destruction. It shows on your face, that muted mix of disbelief and horror. Blade's gaze is sharp, not quite the disconnected distance it held before. Kafka was suffocating as is but blade feels like rubble bearing down, down, down. You hate it.

“And it would be pointless, trying.” He continues. “Killing you would change nothing.”

You wordlessly rub at your knuckles, at the pulled skin of your hand. You do not talk to him for the rest of the walk. You should be more polite, you tell yourself. Be more polite. You killed this man, watched him die as his brain slowly collapsed in on itself. The least you could do after those fifteen and a half dumpster fires is extend some basic human decency, right? Be polite.

A scream ringing out gives you another thing to focus on. They're normal to hear, even as it wrenches open your viscera and leaves something sick on your tongue. It continues, growing increasingly hysterical, then stops.

( You almost run for the source, You want to. You do not. )

By the time you slip into the parking lot of the apartment and head for the elevator, you’re half hurrying Blade along. There’s nothing glamorous about the place — a standard five storey tall building just like the other projects lining most lower middle class neighbourhoods. The watchman was found out back, half passed out from his shift and stinking of beedi smoke, leaving the dog that frequented the neighbour's doors to rip into any intruders.

You don't think Blade is wholly impressed as he nudges at him with his foot. The watchman jolts with a huff and a startled snore, then passes out, head lolling to the side a little. The dog does not bark, simply trotting up to accept a few pats on the head. And indignant annoyance flares up. You sharply tug at the hem of his sleeve.

Blade jolts. The vermilion of his stare burns you.

"Leave him alone." you warn, giving his sleeve another tug for good measure. Blade's lips purse, his displeasure a quiet shift on his face for the most part, burying away immediately into the corners and crevices where things were never brought up again. "I hope you like cats." you add. "I have one who visits sometimes. She's a terror and a half…"

He grunts, stepping to the side as you fiddle with your keys, pulling away the string from your key chain and getting your door open. It’s a welcome ritual, feeling the cool breeze from your apartment filter in after a while. The cat is passed out on the balcony floor, cracking open a single yellow eye in greeting when you shuffle forth to take a peek.

“Hello, pretty girl.” you coo, feeling that heavy warmth in your arms and the softness of her fur against your palms. It eases you just enough to face Blade again.

Be polite, you tell yourself because you killed him, because he could snap your neck in two, because you think that the last thing you need is pissing off a pair of seeming psychos. “You won’t mind tea, right?”

Blade leans against the wall, maybe trying to make himself as small as possible within the cloistered rooms. “It’s a waste.” he replies, ignoring everything else; the hum from the streets below, the occasional flicker from the lights, the cat settling on the couch and sleeping an arm’s length away.

“Okay.” you mumble and set down two cups anyway.

You do not like Blade’s silence. His silence means he’d rather think about something and him thinking could involve certain death. There is a disturbed sheen glossing over his gaze. He does not look wholly there, the less he talks. Most conversions your parents had with guests were about the weather, then delving headfirst into some obscure gossip about a family three kilometres away.

Another fleeting glance at Blade has you reason that he’s not one for gossip.

( You let this silence settle in. It’s still a suffocating thing, an unwanted presence and an unwelcome guest. You think of the suited men and the gangs amok in the dirty corners and you think the silence looks like them. )

“So…our first meeting wasn’t…wholly ideal.” You speak up after a while, handing him his tea. Blade looks vaguely surprised when he takes it. “I don’t think ‘ideal’ would be the right word for it…”

“You killed me.”

You swallow. “Yes.” your voice shakes. “I killed you.” Your legs are drawn a little closer to you before you talk and you lower your voice, all that shame and guilt subduing the last bits of that cocktail of fear and tumult and annoyance. “I’m sorry for killing you. Even if you’re still alive…somehow…it wasn’t the best course of action, to be fair — ”

Blade’s lips twitch. He takes a sip of his tea, letting you stew there with your fumbling, your shame. It still goes unspoken. That damning ‘how are you still alive’. You don’t bother asking it. He can’t stay dead — Kafka said so herself. The very notion feels like an existential terror moulded to the shape of a man and you want it to stay far away from it.

“Four days.” he finally utters out, inspecting the last bit of tea staining the bottom of his cup. “I was dead for four days.”

Oh. Oh that stung.

“I’m sorry.” your voice cracks and your eyelids start to prickle. Stupid. Stupid stupid, you curse at yourself, claw at the offending load inside.

Blade snaps his head towards you. There is a twitch in his hands, slow, dog-like in the way strays jolt in alarm. You do not comment on it, awkwardly pressing at the surface of your cup while the tears are quickly wiped away and smudged against your cheeks. There's no use crying over it, you scold yourself. Grow a spine.

“Spare yourself the pity. It is not an uncommon occurrence.” is his uncomfortable dismissal. The words are nonchalant and his forehead crinkles to match the perplexed hitch to his shoulders. He probably wants to say more, speak more, tear you apart. Or he was just too put off by how pathetic you are.

“You’ve been killed before?”

“Yes.”

Horror stirs deep in your gut and a small sliver of morbid fascination shunting beneath the murky waters and glimmering up in those seconds of resurfacing.

( Can he not die? He’s still here after dying from a stroke. Does he regenerate? How does he do that? Do his cells simply have a faster metabolism? That means his neurons can too despite their limited replication in most normal people. Does he — )

The tear tracks are drying. Your face feels stiff.

“I was trying to protect myself.” you even talk like a guilty person ( it does not help. It’s subdued, the way you speak. Beaten down, half hearted. You wonder if you even want to protect yourself at all ). You don’t want to look at him anymore.

“I don’t blame you.” he replies. It’s soft, missable, sympathetic and you know that can’t be the case. Blade blinks slowly, setting his cup aside. “Would you do it again?” he asks solemnly. His hands twitch again, out of its usual bent stiffness. Beneath the dim lighting, the paleness of his skin is a corpse like macabre; greyish, sallow. He seems starved. “Would you kill me?”

Your lips part. Bile and acid burn your throat. You shut it again and shake your head and the desperation, you assume, is enough. No, no never again. You don’t want that nausea. You don’t want any more of the griping aches in your stomach and the incessant pound of your capillaries.

Blade straightens up and gives you a long, thoughtful look. He steps back and returns to his stony silence without a word. The air is restive, poisonous in how it melts away the peace.

You really should pray to that nameless god, to soften that blow. You really should pray because nothing good ever comes out of this. There’s that brush of scale against your foot, the shrinking courage when faced with dour vermilion. It’s wolfish; its jaws bear down. The cat cracks open an eye again, letting out an annoyed mewl.

No, never mind that.

IV. EXUDATION OF BLOOD

You should have prayed. The questionable existence of a god or not, maybe you'd have given yourself that tiny bit of assurance.

Even your ancestors would have done well enough. What would your grandmother say?

( Her old spirit's possibly disowned you, if she hasn’t already. She must have burned your seat in the afterlife and spat on the ashes. Bringing a man into your home, no matter the circumstance would have incited all the wrong reactions. )

You learn quick enough that Blade never sleeps. The third night after spent between lurking within the stuffy storage space and wedged next to old folders, you’d spotted him sitting upon the couch in the middle of the night. “What are you doing—” you croak out after the initial scream. He scrutinised you with clinical indifference, sweeping over your bare legs to your face. You tamp down the urge to pull your shirt down, cheeks burning.

“Thinking.” he says. There is no further elaboration to it. Blade turns to peer outside your window and the dead streets below. There is a faint echo of the strays barking trailing behind the occasional hum of a passing car. Your little town was far sleepier than the cities, where the traffic continues on, long past the morning calls and the reedy music from 24-hour bars.

“You scared me for a moment.” you purse your lips, picking at your hands. Blade blinks. “I mean, you're just standing there.” You try to justify it, fumbling a bit and coming across as far more slow than anything else. Blade tugs at his sleeve and smoothens over the damp spots.

“I'm not trying to kill you.” he reasons.

You dig your thumb down into the thicker skinned parts of your palm. It reeks of iron. He always reeks of iron. “Startled me, then. I thought you were asleep.”

Blade considers it. “I do not need sleep. Not more than what is necessary.”

Uneasiness filters in. Your throat bobs with it, unsure. “Everyone needs sleep.” you stumble out. Blade shifts, tracing along his nape with a purposeful look. His regeneration. Yes, his regeneration. Tissue rest and repair would be unnecessary with that, wouldn't it? Sleep, food perhaps, the little necessities taken for granted — peeling that away and pulling back the blinds to peer down that gaping hole, it's strange.

The grislier parts of his curse seemed to strip away those human needs. It likes to gnaw out any sense of humanity from his bones, in fact, scavenging away the bare ligaments and swallowing it whole.

“So…you’re just going to stay there then...” .

“Yes.”

Blade’s shoulders are set into its perpetual hunch. There’s something unfettered about him, roiling within deeper confines with a sense of wildness and entropy. You take your cautious step back and steel the nerves you have left ( there aren’t many to begin with — you still try ). It’s far from the moodiness he usually holds himself with and the cyclical introspection. “Could you be less…disturbing, then…?” you ask.

Silence. “Disturbing.” he echoes, tasting every breadth of the word on his tongue. You feel metal coming to rest in your mouth and dig into the insides of your cheeks. There’s a flicker from the apartment across and sterilised white shines upon the side of his face. He looks worn down, worse for wear. The darkened spots on his clothes are dyed red round his torso and dried blood crests across the rim of his fingernails. Red. Red on his clothes. Red on the floor. Red on your couch. Red —

“Did you leave this room?” it’s not a question. You’re not asking questions.

“No.”

You don't quite realise it, the scrambling and the frantically locked doors till the cold nip from your room settles against your skin and your shaky hand holds up your phone. It takes a moment for the buzzing numbness to fade to a tumultuous undercurrent and for you to dial down that emergency contact, seconds away from calling —

— a notification.

It's an unlisted contact, and a single message.

Unknown. I wouldn't do that if I were you.

A moment of pause. You don't move, balking at the sight of it.

Unknown. There's a good girl. I hope Bladie isn't giving you any trouble. If he's made a mess, just help him get cleaned up, please.

You. Is this Kafka?

Unknown. Look at you playing detective! That's cute. It is, by the way.

You. How did you get my number..

Unknown. Oh I have my ways. And I wouldn’t call the police. I can’t say I’ll stay quiet and pin the blame on you. It would be easy, hiding a few bodies in your storeroom. I like Bladie, you know. Can’t have him getting arrested and all.

It feels like you’re grasping at ice, with the way it feels cold. Cold, so cold and uncomfortably harsh against your cheeks. You want to tear into something, into your pillow, into yourself. You want to throw your phone across the room and scream till your lungs are hoarse. You want to call the police anyway and shove that into Kafka’s face. You want to cast them out into some forgettable void and be done with this fear and this painful grip in your stomach and…

…you do none of that.

Some small defeated part of you whispers its comfort. You ignore it, cast it aside, call it a fool. You’re gutless, maybe a little brainless and honestly, you half consider going back to your hometown and — no. You will not think about that. Not now. Not ever. You broke that life apart, stepped over the fragments and let your bloodied footsteps lead you here. All that hurt is not worth the quiet defeat.

The door creaks open. You peer back out at Blade. “Sorry…” you mumble. He glances up at you. “I just…i was shocked…there’s blood all over you.” You think about what you should say next. You chose your words carefully. “Did you…”

You don’t get to finish. Blade leans back and shakes his head. “I did not kill anyone.” A wry little tug twitches at his lips. “Not now at least.”

It takes a tentative step, then another for you to exit the room completely. Blade doesn’t look bothered, content in his solitude where sits. You look down at the tiled floor trying to summon forth whatever blind insanity you had. It takes a special sort for this, for this specifically where the cracks fissure into the sides and down down down to the foundations. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” A lie. There’s blood on him for crying out loud.

Still, you do not pry. “Should I…” you stop. It takes some struggle, reaching down deep and wrenching the words out into something stringed and legible. “Do you want to clean up?” you offer softly, motioning to the bathroom. “Just…a shower, I guess. I can get those washed.. Blood’s really hard to get off after all and they’re nice clothes…from my personal experience at least…”

Blade watches you, tilting his head a bit. He does look a little like a dog now, one with a wrinkled muzzle and dark, serious eyes. “Fine.” he relents after some consideration, impassively getting to his feet. He follows you to the bath, delicately sidestepping your frame to enter. You let the water heat before letting it run into the bucket, offering him a pitcher and some soap.

“You’ll have to make do with the towel…I might have some spare blankets around.” you add, because you will not have a naked man walking around your house. There’s so much your ancestors might allow at this point. This would be toeing the line from possibly being dragged into the afterlife.

He spares a grunt in response while bandages come undone. You chew against the inside of your cheek, inhaling stale metal and collecting blotched brown linen from him. He’s hesitant, letting you close, but it takes a quick turn of his wrist for you to pick out the worst of his wounds. These ones do not heal away the rawness and the sick pink of flesh. These ones still bleed.

“Can you manage?” you peep out. Blade stares at his hand, at yours grasping his.

“Yes,” he says after a while. His fingers brush against the inside of your palm as you let him go, and you take that shaky step out of the bath, leaving behind a clean roll of bandages and antiseptic at the door.

V. PUTREFACTION

The woman beside you looks tired, worn away at the eyes and around the edges of her face. “Stay still.” she whispers hurriedly, stuffing her phone back into her purse as she gathers the skirts of her seere.

The boy on the bed does not stay still, tapping his fingers away at his lap as you shoot him a reassuring smile. There’s plenty of nervous energy stuffed away in the cracks and crevices of that tiny body of his, and it barely abates with the ticking second hand from your analog clock. “Are you nervous?” you offer, taking a knee beside him. The boy purses his lips, brown eyes focused wholly onto the floor below.

“No.” he decides to be brave and squares his shoulders up. You appreciate the effort as you press at the inside of his arm.

“That’s nice.” you nod. “But it’s okay to be scared sometimes. I know how scary needles can be.”

“I’m not scared.” he insists. He challenges you, looks at you dead in the eye with the most determination he could pluck away at his reserves and gather together. “Last week I chased a ghost away from my room. I turned the lights on and screamed at it.”

You crack a smile. “Is that so? Did it try to come inside?” you entertain the thought, poke away at his imagination till you find the faint blue of a vein. You see how his mother bows her head down, looking a little sick. The boy doesn’t seem to catch on in the way his eyes light up and he draws himself up. You don;t think she wants him to see. Sometimes there are instances where you see parents squirrelling away those bits of childish innocence like uncut diamonds; biting down at grimy hands that try to snatch it away.

You cannot fault her for wanting him to be happy. He was only four.

“Yeah. I was all GRAAAAAHHHH’!” you flinch at his spirited demonstration. He’s pleased with the audience and the invoked emotion as his mother winces and tries to pull at his ear to keep him quiet. It’s too late given his excitement, ducking down to continue his babbling. “And it went ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH’! Then it left and I went to see if amma and appa were alright. They were and I hugged them to make them feel better.”

“That is brave.” you nod. “You be careful out there, okay? Don’t stop hugging your amma and appa. I’m sure they love your hugs.”

“After this, can I have the chocolate at the desk?” he asks, batting his lashes. He flashes you a cherubic grin, and you might have caught yourself smiling a little wider. It’s a rare instance of silly happiness after the mounting strain on your shoulders and the urge to rip your eyes out bloody and raw. “The one in the big bowl.” he adds for clarity; because adults, he might be thinking, needed plenty of that.

You look over your shoulder to the door with a thoughtful little hum. “It’s not chocolate. It’s tamarind candy. The sweet kind. But it’s sour too.” You admit. “Do you still want some?”

The boy draws his lips back. “I’d still like some. I like tammy-rind.”

“Well, listen to your amma and stay still, okay?” he does, his small hand reaching out to grasp at her seere’s pallu. She holds her hand out and he takes it, tugging at her fingers, then her thumb as the nervousness slowly trickles in and scrunches away at his brow and nose. “Don’t get all stiff. Deep breath in…deep breath out. You can tell me about things you like if it helps…what games do you like playing?”

“I like football.” he offers. “My cousins say I'm a baby so I can't play with them. But I'll grow big and tall one day and I will kick their legs and show them.”

“Don’t start there.” his mother warns. “You’re not kicking anyone.”

The boy makes a face just as you give him his shot, then yelps a moment at the pin prick. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, his grip white knuckled till you finally pull the needle out and pat his cheek. “Done. That’s his DTP vaccine done with. He’ll need to get his booster next year as well so keep a reminder on for that.” His mother nods, handing in the little booklet as you scribble away the recommendations and mark away at the sheet.

The boy grumbles, poking at his arm. “Do I get the tammy-rind now?”

“Of course. The brave kids always get an extra one too.” you appease, walking them out.

“Great.” he’s mollified at least, wiping away any residual tears with a discreet turn away. “And i think you’re brave too. I saw a ghost here. In the door at the back.”

You freeze up a bit. “Did you now?” you’re feeling your voice crack a bit at the end of that question. Even the mother glances over, unsettled. You shake your head and the reassurance returns. It’s nothing, nothing at all, you try to say.

“Yes. He looked super scary. But he just looked at me and told me to go back to amma.” the boy sighs.

“I’m sure that was just one of the boys who helps the doctor.” his mother reasons, her words taking a sterner edge. She’s bustling him out, putting away at his back as she straightens her pleats and fixes her pallu. “It’s not nice saying things like that now. You’d better apologise to that man if you said that to him.”

“I didn’t say anything.” the boy insists as you pause by the door and see them off after handing him his hard earned candy, ( “thank you, doctor. Say thank you to the doctor auntie.” the mother urges. The boy echoes it drolly then slips back into his stubborn insistence, pulling at her arm ). Their voices fade into the faint music playing at the lounge and the chatter in the waiting room. Aleena turns to call for the next person, peering down at the files.

A hush filters through. One of the men stands over the row of seated people. They draw some of their children closer, muted shock and fear splayed across and you feel flayed open. “Tell the clients to leave.” you mumble. She nods and sends the word out. Some of them seemed to catch on quick and pack away their folders and gather their companions. A line of men and women mill out, leaving that sole frame standing, arms crossed in wait.

You keep your eyes down as you motion to the doors. Aleena hides away as she usually does ( you’d torn into her when she’d gotten too mouthy, too brave the last time ).

“Is something wrong? I’m sure I paid off the fee two weeks ago.” you test out.

The suited man doesn’t reply yet, sinking into the backdrop of static and the panicked thudding in your ribs. You vaguely remember Blade hiding away within the archives and hope he doesn’t wander back out again. He takes his time, dragging out the seconds as he idles past your framed degree and a few photos from your childhood home.

“A few weeks ago there was an…altercation in your clinic, correct?” he states more than he asks it, rubbing at his chin.

Oh shit.

“Yes…” you nod when you sense his wait. Your nerves wither away and you lose your sense of touch.

“Some of the men on my side died here. I was sent in to get to the bottom of it all.” His narrowed gaze settles on you. “It’s funny. We know there’s a third party involved but his body went missing from the morgue before he could be ID’d. Any footage of him? Wiped clean, and aeons forbid the police trying anything when it comes to getting witnesses to speak a consistent story.” His footsteps are an echo in the back of your mind, too loud, too distracting. Blade, dear lord, his presence here is a mistake. “Now, I'm here to ask if you had a hand in it, doctor.”

“No.” you choke out. “I don’t.”

“Were you working with that man who killed them?”

“No — ”

“Did you see him?”

You're too slow to respond and it takes him grabbing a fistful of your hair to rattle it out faster. “No I did not!” you insist, squeezing your eyes shut. You recall what you tell the boy, and the empty words about bravery. You feel like a liar steeped in bitter hypocrisy. It makes you want to rip your insides out and claw at your viscera.

Nails dig into the softer parts of your cheeks as your face is slammed into the wall. It draws out a choked, gasping wheeze from your ribs and white hot pain screaming at your skull, your muscles. The small, scared animal in you is crying, crying, crying away into bleak emptiness. It tries to run, eyes blown out and mouth hung open. It tries to make you run before you’re gutted clean through. “Are you lying?” the man asks quietly.

“No. No I didn’t.” You stutter it out, pressing your fingertips into the chipped paint. “I was hiding…I-I was hiding till t-they took the bodies.” The pressure against your head builds, builds till you yelp and struggle, terrified of him digging down hard enough to cut away at your airflow and snap your neck in two. For a moment, you wonder if he’ll do just that when he finally, thankfully, lets you go…

( Your eyes flit up, desperate, moving things and you look at him, actually look at him and the cold death in his gaze. You never assumed someone could look like that — empty and scooped clean of any humanity lingering at the edges. He’s hollow, and angry*.*

You made your mistake. )

…You’re slammed back in. The scream in muffled into your wrist. “You saw nothing?” he repeats, guttural in how he addresses and enunciates every word. It’s like reasoning with a man eater. You nod, nod because it’s all you had. “Nothing at all? No faces?” another nod and the man slips back and lets you crumple to the floor with that warning.

“You better not be lying.” he tells you, slipping to the speedy notes of your local tongue. “There will be hell to pay for that.”

You’re lucky, you think, for getting off that easily. The buzz in your mind builds and smothers you against your spot and you shift a bit when Aleena presses a hand to your shoulder. Blade is right behind her and she’s flattening her lips.

“You’re a nuisance.” you tell him, annoyance and anger and all that frustration meandering and stubbornly oozing through the cracks. Blade fixes you with a glare, drawing his mouth back to a half sneer.

“Who did this?” he asks, voice dipping to trembling danger, entropy brewing underneath all that. “Who did this to you?”

“None of your business.” you snip in turn, wobbling to your feet. Your coat is blotched red around the collar and the shoulders. You didn’t realise you were bleeding till your fingertips came away sticky and wet ( you feel like you’re careening off of the edge of a cliff, in a car you have no control of ). “You’re more trouble than you’re worth.” you add, croaking through your words and the buzz and the annoyance. “So just leave. Leave, tell her I can't babysit you if this…this is what I have to deal with.”

Blade narrows his eyes. “I cannot.” he states and leaves no room for argument as his hand grabs you at the scruff and half tugs you alongside him. You’re not spared any more dignity around him, and he treats you like a wet cat nipping and scratching at his arm. “You.” he adds, turning to your receptionist. “She needs to be tended to.”

Aleena mumbles something under her breath but seeks out the first aid kit. She swats Blade’s hands away once she approaches you again. You appreciate it. You don’t want him touching you and the crawling chilliness of his body invites an ugly sort of desperation that blocks away your throat and nudges at all the parts of you you’re less than proud of.

Blade does not leave. He never does, on that bitter note, looming over the two of you by the wall, that beast twisting in his eyes like a snake.

He unsettles you with the way he stalks the emptiness of your apartment rooms, pressing his body to the wall with shaky breaths. You watch him from the crack of your door and wonder if this is what unravelling sanity looks like. If it is the face of a man ripping open his chest and screaming through the guts until that beating heart is carved clean from the cavity.

Blade is more animal than human in how he walks. The room smells strange too. You do not know what it is, in its pungent notes and the unpleasantness of it all. It’s not rot, you’ve smelled rot before, and tasted that stench of decay lain thickly on your tongue.

This is more rancid, like regurgitated food and butter. You spot a single leaf on the floor, fan shaped and dipped in sunlit gold. Then more at his feet.

His form flickers by, rustling past your door. He’s at the balcony, then he’s not. You pad out and scan the dark streets, spotting his hunched frame nestled within the alleyways tucked at the side. There is a glimpse of purple from Kafka’s hair as she presses her lips to his cheek, whispering something to his ear.

Blade seems to melt and you watch on, half transfixed from the scandal, cheeks warming when Kafka leans to the side and waves, a playful grin curling on her face. She whispers something again and has Blade turn too, and you think you’re almost drawn in, dizzyingly close to the edge of your balcony rails till reason snaps you back and you return to your apartment.

( “Bladie…” Kafka coos at him, her gloved fingers pressing up against the seam of his lips. Blade tries to hide away the dry hunger in his stomach and his mouth. “Do you like this one?” she asks.

He thinks about it. The release of death. The warmth of your hands. The tears. He thinks of the man sawed apart on the concrete, down to tendons and bones and muscle and flesh. He thinks of the scattered limbs and the bruise and your blood.

Her hands press to his cheeks. “Listen to me. Push the mara down…we don’t want to keep upsetting her now do we?” she asks, teasing in how her teeth flash. Kafka feels like a dream lost in the haze of it all. He leans into her touch and lets the flowering roots in his chest rupture and decay.

“No.” Blade admits, surreality dragging him under. He does not spare her a reply to that question. Kafka already knows. )

VI. DISCOLOURATION AND DESICCATION

“Tell me who did it.”

“No.”

Blade looks annoyed, scraping and haunting the walls of your apartment as he follows you through the kitchenette like a ghost. The brewing…whatever it was…from the past couple of days seemed to have cowed after that visit from Kafka, nothing more now than a placid beast ( as placid as a rabid mutt could be ). You clench fist into your knife’s handle a little harder than you should have.

She could have taken him back, her little lover boy guard dog and his strange balcony crawling ass —

Blade hovers close, so close. There’s an absence of heat beside you. He’s always cold, colder than a man, warmer than a corpse. That in-between he seemed to linger in. His limbo. “He hurt you. He will do it again. Tell me who it was.”

“Absolutely not.” You state, voice flattened against bemusement. “You'll just kill him.”

He stills, his eye letting out something of a neurotic twitch. He might just strangle you now, carve you open with that sword, eat your insides…maybe. “He suspects something. He must die.” He says it slowly, irritation budding through the dryness of his countenance. Your nose wrinkles at this.

“That's nice and all but you stink of death enough, and ‘enough’ is still far too much.” You angle your knife, pressing into the tender outer layers of the onion till you slice through it. The blade shudders against the impact and your hand strains into it. You bite back a curse.

( You're thinking about too many things.

You're thinking about Aleena turning in her resignation letter, and her apologies. A marriage, she'd said. And how could she turn down her parents’ demands after everything? They care. Despite the pain, you knew that too. It's that painful kind of love where you'd hurt and hurt and keep hurting them when the choices seemed so sparse. Better a bloodied knife, they'd try to say. Better a few cuts than being torn apart.

She only just found out, she admits. There was an uncomfortable shift in her body. She looked ready to crumple into herself and shatter into a million pieces. She's meant to meet him during the agelu. It's been arranged for.

