#he should run im rabid and i bite

[xamaxenta]

Aces flight instincts kicking in when i finally get the guts to tell him hes my lil meowmeow babygirl supreme

[mr-m-murdock]

only pretty faces: saccharine 

| natasha x fem!reader |  part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven | only pretty faces masterlist

summary: She’ll find you. She’ll find you. She’ll find you. She’ll–

warnings: r being completely batshit insane AGAIN lol, FLUFF FINALLY : rated [T]

a/n: god im over it now i just wan them 2 be happy

The door shuts quietly behind you, with a single sharp click. The last dregs of the sun are illuminating the stairs to your left. It's so still, as if the light has been painted onto the air.

The stairs creak and sway beneath your feet. The wood warms your soles, and you balanced yourself with a hand against the lumpy plastered wall.

The dark porch is shut off by a heavy iron gate, blackened bars with gaps too thin to even stick a hand through. You stand in front of the gate, listening. Outside you can hear cars, loud talk in Greek, the rattle of a train.

Things are twisting like oil in your stomach: old fear, stale as always. Caution is like a lead brick, tugging at your muscles, a horse at the reins. And a hunger, one you don’t recognise. A hunger for that loud world outside, for the brush of shoulders, the sweet scent of pastry on a breeze, the bloom of cherry blossoms, rain on dark, slick slabs of stone. Wood beams, dancing slippers, bright white teeth in gleaming smiles, the sentient hum of machinery.

“Είναι το κουμπί στα αριστερά σου,” someone says. You twist, feet burning against the concrete floor.

A woman is lingering in a doorway down the dim hall. Her slippered feet are crossed at the ankle. She lifts a glass of water to her lips, and she watches you guardedly.

You recognise her: the woman who you’d seen as you’d set one foot on the stairs, murder gripping you by the throat.

You look to your left and yes, there is the button set into the wall, rubbed clean by hundreds of hands. You press it gently with the centre of your palm. With a mechanical click, the gate swings outwards.

The street outside is quieter than you’d thought. A car, bright red, crawls slowly by, the driver craning out of the window to stare up thoughtfully at the dark buildings above you. You let him pass. You cross the hot road on unsteady feet, rogue grit biting at your toes.

The world is cool, vibrant with green and brick red, the moon birch-bright and low in a star-flecked pan of navy sky, the sunlight little more than a glow over the tops of the buildings. You touch the wall of the building in front of you: crumbling stone, grey with age. It’s a small house, hunched over the sidewalk.

You turn to your left and walk. Your legs move without you ordering them to, dreamlike. This state of wonder doesn’t last: the glossy photographic sheen of your new world fades and cracks. And the fear seeps back in.

You check over your shoulder, scanning the night traffic, the sparse pedestrians casting you odd looks. She’ll come for you before long - she should already have noticed, should be tugging on her shoes, tucking away a pistol. That hate she showed you in the bathroom, that anger– this is a test. To see how far you’ll get. This is a sport. A shot to the back of the head, like putting down a rabid dog.

These thoughts drive you onwards, your feet hit faster against the ground. You won’t even see her pull the trigger.

You break into a run, around curt corners and on into the dark. Each breath comes sharp and cold like ice in your lungs. You run and run, and though your heart screams for relief, you know you can run forever.

She’ll find you. She’ll find you. She’ll find you. She’ll–

You trip, your toes scraping the ground. Your hands go out first, palms skinning the concrete with a burn, your knees hitting next. You catch yourself, panting, and scramble upwards, into a crouch.

There’s a boy sitting on his front step, barely two feet from you. He’s stocky, looks to be about twelve, and there’s a blue ceramic jug next to him. He looks down at you with interest soured in dark eyes. “Γεια σας,” he says, abruptly. You brush grit from your palms. “Are you lost?” he asks you, in Greek.

“I’m not lost,” you spit back at him. “Go back inside. Forget you saw me.” The boy links his hands around one knee thoughtfully.

“Where are your shoes?” he asks.

“I don’t have any,” you say. You get to your feet and check behind you again. Nothing but an empty, dark street, the sweep and shine of a pair of headlights. The night air is sweaty and slightly warm. “What are you doing outside, little boy?” you ask him. He gestures to the jug.

“I came to water the flowers. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you snap. You brush your palms off on your sweatpants. Your heart is beating your ribs erratically like a panicked drummer on his thin-stretched skin.

You stare around, heaving in breaths. The boy observes you from his seat on the step. You’re lost, far from the apartment. It should be a reassurance, a balm to your rattled nerves.

But all you feel is isolation like you’re crouching on a wet rock in the middle of a grey, heaving ocean. You’ve hacked away the bridge behind you and now there’s no way back.

You stumble forward down the sidewalk before the boy can ask you anything else. You turn a corner and collapse against the wall in a gutter. The dregs of rainwater soak the side of your thigh and you tug your knees up to your chest, feeling small, feeling alone.

There’s no way you can go back: but it’s the only place you want to be right now. Even in the whirl and crash of Natalia’s anger, you’d rather have her hands on you than have your back to a cold brick wall, your feet bare and stinging.

She is the only safe place now. She ripped the Red Room from you, and how poetic, how ironic and cruel that the loss you’re mourning can only be soothed by her.

There’s a reason you need her, though. This isn’t some perverted Stockholm Syndrome situation. If only, if only you could remember more than her skin on yours and the wreck that followed, you’d be able to understand. You could cut yourself off.

You tip your head back against the wall with a thump, the impact echoing through your skull. You’re so tired, your muscles aching from the strain of that stupid chair. The air is thick and humid and it wants to lull you into sleep.

You go willingly.

You haven’t been allowed to see her in so long. This almost feels like a dream, your hands on her waist, her calves tucked beneath your feet. Like every time, you tuck your face into her neck and enjoy her. She smells of cigarette smoke and jasmine.

You mustn’t allow yourself to think about it, or inevitably your heart will tighten with the horror of discovery, and you will descend the staircase of paranoia, into the dark, and you’ll hold her too tight and stiffen.

What does it matter? They probably already know. They might be devising some twisted psychological torture where they rip you from her at just the right moment, to break you even further. Perhaps they’ll kill one of you.

You’d rather it were you. You’d take anything for her.

“Thinking too hard,” Natalia says in Arabic, into your temple. “Don’t think. I have to tell you something.”

“What?” you ask. You reach out and touch her hair: it’s too dark in here to see it, but she’s washed the dye out and it’s red again. You loop one curl around your finger.

“I’m going to get out of here,” Natalia whispers.

Your heart goes cold mid-beat, freezing uselessly in your chest. You drop the curl of hair and turn your face into her skin. “Don’t,” you say.

She says your name gently, and something seizes up inside you: she’s utterly serious, she believes she can do it.

“Don’t, please don’t,” you say. “Please.”

“I know what I’m going to–”

“Don’t say anything more,” you interrupt. You hold her tighter. “You don’t really want to. You can’t. They’ll kill you.”

“I know what I’m going to do,” Natalia says, more firmly. She shifts away from you, to lever herself up on one elbow. The sheets drape over her shoulder, clinging to her skin. “Will you look at me?”

She reaches out and puts one finger under your chin, lifts your face to hers. She leans down to kiss you, on both cheeks like an affectionate friend.

“Please,” you whisper again, staring up at her, trying to trace the contours of her face through the dark. Fear is closing on your chest like a spider curling up to die. You’re marked now, you know it, and so is she: the minute she’d admitted it, you’d both been branded for your doom.

“Come with me,” she says. She kisses the tip of your nose, your forehead. “I have a plan.”

“It won’t be enough,” you say, thickly. You’re aching all over with this. You can tell you’ve lost her, can feel her slipping away. “They’re better than us. They’re smarter. Faster.”

“No,” Natalia says simply. She kisses your lips and you pull her close, hand on the back of her neck. Her hair is soft against your knuckles. “I am better,” Natalia murmurs into you. “I am exceptional.”

What fame she might gain, with those as her last words. You can’t bear to release her, but she pulls back from you anyway and studies you, eyes narrowed against the dark.

“Don’t cry,” she says. Her thumb comes up to her face – were she anyone else, you might flinch – and she wipes it across your cheek, leaving a smear of dampness beneath your eye. You hadn’t noticed that you’d started crying. Perhaps it’s begun already.

“We should go,” you say, barely managing to choke out the words. It’s sensible, but you don’t want to leave her, not in your last moments together. Maybe you’ll be dead in an hour: maybe she will.

Natalia says your name again, firmly, as you push yourself up and throw back the covers. The air chills your skin and you welcome the cold.  “You won’t come with me?” she asks. Her voice is vaguely accusing. You tug your shirt over your head and ignore her. “I want you to come with me. You won’t even try?” she asks. Her voice is sharper now.

“Don’t speak of it,” you say. “It’s better to be here than to be dead.”

“You’d rather be a slave than dead?” she asks, cold and razor-sharp. “I’d rather die trying to make something good of myself.” You snap your belt closed.

“There is no good, Natalia,” you say. You drop your head. “There’s no use. They probably already know.”

“You promised me–” she says, and you press your lips together.

“I can’t do it,” you say. “I love you, I have loved you always. But I’m not- we’re not enough.”

She is silent. You hear her picking at the sheets. You should turn and face her, plead with her again, climb back into bed and kiss her. But you can’t. You’re seized with fear, so deep it’s almost painful. Maybe this is what they’ve done to you: a trigger set in your head that will grip you tight the instant you think of leaving. Maybe it’s connected to something else, a trip of nerves that will bring on a stroke, a heart attack. Clever. Cleverer than you.

Maybe you give them too much credit, though. Natalia is strong and cunning and fast as a fox. If any of you were to slip your chains, it’d be her.

Not you. Never you.

“Coward,” she says. Ice-cold.

You pick up your shoes and leave the room.

You wake in a panic for no reason, fingers clawed in the filthy drain, legs kicking at the ground and pushing you further against the wall. You shudder and stiffen, calm yourself. Your heart shudders in your chest. Nausea coils in your throat, thick in your chest.

You won’t throw up.

You twist and heave into the gutter. Lumps of something come up with a swill of acid, and you spit and splutter, choking on your own saliva. You clench your stomach and manage not to bring anything more up. You wipe your mouth on your t-shirt.

You have to go back. You know that now, with an utter certainty that’s hard to displace.

But it’s still dark, and the city is strange to you. You get to your feet, your sweatpants wet and chilling against your skin, and you look around, up and down the alley. Your legs are stiff, your head thick with sleep. There’s a streetlight at one end, and you stumble towards it. You can hear music from somewhere, deep bass and the high chatter of laughter above it.

You stagger back onto the main street, hand up against the wall to keep you upright. You look left and right. You turn left and walk.

Retracing your steps is not easy. You don’t want to slip back into the blind panic that ran you halfway across the city, but walking in those footsteps is like trying to guess at the thoughts of a wounded deer. Twice, you end up circling a block and arriving on the same corner, seething with frustration. The roads all seem to go on forever, stretching and thinning like mirrors before you.

Your feet tire before your brain does, but that’s no surprise. You could think for weeks straight if you wanted to, it’s always your body that ends up betraying you. Your toes begin to bleed but you know which corner is next, and next, and next.

And then there is the grated gate, across the road, metal gleaming in the lamplight. You hover against the wall of that little hunched house, the crumbling stone leaving grains of brick on your shirt. There’s a yellow light on in one of the windows across the street and you know it’s not Natalia’s, but some awful, guilty part of you imagines her sitting there under that light. How it will shift across her hair. How it will catch on her light eyelashes.

You grip at the stone behind you for support. This is it. This is where two paths diverge, and this is where you take one of them.

“There is no mercy for cowards,” says the instructor. You gaze up at her, your mind gloriously blank. “Romanova is not coming back for you. Do you understand this?”

“Yes,” you say. Of course, you understand. Why would she come back? She’d die before she came within ten feet of you. You know this. You know it all. It’s simple, easy: it just is.

You take a breath that shudders in your throat like an errant breeze, and step out into the empty road. It takes you eighteen steps to cross the street, and when you move up to the gate, the blood rushes in your head, hot, loud, overwhelming.

The woman in the slippers is out in the hall. She’s rocking a baby back and forth in her arms, smoothing back the hair on its head, smiling gently down at it. She’s humming under her breath.

You watch, feet rooted to the floor, voice lost somewhere in your chest.

She turns and sees you, and her eyes widen: you must look a fright, having slept half the night in a drain.

“Hello,” you whisper, in Greek. “I had to come back.”

Slowly, she nods. “I know,” she says. She moves towards the button and leans on it with her shoulder: the gate springs open towards you and she beckons you inside.

She keeps her distance when you step forwards. You move to the stairs and she presses her back to the wall.

“You’re one of hers,” you say, pointing upstairs. “Natalia. You work for her.” The woman stares at you blankly.

“I work in a grocery store,” she replies. You know she’s lying, instinctively.

“Goodnight,” you say, and you turn to climb the stairs. The baby gurgles in the woman’s arms.

Natalia’s door is locked when you get there. You twist the handle slowly, but the door doesn’t budge. Well. She’ll have to open it at some point. And you’ll be here, waiting, thinking of her and pleading with the empty air that this was not the wrong choice.

You sink to the floor, feet tucked beneath you, and rest your head against the sharp doorframe. The morning must come eventually.

And it does. The day breaks with a swoop of vertigo. Half-asleep, you throw your hands out as you fall, and your skinned palms hit the floor and slip, sending you face-first into the wood. Confused, disoriented, you suck in a breath with your cheek pressed to the cool floor. A pair of feet in fluffy blue socks stare back at you. Sweatpant cuffs. The air smells suddenly of vanilla.

She says your name: oh, how you’ve missed that, the way it falls from her mouth. She drops to a crouch, her cool hand on your temple, and she lifts your face so your eyes meet. You stare at her. The light on her hair, on her eyelashes. “Have you been out here all night?” Natalia asks.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble against her hands. “I’m sorry.” You turn your face into her palm and feel tears against your face.

She says your name again, commands you to look up at her. “You look awful,” she says, smoothing your hair back from your face. You grip her wrist.

“Natalia,” you say stupidly. She wipes her thumb under your eye. Now that you feel yourself cry it comes easier, and you shake with sobs like your ribcage is collapsing in.

“Oh, Jesus,” she breathes. “Come on, get up. Come inside.” You push weakly against the floor and struggle up and she hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you easily to your feet. “Don’t cry,” she says to you. She presses her palms to your cheeks. Her lips are trembling. “I’m glad you came back. I waited for you.”

“I thought you’d be angry,” you say. Your voice is small.

“I was,” Natalia says. “I was, I was, I’m not anymore.” You let out a long breath that ruffles her hair, and you dump your face into her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, muffled. “I should have come with you.” Natalia pulls away to give you a bewildered look.

“Come with me?” she asks. Her hands are gripping the back of your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll slip away again.

“When you left,” you say. Her face drops in an instant. “We could have gone together. I’m sorry. I was too scared.” Natalia swallows, and it seems to be a difficult action. She presses her palms to your spine.

“No, it’s okay,” she says. “I– I’m sorry I left.” You run your hands down her side, and you revel in the way you can touch her. No restraints between you now, no spitting anger. You can hold her. It almost hurts to realise it, and you go gently, you rest your hands on her hips just lightly. No space for harsh grips and tight holds. “Come inside,” she says, the words forming hot on your face. “You can have a shower. I’ll get you new clothes. We can– we should talk. You need to sleep, you really look terrible.”

“Asshole,” you tell her, with no heat behind the words. You frown at the ground. “I hate you.”

“Yeah,” Natalia says. She laughs a little. “Sure you do.”

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

There must be a bird on the windowsill. Maybe a pigeon, or a mourning dove: you hear that tragic coo before you open your eyes. You’re curled up tight on the edge of the mattress, your wrists falling over the edge. When you lift your head, you can see a fan of red hair over the other pillow. You can feel her, warm beneath the sheets. She radiates heat like a heap of embers.

You reach out, across swathes of linen, feel for her hand beneath the covers. You hold it, palm to palm.

“Morning,” she says. Her voice is hoarse and low from sleep. It takes her a while to shift onto her side and look at you.

There’s a chunk of light streaming in through a gap in the curtains. It falls in a bright stripe over her face and she blinks against it. Hot, sharp things well up in your chest. You say nothing of them: you squeeze her hand.

Natalia reaches out and flicks a scrap of hair away from your eyes. She smiles and hums in approval.

“I missed you,” she says. You’re not all back yet, but you know what she means. You think it will take you a while to say these things back to her. They’re all there in your head, making room for themselves, but but but. Natalia’s hand rests on the side of your head. You watch her lazily. Her fingers explore your face, brushing the curve of your nose, your brow, your lips. “Can I kiss you?” she asks, shifting closer. Her face is unreadable, still as a rock.

You nod. She rises under the covers, an elbow beneath her digging into the mattress, she hovers over you, bends down and kisses you. She’s gentle with you, doesn’t press or push. You kiss her back and run your hands over her arms, down her sides. She makes a happy little sound against your lips, in the back of her throat.

Yes. This was the right choice.

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taglist:  @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @orangelife @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco

notes: so I think that’s probably the end, I might do one more instalment but i honestly dk at this point. but i love this series so if you guys want any oneshots from it please ASK FOR THEM and i’ll happily do them. requests will be joyfully received. also nat totally wears fluffy socks

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

so get this. I was gonna roll around in Tombstone related fluff today - but no, no - this post came across my dash so Now We Are Gonna Discuss the Carnal Consumption of Meat as it appears on That Show Supernatural.  YEAH BUDDIES!

(also my sincere apologies to OP of the inspiration post who innocently tagged it with “lunch date!”  because I am about to go Elsewhere, cursedly).

Let’s all go meat man, after the cut!

This analysis centers primarily on 5x14 Bloody Valentine.  The title of course is a semi-homage to a 3D Slasher Film Jensen starred in circa 2009. 

Which I will be renting soon I guess.  ,[<- parasocial panda GET BACK IN YOUR ENCLOSURE]

Also Its Really Fun that the trailer for Said Cinema ends with “nothing says date movie like a 3-D ride to hell” [are you also thinking of Cas pulling Dean out of hell, or are you normal?]  ***unironically the teaser for 5x14 is -

EXT. SIDEWALK - IN FRONT OF ALICE'S APARTMENT BUILDING

RUSSEL 

First date.

They then eat each other.  Literally they eat each others flesh.  They also do it while dirty talking about it.  SPN IS A SHOW 

ALICE Ugh! I've been so alone. So empty...

RUSSEL I know. Me too.

ALICE I want you, Russel---All of you... inside me...

[they both take bites out of each other, Alice chewing on a piece of Russel's flesh]

****Remember this detail, as it is important.

ANYWAY, it’s truly Cursed that not only are we doing an homage to this 3-D Jensen Horror Date Flick but also this episode is specifically centered on Valentine’s Day.  The day honoring romance and love Now Coopted by Hallmark, everyone, that is the day spn writers chose to introduce us to 

Sir Horseman of THE Biblical Apocalypse Famine. 

Canonically, we are aware that the show is drawing from the book of Revelations in its depiction of the Four Horsemen.  Here’s what it says about Famine -

"When He broke the third seal, I heard the third living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a black horse; and he who sat on it had a pair of scales in his hand.”

-Revelations 6:5

Famine holds scales (used to weigh out grain in times of food scarcity).  Spn’s depiction is represented as hunger, a bottomless pit of need.  It consumes souls (demon and human alike).  

Cas describes Famine a little more poetically:

CASTIEL 

"And then will come Famine riding on a black steed. He will ride into the land of plenty... "

"... and great will be the Horseman's hunger, for he is hunger. "

"His hunger will seep out and poison the air. "

***Consider a prior season in which we are introduced to the Seven Deadly Sins.  Which are the sins associated with hunger?

Gluttony

and Lust.

***this is also important

Back to the episode.  Case cold open, and we find out that Alice was a Nice Girl.  In that she didnt drink, smoke or

have premarital sex.