How did you? you'd asked. You were afraid to ask. You shouldn't have asked. That meant looking ugly things in the eye through to the nauseating technicalities. Aleena swallows. She looks more distressed than she should. You let her weep a little and nurse those gaping cuts. Your bruises don’t smart anymore. You’d forgotten they were there.

She shows you a newspaper. And you stare on with an empty kind of apathy as you spot her details within the bridal adverts, down to her college degree and the colour of her eyes. )

( You were reminded that there's a kind of love fuelled by bitter hate. You were reminded of the sight of her shrinking back and fading into the walls of your clinic, like a collapsing black hole. It's how daughters and duties were here, a little better than the north but broken in a way where broken things couldn't be fixed.

You've seen it in a mirror once, hollow and void and dead in your eyes, and your mehendi stained hands tearing apart the the jasmine in your hair. )

Blade tilts his head and angles the knife just a bit before you could cleave a finger straight off. “I’m being reasonable. He won’t hurt you if you let me.” he tries to reason, playing clumsy diplomacy. But Blade still pauses between his words with that perplexed unsureness. He didn’t know what to tell you when you were sobbing on that couch. He doesn’t know what to say now, when your insides were burning away your peace.

You brush him away and viscerally visualise grinding him to a bloodied pulp with your grandmother’s mortar. The violence in your head helps a little.

Blade keeps watching you, turning his head away from the spattering chillies and the sour notes of tamarind staining your hands. The onions are still a bother. You think it can't quite get worse at this point, with stubborn tunicated bulbs and a dull blade. The over-stimulation you're half subjected to feels like claws on a chalkboard, gratingly demanding every bit of your attention.

“Give it to me.” It's not a request. He takes the knife before you could really mutter out sneering ‘no’. He slices through the onion, passes you a pointed look and keeps slicing ( why does he make it seem so easy? Why??? ).

“Give it back.” you try.

“No.”

“Please…?”

He nudges at your shoulder, towards the stove. Your shoulders sag and a frustrated lump gathers at your throat. At least he’s helping, you reason. You shouldn’t be so angry over this. A normal person wouldn’t want to throw a fuss over a stolen chore and a stubborn wraith. You light the stove and gather what you’d prepared. Blade was done with onions. It’s only been a minute.

…You decide to not question that.

( Please don’t kill me, you add in your mind for good measure. )

There’s something therapeutic in indulging with this familiarity. Your old home smells like this, like comfort and nostalgia in the idyllic sorts of memories. They’re the ones you lock away in a box, nestling that key deep inside your ribs. Even so, that horrible weight swells up like a tumour. It could burst any minute. It’s wearing you down and frying the ends of your nerves.

“Aleena is leaving.” you blurt out. Blade blinks. “My receptionist.”

“She told me.” Blade nods.

“She’s getting married.” you continue.

Blade considers this. “She is…young, yes?”

You nod. “Twenty four.” you swallow. Your throat is parched. “Some families do marry their children off at this age. Not all of them, of course…and not every arrangement is all that bad…I've seen some good ones.” He keeps listening, you know it in the way his head tilts ever so slightly to you. Your senses are clumped together, messy, messy, messy. “It’s none of my business.” you add feverishly. “I shouldn’t be getting upset.”

“...why aren’t you?” the question is sudden. You feel your confusion knock away reason. Blade tries again. “Married. Why aren’t you married?”

“That’s a very impolite thing to ask.” you reply quickly.

“I see.” he struggles, pondering over his next few words. “I will not push further.” You purse your lips, the conversation delicately fraying and fading out. You let the silence stagnate, hovering by the stove with your vessel-full of coconut milk.

Something inside you tugs.

“I was supposed to be.” you mumble. “He was a nice guy, was working for a stable job and had plans to buy a house close to the beach. The kid you’d see in movies, you know?” you laugh a little. “And maybe I was a little swept up. But then we talked and we both realised that…we had dreams of our own. Things we weren’t willing to let go of, a relationship he was serious about.”

The chicken goes next, as the gravy settles into a shade of brown-red. Blade is staring, something in his face set in an odd way. He looks off putting. Hungry, like those night spent pacing through your living room.

“We parted ways. There weren't any dramatic rejections…he seemed just as pleased with it, to be fair. I hear he’s settled nicely with his boyfriend…good for him.”

“So you came…here…” Blade works it out.

“Quite. Those choices weren’t wholly supported by my family. They kept trying to find someone and I kept pushing it away…I was scared I guess, and people got angrier and insistent and I started feeling less…human.” you take a deep breath in. “So I left one day. They never contacted me. My father only started again after my grandmother died. And I opened this clinic up…”

The room is blurred out. All you see are splotches of colour and a blemished, dark blue whee Blade stands, rimmed by the sunset.

You wipe the tears away.

“It’s all I have now.” you whisper, a painful crackle coating the peaks. “All of it. And it’s a nice place…I used my grandfather’s photo frames in the reception…my mother’s carpet too. It was a souvenir from the north. And…and some of the toys were my own. It took some digging and cleaning and repairing but they’re just as good as any other…” It’s flaking at the surface. You aren’t a strong person. It’s always been so easy to crumble with the weight ( like a paper doll ). “So please…please just leave before you make it worse.”

Blade regards you. He always is, watching, watching, watching, like there’s nothing else that could tug him away, take up his mind when he’s not snapping necks till they shatter.

“I cannot.” His brows are set, pulling together just a little.

“You can.” You insist, feeling stupid, childish. Its pointless trying to convince him otherwise anyway, Not without feeling hacked down and near helpless beneath his looming shadow. “You can leave. You and Kafka can, it's not that hard.”

“We have work to do and it must be done.” driven finality settles deep. He feels so far away, repeating words like a robot. It's hard to think of Blade as human in times like these, where he's either too robotic or too animalistic. It feels scripted, all wrong, all twisted up and chewed apart. “You wouldn't understand it. Leave it be.”

“I won't, if it's my business you're intruding on.” You set the coconut milk down, the steel vessel striking polished granite with a sharp ring. Your teeth grit together ( you hate feeling angry. You hate the cloudiness that comes with it ). “What if I run then?”

Blade's glare is cutting. “You will not run.” He asserts, scruffing you so easily, tugging you just a little closer. You fight back the urge to swat at him. At least you could think a little. At least you still had a tiny hand digging it's claws into your self control. “I'll drag you back. I will keep dragging you back till you cease this foolishness.”

( How were you being foolish? All you have are fragmented snapshots, the lingering sense of dread, the knowledge of something sinister brewing beneath the surface. You have a man in your house, a murderer. You have a man in your house you swore you killed. You have a man in this house who doesn't die.

How were you being foolish? You want to scream at him till your vocal chords fray and your arytenoids collapse. But Blade has probably never felt fear. You can't imagine his sympathy.

And you still killed him though. You stop. The guilt is back, and the anxious Turn of it, and the seething edge of your rage burning, burning, burning. )

“Did Kafka tell you to do that too?” poison burns holes into your words. You and Blade are sinking deeper and deeper beneath it, boring holes through your skin.

( You need to stop. You need to stop talking. )

“She wouldn't be as kind.” He asserts simply, rolling his eyes at the mention.

Defeat comes for you from the corners. You huff. “Let go of me.” your arm is shoved back, elbowing his ribs. Blade doesn't flinch, but his grip loosens and he dips his head down in acknowledgement. “Are you ever going to leave me alone?”

“When we collect what we need, yes.”

“...get it over with quickly then.” You mutter, stalking away from him. “Tell me when the chicken is cooked. Leave me alone till then.”

Blade takes a moment. “Alright.”

“Bladie, you're upset.”

Is he? Blade doesn't quite see it. But there is an ache where his heart should be. It's been there since you'd locked yourself away and he’s left to stare at the curry bubbling at the edges. Kafka laughs from the other end of the line, light, airy; she's probably wiping blood away from her swords.

“You are. Has the doctor been softening you up?” She's playful, prodding, poking, stringing along her words. “Cute. Is she why you’re calling?”

“She’s asking questions.” he steadies his phone. It’s so easy, how it slips between his fingers. It’s not the firm immovability of his sword hilt and it’s slippery, almost unusable with his twitching. Blade hears Kafka hum against his ear, kneading away at the issue before her voice picks up again.

“You know you can’t give too much away, right? We need to follow the script and if she meddles too much…”

“I know.” Blade cuts in, apathy sinking deeper. The script, yes, the script. There’s that flash of familiar awareness. The script is something to be followed, right down to the bare details. If pinstripes needed to be worn, then pinstripes must be worn and if Blade must cut a hand off, that hand must go. But even he knows of the variables being difficult, breaching at destiny’s thin skin.

“And she’ll only get hurt, Bladie.” Kafka coos it out gently, placating the tenseness building in his shoulders. “It’s unfortunate how scared little things tend to bite more. Listen to me, try appeasing her a little, yeah? I’m sure a treat or two should keep her from stepping too out of line.”

“How much longer do I have to stay here?”

“You want to leave so soon?”

Blade does not. He can feel the roots tugging at his feet, fixing him down here, leeching, leeching, leeching. The fluttering ache in his stomach has grown worse. Blade fears never slipping away and that won’t do. Wolves aren’t to be leashed. That fractured memory, the writhing ocean in those eyes…there is no place for him here.

( Destiny, destiny, destiny. The unattainable, the inescapable…Kafka whispers something else. He wants to break his wrists. )

And still, Kafka knows. He can practically see the cheshire curl to her lips. “Cute.” she repeats, drawling the word out. “I’m almost done. Just a bit of the usual…we’ll have the stellaron collected in no time and we can head out. Till then, lie low and be a doll for me before I come to collect you, okay?” he can hear the faint echo of her footsteps echoing past empty hallways. She might spare a visit soon, he realises. “And again. Try not to upset the doctor too much, yeah?”

Blade dips his head down, mollified. “Alright.”

The phone cuts away. You’re still in your room, cut away from most of his conversation. The chicken looks cooked so he turns the stove off and gropes about absently till he feels a plastic handle. Then he knocks on your door.

It takes you a moment to open it for him. “Is it done?” you ask. Blade stares down at your wide, tired eyes. “Yes.” he replies, dizzy and blotted out in the centre all at once. He can’t quite stop it, the rapid undergrowth, the rustling call of mara, that need to seize you by the face and tear into the softness of your cheeks, to bite, to taste blood, to break your bones and devour you. To feel the dig of your nails against his arms, something sharper, you scooping out his chest, his ribs and his heart till it’s beat ceases and he curls into your warmth —

“Do you hate me?” he asks quietly, unwavering. Its swelling. “Do you want me gone?”

You swallow, halfway out of your room. Blade wants to grab you, taste —

“I do.” you mumble.

Appease her. Kafka’s echo fades out once more in the back of his head. Blade presses the knife to your hand, holding its edge just over his stomach, pressing till he feels its prickle numb out. It’s where the fluttering was, unfettered when he tore his intestines out upon your couch and let the blood seep into the fabric ( you hadn’t liked that, so he stopped ).

He stops, gripping you just above the beat of your pulse. It speeds up, vivacious, so alive ( Blade is used to his steady thrum, slow, so slow unlike that of a human ). “You can kill me then.” he tells you. “If it pleases you.”

There’s a shift. The handle slips away and you snatch your hand back, face twisting to what he recognises as distress. Then you look angry, slamming the door back shut. “Don’t talk to me.” You scream through, muffled by hardwood.

Blade feels empty. He collects the knife and turns back into the kitchen, temptations spilling out when he lingers a little too long and thinks of sweet oblivion.

He muzzles himself as most dogs should be. His teeth are blunted, his claws filed.

He doesn't want to scare you.

VII. CONSUMPTION

Aleena hasn't spoken much since she'd told you about 'the arrangement' ( you make it sound like some cold business deal. A travesty. Maybe you were being far too pessimistic with this whole ordeal, putting in too many chunks of those ugly memories into that basket. You could be wrong. You could be wrong about it all ). It's an all too familiar disconnect, a silent misery that you'd watch every day after. She's letting it fill out her whittled spaces, and it worries you. Worries you in the way your heart twists and your insides turn.

( Won't you be coming, he'd asked again over a messy phone call. There's a lot of things to catch up on. We'll lay off the insisting, we'll let you choose the groom this time. That would be far better, right?

And your father's words meter out to warbled static, spilling through your ears and onto the floor. )

Maybe you should put something out in penance. Let those ghosts keep to themselves and continue their silent vigils. You're not superstitious, and rituals like these feel more a far away dream since you'd moved away.

"Aleena…"

"Yes?"

"How about we go get some cha during our break?" you offer a kind smile, tired, a little neurotic but you think it will ache a lot more if you say nothing at all. That wound up and coiled-away thing in her, pulling at the set to her jaw and the firm stoicism she displays — it slowly lapses. She looks down at her feet, back up at you and blinks a long, slow blink.

"That sounds nice." she croaks out, pushing aside a stack of papers. You check the analog clock above the two of you. A lunch break was due in another fifteen minutes and there a few checkups and medical records to fill in for school diaries. You could finish soon enough."Is it at the local place? I like the one with the cardamom."

"Sure you can."

Aleena seems to think a thousand thoughts all at once. "Thank you." she whispers when you step back, trained down to the keyboard. She's not typing, tracing the plastic frame itself . You leave her be, let her stew a while before gently gathering her up and leading her to the closest stall.

( Blade was cornered in the stores. You tell him not to stir up any trouble.

"Where?" he asks.

"None of your concern. I'd like some time alone with her, please." He reaches out, curling his hands into the sleeve of your coat. His eyes look like smelted iron. You tell yourself not to flinch, to skitter away because you will not be a rabbit. For once you will not be a rabbit. "I'm going." you repeat with more purpose. "You can't tell me otherwise."

Blade lets you go. )

It's crowded as is, and you try not to let yourself be pushed out by the squeezing throng. Not until you and Aleena leave with your tea and a packet of glucose biscuits to sit by a roadside ledge beneath the tree cover.

She takes a few bites before she starts talking again.

"Sorry about the suddenness of it all."

"The marriage?"

"Yes." She picks away at some of the crumbs.

"It's okay." You pat her hand in assurance. "I was wondering if you were doing alright

Aleena seems to ponder over it. "A little. I know him. We went to the same school…so it's not all bad." She drains the last of her tea, throwing the Styrofoam cup into a dustbin. "I'm just…angry I suppose."

"At your parents?" You guess.

"Yeah." She swallows. "They've been pestering me since my second year in college. I had to keep telling them that I wanted more stability…a job. Something. I can't just keep relying on my spouse for money and all that, you know…my parents said I could do that after. That I was being selfish for putting it off."

You purse your lips. "It's good to be stable." You agree. "Sometimes it's easy to point fingers and blame it on unnecessary worry and paranoia…but from my experience, marriages like these are a gamble. You can't be too sure, even with people you think you know." You must be rambling. Embarrassment floods into your cheeks. You have the grace to look a little sheepish.

"Right! And I told them that and…" She shakes her head. "They don't get it, I guess. I mean…I don't mind settling down, really, but they keep pushing me and rushing into it and then they just put up that advert without saying anything and..." Her wide eyed hysteria is palpable. You might want to hug her, steal her away. Familiar pains tend to do that, stinging at your soft insides.

"Am I not a good daughter?" The fragility spotting it aches, unfurling, spreading forth. You shut your eyes.

"I'm sure you are." You tell her honestly. And she is. You know she is.

Aleena's face stretches, pained. "It feels the exact opposite. I might be making it all more difficult…I should be grateful, shouldn't I? They care about me, I know that and…this…" The words are turned over, thought upon. Her hands twitch, gesturing at the air with wild frustration. Aleena is shrinking by the second, cracking at the corners. "What do I do?"

Your throat dries.

"I don't know. I ran away from mine and now my family refuses to talk to me." You tell her. "There's a lot of different ways this could go. Parents react in different ways…all I can say is…you need to trust your instincts."

"I don't want to lose them." She admits shamefully, wiping away a tear. "I'm a coward."

You purse your lips. "I think we all are." You sigh. Your tea has cooled against your fingertips. “But…but I'd say it's better than being miserable the rest of our lives. It's selfish, I agree…” you feel defeat trickle down — defeat, hopelessness, a cocktail of too-many-things-at-once.. “it could work out too. It could work out and it will be alright after that. But there's a lot more before it all as well…I'm sorry. I'm not very good with advice.”

Aleena shakes her head, rubbing at her eyes. "It's better than people telling me that I'm being a nuisance."

"You said you knew him too." You add.

She scoffs. "He might have changed. The most I remember is him pulling at my hair and calling me ugly."

"Oh. Hopefully for the better, then."

Aleena rubs at her knuckles, humming softly as a trill of birdsong echoes above the two of you. "Thanks for taking me in." She says, and it's spoken so softly you almost miss it. "I learned a lot working under you.and you were good to me. Better than some other bosses I had…hopefully I should still be able to work after…" She breaks away.

A gooey sort of warmth trembles inside. It's the sort that cracks you open. "You're welcome."

She kicks out her feet, letting her footwear flap shutter against the balls of her feet, then stands back up. "We'll head back then? I don't think I'd want to leave you with unfinished work on my last day…"

"That would be terrible." you agree, cracking a grin.

Aleena veers the subject away to the common pleasantries. She talks about the weather, the new park in the better parts of the city and the flowers there. She talks about the old lady who invites her to feed the pigeons. You listen as you do, till you slip back into the clinic and start the afternoon shift again. Clockwork, familiar clockwork. Still, you ache. It's selfish.

"Blade." you call out when you step back into the stores. You're greeted with silence. You're greeted with emptiness.

"Doctor? we have another checkup!" You straighten up, smooth away the frazzle, the jumbled nerves and the frayed ends. There is a time and place for panic. Not now. Not when you have work to do. So you work. You work till the minutes and hours bleed in and the sun spills past the concrete rises. You work till the night falls and you realise the silence in the storeroom seems to have grown past the occasional rattle from the shutters and the wind.

You heave in a breath. Aleena has left, pulling you into a final hug. You find yourself looking for him.

( Where is he? )

It's Kafka who drops by after closing. The anxiety nips at you, your face, your hands, everywhere, between Blade still not making a reappearance and now…this.

You hadn't met her face to face in a while and you've almost forgotten the weight she carries. She'd turned you around before you could walks away any further, her gloved hands snaking round your waist and her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Sorry for the visit, doc." she speaks out, like you're old friends. "Had some work to look into."

You hunch your shoulders, cowed of any initial annoyance. Something in you draws back, scared around her. It's the cat-like preening, the way Kafka smiles so emptily at you. "Right." you mumble.

"Bladie's been treating you well? I told him to be on his best behaviour."

"He's…he's alright. If you're here to pick him up…well he's been missing since this afternoon. I…i swear I didn't — "

Kafka shakes her head. "Oh no, I sent him on a little errand." she assures you, sitting down in the waiting room. She pulls you down next to her. "I've noticed he's been doing his best around you too…granted I'm sure some of his habits are a little…of putting." That smile is back, razor edged.

"It's fine." You try to say.

"Mhm. If you say so." Kafka crosses a leg over the other. "I've been souvenir shopping between work and all. I might pack up a larger haul after this final matter is dealt with. So many things to do…" She trails off, drumming his fingers against her chin as if deep in thought. "Have any places you recommend visiting? I've heard the silks here are to die for."

You hadn't known that either. "That's…nice." You lower your head, that far away beeping growing louder and louder against the chills clawing up your spine. You breath in, feeling the point of her nails press up against your cheek and turn you around to face her.

"Oh dear. I don't think you're very happy to see me." she coos. "Bladie hasn't been very good to you, has he?"

You open your mouth.

"You don't have to say anything." she cuts in with what seems to be kindness. You were almost fooled by it, set adrift, running straight into that tangle of webbing. Kafka feels predatory the way Blade does, and in ways that doesn't feel like him either, spinning you around and around in circles for those simple little amusements.

"He scares me." you blurt.

"Is that so?" Pity weighs in her sentence, cloying it together like resinous amber and sundew. She looks delighted.

"He does." you nod, feeling helplessness undo your seams. Kafka leans in close, close enough for the warmth from her breath to spill over your jaw. You want to push her off — you should, given who she is. But she clings so close, drinking it all in with strange euphoria. She's still holding your face, and Kafka was far stronger than she presents herself to be.

"You poor lamb. I hope he didn't bite you too hard." She smiles, caught in a trance as you sink further into magenta and pink and the smell of her perfume. "Then again, Bladie's always rough with the things he likes. I'm almost tempted to take you with us."

You shutter, blank out, flail about internally before all reasoning bears down with the impact of a comet. "I don't want to go with you though." You squeak, the words sinking in so quick and it shocks you.

Kafka considers you, tilting her head with assured grace. "Are you sure?" She asks again, thumb pressing up against the apple of your cheek. "It complicates things quite a bit for you. I'd say you'd be more miserable staying here than giving in, no? For one…" She's enjoying herself, her lazy gaze scanning the clinic again. "…you'll be loosing all of this."

You seize up. "…What — "

"This." Kafka repeats. "All of this. It'll be gone soon enough. Bladie and I have dipped into businesses that most should keep out of…I'll spare you the details, really…though you might just have more popping up in that little head of yours." She taps a nail against your temple.

"What are you talking about." You croak out, falling into a gaping bit. The vestiges of horror start taking root in your lungs. Kafka bites her bottom lip, playing coy.

"Oh dear, I've said too much. May as well let you in on it then." She croons. "The IPC don't have much of a hold here, do they? No wonder…granted it made going through this operation far easier." Kafka lets you go. You lean back, back away from her, sputtering. "To keep it simple, we were here to collect something. A very important something…and out of all the possibilities we had…your little route happened to give us the least amount of grief to deal with."

You grip at the armrests hard. "I don't…I don't understand…" You choke every syllable out with a tongue that feels like lead. "I don't understand." you repeat, the mania arching your higher notes. Your clinic, this clinic, the only thing standing between giving up and going back and…Your clinic ( You remember the money, the scraping together and the loans upon loans and that less naive part of you still folded into the walls and corners ).

Kafka shrugs. "I don't expect you to. You've been a tucked away and coddled into this peace your planet has blanketed you with. There's plenty more in this universe you can't quite comprehend; and there are plenty of big bad things out there that Bladie and I could hardly hold a candle to…" She grins. It's a vicious, predatory thing. Your fear is a feast to her, one lazy bite after the other.

"I don't want this. You're lying — "

"In another five minutes…" Kafka begins. "Bladie will come back , dragging a little friend of ours along with him. He'll have sustained a hit to his head, half healed. The hem of his coat will be ripped off." Her gaze darts to the clock. "Tick tock. I'll be busy after that so you'll need to be quick with what you have to say."

You're stunned to silence. Blade. An associate. It's a nightmare in the making. strangling every bit of air from your lungs. Kafka seems terrifyingly sure, watching the way you move, scramble, feeling disjointed and not all there or all quite present in your body.

"I don't want this." You tear up.

She kisses your cheek. "I know, sweetie." Kafka gives your shoulder a condescending squeeze. You may as well be stabbed in the stomach too, revulsion burning your throat, jerking you away from her. It makes you want to grow claws, to make her hurt somewhere, anywhere. "It's too bad, really. Maybe if you were a little braver, a little more gutsy, we might have struck you from that list." She laughs. "Honestly, I find it adorable. You're like a scared little stray…"

A sickening thunk suddenly echoes out back, soft against the tile, and moving trough whimpered struggles. Kafka's eyes narrow. "That seems to be our cue." she comments lightly. You look at the clock. Five minutes.

Your voice is stolen away, a failed note against the hand crushing your windpipe. You feel dizzy, dizzy, dizzy, almost stumbling over the chair. Kafka is drunk off of it, shoulder brushing against yours. It's just her, those footsteps, the smell of her perfume. "So…" she whispers. "What's it like?" Her touch sears at your wrist, edging higher. "Being scared?"

Blade steps between the two of you. His hand coming to grasp at your arm, smearing a brown, bloodied stain against the expanse and dwarfing your wrist ( he can break it so easily ). He stinks of iron and rot and you don't dare to face that monstrous view of him, just like that first day, feeling his pulse recede and the massacre he left behind under the fading colour of his eyes.

( And still, you feel guilty. Because Kafka is right. You are a coward. )

"Kafka." Blade utters, a warning stained against his stressed inflections. "Leave her be."

Kafka's lips pull at the corners, serene, seemingly innocent. She doesn't even try to hide the deception. "Jealous much?" she snickers, letting you go. Blade feels agitated, the beginnings of a riptide streaking beneath a still surface. He yanks at you, fingertips pressing at your cheek, the spot between your ear and the column of your neck. It's the most he's touched you.

( Has she hurt you, he wants to demand. Has she? )

"Don't touch her."

Kafka holds her hands up in surrender. "Okay." she relents, content and entertained with the way things seem to be. From the corner of your eye, you see a mass…something close to human, move. A scream is lodged in your pharynx. Your nails dig into Blade's hand, a hoarse, wheezing sound heaving from the depths of your lungs. The mass stretches, tries to move away. You see red plaster the white tiles beneath it.

Blade's gait shifts to awareness, sharp eyed, watching the man try to escape.

"You didn't break his legs?" Kafka asks.

"I did. This one is stubborn." Blade snarls. He looks dog like, wolf like, fangs borne between a drooling muzzle. Your eyes sting as you try to tug away, away from him as Kafka stands and saunters over to the body, that elusive little smile still present.

"Well, we have plenty to ask of him. He still has a few details to give away now, doesn't he?" She hums a little tune, yanking the man by the hair till his broken whimpers turn to miserable screaming. "Come on Bladie, I need help. And you…" She fixes that stare on the man. "Listen to me. You can't speak anymore, or scream, or cry. Not till I tell you to."

The man's cries fade out into open mouthed gasps, his face a bruised and bloodied mess of tears and snort. Blade was not kind in handling him, not with his torn tendons and the unearthly jut his legs were angled at. Your skin crawls at the sight. You reach for your bag, your phone, shaking past the initial terror to give a final call for help.

Blade looks at you. It's enough to completely shatter it, unwinding, undoing, pressing down harder against the fragile cracks in your walls and letting that mess slip away past the desperate grasp of your arms and down away on the floor.

You shut your eyes and tell yourself you saw nothing.

VIII. SKELETONIZATION

You don't hear much of the man, save for Kafka's questions muffled behind the walls. The whats, whens, wheres and hows that you can't keep track off without giving too much of yourself up ( you're afraid you do, a thousand different things will split. You tell yourself there's nothing there ). You focus in the clock instead, watching minutes after minutes pass beneath the incessant sound of it ticking, ticking, ticking.

Minutes after minutes after minutes.

There's a final exchange of words. You hear a tumble, a body hitting the ground. Kafka walks out, hardly bothered in the slightest and pristine save for that dampness of her gloves. She shoots you a charming smile, taking in how you'd tucked into yourself. "Well you're a sight for sore eyes. Scared, lamb?"

You're scared of a lot of things now, of the woman in front of you and the man outback and the man whose words they stole and the impending aftermath predicted. You're trapped in your own burning house, doors jammed shut and the window too high to take a jump. You'll suffocate in here, choke till your lungs collapse and your organs scream and fragment.

Kafka cups your cheek. "Hm, a pity. Scripts have to be followed though…sorry about that doc." She draws away and you let out a wet little sob. "Don't be too sad about it." She coos, patting your cheek. "On the bright side, I'll be leaving soon. Stay close to Bladie, okay? Can't have you running off and throwing a fuss now."

Dear lord no. Not Blade. Not Blade after all this. It feels like a joke and a half, an empty attempt at drawing out any laughter from an unenthused crowd of blank eyed faces. You stay seated, wide eyed and insistent. "No." you choke for good measure. Kafka's expression glows.

"No?" she echoes, a hand resting against either side of the armrest. You try to make yourself small, edging away from her farther and farther till her knee slots between your legs and you nearly cry out and kick her off. "Come on now." She coaxes, hand tugging at your waist, sitting you up proper. "Don't be too difficult. Bladie's not half bad."

You shake your head, blanking out through her crooning as your struggle intensifies. "Stop it." you repeat, shaking your head, seized and maniacal till your nails dig in. Kafka doesn't flinch. She's still smiling. "Don't you dare tell me I'm being —" You sob. it's messy, so messy and that pain in your chest only grows, spreading across like blooming rot. " — that I'm being difficult." You spit. "After all this, I'm allowed to. You're both insane, you fucks, I — "

Kafka presses a thumb over your lips. You bite, hard.

"Listen to me." She keeps talking. She won't stop. "Stop crying."

You stop crying. Your mind is empty white and fuzzy static stretching out like elastic. You feel her laughter against you. "Good girl." She praises. "Now, go on along with Bladie, okay? He'll do a good job looking after you."

You claw at the walls, trying to protest as your body lifts, padding out back, trapped within the long winding of corridors that didn't quite look like that once. "Kafka." you hear Blade echo again, his hands resting heavy on your shoulders. It sounds exasperated? Why? You're fine. You think you're fine. You see a magenta blur flutter around you and words spatter apart and stitch back together into nonsense and noise.

Blade takes you by the arm. You're half leaning against him, the soft, shaky breaths against his ribs and his heartbeat ( it's a slow, faint sound ). He seems to linger in place, letting you be as your nose screws against the smell of blood spotting his clothes. Then, he's leading you along the less crowded roads, shuffling past the harsh blaze of streetlights. Vaguely, you remember where this route takes you and you try to join the pieces — the memories feel so far, far away.

The mass tucked under Blade's arm moves. You look the man straight in the eye and do nothing. Your mind, your ribs are barren spaces.

You smell salt, hear the sea, the waves, the wind. The man in his arms struggles ( you're not here ). You see the panic stretched across, the way he pales to what looks like ash grey ( you're not here ). You watch Blade turn your face away, annoyance sparking in his eyes ( you're not here ). You look on anyway, as his fingers claw at his throat, so easily tearing apart soft flesh and tendon and muscle till his hands are stained warm red ( you're not here ). You're lain bare to those death throes, a wheezing from a broken windpipe, the yellow of subcutaneous fat and the ruptured arteries ( you're not here ).

"You should have looked away."

Blade's voice pulls you out. You finally breathe. Take it all in again as the cotton and the fuzz and the silk web is untangled from your notches. The man falls to the sand, nothing more than dead weight at this point.

( This could be you. )

You take a good, long look at him, at that tear stricken, marred face, that distended jaw and the awful angle to his limbs. The sand is already soaking up beneath him — he was alive once. You didn't know this person, you'd never met him and…

( You let him die. You're a doctor and you let him die. )

Blade's brow furrows when you take a shaky step back, two clear words; 'do not'. You look around you, spot one clear rout of escape amidst that hopeless need to collapse, the world spinning faster and faster and fraying and burning away at the far extremities. You try to run.

He doesn't lie when he says it's easy to catch you again.

You're drawn close, your back practically colliding against his chest before you could make it too far. That rabid, scrambling beast in your snarls and you sink your teeth into his wrist, kicking wildly till your foot connects with his shin. Blade grunts, and you slip away just a little, an inch, one more. But he's bigger, bigger and stronger and it takes a moment for you to fall to the floor, swiping into the buzz and feeling his heaving chest pressed against yours.

His hold closes round your throat. "No — " You burst out,. "No, no don't — "

Blade doesn't move as much against your kicks, face drawn to stony apathy while you try to pry his fingers away, vision blurring against tears and snot. His thumb presses down against your thyroid, breaths unevenly paced to an animalistic rhythm. He doesn't seem all there with how he seems so steeped in madness and…

…fuck it, you're terrified.

Your hand gropes to the side, closing round the uneven surface of a stone. You drive it into the side of Blade's skull, a faint crack ringing out. He falters, wide eyed as one hand presses against the wound and comes away wet. You take a gasping breath in, pushing yourself up but Blade drives you down hard, down to your back till it hits something soft, and still and dead —

( No no no nono no no no NO NO. )

The vermilion of his gaze burns you ( just like all those nights ago ).

It's already started to heal, collapsed parts of his skull scraping and pushing itself back out, repairing damaged bone and muscle. And Blade looks half drunk, sunken into rapture and starvation, his hand sliding up from your throat to press at your cheeks. You freeze, ceasing your assault to his chest and stomach.

He curls over your form, shrugging and swatting away your hands to pin you down proper. There is a wet squelch against your arm pressing against that open wound. "Stop…" You whine, trying to tug him back. "Blade. Blade stop — "

He presses his lips to yours. You slam your fist into his sternum, tasting his blood in his mouth. His teeth come next, biting against your bottom lip, taking, taking, taking. It feels infecting, like a disease, like something that shouldn't be there and you squirm. Blade's fingers tangle into your hair, giving it a sharp tug. You feel your back press against the corpse's shoulder, practically crushing you against it.

He's not gentle. Blade can't be gentle with the violence that comes with him. It's too deeply embedded into the crevices of his bone and marrow and in his veins and blood. It's the oxygen he breathes in, the lead that poisons his alveoli and files away at the pliable parts of his abdomen.

His tongue peeks through, pushing past your lips to take a taste. There's that heady taste in you, disgusting, curling in your guts and just about threatening to batter out. You kick him again.

His eyes flash, dyed more red than orange. He comes away with spit and blood smeared across his lips. You heave, staring up at him, then break down, sobbing openly. Blade keeps you still, bending down to kiss you another time, just at the corner of your lips.

"Enough." You beg him, sounding small. You feel defeated, the load wearing down the bones of your shoulder till you're crushed and collapse. "Please."

Blade blinks. He sits up and sits you up with him, nestled between his legs. You look behind you, the man's larynx having come turn free from your struggle, hanging out a hairs breath and cushioned by fat and crushed muscle fibres. You croak, tipping your weight over and emptying your stomach out onto the beach; till all you are retching out is acid and bile. He pulls your hair back, halting your mess from getting caught in it.

"Done?" he asks, drawing you back close to him, his gaze lidded. You shut your eyes.

"I want to go back home." you whisper.

"Alright." Blade promises you, putting you back down on the sand. "Don't move." You don't think you can. Your limbs weight down more and more with the passing minute. Blade drags the body out into the ocean, for a moment, disappearing beneath the surface. He returns, of course. He can't drown, or die ( He's not human, never will be ). "Come." he tells you.

You allow it, him gathering you in his arms. You don't make a fuss, or shout. "Keys." he reminds you. You hand them to him, leaning your head into his shoulder. Your tears prickle beneath your eyelids.

He takes you back home.

You don't know how he'd avoided the security guard's questioning, or the neighbours, But Blade sets you down on the little stool, pulling the bucket beneath the tap to let the hot water run. You draw your legs to your chest, thoughts collapsing into each other, fracturing and splintering as your trembling grows worse. All you can think of is gargling till the taste of blood is gone and the memory of that kiss is gone.

Blade fixes his attention on you. "You need to bathe." He says, taking a knee. You're exhausted, too exhausted to protest, trembling when he pulls away at your jacket and your pants, letting it pile up by the door.

"I can do it myself." You mumble. You question the necessity of it. He won't listen, after all.

He unhooks your bra and tugs down your underwear. "You're tired." He states. "Your attempts will not be as effective."

"Does that matter?"

Blade hums. "Kafka mentioned the need for hygiene. You could fall sick. Besides, you are a doctor." Not anymore, you nearly snap. He moves on to himself next, unbuttoning his jacket. "Detergent?" he asks when you squeeze your eyes shut and refuse to see any more. The sound of his belt buckle is next and his trousers being pulled down.

"Cabinet under the kitchen sink." you mutter. Blade steps out and you lean up against the bucket, watching the water steadily fill till it reaches your fingertips. You hear the beeping from the washing machine and Blade's returning footsteps. He settles behind you

"Turn around."

You turn. You do not look down.

He spends a moment regarding you, then empties a pitcher-full of water over your head. It's warm enough and you let your eyes slip shut as he works on scrubbing away the blood and sweat from your hair. That rotten thing curls in your belly, ringing round like a centipede crawling.

Blade's thumb wipes away the smudge on your cheek with sandalwood soap and he tips his chin up. "Don't fall asleep yet."

"Okay." you passively reply, opening your eyes. he hums and continues to wash you, treating your body with clinical indifference. You don't know what's worse, the hunger or the distance. The act of being viewed as anything but human leaves a sour taste in your mouth. "What about you?" You ask, filling the empty space. You don't want to think about tonight. You don't want to think at all.

Blade hums. "You can help." He shrugs right after. "We will be done sooner at least."

"Okay." You echo, reaching for the soap. You come to realise that he does need the help. Pulling the bandages off of him was a hard enough task. They were messily strewn on, almost cutting away his blood flow and he sweeps it aside. His wrists and his forearms are next. You don't undo the one on his thigh, furiously washing the dried fluids off of him.

What are you doing?

A part of you laughs at the obscene humour. A few hours ago, you'd have dropped dead at the very idea of doing this, if the hopelessness wasn't torn away from you the reins and left you on the backseat of a crashing car.

"You can…turn around."

Blade grunts and turns. you spurt too much shampoo into your hands. Some of it spills over. "You're scared." He says.

"I am."

He bends down a bit. It's easier to reach his head this way. "You should be. You should have killed me." He states, severity weighing his words.

Your shoulders slump, fatigued. "Please. Just stop." Your voice dips into a whisper. "Just stop. I want to rest, alright?" Blade falls silent, knitting his brow together. He nods wordlessly as you rake your fingers through his hair, undoing some of the knot building up against the shampoo suds.

( Blade thinks you're still too gentle with him, in how you trace one of his scars. But he feels the shudder, the roiling beat under your skin, the fear. He sees how easy it is to bring the tears out again and turn that mind of yours off.

He turns a little, pressing his fingertips to the softness of your thigh, just in case you try to run again. )

When you're both done, he has you swaddled in your blankets and deposited on your bed, clothes in tow. It's horrible, this tenderness. You don't think he's used to it either, in how he shuffles and cautiously pads at your arm like you're a fragile little thing, like he wasn't the one who took the mallet to it in the first place.

"Will you hurt me?" You ask, dead eyed.

Blade's lips part ( sometimes he does, when the mara blooms forth florets in his chest and stomach and he wants to break something that breathes beneath his hands ). "Will you run?" he asks.

"If I do, will you hurt me?"

"Yes." he replies bluntly, his hand resting on your calves. You know what that means. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, laying down on the bed and curling up into yourself.

"You're a monster." you tell him with a shaky, illegible slur. All this for a preordained destiny, for convenience, because you're a coward. All this and you'll be left with nothing tomorrow. You think of your clinic and what you'd salvaged before opening it. It's foundations and the grey walls of the empty rooms it once had. Your heart poured into it all. "Both you and her."

Blade lowers his head. "We know."

IX. DISJOINTING

You did not sleep at all, last night. Blade still stalks the hallways at the unearthly hours you wake at ( five thirty on the dot ). A man is dead, a man you barely know, whose body now below the ocean's surface. Maybe the sharks ate him. And your clinic…you curse it all, and you curse that compulsion that has you reaching for your phone.

It doesn't take long to find it after browsing the local news network. A few live footage of the collapsed interior and the busted furniture. Years of work torn apart ( At least Aleena quit. At least she doesn't have to see this ).

"Do you know why they did this?" you ask, your voice scratchy when Blade comes to linger by your door frame. He'd washed his clothes last night, having pulled his trousers back on with a loose fitted tank top. Kafka must have dropped by.

Blade looks away.

"You know." You spit out, fury bubbling up, clouding your eyes, painting it all red. "You know, don't you? Look me in the eye and tell me you do, you little — "

"The man." Blade cuts in. "The man who hurt you."

You grip the sheets. "What did you do?" you whisper, numbness taking foot and taking away more and more reasoning.

"I killed him." he passes you a sharp look. "Letting him live would have put both of us at risk."

You let out a mirthless laugh. "So it's your fault then. You…you come in and just assume I would be fine with you just…" You laugh. You laugh and laugh and laugh till your ribs hurt and your sides ache because it was so unnecessary, all of this. He must be sick in the head, him and Kafka, to twist apart your livelihood and step all over it. Monsters, the lot of them. Monsters.

"Oh god you're a fucking riot. Now what should I do? I have no job…should I go back? Maybe you could get a kick out of me being sold off again, right?" You flash him a bright little smile, mania at it's finest, and anger. So, so much anger it boils your body alive.

He narrows his eyes. "You will not be leaving. They'll come after you next."

You giggle. "Of course they would." You whisper. "Of-fucking course they would. Then I'll just die. Let my father douse my ashes, if there's even a body to cremate because that just seems the best way to go." You lay back down, tugging at your hair with frustration. The mattress dips as he lays next to you, lips drawn against your nape.

It's possessive, demanding of every little thing and every little part you had to offer.

"I won't be leaving." You snarl, feeling all that spite gather. "I can't because of you. remember?"

"I know."

You press your cheek against your pillow. You're tired again. You want to sleep. "You may as well just kill me at this point." You state flatly. "There isn't much use keeping me alive. I've served my purpose right? What was it, some glorified shield?"

His grip on you constricts. You're pulled closer to his chest. "You will not die." He tells you, his nose pressing up against your neck. Blade inhales, tangling his fingers into your hair. "And I won't kill you."

You bare your teeth at him. Then you stop, and press your face to the pillow again. "Enough." you tell him, feeling angry and tired and empty and more. You try to push Blade off of you, the small of your back brushing against him. Blade lets out a hiss, nails digging into your forearm and you freeze.

He's pressed up, half hard against you.

You throw yourself away from him.

Your eye sockets burn as you flinch and struggle. "Stop." He rasps his order, pressing you stomach down against the mattress as you curl over the edge, letting out a panicked whimper, a migraine searing through your forehead. It turns into an ugly sob, into cries that bleed into the sheets, tracking saliva down as you're dragged back.

His weight bears down hard on your back, his mane curtaining your line of sight. You try to elbow him off and he wrestles your hands down, pinning them behind you. He's panting, letting out a stray growl every now and then. The edge of his nails dig a little deeper into your wrists, just as the other hand fixes itself firmly against your thigh.

You shake. You don't try to hide the glassy eyed look. You only shake.

Blade's annoyances seem to mount, his forehead pressing against your temple. ( Appease her, Kafka's voice whispers to his ear. Blade feels too much of you beneath his palm, and it stokes a selfish hunger that comes down violently ).

He trails his hand upwards. You lay slack, surrendering to it with a tense form. It tugs your nightwear down, spreads your legs a little more. You cry a little, then give up on it, his fingers exploring the softness of your thighs and slipping to the inside. He lets your hands go and you come to grasp at the pillows, nipping down at your bottom lip.

"Blade…?" You whisper, unsure.

He traces the seam of your cunt, dipping a finger inside to toy at your clit and you squeak, grabbing his arm. "H-hold on that's — "

Blade turns you over, draping your legs on either side of his hips. You look at him, pupils shrunken down at the sight of him surveying you, his lips pressing over the curve of your knee, then further down. You squirm beneath him, movements stilled by a firm hand on your belly. Blade bites hard, tearing into the skin of your thigh, breaking capillaries and drawing blood.

He pulls away to witness the bruising and the wet wail you shudder out, soothing you with his tongue brushing over the wound like a dog. You slam your foot against his shoulder. Blade simply grabs it and hoists it above his shoulder.

"Let me…" he mumbles, groaning up against your skin, spacing your thighs apart some more. You're squirming, and he roughly pulls you closer. "Stay still."

You can't, you want to say. You can't when he's touching you like that and —

He stills. "You haven't done this before, have you?" he guesses. You want to sink, sink down into a place that was far away from here. Blade's eyes are unnaturally bright, burning like coals against the dim lighting.

"Shut up and get this over with." You rasp. There's nothing here, nothing between the two of you. Maybe a few sick feelings from his side. You want it to be done with and let the maggots eat away at your body after ( if that makes it easier for him in the end ). Blade huffs, vague amusement flitting past his expression. His cheek is smushed against your thigh.

"Your first…" he mumbles, a vague story playing out in his eyes. Your legs are pushed back, and he sits himself down before you, teeth grazing through soft flesh till he latches his mouth to your cunt and presses the expanse of his tongue over your bundle of nerves. You mewl into it, jolting under his touch as his hands come to massage circles at your hips.

You stay steadfastly quiet after that, as the assault continues and he licks a strip up your slit while gauging every little shift and twitch on your face. You could have fooled anyone else with the forced apathy, fooled Blade with you looking at anything but him. He suckles at your clit, rolling it over the tip of his tongue and you twitch, bucking your hips into the grind.

Blade demands. He demands and keeps demanding, eating you out half starved and at a pace you couldn't keep up with; feeling that appendage slip into you at some point of it all. You moan ( this doesn't feel goo. It shouldn't. How fucking pathetic are you?! ) trembling at all the new feelings blurring out your mind.

You tell yourself to take it. Take it and let him leave you be after that taste of satisfaction. Blade nuzzles into your cunt, smearing your building slick against your outer lips till smelted orange meets the fatigue in yours.

"You're being stubborn." he comments, pulling away for a moment. You grit your teeth, open your mouth to snap back. Blade dips down then, a finger slipping into you, massaging your insides and pacing himself with more gentleness than you'd expected. Gasping and grasping at the sheets, your narrowed gaze fixates on his, fuming, fuming.

You push his face away when he leans in close and he persists, teeth latching over your neck, licking a delicate strip up the column of it. His chest seems to vibrate — it's not a purr. It rattles at you, it's unnatural.

"Make it quick then!" you sob. "Please."

His finger curls inside you and you curl your toes into the sheets, keening into his hair. You hate this. You hate this. There is a warmth in your insides that stirs and seeps through the cracks. Blade seems to notice and takes it in with a hunger that terrifies you. He presses his pads against that sweet spot, a thumb returning to your clit. You whine, shake your head.

"Good?" he asks. It feels like a taunt.

"Shut up." you grimace, rocking your hips in pace with him. It's little jolts of that buttery feeling that has your mind sink further and farther away. Blade kisses your neck, grinding up against your ass through it all. It's awful. It's all wrong, this facade of gentleness.

You mumble, grinding at his hand as another finger is added and he stretches you out a little, testing your limits with rapture. That heat grows, grows, grows bit by bit, tuned to the way his finger curls into that spot. A moan spills out, then another and you spa a hand over your mouthy, shaking your head. You want it to stop. You want this to stop now and —

Blade's digits nudge against your cervix and he bears down on your clit hard.

It snaps, that warmth. You tighten round his gingers, clenching, sucking him in deeper and his lips part as he watches you fall apart with a jumble of words and begging. You fall back into the sheets as he pulls his hand away, laving at your mess while he undoes the buttons of your shirt. It spares a peak of the sweet of your breasts, the soft expanse of your stomach. He's seen it before. There's nothing new to it.

He bites again, not as deep this time as he pulls his pants down. You spare a glance, snapping out of the afterglow when you catch sight of him. "That won't fit." You whisper.

Blade shudders, his cock resting at your stomach. It's hot, an angry res that makes you feel uneasy. You half expect pain when he slides down to breach you entrance, you expect tears and you expect it with hunched shoulders. Blade is slow instead, thoughtful, almost. He keeps his progress slow, watching you wince against the stretch before he thrusts in deeper, finally nudging his tip to your cervix and staying there a moment.

Somewhere between all that, his hand finds yours, pressing down at your palm in awkward assurance.

You can't take it.

"What are you doing?!" you demand, whining against how full you felt. It's strange, so strange and you think you see the mad ramblings from friends and gossip over how good sex felt sometimes. But this is Blade. Blade, with his violence and his slashed wrists and the way he stank of death.

Blade pushes some of his weight on you. "It's your first time." he replies.

Your first time. A rare consideration. An emotion that bud out too late for your tastes. "Why should you care then?!" You snap, grabbing his tank top. "For fucks sake, stop treating me like I'm your lover! I'm not! You're not doing this to me because you have feelings do you?!"

The question was wholly rhetorical. It's a harsh accusation, mounted by everything else he'd done wrong. Blade falls silent, eyes wide. You leer up at him, then chortle with disbelief. "Oh god, you are." You choke out, feeling violated in a way. Feeling more violated than you were already. Blade keeps staring at you as you cover your face, cackling. "Oh god, oh god this is just unbelievable! You like me? Me?!"

You feel venom drip into your words. You feel that ache, the urge to tear his eyes out then and there. Boys will be boys. The words keep echoing through and it makes you physically ill to think of it.

"You're pathetic. You're absolutely fucking pathetic!" you cut through, grabbing his hair and pulling at it. Blade grunts, annoyed. You don't care, ripping at his face, his neck, his shoulders. "Fuck! Fuck you! After all this bullshit, fuck you!" Blade hisses, trying to shift a bit, move some more but you kick out at his thigh.

"Do not." he grits out, his voice low and angry. "Your anger is an inconsequential thing. I've seen far worse."

"You think I want your guilt, you ass?!" you demand. "You think I want you begging and grovelling for forgiveness?!" Blade thrusts. You dig down, fight against it and the sweet burn it brings. You feel that storm brew in your chest and you spit at him, jarring Blade enough with wide eyed shock ( it's a satisfying thing to see ) to slam your weight into him and roll the two of you over, your hands grabbing at his throat.

He nudges deeper into you and you cry out, feeling his tip coax into your g-spot. Still, you hold on.

Blade still watches, gauging the sudden shift, waiting to see you move. When you take a moment to gain your bearings, he grasps at your hips, guiding you down his cock and you almost falter, feeling his free hand tweak your nipples. sputtering a little, you persist, your thumbs coming to press against his Adam's apple.

Blade lets out a gasp, snapping his hips up again, drawing himself out then back into you. You feel him grind against those sensitive spaces he'd gauged out earlier and a few flustered cries sputter out before your grip tightens round your neck.

He sets his speed, increasing that pace to a faster rhythm, grasping at what parts he could, letting you take from him for a moment. You double over, teeth tearing into his cheek. "I despise you." You tell him. "I hate you for taking everything away from me. I hate you for ruining my life." You pour it all in, all the vitriol and the fury. Blade's eyes shut.

"I know." he grunts, feeling you clench down on his cock.

"I wish you'd stayed dead." You add, feeling it all pile up into a raw mass that eats you alive. "Do you hear me?"

"I know." He repeats.

"I hate you." You sob out, your tears splattering against his jaw. Your thumb presses down harder. Blade moans, his tempo increasing and catching you in it's midst, hitting your sweet spot over and over till it tumbles through to make a mess between the two of you, the baggage and the tucked away harshness. "You're pathetic. Absolutely fucking pathetic."

It feels so fuzzy, the heat, the faint warmth from Blade, blocking out his airflow. His movements grow frantic, almost, his grip on you bruising your hips till finally, you find you release again, legs weakening below you. Still, you hold fast, dragging yourself over the expanse of his body as he keeps up with thrusting faster and faster to a brink of near over-stimulation, all of it animalistic grunts and grows and teeth nudging at your chest.

You press down hard enough and Blade finally cums, his release coming in spurts inside of you. The cartilages in his larynx give out and you feel tissue collapse into itself ( just like that man on the beach with his throat torn out, poetic in a gruesome sense ). You watch him struggle to breath and you push down harder, hysteria bursting as you bare your teeth and drive him closer to another death.

Blade goes still below you. He's cold as a corpse.

You sway a bit, lifting yourself off of his cock, falling into a haze of cotton wool and sick satisfaction, tipping into the space next to him. He's dead. He's dead.

You shut your eyes, and you feel nothing.

You have better to do now, the unsaid and the undone. The empty buzz of pleasure slowly recedes and you grasp your phone between your hands, tapping at the message app. You let out a soft cry, shoulders shaking. There was a life once that felt far too distant. Where you'd been tugged away and folded into silk and gold till you were shackled down and told to stay quiet. 

( There are many things you want to tell them. Many angry things, many quiet, introspective things. Many with a little more love lining your words, a little more longing. They still wait for you, even after shutting their doors. You know this too. )

So, you start to type.

Dear Appa…

Blade wakes when the sunlight filters in, and his arm winds round you in the silence, listening to the rustle down below and the coming commotion. Then, he rises, buttoning his pants up proper and drawing the blanket over your head. "Stay here." he tells you.

You listen to the angry voices and the encroaching footsteps from the staircase outside. Blade summons his sword, stalking out of the room, dog-like, wolf-like, his violence returned to him after briefly being cowed by your venom. 

The doorbell rings and you draw into yourself.