***So Alice’s hunger for the sin of Lust caused her to succumb to it; and her demise was presented as Gluttony (literally eating her partner’s flesh). HMM

Famine’s presence is affecting the town, and Cas is not immune.

DEAN 

And when did you start eating?

CASTIEL 

Exactly. My hunger-- it's a clue, actually.

***They lay it out a little more in case you missed it ->

SAM 

I thought famine meant starvation, like as in, you know, food.

CASTIEL 

Yes. Absolutely. But not just food. I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something--Sex, attention, drugs, love...

***this is so important.  but of course because its spn and our textual narrators are generally unreliable (even in a Ben Edlund episode, yes I know)

we get a red herring

CASTIEL 

Right. The cherub made them crave love, and then Famine came, and made them rabid for it.

***but that’s not accurate.  they didn’t get married or become obsessed with each other (remember the cursed coin in 4x08 Wishful Thinking and the unconditional love wish? not what happened here). they had premarital sex.  they did the thing Alice considers wrong, and dark, and sinful.  and then they ate each others’ flesh.

DEAN 

Okay, but what about you? I mean, since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?

CASTIEL 

It's my vessel-- Jimmy. His, uh, appetite for red meat has been touched by Famine's effect

***mad lad Jimmy Novak’s hunger is for...red meat?  He is starving for red meat?  You are telling me that the Novaks, red blooded conservative religious midwestern Novaks, ate RED MEAT SO SPARINGLY that Jimmy Novak was LITERALLY starving for it?!?!  No way.  Absolutely no way.  This is a man who was such a religious zealot he STUCK HIS HAND IN BOILING WATER and accepted an angel of the lord into his own body but his secret hunger was for fucking ground beef?

give me a damn break.

to me this is an absolute coverup.  Because Cas’s burger consumption is not related one iota to his vessel Jimmy Novak.

it is a representation of Cas falling.  Cas’s cravings for meat represent his growing (and very much prohibited) feelings for...humanity (Dean Winchester), and they are presenting as Gluttony in the form of his downing more and more copious amounts of red meat.  

SERIOUSLY, consider this - at one point the depiction is so desperately carnal that he is eating raw ground beef with his bare hands. It is fucking uncomfortable.  and it is SUPPOSED to be.  Famine stirs up hunger for the prohibited.  For the sinful. That which we are starving for but do not believe we can ever have, so we lust and we lust and we LUST after it, but should we allow ourselves even just a taste of what we have been ravenously craving, we binge it until we ourselves disappear into the oblivion of our own sinful, dark desires.

Since You Want More Examples of why this cant possibly be hunger for Cheeseburgers and Cheeseburgers alone, Consider Famine’s effect on Dean.  Remember his doctor kink?

**when its revealed that Doctor Corman has succumbed to Famine’s poison by drinking himself to death, Dean - very uncharacteristically by the way - reacts by saying out loud

DEAN Thanks. Crap! I really kind of liked this guy.

***please note that Doctor Corman says the following to Dean in the prior scene they have together -

DR. CORMAN [to Dean]

Agent Marley, you just can't stay away.

****was that a flirtation?

***Also, Dean doesn’t want to go out and chase tail for Valentines Day.   

SAM

I mean, what do you always call it-- Uh, unattached drifter Christmas?

DEAN 

Oh, yeah. Well... be that as it may...I don't know. Guess I'm not feeling it this year.

SAM 

So you're not into bars full of lonely women?

DEAN 

Nah, I guess not. [takes a sip of his beer] Ahh. What?

SAM 

That's when a dog doesn't eat-- That's when you know something's really wrong.

***oh look we are relating things to eating again.  sex/lust to gluttony.  hmmm hmmm hmmm

ANYHOW -  *takes deep breath*

 this is also the Episode Where This Scene Lives

****JACKTING JOICES

oh and speaking of jacting joices, this is also the Dean Notices Cupids Crotch Episode.

frAckles, I am once again asking why you only permit celestial beings to hug you from behi-[gunshots]

but Dean isn’t hungry.  Why? Famine has the explanation, and we get it after Dean immediately runs inside after Cas heads in to complete his portion of their plan barely giving him any time to do so because he misses him that much.

FAMINE 

I disagree. [Famine moves closer to Dean and touches him] Yes. I see. That's one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean. Can't fill it, can you? Not with food or drink. Not even with sex.

DEAN 

Oh, you're so full of crap.

FAMINE 

Oh, you can smirk and joke and lie to your brother, lie to yourself, but not to me! 

***not Dean making all of those homophobic/homoerotic jokes every time he’s in danger or feeing uncomfortable; not that, that can’t possibly be what Famine is referencing, right?

I can see inside you, Dean. I can see how broken you are, how defeated. 

***not THIS parallel:

AMARA:

You're a mystery. I can see inside your heart. Feel the love you feel, except… It's cloaked in shame

You can't win, and you know it. But you just keep fighting. Just... keep going through the motions. 

***not the motions of performative heterosexuality!!

***Dean’s not hungry because in his heart he truly believes that he can’t actually have what he hungers for.  That Thing Which This Episode Overtly but Also Very Clearly Made Obvious.  It’s an angel riding shotgun [I did Do That and I am Not Sorry], eating a burger in the front seat of the impala.  But, I’ve deviated from the meat of this essay [gunshots] [this time just for the bad joke].

BONUS

there’s Exists another episode in which a man ravenously consumes red meat; eventually succumbing to eating raw beef with his bare hands in the season prior to this one.  

Yes Supernatural the Show That Brought Us Not One But Two Scenes of Persons Carnally Consuming Red Meat With Their Bare Hands.  

This episode is a MOTW - the man in question is a rougaru - a monster that starts out as human but due to some specific genetic disorder (hmmm hmmm hmm crack in THE chassis hmmm hmmm) soon begins to be extremely hungry - “for everything, but eventually long pig.” AKA human flesh. 

Wanna know the kicker?  

Episode’s called Metamorphosis.

(GIF by jackttwist)

I’ll see myself out.

[DOUBLE BONUS for extra credit:

if you really wanna wild out, go watch the scene of Jack the rougaru looking at himself in the mirror in 4x04 - and then meander on over to 7x01 and check out God!stiel looking in the mirror as the leviathans writhe inside him over there. It’s worth the walk.]

***oh and @lilac-void​ im tagging you in this one because in exchange for your KIND creator content nomination I guess I will respond by cursing you with an Honorary tag in this, a Meat Meta.  you’re welcome slash I'm sorry XO [but seriously thank you again for your kindness and appreciation; it really motivated me to sit down and get moving on making more content <3]

[sugoui]

— the language he knew.

⁙ with you following in his steps, he knew there was only one way to stop you. ⁙

× soui’s note » im a sad bitch so here’s a sad fic. repost. 

p a i r i n g ⇀ park jimin x reader..or more likely, fuckboy!jimin who sees the one he loves fall apart.

t y p e ⇀ angst and light smut..or, is this what you call voyeurism?

w o r d s ⇀ 7,659.

» [ friends to lovers!au ] °˖✧

“Doesn’t it bother you to be alone?”

Through the singing of the birds and the rustling of trees, his nose scrunches in distaste; chopsticks hanging loosely from his fingers as his attention is sparked, and eyes drill into yours within the proximity of the park. Did it bother him? Eyes averting from your curious state, he looks down into his cup filled with ramen, heart twinging in something akin to pain and yet..the sun still grins happily upon the two of you. “I dunno,” he mumbles in honesty, “I’ve never had anyone by my side to begin with.”

He notices you bite your lip at that, eyes glimmering as they try to find any kind of hope for Jimin within the many thoughts of your mind, anything that could change him into moving on to a better him. “But you can try,” you push on, taking a sip from your water bottle. He watches you, watches you turn slightly in your seat as you gasp in pleasure from quenching your thirst — then sighs to himself when you smile softly at the oncoming giggling children running around in glee. “Stop playing around with girls like they’re toys, you know? Find someone who you know will be able to make you feel alive.”

He sighs, resting his elbow on the flat surface of the picnic table as he lays his chin on the palm of his hand, “but you’re the only one who can take that place.”

And he smiles at the way you bark out in laughter, rosy blush staining your cheeks as tears accumulate at the corner of your eyes from Jimin’s absurd words, and his heart flutters.

But the thing is, he wasn’t joking — and there was no way you would ever acknowledge that.

He knew there was nothing wrong with wanting someone by your side, that there was nothing wrong with falling in love and chasing your heart but there was no way he could act on his feelings for you. You’re the girlfriend of one of his long time best friend’s, you are one of his best friend’s and have been since you were children, and upon bro code and the sake of keeping this friendship sane; he refuses to destroy the boundaries, no matter how many times he feels the crippling need to.

He was devastated, heart melting into the acid of his stomach when he had heard you belonged to Jungkook years ago, and he knew there was nothing he could do to tear you two apart, to steal you away and have you in his arms so he could mutter ‘mine’ into the crook of your neck. Because of his shyness, because of his self esteem — he never had the guts to confess to you; he had always believed and imagined many scenarios of you rejecting him or spitting in his face and just the thought of that had the air clogging in his throat. He was a mess, still is a mess, and the day Jungkook invited him out for pizza and suggested that you all move into an apartment together so the circle of three you all tried to uphold throughout the years wouldn’t disassemble into many pieces, Jimin could only laugh wearily as he looked to your brightened face at the thought of finally being united indefinitely — and he accepted, even though he knew it would ruin him in more ways than one.

It started after months of living on cloud nine that Jimin began to think his pessimism was all in his head, but after witnessing the premonition hiding within the shadows of the apartment, things began to softly crumble. 

Every night through the thin paper walls, the boy tried his hardest to suffocate his eardrums with his pillows as he forbade himself to hear your muffled moans and tantalizing giggles, demanded his heart to just shut up for once from the decaying anxiety resting in the pit of his stomach that threatened to poison his mind with it’s horrendous fumes. The bed tapping against the wall from the other side made him fragile with every hit, his mind playing a broken record as he tried his hardest to fall into the arms of slumber he desperately sought for. And as time ticked in the back of his mind and repeated the scenario from every other oncoming night, he ripped the duvet off his crumbling body as he stormed out of the apartment — seeking something that would hide his inner turmoil away in the back of his pocket.

He wasn’t proud of it, but it was something that could be easily done; finding a girl, someone as desperate as him to rip off the clothes that suffocated him and just to feel loved. And even though it wasn’t real love, it was enough.

“Where were you?” He remembered that specific night clearly, the apartment lost of any light except for the street lights that flittered through the sheer curtains of the small area as you stood at the corner of the living room, arms crossed and bare feet tapping the floor like some rabid housewife.

He simply shrugged as he walked past you and tried to make his way into his bedroom quietly. He reeked of alcohol and sex, at least he assumed from the way you scrunched your nose in disgust. His hair was amiss, his lips were heavily bruised and he just felt weak, especially when you suddenly gripped his wrist harshly to stop him in his tracks — he couldn’t help but sneer. “Answer me, Jiminie.”

“Don’t call me that,” he grunted as he tried to shake off your hand in the process, “and don’t fucking touch me.”

You retracted your hand as if you had been heavily burnt by scalding water, glaring at the older boy in hurt, but instead, he focused on his previous destination before your voice froze him in his place. “Jimin,” you corrected, “you can’t do this anymore, you’ve been doing this for months. Is this really how you want to fall-?“

“What are you?” He cut in, head tilted to the side in annoyed curiosity. “My girlfriend? I don’t think so.”

He knew his words had slapped you in the face, yet, as he took his first step away from you and towards his bedroom once again, you snatched his wrist with no remorse, pulling him towards you so he could hear your thoughts and not the ones murmuring in the back of his mind — but he was having none of it.

The second your fingers sizzled against his skin, he roughly slammed you into the wall, ignoring the choked and pained gasp that fell from your lips. “(y/n), I’m only going to say this once so you better engrave these words into your pretty little head.”

You tried your hardest to free your bruising wrist from his deadly grasp, but instead, he leaned into you, lips hovering over your cheek as the toxic breath stung your eyes, and the gulp whispering in the center of your throat was heard by the one holding you captive.

“This is my life, and there is no way in hell that you would ever play me like some damn gamer watching over his avatar.” He seethed, lips drawing a portrait onto your skin with every word that spilled from his mouth, “let me live my life, as you should do yours.”

“But-“

His hand moved from your face and his fingers tapped against your lips, stopping you from making another peep; and he grinned. “You can’t expect me to follow after you and Jungkook like some lost dog–“ he scoffed, eyes glaring into your own, “and you can’t expect me to stay during the night to sleep as you two fuck every other night, that’s not how it works.”

He watched you gawk at him as if he wasn’t himself, as if he were possessed by something that caused him to change–and maybe he was, being the demons who caused him to fall in love with the never could be, and now, he had lost himself within the flames of wanting to float on clouds, to escape the reality he was living in..but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

His hand slowly lifted from taking your lips hostage and moved to cup your cheeks, his face softening as his thumb softly smoothed over the soft skin. Your eyes stared through his as they tried to find something, but with Jimin’s bucket of black paint drenching any lasting thoughts within his irises, you sighed, looking away as you placed your hand against his chest and pushed him away softly. “I’m sorry.” It was a weak whisper and your eyes were filled with regret, lips trembling from the small commotion.

But he didn’t want to hear it.

Days went on as he avoided you like the plague; he locked his bedroom door during the day and escaped into the raging strobe lights of night clubs and house parties during the night. Jungkook sent him continuous texts to get out of his bedroom, to spend time with the both of you and to stop his greedy antics of escaping into used hands, and the night he doesn’t leave the small quaint apartment — he dropped onto the lingering chest of the living room couch.

His eyes softly closed at the sound of footsteps tickling the floors of the home after a while of silence, and his heart began to beat a raging tune at finally having to face reality.

The steps soon stopped before him, and he breathed softly. “Jungkook-ah.” He plainly muttered into the leather of the sofa, “what is it?”

“I know about your feelings for (y/n).”

Instantly, the man gets up, eyes threatening to fall out of his sockets as he peered into the orbs hiding behind the black curtain of hair. “What?” He asked softly, scared of you appearing from your bedroom, and terrified of having his feelings written in his eyes as it glowed for everyone to see.

“I know how you are, Jiminie.” Jungkook crossed his arms, face finally being revealed as he ran his fingers through his soft dark locks. And the lone act caused Jimin to internally hyperventilate, because what? He knew he was a coward for fucking around every weekend with someone just to erase his feelings for a limited time, but he had also believed that because he did that, that nobody would find out — but in times like these, he can only wonder if Jungkook could read him like a book, only wonder if his whole existence was written on the back of Jungkook’s hand and that terrified him to death. “I can practically feel the longing oozing out of your body, and lemme tell you one thing.”

“No,” Jimin shook his head and frantically rose up from the couch. “I’m leaving.”

But he doesn’t get to escape, not this time, as Jungkook grabs the boy by the collar of his shirt and slams him down roughly into the fluffiness of the couch. The younger is on top of him like some tiger getting ready to devour his prey; the roles reversed from that day with you weeks ago and Jimin knew at this point, that his useless and drunk self from the past was witnessed by the beyond livid Jungkook, and he couldn’t feel any more ashamed.

There was no use fighting back, his will was lost long ago with his sanity, and with eyelids threatening to shut and look away from possessive eyes, his hands fall limp at his sides. “I know Jimin, I know you’ve been around, slept around. Used like some damn rag over and over again to the point that there are stains, but there is no way in hell I’ll let something as tainted as you blotch (y/n) with your dirtied hands.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin desperately called, small hands clutching the ones wrinkling his shirt. He knew he was a fuckboy messing around to get around, but Jungkook had it all wrong — there was no way in hell that he would ever touch you in those ways, use you as if your friendship meant absolutely nothing, and all in all, try to steal you away from him. “Those are not my intentions.” Jimin got out, but Jungkook’s eyes are written in pure thirst to murder if the opposite were to happen, and he couldn’t help but gulp at the look of pure disgust. “You know as well as I-I do that I’d never hurt her, I’d never do that to you-“

“Like hell you won’t,” the taller boy dug the lanky one further into the couch with a shove, stealing Jimin’s breath away as his chest began to ache from the abused contact, “keep your dick where it doesn’t belong, you ass. I mean it.”

And amidst the park where he sighs from the past, from something that happened months ago with horrid assumptions and lingering regrets, he gets up from the bench with his hands in his pockets — smile swiped from his visage like a hungry frog snatching some bothersome flies. “You’re leaving already?” You ask, the corner of your lips falling to show your displeasure, and he shrugs, because really, this whole meeting with you at the park was all over useless.

Ever since Jungkook confronted him, he hadn’t had the audacity to speak to you or even hang out as the circle of three like old times. There was really no way he could ever go back to how it used to be, and Jimin was sure that soon enough, his image would be ripped away from the couple who aches to be together forever without someone so useless and broken.

Without someone like him.

“There really isn’t much to say,” he admits, looking up to the sky to avoid any sort of expression you draw with the tip of your nose. He could tell that you’re scared, hesitating to tell him anything about the path he chose to walk down on, so you only giggle halfheartedly, leaning into the wooden bench as if all your worries had already fallen into evanescence.

“At least try, Jimin.” You whisper with a tiny tone, but he hears you, feels the worry interlacing with every sound that escapes your lips, “try to love someone with everything you have. Give yourself to them and only them.”

“I don’t know,” he admits, eyes glancing towards your distraught yet innocent figure, “this is the only language I know.”

“How could you do this to me?”

Jimin’s eyes softly open, yawn escaping him as he looks at his alarm clock and soon, the sound of something shattering stabs through the air.

And he flies up from his bed in an instant.

His head is beating like a drum, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his body as he instantly rubs his aching temples. Maybe the sound of danger is just something his anxiety was feeding him, or maybe he just drank too much the night before. Nonetheless, his eyes inhale the blinking 3 AM screen his phone gave him — and he forces himself to check the small apartment.

Darkness fills the small home like water, and with squinting eyes, everything seems normal. His bare feet hits against the hardwood floor with soft taps, fingers tremble as he passes the door laying open to your lifeless bedroom, and he then notices the hallway being way too eerie for comfort. At this time, you and Jungkook are usually sleeping; so seeing the both of you not tangled in sheets was a sign Jimin believed with all his heart that something was seriously wrong.

He walks into the living room where a clock ticks the silence away, and once his head peeks over to the front door — he instantly freezes.

The door is wide open, and Jungkook stares at you with panicked eyes as yours are planted into the ground. You refuse to look up, your lips are shaking as you sniffle and when Jungkook places his hand on your shoulder, you are quick to slap it away with a scoff. “Don’t touch me.“

“(y/n),” Jungkook whispers harshly, obviously trying not to wake the supposed sleeping Jimin whom was already witnessing the whole ordeal, “I was stupid, okay? What more do you want me to say?”

“Seriously?” You spit, taking a step back, “are you fucking kidding me?”

Jungkook sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m sorry, I-..I was insecure. I didn’t know what I was thinking-“

“But there was a reason, wasn’t there?”

Jimin walks a little closer, his heart shushing all his organs as he tries to listen in on the conversation. His eyebrows knit together in concentration, and when the next words manage to crawl it’s way into his ears, the boy could only smile to himself in disbelief.

“I was scared, you know? Scared that one of these days I’d find you in Jimin’s bed, terrified that the both of you would go behind my back. Scratch that, actually, I was drunk as hell and believed you two did it.” Jungkook gulps, his Adam’s apple slipping down his neck before it flies back into place. “That’s why..that’s why I cheated on you.”

Silence.

It took Jimin everything in his power not to storm into the scene and punch Jungkook’s face in. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing after Jungkook had the audacity to pretty much tell him to fuck off many months ago, yet the younger could go along his merry way and do whatever he wanted to you. Jimin was beyond pissed, and as his back presses against the wall hidden from the two at the doorway, your voice finally pierces the atmosphere.

“Get out of my sight,” you whisper shakily, “just leave.”