You are not here. You tell yourself. You close your eyes and think of the garden in front of your childhood home.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Prologue: History

Characters: OFC (Shane Benton), OMC (Elliott Thomas)

Summary: Shane Benton is a hard-working physical therapist and a loving girlfriend…but her boyfriend has a less than desirable way of showing it.

In case you’ve fallen behind or want to read more of my drabbles!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, angst, infidelity, domestic violence (moderate). Yeah, this may be a tad rough for some readers, but I tried to be mild, and mostly implicit. It was hard still, to see my fictional offspring go through this, even if she gives as good as she gets!

Author’s Note: Oh, y’all. When I needed a break from the sweet tenderness of Chapter 8, I came here and put Shane through some hell. (You can blame one of my friends I was talking about for this angst as they’re the one who put me into angsty headspace by cheating on my other friend! It’s been weighing on me! But I guess at least I’ve been able to use it!) I really hope you enjoy a bit of backstory on our heroine! I really liked writing her ferocity.

Also, I meant to have this posted yesterday, but because of some tragedy in one of my other fandoms (and the world, in general! Rest In Power, Chadwick Boseman!) and a bit of craziness in my personal life (my HS bestie wanted to hang out this weekend, so I spent a lot of time with her…also…I’ve been talking to a real live fella! OMG! And it’s entirely too soon to say that I like him, but like…I very much do…but he’s far away and recently single and things are complicated in just, several ways, so it just can’t happen at this point. But…like, we have been talking a ton recently, and…sigh. I have found it difficult to focus on the matters at hand. But, rest assured, I’m working on Chapter Nine, and it will be up just as soon as I find my rhythm!

Disclaimer: Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. (Well, this isn’t a super fun chapter, I guess!)

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! (Also, if you’ve asked and aren’t on the list...well...that would be because I forgot to add you and reminding me will not offend or upset me. I think I might have ADD, or something, and being reminded about things is kind of how I survive!) Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X

5 years ago-

Shane got home from work, exhausted. The new electronic documentation system they'd just implemented was kicking her ass. And Anita's, whom she constantly had to help with it, all the while hearing Anita bellow "When can I retire?!" which lost its charm on about the third day.

"Elliott, I'm home." She didn't smell anything cooking, despite the fact that she knew he was off all day today. Whatever. She was used to him doing virtually nothing but whatever hipster bullshit he got up to on Instagram and YouTube, trying to get off the ground as an influencer with a brand…spare her. Since when did that become a job? She didn’t mind to get takeout though, if only she knew he wasn’t cooking. Maybe she should have asked. "Honey, I could have picked something up if--" she was startled by him in the doorway to the hall, in only his anime boxers, looking like he was trying to not be surprised she was home. "What?"

"Nothing, just…excited to see you! How was your day?" Elliott asked, scratching the back of his neck, displacing his mid-length, slightly moppy light brown hair, already disheveled. That was his tell. Something was up. She knew it.

"What's going on? Are you hiding something from me?"

"Why would you ask me that? Don't you trust me, baby?!" he guilted. Knowing just the buttons to push for empathy. It wasn't gonna work today. The machine was all out of that selection and full of his bullshit currency.

"Now that you mention it, no. I sure as hell don't." she walked around to enter the hall and investigate the rest of the house. "Let me through." he wouldn't budge. He had the advantage of physical size, but she was still wearing her work uniform including sneakers…he was more than half naked. She stomped hard on his instep and smacked him in the ear as he doubled over. She felt marginally bad for that in the moment…at best he'd get mild tinnitus for a while. At worst, he could have permanent hearing damage. She'd check later for blood coming out of his ear and see if she should feel worse about it then.

She rounded the corner to their bedroom. The quilt her grandma had made her was carelessly crumpled with the top sheet and blanket at the foot board. She noticed a swatch of an orangey red lipstick on her pillow. The same shade smudged onto the full mouth of the panicking strawberry blonde frantically donning clothes in front of her antique mirror, and the same shade, she was guessing, that was smeared across certain places on Elliott’s body that were now covered by those boxers that she had always hated. You know what, Elliott, she thought to herself. Fuck Bleach, and fuck you!

"I'm sure you're a lovely person who's just been lied to by a very charming and manipulative man, but…you still only have ten seconds to get to my front door before I call the cops." Shane threatened the girl, who couldn't have been more than twenty-one…and he was thirty-three.

"She's my guest." Elliott defended.

"You're not even on the lease. Your credit was too bad." she said over her shoulder while still squared off with the girl. She turned back to her. "I'm trying to be calm here, sweetie. But do not make me tell you even one more time to get out of my…fucking…house." the girl picked up her shoes and a small messenger bag from the floor near where Shane stood, keeping as wide a berth as she could, and skittered out of the room in terror.

"How many times, Elliott?"

"Don't do this, Shane."

"No, I think this is something we should do. Count the times you’ve broken my trust. Kissed another girl, fooled around with one, fucked one…I mean…I've never caught you in our bed before, so this LOOKS like a first…I sure hope it is…because I don't recall you doing any laundry since you've lived here. And if I thought you let me sleep in the same sheets that you…I can't even look at you, you son of a bitch."

"It's not what you think, Shane." he said, calmly, as if he'd simply picked up the wrong consistency of peanut butter from the store. The wrong brand of milk. Not that he ever did the shopping.

"Bullshit. Bull. Shit. Elliott. I come home and find you like this, and there's a girl in OUR bedroom, and her lipstick is all over MY pillow, and your balls, no doubt. Not gonna make you prove it, because at this point, I don't give a shit anymore. I've lost count of how many times I've forgiven you, even times you didn't care enough to ask me to. Times you probably don't even know that I know about. But it's done. You're gonna pack up all your things. And you're gonna be gone by the time I get home from work tomorrow. And don't expect me to be late…because I will not be."

"You're acting crazy. You can't do this. Where will I go, Shane?"

"That's not my concern anymore. Find an apartment that accepts Likes and subscriptions and followers as rent and cherish it. But your free ride here is done. I'm not your mom, your maid, your cook, or…anything to you anymore, Elliott."

He was getting angry now. His nostrils flared and his breaths came more quickly.

"Is this because you're fucking another guy? Hmm?" he got in her space, but she was out of the bedroom and back into the hallway. She shouted back.

"Oh, NOW you're gonna try to deflect this onto me? When in holy hell would I have time to get with anyone but you, when we don't even have sex anymore?! It's been, what, two, three months?"

"You work with guys."

"You have no idea who I am. To think that I would do something like that. No idea at all. If I don't have time at home, I certainly don't have time for sex at work, and you can ask any of my coworkers, male OR female. That place is an unsexy, unholy shit show 90% of the time. And the other ten, it's just above bearable."

"Well, I'm still not going anywhere."

"You are. Like I said. You're not on the lease. And all I have to do is call the landlord and tell him you're here without my permission and he'll have the cops here." she had gotten a glass of water…although she needed something stronger, and was standing by the sink with it. Her mouth was getting dry. She couldn't take much more of this without breaking.

"You wouldn't really do that to me though. I'm the only man who can give you what you want." he grabbed her by the arm, hard.

"Let go of me, Elliott."

"Or what." he asked for it. She got the other instep, his groin, and threw water in his face. She grabbed her purse and bolted out the door.

She got quickly on the phone with Heather her closest friend who had recently been hired on as a secretary for her clinic.

"Yello." she said, cheerful.

"Two things: can I crash at your place tonight and what kind of phone do you have?" she asked.

"Yes and a Galaxy something, I dunno, but what the fresh hell are you talking about?"

"I'll explain when I get there. I’m on my way to CVS for some essentials. Do you need anything?"

"Sounds like we need wine and ice cream!"

"Already on the list." She thanked Heather and hung up, calling her landlord.

“This’s Sam.” She heard over the receiver.

“Sam, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a situation at the house.”

“What’s goin’ on?” He asked concerned. She’d never rented from anyone so kind. He’d become almost family. Like an uncle.

“Long story short, pest control. I’m kicking Elliott out and he has until the time I get home from work tomorrow. I told him you’d be there with the cops if he didn’t comply because he’s not on the lease. Is there any way you can help me and make that good?”

“He hurt ya, Shane?”

“Not, umm…not physically.” Although she had been rubbing the place on her arm where he’d grabbed her, certain there would be a bruise.

“That’s all I need to know. I’ve got a buddy or two on the squad here in town. I’m sure they won’t mind to help me out. You need anything?”

She held back the tears until she could hang up. “I’m staying over at a friend’s tonight and headed into CVS now for a few things I didn’t take time to grab after I kneed him in the groin and ran out.” She had just pulled into the parking lot.

“Well I’m nearby if you need anything when you’re back home.”

“Thanks. I guess just watch for smoke from the place for now. I don’t know what he might do, honestly.”

Up Next: Prologue: Onset of Injury (Sy)

[bts-ficrecs]

Any jungkook angst with no smut? Thank you!

yes hello. ‘tis me. Finally responding to you after 31498237 months.

i rarely read full on ANGST because my weak heart cannot take it, ok. So i don’t have a lot to share and most of the fics i read are pretty short. i don’t think any of what i read are series bc omg can u imagine a full on series with NO HAPPINESS!! I WOULD D WORD!!!!!!!1 sjadflakwe but i’ve included some angsty series in the 2nd half of this compilation!

as requested, no smut. i’m sorry if i missed something and it does have smut 🙏 also this ask made me realize how many angsty fics DO have smut involved, lololol we’re all a bunch of emo hornies and tbh,,, i’m not even gonna deny that 😂 ok ok i’ll stop rambling now.

* m/n: mai notes can also be read as “my notes”. ha ha ha wow i’m so punny.

HAVE READ:

⊱ ┄ A Fallen Bookmark on A Thursday Afternoon by @cutaepatootie

 summary: He came to you like the air comes into the train station after the fast arriving of the machine. It comes fast and unexpected, making you hoist your head to look at the long vehicle and the people inside. It is so fast you can’t even distinguish the different wagons. As the train comes to a stop, the wind that it creates plays with your hair, leaving you breathless. That’s how Jeon Jungkook came into your life.

 

⊱ ┄ A Mark of Betrayal by @jimlingss

 summary: Forgotten as the eighth deadly sin; each time one betrays, a mark will be signed on their skin…

 

⊱ ┄ A Piece of the Moonlight by @jimlingss

 summary: For your loved ones, the people who are waiting at home, the people who have died - you will fight. And sometimes to fight means to sacrifice: who you really are and the person you really love.

 

⊱ ┄ Blue Orchids by @inktae​

 summary: You were eighteen years old when Jimin’s name showed up on your hand.

 m/n: this is like… one of THE og bts fics and i will always promote it bc IT DESERVES TO BE READ BY EVERYONE

 

⊱ ┄ Delirium by @sseudanym

 summary: What to feel, when it’s all gone.

 

⊱ ┄ Give Me Your Hands (I Will Pick the Stars for You) by mindheist (AO3)

 summary: I miss you like the moon misses the sun, destined to chase you until the end of time.

 m/n: this is the only mxm fic here. it’s jungkook x taehyung :) i hope it won’t deter you from reading it though! it’s an absolutely beautiful story.

 

⊱ ┄ In My Head by obiwrites (AO3)

 summary: The one where you and your long time boyfriend aren’t on the same page

 

⊱ ┄ It’s Enough by @dark-muse-iris

 summary: Preparing dinner reminds you of all the struggles you’ve experienced in your marriage. Your husband Jungkook, ever your anchor, tries to cheer you up with gentle words.

 

⊱ ┄ Mamihlapinatapai by @tayegi

 summary: Mamihlapinatapai (noun): a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something that they both desire but which neither wants to begin.

 

⊱ ┄ My Beauty, My Blood by @7cypher

 summary: With Namjoon out of the picture, Jeongguk has to step up and be the sole successor to the organization laid out before him. However, guilt doesn’t escape him very easily, and neither does your persistence.

  

 ⊱ ┄ Resentment by obiwrites (AO3)

 summary: It was an ugly kind of sad. The kind that kept you up at night, that weighed heavy in your chest and made you feel like you couldn’t breathe, it made you feel like molasses—made your limbs drag and your body ache. You’d heard of the physical effects of depression—but you weren’t expecting this.

 

⊱ ┄ The Train of Lost Souls by @inktae

 summary: The moment you step inside the train, you are given two options. You can choose to live or you can choose to move on. You are dead, but it’s up to you to do something about it. The choice is solely yours.

 m/n: ok so this is technically a Hoseok fic since the reader is interacting with Hoseok, but Jungkook is a part of this fic and IT HURTS ME SO MUCH SO I HAD TO INCLUDE THIS OK

 

⊱ ┄ The Swirling Ways of Stars by @inktae

 summary: Jeon Jungkook doesn’t feel like home.

 

⊱ ┄ Untitled by @floralseokjin

 summary: He noticed you almost instantly. Like the wind blowing autumn leaves past his heels, he felt you near him. His body an instant constant buzzing as he stood inside the kitchen, back against the counter where he watched you outside. The separation of the living area and the balcony window feeling miles away regardless of how close he was to you…how close you were to him…

 

⊱ ┄ We Were by @gukyi

 summary: Not all once upon a time’s have happily ever after’s.

 

⊱ ┄ Water Ripples by @inktae

 summary: It may be a mistake caused by unreachable forces, but it is not a curse, like some may think. Meeting each other, being able to touch each other but being forbidden to stay close beyond the limits of the sea could be considered torture — where is the pleasure in getting a taste of something you cannot have, an ephemeral spark in the night? in getting wings that can’t make you soar, no matter how many times they flutter?

 m/n: i made the mistake of rereading this when i was compiling this list and yes i am crying again. hooo booyyy.

 

 

HAVE NOT READ YET:

⊱ ┄ Below Thunder Showers by @inktae

 summary: Min Yoongi leads Earth with a stern hand and a pair of cold eyes. You lead a withered space station that’s been losing hope for years, mind tired and heart torn. Jeon Jungkook is no more than a broken soldier who’s slowly losing his humanity, but his longing for the rain keeps him tied to the ground. Three paths converge again when the two worlds clash, and as precarious as they were, it does not stop you from falling in love for a second time.

 

⊱ ┄ Blossom by @dimpled-gukkie

 summary: “Blossom, blossom, blossom. As unexperienced as I may be in the field you really didn’t think I’d only bring one weapon did you? It’s no wonder your gang has gone to shit ever since your dad died, it’s clear that you’re incompetent as well as incapable of being a good leader.” He laughs, raising the gun to point at you. You raise your own and he just smiles again before setting his weapon down. “You know what, how about we do this the old fashion way? I heard guns weren’t your specialty anyways.” Shrugging off his coat you spot the long dagger tucked into his waistband. “Cmon sweetheart, show me just how dangerous you are.”

 

⊱ ┄ Contradict by @drowsymochi

 summary: Jungkook is a name you hear often around the crowded city of Seoul, South Korea. Jungkook is the leader of Bangtan, a gang that has acquired a worldwide audience. The gang is stationed in Seoul, creating a feeling of uneasiness on the streets. Everyone in the city has been acquainted with one of the members at some time, being that they’re always around. For the most part, they don’t harm innocent civilians unless they commit a crime that the members find worthy of punishment. That penalty can range from bankruptcy, to torture and eventually death, which makes the city wary of their words and surroundings. If only you had been as terrified as everyone else.

 

⊱ ┄ Downfall by @donewithjeon

 summary: Your hesitation cost you dearly, and you swore never to let it happen again.

 

⊱ ┄ Drown For You by @callistojjk

 summary: There was something in that enormous tank, hidden in the murky water. All you knew was that you weren’t allowed inside the room and that it used to hold something dangerous.

 

⊱ ┄ Drag Me Down to Hell by @kimvtae

 summary: There’s a darkness to your city, a murderous underbelly filled with crime and deceit that you’ve sworn to avoid at all costs. But the universe has funny ways of forcing your involvement in the form of a notorious mob boss and his young daughter.

 

⊱ ┄ Expensive Mistakes by @honeyedhoseok

 summary: Your night spent swindling at the pool table goes left when your lackluster skills are found to be false, so it’s a good thing Jungkook has some supernatural abilities to keep D and his friends from recollecting their money–but his help comes at a price.

 

⊱ ┄ Fierce And Delicate by @mintseesaw

 summary: Jungkook and y/n had been brought in two different worlds. Jungkook living an unfortunate life and y/n being controlled by her parents all her life. Despite the imperfect relationship, they completed each other like a puzzle there is. Jungkook has one promise he intends to keep: to always make you happy. In the process of fulfilling your wish he had once declined you of, he kept a secret from you. And unintentionally, he has done more damages than expected…Every action, and every decision… could be blamed by the flawed past.

 

⊱ ┄ Fallout Technical Report by @pantaemonium

 summary: You knew you should not go into the darkness of night, even if your hope had run thin. The monsters were free to walk the earth, and some of them were still as human as you.

 

⊱ ┄ Fear in Your Eyes by @gukyi

 summary: There’s a werewolf in that forest behind your house, they told you, and he’ll eat you before you can even beg for mercy. 

 

⊱ ┄ First Light by @inktae

 summary: “Have you ever felt like the world is too loud sometimes?” “No. For me it’s always quiet.”

 

⊱ ┄ Finding Beauty in Your Darkest Places by @jungtaeyoongles

 summary: Everyone has their issues, and everyone deals with them differently. Jungkook thinks that avoiding his problems is the best option out there. AKA Jeon Jungkook is the newest patient at the Omelas Specialized Psychiatric Clinic, and he just wants to get in and out as quickly as possible so that he can go back to university and be with his friends again. Of course, that doesn’t work out according to his plan.

 

⊱ ┄ Gravity by @donewithjeon

 summary: The universe works in mysterious ways. What you didn’t know was that the world would give you the best at such a young age.

  

⊱ ┄ I Got You On My Mind by @bangtanbombimagines

 summary: In a world where soulmates can share thoughts, you never imagined that the sweet voice in your head would belong to a guy like Jungkook.

 

⊱ ┄ Lost Boy by @hoshikimatata

 summary: You are the only girl Jungkook keeps coming back to, and you thought that made you the one to save him. But in the end, he’s the only one who can save himself.

 

⊱ ┄ Let Me Stay Close To You by @9uk

 summary: You were finally free from the worst nightmare of your life in high school. The doors of college welcomed you with open arms, you were set on living your best life in here, away from the toxicity back at home. That shimmer of hope in restoring your life, was somehow effortlessly crushed by a tap on your shoulder. “Hey Y/N, why don’t you say we catch up for a moment?”

  

⊱ ┄ Left Behind by @bbfairy

 summary: Every person is required to go through a series of tests to see if they’re smart enough to be a part of the upper, elite district. You and Jungkook are childhood friends. Jungkook’s dream is to live with you in the elite class, but deep down, you’ve always known that you’ll fail the exams. For ten years, you wrote letters to give him on the day of his expected departure.

 

⊱ ┄ Lie to Me by @hugseoks

 summary: It had seemed so easy for you to move on, did you even care at all?

 

⊱ ┄ Pull Me Down by @starryeyedgukk

 summary: “Do you regret it?” “What?” “Falling in love with me? It feels like I only weigh you down.” “I’ll let you pull me down to the depths of hell if that’s what it means to love you.”

 

⊱ ┄ Rooftop by @thelillzmonster

 summary: An unrequited love burdens your fragile heart. And when an unfamiliar, isolated boy is thrown into the mix, you’re not sure whether it all turns for the better or worse.

 

⊱ ┄ The Burning Flame by @bangtanfanfiction

 summary: You’re sent as a scout from the Academy into enemy territory, tasked with the mission to make sure their king doesn’t unleash another war on the four nations. During your quest, you get tangled up with a lone rider, as stubborn and hard as the scales of his dragon. 

  

⊱ ┄ The Black Veil by @jungcock

 summary: You never wanted to be a vampire, yet you had been 21 years old for the last 2 centuries. You never wanted a relationship either, yet you incidentally make a very human Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you, twice.

 

⊱ ┄ Waste It On Me by @byeoltoyuki

 summary: Being a journalist, you were familiar with the concept of taking risks and pushing your limits to get the best story. But when a gangster by the name of Jungkook tries to involve himself in your quiet, safe personal life, you are forced to reconsider the limits of your comfort zone, your boundaries, your morals and even your feelings.

 

⊱ ┄ Why I Hate You by @floofyeol

 summary: Jeon Jungkook’s only regret, is knowing her in the first place.

 

⊱ ┄ Watchdog by @kpopisthereasonihavenolife

 summary: Being kidnapped, then ‘accidentally’ eavesdropping on a lot of Intel that was specifically not for outside ears, was definitely not your way of being ‘recruited’ into the mafia world.  Much less end up with a companion who didn’t seem very fond of you, but stuck guarding and watching you.  A Watchdog sort of man he was, and almost entirely too suffocating.

 

⊱ ┄ Written on the Sky by @inktae

 summary: Time is, without a doubt, merciless.

 

⊱ ┄ What Happened by @bangtanfanfiction

 summary: You and Jungkook’s relationship was on the tip of the edge. Is there any possibility to get it back up?

[hongism]

finding beauty in your darkest places - chapter 8

Pairing: TBA (i have no clue at the moment, ot7 for now)

Genre: Psychiatric Clinic!au, Heavy Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 6094

Warnings: strong language; deals with mental and emotional illnesses and disorders as a heavy theme of the story, future graphic depictions of disorders - please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable

Chapter specific warnings: discussions of character death, graphic depictions of anxiety attacks, discussion of suicidal thoughts and actions

Rating: PG-13/Mature

Summary: Everyone has their issues, and everyone deals with them differently. Jungkook thinks that avoiding his problems is the best option out there.

aka

Jeon Jungkook is the newest patient at the Omelas Specialized Psychiatric Clinic, and he just wants to get in and out as quickly as possible so that he can go back to university and be with his friends again. Of course, that doesn't work out according to his plan.

a/n: hello hello this is somewhat of a surprise chapter because i didn’t have this on the schedule or planned in my mind really. However, i find it easiest to write my feelings and since i’ve been feeling down recently, this chapter was easier to write and i felt more inspired to work on it. It’s also been quite some time since i posted, and for that i am hugely and immensely sorry. time slipped away from me and i put this story on the backburners of my mind for too long.

Also, this chapter contains a small surprise for my boo @maptoyoongi​ bc Mari has been so helpful and kind and lovely about helping me with this story and supporting me big time when it comes to this story. I never feel as though it’s enough to just say thank you and i wanted a way to thank you in a special way ;-; even now, i don’t feel as though this is enough to say thank you <3

(it’s been so long that this is the first time i’m actually using the tag list omg)

tag list: @succulentjinkook​ @mxrzan​

7 | 8 | 9

Finding Beauty in Your Darkest Places

Chapter 8: Black Waters

It's cold. The edges of autumn have seeped their way into the clinic, bringing brown and red leaves to the trees around the basketball court, and the season is windier than usual. A gust of wind passes over Jungkook's body. He doesn't brace himself against the breeze despite being in a typical short sleeved white shirt. Rather he remains where he is, sprawled out in the middle of the basketball court and staring up at the clouded sky with an equally clouded mind.

Cold.

Everything is cold. His fingers are never warm anymore, the cold seeping to his palms on occasion. Part of Jungkook knows that he should be worried. It's a concern, maybe a serious health concern in fact, and yet...nothing.

Cold.

Jungkook would rather be cold.

"For the longest time, I only saw that reflection when I looked in the mirror. It took a long time to separate Kim Namjoon from the disorders the doctors labelled me with. What do you see in the mirror, Jungkook? Do you know who you are or do you just take the labels doctors give you? Are you “Jeon Jungkook, Panic Disorder” or someone else?"

Who is he? According to the voices scampering through his head without rest, he's a number of things. Loser, asshole, trash, garbage, piece of shit, dirty, crazy, a disappointment. A liar. Jeon Jungkook is a dirty fucking liar, and he knows that to be the truth.

The worst thing he could do is dwell on the past. Think about all the ways in which he wronged Taehyung, you, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hyewon, maybe every patient in the clinic. His brother...mom...father. Jungkook's head begins to tingle, a faint sensation starting in the back of his skull and quickly travelling to the space between his eyes.

“It’s far better to know people for their heart and not their mind. A person’s mind can be fucked up and distorted. But the kind of person they are, what they do for others, how they treat others — that all tells you much more. We are all souls with a house of flesh and bones, wrestling with a mind that is not our own. For some people it gets to be too much. They just want out of the cage they feel trapped in, and society is the one keeping them there. They don’t see their body as anything good, it’s only a trapped feeling, and sometimes they try to get out. They try to get rid of a certain part of themselves, kill the mind that isn’t completely theirs.”

Namjoon's words stay with Jungkook and cling to the loose bits of his brain only to eat away like a parasite. Kill the mind that isn't completely theirs. In the first few days after that conversation with Namjoon, Jungkook wanted nothing more than to do just that. It would have been so easy, so quick and painless, he could've just done it. Should have. And yet, he lives to see the clouded sky another day, back cold from the pressure of the concrete under him, and surprisingly at peace with being alive.

Nevermind the nagging voices in his mind telling him he's a coward who can't kill himself properly. Jungkook is content.

His birthday came and went without any celebration, which is exactly what he had wanted. None of his family came to visit before or after the day of his birthday, and when each Sunday ended without their presence, Jungkook found that he was not upset in the slightest.

At peace.

Such a strange concept.

When has Jungkook ever felt at peace with anything in his life? Where did this sensation come from? Namjoon's understanding and endless wise words provided relief, yes, but Jungkook wouldn't go so far as to say that they put his fears and anxieties to rest. They haven't gone anywhere. They're just...quiet, but not in a relaxing or easing sense. Jungkook flips between being content and on edge throughout the day constantly. Because it feels like they're waiting. Waiting for something, the drop of a pin, the perfect trigger, the slightest misstep.

On edge may be an understatement.

Dr. Martin requested that Jungkook begin to attend group therapy sessions at his last meeting with the doctor. The idea, in and of itself, sounds like a cruel form of torture for a person like Jungkook -- one still wrestling with the weight of what's wrong with him, the issues swirling through his body and mind.

It will be beneficial, the doctor had said.

Jungkook mentally called bullshit. How could it be? A sit down chat with other patients where he has to talk about himself and his struggles? Fuck that. Jungkook would rather have a fork stuck through the back of his hand. Besides, another huge concern that looms in the back of Jungkook's mind is that Taehyung may be at one of these sessions.

The two are still doing a fantastic job of avoiding each other, and considering they are roommates, Jungkook is impressed they've been able to keep it up this long as it is. But he can't run away when trapped in a room for a group therapy session. He has to sit there and take it, facing the person whose trust he broke, whose relationship he ruined, and whose condition has regressed dramatically in the past few days.

All my fault. My fault. I did that. It was me.

Jungkook's eyes flutter shut, blocking the sky from his view and letting the blackness behind his eyelids sweep over him.

"We need to talk."

Jimin had caught Jungkook by the arm after breakfast two days ago and uttered those four words, eyes narrowed and expression grim. For a moment, Jungkook had thought that he did something wrong or something to upset Jimin. Of course he did, he single-handedly destroyed Taehyung, but Jimin was not angry. His expression softened a moment later, and he had said that he wants to help fix things.

Again, Jungkook mentally called bullshit.

"Fix things". A load of bullshit by itself, but also something that Namjoon said was unnecessary. Fix what? The countless problems Jungkook has caused since arriving in the clinic? Or fix Taehyung himself?

Jimin never approached Jungkook after that, however, which left Jungkook to wonder when the older man is going to approach him, if he does at all. He certainly isn't going to be the one who makes an effort to bring the topic up with Jimin.

Jungkook sits up on the pavement, eyes snapping open again, and he blinks at the intrusion of light through the clouds above. With a quick glance at his watch, Jungkook scrambles to his feet and rushes for the door. His group therapy session starts in two minutes, and the room is on the other side of the clinic. Moving quickly, Jungkook manages to sprint over to where Dr. Martin's office lies, coincidentally across from the room where group therapy sessions are held. The door lies cracked open, and through the small space, Jungkook can see multiple forms already seating inside. No voices arise from the room, however, so Jungkook can at least rest in the knowledge that he isn't late.

That peace of mind dissipates the moment he steps through the door. There Taehyung sits, directly across from the door in a rickety plastic chair. He stares forward and locks eyes with Jungkook as soon as the door moves. Both men freeze, stare at each other with eyes growing wider with each passing second. Panic.

Jungkook's brain is firing warning signals everywhere, the cold in his fingertips grows to a dull ache, and he curls his fingers into his palm under the skin almost breaks. Panic.

Taehyung's face relaxes into a deadpan expression, wide eyes returning to a hooded gaze. Jungkook glances at the people on either side of him, Hyewon on one side with her platinum blonde hair that blends in too much with the white of the clinic around her, and Eunbi on his other side. Both girls wear similar expressions, but when Hyewon makes eye contact with Jungkook, she beams brightly at him. Jungkook offers his own weak smile in response but it doesn't linger. Rather, he steps around the circle of chairs and moves to the seat across from the girl, one beside Seokjin, who seems about as happy to be here as Jungkook is.

"Hi, Seokjin."

Jungkook's greeting is met with a small grunt rather than words, which catches the younger off-guard. Seokjin never fails to be bright and cheerful, chatty even when no one else seems to be in the mood to talk. The Seokjin before Jungkook now is not the one he knows, not in the slightest, and that realization itself sends a chill down the back of his neck.

"Good afternoon everyone!"

A bright and warm voice intrudes on the silence of the room. Jungkook glances up, eyes finding the door again and spotting a young woman dressed in a set of pale blue scrubs. Her smile is too bright, a foreign expression from a nurse at the clinic, and Jungkook almost hazards a guess that she's faking it. However as she steps further into the room, her grin remains. She wastes no time in coming to sit at the last available chair one seat over from Jungkook.

"I'm seeing a few new faces today. First of all, I'm so happy to see that and welcome. I hope that we are able to help you all and this session offers you some peace from the harshness of what's inside your head. Secondly, I'll introduce myself for those of you who may not know me. My name is Dr. Mari, I take care of the group therapy sessions here at the clinic. Would you please each introduce yourselves so that everyone can know each other's names? Oh, also share one interesting fact about yourself! A simple icebreaker to help keep the tension at bay." Dr. Mari motions to the girl sitting on her right, asking her to start wordlessly.

"I'm Hanuel and um, I-I like dogs?" The girl shrugs a bit after her introduction. Seeing her fidget in her seat, eyes wavering and not meeting anyone else's in the room, and the sheer expression of panic across her face as she introduces herself sends Jungkook's mind into a panic of its own. He grips the fabric of his sweatpants tight between his fingers, knuckles white from the force of his grip, and the rapidly accelerating drumming of his heartbeat in his ears begins to resound. His mind shuts down in that moment, blocking out sensory functioning and clouding all his judgement with the constant rhythm of panic in his body.

Before he can stop it, the anxiety attack washes over him like a tsunami. Cold, even colder than before, yet hot at the same time. His throat is burn, skin scalding around his neck, and he's almost certain that his face looks much like a tomato at this point. Jungkook knows what comes next. The distortion, the confusion, pain -- oh so much pain.

Idiot. Dumb fucking idiot. Why did you think it was a good idea to come here? You think you're normal compared to these people? No, look at you. Look at you barely functioning. Dumb fucking idiot. Worthless, I told you you were worthless.

Can't fucking kill yourself properly?

At least do it like you mean it, you worthless disappointment.

Jungkook sinks. The water plunges over him, filling his lungs and throat with black water that freezes his insides. He's thrashing, fighting to get out, but to no avail.

Jungkook has been here before. This is familiar. A hand closes around his throat, and he can no longer breathe. It's familiar.

Something wakes him up from the reverie, well someone to be more specific. A hand comes down on his thigh, and Jungkook jerks his whole body, finding the culprit staring at him with wide eyes. It's Seokjin. The fingers that close around his thigh simultaneously pull him from the depths of the black water in his mind. He nods twice. Jungkook takes the hint and glances around the room, seeing waiting expressions.

"Oh, uh, I'm Jeon Jungkook...the--the newest patient here."

Dr. Mari offers a soft smile, her eyes twinkling as she does. "We're so happy to have you here, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for coming." Jungkook nods a few times in response. He fights to gain control over his breathing again as the girl on his right introduces herself. Seokjin's grip gradually lessens until Jungkook doesn't feel the pressure of his touch any longer, and when he glances down to where the man's hand had just been, he swears the skin tingles with lingering warmth.

"We will open the discussion today as usual. Remember anyone can jump in and talk, there doesn't need to be any specific order, and you don't have to speak if you don't feel comfortable doing so. Hopefully it's helpful to some extent and encouraging to hear others open up in front of you. Now, how are each of feeling today?"

Silence meets Dr. Mari's question. A moment passes when each patient glances around the circle as though pleading another to speak up and make some sort of conversation, but no one does. Dr. Mari remains quiet and patient though, eyes soft as she glances over the patients before her.

"W-Well..." It's Eunbi who starts up the discussion, her voice quiet and hesitant. She doesn't continue her train of thought, at which point, Dr. Mari nods at her.

"Go ahead, dear."

"Well, I've been feeling down and distracted recently. Um, Miyeon might be leaving soon. I-I'm really happy that she is getting better and could leave shortly, but...and I know it's a selfish thought, but I don't want to see her leave. She's my best friend, and she's always been here for me. I don't know what it'll be like to not have her here. She--she helps keep everything in check, keeps all the pieces glued together, so I'm scared. I'm sc-scared about what might happen if she leaves." Dr. Mari hums as Eunbi finishes speaking.

"Does anyone have any advice or words for Eunbi?"

Taehyung doesn't hesitate. He leans forward, quick to offer some sort of reassurance with his words. "Jimin and I will always be here for you. Even if she does leave, we'll still be here." Eunbi smiles at Taehyung, not saying another word and instead shifting her gaze to the floor. Silence creeps into the circle once more. Dr. Mari waits a few moments before cutting the quiet with words of her own.

"Seokjin, you're being awfully quiet today. Is anything in particular on your mind?" Jungkook follows the doctor's gaze to Seokjin.

"No, it's just that I was up late last night talking with my roommate," he explains. "We were having a chat and it ended up being a lot longer than anticipated, so I went to bed very late."

"I understand, that's alright. Why don't you each tell me about one thing that made you happy this week? Seokjin, we'll start with you if you don't mind."

"That's perfectly fine. Um, I spent a lot of time in the library with Namjoon this week. I was able to make it through almost half of a book without getting detached. I remembered most of the content too, so I was happy to finally able to talk through things with Namjoon after reading the book. I haven't been able to do that in a long time."

Eunbi picks up after Seokjin, talking about something related to Miyeon, but Jungkook doesn't pay the words much attention. Dr. Mari's question lingers in his mind. What made you happy? Jungkook doesn't need to think for long because his answer is nothing. If there was anything that made him happy, it's been blocked out and erased by the bad memories. Nothing. It sounds too depressing in Jungkook's mind, and he's sure that if he were to admit that out loud, Dr. Mari would talk to the doctors about his condition. Maybe he'd get new pills, new therapy, more appointments, more and more pointless diagnoses that aren't entirely accurate simply because it's what works best for the system.

"And you, Jungkook?" Dr. Mari cuts through his thoughts.

Maybe it's best that way. Take more and more pills until you're a husk of a human being. Then they won't ask if you're happy.

"Nothing good happened to me this week," Jungkook says without looking up at the doctor. He expects to hear her sigh and click her tongue against the roof of her mouth as a show of disappointment. Neither sound comes.

"Did anything at all make you happy?" She inquires instead.

"No." Jungkook dares to glance up, finding Taehyung's eyes across the room, and the other man wears an expression of sadness for a moment.

"I understand," Dr. Mari says in a quiet voice. Her tone remains level and soft as she consoles him. "It can be tough to have a week like that. But know that things will get better. Whether it happens today, tomorrow, in three weeks or three years -- this will pass, and you will be better and stronger because of it. We're here to help along the way and support you when you don't feel like you can do it by yourself any longer. Now, I would like for you all to share one thing that made you upset this week. Jungkook, would it be alright if you started? You seem to have a lot on your mind, so I'd like to talk through that some if you don't mind." Jungkook's eyes flit over to the doctor. He expects to see the cold and retrained expression that always covers Dr. Martin's face, or the slight look of disdain from some of the nurses, but he sees neither. Rather, Dr. Mari blinks back at him with brows furrowed, gaze soft, and expression reading pure concern. Something about her expression eases Jungkook's mind.

"I'm not sure where to start."

"That's alright, you can just say whatever comes to mind first if you'd rather."

"I...I had a falling out with someone." Jungkook shifts in his seat, daring to look in Taehyung's direction. They meet eyes for a second, then Taehyung ducks his head and refuses to look at him any longer.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

Jungkook debates it, considers telling the truth and being honest for once. Just once, he really wants to be honest. He wants to get it off his chest, be open, but to do it in front of these people? People he doesn't know well, some people he doesn't care to know and vice versa, people who could use this against him. Yet Dr. Mari's expression of interest and concern compels him to speak.

"We had a disagreement, and I didn't consider how my actions would affect him mentally or emotionally. I...it's selfish, but I don't want to be responsible for harming him or the relationships he has with others."

"Do you feel bitter at all? Towards that person?" Jungkook jerks his head to find the source of the question. Taehyung's eyes are on him once more, eyes wide, and teeth gnawing his lower lip now that he's put the question out in the air.

"No, not at all," Jungkook admits. Taehyung dips his head. "I just--well, I feel guilty, I guess, for hurting the other person. I wish I could explain that to him but it seems like he's avoiding me. I want a chance to ask for forgiveness, but I don't feel like I deserve it."

"Why would you think you don't deserve a chance for forgiveness?" Dr. Mari asks.

"It feels a bit like I've hurt him too much to be forgiven."

"Maybe...maybe the other person overreacted some because he didn't know how to handle the information," Taehyung speaks up again. "And maybe he isn't upset with you, but he said some hurtful things that shouldn't have been said."

"Taehyung is right. Communication is key, especially when it comes to disagreements. I encourage you to talk with the person again and maybe explaining the situation a bit more will help. That may also help you have better days and find more happiness in things." Jungkook nods along with Dr. Mari's words. "Thank you for sharing, Jungkook. Would anyone else like to share?"

"Um, I-I would," Taehyung pipes up again. He fidgets in his seat before speaking again, a small sniffle accompanying his movements. "I, uh, I called my mom earlier in the week. She said...she said my grandmother passed away. I-I don't know why, but she helped raise me and has always been there for me no matter what. I wish--I wish that I could have been there for her before this happened. It doesn't feel fair."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Taehyung. I understand how much she meant to you and how it must be very hard for you to handle while being at the clinic. It must be very hard for everyone here. It's hard to feel as though there is no way out, no way to see family and friends, and live your own life. Everything you do is under watch, someone is there with you, you're required to follow all these regulations and rules. While, yes, they are meant to help your betterment and assure safety, it must feel very suffocating at times. However, each of you has come to this place together, all suffering and struggling with similar things, and you are with each other at the same time for a reason. You should be a beacon of hope and a light at the end of the tunnel for each other. When something bad happens, rather than stepping away from each other, you should step towards one another. Be there for each other and treat this place as a new home. While it may be a temporary one, it is an important one. This is a place where you can have a new family, not a replacement per se, but a family full of people who know what you go through each and every day and understand how you feel.

"I understand each of you may have qualms with each other or with the staff here at the clinic. It can be hard to feel surrounded by people who seem not to care about you or want you to get better, but I assure you there are people who want to help here. Whether it be a doctor or a nurse or a patient, people want to see you be better and stronger, to return to your life outside the clinic.

"Everyone is at the clinic for a reason. Obviously you each know that, the patients are here for their specific reasons. The reason I came to the clinic, however, is because I wanted to make a difference and be a person who could help in some way. When I was your age, I didn't have anyone to rely on or go to when I struggled. For many years, I struggled alone, and it was the most terrifying experience of my life. I'm here to make sure that each of you don't have to feel that way, to give you an option, a choice to not be alone. I love seeing progress in each of you, and growth, but I adore seeing you grow and rely on each other to get better. Medication can only do so much. There has to be a change in the heart and in the mind in order to overcome your struggles. That is what I want to see as a doctor here. I want to see patients come together and help each other because we doctors and the nurses lack in many areas. You can do so much more for each other since you understand each other. Now, I will leave you all with that thought for the day. Thank you for coming, thank you to our newcomers, and you're free to leave now."

Jungkook moves to get up, but a hand clamps down on his leg, keeping him planted to the seat. He looks to the man on his left in confusion. Seokjin doesn't say a word, nor does he even spare Jungkook a glance, and he keeps staring forward at the floor in silence. Dr. Mari is the first to stand, followed by a few of the female patients, while Taehyung lingers in his seat as well. A few moments later, the room is empty except for Taehyung, Seokjin, and Jungkook. There doesn't seem to be any reasoning behind why they're lingering, and Jungkook can only blink between the other two in wonder. Taehyung won't take his eyes off Jungkook, lips slightly parted as though he's about to say something. Words never come.

A minute passes, then two, then three in silence. There's an itch under Jungkook's skin now, the anxiety crawling its way back into his system. Then, a creaking noise rises, and Taehyung stands up. He heads for the door without saying or doing anything, leaving Jungkook to wonder what the hell just happened. Once Taehyung is out of sight, Seokjin releases a deep breath.

"Did something happen between you and Taehyung?" He asks.

"No." The answer comes a bit too quickly, perhaps the lie is too transparent, and Seokjin can see straight through him. "Nothing happened. Everything's fine." Jungkook ought to stop talking, he's only digging the hole deeper at this point. He won't be able to drawl out of it once Seokjin catches on that it's a lie, but luckily enough, Seokjin makes a noise of approval.

"Sorry for bothering you. I just--it seemed--I most likely misread things. I make too many assumptions anyways, according to Yoongi at least."

"Ah, no! Don't worry, it's fine." Jungkook rushes to reassure the older man, and Seokjin smiles back in gratitude as he does. "Would it...be alright if I asked you a few questions actually?"

"Oh, me? That's fine. Ask away!" Seokjin grins at Jungkook, the lines around his mouth and nose scrunching up with the gesture.

"How long have you been at the clinic?"

"Hm, I think it's been about a year for me now. Might seem strange, since Namjoon, Yoongi, and Y/N have been here for a lot longer."

"How did you start talking with them then? Or become friends, I mean." Seokjin leans back in his chair, squinting at the ceiling.

"Well, Y/N was the person who showed me around the ward at the time. Back then, she was a lot less bright and happy." Jungkook does at double-take at the words.

"She doesn't seem bright or happy at all now," he scoffs.

"It used to be a lot worse. I have no clue why, but she was absolutely hellish back then. Even so, I found her interesting and I was grateful that she showed me around, so I kinda just pushed myself into her life. After I found out that Yoongi was my roommate, I thought it was sort of meant to be? That sounds odd and cliche, but that's the reason why I spent all my time with the two of them. Namjoon was obviously there as well, though at the time he didn't spend all of his time with us as he does now. Thinking back, it was hard dealing with both Yoongi and Y/N since they were both so hellish then, but Namjoon was good at placating it. Y/N and Yoongi would argue all the time, back and forth with no end whatsoever. Namjoon would just say "stop" and they would shut up. I don't understand it, even now that it's a lot better and way different than it used to be."

"What do you mean?"

"They care about each other -- Y/N and Yoongi that is -- but it's always seemed as though they have a really twisted way of showing it. I don't approve of it, but I'm not the person to tell them otherwise. It's not my place, first of all. Secondly, I can't do anything about it even if I wanted to. The only person who could have an actual impact would be Namjoon, although anytime I mention it to him, he shuts me down and refuses to talk about it." Seokjin's admission triggers something in Jungkook's mind, and he's taken back all the sudden to one of his previous conversations with Namjoon.

“Quit asking, Jungkook.”

“I’m so-sorry, I was just c—”

“I don’t want to talk about them so you shouldn’t bother.”

“Talk about Yoongi and Y/N?”

“Drop it now before I have to say it again.”

Now that he knows it's been a recurring pattern with Seokjin, Jungkook can't help but wonder what the cause is. Did something happen there for him to be so against talking about it?

"Eh, now that I think about it, I guess Y/N wasn't the absolute worst she could've been. When I first arrived, she really tried her best to help me and look after me in a way, even though I'm older than her. Over time though, she started helping me less and less. I think it's partly because I insisted that I was just fine helping myself. Maybe that's why she was cold to me for so long. Part of me feels guilty about having her help me, somewhat due to the fact that I'm older than here, but also because there isn't really anything wrong with me."

Jungkook blinks at Seokjin. ...isn't really anything wrong with him? But if that's true...why would he be here?

"I'm not sick or anything like that, so she didn't need to help me."

...Not sick?

"We argued about that at one point. I don't remember the exact content of the argument, but Namjoon took my side and of course Yoongi took hers. Things were tense for a little while after that but we cleared things up and talked through it. Turned out better in the end because now we're fine, and she knows that she doesn't have to help me anymore."

"Makes sense," Jungkook mumbles, more focused on the fact that Seokjin claimed to not be sick.

"Of course, she still tries from time to time," Seokjin continues as though Jungkook didn't say anything. "But it isn't as frequent as when she tries to help others like she does with Hoseok or Taehyung or even you."

"What?" Jungkook blanches at the mention of him. "She doesn't do that for me. She doesn't do anything like that at all, especially not compared to what she does for Taehyung or Hoseok."

"Oh, you can't see it?" Seokjin's eyebrows raise, and he swipes his tongue across his lower lip. "I know that she's trying her best to help, but it may not be obvious because of the kind of person she can be. She truly does care though, no matter what you might think. It's just--she, well, she has a tendency to believe that she can help others while keeping them at arm's length, even though that's almost impossible. Maybe that's what caused us to fight in the first place: we don't see eye  to eye on a lot of things. At the end of the day, we respect each other. That's the most important thing: mutual respect and care. As Dr. Mari said, being there for each other is valuable and I wouldn't want any sort of petty argument to get in the way of that."

"I suppose so. Well, no, that's right. That's 100% correct. Just...difficult, I guess."

"So can we talk about what's going on between you and Taehyung now?"

"Huh? W-What? Nothing happened, I don't--I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit." Seokjin releases a small laugh. "Whatever happened between the two of you is somehow affecting Taehyung's relationship with Y/N." Jungkook's heart plummets. He noticed? How did he notice? Did other people notice too? "Listen, Jungkook. Taehyung is one of the most important things in Y/N's life, the other thing being Hoseok. She doesn't feel as though she has any purpose or value outside of that."

"I...I know that, but there isn't--there isn't anything I can do." Seokjin grabs hold of his forearm, pinching the skin with his rough grasp.

"I was up late talking with Yoongi last night, and we were talking about Y/N. She came to visit Yoongi while I was gone yesterday. I was helping clean up and take care of dishes after dinner so Yoongi was alone. I--they--" Seokjin cuts himself off before he can say any more. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this. No, I'm sure it's fine. It's fine, I don't have to tell him everything." Jungkook leans away from the man, but Seokjin's grip only tightens around his arm. "Anyways, Y/N and Yoongi talked for a bit."

"You see, this is why we are better off not talking when we're together. Things that don't involve conversation always do more good for the two of us."

Jungkook narrows his eyes. "But...Y/N told me herself that they don't tend to talk when they're together." Seokjin's eyes grow wide, then he shakes his head.

"Uh, it's not my business to tell you the details of her relationship with Yoongi or to explain what the two of them do in their private time."

"P-Private time?" Seokjin presses his lips into a thin line. A second passes, then reality sinks in, and Jungkook suddenly understands what you meant when you said that. "Oh." Seokjin offers a weak yet understanding smile.

"Again, it's not my place to talk about that. But anyways, back to the topic at hand. Y/N had mentioned something to Yoongi about needing a distraction because Taehyung was acting strange and different. She apparently went to talk to him, and he flat out ignored her. She's scared that he's mad at her for not finding his bear sooner."

The black water laps at Jungkook's ankles. He's expecting another tsunami.

"Did Taehyung mention what happened between them or if it has something to do with whatever happened between the two of you?"

"No," Jungkook denies quickly. He tugs his arm out of Seokjin's grasp. "It's not my business to talk about that anyways." Seokjin purses his lips then opens his mouth to say something else. "I have to go." Jungkook stands up, excusing himself from the conversation before it goes any further. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't care to know about whatever is going on between you and Yoongi, or how hurt you are by Taehyung's behavior. It doesn't matter. It's not like I'm going to fucking stay at the clinic forever. Jungkook pushes his way out of the room, leaving Seokjin behind him, and doesn't care to look back and see whether the man decided to follow or not.

The black water is at his waist now, he feels the tug of the tide pulling and dragging him further in, and the cold black hand ready to close around his throat.

Your fault. Your fucking fault. Look what you did. You dirty fucking liar. You disappointment. Look at you. Can't do anything right, huh?

Jungkook stumbles on thin air.

Can't even kill yourself properly, can you?

Then all the sudden, he's on the floor, staring at the white ceiling with a dull throbbing in the back of his head.

"Jungkook!" It's not Seokjin's voice -- far too feminine for that -- but his mind is too swamped by black water to put a name to the voice.

"Y/N!" That's Seokjin, Jungkook recognizes it from having just heard it so much minutes ago. But that means, that it must have been you who yelled his name. For some reason, that realization causes the black hand around his throat to retract and sink back into the water, and the water recedes until it's lapping at his ankles again.

Hands find the collar of his white tee, pulling his shoulders up off the floor. Jungkook blinks a few times as your face appears before him. It stands out against the white of the ceiling, a blur to your features until Jungkook focuses his eyes again.

Then -- panic.

Oh god, is she mad at me? Does she know? She knows. Fuck, I'm screwed. She knows about the journal, about Taehyung, about everything. Fuck.

You smile.

Jungkook chokes on air.

"I found it, Jungkookie."

...

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! not a lot happened but at the same time a lot kinda happened?? i missed this story so so much and was so happy to return to writing it. i am excited to share more of this story with you guys, along with other projects that i have :3

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[professordrarry]

*slides a vase of tulips, and some candy into your inbox* please tell me the most interesting bat fact you have. Most interesting to you.

Omg thank you. They are glorious 🌷 🌷 🌷

Okay get ready, nonnie. This post is SO LONG but. You asked for this 😂

First of all, What bats don't do:

get stuck in people's hair, swarm, give people rabies (one person a year is the average in NA, and only 6% of bats worldwide carry the virus), suck human blood (this too, is very rare - three species worldwide and they much prefer cows), make you a vampire (probably).

Bat facts:

A little brown bat can eat 1,200 mosquitoes in one hour.

Bat guano used to be used to make gunpowder because of saltpeter

There are six species of bats that don’t hang upside down. They have suction pads instead of claw fingers.

Around 20% of all mammal species worldwide because there are so many different species of bat.

They are more closely related to humans than they are to mice.

Because they are such good seed dispersers from the distances they travel, scientists think bats are the only reason we still have many things, including dates, vanilla, bananas, breadfruit, guavas, Tequila (because agave) and chewing gum. If bats hadn't brought new seeds, these species would have succumb to disease!

I could go on forever but instead imma show you my three favourites.

1. Little Brown Bats. Most endangered in North America because of white nose, a fungus that wakes them from hibernation and kills them because of hypothermia.

2. Next, Flying Foxes. Gentle and sweet, but in danger of getting caught in powerlines because of size. Don't touch them. They look like puppies, they are not. They're delicate, you can hurt them or they could hurt you. This photo is from a licenced rehabilitation clinic.

3. Spotted bats. I mean, come on. Looks at those ears! These bats are also North American and almost went extinct with the use of DDT. They are having a resurgence and are almost off the critically endangered list.

You can help your local bat population. Plant trees that will get very tall. Don't cut down existing trees unnecessarily. Put up bat boxes. Plant local, indigenous species of pollinating flowers, don't use chemicals to address bug populations when you can avoid it.

Most importantly, stop being afraid of bats.