Jungkook glances your way in pain, and Jimin could feel the inner turmoil happening within the other man in wanting to hug you and beg for you to not leave him, but he doesn’t. He throws his backpack over his shoulder, steps out of the apartment before he bows slightly before you.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes, tone weak and fragile, “I’m so fucking sorry, but please, know that I truly do love you.”

Yet, you say nothing to his words, only nodding as you shut the door behind him and lock it down.

Jimin still stands where he is, eyes blown open as he wonders how he should approach you after seeing that. Would you cry? He was your boyfriend of a few years, and best friend of many, and he was now gone, and knowing you for so long — he knew there was no way you would take back someone whom betrayed your trust, and he honestly wouldn’t blame you if you avoided Jungkook for now on. Before he could take a step away from his hiding place, you are standing a few feet away from him, and he jumps in his place. “Shit, I-“

“Did you see anything?” You question, and his heart shatters from the way you seem so broken, so lost and tired from the world you were placed in. He says nothing, eyes reflecting your emotions like a mirror as he bites his lip in sorrow. “I see,” you comment, looking away in embarrassment, “good night, then.”

“Wait,” Jimin says before you could walk back into your bedroom, full on knowing that his next question is way beyond stupid and idiotic but he doesn’t care — he has to know. “Are you okay?”

You raise an eyebrow at the question, and he hopes you didn’t find his curiosity rude nor pathetic, but when you laugh softly as you shake your head; you throw him a thumbs up. “I’m perfect,” you assure him, continuing towards the comfort of your bedroom, “so don’t worry about me.”

He tried not to worry, but he did, and he was going crazy.

Hours, days, weeks went on as he rarely saw you around the shared apartment and he was hoping more than anything that you didn’t do anything insane inside your own bedroom. He knew that the walls haunted you, that the place you called home taunted you with the existence of your now ex boyfriend. He witnessed you wash your blankets and duvets and pretty much anything that could have touched Jeon Jungkook millions of times over and over just so you could erase his existence — and seeing you crumble before his eyes made him feel absolutely useless.

He couldn’t do anything, no matter how many times he wanted to hug you and help you through your heartbreak, he just couldn’t; and the sole reason was because both your languages of love equaled the existence of heaven and hell, the epitome of yin and yang and damn him if he ever changed your perspective on such an innocent feeling.

At least, that’s what he believed.

On one of his usual nights out, his blood ripples from the booming music vibrating within the large house. His head is bopping, hand reaching for the bottle of Mike’s as his friend laughs obnoxiously loud and snatches the soft liquor away from him. “Really, Jimin?” He smiles, “do you really think this pussy shit will have me opening my legs for you?”

Jimin chokes out a dry laugh, snatching the drink from the taller man before popping the lid open, “shut up, Yoongi.”

He takes a large swig of it, loving to feel the sweet yet toxic liquid scratch against his throat before he pulls the glass bottle away from his lips. Jimin clears his throat softly, fist against his mouth to hide any grimace he wore on his face as Yoongi throws his arm around his neck; pulling him into his chest as he cackles. “Jennie is here,” he mutters, grin evident on his features, “talk to her.”

“Uh, I don’t know,” he mumbles to himself, taking a smaller sip, “I need to be loaded before I go.”

And after the words fall from his lips, everything around him drowns into the background. He sighs to himself as Yoongi speaks beside him, obviously drunk off his mind from how much he kept yapping, and Jimin could only let himself embrace the alcohol he drank. It was always like this wherever he went, whether it was a house party or the club or maybe something simple at a restaurant during the middle of the night; Yoongi always nudged him towards a specific someone during their many mischievous spontaneities, and he would blindly follow whatever path he was assigned to for the night, well, if he agreed to it.

Which he always did, considering how wasted he had always became.

“How many would you like?”

Yoongi’s voice snaps him out of his stupor, making the boy smile as he raises his dripping glass of alcohol in the air. “Same as always.”

And before he knew it, crumpled cans lays on the island as his empty glass is already tipped over and forgotten, and his head lays on the tabletop as he tries to find any kind of comfort in the music playing around him. His mind is hazy, he feels lonely, and more than anything — he needs to feel that hole bubbling with black ink be filled with color. He somehow pushes himself away from the stool and the usual anxiety screaming at the back of his head is already drowning in the bubbling mixture of liquor. His movements are sporadic as he tries to find his usual source of drugs amidst the many people intoxicated beyond belief, and once he finds Kim Jennie giving him a look of longing from the nearly packed sofa, he grins.

It was her, it was always her who came stumbling into his arms at the end of the night. She was always there, whether it was smiling into his skin or digging her fingers deeply into his back — it was always her. But he never saw her during those intimate moments, he never kissed her nor breathed promises into her ear as he wished to do so with someone he loved so dearly, and he was okay with it, as was she. She had her motives and he had his own intentions, and no matter how far they differed, in the end, they both needed the same thing. And that was to escape.

But, as time suddenly morphs into slow motion and Jimin stops in his steps as he squints with heavy eyes towards the glowing figure popping through the front door, soon, his façade shatters as realization stabs his heart like a poisonous arrow.. a realization that things never go as planned.

His smile drops, his veins vibrate with horror as he completely forgets about the one with benefits and spins on the heels of his feet, charging up the steep set of stairs of the house like a frightened cat zooming away from it’s predator and ignoring Jennie’s angry screams of his surname.

The hallways are dimmed and few people loitered around as they sucked the other’s face off or just wanted to escape from the chaos rumbling below. He could barely breathe at this point, knocking a random door open as he stumbles inside and slams it shut — back colliding against said door as he slides to the floor with a panicked sigh.

There was no way in hell that you were in the party he always took place at, no way in hell that you barricaded the apartment just to walk right into satan’s sanctuary. You never liked parties, saying there were way too many people for your liking and that there was literally nothing to do than just sit around and waste your time — so Jimin just cannot believe he saw you pushing through dancing crowds all alone in such a dangerous place.

Should he go confront you and take you back to the apartment? Grab your hand and pull you through the chaotic home? His heart wanted to, so badly wanted to push you back into safety but his hazy mind struggled to find leverage within the want and need. Would you try to fight him once he finally showed that he did indeed care about how you were doing? Or would you accept whatever he thought was best for you? Jimin glares at the nicely made king bed, squints at the many teddy bears and the assumed purple blotched colored walls throughout the darkened room, and clenches his fists.

He felt like puking from his chaotic apprehension, wishing he could find any type of answers dangling from the ceiling that could help you into becoming a better you and definitely not an imitation of him. He shouldn’t have drank, he should have stayed home and kept you company because who knew how much pain you were in to stoop so low, even though he doesn’t know if you have fallen, he couldn’t help but worry.

And it was killing him inside.

The doorknob to the bedroom rattles, and all thoughts instantly scream as they hide in the darkest corners of his mind. “Shit,” he says under his breath, head snapping to the door that is about to open, “this room is busy—!“

“(y/n).” He hears a deep voice from the other side followed by your bubbly giggling and satan immediately shoves his fist down Jimin’s throat. He is frozen, staring at the door that softly creaks open and at a loss, he jumps into the closet and closes the louvered doors as best as he could; and holds his breath. “Stop fighting me–!”

“No,” you breathe, and he finally sees you and the mysterious man stumble into the room through the door, bites his lip so hard once the door slams shut and the light disappears. “You can’t m-make me, Taehyung.”

He could see the bright red hair, curses it with his life once it shines from the moon’s luminescence that sheered through the curtains, and inwardly groans. He knew who Kim Taehyung was, someone who grew up with you apart from he and Jungkook and ever since Jimin was a child, he built a sort of rivalry between him and the younger boy due to jealousy. Taehyung was an asshole, at least in his eyes, and he didn’t like the man one bit. But here he is, and with you.

He knew Taehyung cared about you, probably as much as him no matter how much the younger teased you — and a part of Jimin knew he shouldn’t be worried about Taehyung now of all times because honestly, he should be grateful the man dragged you out of the bubbling hell.

Taehyung pushes you into the bed, and you easily fall on top of it as you whine in distaste. “Made you.” He simply comments, plopping beside you and closing his eyes, and Jimin decides that maybe, it would be safe for him to sneak out of the bedroom and head on home without the two of you knowing he was at the party at all.

“I drank way too much,” you mumble into the blankets, and Taehyung lazily grunts a ‘I feel you’ as you turn to look at the man, “should I go home?”

Jimin’s fingers hover over the closet doors, stopping his escape as to not let himself get noticed if you were to leave, and he hears Taehyung sigh. “You shouldn’t have even came in the first place.”

“Shut the hell up,” you somehow find the courage to spit, and the other softly laughs, “I..I just wanted to—“

“Make Jungkook jealous, yeah.” A raspberry fills the room, and the bed softly squeaks, “can’t you just get over him? It’s been about two months (y/n), he’s probably forgotten you and found someone else.”

Silence ensues the small room, and Jimin internally curses at Taehyung’s words because even he himself could feel the punch to his gut. He closes his eyes, praying to the gods to stop your pain, but as always, he is ignored, and you’re already getting up from the bed. “You’re an asshole,” you softly cry, “fuck you.”

Taehyung is quick in sitting up and grabs your wrist despite his drunken stupor, “that’s not what I meant,” he quickly tries to cover, “and you know that.”

“But..” you begin, “but maybe you’re right. Jungkook cheated on me, Jimin can’t even look at me —“ said boy’s mouth falls open “—a-and I have no one left, Tae. They all find me disgusting, they all disappeared because I’m just a germ, and–“

“I never said you were disgusting,” Taehyung whispers, but with your rant, his voice is ignored.

“It just hurts, ok?” You sniffle, wiping your tears with your forearm as you swallow a choked sob. “I don’t know what to do anymore, I feel so useless, should I even–“

“Shut the hell up,” Taehyung interrupts, throwing your previous words back into your face, “don’t you even dare finish that fucking sentence.”

You’re rubbing furiously at your eyes, wanting the tears to stop that you had kept shoved inside a bucket within you and Jimin can’t help but rub at his own eyes to stop them from watering. Seeing you like this, a mess, was really opening his eyes to how much you had upheld alone, and he felt like complete and total shit for avoiding you all this time.

“Then,” you crack out, “then help me.”

Taehyung raises a brow at that, delusional self caught between confusion and just saying yes, “how?”

“Have sex with me.”

Jimin jumps up in shock, head hitting the closet door as he quickly muffles his yell of pain. He could see Taehyung look frantic, staring at the closet with bulging eyes and lips trembling while your eyes stayed glued onto the boy before you. “Hey,” Taehyung says, weary smile on his lips, “did you hear that-?”

“Don’t change the subject, Kim Taehyung.” You bite, and Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, eyes downcast as he tries his hardest to avoid any contact, “answer me.”

Jimin’s teeth stabs into the skin inside his mouth as his fingers tremble. What in the world were you saying? He didn’t want to see any of this go down, he didn’t want to watch you ruin yourself or make any mistakes in trying to forget your love with Jungkook. He is careful as he slightly opens the doors to the closet, wanting to see your expression or even Taehyung’s — but all he could see, was how horrified the latter’s features were.

“(y/n), you know I can’t do that.” He mutters, but your drunk self had smart ass written all over it.

“Huh?” You grunt, hand going towards your ear is if it would let you hear better, “what did you say?”

“This isn’t you,” he speaks up, “we’re both drunk, (y/n), and you’re hurt — I get that.” He states, and your shoulders visibly slump. “I get that you’re in pain, only wanting to forget about what happened but it’ll just be gone for a few minutes; a few minutes that you’ll never get back until the pain comes back once again. Do you really want that?”

Jimin applauds Taehyung in his head, thankful that at least the man had a brain during these difficult situations. Your sniff then gets Jimin’s attention, and Taehyung quickly sits up before you. “Y-you’re a liar.” You croak, “y-you said that you’d always do anything for me since we were children, and—“

“But not this,” Taehyung is desperate, hands cupping your cheeks to wipe the trickling tears away, “please, (y/n), anything but this.”

With Jimin’s better view, he sees you smile softly as you push Taehyung’s hands away as they hesitantly fall back to his sides, watches you wipe your own tears away with your hands as you then rub the damp skin on your skintight dress. “Thanks for everything, Taehyung.” You say, bowing slightly as you hold in a choked sob, “goodbye.”

And as you weakly turn to the locked door to take your leave, Taehyung grabs your shoulder and turns you to him. His front was absolutely destroyed, and enigma paints onto his skin as bright as the color of his hair. Jimin knew at this moment that the boy had broken at seeing his best friend ruined, and that the events that were about to occur would change the future — and probably not for the good.

Your breaths are soft as your eyes glances to the hands loosening the straps to your dress on your shoulders, you sniff when the simple cloth glides down your arms to reveal your breasts, and large hands grip your shoulders as the dress drops dead on the floor to reveal you in all your glory for both boys to see.

“No,” Taehyung murmurs, “I should be thanking you.”

Calloused skin touches your bosom, and you whine softly from the foreign grope. Jimin doesn’t know what to do but watch, watch Taehyung look at you with so much adoration Jimin believed he never had and just watch euphoria spear into your veins. It isn’t long until Taehyung dives in to kiss you, to let his hands wander around the soft expanse of your body as he pulls you in close, and all Jimin can do is watch.

He wanted more than anything to ruin the doors from it’s hinges and rip Taehyung away from you, he wanted to do so many things and stop the atrocity happening before him but he just couldn’t. He is glued into his place, eyes averting here to there and the demons inside him giggles into his ears. 

The boy felt pathetic, useless as time ticked above his head and Taehyung is now ramming into you like there is no tomorrow, literally making you grip the sheets beneath you and scream into his bruised lips. Maybe it was hours, no, possibly years that roared on and the ending was no where in sight, and all Jimin could feel..was useless.

His heart was palpitating, he was in pain and he couldn’t do anything to stop it, to stop you and your decisions, to stop his disgusting ass from getting hard just by seeing you cry and writhe beneath Taehyung.

When you two finally stopped, the sun was waking up from it’s slumber, and Jimin shoves the closet doors open only to find you both naked on the bed. Taehyung is hugging you as if he were scared to lose you, and you hugged him back in your slumber and the lone image sparked reality within him that he couldn’t help but cry silently.

He finally closes his eyes, opens the door to the hallway and just all over breathes the air that could probably help him be sane. And as he walks down the stairs, he sees Jennie standing there with her back to the wall and her arms crossed, bitch face on full blast as she scoffs. “Pathetic,” she sneers, and Jimin only grins.

“Shut up,” he spits, “it’s none of your business.”

With hands shoved in the large pocket of his hoodie, Jimin walks down the streets of the busy city with only one destination in mind.

The incident at the party happened weeks ago, and Jimin noticed you disappearing from the apartment more often now. He didn’t like the path you were walking down on, and he could only briefly wonder if this is how you felt when the roles weren’t reversed. Ever since that day, all the boy could do was watch you from afar — going back to phase one and never moving an inch from it. But, despite that, there was one thing he learned from the fate he had to face, and that was..expect the unexpected.

Like now.

“Okay, do me a favor.” Jimin says after he takes a sip of his coffee, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he peered at the one before him, “you want me to what?”

“Help me,” the man clad in dark wear begs, burgundy beanie hiding his hair, “help me get back with (y/n).”

Jimin is flabbergasted, and maybe he expected this and possibly more, but still, it shook him to the core. The bells to the coffee shop jingle as more passerby lost the battle between not wasting money and the scent of delicious coffee, and Jungkook could only look to the door frantically in hopes that it wasn’t the only person he desperately wanted to see.

Which is obviously you.

“You have balls, you know that?” Jimin comments, sinking into his seat as he leers at Jungkook, “after what you have done; you expect her to fly into your arms and forgive you. Crazy, you know?”

“I know,” Jungkook sighs, and at this moment, Jimin actually takes a chance to inspect the younger man more. His eyes are darker than before, skin pale and body thin — he looked sick, yet, he still stood strong. Jimin knew that the break up wasn’t easy for both of you, hell, he even watched you two fall in love through the years. He knew it, but what he believed, was that the one sitting before him, is beyond feeble. “I know I did wrong, but just one more chance, and–“

“You do know,” Jimin cuts him off, “that she’s seeing Taehyung, don’t you?”

Jungkook’s mouth falls open, and as hard as he tried to reply to Jimin and just find words, he doesn’t. A frown crawls onto his visage, and Jimin’s eyes glide to the fists clenching too hard for comfort. “You’re lying,” he growls, “she would never do that–“

“I heard them, Jungkook.” Which technically isn’t a lie, considering he had front row tickets to the porno. “Things change, and you’re just too late.”

Jungkook’s coffee shakes in his hands and he grits his teeth, eyes lost into another dimension as his anger bubbles in the pit of his stomach, “I’m gonna kick his ass.”

Jimin chokes a laugh. “No, you definitely won’t.”

“Then help me,” Jungkook pleads, and Jimin can’t help but see you once again; vision from the past replaying inside his mind like a mantra, “please, hyung — just this once.”

The older scrunches his nose, eyes draping to a close like curtains as he laughs in irony, “you do know you’re asking help from the one person that should be a threat to you, right?”

“I–“ Jungkook starts, words in a jumbled mess before Jimin raises his hand for his old roommate to shut his mouth.

“I won’t help you.” He then leans in closer, voice soft yet stern as he stares deeply into Jungkook’s eyes, “if you really love her, if you actually want her back — then you should prove to her why you are worth another chance. Don’t be asking anyone for help, when it’s your mess to clean.”

The rest of the evening goes by in silence, just the two boys drinking their coffees and eating their pastries as the evening rush zoomed by the shop. Jimin knew he was being harsh, maybe a little selfish, but he felt it in his heart that the words he spoke needed to be said.

As the car slides into the entrance to the large apartment building, Jimin thanks the other before he opens the door, and stops when Jungkook’s defeated voice slithers into his ears. “If you won’t help me, then do me this one favor.”

Jimin turns in his seat, annoyed expression stamped onto his face as he inwardly groans. “What is it?” He questions, and Jungkook grips the wheel.

“Help (y/n) pick up the pieces, protect her.”

And usually, he isn’t one to listen to others’ demands, yet here he is.

He watches you in the dark of the night as you tiptoe around the apartment, hears the soft little taps of your feet against the hardwood floor as you try your hardest to slug yourself to the front door of the home. Jimin could smell the intense aroma of the alcohol you had been downing, and before he even had a chance to acknowledge what he was doing, the light flickers on and he is met with your terrified eyes.

“Ah, Jimin–“ you smile, standing still, “long time no—“

“Where are you going?” He asks, obviously not caring about the small talk you were about to throw at him.

The face you had on was similar to a child being caught stealing cookies, and you look to the ground in regret, “to a party with Taehyung.”

Jimin shivers.

He takes a deep breath, knowing whatever happened at that moment would definitely affect your friendship together in the future, but Jungkook’s words constantly echoes in his head. “Not anymore, you’re not.”

“Jimin,” you laugh, “what’s gotten into you?”

Running a hand through his unruly locks, he steps closer to you. “(y/n), you’re becoming everything you told me not to become.” He blurts, “seeing you so, so–“

You step closer, scowl decorating your mien with each passing second. “So what, Jimin?” You press, “you don’t seem to understand–“

“You don’t seem to understand, (y/n)-ah.” He points, pushing you softly, “you’re messing around with guys you shouldn’t be, you’re drinking way too much and you’re soul is just disappearing each time you leave this house!” Jimin yells, and you flinch from the tone, “I can’t let you leave anymore, not now, not ever.”

You grimace, many questions written on the tip of your tongue yet you don’t spout any of them, only tilting your head softly to the side in obnoxious curiosity. “What are you, Jimin?” You inquire, eyes sparkling with vigor, “my boyfriend? I don’t think so.”

Jimin stands there stupidly, being reminded of the words he had so blatantly stitched into your ears many months ago, and like always, all he could do is stand there and watch you slowly leave in victory. How could he have failed in his mission to stop you? Was he really that flimsy?