[kyunsies]

Hello Mädch ahsdjaksdh <3 !!

how is college going? dw, I hope you are settling in super well and feeling optimistic about school and all the amazing things I know you are going to achieve this year! I am excited that you are starting your rotations now! you are going to do awesome, I know it! I'm sorry that you didn't get that ICU first like you wanted but hopefully it's all part of the plan so that you get it at the right time for you <3 let me know how they go, of course. I hope they go super well.

the week has been a bit weird to be honest, in my team I had a semi argument that was properly tense for the first time with someone and it was just so unpleasant. you know those people where they aren't horrible but you know that you'll never completely see eye to eye with them? i think it's just one of those things, where we'll never just completely read each other or get each other? and it's not, like, a massive issue or anything that we can't deal with, but I feel like usually I get on really well with people or not at all (all or nothing person I guess haha) but with this person I've just got to admit that we're always going to be a bit in the middle? like, we talked it over, and I've still found sometimes we misunderstand one another? so things are still good in work and clients, but with workpeople it has been the more difficult battle? hopefully we should get some more cool media stuff with the K-pop people soon, so that's an up?

OMGsh your coworkers are so much older than you! [lease do post a picture of your room, I am 100% confident that you have made it so dreamy and pretty. Thank you sm for telling me more about these operations though! I feel like everywhere is on red alert at the moment when it comes to health and care and making sure that people look after themselves and not put others at risk, you know? the doctors that to talk to me about my potential surgeries too have said the same but it's nice hearing it from a friend, you know? so thank youuuu <3 <3

I was the same as you, I would get so so so anxious and stressed if I wasn't studying or working or anything like that? but my mum is like your mum and grandma, where she gets up early too! but I feel like I need to do the late night thing instead? but then once I got into this crazy spiral where I would wake up really early and go to bed really late and like nap in between so I ended up like having two hours of sleep either side? that was peak wth at the time haha XD so now I try and let myself wake up a bit later really XD ha ha I'm in barely adulting! like I work so much but I don't earn a lot ha ha – I don't think that's very effective adulting? or like, I don't know I guess for a lot of people my age there's a work hard and hope it pays off thing in certain industries? so you're definitely more effectively adulting than me right now! like, you're going to do stuff that's gonna actively help people and you'll see that right in front of you, you know!!? sometimes my work gets out there but I rarely see directly if it gets to make peoples lives better you know? so the path you're on is so so admirable <3 <3 <3

I get you though, do you find that you thrive under the pressure even though it's sometimes a lot? I find that sometimes it does help me, but sometimes I forget to identify the times when it isn't helping me? or, sometimes I take it too far? so please look out for yourself and take care of yourself <3 and when you're worried if you're on the edge know that it's enough for you to take a rest and not be super perfect. i sometimes tell myself to except that I'm probably gonna make two or three stupid mistakes a day? It sounds kind of silly but it means that it makes it easier for me to accept when I mess up, idk, I think it helps me balance the pressure sometimes? i 100% understand what you're saying - at school do they have people that can directly help? or like peer supporters so it's not as stressful or official feeling as a therapist? if you ever want me to come off anon to help lemme know <3 i'm always here for you <3

oh my gosh your grandparents have been able to live long too! all my grandparents lived close to 100 before passing, and one of my grandmothers had the same as your grandfather. he sounds so sweet and so kind though! i love that he knows how to FaceTime you! Some of my aunts and uncles still don't properly haha. it sounds like he knows that he's super loved though, he's very lucky <3 <3 i've been thinking about all this really lovely stuff and how it grounds you when stuff like careers can stress you out and feel like the most important thing when it shouldn't be? what are the personality differences between the different areas of the US? my East Coast friends seem to straight talk a lot more than my West Coast friends? like they're a lot more realistic as opposed to being, I don't know laid-back or if not laid-back sometimes just more comfortable with superficial stuff? Not like my West Coast friends are superficial people, but I think they accept it as part of the world a bit better? my friends on the east coast will rail against that stuff a lot more, like they buy into the influencer bullshit less? but I guess these are all sweeping generalisations anyway... I might have to travel a bit in europe soon... I got asked to go to otaly for some work today, and to holland next month. Idk if it will end up happening though, things change all the time? I have to keep checking quarantine rules all the time with countries! but YAY and YES Europe tour trip one day :D !!!!!!!

you know what? when I first saw you compare bowling and golf I was like, wait, what? but now I totally get it! i know a golfer and they talk about how physical and strenuous it is on the arms and stuff all the time which I don't think always comes across when you watch it and it makes a lot of sense with how you describe how you trained for bowling! i used to cox in rowing and I always used to find it really funny that I said that was the sport I did because honestly I just sat in the boat all the time and steered XD

obligatory YES WTF ARE COTTON SCENTS! quite a few shops in the city where I live have been closing down because of Covid but our Jo Malone is still going strong! I love that lots of already classic clothing shops have now gone out of business but for some reason the people where I live cannot live without their perfume XD I think I'm gonna go in later this week or next week to take a look! with all this travelling I kind of want to buy something new? also, my hands have been acting up with injury so I have to rest my hands more anyway – so might as well look for perfume right? do you have any recommendations or would the blueberry one you've just gotten be at the top of your list?

the exciting thing is that I'm doing a bit less this week! I need to wait and see if that job wants me to fly out to Italy within the next 48 hours, if not next week, but if not I think I'm gonna figure out how to rehabilitate my joints a bit and get my brain okay? It's been existential Covid crisis week haha - I think a lot of me and my friends have been feeling like we've lost so much of our lives and potential during this time and I've really tried to hold in and ignore it for the past 18 months? i'm not one to ever feel lonely or to really really want to be in a relationship like some of my friends, but I've just been feeling it this week? like, I love my independence, but I wouldn't say no to a boyfriend right now you know? I feel silly saying that sometimes because I'm so against feeling like you have to have someone in your life to be okay, but I guess that's just a result of how the world is has been recently?? but I think all my feelings exploded around this stuff now so, I am trying to get back into a better place? so it's not as exciting as some of the stuff I've told you about before, but it's what's up I guess?

how are your mum and grandmother doing? are they doing good? [lease send all my love to them too. I'm glad these help you reflect on your week! they do with me too and I'm always happy to hear from you, no matter how long you might need <3 <3 hope you manage to reward yourself for working so hard these past days and that you remember you're always doing 110% so you deserve the best!

love you lots and lots - 💥

ANGEL HELLO !!!!!!!!! i told myself i would stay on top of this and swear in a timely manner but ;_____; a full week + 2 clinical rotations later here i am on a sunday, it seems this is always the case :( maybe my get back to you day will only be on sundays LOL i will try my best in the future babe, but ofc thank you so much for being patient with me <3

uni is going fine so far hun !!!! i've started clinical rotations as i've said on thursday and friday, and then my first exam is on tuesday so i read some chapters yesterday so i'm not squished for time lol :) and ,,,, what you said "hope it's all part of the plan" is very much my way of thinking lol wha is your sign? i'm a sagittarius and that's like, a philosophy i go by like everything is how it's supposed to be even if it's not what u want like everything will work itself out :') i'm wondering if we are one in the same !!!!! <3

and omg ;_____; conflict within the workplace is NEVER easy bc all everyone wants is to reach the goal you all are reaching and bc there's some bumps in the road it makes everything that much more stressful :( and i know exactly the type of person you are talking about LOL i've had to work with some of my peers in the hospital who really didn't treat me all that nicely , but i still have to partner up with them anyways bc we had to move a patient lol ; like they never do anything terrible to you but you just cannot come to a proper agreement with them? i know the feeling :( but i can tell you are doing ur absolute best ;_____; it's a tough situation ,,,,,,,,, but may i propose something ??? maybe since things are high stress in the workplace, would u be willing to meet them outside the workplace, like a quick coffee meet up and then discuss those issues? maybe talking about it in the work environment is way too stressful for both of u and it is hard to come to an agreement, but maybe in a calmer, more informal setting do u think maybe the both of u could be like "hey, what u were talking about i'm not really head over heels for but this is what i think and do u think we can do something where both of us will be happy?" im thinking maybe will opening up a means for more civilized discussion?? just a thought LOL :') let me know how it goes :( i hope u are all able to figure everything out !!!!!

about the surgeries !!!!! like i said i know it's super stressful to think about bc this is one of the very few times in life where things are absolutely out of our control and that scares us, and we as medical providers aren't supposed to give u a false sense of security, but i promise u everything will be just fine as long as u correctly follow up with care post-op :) we wouldn't want an infection !!!! >;( i remember last year i had a patient and she was going in for a routine colonoscopy and she was scared shitless ,,,,,,, but i was like "listen ma'am i know it can seem scary but i was just in there with the doctors and everything is super relaxed and they know what they're doing in there, you'll be out in no time and i'll be here waiting !!" and that seemed to help her a lot, after the surgery she was on me like flies on shit LOL she was like "THANK U HONEY" (but i think most of it was bc she was still drugged up hhh)

LOL us with our family members waking up early <3 literally this morning i decided to do my laundry at 8am (its only 10 right right now lol) but idk it just make u feel a little bit better doesn't it? but oh my gosh no i don't see u in this way at all ;_____; babe like you're already THERE in the world working and to me like ,,,,,, being an effective functioning person in society is like all i ever want i just want to be COMPETENT and the fact that u manage ppl ???? it's already a lot of responsibility but you do it everyday like you go to work u make food for yourself u pay bills like yes this all kinda sucks but you're there doing it and idk ,,,,,,,, like u being in this position is like yeah their surviving in the world and doing okay !!!! so that’s how i see u hun ;_____;

and i don’t think i necessarily thrive under pressure but i just kinda ,,,,,,, handle it?? like i think i handle my stress quite well !!! i think the reason why making mistakes scares me so much in my field is bc if i make a mistake i can like, kill someone or seriously harm them if i do something wrong SLKDFJ but i have to remember i’m still just a student and a lot of the things that i’ll learn won’t even be in these last few months of nursing school, but rather during my months of orientation on the floor i’ll be working on when i finally land a job ,,,,,, i know i just have to be patient and kind to myself, but it’s hard not having these high expectations for myself bc everyone else pushes themselves super hard (nurses i mean) so i feel like i should be too , ya know? ;_____; it’s a hard balance that i’ve yet to find but hopefully once i graduate i’ll have just a little bit more confidence in myself :’)

and omg your grandparents lived a long life as well !!!!!!!! a lot of my friends’ grandparents are really young still, so it’s hard for others to relate i think LOL but :(((( i’m really lucky to have them around still and like, i feel like my grandparents are the cornerstone of our whole entire family; once they pass i’m not quite sure what will happen ;_____; so i’m just trying to cherish every moment that i have with them even tho sometimes it’s stressful lol ; also BOUT THE DIFFERENCES FROM EAST TO WEST COAST LOL ; i think u described it really well actually :) like among the friends u have the are from different parts of the states, it’s very accurate in my opinion !! and again after all it is just a very broad assumption, in general east coasters have this “workaholic” attitude, they tend to be very realistic which i actually appreciate a lot lol, i’m hoping to live near the east coast when i move out <3 now where i am from it is considered the midwest even tho it’s more east than west if u look at it on the map LMAO and like, it’s really funny bc if u say to someone you’re from the midwest they’ll tell u our reputation is being “too nice” LSKDLFJSKLD and like that’s our thing, a happy medium between coasts with big cities but small towns too and generally just very chill and nice ,,,,,,,, the south of the US is also known for having that “southern hospitality” overall very cheerful ppl with personality and super kind attitude on life :) now the west of the US i’m not saying there aren’t nice ppl out there bc there are LOL but esp near lost angeles or hollywood ofc you’re going to have ppl very stuck up bc ya know they made it to big bad LA and they want to be trendy with all of the fake health shit (celery juice does NOTHING FOR U sorry lol) generally my view of the west is just very fake and i would never want to have my family grow up there LMAO but that generally like, california and washington but like, utah or wyoming or colorado are just absolutely gorgeous and they have small town ppl there bc there are a lot of ranches there ,,,,,,,, does any of this make sense to u ??? KLASFJ 

i’m going to skip a few paragraphs bc this is so long already LMAO but trust me i’ve read everything so far lol ; it seems like you’re doing a lot of traveling !!!!!! <3 i’m so jealous !!!!!!!! italy sounds so beautiful i would love love to go some day :( ALSO U SMELLED THE BLUEBELL PERFUME RIGHT ???? U LIKED IT ?????? doesn’t it smell absolutely divine??? no matter how many scents i smelled after that i knew it was the right one for me ldkfsdlkfj <3 i’m still so in love with it ;____; also about ur lil rant about feeling lonesome :( bub i can really relate to this and i feel the same way like my mom and the rest of my family never pushed me to meet anyone and i’ve always never had a problem making friends, but like, as i’m older and i realize i’ll be alone a lot more of my time once i graduate like i really do want to share my life with someone :( i have a lot of love and i want to be able to show it to someone i care about a lot but i just never really take the initiative to do that bc quite honestly i’m not confident in myself lMAO so ,,,,,,, i know we never feel like we need to be dependent on someone but sharing experiences with someone who feels very strongly for u seems nice, doesn’t it? i wish this for both of us really soon okay?? <3 i tell my friends i would LOVE to be engaged right now lskdjfslfjs :’)

but anyways !!!!!!!! my mom and the rest of my family is doing well <3 and i’m doing okay too !!!!!! i don’t want to bore u with how clinicals are going but if u want me to tell u just let me know LOL and angel i know i say it all the time but always thank u so much for being patient with me okay? u are the absolute best !!!!!! also as promised, here are a few pics of my dorm room LOL it’s a shoebox but it’s my shoebox :) enjoy !!!!!! 

[wannawrite]

The Royals - PJH

who?: Wanna One’s Park Jihoon genre: 🌸🌺 type: bullet point TW: absent father, blood, physical violence, knives part one / two [ bc it got super long ] two 

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The Royals 

KD | • mafia! AU • you never knew such dark secrets lurked in your neighbourhood I love mafia AU okay, no lie. Thank you for requesting this anon! First mood board and probably the last since I’m really bad at those but I wanted to try somthing new for once.  - Admin L 

• welcome to The Royals, let me introduce them to you • an organised crime group, mainly running the streets of Seoul but they dabble in Busan and other international activities • The Royals believe each and every one of them deserves to be noble, to be upperclassmen, to be one • code name: 101 • that’s also the name of the ‘company’ they run by day • a bodyguard for hire type of company, but I guess they’re good at it because Miss Thailand, Lalisa Manoban and Miss Korea, Jennie Kim endorse them for many occasions • this entire thing was set up by a team headed by BoA, but they have now gone undercover • The Royals are headed by Kang Daniel and Jeon Somi, elite chosen ones, the first faces of the clan • they have their right-hand man/woman, Park Jihoon and Kim Sejeong • little is known about The Royals and you never want to mess with them • they’ll have your blood for sure • most of them are regular high school students, only changing faces when the time comes • Park Jihoon attended the same school as you • no one would have ever suspected him man • so innocent • so cute • full of charms • ‘nae maeum soge, jeojang!’ • a hard-working student, on the dean’s list and even the captain of the boxing team • ah boxing team • everyone loves Park Jihoon to death • who wouldn’t? he’s super sweet, will help you with your homework • but the thing is, Jihoon never really hangs out with anyone in school • in class, he keeps to himself most of the time, only speaks when he has to or when a classmate has a question • basically, he doesn’t initiate conversation but doesn’t mind talking a bit about his lavish weekend in his Jeju Island holiday home • you’ve only ever seen Jihoon eat lunch with a Taiwanese transfer student, Lai Guanlin and Kim Sejeong - both who don’t talk much to anyone either • that’s the Park Jihoon you see by day • but by night...or whenever needed... • he is The Royals best fighter • ‘iM 19 yOu fiTE mE’ • Jihoon grew up in a rather shady neighbourhood, there were many organised crime societies so he had to learn how to defend himself • especially when he walked home late because his parents were out working • it was actually then when his neighbour’s aunt, BoA, scouted him and asked him to visit her boxing training academy • the training fees were dealt with by her because she saw potential, and also because she needed to form the nation’s organised crime society • Jihoon used to train in MMA before making the switch to boxing after knowing that a school that he was supposed to enrol in had a boxing club • ‘it’s the perfect disguise, no one will ever guess’ • he only got better when his parents pulled together enough money and moved to accommodate his dad’s new job • they moved closer to his gym and naturally, he spent more time there training • that was when he met Kang Daniel and the rest is history • Jihoon plays an important role in training new applicants and making sure the ‘army’ is well looked after • which includes scheduling training, forming new teams for smaller missions and sending bodyguards for other teams like hackers • he’s also in charge of them all • so he has to ensure their welfare and make sure everyone receives proper medical attention • Jihoon also spends a lot of his time assisting Daniel and going on missions with him • he never really stays long at the HQ building for long but he does have his own private suite • as you can see, BoA sends her children a lot of money to keep the operations running • no one really knows how the hell she got so rich but you don’t question BoA • and they do fork in quite a bit from their day jobs • to summarise, Jihoon is the second in command, is the main fighter and in charge of combat, and his cover is a college student working as a concert security guard • he occasionally appears in that ' omg *the band name*’s security is so hot’ posts but Jinyoung has to hack into their account to take it down • no one can know about the 101 members • anyway, back to the plot • unlike you, your grandparents still live in the dingy, old apartment located in the shadier side of town • they own a small grocery store there and it pretty much supplies the entire estate • even after your mother built up an empire and bought them a house in the suburbs, they refuse to move and only stay there if they have to take care of your younger half-sister or your baby cousins • your mother is the CEO of a really huge law firm so you’ve always been quite well off • excluding the times when you stayed with your grandparents in their flat when you were young because your mother was struggling to make ends meet • she was a single mother • and starting her own business • shout out to all the amazing single parents who are able to provide well for your family!! • it was a tough time really • you don’t remember but your grandparents often tell you that you used to have a crush on the little boy a few doors down • lol young love • how cute • but you don’t recall at all so uh rip • he was around your age but seemed much more independent than you • he was allowed to wander the streets by himself until late at night • eventually, you moved into the mansion you currently stay in • first heartbreak :”) • it didn’t matter much since you only admired him from afar and you never got his name...at least that’s all you recall • true love never dies :( • they teased you non-stop about it at every family reunion • and then refused to tell you his name, claiming they forgot • hah • what a joke • so it’s one of those days you’re on break and not spending time in your own house or out with your friends • instead, you’re sitting in your grandparents living room and calculating some business related stuff • updating product distributors and suppliers • thinking of renovations for the store, new designs for Christmas • gathering feedback about the store and noting down maintenance work that needs to be done • at the end, you try to convince your grandparents to move to the nice terrace they own • you want your family to be closer to you, closer to the city and not in a place with only one clinic, school, two supermarkets and a small mall • you’re also well aware of the number of underground gangs there are in this area and it isn’t advisable for elderly to engage in physical combat • grandfather does own a gun though, licensed with papers and all of course • ‘sell the flat, you don’t need it anymore. come stay with us in the city. you’ll be closer to mum and I as well.’ • grandfather shakes his head. ‘I know you want what’s best for us but we have enough here. Your grandmother and I bought this place when we were struggling newlyweds, we can’t ever leave it.’ • it doesn’t sound like the only reason • but for now, it’s enough to keep your mouth shut • ‘if we move, what will happen to the store? we won’t stay near enough and it’s a pain to keep traveling,’ grandmother points out • you offer alternatives like you will run it, or the family chauffeur, maybe selling the place • they exchange looks before disagreeing • end of discussion • the Lexus comes to fetch you at the end of the day • this occurs a lot, since the house does get lonely by yourself • each time, you’re unsuccessful in convincing your grandparents to move • ‘why? what’s the actual reason?’ you demand from grandma since grandpa doesn’t expose himself • she shrugs. ‘Too many people depend on our store for jobs, food...’ • ‘but if you sell it, the company will still allow them to work.’ • she turns to you, wrinkles framing her face, eyes full of love • ‘i don’t expect you to understand since you’ve never worked there...how about working there until the end of break?’ • when you were young, you anticipated growing up so you could work, boosting your family’s financial income but now that your mother rakes in millions, working was kind of the last thing on your mind • you did a few cafe stints but that was the most experience you had • when your mother was consulted, she was ecstatic and arranged plans with her parents immediately • you started by paying a visit to the store more regularly • and found out that the entire neighbourhood patronised the store • like if it closed, no one would have food • or jobs • or food bc food is very important • it shocked to see Sejeong working as a cashier • she was rather friendly to customers but still held a grave expression and rarely conversed with her coworkers • strange • it never occurred to you that she lived nearby   • you had never seen her around before, other than at school • grandmother assigned you to be the store room packer, taking stock and whatnot • Sejeong kept out of your way, but that only elicited curiosity • during break time, she spent it far away from the rest of the workers, whispering on the phone with a smile on her face • ‘grandma, do you know much about Sejeong?’ • ‘oh, why?’ • the protective tone and defensiveness underlying sent ripples of panic through you • ‘ah nothing, we attended the same AP Literature class....’ • ‘...she’s been working here for quite awhile now but I think she’s moved out to the main city. I have no clue why she sticks it out here.’ grandmother said before shrugging and wandering off to her room • you were bone tired by the time the familiar Lexus came to a stop outside your grandparent’s apartment block • just as you slid into the back seat and greeted your chauffeur, your eyes caught on to something • rather, someone • or someones, if a word like that existed • Sejeong was walking in the direction of the nearest bus stop, due to the lack of street lamps, she carried a small torch in her hands to illuminate her path • but beside her, a tall, muscular and brown haired man walked • from what your eyes could pick up, he had candid large hazelnut brown eyes, it seemed like his delicate features were tainted with traces of blood and cuts • the car drove off into the distance before you could get a closer look, melting the two figures into mere fragments of your imagination • that was pushed out of your mind as you continued to work hard • grinding 💪🏼 • now, you had a more in-depth understanding of your mother’s hardship • she still worked a couple of odd jobs when her law firm was in it’s rookie days, just so she could afford extra things like tuition or new story books for you :”) • sigh • under the noonday sun, your eyes lidded as you painstakingly gather stray shopping carts and push them back to their dock • suddenly, a gasp leaves your lips when you feel a cold sharpness press against your back • knife • rough hands seize your arms and a hoarse voice growls into your ear • ‘where is it? where is the stash?’ • excuse me but 1800-don’t-touch-me • ‘i don’t know what you’re talking about.’ you reply in a steady voice, regulating your breathing despite the tears welling up and threatening to break free of your lower lids • your lips start quivering uncontrollably, your mind scattered • the blade presses into your side, but not enough to draw blood • it’s on the edge of it though • ‘don’t lie! we know you’re with the 101, The Royals. your family is close to them.’ • what the hell • my mother owns a law firm and you’re telling me my family is involved with the biggest organised crime association • uhhhhh....logic? • i think not • ‘I’m not lying.’ • using your legs, you aim a good kick at him and wrench free • the knife barely misses slicking your skin and you feel a sickening feel sink into your stomach • the dude’s hands curl around your shoulder, yanking you back • then suddenly, he lets out a shout as he stumbles backwards, taken by surprise by whoever came to help you • oh my god, it’s Sejeong • she wastes no time attacking him and disarming him, tossing the knife to one side - which you race after for evidence • but the telltale ‘M’ tattoo on his bicep is all you need to know to tell that he works with Mnet - The Royals biggest threat • Mnet sweetie I am so sorry • maybe I am • an unnerving crack sounds through the atmosphere before he’s laying on the ground, knocked out cold, chest rising shallowly   • ‘I’ll call my friends to deal with him. Y/N, head inside now, it isn’t safe here.’ Sejeong instructs, wiping a drop of blood from her mouth with her sleeve • you don’t bother to argue, jelly-legged, you stumble back into the store, only to find that staff are clearing customers out as fast as they can and barring all entrances • lights are slowly being turned off and some staff are clocking out way before work hours end • something definitely isn’t right • nausea bubbles in you but you can’t let any throbbing stop you from finding your grandparents • just then, someone grabs your wrist and leads you away • ‘Y/N right? Come with me.’ • your eyes go cartoonish wide when you recognise him to be the man you spotted walking home with Sejeong • her boyfriend? • his hair is cut in a boyish way that allows his fringe to sweep over his forehead but that isn’t enough to throw you off • the sleeve of his black button down rides up, exposing his small inked crown - the mark of a Royal • what is breathing? • I’ve been tossed around between two rival mafias today this is enough • what do they even want with me? • the mysterious Royal leads you to the basement, you don’t resist even though alarm bells go off in your head • he slides away what was thought to be a massive freezer door to reveal a hidden door, bolted shut • the perfect disguise • ‘Grandmother, this is Park Jihoon. I have your grandchild with me.’ •grandmother? • WHAT IS HAPPENING • the door creaks open and this Park Jihoon gently pushes you in • your grandparents embrace you the second you step into the room, tears are almost spilled • you blink, eyes adjusting to the dimness of the secret room. they widen significantly when you manage to pinpoint another two The Royals/101 members • they both have crown tattoos on their collarbones • Sejeong enters the room a few seconds later, her hair now tied up and her injuries magically gone • ‘will someone tell me what is happening?’ you burst out, unable to handle the tension anymore. • ‘a member of Mnet just held a knife to my back, and Sejeong saved me. now, I’m in a room with four The Royals members! My grandparents don’t seemed freaked out which makes matters even more confusing!’ • ‘we can’t be alarmed,’ grandfather begins. ‘these are the children we raised, the ones we treated as our own grandchildren.’ • yoU’RE TWO SECONDS FROM TEARING YOUR HAIR OUT • your knees buckle but a pair of strong arms catch your delicate from and sets you on a chair • Jihoon • he rubs your back comfortingly, whispering reassuring words to calm you down • ‘....it all began with Jihoon,’ Grandmother explains. ‘he was our neighbours only son but they were so busy with work he was often neglected.’ • ‘so in secret, whenever he had time to roam the streets by himself, we would invite him over for meals, a proper lunch, a proper shower, toys to play with.’ • ‘he was your boy a few doors down, Y/N. I don’t think you remember but you two played together for a couple of occasions’ • you bite back tears, shutting your eyes • ‘then we discovered Sejeong, like Jihoon, she wandered the roads by herself, rarely returning home as her parents were out working various odd jobs. we took her in like Jihoon. she slept over at our apartment for days.’ • ‘Yoojung and Daehwi came later, by that time, you had already moved out to your mother’s place.’ • ‘is that why you’re so attached to this place?’ you choke out • grandmother sighs, she too is struggling to keep the tears at bay • ‘it’s hard to leave four helpless children by themselves. even after they grew up, we can’t bear to leave them, especially when Daehwi confessed that he was with The Royals,’ • you suck in a breath sharply, unable to believe whatever you were hearing • it’s clear your grandparents are with The Royals and now, you feel like you don’t have a choice but to side with them • you were on their side since day one anyway...

[dabidevito]

85 questions

tagged by: @hey-laura and @ziloufs thank you babes ♥ ♥ ♥

rules: answer these 85 questions and tag 20 people

— what was your last…

1. drink: coffee 2. phone call: my irl best friend to update me on her bf’s surgery (he’s fine) 3. text message: my dad 4. song you listened to: between dreams - saib 5. time you cried: mmmm like two weeks ago? i love anxiety it’s great

— have you ever…

6. dated someone twice: no 7. kissed someone and regretted it: no  8. been cheated on: no 9. lost someone special: yeah haven’t we all? 10. been depressed: not clinically but i could probably use some therapy rip 11. gotten drunk and thrown up: yeah college was great lmao

— fave colours

12. bright sky blue 13. peach 14. millennial pink

— in the last year have you…

15. made new friends: so many good internet friends. i love y’all. 16. fallen out of love: mmmm kind of? but not with a person, more like an idea 17. laughed until you cried: yeah man friends are Good 18. found out someone was talking about you: yeah omg they literally butt-dialed me while they were gossiping about me it was Great 19. met someone who changed you: i don’t think so 20. found out who your friends are: yeah but it’s okay. sometimes you gotta leave people behind if they’re not willing to move forward with you 21. kissed someone on your facebook friends list: who is facebook

— general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know irl: probably all of them back when i used fb 23. do you have any pets: no and it’s the greatest tragedy of my life 24. do you want to change your name: no but i only recently discovered how much i actually like my name 25. what did you do for your last birthday: drank martinis and played scrabble with my mom 26. what time did you wake up today: 7:15am, i love working. 27. what were you doing at midnight last night: already asleep, i love working. 28. what is something you can’t wait for: my college choir is having a reunion this year so i’m pretty hyped for that. 30. what are you listening to right now: i’m at work and all the machinery in my office makes some v v nice white noise. 31. have you ever talked to a person named tom: i...can’t think of any? weird.

32. something that’s getting on your nerves: all of the boxes in my new apartment that i haven’t unpacked yet

33. most visited website: probably tumblr and the user manuals for the machines i work with. 34. hair colour: naturally reddish-brown but currently dyed dark blonde. 35. long or short hair: long as heck at the moment but i might cut it all off soon

36. do you have a crush on someone: no

37. what do you like about yourself: i like the color of my eyes and i think i have a generally nice face besides my problematic skin. nicknames: i used to go exclusively by rosey instead of rose so lots of people still call me that.  41. relationship status: single and i’d like to send a bat signal to my best friend to please stop trying to set me up. 42. sign: capricorn 43. pronouns: she/her 44. fave tv show: i don’t watch a ton of tv but i really enjoyed the crown. 45. tattoos: none i’m terrified of commitment. 46. right or left handed: right 47: ever had surgery: does wisdom teeth count? 48. piercings: just once in my ears. 49. sport: what’s a sport? 50. vacation: anywhere with a beach and some good scuba diving. 51. trainers: i have a vans obsession, don’t @ me.

— more general

52. eating: i brought some dank granola for lunch. 53. drinking: water. 54. i’m about to watch: nothing since i’m at work but i might start jessica jones season 2 tonight. 55. waiting for: this work day to be over please free me. 56. want: to go home with enough energy to get some work done on my apartment tonight. 57. get married: have i talked about my commitment issues yet. 58. career: idk man sometimes i wish i could go back in time and get my degrees in something totally different.

— which is better

59. hugs or kisses: hugs 60. lips or eyes: eyes 61. shorter or taller: i’m very smol so tall people scare me 62. older or younger: don’t really care tbh 63. nice arms or stomach: errrm neither? i don’t think i’ve ever thought that hard about those particular bits. 64. hookup or relationships: relationships 65. troublemaker or hesitant: hesitant. like very much so.

— have you ever

66. kissed a stranger: no 67. drank hard liquor: yeah 0/10 do not recommend 68. turned someone down: yeah 69. sex on first date: no 70: broken someone’s heart: probably but not because of any malicious intent 71. had your heart broken: yes 72. been arrested: no 73. cried when someone died: yes 74. fallen for a friend: yeah 0/10 do not recommend

— do you believe in

75. yourself: objectively yes but subjectively no 76. miracles: yes. some things transcend our understanding. 77. love at first sight: no, despite every fic i’ve written. 78. santa claus: yes. you’re never too old to believe in magic. 79. angels: no

— misc

80. eye colour: green 81. best friend’s name: becky 82. favourite movie: the martian please come for me i’ll fight you 83. favourite actor: idris elba

84. favourite cartoon: bob’s burgers 85. favourite teacher’s name: james

♥ ♥ ♥

[babygirl06301]

11 Questions Tag Game

I was tagged by @tobythewise. Thank ya, babe!

Post the rules

Answer the questions given

Make 11 questions of your own

Tag 11 people (or less lol)

1. Dream job?

My “practical” (a.k.a. “boring”) dream job is the one I’m going for right now which is a clinical psychologist. I want to help people with my profession because I don’t have the luxury or talent of helping people in other ways (i.e. art, money, etc.). 

But if I could be anything in the whole wide world, I’d be either an author or a screenwriter. I love, love, love creating stories, and I’d love to see them on a screen, as well. The problem is, I don’t have the willpower or the talent to follow through with this dream. Not to mention, I’m so paranoid about financial security, that I’m too big of a wimp to go for it. Oh, well! 

2. French Mistake or Changing Channels?

I’m gonna cheat and say: both.

The one I find myself going back and watching more often than the other one is “Changing Channels.” It’s just sort of a comfort episode for me in that it’s funny and it has so many of my favorite characters in it.

However, if I made a “Favorite SPN Episodes” list (which I have), “The French Mistake” would rank higher than “Changing Channels” because it’s just so good. 

So, I guess it depends on how you look at it. I guess as an overall answer based on my opinion of the quality of the episodes, I’d probably pick “The French Mistake.”

3. What song has been stuck in your head lately?

I don’t really listen to music all that much anymore. At least not frequently enough to have songs stuck in my head. So, I’ll tell you the song I most recently played on repeat. 

It is: “Say You Won’t Let Go” by James Arthur. 

The reason I’ve had it on repeat is because @markiplier did a cover of it (x), and it’s beautiful. He’s been working on preforming songs for his audience for so long, and I’m so proud of him. He killed this song (in a good way), and it made me so relaxed and happy. Go Mark!

4. Who is your favorite female Supernatural character?

Rowena. Rowena all the way. Don’t get me wrong, Jody is a close runner-up. Donna is also.

But nothing can beat that Scottish fire, baby. Not for this chick.

5. What’s your favorite food?

I don’t have one? That’s the simple answer, I guess. I love shrimp a whole fuckin’ lot, though, so if I had to pick one food, it’d be shrimp. 

And also curly fries. And also BBQ chips. And also--

6. Favorite season?

Fall. I mean, right? Fall is the best. Spoopy times (yes, I say spoopy, come at me), sweaters, candles, colored leaves, good food, good shows. Fall is just the best.

Besides school.

7. Take out or home-cooked meals?

Okay, so I prefer to eat home-cooked meals, but I actually eat take-out more often. In fact, I’m about to order take-out right now. It’s just more convenient, and I hate myself for it, but I’m a broke college kid, so what can you do?

8. How has the internet/fandom changed you?

So many ways. I’ve made new friends, I’ve found myself, I’ve found family through certain shows, I’ve learned my values and what I’m willing to fight for, I’ve learned to be helpful in anyway I can to anyone I can be helpful to, I’ve found people that I can really look up to and aspire to, I’ve found people who are real and who don’t judge based on differences, I’ve found out about my own unique sense of humor, I’ve learned to take criticism properly, I’ve learned how to take care of myself, I’ve learned about and talked to the most beautiful people and actors and fans, I’ve become the happiest I could ever be because of fandom. I’ve found a place where I truly belong. Fandom has made me me. 

9. Favorite ships?

Where do I begin? You’ve cursed yourself with this one, @tobythewise, because this is gonna be a LONG list! (I’m secretly thanking you for giving me a reason to gush :) I’m gonna keep it to my main one for each show because otherwise we’d be here all day.

Destiel. 100%. They are my #1 OTP. I guess that statement is kind of redundant. Honestly, I don’t know of any other ship that is this heartbreakingly beautiful. They mean so much to me, and I’m so happy I get to witness their journey together.

Spuffy. Probably my #2 ship, if I had to put them in order. Again, an absolutely beautiful relationship. It’s real, it’s raw, it’s rich. It’s just a lovely story of two truly good people coming together and loving each other despite the flaws.

Pleo. Is that the ship name for Piper and Leo from Charmed? Well, anyway, they’re my #3 and a perfect example of how love can literally transcend anything. This is probably my first ship ever... wow.

Delena. Gotta get my TVD in there, comin’ in at #4. I don’t think any other ship has made me cry as much as this one. Not to mention, this ship actually being endgame was completely unexpected to me. Which made it way better to watch. They’re just... omg, beautiful.

IchiRuki. This is actually a new ship, which is why it’s kind of a surprise that it’s #5, but hey! They were just done so fucking wrong, and they should definitely be together. I mean, they save each other always, they worry about each other always, so why aren’t they together for “Forever and Always” by Taylor Swift??

Bellarke. My #6. I dunno what to say about this ship other than: it’s gonna happen. You know it, I know it, there’s no use denying it. They belong together. That’s all there is to it. 

Clois. For my #7, I’m going with a ship that isn’t really a ship because it was predetermined that these two would end up together before I even started the show of Smallville. Although, there’s people who don’t ship them?? I dunno, the Clark and Lois that are specifically from Smallville are one of my favorites.

Bughead. They’re just cute. I know a lot of people don’t like them, but they’re #8 on my list, so fight me. You can’t take away my adorable, little ship.

Septiplier. Just because I want a YouTube ship on here, I’m going with Mark and Jack for my #9. Because... reasons.

Jyde. That is the best ship name I could come up with for my #10, which is Jackie and Hyde from That ‘70s Show. They were meant for each other, and the writers screwed them bad in the last season. I still haven’t forgiven them.

K/R. Don’t know what K/R is? My #11? Well, I’ll tell you. Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable. Fuck off if you don’t ship them. They are my light, they are my soul, they are my reason for living. They are... my Naco from Bueno Nacho. Beautiful.

10. Do you have a pet?

I do, I actually have three little assholes. (I’m mostly kidding). 

A cat named Kit (after Kit from Charmed, no idea what breed he is, he’s just white and grey), a Shiba Inu named Foxy (because she looks like a fox... unoriginal, I know, but she was prenamed when I got her, so I embrace it), and a Dachshund named Sissy (because she’s a wimp... just kidding, she’s my roommate’s dog, no idea why she’s named that). 

11. Favorite holiday?

HALLOWEEN, BITCH. Fuck literally every other holiday. I will take Jack Nicholson and Ghostface any day over candy hearts and Christmas music. 

My Questions:

1. Top 5 fictional characters of ALL TIME?

2. If you could have literally any animal as a pet, what would you choose?

3. Given the opportunity, what musical artist would you want to sing/dance on stage with?

4. What is the most ridiculous holiday you can think of (whether already in existence or not)?

5. What do you feel is the most overrated piece of technology?

6. What are a few features your dream house would have?

7. When you think of yourself, what color do you assosiate with yourself?

8. Llamas or alpacas?

9. Top Hat or Newsboy Cap?

10. Mountains or forests?

11. How easily do you get scared (i.e., would anything relatively creepy scare you, would you have to watch some pretty heavy stuff to get nightmares, or something in between)?

I’m gonna tag @thesuperwhovian, @existentially-ruined, @spikesjojo, @silverspike, and @ackleholics because I’m really interested in your answers!

[turnertimeline]

1965 scraps  pt 1

Collection: Scraps

Year: 1965

Characters: Timothy Turner, Annette Thompson

Content Warnings: none

Rating: K

Style: chat fic

Summary: original ideas for some stuff that we’ve changed since and reworked. Kinda like bloopers?

Annie’s first appearance

A girl on one of his classes ends up pregnant and her boyfriend demands she get rid of it. Tim knows the guy more than he does her. But when he hears about it, he goes straight to Shelagh for advice

And then talks to the girl about it. Telling her she has options, his mum could help

and going to sit with her, when the news gets out and everyone is studiously avoiding her eye

He doesn’t let anyone insult her, not on his watch

Others start to make comments about how it’s probably really his. That they were together behind her (now ex) boyfriend’s back

It doesn’t phase him much at all, once she’s told him it’s alright, it’s no worse than anything else they’re saying, at least he’s nice

He doesn’t understand how other boys can be so horrible towards girls

Especially girls as nice as her.

Early Bits

I’m still imagining this army of women turning up to Tim’s graduation

plus a policeman

And his best friend and her little boy. She couldn’t finish school, didn’t have anyone to help with the baby.

She ended up in Poplar and was immediately enveloped into the Nonnatus family

Her little boy adores Time

Has called Tim daddy a few times, doesn’t know better really

Tim would like almost nothing more than to be his dad

His best friend tells him he’s already that and more

He’s offered to marry her in the past.

But she turns him down. Doesn’t want to be his charity case.

She’s not though. He can see himself with someone like her. Kind, educated

She does say yes eventually. Her son is maybe 5 or 6. Adores Tim.. She spends more time with Tim than any other man. And none of the men she’s gone on dates with can compare to him really

She’s been expecting the kind of romance they talk about, the butterflies and the rollercoaster

Tim is … stable. Safe. It’s a quiet sort of love

Much like his parents

Forged from long nights and trips to the clinic and Christmas in Poplar when her parents still aren’t sure

And it feels like home

She goes out on dates, even spends a few nights, and just… finds herself wanting to be home with him

Listening to him play, or moan about the latest Lancer article

____

oh GOD

remember when we talked about Tim at college?

like 70% of why girls like him is he can cook and he does the washing up after and puts their aprons on to do it

his best friend, the girl who got knocked up and had to drop out

is always amused when he tells her about the girls who are always so surprised he can cook

that’s definitely what Tim did

his list of things to do in a crisis

a) make tea 2) cook 3) call Mum

and it makes Shelagh so proud of him

Tim always puts her apron on

because it’s white and pink and has frills and it makes her laugh

he does it just to make her laugh

because she doesn’t do it enough

the first time he did it because you just do, right? she was devastated and he was focused on trying to help and he always put aprons on to cook at home

it was hanging on the door where Shelagh keeps her and it was just … instinct

but then it made her laugh for the first time in like a week

Annie’s Name

Ellen?

something with a nickname that only her parents and tim call her

Tim does it accidentally the first time, and she doesn’t tell him not to

Elizabeth and Betty?

Elizabeth and Lizzy?

Betty sounds like an old lady

True

that sounds good

or Annette and he calls her Annie

I prefer Elizabeth but either is good

Kenneth sounds good enough

like he could be a good guy Kenny

but he’s Ken or Kenneth

and is a fucking douche

Tim has gotten into arguments with him before, the way he talks about women and the staff and … everyone, really

and when he finds out that he’s not even going to acknowledge the fact that Annette is having his kid

he straight up punches him in the face

which is when everyone is like, omg it’s Tim’s!!

and Tim is like *shrugs*

he doesn’t care if people think that

Patrick gets a letter home from the Dean and Shelagh is like, that’s my boy

they’re “disappointed” in him

but Shelagh sends him extra snacks in his next care package

and Patrick slips him a bit of extra cash too

they’re both like, we did good

[grapehyasynth]

AOS Rewatch, Part 7

This is a bit of a long one....

1x16

There are more hints here about Garrett... Deathlok receives a message “Don’t say I never gave you anything” and Garrett recently said something like that to someone.

Who was the Brit who was sending messages to Amador? Do we ever learn that? Garrett is not British...

lol Fitzsimmons’s responses to ‘have they exhibited any strange behavior?’: “No more than usual” and “strange is such a subjective word”

Tripp never seemed to like Ward -- he’s got good taste

Fitz is playing with the drawers like he played with stuff NUMEROUS TIMES in S3 while talking to Jemma

but who WOULD be the Watson in their relationship?

Fitz sad/peeved she’ll “leave me all on my lonesome”

At this point it’s still very unclear to me/the audience how Jemma feels about Tripp

It’s funny that none of the other characters in TAC gear interest me, just Fitz

Why does Coulson not wear TAC gear tho.....

Fitz: “I prefer high-tech hardware” instead of toy -- is that what he calls his sex toys too? (I’m the WORST)

Ward is so. full. of. shit.

“Don’t use my name, Jemma” lololol worst spies ever

Coulson’s father’s death was a defining moment -- but it’s never mentioned again after this...

Omg Coulson almost had it right, asking Ward if someone ordered him to kill Nash -- and then he just doesn’t follow it up

Fitz’s cute little scared face when May comes in while he’s snooping

I’m also devastated by knowing Fitz is constantly feeling betrayed by people

May obviously didn’t check the lab very thoroughly if baby Fitz was able to evade her that easily

Also omg I’m so devastated by Fitz’s twitch and his face when May shoots the glass lab doors right by his face

I’m really sad Coulson believes ill of May so quickly. Like, really? After all you’ve been through?

1x17

I’m going to be stressed and concerned the entire rest of this season

But also this episode is so good

Oh god Fitz looks so devastated when he realizes Jemma’s at the Hub

I’m so glad Weaver isn’t Hydra

May assembled the team -- because of course she is, she’s a boss badass

Shouldn’t May also know and understand why Coulson has to be suspicious of her? She acts like it’s so out of left field but if she were in his position she’d need to suspect her team as well

I love love love love love the Hand/Jemma/Tripp loyalty test scene

Fitz shooting a guard with great accuracy, even leaning a little around someone else to do it -- I’M SO CONFUSED BY THESE FEELINGS

I love that Jemma is willing to stand up to authority when she really believes in it

The age and power difference between Skyeward is SO GROSS and I will never think otherwise

I love that Fitz is worried about Jemma but still won’t consider unethical methods of reaching her

I’ve always enjoyed the way Garrett is outed, with Coulson catching his little slip

Sitwell was Hydra -- bet everyone’s glad Jemma shot him

“No John, this is you being a psychopath”

God Fitz’s tearful courage in the face of Garrett’s threat remains one of the most beautiful Fitz moments in the whole damn series

Was that Fitz’s first kill? I’ve lost track of when he’s used ICERs and when not

THE FITZSIMMONS RUN AND HUG <3

Funny that no one suspected Tripp and Ward despite both having been proteges of Garrett 

1x18

Ward broke into a SHIELD prison and killed a bunch of people but no internal cameras caught him to alert SHIELD outside the Fridge to his presence?

I still don’t understand where the British English words in Amador’s instructions came from

It’s somehow strange seeing Fitz assure Jemma, not the other way around

First Talbot appearance!

I love the walk and talks because of how often they show up in bloopers

Coulson trusts Ward but not Tripp? Hmm.

Okay now the whole Fitz/Simmons/Tripp triangle is being made more clear to the audience.

So Garrett says he planned to eliminate Skye? This is confusing because her being injured helped lead him to GH and more answers about Coulson’s recovery, but either the show can’t decide on his motives or Garrett can’t.

Fucking Grant Ward: “I’m everyone’s type” lol bye

“Simmons got choked up” when she had to turn her badge in MY BABY

Coulson was just out of high school when Fury recruited him

Jemma’s all shy around Tripp. I don’t like it. I like when she’s crushing on someone and is flirty and outgoing and makes a fool of herself lol. (Though to be fair, she’s pretty shy and careful around Fitz when they first get serious, but they’ve got a lot more riding on it)

Ward explaining himself to Raina is really annoying talky exposition

lol Fitz is so snippy with Tripp

Everyone lookin’ cute in their non-SHIELD-issue winter hats

Jemma is afraid of bears. (And birds, as we’ll learn.)

Hydra is keeping Gravitonium in their underground base? That is setup for a MASSIVE workplace accidenct

1x19

the steal-your-light guy’s last name is Daniels so I’m going to headcanon that he was related to Will and the whole family is rotten because even if Will Daniels was in theory a good guy he is a plot device that was NOT NECESSARY and caused me and my children SO MUCH PAIN

The way “Garrett” sounds in Iain’s accent is divine. Like, say all the r’s please, Iain. (Damn my name has no r’s in it. Will change my name immediately.)

I hate seeing Fitzsimmons care for Ward

Tripp knowing things Fitz thought were reserved for the more ‘intellectual’ types like him and Simmons -- it’s the first threat to Fitz’s intelligence, which as we see in Season 2 is the thing that gives him his confidence

May literally called Hydra’s tactic and Coulson just ignored her. Great time to become a terrible tactician and leader, Phil.

I like that while others look nervous about the lie detector test, Fitzsimmons just look impressed.

I love Fitz’s little smile when he says “just me and my mum”

I could swoon over all of the FS polygraph results but you already know they’re the cutest/funniest things ever.

Though to focus on one: Jemma says she’s not entirely sure why she’s still with SHIELD. Fitz, meanwhile, says he wants to be with people he knows and trusts.

I wish Koenig had just shot Ward during the test

Fitz saying Tripp is a “horrible person” lol. Also, this is the first episode it’s fully canon-acknowledged that he likes Jemma and isn’t just platonically jealous she’s spending time with Tripp.

Fitz and Coulson are hit by Darkforce but are totally fine...convenient...

Patton Oswalt and Amy Acker are for sure some of the best guest actors this show has had

Ward is being so obvious, like way too friendly. How did no one notice he was acting strangely?

May is truly the hero we deserve

“Our best agents are watching” -- Jemma includes Fitz in her list of best agents <3

Coulson trusts Bruce Banner’s tech more than Fitz’s :(

I hate the intimate Ward/Skye moments. So gross

God I love Fitz and I’m so so so so sad he didn’t get a non-traumatic chance to love Jemma

Marcus Daniels didn’t see it was a trap when the cellist was just playing by herself with no audience??

I’m always gonna be proud of Skye for gaming Ward for so long

I can’t watch Skye’s bathroom freakout without thinking of the blooper where she accidentally opens the trash can

Coulson knows Fitzsimmons are about to have a chat and gives them space for it

JUST TELL HER FITZ *CRIES FOR A FEW MORE SEASONS*

Agent May’s mom lives in Pennsylvania (or at least has a car registered there). I want to know SO MUCH about her mom’s backstory.

1x20

Domestic Fitzsimmons with pancakesssss

Poor Fitz discovering Skye’s message. Definitely one of the best-acted reactions.

Jemma’s so clinical, but she’s also so obviously furious with Ward.

Jemma is so practiced at comforting Fitz with his physical, angry reaction -- I expect that’s something he learned from his father. But he stops as soon as Jemma is near, because he’d never hurt her. (AND NOW I’M CRYING)

Tripp calls Fitz a tech “ninja” (#tripplives #gonetoosoon)

lol May digging in the cemetery

I love Skye for calling Ward out for being a Nazi. This show should do more of that.

How many planes is Coulson gonna sneak onto for kamikaze missions?

Why doesn’t anyone shoot Mike in the head? Like obviously I want him to live but they don’t know he’s savable and that’s clearly his most vulnerable spot

MASSIVE product placement for Nokia, Marriot, Ritz-Carlton. Like, SHAMEFULLY obvious

Fitzsimmons at the pool I CRY

Coulson looks out at them while he’s talking to Maria Hill -- he can’t imagine setting them adrift from the team

Fitz would rather not believe some people are evil, Jemma believes some people just inherently are -- oh my how their views will change in coming scenes

The fact that no one dates Tripp is a TRAVESTY

People keep telling Ward he doesn’t owe Garrett anything and he disagrees, and it’s all set-up for the next episode where we get the whole backstory, but honestly that episode didn’t change my feelings towards Ward at all. More on that next time.

[highspeedsamurai]

tagged by - @agron-rebel-general

rules - you must answer these 85 statements and tag 20 people

tagging -  I don’t even know 20 people!! Do it if you want to! XD

the last   1. drink: Water 2. phone call:  Insurance adjuster 3. text message: WhitWhit 4. song you listened to: I’ll Stand By You - Pretenders  5. time you cried: It’s actually been a little while. Maybe 2 weeks ago?  6. dated someone twice: Nope! 7. kissed someone and regretted it: NBK =X 8. been cheated on: Nope! 9. lost someone special: Yes! 10. been depressed: Yes but it’s under control. 11. gotten drunk and thrown up: Nope! I’ve had vertigo before, I would never do that by choice! LOL. 

3 favorite colors 12. Goldenrod/yellow/orange (anywhere within that range! XD) 13. Light Blue 14. Teal

in the last year have you 15. made new friends: OMG yes! 16. fallen out of love: No way. 17. laughed until you cried: Nearly all the time! 18. found out someone was talking about you: Yeah, but I don’t care about that person so meh. 19. met someone who changed you: I think everyone we meet changes us a little!  20. found out who your friends are: Yeah and they’re AWESOME! 21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: Hmmm? I’ve kissed my friends platonically! 

general 22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: Most of them. I do have a lot of rat pals from other places. ^_^ 23. do you have any pets: A dachshund mix named Walter Wallace!  24. do you want to change your name: I didn’t really like it as a kid but it’s okay now. I don’t think I’d change my last name for ANYONE though! XD It’s way too cool!  25. what did you do for your last birthday: I worked! But my officemates got me a cake and some balloons! XB They’re the best! 27. what were you doing at midnight last night: Posting smut. >D 28. name something you can’t wait for: CANADA~  29. when was the last time you saw your mom: Today!  31. what are you listening to right now: The tinnitus in my ears! >.<  32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: Lots of people named Tom! 33. something that is getting on your nerves:  Having to micromanage some of my coworkers. x.x; 34. most visited website: Tumblr, FB and Spartacus RP. XB 35. hair colour: Dark brown 36. long or short hair: Long!  37. do you have a crush on someone: No. 38. what do you like about yourself:  I like some of the changes I’m seeing in myself lately. I’ve definitely become more confident in who I am and what I can do! I feel like I maybe have some leader qualities in me now! =D  39. piercings: Ears! Two each ear. 40. blood type: A+ 41. nickname: Koby, Kobayashi, Rei, Ambie,  42. relationship status: Single! 43. zodiac: Leo 44. pronouns: She/her 45. favourite tv show: Shadowhunters, The 100, Vikings, Spartacus, Air Disasters, Into The Badlands   47. right or left handed: Righty!  48. surgery:  Quite a few. =/    49. piercing: You already asked this! XP 50. sport:  None... unless hiking counts?   51. vacation: Favorite vacay spot? The Black Hills, South Dakota! 52. pair of trainers: Um... I’m kinda anti shoe and I would go barefoot all the time if I could. I only own two pairs of shoes and a pair of flip flops. XD;; 

MORE GENERAL 53. eating: Nothing, it’s 1 in the morning! 54. drinking: Water 55. i’m about to: Call it a night!  56. waiting for: My artsy muse to inspire me. 57. want: TBH, everything! XD But I’m pretty content with what I have! 58. get married: Don’t think I’ll find someone.  59. career: H.I.M @ a women’s clinic.  WHICH IS BETTER 60. hugs or kisses:  Both!!  61. lips or eyes: Eyes! 62. shorter or taller: Either way. Taller peeps can protect me and shorter peeps are just my size! XB 63. older or younger: Older. 64. nice arms or nice stomach: Arms!!  65. hook up or relationship: No hook ups! Yikes! 66. troublemaker or hesitant:  Hesitant! 