But, in seconds before you were able to actually open the door and leave, Jimin finally relies on his logistic side and throws his heart away; runs through the living room and tackles you into the ground as if his life depended on it. You yelp in surprise before the harsh smack of the floor slaps your intoxicated mind into soberness, and you’re trying your best to push Jimin off of you. “What the fuck,” you sscowl, “get off me!”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Jimin cries, grabbing both your arms and pinning them above your head as he lies on top of you, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me most, I’m sorry I pushed you away when you tried to be there for me, I’m just..I’m so fucking sorry (y/n), please understand that.” He is shaking before you, but there was no way in hell that he’d let any sort of tears fall — because right now, it wasn’t about him, but about you. “I promise I’ll be here for you for now on, but just please, please stop going with Taehyung and ruining yourself even further-“

“Then what am I supposed to do, huh, Jimin?” You scream, “there is no where else that I can go to, I don’t know how to heal or move on, and–“

“The fuck? I’m your best friend, (y/n),” he chokes, his bangs tickling your chin as he bows his head, “you can just stay with me, I’ll show you how to move on!”

He is way too frightened to look at you, but when he feels your small hand against his cheek, he instantly glances into your eyes. “You’re way too selfless, Jiminie,” you whisper as your lids softly close, to which he leans in closer to your lips, “but..show me.”

He gulps

“Show me this language you once knew.”

» all rights reserved © s u g o u i — this is a oneshot, and will remain a oneshot. all and any works created by me in the past or in the future are not allowed to be modified, reposted, or translated in any shape or form.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Opia (Night 3)

Vampire!Shinsou x reader x Kirishima

warnings: sexual content, (i wouldn’t call it smut because it’s not graphic, but sex happens...), dark themes, drinking, MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING FOR DRUNK DRIVING HIT AND RUN, blood, pain, mentions of abuse, mentions of sexual abuse, dead dove do not open, blood drinking, vampire shit, jealousy??

A/N: this honestly turned into a miniature vent??? idk what about, but this was kind of relieving to write. anyways, the reader is still kinda dumb... im not sorry

Night 3

The streets were alive with rabid students, elated to be over and done with the autumn semester. Winter break was starting up, and kids in your neighborhood were celebrating by tossing their notes and flash cards out wherever they could (which they thought was virtually anywhere), drinking the night away, and partying hard. You’d heard shrieks of joy and kids hollering at one another and there were a couple of boys from a nearby fraternity passing out fliers for a rager they were throwing tonight. They were supposedly combating against another party house and you had a vague idea who that house might have belonged to. You wanted nothing to do with it.

Ever since the last party you attended, you’d been feeling...watched—unsafe, even in your own home, and it was even worse when you went out. If you were the same as you were a couple years ago, you’d be out and in the same Jeep that had sped down your street for a total of three times this night, smiling and laughing with your friends, singing along, but now you were perfectly content staying home with your movies. Well, not perfectly content. You had to admit that you were lonely.

The phone at your side glared at you, and you had to pull your legs into your chest, locking your arms around them to ensure that you wouldn’t dial any numbers. But you wanted to. It was selfish, and you knew you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t fight the gravitational pull your phone had on your hand.  

Just after two rings, Kirishima answered. “Hey, you! What’s up?” You could hear people talking around him. Damn.

“Hi...Ei…” you cringed at the nickname. Calling Kirishima anything but his last name or ‘Kiri’ felt unnatural to you, but when you hooked up with him in the past, you knew that he thoroughly enjoyed it when you called him, ‘Ei.’

“Hey…” Kirishima’s tone dropped. You were glad he wasn’t dumb; he could catch your mood from a simple greeting.

Shifting in your seat, you laid halfway down on your couch, staring out the window. You could tell from the subtle amber hue on your neighbor’s window that the sun wasn’t quite gone from the sky yet. If he was throwing a party, he must’ve just been greeting guests right now. It was early, but you were hoping it wasn’t too early.

“What are you up to?” You purposefully heightened the lilt in your voice to sound sweet—a little more coy than your norm in hopes of grabbing his attention.

“Who is it?” You heard someone—a gravely voice—ask on Kirishima’s end.

“Nobody. Shush,” Kirishima hissed, probably trying to cover the speaker. You didn’t mind being nobody. That was probably for the best. “Uhhh-“ He was walking now, and you heard even more voices and loud music playing. “Not much. Why?”

~

It didn’t take much to convince Kirishima to come over to your place. Just one, ‘I’m feeling uneasy and I don’t want to be alone,’ got him through the door in no time. You’d heard a few of his friends protest, telling him to just invite you to the house, but those demands went ignored which you were delighted about. You felt a little guilty using Kirishima’s righteous sense of gallantry for your own selfish gain, but that guilt dissipated as soon as you found him on your front porch.

Though it was winter, Kirishima sported basketball shorts and a tank that showed off his impressive brawn. He always used to say that he ran hot and never really got chilly, which you knew to be true when you pulled him into a snug hug. His arms were warm as they wrapped around you and he smelled vaguely like spicy cologne. Taking him in, you thought it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Thanks for coming,” you murmured into his broad chest, “I know I’m just being a baby, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Nah, it’s no problem at all! I wouldn’t leave a lady all alone in a big house like this.” He pulled his head away with his arms still wrapped around you. “You look really nice.”

You bit your lip. You didn’t do much besides shower and put a tiny bit of mascara on. You were in your pajamas shorts and you might have put on that one bra that made your chest draw more attention than usual, but you had on a simple look...and you tried very hard to obtain it. Judging by how Kirishima’s eyes kept flicking down to your cleavage, you knew that you’d pulled off your alluring nonchalance with success.

“Can I get you anything?” You asked while walking towards the kitchen while Kirishima unshouldered his backpack next to the couch. “Water? Juice?...Beer?”

“What are you gonna have?”

You casted a bashful look his way. “That depends entirely on you.”

“I’ll have a beer.” Kirishima grinned, his hands in his pockets.

Returning to the couch with two glass drinks in hand, you handed one off to Kirishima and seated yourself next to him, purposefully brushing your bare shoulder against his arm before settling in. Neither of you really cared about what played on the television so you chose a random channel, nervous about spending too much being indecisive, and landed on an old cheesy classic horror movie that was in black and white. Zombies. What a mood setter.

Idle chit-chat survived as the yawning drawls of menacing pale-faced villains gathering to hunt in herds. Kirishima asked how you did on your finals and you inquired about what exactly he was doing when you called. He admitted that there was a party at his house, but said he wasn’t all that into it, explaining that it was Kaminari’s idea.

“He said it was supposed to be a favor for a friend, but I think that was just another excuse to get shit-faced,” Kirishima explained, taking a sip of his second beer.

“Uh-huh…” A friend. You couldn’t help but think about how Kaminari previously referred to Shinsou as a friend, but quietly shook that thought out of your mind. You didn’t want to think about that strange, albeit beautiful enigma while you were with Kirishima.

A blood curdling shriek from the movie snapped your attention back to the scream. You were about to laugh and make a comment about chocolate syrup used as blood, when Kirishima tensed next to you. You looked up at him and saw that he was grimacing, even recoiling a little bit as the zombies claimed their next victim.

“Are you scared, Ei?” You asked, scooting closer to the redhead. You rested your head on his shoulder and peered up curiously, pouting your lips.

“Huh?” Kirishima eyed you. “Nah, ‘course not. I love scary movies.” You could tell by the tenor in his voice that he was lying. You thought it was cute that he was trying to tough it out. “What about you? Sure you can handle a scary movie after you’ve been feeling jittery all night?”

He poked your side and you jumped, laughing bashfully as you attempted to hold his hand back. You gazed up at him through your lashes, focusing on using that innocent look you’d used countless times before when you wanted something.

“I feel very safe with you here,” you whispered breathily, watching as Kirishima’s pupils expanded while your fingers tip-toed up his arms. You pushed yourself up and hooked a leg over his waist, settling evenly over the growing bulge in his shorts. You took the glass bottle out of his hands, kept eye contact with him while you took a sip, and placed the bottle on the side table.

Kirishima didn’t miss a beat, his large hands resting comfortably at your hips. “You really mean that?” He asked as his fingers curled around the hem of your shirt.

You leaned into him, your lips a breath away from his. “I mean everything that I say.” Then, you kissed him, slowly at first, smoothly drawing your tongue along his bottom lip, before he ran his hand up your back and pulled you deeper onto him.

Kirishima kissed you like he was drinking in the taste of you and still coming back thirsty. His hands explored your body as if it were both his first time and possibly the last, wanting to get the most out of you as humanly possible. One of his large hands trailed up your shirt, squeezing your side before cupping your right breast, while the other hand brushed through your hair, tugging on you lightly to elicit soft moans out through your lips.

The familiar sensation of being leered at came after Kirishima stripped you of your shirt.

“You’re so hot,” he breathed before kissing the rounded curve of your breasts. While he worked to unclasp your bra, you glanced back to the window to see your curtains drawn open. Kirishima noticed and asked, “should we close them?”

There was nothing to be seen out the window, but you still felt watched. The thing is, you didn’t care. If there happened to be mesmerizing indigo eyes staring at you through the window, then so mote it be. “It’s okay. Nobody’s out there.”

You sighed when Kirishima took your left nipple into your mouth, pinching your right one with his fingers until they were both taut and colored by the flush of your blood. You massaged his head while his sharp teeth worried at you, growing a little more aggressive. The creeping feeling of being monitored intensified tenfold when you reached down to stroke Kirishima through his shorts. He moaned when your thumb ran circles around the wet spot at the tip of his tent. He pulled you down so you were rubbing against him, and you felt an aching tension grow in your hips.

“Ei,” you mewled, pulling at the drawstrings of his shorts.

“Yeah,” he rasped in understanding, and briskly swept you over and onto your back.

Years ago, an ex-boyfriend of yours told you that he loved to fuck you because you weren’t breakable. He could bite you until you bled, choke you until you nearly passed out (sometimes you did), and hell, he’d even hit you a couple times while he was inside of you. He left bruises all over your body for everyone to see—like he wanted people to know who you belonged to. You didn’t really mind it, at least, not while you were with him. The thing is, he was wrong about you. You were very breakable. You had bones that could shatter and skin that could scar. But a part of you wanted to be broken and that was why you never stopped him, even when you knew he treated you wrong.

Kirishima never treated you wrong. He provided service between your legs, making sure you were shaking and clutching the couch cushions, barely able to form a coherent sentence by the time he was done, and he kissed you up your torso as he would make his way back to face you, where he asked if you were okay and if he could continue. When he was inside of you, he started off slowly, whispering to you all about how good you felt, how tight you were, how he thought about this all the time. No, Kirishima never treated you wrong, but he also knew about your ex-boyfriend. He knew he didn’t have to hold back with you. So after easing into you, after making sure you were well taken care of, he knew that he didn’t have to restrain himself. He hurt you too, like how you’d asked him to in the past.

With each stroke came a pained pleasure, a violent hunt searching for a violent release. He fucked you like you were a secret that he wished the world to know about, and when you yelped and when you cried, it was like you were granting him his wish. You knew it would come to this, and though you wouldn’t have asked him to hurt you now, you didn’t mind it. Kirishima was still a good guy—a sweetheart, your loving friend. You also knew that even the kindest, most caring guys had animalistic urges clawing at their skin. And how could you really deny him this clandestined divulgence when you were the one using him from the beginning?

He came inside of you, panting out a string of obscenities as he thrusted the last bit of his energy into your already tender core. He seized your lips as if they were his to take, though in that moment, one could say that they were, and cradled you in his strong, too-hot arms.

“Holy shit, that was...you were ncredible,” he muttered against your jaw as he began peppering you with more kisses. “I love you so fucking much.”

“What?” You put a hand to his broad chest and pushed back very gently.

Kirishima brows frowned. He was already realizing his mistake. “I...didn’t mean…”

“What?” You asked, gathering your shirt from off the ground. “You didn’t mean it, or you didn’t mean to say it?”

The absurd paradox that was your sex life: you could do pain, you could do borderline abuse, but love was where you drew the line. Kirishima knew that all too well. If you counted on your fingers how many times you have had this conversation with him, you’d need to use your toes as well.

“You know how I feel about you,” he argued, decently handing you your pajama shorts when you pointed at them. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Well,” you sighed, not even really having the energy to disagree. Instead, you grabbed your shoes.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m gonna go on a walk. I need to cool down.”

“Let me come with you. You said you were feeling uneasy earlier.”

“Are you going to try to talk about us?” You asked, using your fingers to make quotation marks around the word ‘us’.

“I don’t see what the big deal is!” Kirishima stood up to put his own shorts back on. He stopped you when you were at your front door, throwing his hand up to keep it from opening. “You know that I would be good for you…”

“Let me leave, Kiri.”

“Oh, so I’m Kiri now?”

“You’re always Kiri.”

Kirishima shook his head, incredulous. “Not when you want to fuck me. Then I’m Ei,” he accused. He had a point, but you were too upset to admit it. So instead, you crossed your arms and took a step back, glaring out the window. Kirishima sighed. “I just don’t understand why you won’t give us a chance.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

“Then when?”

“Ideally? Never.” You reached for the doorknob, but Kirishima kept his hand on the door, unmoving. You shot him a look, softening up an ounce. “C’mon, Kirishima. Let me just...clear my head. I...am aware that I’m overreacting, and I’m sorry. It’s just a touchy subject, I guess.” Gingerly, you touched his arm, and despite knowing better, you gave him a peck on the cheek. “We can talk when I get back, okay?”

Kirishima exhaled, relaxing a bit. “Yeah, okay.” He cleared the way and ambled back to the couch, not casting you another glance until you opened the door. “Just be safe.”

“Will do,” you promised, and you were out the door.

~

The night air was brisk which you were thankful for. The cool was refreshing against your more-than-hot skin, so it kept you grounded and alert. Your thoughts raged war inside your head as you chastised yourself for being a manipulative bitch. You thought about what you would say to Kirishima, how you would explain to him yet again exactly why you didn’t want to be in a relationship, and what you would do to get any more romantic thoughts out of his head. Growing frustrated with trying to find the right words, you decided to start picking up the litter the kids from earlier tossed around. There was so much of it around, and honestly? you felt like you should do maybe one good deed tonight to balance out your karma.

You zigzagged through the streets, collecting the trash in your hands. You felt gross because a lot of this shit was lodged in the gutter, plastered down by the rain. One flier in particular was especially stubborn with letting you pick it up. You had to use your nails to finally get it in your clutches. You thought that you’d have to make a second shower when you were done with this. Kirishima would probably want to join you...

It came before you knew what literally hit you. Pain shot through you as you were projected back maybe twenty feet through the air. You wanted to scream, but when your back hit the ground, the wind rushed out of your lungs at the same time you heard an excruciating crack. Your ears rang as your fingers and toes twitched until they stilled, disobeying your commands to tell them to move.

Blaring music cut out, and you heard erratic voices muffled by the dull roar of an engine—the Jeep you’d seen earlier.

“Go back!” A female voice cried. It was familiar. Was that Yui Kodai? You were too...out of it to tell, and when you tried to raise your head to check, sharp pain seized up your spine. You attempted speaking, but it was like your lungs were crushed and mangled, no longer able to do their job. All you could do was listen. All you could do was feel.

“It was just a fucking cat!” A man yelled back.

“It wasn’t a cat! You just killed that girl!”

“Will you shut the fuck up!” Quieter and quieter the voices came. “It was a fucking cat, and we don’t tell anybody about this, end of story.”

But I’m alive, you thought loudly at them. Please...come back…

The screeching of those tires bolting down the street was the most devastating noise you’d ever heard in your entire life.

Karma was a dirty bitch that played with her own deck. You affronted yourself, reasoning that if only you had stayed inside with Kirishima, work things out, kiss him, make him feel better, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe you shouldn’t have called him at all. That really should’ve been for the best. You knew what you were doing when your fingers dialed his number. And now you were paying for it.

So this was it. This was your punishment. This is how it ends. You, laying abandoned in the gutter of your street, dying. At least, you could see the night sky. You had the stars to keep you company, though focusing on them was painful when you fought dizzying sensations that kept the stars blurred and seemingly...red.

“What a shame,” came a familiar loquacious purr. Your mind told you to move your head to find the source of the voice, but again, you were stuck, hopelessly sputtering and defeated.

Then a beautiful creature came into view, though from where you were positioned, Shinsou’s face was upside-down. Still, you were glad—glad that the last thing you were going to see before you died, was something so...incredible.

The movement was like a blur; one moment Shinsou was standing above you, the next he was crouched beside you. Pearly white arms stretched out in front of you, and you felt a scorching burn, then Shinsou brought his hands back, and inspected the crimson liquid that coated his fingertips. He inhaled, closing his eyes as if the smell was enticing to him, and you were suddenly struck with unease. That was your blood.

Blinking up at him in disgust, you were frustrated that you couldn’t bark out a thousand questions like: why don’t you call for help? Why did you just touch a dead girl? Why are you looking at my blood?! But you were stuck, paralyzed, unable to stutter out a single word.

That was when you saw two elongated fangs poking out through his gums. The caged organ in your chest gave a strained thrust and Shinsou’s eyes snapped open as if in direct reaction to your heartbeat.

He sighed. “A shame that you get to taste me before I get to taste you…”

Shinsou’s eyes shifted down the street, then you felt his arms wrap around you. The sky became a blur and then it disappeared, suddenly replaced by shrouds of leaves and branches. You wanted to cry. Being touched—being moved was excruciating, but you couldn’t do a thing besides stare and blink.

“Here’s the deal,” Shinsou began, pulling up his sleeves and discarding the bracelets from around his wrist. “I’m going to give you my blood.”

Hah?! Your brows creased.

“Oh, you can understand me. Good. My blood’s got a healing agent in it that’s probably the only thing that will save your life.” Shinsou looked you in the eyes and you saw the same thing he showed you at Kirishima’s last party: pupils so black that they appeared white. “It’s a highly addictive substance, but I think since you’re already so far gone, it won’t be all too affected by it. You might experience some side effects, such as heightened visual and auditory senses, feeling euphoric or stronger than you are, and-“ he smirked- “increased libido.”

As he kept talking, you felt your mind swimming, as if you weren’t going into hysterics already. Maybe that was it. You were imagining this because you were dying and your brain was graciously giving you a scenario that was better than your reality which was actually you alone and broken on the side of the road. Despite the situation, your lips managed to twitch upwards. At least you were sticking to your character. These past couple weeks, you’d been going insane and now you were leaving the world as batsy as ever.

White wrists met pale lips and a grim noise made your stomach turn as you watched Shinsou bite himself. He hovered his injured arm over your mouth, then he hesitated.

“But wait,” he said in a sardonic tone. “What was it you were going off about the last time we met? Consent?”

If your body could have shuddered, it would have. This was exactly like when you’d try to fall asleep and remember all the embarrassing things you’d ever said and done in grade school, only now you were nearing death’s gate, and you had to endure the memory of you awkwardly sputtering your righteous jargon to a stranger. Good grief. If there was a god who had control over your mind, he was a damn sadist.

“So what say you, darlin’? Want me to save you? Blink twice if yes-“ he shrugged- “die if not.”

You glared at him. Let’s just rub salt into your wounds, why don’t we? Deciding to entertain your delusions, you blinked pointedly, twice, hating the self-assured expression on this sicko’s perfect face.

“I’m glad to see that you value your life,” he said, then raised his wrist over your mouth. You felt droplets fall against your lips. You no longer had the energy to protest—not even to grimace and tighten your mouth. Instead, the liquid lazily trinkled onto your tongue and down your throat.

The change started immediately. Your muscles tensed and tightened in a sort of soothing, weaving motion. You’d heard pops as your bones cracked back into the place which would have disgusted you if you weren’t so distracted by the wonderful sensation on your tongue. Shinsou tasted like nothing you’d ever had before—sweet nectar, rich and pleasing. Your tongue lapped at his skin until feeling returned to your hands and you grasped firmly onto his arm and began sucking harder, greedier, at once needing more and knowing you wouldn’t be able to get enough.