HAVE YOU EVER: 67. kissed a stranger: Nope! 68. drank hard liquor: Nope! 69. lost glasses/contact lenses: Nope! 71. sex on the first date: Nope! YIKES!! 72. broken someone’s heart: I’m sure I have. =( 73. had your heart broken: Of course! 74. been arrested: Almost!! For breaking and entering (I actually had permission to be there so don’t go thinking I’m a burglar or something) 75. cried when someone died: Of course!! I even cry when my coworkers pets die... 76. fallen for a friend: I always thought Joshie was hella good looking but he’s gay so... At least I have a hella good looking friend! =D

DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 77. yourself: A little more each day! 78. miracles: I am one! XD 79. love at first sight: Nope! 80. santa claus: Nope!  81. kiss on the first date: Well personally, I wouldn’t but that’s just me. 82. angels: Yes!

OTHER: 83. current best friend’s name: Mirai, Deej, Waru (can we have tea soon?), Joshie, WhitWhit  84. eye colour: Green! 85. favourite movie: Stupid comedies! Three Amigos, Zoolander, Airplane!, Hudson Hawk, Big Daddy!! I could watch them all a million times and still belly laugh! XD

[sadlittlenerdking]

Got A Bad Case of Loving You

The Magicians, Quentin x Eliot

Word count: 4,100

Summary: for @thechampagneking70, who prompted me with “the doctor said you could recover your memories, and we were all hopeful- but you never did.” from the list of angsty prompts. 

It’s angst, but omg nobody dies. Except all the stuff that happened is canon, but this is a year after everything, and is a big time jump. Basically a bunch of assumptions and wish fulfillment for season 3 and beyond tbh.

The picture is clutched tight in his hands as he makes his way down the stairs, back to the living room of the cottage. It has to be a manipulation, or a spell, but he checked it. There’s no spell on it. There’s no evidence of any kind of tampering. He’s just spent fifteen minutes raking over every inch of the damn thing, and nothing came back positive - other than the picture being genuine. It doesn’t make sense. As he steps off the last stair, Alice and Margo turn to grin at him, stopping short at the look on his face.

Margo slowly stands up, “Q?” She asks, “Are you okay?”

Eliot turns around, then, as well, eyes tracing Quentin as he looks him over. His eyes stutter to a stop as he sees what’s in Quentin’s hand and he stumbles to his feet as well, turning around. The drink in his hand nearly spills as he tries to set it down. The cigarette on his lips vanishes, spelled off to wherever garbage goes, and his mouth falls open. He knows exactly what it is before Quentin has to say anything. His mouth works open and closed like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

Alice frowns, carefully getting to her feet as she and Margo approach Quentin. “Quentin?” She says, soft and careful like she’s trying to tame a wild beast. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He sets his jaw and holds the photo out for them, locking his eyes on Eliot. He doesn’t say anything until Margo takes it from his hand, and gasps, turning her head to look back at Eliot as well. Alice inhales, eyes darting up to Quentin’s face as she takes the photo from Margo.

Eliot’s hand stays on the edge of the couch where he stands, fingertips pressed into the fabric, as he stares back at them. “Q -,”

“What the fuck is this?” Quentin interrupts. “I - I checked to see if it was spelled. But it wasn’t. So, clearly, there’s something someone isn’t telling me!” He takes a deep breath, stepping around and Alice and Margo to approach Eliot. “What the fuck aren’t you telling me? You told me there were no more secrets. That I knew everything.”

Eliot swallows, gazing falling to the floor between them. He licks his lips, squeezing his eyes shut. “We thought it’d be best,” He whispers, voice soft and low,  a reckless breath.

“Thought what would be best?”

A hand comes up to Quentin’s shoulder, and he rips away, turning around to face Margo, who’s watching him with eyes too kind to actually be hers. But the pity beneath the kindness leaves no room for doubt, as he takes a quick, angry step backwards, nearly crashing into Eliot. “You should sit down,” She says, nodding towards the couch.

“I should sit down? Are you kidding me -,”

Alice sighs, “Quentin. Sit down. We can explain.”

He takes a steadying breath and moves around Eliot to sit down. He glares up at them as they all come around, as well, standing in front of him, varying poses of guilt. Eliot’s eyes dance around the room, looking everywhere but at Quentin, so unlike him, and so frustrating. Alice stares at Quentin, eyes narrowing as if she’s making some internal dialogue up in her head about how to go about this conversation. And Margo crosses her arms across her chest as she takes a deep breath and levels him with a stare.

“We lied to you,” She says, pursing her lips as Eliot turns to look at her, confusion clear as day on his face. “After the spell, when you woke up in the clinic. You had your old memories. We thought it’d be best to play that shit out until you remembered, so you didn’t go into shock or something stupid like that.”

“The doctor said you could recover your memories,” Alice adds, “And we were all hopeful. But you never did.”

Eliot sits down on the edge of the coffee table, looks down at the ground in front of him. His eyes glance up at the liquor shelf, like he’s debating whether or not to pour himself a drink, but he looks back down, hands coming to his sides and grabbing at the edges of the table so tight his knuckles turn white.

“That was six months ago,” Quentin says. Alice and Margo nod.

“For what it’s worth, it wasn’t his idea,” Alice murmurs, glancing down at Eliot. “He was against it. But the rest of us, we all agreed. You . . .” She trails off, biting down on her lower lip and looking at Margo.

Margo’s arms drop to her sides, and she glares at Alice. “Really? You can’t be assed to say the important part?” She rolls her eyes, turning her gaze back on Quentin. “You know you lost a year of memories. We didn’t think you could handle knowing a lot of the shit that went down in that time. It wasn’t all good, and this in particular was probably the only good thing of them all, but it was so wound up in all the shitty stuff, we figured it’d be best if you just ease yourself into your memories. Like the doctor said you would. But you didn’t. And we kept playing along, hoping you would.”

He swallows, eyes darting to the photo in Alice’s hand. “What exactly don’t I know?” He asks, soft, voice trembling.

“I mean, clearly -,”

“Margo,” Eliot chokes, raising a shaking hand between them. She stops talking, and looks down at him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he looks up at Quentin. “You’re happy, Q. Just . . . forget about this, and move on. It’s not important.”

Alice’s eyes go wide as she turns her head to say something to him.

“Happy?” Quentin interrupts, a short, ironic laugh on his breath as he shakes his head and adjusts on the couch, “I’m not fucking happy.” He looks up at Alice, “And neither is she.”

“I -,”

“I’m not stupid, Alice.” He shakes his head, turning his gaze on his lap, wringing his hands. “I - I knew something was wrong. But you were there for me through everything. And you haven’t tried to break up with me. But something’s been wrong. And we’re not happy. Not in the traditional sense, at least.” He looks back up, “Just tell me the truth. Please.” His gaze falls down to Eliot, “Please.”

Eliot’s chin trembles, as he looks back down at the floor. “You don’t -,”

“We’re kissing in that fucking photo, Eliot. I think have a pretty fucking clear idea!” Quentin exclaims, shaking his head as he shoves up from the couch and moves past them. “I’m not an idiot. Just tell me!”

When Eliot doesn’t respond, Margo sighs, letting go of his shoulder and stepping closer to Quentin. “You really wanna know?” She asks. He nods and she makes a face before nodding as well. “Okay. Hold out your hands.” Hesitantly, he reaches out between them, palms up, and she grasps them, tight. “I got Sunderland to teach me this after we realized you weren’t going to remember on your own.”

“Teach you . . .?”

She shrugs, closing her eyes, and exhaling slow. “I can’t give you your memories. But I can share mine. Eliot could do it, too, but,” She peaks one eye open, glaring at Eliot, “Since he’s being a little bitch. You get an outsiders view of everything.”

“Bambi -,”

“Shut up, El. He wants the truth, he gets the truth.”

Alice adds, “This is what you wanted, anyways. I don’t get why you’re so upset.”

“He shouldn’t have to remember like this!” Eliot exclaims, pushing up from the table and glaring at them all. “He shouldn’t have to be told how he felt. He -,” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair halfhazardly, “I - I’m going to my room. You do whatever the fuck you want, I’m not going to be a part of this.” And then he storms off, without even a second glance back at Quentin.

Of course he wants to remember on his own. But all he has are new memories and old, and nothing in between. Nothing that clears up that blank spot in his mind. He’s known for months that something was different about his relationship with Alice, but he couldn’t figure out why. As far as he’s concerned, nothing could have happened to change them. As far as he’s concerned, he’s supposed to be madly in love with her. Eliot’s supposed to be his best friend - a role he plays well - and Margo supposed to be his best friends best friend. Penny is supposed to hate him. Julia is supposed to be gone. He doesn’t know anything other than what he’s supposed to know.

There’s more than what’s supposed to be, because there’s a whole year of what everything actually is. Why he doesn’t feel like he loves Alice. Why Eliot is still close, but seems to pull away when they get too close on the couch, or why his gaze falters when he looks at him. Why Penny’s around more often than he used to be, and his scowl holds less heat. Why Julia appears on the Brakebills campus in the distance every once in a while.

Margo sighs, squeezing Quentin’s hands. “You ready, Q?” He nods. She takes a deep, calm breath, mutters something in latin, and then the room is spinning, dancing around them like they’ve awoken a ball room with a life of its own. Colors whirls and disappear, mist and piece themselves back together until it’s Quentin and Eliot in Eliot’s room, brown hair framing his vision. He realizes he’s seeing himself through Margo’s eyes, and blinks.

He’s shirtless, and Eliot’s sitting on the bed. He crawls into his lap, dazed and confused, but the look on his face says something more. Eliot looks up at him, like he’s unsure of what to do. And then Quentin’s leaning into him, and Eliot’s hand comes up, grabs onto the back of his neck as their lips meet, open mouthed and desperate.

Then the scene morphs, and it’s the next day and everything’s tinged with pinks and reds and blacks, sadness overlapping something inside they can’t face, and they’re all fighting, and he and Alice break up. Because he cheated on her. But beneath the desperation to get her back, he still throws looks back at Eliot.

Then there’s grief.  All around them as they lose each other, disappearing, and reappearing and the world is fighting them, trying desperately to keep them apart. Lingering hugs, and stolen glances. Everything adjusts - he guesses this is when Margo loses her eye - and he see’s it all in halves. Then magic is gone, and its Quentin’s fault, but nobody blames him. Then they’re reunited. And he ignores everyone as he blasts past Margo and goes crashing into Eliot’s arms, and they stand there, holding each other, so much longer than anyone expected. Then he pulls away, and he’s leaning up, up, on the tips of his toes, as a hand tangles in Eliot’s hair to pull him down, and they’re kissing.

After that it’s a mirage of leaving Fillory, only for weeks at a time. When they leave, Alice and Margo stay, taking turns over ruling, and going home. Whenever they return, Margo’s vision goes pink and blue and yellow, happiness swelling. They take the throne, holding hands between them. It’s like this many times, until a new evil threatens them, somehow banishes them from Fillory again. And not even the button can get them back.

Quentin holds Eliot as he throws the button against a wall. He screams, cries, wails. The colors slow to an angry, desperate waltz around them as Margo moves closer, and pulls both of them into a hug.

Then it’s just him, and he’s talking to Margo because he has a plan. A spell to get them back, to save their people, to go home. And she agrees, and they get to work, planning and plotting, putting everything together so they can go back.

But it backfires, and the only one affected by the reversal of the magic is Quentin. And everyone swarms around them, the air growing tight and red, pulsing as Margo’s hands cradle his head. Eliot approaches, running down the stairs, blurry and somehow in slow motion. The sound around them is muted, like Margo’s fallen under water, and Eliot falls to the ground, pulls Quentin into his lap. He’s saying something, but Margo’s eyes are locked on Quentin’s body, and then something grabs her and turns her eyes on Eliot and he’s screaming for her to get the dean.  

He inhales quickly as the vision fades to him in the hospital bed, and rips his hands out of Margo’s, dizzy. His knees buckle, but Alice and Margo rush forward, help him onto the couch. They sit next to him as he collects himself.

“Are you okay, Quentin?” Alice asks after a few minutes.

He nods. Turns his gaze up to the ceiling. “Why was I so desperate to get us back?” He asks, soft.

Margo takes on his hand, laces her fingers through his. “Because,” She whispers, sighing, “Fillory is Eliot’s home. He’s happiest when he’s there. And . . . getting banished, again, fucked him up. And he started drinking heavily again, and doing drugs, and we were all losing him. You wanted the chance to take him home. And I didn’t want him to kill himself.”

“He blames himself,” Alice adds, “For what happened to you. He doesn’t think he deserves what you guys have together. It’s why he went along with the plan.”

“He thinks you not remembering like you should is a sign that he’s not meant to be happy. That you two were just biding time until something better came along. He didn’t want us to force you to remember because he’s afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“You choosing to ignore it.”

He shakes his head. “I -,” Pausing he licks at his lips, pulling his hand out of Margo’s and standing up. “I can’t ignore this.” He mutters, shaking his head again, “It’s been there. Every time I look at him and think I’m supposed to love Alice,” He glances at her apologetically, but she shrugs, “I feel it creep up. And I pushed it away because I thought - I don’t know. But he’s a fucking idiot. And so am I.”

Margo smirks, waving an arm towards the stairs. “Go get him, Tiger.”

Nodding, he grits his teeth, and rushes through the house, but not before stopping to grab the photo out of Alice’s hand. He races up the stairs and pushes open Eliot’s door without bothering to knock. He’s lying over the blankets on his bed, one arm covering his eyes, while another holds his flask over the side of the bed, lid flipped open. Quentin takes a deep breath, tries to remember how to breath, and takes slow, cautious steps into the room. Eliot lifts his arm head a bit, sighs, and his head falls back on the pillow, arm covering his eyes again. “Q,” he mumbles, “Just go.”

Quentin shakes his head, and moves across the room, around the side of the bed and climbs up. Eliot’s breath hitches, chest rising erratically, but he keeps his arm over his eyes. Quentin moves until he’s lying down next to him on his side, hands tucked under his head as he gazes across the blankets and pillows at Eliot’s profile. Eliot holds up the charade for a minute longer before sighing, moving his arm and turning his head to look at him.

“What?” He asks, monotone.

“Show me.”

Eliot looks taken aback for a moment before he sighs again, “Margo showed you,” he mutters as he moves to sit up and take a drink from the flask. Quentin reaches up with one hand, grabbing the flask. “Quentin -,”

“Show me.”

“There’s nothing else for you to see. Let go of the flask.”

He shakes his head, pulling the flask away and placing it behind his back. He stares up at Eliot defiantly. “Show me, El.”

“Why?”

“Do you think I’d be up here if I didn’t want to see it from your point of view?” He asks, adjusting so he can sit up as well, crossing his legs underneath him as Eliot pushes up until he’s sitting with his back up against the headboard. “You don’t get to decide whether or not I love you.”

“Neither do you,” Eliot hisses, “Because you don’t know anything!”

“Then stop being an asshole and show me.”

“Show you?” Eliot shakes his head, looking up towards the ceiling as he purses his lips, “If I show you you don’t learn how you fucking feel, Q. You learn how I feel. That’s all it’ll show you. How I feel.” His chin trembles, and he turns to look back at him again. “I can’t influence you like that. I can’t show you,” he spits the words like they’re venom, “because it’s not what you want to see. What you want, you can’t have. And neither can I. We just need to accept it and move on.”

Quentin shrugs. “I don’t want to.”

“That’s just too damn bad.”

He sighs, grabs Eliot’s hand and squeezes. “Please, El.” He murmurs, looking up at him through his eyelashes, “I know this is about more than you not wanting me to see how feel. If you can’t show me . . . just tell me the truth.”

Eliot scoffs. “What truth? The truth that you almost fucking died because you wanted to get me back to Fillory?” He asks, sneering as he rolls his head back to look at the ceiling again. “Or the truth that when you woke up and the first person you asked for was Alice, and that that fucking crushed me? Or the truth that I stood there fighting them on this decision for hours because I didn’t want to lose you - even though I already had?” His eyes flicker over to Quentin. “Or how about the truth that I blame myself for all of this?”

Quentin clenches his jaw, pulling Eliot’s hand into his lap and holding on with both of his, “We love each other.”

“You nearly killed yourself for me. Because of me.”

“And you literally jumped in front of me and died.” Quentin argues, flashing back to the part of Margo’s memory that showed Eliot jumping in front of him to block a blast of battle magic. He’d been a golem at the time, but it changed nothing.

“There was no danger with what I did.” He mutters with a sardonic roll of his eyes.

Quentin scoffs, “Not according to Margo’s memory. You almost didn’t come back.”

“And you didn’t come back,” Eliot retorts. “Very different things.”

“I’m right here, Eliot,” Quentin whispers, lifting their hands and brushing his lips against Eliot’s knuckles. Eliot’s eyes flutter closed as his breathing quickens. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me. So, you can either show me, or you can sit there being a stubborn dick about it. I don’t care.” He flinched, head wobbling, “Okay, I care. But, I’m not going anywhere, either way.” A smile reluctantly tugs at the corners of Eliot’s lips, and he opens his eyes to look at him.

“Jesus, Q,” He says, “You’re more stubborn than Margo at an all inclusive orgy.”

Quentin furrows his brow. “ . . . Isn’t that something she’d enjoy?”

“Shut up, I’m trying not to cry.” He sighs, shaking his head and sitting up straight. “I’m going to show you,” He says after a moments hesitation, looking at Quentin, arching a brow, “But you can’t let this affect -,”

Quentin leans forward and brushes a kiss against the corner of his mouth, whispers against his lips, “My minds already maid up, Eliot.”

Eliots breath stutters between them as he nods, lips grazing against Quentin’s as he does so. He turns so he’s facing him full on, legs curling up at his side, shoulder holding up against the headboard. He closes his eyes and brings his other hand up to place it overtop Quentin’s. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes again, looks directly into Quentin’s. “I -,”

“Jesus, when did you get so good at stalling?”

Eliot shakes his head, flicking his nose against Quentin’s, and whispers the spell into the air between them. His hands grip Quentin’s tight, as the world rushes around them in a mystifying dance as everything forms around them like a dream, replaying every moment they shared. Everything from Eliot’s perspective - so different from Margo’s. More red and orange, and warning. The world doesn’t start to shine until they’re in the bed together, but the colors are muted and distant like he’s not completely there. And then everything misty and broken when they wake up.

Eliots life  is all running red, bloody and angry, emotions out of control, shoveled down into a hole that he refuses to dig up. And then Quentin gets hurt and the world flashes black and blue around him, and he can’t breathe. It’s all dark and angry and dense.

And then magic dies and it’s just emptiness.

There’s no color again until Quentin comes crashing through the dark and into Eliot’s arms, shining gold and radiating something that’s been missing. And then it’s purple and yellow when he pulls him down into a kiss. The world shines, and the shining only intensifies the further in they go. Until they’re banished again, sent back to Brakebills. And then the golden hues and purple fields of misty love are dancing in the background of angry red swirling around the room, bleeding down the walls.

And then Eliot’s running down the stairs, a scream echoing loud and boisterous through the house as he see’s Margo and Quentin on the floor. It’s slow motion for him, too, like it had been with Margo. Except everything’s crystal clear and zeroed in on Quentin’s body. Something vicious grabs at his heart, grips and holds on until it wrings all the love out, and the feeling stays until Quentin’s in the hospital bed opening his eyes. And for a moment, gold bursts through the room, dancing around them, but then Quentin asks for Alice and something softer hovers in the air, until it’s suffocating the gold, and Eliot’s arguing with the others.

And it stays, mixing and blurring together with the soft red that seeps through the skin of everything Eliot is.

Quentin opens his eyes with a desperate gasp, and pulls his hands out of Eliot’s. For a brief second, Eliot’s eyes flicker with hurt, but then Quentin’s pulling him in, wrapping his arms around him as tight as he can, burying his face in the crook of Eliot’s neck. Eliot’s arms come around, hesitant as he loops them behind Quentin’s back, resting his chin atop Quentin’s head. They stay like that for a few minutes, breathing each other in.

“I’m sorry,” Quentin whispers, muffled, into Eliot’s skin. “I’m sorry. I should have thought it through, I don’t -,”

“You said you wouldn’t let it affect how you feel,” Eliot says, pulling away, hands sliding up to hold onto Quentin’s shoulders. “You don’t get to be sorry. Because you don’t remember.”

He thinks about arguing, for a moment, before nodding, slow and hesitant. “Okay,” He says, squeezing Eliot’s waist, “Okay.” He takes  deep breath and looks into Eliot’s eyes. “So we start over.” Eliot’s brow furrows, and he tilts his head, but Quentin barrels on. “We start over, and we don’t let the past affect us.” He nods to himself, hands sliding up Eliot’s stomach and chest, until it’s resting overtop his collarbone. “I might still remember some day. But until then, we start over.”

Eliot nods after a moment, “Okay,” He murmurs, “We can do that.”

Quentin beams, leaning forward to lean his forehead against Eliot’s. “Starting now.” He breathes, “Yeah?”

Eliot makes a face, crinkling his nose as his eyes fall shut. “Yeah,” He says, opening them after a beat, “Who am I to say no to your stupid kicked puppy dog face?”

Quentin shrugs with a gentle shake of his head. “I mean. I’ve been told it’s irresistible.”

Laughing softly, Eliot rolls his eyes and adjusts them both, twisting and pulling until they’re both lying down on the bed. He rolls over, pushing his back against Quentin’s chest, and reaches back to grab at Quentin’s right hand to pull it back over his waist so he can lace the fingers of his left hand through Quentins. Quentin smiles into the crook of his neck, presses his lips to the bit of skin between Eliot’s hairline and the shell of his ear.

He could get used to this.

[jetwavezarcade]

Hcs for McCree?? Maybe reaper??

4 sure!! oh man i haven’t come up with like a list of headcanons in so long but here goes!

McCree:

he has a very distant relationship with sleep. like, he has a horrible sleep schedule but 100% knows it, and is always like “i swear i’ll get it together” and then just. doesn’t

also isn’t a fan of sleeping in front of people, or sleeping when he knows others are in the room, even if they’re also sleeping

passing out drunk is another thing entirely lmao

he would’ve been a scientist if not for the cards life dealt him, probably got a bunch of degrees in like anthropology and biology. he would’ve made a bunch of awesome contributions to society and all that, and then retired to open his own veterinary clinic

on that: no one can get a read on if he’s a dog or a cat person, and he won’t tell anyone just to keep the mystery alive

he likes to read! he didn’t discover it really until after being taken on by Reyes, and during his blackwatch years he never had time for it, and has kind of forgotten how much it meant to him since then

he’s pan! listen i love mchanzo just as much as everyone else, but i rly think McCree just does not care abt the gender of whoever his partner might be

he does call them his “partner” i will take this cowboy trope to my grave

he kind of lowkey hates working out, especially in a structured fashion like going to the gym or on a run, but he could never face the idea of letting himself get out of shape, Just In Case

in case of what? hell if he knows 

a Sad Headcanon™: McCree rly wants a family, he’d love to raise kids with someone, but he doesn’t trust himself, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be in a place, mentally, emotionally, to have confidence in his parenting abilities

and lastly, when he and Reaper finally meet, they’re both stunned, and then McCree str8 up socks him in the jaw

(ok idk if u mean pre-fall Reyes or post-fall Reaper so i’m gonna try to hit both lmao) Gabriel/Reaper:

on the cat/dog person thing: both pre and post fall he’s such a cat person, like he doesn’t mind dogs, but the most gentle and precious you will ever see him is with a cat 

he hasn’t had one of his own since he was a kid tho, since his whole military career and. ya know. everything else.

if you asked him why he joined the military in the first place, he wouldn’t give you a straight answer. maybe it’s the benefits they offered, maybe it’s the possible college career, maybe it’s just “because it was something to do” but like, even he barely knows

once he got in tho and saw a way to rise to the top of something, to be a leader/be powerful, he put everything he had into it

he considered a career in mechanical engineering or maybe computer science, he’s a big tech guy, like he’s the grandpa that knows more abt your iphone than you do

he’s the fix-it dad, like Jack is usually the Dad one in the fanbase, but i see him as the advice dad, like the one that comforts you after a breakup or catches you sneaking out, but Gabe is the dad who is to be feared with a roll of duct tape, like he can fix anything with anything 

he’s gay, but he didn’t really realize it until later in life (romance has never been a thing for him lmao he just didn’t care abt it) and you wouldn’t catch him dead at a pride parade 

some hc’s for reaper: i’m not gonna touch the reason he became reaper in the first place with a ten foot pole, but i do think he still doesn’t feel guilty, or at least won’t admit any guilt or questions he may have - he squashes all of that, so he doesn’t have to do any life reevaluation/repenting

he’s the literal embodiment of the phrase “you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain” lol 

his story doesn’t end well, kind of like a draco malfoy type deal - he has opportunities for redemption but he just doesn’t know what to do with them, and ends up on the wrong side of history

i like to think the old guard know the truth tho, that maybe he sacrifices himself in the end for them or worked as a double agent, like a severus snape deal

ahhhhh ok omg this is so long, my bad. but thank u sm for the ask!!!!