Shinsou began raising his arm away from you, but you chased it, following his motion by lifting your healed torso as more of your bones snapped back into place. Your entire body was frenzying with elated tingles. You felt euphoric, high, and if you were still coerced to believe you were dying, you’d have thought that you’d gone to heaven. But you knew better now. This was present and this was real. This was everything.

“I see that you’re enjoying yourself.” Shinsou pressed his hand against your jaw and dragged it back to the nape of your neck. He stilled, then tightened his hold on you, trying to ease you off of him. “That’s enough.”

But it wasn’t. You pulled, knowing full well this was going to end, but wanting desperately for it to not. Shinsou’s fingers sunk into your hair and pulled, baring his teeth—baring his fangs—at you. Once you were pried away, he sucked in a breath and hissed.

“That’s good,” he said, his thumb wiping at the corner of your mouth where renegade blood seemed to have escaped. “That’s good,” he cooed again, the melody in his voice all but worshipped you. You eyed his wrist, noting that there wasn’t a bite mark in sight. You shook as his thumb brushed against your bottom lip. “Satisfied?”

“More,” you demanded childishly without a care. It wasn’t fair. He was a bully dangling a treat right in front of you while you were starving and tied to a pole. Gathering some sense of morale, you breathed and asked, “please. More.”

“Greedy girl.” Shinsou sneered. God, even when he was making such a nasty face, he was still so...pretty. You couldn’t stand it. “There’s a time and a place for everything, and there’s not a lot that I do without asking for something in return. It all comes with a price.”

“A price?” You asked, still dazed from your elation. At this point, you’d do borderline anything for just one more taste. And honestly, with someone with the same aura as him, you certainly wouldn’t mind doing anything…

“A price,” he reiterated darkly, his lips curling into a grin. “An eye for an eye, as the saying goes…”

“Do you want...my blood?” Your heart jumped.

“I do,” he purred, and as if on reflex, you extended an arm out to him, ushering him to take whatever he wanted. Balls to thinking about what a ludicrous idea that was—you had one thing on your mind: his blood. Shinsou took your arm and brought your wrist to his mouth. You tensed, thinking he was going to bite, but he merely placed a tender kiss to the back of your wrist, sending jubilant waves of pleasure to flutter up your arm. Then, he snickered. “But I can’t take yours tonight. You’ve already lost so much, and your veins are tainted with...well, me.”

Trepidation settled deep in the pit of your stomach. You were not much closer to thinking like a normal human being, but you were hit with the realization that you just drank some guy’s blood...after being hit by a car. You stirred, raring yourself to stand up—if you even could—but Shinsou held you firmly, forcing you to look at him straight on.

A light buzzing noise rang in your ears while you swam in the pools of his magnificent eyes. Your body went numb for the second time this night, but this numb was more of a warm blanket than anything else. You felt secure, despite your situation, and that was what he wanted.

When he spoke, he was simultaneously right in front of you, and inside of you. He was a whisper of a thought, but a furore of a demand as well. He said, “you’re going to go home...send that putrid, hormonal mongrel on his way...and hide yourself under your covers. You’re going to go into a very deep sleep, and if you can help yourself, you won’t be dreaming about anything. Not even me.” His words rocked you gently like a lulling cradlesong. All you could manage to do was nod at his every request. He went on, “and the next time you feel my presence around your home, you’re going to open the door and invite me in. Do I make myself clear?”

As quickly as it came, your calmed mood disappeared as Shinsou blinked at you. Suddenly very sleepy, you tilted your head at the stranger. “Putrid, hormonal mongrel? Do you mean Kirishima?” You grinned when Shinsou’s eyes narrowed. “Were you watching us?”

A low rumble came from Shinsou’s throat that confirmed your accusation. This certainly wasn’t anyway to thank someone who might’ve just saved your life, but you couldn’t help but poke the bear. “What is it?” You ragged. “Are you jealous?”

His demeanor changed in a flash. One moment he looked ready to kill, and in the next, he was tame, wearing a cool mask to support his laxly facade. Shinsou abruptly stood up, cursorily bringing you to your feet with him, and held you so your back was pressed against his chest. You felt the need to stumble—you weren’t used to moving so fast!—but his arms locked you into place.

“You mean like how you were with Miss Kodai,” he quipped against you, his chilled breath caressing your ear. You inhaled sharply, striving to keep yourself from warbling out any embarrassing, telling sounds, but when he pulled some hair away from your neck, and his pinky finger just barely grazed your oversensitive skin, you couldn’t stop the shaky sigh that departed your lips. “Is that why you went out of your way to put yourself in such an uncomfortable situation? Because you were jealous.”

“I wasn’t,” you lied in an attempt to convince yourself that you weren’t. You had no reason to be. You didn’t know him. He was just some kid you saw at a party, and now he was...what was he? Your savior?

Your breath hitched as his hands slithered down your sides, taking their place at your hips. Your heart pounded against your chest when his fingers intentionally grazed over the bit of skin that was bare between your shorts and your shirt.

“You sure about that?” Shinsou dipped his head to lick the column of your throat. A rush of heat settled between your thighs when he flicked his tongue over your pulse point, sucking the tender skin into his mouth. You felt something sharp press against you, and you instinctively craned your neck more to the side to grant him more access, while you pushed your ass back against his hardening groin, nails digging into the arms that were caging you against him. A low groan escaped him, and for a moment, you thought he’d tear through the skin, rip out your vocal chords, and leave you for dead, when he finally pulled his head away.

“Don’t...stop.” You wanted to cringe at your plea. It wasn’t everyday that you actually had to ask for something like this to happen, forget wanting it to begin with. But as Shinsou toyed with the little hairs at the back of your neck, you felt nothing short of longing for things to escalate.

A dark chuckle sounded in your ear. Shinsou whispered, “go home and do as you're told,” before kissing your earlobe. You bit your lip, wanting for his kiss to linger, but instead, he took your chin into his hand and turned you to face him. “And please note that if you don’t, I will find out. I’ll know if your lips touch that mongrel again, too.” You half wanted to inform him that you and Kirishima did far more than ‘touch lips’ earlier, but seeing that threatening look in his eye, you decided against it. “There is a price for everything, my sweet sanguine.”

He released you, and it took everything out of you not to fall to the ground. Shinsou paced a few steps ahead of you when you reached a hand out and called, “hold up!” He stopped, turned his head, and waited. You were going to demand answers to the questions jostling in your head, but you were suddenly very shy. “Where... are you going?”

Shinsou hummed, considering the question and probably enjoying the look of desperation on your face. Finally, he said, “I quite like cats.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and waited for an explanation. When he didn’t give you one, you prompted, “cats?”

“Yeah, cats. I heard there were a couple cretins running around assaulting cats. I just want to make sure your neighborhood is safe.”

“For cats?!” You demanded, but without explaining himself further, he was gone. Like he literally disappeared. The only thing left of him was a playful message resounding in your head.

‘Do try to not get hit by a car on the way home.’

~

You sauntered the way back to your house, not feeling the least bit sore from the events that unfurled over the night. Having past the spot you’d been hit, you saw dark spots in the road from where you probably had been bleeding out, so you knew that it happened, but your mind was too fuzzy to really contemplate how and why you survived. All you really could think about was how good it felt to have Shinsou touch you—how you’d be counting the days until you would feel him prowling around your house again.

When you got home, you saw that the downstairs bathroom light was on, and the television was on some kind of sports channel. It looked like Kirishima wasn’t entirely invested in the zombie movie you’d put on. You quietly crept up the stairs and slid into the bathroom adjacent to your bedroom. When you saw yourself in the mirror, you gasped.

“Troll,” you hissed at your reflection. Your face was crusty with reds and browns—blood and mud?! And your hair was a mess of dirt and leaves! Your pajamas were shredded and splitter with the same essence that covered the rest of your body. You were disgusting! It didn’t stop there, either! When you took your shirt off, the bruises that littered your skin on your ribs and meat your stomach were countless. You really put the zombies in that old movie to shame.

While you showered, you agonized over the thought of Shinsou seeing you in such an awful state. The water ran down to your drain in a river of rust-colored muck and you wanted to be swallowed down with it.

When you were out of the shower, the only evidence left from the night’s events were the purpling contusions on your torso which you tucked away with your towel. You were sure that the bruising would be worse tomorrow, but you pushed the thought out of your mind and tried to focus on the great night’s sleep you were supposed to be getting.

However, when you opened the door to run to your room, you were greeted with a sheepish looking Kirishima, his hand on the back of his neck. When he saw you standing there in nothing but a towel, his eyes widened and he quickly looked away. “Oh shit, I’m sorry!”

“What were you expecting?” You asked, grinning at the blooming flush of red at the tips of his ears. For god’s sake, he fucked you earlier.

“I...don’t know. Shit, shit. Uh-“

“It’s okay, Kiri.” You leaned against your doorframe and watched his adam’s apple bob. Chewing on your lip, you could already hear Shinsou’s demands swimming around your head.

Send that putrid, hormonal mongrel on his way…

“I just wanted to really apologize to you about earlier...” As Kirishima went on, your attention shot to the bead of sweat appearing on his temple. Heat radiated off his body which made you yearn to be closer to him. God, he was such a good guy. You couldn’t just kick him out in the middle of the night. You didn’t want to. You wanted to be closer to him, which should make you feel bad, but you didn’t feel anything but ravenous.

“Kiri,” you murmured and dropped your towel. Kirishima froze, and with the willpower of a thousand suns, managed to keep his eyes away from you.

“Um. Yeah?” He gulped.

“Ei,” you strummed, lifting your hand out to cup his jaw. You turned his face towards you, watched his eyes trail down your naked body, and kissed his lips, pushing him back and into your room.

When you were done with him, you hid on the covers, and fell into a very, very deep sleep, where you didn’t dream about anything. Not even Shinsou.

[rustic-space-fiddle]

Things on TUA that made me snort into my coffee:

“You know I’m good at this.” “I know you give me AGITA—“

“Where have you been?” “The future. It’s sh*t by the way.” “CALLED IT”

Luther looking the bowling alley manager directly in the eye and then chucking a bowling ball over his shoulder—AND GETTING A STRIKE LIKE FOUR LANES AWAY from

“Hiya, Five. How you doing?” “I MUST HAVE UTTER SILENCE TO COMPLETE THIS TASK”

Klaus’s cover story skills ranging from A) Oscar-worthy impromptu method acting to the point of inflicting literal injuries on himself, to B) picking a bagel out the garbage and stuffing it into his mouth

“I’m taking the car.” “Do you even know how to drive?”

“I feel like we should stop him, but I also just wanna see what happens.”

“Assuming it’s okay with your two dads.” + The look on Klaus’s face + “if I was gonna date a man, you’d be the last man I would date” “you’d be lucky to get me”

“I WOULD RATHER CHEW OFF MY OWN FOOT”

“If you throw another one of the g*DD*MN KNIVES AT ME, IM PRESSING CHARGES” insinuating that Diego has almost killed this man like 12 times in the past

Five opening his closet and realizing he was gonna be stuck in kiddie shorts and knee-high socks for the rest of the season

“What a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain.” “DONT MAKE ME PUT YOU IN TIME-OUT”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” “Italian for dinner?”

The entire scene in which Hazel and Cha-Cha burn down the lab whilst high as kites

“Peace on Earth? That’s so sweet!” *SMASHES GLOBE INTO FACE*

Five’s many facial expressions during Klaus’s epic improv scene

Little Klaus literally rolling a joint at the dinner table and no one trying to stop him????

*beat* “Nice dress.” “Ooh... danke :)”

Little Diego carving into the arm of his chair like a mad-child

“I want my family to survive!” *looks at the insanity around her* “all of them?” “YES ALL OF THEM”

“Looks like it’s frozen waffles again” *Ben looks like he wants to die again*

*klaus dies* *folk music*

*vanya is lost* *mom is dead* *pogo is dead* *diego is in tears* *klaus is panicking* *allison is still mute* *the academy is literally collapsed and it’s ruins burning* “gUyS thE aPOcOLypSE iS sTiLL oN”

Moon: *explodes* Me: of course

Baby Vanya seeing Mom walk toward her with her head on backwards like “I FRICKED UP I FRICKED UP”

Five, slurring drunkenly: iM THE fOUr fRIKIN’ hORSEMEN

“I am sorry.... that yOU........ have deprived some villaGE of thEIR IDIOT”

*flight of valkeryrie plays in the distance*

“WHEEEEEEEEEEEE”

“I’m here to help stop the apocalypse.” “.......before I answer that—“

Diego resorting to biting Hazel’s ear like a rabid toddler

Five blinking onto the coffee table in the middle of the apocalypse conversation, prompting screams from every single person in the room, then rolling off it, grabbing the nearest coffee, and chugging it like there’s no tomorrow (is that a bad figure of speech in this instance)

Klaus, after literally being waterboarded: I needed that

“WHAT HAPPENED THE FIRST TIME, LUTHER?” “YEAH, WHAT ARE YOU NOT TELLING US?” “Uh........... um.............” hides behind coffee, refusing to make eye contact “.......... ʷ��� ᵈᶦᵉᵈ”

Five channeling his deeply buried inner obnoxious middle schooler “hEY A**HOLES”

The running gag of Luther being 1) too big to fit in doors and cars, and 2) a furry

[sanscestships]

“Escapee” Asylum Zoo RedvBlue (Oneshot, RedxDustxClassicxBlue)

Created on: 10/26/20

Requested by: @pigeons-just-pigeons, i feel really stressed out right now by school and im going to try calming my nerves with writing. also apparently she really likes FeralVerse-

(WARNING: hella longer than usual. maybe cuz its 4 people instead of 2-)

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Classic didn't know how to feel about the situation. About alternate versions of himself just suddenly getting mutated and now he has to work with more versions of himself to find a cure. Really, the whole thing sounds like one of those animes Alphys watches.

Unfortunately, it was real. And he was dealing with it. Of course, Paps didn't know a thing and the kiddo was covering him while the player was inactive. Must be either a busy day or night for them probably.

The skeleton sighed, starting to feel himself drift off and slump against the couch in the lounge. Though he should probably be more concerned, he couldn't help himself but to want to take another nap for the day. He'd already done a skeleton of work, taking Nightmare on a patrol to see if any more mutants have popped up. And yes.

That alone, was enough for him to last the day.

See, just dealing with Nightmare can be tiring. Though he definitely won't speak to you nor act like a rabid animal the rest do. He'll continuously sass and growl at you, occasionally tripping or slapping you with the tendrils that start above his paws. Then there's patrols, where you actually have to walk around. And with Nightmare! Which means a LOT of tripping! Then there's dealing with the situation if you DO run into another mutant and...

Well, at least it's mostly Nightmare who has to tussle with em. After all, to fight a mutant you usually need another mutant.

Sometimes when Nightmare REALLY trips Ink, the colorful artist will complain and grumble that Nightmare's lucky to be alive. But Classic always thought it was the other way around. If Nightmare hadn't still been sane after the mutation, they all probably would've been bitten by now. Really, the only times they've ever had to help Nightmare hold down a mutant was with Cross and Dust.

Cross had been driven insane by the OVERWRITE soul, massive trauma from his AU, and weak condition from the aftermath of the fighting. Dust had been driven insane long before he killed everyone but hadn't acted upon it and mutated until he'd reached his breaking point.

To think he could've ended up like that if he'd done the same as Dust. Well...

Technically he did, since Dust is him from an alternate timeline.

"ORIGINAL ME!" A chuckle escaped his teeth as he opened an eye socket to see the adorable version of him, Blue. Blue had always been one of his favorite alternates out of the bunch, seeing as he was basically a mix of himself and Paps. Still likes puns

(A/N so no one gets mixed up, Sans from UnderSwap canonically still likes puns. its a very popular headcanon that he doesn't. carry on.)

but is just as sweet and thoughtful as his bro. Really, he could never get mad or tired of the little blueberry. "THERE YOU ARE! I WAS LOOKING FOR YOU!"

"Is there somethin' ya need Berry?" The nickname had been out of his mouth before he could even think about what he'd said. And once he did, he could feel his skull tint with blue. Really? A nickname for a nickname? Jeez, what was with him now when he was around the little warrior?

"Actually Classic," he cocked his skull to the side, becoming more curious when his normally energetic alternate began to fiddle with his hands. "I was actually hoping you'd come with me today to check on Red and Dust. That's okay, right?"

Shit, he could feel the arrows striking his soul. First at the names "Red" and "Dust" before getting the final strike when Blue had looked up at him with those sky blue eyelights. As odd as it was, he couldn't help but enjoy the company of the edgy jackal-fennec fox. And really, he could absolutely relate to the insane grey wolf-tasmanian devil too. After all, he would definitely go insane too if he had to deal with hundreds of consecutive genocides.

Wait... Didn't he technically- NEVERMIND WE'RE NOT GOING THERE WITH THE WEIRD ALTERNATE TIMELINE LOGIC.

"Sure, I don't mind." With his signature lazy grin on his face, he began to follow Blue to the common enclosure room. This was the big room where multiple enclosures were put together. Though Ink was hesitant about the idea, Dream and Blue agreed that maybe it would help to have them all in the same room. Maybe being close to another in the same situation would make them feel more comfortable they had said.

Though some of them did enjoy each other's company, Classic thought he was right to assume Fell really didn't. While most of the others had big, terrifying animals, Fell was a mix of two animals that generally survived with their wits and willy physique.

Therefore, he really, really did not appreciate being shoved in the same room as a six-legged and two-tailed goop cat, a winged bengal tiger, and a bird clawed panther.

Now they were in the room, lit with colorful lights from the color planed windows above the enclosures. Something Ink had put up so the room wouldn't be as dull. The cracked glass of the cages were hit with more growls and roars as they walked to the quietest of the cages.

"Hey Fell."

A rumble came from the cage, and soon taps against the metal ground as the red eyed beast came out to the glass. He glanced behind us, making eye contact with Error before growling. Blue frowned, turning around in time to see Error snarl back in response as he began to try and calm the canine down.

"Sorry pal, didn't know that you weren't red-y for us yet." The canine stopped, staring back at him as he began to continue. Suddenly there was red everywhere, with a loud blare. Immediately, all of the mutants in the room except for Nightmare and Fell began to snarl and roar.

"Uhhhh... Guys?" Dream's voice came onto the intercom as the two skeletons glanced at each other. Oh boy, this couldn't be good. "Uh, I kind of went to Dust's enclosure to clean when I accidentally... Let him out?"

Ok, that was not good.

"Dusty's out of his enclosure?!" Blue jumped up, immediately running out the door.

"Wait, Blue!" Classic jumped up, starting to try and follow him before he heard a loud thud next to him. Turning, he saw Fell jumping at the glass, barking and howling at him. "Fell, what's wrong?"

He didn't stop. He just kept banging on the glass, barking and yelling. The original couldn't understand why though. Fell's never been as active as the other mutants. Like him, he tended to be lazy and just laid about in his enclosure unless provoked. But when someone came too close, he usually just pretended to threaten to bite them. Now here he was, just being nearly as loud as the others.

He didn't know what to do. Was Fell trying to warn him of something? Was he trying to tell him something important? He didn't know why he was suddenly so active, but he knew it had to be for a good reason if it was making him jump and bark like this.

"Heya pal, I want you to calm down," he tried to smoothen his voice so he didn't scare the canine, starting to move towards the enclosure controls. "I'm going to let you out. And I want you to stay calm. I'm sure the others know your mostly just bark and no bite, but I'm pretty sure they still won't feel safe knowing you're on the prowl unless you can prove you're not hostile. Okay?"

Really, he was doing his best not to talk to him while he was teaching a 5 year old. If he remembered anything about Fell before the mutation, it was that he got offended and ticked easily. Finally getting Fell to look calm, he pressed the switch that opened the glass door.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dust couldn't find Blue.

He couldn't find Fell or Classic either.

Who cares about that little blue mongrel and the toothy loser? His brother whispered to him. There are many caged, helpless, powerful monsters here Sans. We must find them. And we must kill them. We need more power brother. More LOVE.

He wanted to listen to his brother. He really did. He knew for a fact that Papyrus would never lie or misguide him. But he also knew that he wouldn't be able to focus on the job unless he knew where the three were. If they truly were powerful, than even if caged he'd have to focus if he wanted to be able to harvest them for LOVE.

Very well brother, I will trust your judgement.

He began to prowl around, sniffing the air to pick up a scent. He knew he needed to pick up as many scents as possible to work fast. There was much to be done: differentiate Fell, Classic, and Blue's scents from the others, locate the three as soon as possible, sneak off, kill the others, make sure Blue doesn't give him the puppy eyes or croc tears for killing most of his friends...

On second though, maybe the last one is basically inevitable.

"Dusty!"

He could feel himself basically jump up, starting to immediately run towards where he heard his blueberry's voice. Guess he didn't need to pick up on his scent in the first place. That'll make his job a little bit easier.

Don't forget to kill everyone else brother. We need to become more powerful. We need more LOVE. Do not let anyone distract you from the mission.

I know Paps. I know.

He knew at some point he was going to have to kill them too. After all, he'd killed everyone else. But he definitely didn't want to do it now. Someday, when he finds the will to give them the painless mercy of death.

But that day wasn't today.

Making a sharp turn, he'd finally found the blue scarfed skeleton. He knew he'd have to act calm though, to not scare him. Though many of them probably didn't know this, he wasn't actually as gone as Cross was.

Yes, he knew Cross's name. He picked it up from a conversation when they were trying to move him into his enclosure for the first time.

Ah yes, when that stupid oreo on legs nearly bit his blueberry.

He'll be the first to go.

(A/N i love Cross guys. i really do. i swear-)

"Dusty," he could hear the warning tone in his voice as he looked up at the skeleton before him. "I know that look on your face Dusty. No murder."

He didn't mean to let out a small whine. Probably his animal instincts. What did Sci say he was again? A "grey wolf" and "tasmanian devil"? What the hell even was a "tasmanian devil" anyway? It sounds like some sort of dog that failed to serve Satan.

"Dusty, no murder." Blue had repeated himself, beginning to pet the hooded beast's head as they both perked up to panting heard from behind Blue. Running into view were Classic, and Fell. How convenient, the three he was looking for came right to him.

Now onto "find a way to get away from the loves of his life and butcher everyone else in a totally non-yandere way".

Oh boy Alphys's anime ways are starting to get to him.

He could feel the rumbles in his non-existent throat, leaning his head more into Blue's hand. God, he knew this was just his animal instincts acting up but god his gloved hand behind his ecto ears felt GREAT. Was it like this for all dogs? Lucky bastards. He was glad he'd killed all of the dogs first. (Minus the Annoying Dog. That thing is impossible to track down. Much less kill.)

"Huh, looks like you've got him wrapped around your finger. When'd you learn to even to make him even wag his tail like that?" Wait, wagging tail? He glanced behind him to see that his ecto tail was indeed wagging. Huh. It must've started while he was thinking about dogs and didn't notice.

Brother, you're getting off task and distracted. How will you kill the others before they put you back into your cage if you keep letting yourself be treated like this? His brother did not look too pleased that he had not gained any LOVE yet. Then again, it'd been Ink knows how long since he'd been out. Much less killed anyone.

As Classic approached Blue to talk, Fell had coiled himself around the original's legs. Fell didn't feel comfortable around him and it was obvious why. After all, he knew that the hooded figure was at LEAST LV20.

Dust couldn't help but to respect the other. He survived abuse from his own brother, the monster around him, and had probably had his own fair share of Genocides too. He couldn't imagine his own brother disowning and abusing him too.

But of course brother, I'd never do anything to harm you. And Dust knew his brother was telling the truth. After all, Paps would never lie to him either.

His brother wouldn't.

He could feel his tail curl around the guard in training as the rubbing intensified, starting to lay down. After all, did he really need to kill them all now? It had already been established that he was absolutely capable of easily breaking out of his fortified cell. He could always just do it again. And if they set up guards, no problem. He'll kill them too. Extra EXP. In fact, he should probably wait until they do add more guards for him to kill.

Plus, he felt like hanging around these three a bit more.

Yet Papyrus still lingered... Whispering suggestions in his ears...

[artful-mimicry]

Why don't you have a swing at writing Wilson for a drabble?

Tell me what other character you think I could portray well and I’ll give it a shot //featuring a very insane wilson. under the cut bc im on a Roll writing violence today\\

It was a routine. Hear the barking. Try to fight. Die. Revive. Kill. Repeat.

It took a toll on his mind. His body.

By now he heard the hounds, and it just made him cackle to the heavens, grabbing his spear and holding it at the ready. This time, this time of all times he was ready, he was ready to kill. Whether it was from starvation or from madness he wasn't sure, but he felt a newfound vigor in his once pathetic wrists, in his crackled and worn bones.

The snarling and barking. It got louder, until he could hear the beasts running right up behind him. He whipped around with his spear, and immediately jabbed it into the dog's thick hide, laughing like a madman the whole time. He was able to kill the first no problem, but the other two managed to bite at him, making the fight just a bit more difficult.

With a lot more stabbing, and stressed laughter, he managed to kill the hounds without needing to revive again. Thankful for the fight, as he wasn't sure there were any other touch stones in the area. He cut away the fur and bones, left with hunks of purple meat. He had died so many times to these beasts, it actually looked appetizing... Or maybe it was human instinct, to just be hungry around meat of any kind? He recalled a few times in bio classes, dissections were a nightmare to focus for on an empty stomach.

His mind was so shredded, he couldn't care which it was.

Wilson considered for a moment cooking it before chowing down, but he was far too impatient, ripping into the purple meat with reckless abandon, and painting his face with the hound's blood. To a man who barely ate in the wilderness, it tasted like heaven. Like finely prepared steak, in some fancy restaurant. The illusion only broke when it felt like pins and needles in his mouth and throat, making him ill shortly after. His stomach hurt so badly, presumably from his brilliant idea to tear into rancid monster flesh...

But he needed to eat.

It hurt to eat.

But he needed. To eat. To enjoy what he had killed.

He tore off a couple more pieces, but the aching and needles in his mouth forced him to stop, wiping blood off his face. He giggled to himself. Imagine what past him would think now? So desperate for anything tangible that he could eat and kill whatever he needed, even if it was bad for him. Hardly able to feel that he was bleeding from wounds in his torso and arms. That he wouldn't even bother to fix his clothes or hair when he cared so much about it before. A rabid hull compared to what had once lived in the normal world.

Casting a glance at the discarded fur, he came back to himself. The weather would get colder soon. He should prepare before it's too late.

[chokememrstark]

Requiem Of Memories // Part 12

Ship: Samifer (Sam Winchester / Lucifer)

Words: 2053 (Chapter 12 / 15)

Fic Summary: Sam still feels awkward after what happened between him and Lucifer, but he enjoys spending time near the angel and hates when he has to leave. On another day when Lucifer is out doing what he does, Sam has a conversation with Meg that opens his eyes about a lot of things and puts everything he knows about this world's Devil into a new perspective.

angst, hurt & comfort, alternative universe, au!lucifer, mourning, depression, blood and gore, nightmares, loneliness, guilt

Note: I highly recommend to read Nightmares Become Reality before this, otherwise the premise of the story and the setting might not make much sense.

Tagging: @shebahda  @sassysupernaturalsweetheart   @spnyoucantkeepmedown    @brieflymaximumprincess   @kajuned  @archingangel  @this-darkness-light  @secretlydaydreaminglifeaway  @humongouscandycoffee  

If you want off the tag list or want to be added, just drop me an ask or IM!

Read on AO3!

Maybe it was just Sam’s imagination, but it felt like he spent more time with Lucifer after they had kissed a few times. It was casual and very similar to the way they spent time before, but it felt like it was more and Sam didn’t really mind. The next day Lucifer’s power had already recharged enough so he could heal himself completely and he informed Sam that the survivors of the Detroit massacre were now with them on the island, just to keep them safe. Of course this made Sam raise a brow, as he wasn’t used to Lucifer caring for his demons, but maybe this one was different in this way too. He had been surprised quite a few times already after all.

Lucifer was still considerate and friendly, nothing in his behavior towards Sam changed apart from him staying with him longer. There were no more kisses and no more intimate touches, but it didn’t become overly awkward either. Sometimes one of them would crack an ambiguous comment or joke to which they both laughed, but none of that felt forced at all, like Sam had feared. They were just the same as before, even though he often thought about their kisses when he laid in bed at night and tried to fall asleep. It was hard not to, really. Sam couldn’t figure out what the truth behind his joy in these moments had been, but every time he thought of them he could barely suppress a smile.

It took about a week before Lucifer told Sam that he had to go on another trip and would stay away for a few days, but he ordered Meg to look after Sam from time to time, so he wouldn’t miss anything. This time, the hunter was visibly sad to see the other leave and voiced his concern about his safety. It wasn’t something he usually did, but this time he couldn’t hold it back.

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Lucifer said with a smile. “I don’t expect any fighting this time, so everything will be fine.”

“I hope so,” Sam sighed and looked sadly at the angel. “Just promise me you’ll be back in one piece, okay? It’s boring when I’m alone here.”

“I promise I will be back soon. Until then, Meg will make sure you have everything you need.”

Sam didn’t like seeing Lucifer leave, but he knew that there were things to take care of, so he didn’t complain. Instead, Sam decided to tidy up his room and find something to distract himself with until Lucifer came back. It was evening when Meg eventually showed up, holding a huge plate in her hands that made Sam’s mouth water.

“Dinner is served,” Meg exclaimed when she put the place down and revealed all the delicious treats for the human. Sam couldn’t have been more obvious with his appetite when he plopped onto a chair next to the plate and began eating. Meg seemed to be very amused when she sat down across of the human.  “Damn, is Lucifer starving you or what?”

Sam shook his head and swallowed the bite in his mouth before answering.

“He’s not starving me,” he said with a smile, getting another sausage from the plate. “But these are delicious!”

“Good,” Meg laughed. “Eat up, you need it after all.”

“How are you doing now?” Sam wanted to know, trying to initiate some small talk. “Did everything heal well?”

“Sure, demons have a pretty effective way of healing wounds,” Meg grinned kind of proud. “Took a few days and I was as good as new. Some others were off worse, but by now everyone is recovered.”

“I’m glad everything is okay,” Sam sighed. “Lucifer was very worried, but he said the island would be the safest place for everyone.”

“It is, he’s right,” Meg agreed. “They don’t know we are here, so we will be safe. Lucifer is patrolling with groups of demons daily to make sure the wardings are intact and everything is the way it should be.”

“I noticed that. He’s taking this very serious.”

“Of course, we can’t lose any more innocent people.”

“I wouldn’t call demons innocent, but you are probably right,” Sam huffed. He was about to take a spoon full of vegetables when Meg made him stop dead in his movements.

“Who said the innocents were demons?”

“What?” Sam asked confused and gave her a weird glare. “But, I thought Lucifer’s servants were all demons?”

“Of course, but Detroit was a safe haven for everyone, including humans,” Meg huffed. “They attacked only an hour after we took in a family of four, all human, and they slaughtered every single one of them. Lucifer was furious when he found out, you couldn't imagine.”

“Okay, wait a second…” This didn’t make sense. Why would Lucifer’s demons take in humans and why would Lucifer himself be angry that they were killed? Shouldn’t it be the other way around in both cases? “I can’t follow you, sorry.”

“I don’t know how much you know, but we don’t exactly run around and kill humans,” Meg scoffed.

“I didn’t think you would, but taking them in?” Sam still didn’t get it. “Wouldn’t that be, you know, the other side’s job?”

“The angels keeping humans safe?” Meg laughed so much, Sam thought she would choke from not breathing anymore. All the while he just sat there and stared at her in complete confusion. When her laugh finally ebbed away, her voice was amused beyond reason. “They prefer to smite them on sight, no mercy for humans on their minds.”

“That makes no sense at all…”

Sam tried to imagine angels mercilessly hunting and slaughtering innocent humans, but his mind couldn’t cope with this information. Why on earth would they do something so horrible and cruel?

“You haven’t met the angels in our world yet, huh?” Meg asked with a smirk. “They aren’t really the protective kind you might know. They are ruthless to the very core.”

“Our angels aren’t protective either, but they… they don’t kill humans if they can save them. It’s usually demons who do that…”

“Welcome to Bizarro World, I guess your rules don’t apply here.”

“Okay, now I need some answers.” The food was long forgotten because this new piece of information was all that occupied Sam’s mind at the moment. “If Lucifer protects humans, what’s his goal? I mean, what is this all about if not him trying to end humanity?”

“ End humanity? Are you joking?” Meg laughed again, but this time way more sarcastically. “Lucifer tries to save what’s left of your kind. It’s not easy because the angels literally hunt them down, but sometimes we are successful.”

“That makes absolutely no sense..."

“I don’t know how your apocalypse went down, but ours was pretty straight forward. Lucifer faced his brother Michael on the battlefield and one of them snapped. Small hint, it wasn’t the archangel you know.”

“What do you mean, Michael snapped? What happened?”

“I only know what others told me, sorry, I wasn’t there. But apparently Michael lost it when Lucifer wouldn’t comply to his rules. He wanted to fight, he wanted to settle this once and for all, and Lucifer didn’t play his game. He unleashed a firewall that burned everything within a twenty mile radius and Lucifer barely escaped his anger. Ever since we have to hide like ants because Michael’s troops are always trying to find and destroy us. Sometimes we gain a bit of ground, but more often than not we are forced to hide even better... Detroit is just an example of the way we live sadly.”

“Damn…” Sam hissed. He didn’t expect something so groundbreaking different going down, but he also had no reason to think Meg was lying. There was nothing to gain from doing that, so she must be saying the truth.

“You said your apocalypse happened too, right?” Meg asked curious. “What happened there? What was different?”

“Well,” Sam started, but his throat was too dry to continue. He quickly took a few sips of water and tried again. “They met too, but not like this. I was there because Lucifer possessed me, but I saw everything that happened. They just… talked? They never actually fought though. I managed to jump back into the cage with Lucifer and Michael before anything worse could happen.”

It was hard swallowing down the memories of this fateful day. He remembered everything as if it happened merely hours ago - how Lucifer had beat up his brother and how he suddenly retreated and all he could feel was pain and sadness; how he took control and jumped into what should have been his end. It was as clear as day.

“You jumped into hell, with both of them?” Meg sounded shocked. Sam have her a shrug and a nod. “Damn, Giant, you have some balls to do that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sam laughed. “I was scared out of my mind! I knew I would die down there but I had to do it, there was no other way. The sole reason to say yes to Lucifer was to get him back in the cage. When things didn't work out and they actually met I grabbed Michael’s arm the last moment and just jumped without thinking.”

“As I said, you got some balls.” Meg seemed to be very impressed. “I don’t know about your Michael, but ours is like a rabid dog. He even kills his angels if they don’t succeed to follow his orders, no matter how ridiculous they were. You’ve dodged a dangerous bullet.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I understand the whole picture yet.” Sam shook his head. “Are you trying to tell me that Lucifer’s goal isn’t to end humanity and destroy earth? That he’s not the bad guy in this scenario?”

“If Lucifer is the bad guy, I’m an angel,” Meg huffed. “He’s the only one standing between Michael and the complete destruction of this world as we know it.”

Sam was completely out of words. How was this possible? How could it be that the Devil was actually trying to save this world and humanity, while his brother tried to destroy it with his angels? If this was true, he had thought about Lucifer in a very awful way until now. All this time he had thought the other hated his kind and tried to kill every single one of them while throwing this world into chaos. He couldn’t believe that it was actually the other way around now.

“That’s not what you expected, isn’t it?” Meg asked and Sam nodded weakly.

“Our Lucifer… he wasn’t the good guy,” Sam mumbled. “He said it himself, he just wasn’t. But what your Michael does… even he would have never gone this far.”

Saying this out loud made Sam feel like a traitor, but it was the truth, wasn’t it? Lucifer had said it himself. But even though he had sacrificed a whole town of humans to summon Death and was responsible for the death of many, many more, Sam didn’t think he would have gone as far as this world’s Michael did. For his Lucifer humans had been an annoyance and a plague, but not so much that he would have actively hunted them and killed them for fun. As much as Sam tried to imagine it, he simply couldn’t. That just wasn’t the Lucifer he knew, good or bad.

“Well, you’re not in Kansas anymore, Alice. This is Wonderland and it sucks.”

Sam smiled weakly, but he couldn’t deny she was right. It was almost impossible to stomach this new information, but it felt as if something in Sam had known the truth for a very long time now. Lucifer had never acted the way someone who was trying to destroy this world would have, or not? When he thought back, even all those years ago, when his own Lucifer had possessed him, there had been no such intention. All he remembered was the overwhelming desire to stop all of this madness... and still, he couldn't process the true meaning of Meg's words just yet.

In the end, this was most definitely Wonderland and it sucked massively, Sam could accept at least that without any questioning.

[spockandawe]

So you’ve heard Spock is the actual literal devil

Have you heard that I’m a terrible person? A plagiarist? Have you been told that I’m only into transformers at all because I wanted to make this one random guy unhappy? If you’ve been told that, you’ve probably also been told that a year and a half later, I’m still making fanworks just to upset him. You might have even heard that shhhh, don’t disagree with Spock on anything, or they’ll hunt you down and harass you.

Right, okay. This is one hell of a saga that I will attempt to tell in as compressed a form as possible. It’s a lot. Years ago, back in HS, there was this one guy who policed the hell out of one of the character tags. I’m going to call him C. He’d pressure people not to make the content they were making, decry the hateful people reading with a malicious eye who thought the character would ever do anything bad (the character was a creep). And because being obnoxious wasn’t bad enough, if you didn’t cave to his demands, he just might do things like start whisper campaigns about how you support rape, casually out you as a survivor, cute little things like that.

This is not a story about that guy.

This is a story about C’s one-time attack dog, eventual boyfriend, and current ex. We’ll go ahead and call him R. I’ve tried real hard to avoid namedropping on my blog before, but could people find him from this? Probably. Have I stopped caring? Absolutely.

TL;DR, unsubstantiated accusations of serial harassment are a little questionable when they’re coming from someone with a years-long, extensively documented history of serial harassment and a personal grudge against me.

Cut for length.

Edit 7/2/2017: R has posted that he regrets making these posts about me, and admits that he said things that were out of line. And he’s stated that he’s going to try to do better in the future. I genuinely, truly appreciate that. I’m leaving this post up because there have been lies about me floating around for a while and I reserve the right to defend myself, but I really do appreciate that.

Oh balls, none of this makes sense without backstory (I’m so sorry)

If you think I suck or my work sucks, that’s fine! You do you, go enjoy the things that make you happy.

If you think I’m the devil because this one guy told you about my evil, evil past and all my terrible misdeeds, without anything at all to back up his words? You can ask me. I don’t bite, and oh lordy do I have receipts.

To be clear, R is totally allowed to hate me! I don't care. I don't care if he hates my writing, I don't care if he hates me as a person. But now he's escalated to spreading lies about me, and people are believing him, and I’m not enough of a doormat to let that just stand.

And I’m going to cheat a little. Here’s a memo with the cliffs notes version (not the original memo, I made a copy with C’s urls cropped out since he hasn’t attacked anyone in a long while). Warning, digging any distance into this turns up violent fantasies, violent sexual fantasies, creepy interactions with a minor, and lots more, it’s all really, really unpleasant. Evidence is thoroughly documented, please tread with care.

You would not believe how truncated that is compared to the reality.

Now, the worst of this came via C. Who has calmed down a lot these days, and I’m really happy that’s the case. Good for him. I hope his life continues in a direction where he doesn’t find it necessary to do this stuff.

Lucky for me, R was standing by to pick up the slack.

It doesn’t show up as much in the memo, which is mostly C-focused, but R was standing by C this whole time, defending his right to spread around private information about someone’s abuse history, sending nasty messages on the other guy’s behalf, and much,much more. it’s long, it’s awful, it’s unpleasant. R personally hurt people in some significant ways that I don’t want to link directly, for their sake. He expressed deep remorse a few times, but it never stuck.

Here’s my personal favorite quote from R. He’s speaking to the CSA survivor that C casually outed (with information given to him in confidence), and who they’d been running a long, long whisper campaign against, and who was understandably a bit upset over the whole thing:

oh go wank to your own tears [name]

#and get your sympathizers to help #nasty fucking people #maybe if you cry enough youll be able to go into second grade in the fall #ooc

Said, again, to a CSA survivor they outed and harassed. That person is such a sweetheart, and this screencap still infuriates me.

The first time I saw C pick a fight he had lots of friends. Shockingly, as he did things like loudly fantasize about how he wants to mutilate people and rant about how autistic people should die, those friends mostly drifted away. I know one person had a friend even help them stage a faux relationship-ending fight, so they could be sure they’d be able to completely cut and run from C. R stuck with him, though. Eventually they even started dating.

‘Spock followed R into transformers to harass him and stalks his favorite characters just to harass him more’

Then, transformers. Here, let me show you the first post (by R) that ever brought MTMTE to my attention. I spent years being aggressively uninterested in transformers, but this caught my eye

and honestly, ppl (adults too!!!) shipping someone who has the mentality of a child and is quite glaringly lacking a world of experiences and general understanding of things outside of ‘good’ and ‘bad’, with an adult, is just. very alarming and gross to me.

and honestly, the fact that there is a large portion of people who want him to become romantically (and sexually!!!) involved with either one of two fucking adults in canon, and hell, esp those defending it with ‘hes an adult too tho!!’ is really gross.

you can pretend all you want that hes ‘an adult’ because his body is, but theres no way jro didnt intent to code him as a child. stop fetishizing children lmao,

#pedophilia -/-/- #cygate -/-/- #if someone comes at me screaming ‘rule 38′ im gonna shove them in a locker

I didn’t know transformers, but I was pretty sure this was some straight-up bullshit.

(but don’t worry, he ships it now! no hypocrisy here, no sir)

It’s “really gross” to ship this adult with other adults. Mm. Given the reasonableness of the claims these guys have made in the past, and given their extensive history of harassing people over those claims, I hopped to the wiki to check it out. I read a bit about the comic and the plot, and all of it sounded so fascinating that I just had to give the comic a try.

Reader, I married it.

I shotgunned MTMTE 1-47 in two days, started doing fanworks right out of the gate, and I’ve never looked back. A lot of my art was cygate, because come on, the comic wants you to ship it so bad, my first readthrough ended with issue 47, and that was the first ship I’d ever read about for the series, even before I dove in.

Now, both these characters punch me right in the heart, in some painfully personal ways. Tailgate’s the more relevant one here, but I don’t even know if I could do justice to the emotions both of them give me.

I’m still not a fan of how R’s lies about me have edged me into needing to say this in public, but okay. I’m developmentally delayed. It’s been a rough ride. And Tailgate hits me in some of those spots so hard it just takes my breath away. I’ve got a lot of baggage over not being a real adult, and not in the funny oh-no-how-do-taxes-work way, more like an extended months-long meltdown my first year of college because I can tell that my friends are years ahead of me and I don’t know how to even start catching up, and just existing, as myself, is humiliating.

All of my relationship milestones have come painfully, painfully late. The whole thing is still one awful emotional bruise. I hate it, and I hate how easy it is to convince myself that yeah, of course you don’t actually deserve to be treated as an adult and you never will. Just look at you. So then it is unbelievably important to me that I can see someone someone who is like me, being treated as a legitimate adult, and being able to have an adult relationship.

Hearing that shipping someone like me is essentially pedophilia is the opposite of that.

But he ships it now, so everything is fine :)

Yeah, you know what? Another fucking receipt.

uGHGH im so tired of all the rabid cy// /gat// //e fans like even cy’s giving em a look like ‘leave my fucking child alone’

#i just #im hoping jro has some taste tho and doesnt make an adult date a child #and if not im hoping the outcome blows over soon bc im so tired of seeing people defend pedophilia #pedophilia -/-/-

Parental.

This continued even after JRO explicitly confirmed Tailgate was an adult.

Bonus ableism: shipping Whirl (another character who hits me way too hard) isn’t okay either. Even though there isn’t the excuse of ‘but he only lived three years--’ No, at that point, you’re saying that an adult who fails to adult correctly does not count, and isn’t allowed to have romantic relationships. It makes my skin crawl, and it is an issue which is very personally and directly important to me.

So some of my cygate was porn from the start (it’s what I write. it’s what I draw.), and some of the porn was made because I was upset over discourse that says someone like me needs to be treated as a child. I played with cywhirlgate too, because omg how could I not, and some of that was porn as well. It was ages ago, so I don’t remember the details for every little thing I made. But when I saw someone saying that Cyclonus and Tailgate had a parental relationship, I’m sure that helped nudge me in that direction. Maybe R thinks I should have channeled my emotions by starting a whisper campaign to exclude him from fandom spaces. But I think my way of working through bad emotions might have been a little healthier than that.

So when R accuses me of making cygate content to spite him? Half true. Just true enough to be real fucking dishonest. R spent a nice long time insisting that cygate was pedophilia. I channeled my outrage over that ableism into fan creations.

I didn’t attack him. I talked about him some – on a private forum, with people who’d already been aware of him and had been watching him and C hurt people for years, plural. I haven’t told people on tumblr any real details about him until now. And R still is happy to talk about how it was his toxic ex’s right to post torture/rape/murder porn vent fic about actual people.

Tell me, how exactly am I in the wrong?

Bonus pettiness: I posted some cywhirlgate porn. The next day, R vaguely whined about robot pedophilia and turned around and wrote some obviously-a-response cywhirlgate. Where it was super platonic and the text explicitly said it was super platonic and it even had platonic thigh nuzzling. With two “children” involved. Of course I turned around and wrote more fic of my own, because jesus h christ that made my skin crawl. You want to play this game? I guarantee I can write faster than you, let’s do this. (he did not follow through on that)

I’d also like to say that forgetting inconvenient little details like this is a thing with R. Hard to call me terrible for writing spitefic when you write it yourself.

A history of Spock’s personal involvement

Let’s backtrack a tiny bit. You may notice I am up to my elbows in this nonsense for no clear reason.

I was friends with some of the people C was taking shots at, and I was unfortunate enough to believe his original smear campaign about that one artist (I’m still ashamed about that). I cared about a number of people C was trying to hurt. I think one or two fanworks of mine upset him, but he already had loads of targets. I kept tabs on him and R, because anxiety is the gift that just keeps giving.

Eventually, C fantasized about wanting to put my former datemate’s hand through a meat grinder (ey wrote a fic that portrayed his fave in a negative light). And R defended his right to do that.

The person he posted about is still feeling the effects of that incident. I’m still feeling the effects of that. And it wasn’t even directed at me, just someone I care deeply about.

R has recently posted that ‘oh my goodness, C sure was awful, remember when he posted this thing about a meat grinder and how unreasonable it was?’ Thanks buddy, glad you noticed, now just go ahead and keep on blaming me for the aftereffects of what your boyfriend did, and what you defended.

After that, it was months before I could properly look away from either of their blogs.

C posted extensively about trying to track down the street address of his ~enemies~ (including the one whose genitals he fantasized about mutilating). He posted about how autistics should die. He had skype chats about wanting to do amateur brain surgery on people. All while posting very often about finding real addresses.

Yeah, it’s more than a year later, and every so often I get a stab of anxiety and have to head off to double check on what these two are up to.

I will repeat that C has been pretty chill lately. He’s got a career he’s aiming for. Good for him, go find success, please don’t slip back into being an internet bully. It’s sad and upsetting to see R echoing some of the early patterns of his ex, and it’s so strange to see me labeled as his own personal enemy.

‘Spock will totally come harass you too’ and/or various accusations of ableism

So there are some things I did in the mix in this history that I regret. Occasionally, I went out and flipped through the blogs of C and R’s friends, seeing if maybe they’d had said something in their notes, did they have any vagueblogs C liked, did they post about— It got unreasonable. I admit that. Anxiety was at the root of it, but it absolutely got unreasonable. And also it is a massive time sink, and I can’t remember the last time I bothered with it. I enjoy life much more when anxiety and paranoia issues don’t have their claws in me. This hasn’t been an issue in a very long time.

I came down hard on some of the kinfeels and system stuff too, which I do walk back a bit. C’s approach was… hahaha. It was something. And he was my intro to the kin and system paradigms. I saw R talking about C’s approach being unreasonable too, pretty recently. So that was an unfortunate bit of poison in how I processed the next people I met who did that sort of thing. I don’t do kin stuff, but I get it. And DID may not strictly apply to all systems, by the formal diagnostic criteria, but I’ve learned there are plenty of other dissociative disorders out there. And I met people who were multiples and who did kin things that weren’t these two guys. Which helped a LOT.

But the big one, hmmm. C wrote a fic. The idea was interesting, but the execution frustrated me. Everyone but the main lead felt so… flat. Everyone was constantly cruel to the main, for no reason. I saw a way to riff on the original text while staying true to its shape, and writing my bad emotions out is also a major, major thing I do to cope. Now, my big thing is that I should have asked before I remixed. I’d been thinking in terms of, y’know, transformative fanworks. Even with authors like Anne McCaffrey and Anne Rice, who fought against fandom, people have still felt that it should be allowed, even against their wishes. So I wrote the remix. I gave full credit on ao3 in the ‘inspired by’ box, linked to the original with positive words, the whole shebang.

The guy was still furious, and… that’s fair. I thought I’d written a thing on self-sabotage that was pretty sympathetic and compelling, and the self-sabotage actually drew a lot on my own personal history. But I gave the main flaws he strongly disagreed with, and I didn’t ask for permission. I get why he was/is angry over it.

I’ve been a fixture on their shitlists ever since :P

It’s remarkable, even while R posts now about ‘oh my god, remember how C wrote the creepiest things?’, I’m still the one who’s the the actual worst, for being skeeved out by the creepy things and finding a constructive way to deal with it. R’s controlling ex gets full freedom when it comes to vent fic, even when it’s about wallowing in torturing, raping, and murdering an avatar for a real person (the original one they harassed!), or punching someone in the face until they agree to be your friend (another artist these guys targeted). But R’s position seems to be that only C is allowed to vent (even if it’s genital mutilation fantasies), and I’m definitely not.

Oh, and R has now expanded this remix into me totally having a consistent pattern of stealing ideas and plagiarism and so many remixes that are obviously done as revenge on anyone who pisses me off. So that’s nice.

So R hates your writing. Is that seriously why this post exists?

Ha, no. Let’s look at the concrete things R is saying. Here, let me post a little sampling of evidence.

These aren’t just things he’s shouting into the void, people have responded saying wow, I never knew that! These are lies that people are believing about me. And then yesterday, June 30, 2017, he warned a friend not to disagree with my meta, or I’d come harass them. A friend I’m aggressively leaving out of this, just as I’m leaving out other responses, because these people don’t deserve to be dragged into R’s bullshit.

Let’s have bullet points. Some of these are the silly spock-is-bad-at-writing complaints. Those are here because this whole mess is pretty fucking depressing and the ridiculous claims make me laugh, but these are all things he says.

Spock is evil – You know what, he’s not calling people pedophiles, which is a step up. I’ll take it.

Spock is a plagiarist – I remixed one fic with full credit, said only good things about the original, and linked to it in extra places so that people would have extra opportunities to click through and check it out. I arguably remixed inappropriately, but that’s not the same thing. Words have definitions. If I’m a plagiarist, so is everyone who’s ever written a fanfic.

Spock is something something mean when people disagree – I don’t even know, man. I’m actually shockingly conflict-averse. Is this because I make walls of text and explain why I hold opinions at great length? I enjoy talking about a thing I love. I’m autistic, I’m hyperverbal, and this is my special interest, so is it that I talk a lot? That’s the best I can do. I’ve talked about things I disagree with on a private forum, in which case mister pot has had a lot of fun in public on twitter, not only talking shit, but also spreading outright untruths. Maybe he wants to rethink this one.

Spock will come harass you if you disagree – You need to back the heck down, pal.

Spock’s meta/fic/characterization is bad and they should feel bad – Hahaha, fite me. He won’t, because I can articulately defend myself at significant length, and his criticisms seem to stop at ‘spock sucks’, but hey.

Spock used ableist language about Whirl - I... what? This one confuses me and makes me laugh so it stays here. Also, holy double standards, batman.

Spock is only into transformers to harass R – I checked out transformers because I was pretty sure R was being disgustingly ableist (he was). I stayed in transformers because I adore it. I had to adore it a lot to make me willing to share fandom space with these two. My god, I have better things to do with my life than spend all my time on something that bores me just to annoy one asshole on the other side of the internet. I’d ask if he thinks I spent dozens of painstaking hours cross-stitching Starscream just to bother him, but….. yep, pretty sure he does.

Spock goes after all of R’s favorite characters to upset him – R latches on to just about every interesting and/or sympathetic character that shows up. When he was dating C, they covered most of the cast between them. I don’t care who R likes best because I don’t agree with his opinions. I tend to stay away from his opinions because I don’t like reading things that bother me. This is asnine. I’m only allowed to like the characters R despises, I guess.

Spock makes fanworks for things R likes just to make him see them – Oh my god, I don’t caaaaaare. I write about things that interest me, unless I’m venting. Say, venting about the way R and his ex have deliberately hurt a shockingly high number of people I care about. ‘Spock made rodistar because I liked it--’ I made it because I wrote a thing about their parallels, and shipping was the obvious next step. R isn’t that important to me. Promise.

This is just exhausting, man. The anxiety bugs had been dying down, and it had been ages since I checked out this guy’s anything. C, who drove the whole initial blowup that led to this, has been quiet and chill on tumblr. But R has learned from his ex’s old example and has been having fun spreading lies about me.

In conclusion

Some fun history.

R was 18 when he told a CSA survivor upset about being outed and harassed to wank using their tears for lube.

He was older than that when he defended C’s right to post about wanting to mutilate someone’s genitals (for the crime of saying C’s logic didn’t make sense).

He was older than that when he complained about that person’s spouse being ‘vicious’ for reacting badly to C’s genital mutilation fantasy.

He was older than that when he nodded along as C called autistic people retards and said they should die.

He was older than that when he talked about being happy that someone he disliked was triggered, and nodded along when C fantasized about that person drinking bleach.

And he was older than that when he defended C, his twenty-something boyfriend, against the thirteen-year-old that C had been having incredibly inappropriate conversations with, despite skype log proof and everything.

And despite all this, I’m still the bad guy, because I didn’t think what they were doing was okay. I’m the bad guy for being upset by C's actions, even though... R is now upset by C’s actions. The ways I responded to C were inexcusable. My only motivation is to hurt people. Every thing I did that ever upset them still means I’m terrible, even though R is saying this while he’s busy posting about how awful C is. And this all means that he needs to warn his friends not to catch my attention, or I’ll come harass them.

So, I’m tired.

I’m very tired.

I’m glad he’s trying to grow past that history. Good. Maybe he can do that without making up a story about how I’m unrepentant villain who lives for villainy and who only takes joy in causing him pain. I’m sure it helps him, because it’s a story that brushes aside the shit he did that he regrets, and makes his past less painful to think about. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with him telling lies about me.

I don’t know why I’m the one boogeyman he has left (I kid, it’s because I’m in transformers, and because he thinks I’m popular. he harps on it a lot, and it’s weird for everyone). I mean, whatever. I’ve aggressively avoided publishing drama details on here for a very long time. But there are two blog tags, miscellaneous other untagged blog content, three forum threads, and hundreds of pages of skype logs with hard evidence of this bullshit.

I’m pretty sure that if he tries to defend himself, one, he’ll place some blame on his ex. That’s fair. C was pretty darn controlling and demanding. But R is still absolutely responsible for his own actions, and is especially responsible for the harm he personally caused. He’ll talk about how it’s bullshit to pull up all these receipts from so very long ago. In that case, his receipts for me (whatever he even has) are equally old, so aren’t they null and void? No, because Spock is the devil. And it’s not so much bullshit if he’s clearly learned nothing, and has gone back to spreading outright falsehoods about people.

To be clear, a lot of the lies he told about me were told a while back. Weeks to a few months to a year. I was letting it sit, because I’d really, really hoped this was over. Yesterday, June 30, 2017, he warned a friend not to publicly disagree with my meta or I’d come and harass them.

It’s been three years since I first saw him doing this. I’ve watched him hurt a lot of people, and I’ve watched him admit, multiple times, that he has hurt people. I thought he’d learned to stop following these toxic patterns. Apparently he has not.

Edit 7/2/2017: To repeat the edit up above, R has said he regrets posting these things about me, and that he's going to try to avoid slipping into this in the future. I very much appreciate that.

[sintheyokai]

(LB: Devil’s Child) Chapter 2: 1, 2, 3, 4, We Heard Footsteps on Stone Floor

Note: Both Yorkshire and Lancashire accents will be used for any 'Baker' dialogue as no one seems to be able to know what Lucy's accent is (The wiki says Lancashire, but others say Yorkshire. Fuck it, Imma do both).

Word Count: 5028

Time- 7:39 a.m.

Lucy sighed in relief as the first sibling, Luna, opened her eyes.

After finding them, she had quickly brought them in and woken her mother to alert her. Her mother was overjoyed, quickly making herbal remedies to heal and soothe them. Lucy then called Fauna, who, within seconds, was home and ready to receive orders. Lucy had sent her out to get food, and without hesitation, Fauna had ran out the door.

Luna sat up before looking around in fear of her new surroundings. Her eyes then landed on Lucy.

"Lu-Lucille?" she said, "Or d'ya go by Lucy?"

Lucy smiled, "It's Lucy. You remember me, right?"

Luna nodded, quickly noticing Arianna working on more remedies in the kitchen. Her eyes widen, and she shook the other two bodies beside her.

"Loosha, Lucas, wake up! Mummy's 'ere, an' Lucy too!" she cried out to them.

At those words, Loosha opened her eyes and lifted her head to see if her sister's words were true. Slowly, Lucas followed suit. As they saw that their mother and sister in front of them, Loosha began to cry.

"M-Mummyyy!" she sobbed, "Sissyyy! We were scaaared!" she continued to wail into her hands, Luna rubbing her back. Lucas then spoke, "Were... ya lookin' fer us?".

Arianna came back with three steaming mugs. "Of course we were, honey!" she exclaimed, giving the cups to her children, "Or at least, I was."

All eyes turned to Lucy, and in that moment, she felt more shame than she ever had before.

"I never got to..." she mumbled, "Loopy kinda took over for a good eight years," she turned to her siblings, "Y'all remember Loopy, right?"

Loosha tensed, and Lucy knew why.

"I've made 'er promise t' never attack ya again, go' it?" she said.

Loosha smiled nervously, "A-Aye..."

Suddenly, Fauna bursted inside, kicking down the door, "I'M HOME. You have NO idea how much of a pain in the ass that was!"

She set down various bags of food, some beginning to break and spill, Seriph and the other jaguars following her, bags in mouths.

"I kept tellin' 'em," she huffed, "I kept sayin', 'Ya know, we just found some people that kinda desperately need food.' and they were just like, 'Sarree Mess, wee can't let people iin until 6:30.' Bunch of assholes."

She grabbed a bushel of apples out of the paper bag, quickly tearing it to grab a single one. She tossed it at Lucas while Arianna went to make something of the new groceries.

"Eat," Fauna practically demanded, "I've never seen someone in need of it as badly as you, bud."

As much as no one wanted to admit it, Lucas's condition was in desperate need of repair. He wore nothing but a baggy, oversized pair of deep green shorts that were tied to his waist with a shoelace. His skin clung to his bones, clearly defining them. His eyes were sunken, bags as dark as bruises and deep cuts adorning his unnaturally pale skin. What's more, no one could ignore the large words that had been sewn into his right arm and collarbone:

Beast

Savage

Just the sight of those terrible words pushed Lucy and her mother to the brink of tears.

"I..." Lucy began saying as Lucas almost reluctantly began to eat, "I see ya still 'ave th' words..."

They all looked down until Loosha whispered, "Do you?"

Without hesitation, Lucy removed the long sleeved pajama top she wore to reveal the words in both halves of her left arm:

Freak

Witch

"Yes," Lucy said firmly, "I do."

Slowly, Luna looked up and lifted the rag dress that covered the words on her legs, the words on both of her collarbones and left arm already in sight:

Wretch

Creature

Devil's Child

Satan's Spawn

Fucking Trickster

After Luna, Loosha shyly raised her arm, displaying the large "X" sewn into her left forearm.

Arianna suddenly came back with ham and cheese sandwiches before a look of realization dawned upon her face.

"Where's Lucifer, babies?" she said, almost sounding as if she was about to panic. Lucy's siblings flinched and bowed their heads again.

"We-We're sorry, Mummy..." Loosha said, "We tried t' escape wiv' 'im, but we got caught, an' Lucifer 'ad t' run. By th' time we freed ourselves again, 'e were gone..."

Arianna sighed, "Oh dear... Well, we'll look for him together." she said

This brought smiles to the Bakers' faces. Lucy looked at the clock. 8:15

"Oh bugger! I go'a get t' work!" she exclaimed.

Her siblings's eyes lit up.

"I wanna come!" all three said in unison, looking at each other before Lucas piped up, "Please, Luce? We really wanna see where ya work!"

Lucy considered it a bit before giving them a single nod, "A'ight, but ya gotta eat an' ge' dressed right fast! Borrow my clothes upstairs!"

Fauna, apparently hearing the entire conversation from upstairs (at which Lucy didn't even know when she went up), came down, tossing various articles of clothing across the room.

"Hope you're alright with changing down here," she said, "Moro found a bug and freaked. Scratched the fuckin' toilet pipes to hell and back, so there's water all over the damn place."

Lucas grabbed the sleeveless police shirt on top of the pile and put it on. Him being as skinny as he was, it was baggy for him and reached down to the middle of his thighs. Luna chuckled before removing the rope and rag dress she wore and grabbing a knee high, deep scarlet, puff sleeved dress belonging to Lucy. Loosha came last, choosing a deep blue longskirt and floral magenta camisole.

Mrs. Barde handed each of them a ham and cheese sandwich and an apple. "Make sure they eat." she said to Lucy, who nodded in response.

"Alrighty then!" Lucy exclaimed, "We ready?". Her siblings nodded vigorously.

"Then off we go!"

***

Time- 8:46 a.m.

As they approached Scotland Yard, Lucas gasped.

"Wot'djoo ferget this time, Lucas?" Loosha turned to her older brother.

But Lucas had not forgotten anything. He turned to Lucy before letting out a soft, hoarse whisper, "You work at th' Yard?"

Lucy nodded, Lucas's eyes sparkling in response.

"You could arrest Daddy?" he asked.

Lucy's heart felt like it was being twisted and torn apart. Oh how desperately she wished she could say yes. But she shook her head, "No, Luke. I can't do owt about Dad. 'e's in Lancashire, we're in London." she saw his face fall, "I'm really sorry..." she added as they reached the door and walked inside.

When Lucy walked in with her siblings, needless to say, she got a few odd glances. The most coming from Blaine Dartwright, one of the Yard's top inspectors (aside from Alfendi of course). Lucy didn't know him all that much, but she did hear the many, many colorful things Alfendi had to say about him.

"Lucy..." he suddenly said, "Should you really be bringing them inside while they're bloody?"

Before she could tell him he was being rude, Loosha piped in.

"If ya're talkin' 'bout th' scars, mista, they're days owd!" she chirped.

The room was quiet, save for the awkward cough. Then Blaine took a step towards them.

Lucas, immediately on the defensive, growled like an animal. Blaine stepped back, both in fear and disgust.

"Lucy, as much as I dislike being rude, I suggest he," he pointed at Lucas, "Stays outside..."

Lucy's breath hitched, her face growing hot and her blood beginning to boil. A beastly, guttural growl released itself from her throat. Her voice became so deep, so intimidating, that it took her a moment to realize it was indeed her speaking.

"Th' next time I 'ear you insult my brother will be your last..." she bared her teeth, her lip curling upwards in a disgusted manner, "I'd watch my mouth if I were you..."

Regaining her composure, she led her siblings to the Mystery Room, blood still boiling.

She entered the Mystery Room, Alfendi hard at work inside.

"Ah, there we go," he said cheerfully, "At our normal time, I seeeeee...." his voice trailed away as he looked up to see the three new arrivals. He glanced at all of them before returning his attention to Lucy. "Are these clients?" he asked.

All three stepped back in minor fear at the word "client" Lucy raised a hand in reassurance, "'e jus' wants t' know if ya 'ave a case." she told them softly. She then turned back to Alfendi "No, Prof, these are my siblin's. They wanted t' see where I were working, so I brought 'em along. I were 'opin' they could-Lucas?"

She noticed the boy cautiously approaching Alfendi, almost animal-like. Alfendi gave the youth a tender smile. Lucas paused, put off by the expression. He recovered quickly, however, and continued prowling towards the inspector.

"It's alright," Alfendi soothed, "I'm Lucy's friend. My name is Alfendi." Suddenly, his hair shifted red, and Potty stood up. Panicked by both the change and Alfendi's height, Lucas retreated, scampering behind Lucy. He whispered in her ear, so soft she could barely hear him.

"T-Tall..." he said, voice trembling, "Like Daddy..." Potty tilted his head in confusion, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

"C'mon now." he said as calmly as he was capable of, "I don't bite."

He opened one of the desk drawers and dug around in it. He pulled out a brown paper bag and held it out for Lucas to grab.

"Here. You can have my lunch," he said, "I don't need it."

No one went to claim the offered treat. Finally, Lucy looked at Lucas. "Go on," she said, "It's a'ight, ya know."

Lucas slowly creeped back to Alfendi, sniffing the bag before promptly snatching it and hurrying back to his family.

Lucy sighed, "Sorry Prof, it's jus'..." she paused, "We had a lot o' problems wi' tall folk. Not a real good past, really."

Alfendi smiled apologetically, switching back to Placid, "I see..." he said, "Well, I hope to become an exception to this fear." He then turned to Lucas, "Lucas, was it? It is very nice to meet you." he held out his hand in a friendly manner.

Lucas growled, it slowly becoming a rabid snarl. Lucy gently put her hand on his shoulder.

"Ya don' 'afta growl, Luke..." she said softly, "Th' Prof'll listen."

The growling stopped immediately, Lucas not being used to hearing such a phrase. His face soon became overcome with shame and anxiety. Finally he spoke, just loud enough to be heard by everyone.

"T-Ta, Sir..." he said, twiddling his thumbs, "I'm-I'm right sorry for gooin' and havin' a benny like an animal or a babby..." he mumbled.

Alfendi smiled, "It's fine, Lucas." he turned to Lucy, "Might you introduce me to your other siblings?" he asked.

Lucy nodded, "This is Luna," she said, gesturing to the black haired girl, "And this is Loosha!" she then gestured to the curly ginger. As Alfendi continued to look and listen, he began to wonder why he hadn't noticed several things.

For starters, he hadn't noticed how similar all four Bakers looked. Lucas was almost an exact replica of Lucy, the only difference being his gender and height. His hair was unkempt and mid length, his eyes the same shade of bright red he had grown accustomed to. Luna also shared this bright red trait, but instead of straight, ginger locks, she had long, wavy, jet black hair tied up in a low ponytail. Loosha was small, several inches shorter than Lucy and Luna, but just a few centimeters taller than Lucas. She had ear length, bright ginger-orange curls and deep blue eyes. If it wasn't for her curls, she may have been mistaken for a younger version of her mother.

The other thing, the most obvious thing, that Alfendi had failed to notice were the many scars that adorned the children's bodies. It wasn't just words, but also what appeared to be slashes, claw marks and even stab wounds. Their eyes were slightly sunken, and their hands bled slightly from the knuckles, clearly having been severely beaten.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you two as well." he said, as Lucy had finished speaking, "Lucy, may I speak with you for a moment?" he asked leading her to the side room. "You three may look through anything you like as long as everything's put back in it's original place." he said to the Bakers. He pulled Lucy inside, closing the door behind him.

"I assume your father was tall?" was his first question.

Lucy nodded, "'Bout as tall as you, Prof." she said.

Alfendi thought for a few minutes. "I wish to ask your siblings a few questions," he said, "I trust you're alright with that?"

Lucy nodded, "As long as ya don't push 'em too 'ard."

Alfendi reassured her that he wouldn't, and released her.

"Luna?" he called out, "Might you come in here for a moment?"

The girl looked up from a case file, which Alfendi soon recognized as the Potsby-Mahn case. Without saying a word, Luna entered the room, and Alfendi closed the door once more.

"Luna, I'm going to ask you a few questions," he said, "You do not, in any way, need to feel entitled to answer. If a question makes you uncomfortable, don't answer."

Luna nodded in understanding, formally taking a seat in a foldable chair.

"First off," Alfendi began, "Do you know of Lucy's split personality?"

Luna nodded quickly, lips practical sealed shut, before gesturing that the others did too.

"I see. Well, Loopy Lily told me that your father was the one to abuse you. Can you confirm this?"

Luna's eyes widened, and she immediately put both of her hands to her mouth, forcing herself to keep quiet. But, as if a mysterious force was at work, her hands slowly removed themselves.

"I-I can't say..." she whispered, "'e-'e'd kill me if I did..."

Alfendi nodded in understanding. Besides, Luna had unknowingly answered his question.

Loopy had not lied.

"Alright," he said, "My other question is how your relationship with your immediate family? Siblings, parents, the like?" Luna seemed confused at the sudden subject change but answered anyway.

"W-Well, me an' my siblin's ge' along jus' fine! We always 'ad a lot o' fun as kids. My mum were good too. She never yelled an' would give us lots o' second chances, an' 'er baking were th' best! Then there's 'er brother, Uncle Tony. 'e's prolly one o' th' best uncles ya could ever meet! 'e le' us play wi' some o' 'is owd toys when we were li'le. 'e really were fantastic!"

As she finished, Alfendi took notice of how happy Luna sounded whilst describing her family. But there was someone missing. Someone important regarding his interrogation.

"Aaand... What about your father?" he decided to risk the question.

Luna winced and shrunk back slightly, her previous joy vanishing instantly.

"I... I'd rather not talk abou' 'im." she whispered.

"Alright, reasonable." Alfendi said, "That'll be all my questions for now. May you please let Loosha know that I wish to speak with her?"

Luna nodded, going completely silent once more before getting up and walking out. A few moments later, Loosha skipped in, a big smile across her face.

"You wonted ta see me, Mr. Prof, Sir?" she chirped.

Alfendi chuckled, "Yes, Loosha, I have a few questions. Please, sit."

Loosha didn't so much as sit as she did jump on the chair before leaping off and properly sitting down, legs spread and hands between them. Alfendi held back a pleased snort.

He decided to start off with the last question he had asked Luna.

"How is your relationship with your father?"

Suddenly, the metal chair bent. In the spur of the moment, Loosha had gained such strength from her immense fear that she had dented the poor object.

"Don't ever mention 'im." her voice grew dark and beastly.

Alfendi was concerned, but kept his calm.

"Alright, I promise." he said.

Loosha calmed down, before giving a somber look of shame, "Aw, 'ell, wot's th' use if I don't tell ya?" she exclaimed, "I assume ya can tell tha' I 'ate my dad?"

Alfendi nodded. There was a stillness in the room until Loosha continued, a dark shadow over her eyes.

"'e were 'orrible." she whispered, Alfendi already sensing the intense anger in her voice, "Wretched, disgusting, 'ard core religious piece o' shit!... God..." she grabbed the chair again, just as tight as before, "Ya don't know 'ow much I wanna spit in 'is face... 'ow much I wanna clobber it an' stamp on it until it bleeds. Bleeds an' bleeds until all 'e can do is lie down an' bleed ta death outta 'is wretched eyesore of a face."

Alfendi made note of this behavior. Luna seemed shy about her father, while Loosha had a great, burning anger festering inside her. He could only imagine Lucas's reaction.

"I see," he replied, "Well, I apologize for mentioning him. You may leave now. Please tell Lucas to come in."

Loosha did not budge. Rather, she gave him a suspicious look.

"Tha's not all yer questions. Ya can't fool this girl, Mr. Alfendi Prof Sir!" she exclaimed defiantly.

Alfendi was surprised at this young adult's perception.

"True, but my second question involves the one you've forbidden me to mention, so I won't ask it." he explained.

Loosha shook her head violently, "I can 'andle it!"

Alfendi sighed, "Alright." he said, "Loopy Lily, I assume you know her, told me that you all were abused. Do you possibly know why?"

Loosha took a deep breath through her nose, "I'm forbi'en ta say why Lucille, Lucas, an' Luna were beaten, but I can say that me an' my owder brother, Lucifer, were beaten for defendin' th' triplets."

As much as both Placid and Potty were horrified, Placid focused on what Loosha had said about the three red eyed Bakers.

"Triplets, you say?" Alfendi asked. He mused for a bit. He'd have to ask Lucas about that later. "Alright", he said, "That's officially all my questions, so you may tell Lucas to come in now."

Loosha nodded, "A'ightee!" and she skipped back out, "By th' way, that Roscoe Strapping guy looked like a complete douche!"

Alfendi snorted and doubled over in laughter. He was still snickering when Lucas walked in for questioning.

"Ah, Lucas!" he managed to exclaim, "I probably have the most questions for you."

Lucas, quite literally, barked in response.

"That actually leads me to my first question," he said, "Your father... Did he force you to act like an animal?"

Lucas whimpered, before slowly nodding. He spoke, "A lo' o' kids didn't listen t' me... Neither did Daddy..." he said shyly, "So...So I started growlin' an' barkin' t' ge' attention..."

Alfendi noticed that tears were gathering in the corners of the poor boy's eyes.

"It's alright", he cooed, "He can't hurt you here."

Lucas nodded in understanding.

"Are you alright with me asking a few more questions?" Alfendi asked, "They're mostly personal."

Lucas nodded, smiling a little.

"Alright," Alfendi said, continuing on, "Loosha told me you, Luna, and Lucy were triplets. Can you confirm?"

Lucas nodded vigorously. "I'm jus' really short because-" he paused abruptly, a sudden look of fear crossing over his face, "A-Actually, I-I-I can't say why I'm real short... S-Sorry..." he bowed his head.

Alfendi held up a gentle hand, "It's fine. That somewhat answers my question anyhow." And it wasn't a lie.

Malnourishment

Lucas looked up in surprise, "Really?"

Alfendi nodded, and continued the interrogation. "Do you believe you may have been neglected more than your other family members?" he asked cautiously.

"No." Lucas's reply was quick and firm, "I gave my siblings care when I were th' one 'oo needed it. I wanted them t' come out alive at all costs."

"I see." the inspector paused, pondering whether or not to ask his next question. Before he actually could, however, Potty asked it for him.

"I assume you weren't the one to sew those words into your skin?"

Lucas looked horrified, slowly putting his hands up to grab the sides of his bowed head. Placid wrenched control from Potty before speaking.

"I'm terribly sorry..." he panicked, "I was unsure if I should've asked, and he asked anyway."

Lucas looked up, releasing his head. "I-It's fine..." he mumbled, "You'd be right anyway. I jus' can't tell ya 'oo did it."

There was a still silence. Suddenly, Lucas asked, "D-Do you...?" he paused, "Is your personality split too? S-Sorry for soundin' rude..."

Alfendi was surprised with Lucas's fear of asking the question. It was much more than what he was used to. "Yes." He answered, "There's me and him."

"Mkay..." Lucas mumbled, "S-So, is th' red'ead the original?" he asked, "Lucille always said that, for 'er, the original always tends to stay int' shadows of their other personalities. They don't come out often..."

Alfendi's surprise grew. "That's-" he was near speechless, trying to gather the right words to say, "An incredible thought process-! I'm quite shocked you didn't assume I was the original. Many people do!"

Lucas mouth went slightly agape, "I got it right?" he whispered. Alfendi nodded, causing the boy to go bright eyed in joy.

"However, you're fear to question my personality brings me to another question," Alfendi calmed down, "Were you not allowed to ask questions at home?"

Lucas looked down before nodding, "Mummy let us ask questions... gave us a basic talk when we were li'le... But Daddy..." his eyes went fearful and his arms crossed so that he tightly hugged himself, "Daddy never let us question owt... 'e'd threaten to sew our mouths shut if we didn't shut up. And I think you'd know if 'e were serious..."

Alfendi nodded, "I understand."

A still silence took over the room once more.

"'ow..." Lucas suddenly began, "Wot traumatized ya into creation?"

Alfendi became slightly uncomfortable, but decided to answer the boy's question. "Brainwashing..."

Lucas looked at him in confusion, "Ya don't seem th' type to get easily brainwashed..." A sudden look of pain came over his face, "Unless... oh right... you were shot..."

Alfendi was surprised that Lucas knew this, "How did you know?"

"I-I were reading some files... One from four years ago, an' one from five months." he said, "Th' one from four years 'ad an updated document about how you were shot and put in a coma..." he continued, "Then th' one from five months said that someone named Justin Lawson 'ad brainwashed ya while ya were in tha' coma..."

"I see..." Alfendi mused, "Well, I'm glad you're not too frightened of either of us." he gently smiled. Lucas giggled and grinned.

"Well, that's all my questions for you. Thank y-"

CRASH!

"Oh, SHUT ya CAKE'OLE!" a loud voice was heard on the other side of the door. Upon opening it, Alfendi was met with a sight.

Loosha was standing on Alfendi's desk, the chair that had been placed at it being thrown at Luna.

"I'm jus' sayin, that's not where it were!" Luna shouted, "It were ont' left o' th' coffee mug!"

"YA SHUT YA GOB BEFORE I GRAB YA BY THE LUGS UN CLOBBER YA! IT WERE UNDERNEATH THE DAMN THING!" Loosha screeched

"That makes nay nouse!" Luna retorted, "Why would-"

Suddenly, Lucy pounded both fists on her desk. "Y'all stop yer fratchin'! Th' lot o' ya're moitherin' me, un I'm po fagged!" She shouted, "I need a tram stopper, I'm spittin' feathers for a goddamn mocha, and I'm wacked! But I gotta get this damn papperwork done, UN I CAN'T WORK WI' YAWL'S GOD FORSAKEN FOCKIN' BICKERIN'!!!"

Loosha grabbed an empty file folder and swatted her older sister. "YA MET AS WELL SAY 'FOCK TH' PAPPERWORK!'" she jumped onto Lucy's desk in a single bound, pointing her now weaponized folder in a menacing and threatening way, "I'LL FEIGHT TH' LO' O' YOU GRONNIES!!"

Lucy stood up violently, face flaming red. In an instant, she elbowed Loosha behind her knee, causing the girl to collapse and fall on the floor.

"That sounds loike a challenge, it does! A GOD. DAMN. FOCKIN'. CHALLENGE!!" she shouted.

With that, she leaped across the desk onto Loosha. And in less than half a minute, the biggest shitstorm in the Baker family occurred. Potty, coming out at the time, began videotaping the event.

He'd be showing this to his sister very soon...

A/N: Lancashire terms

*Gob/Cakehole- Mouth *Lugs- Ears *Clobber-  An item of clothing; To hit someone/something *Nay- No *Nouse- Sense *Fratching- Arguing *Moithering- Annoying *Po fagged- Exhausted *Tram stopper- A thick sandwich *Spitting feathers- Thirsty *Wacked- Tired *Met- Might *Feight- Fight *Gronnies- Grandmas

***

Time- 4:39 p.m.

Alfendi looked up at his assistant, currently hard at work. After the whole, "Baker fiasco" scenario, everything was picked up by a wailing Loosha (who had been burned with Al's coffee), a Lucas with splinters and blood coming out of his head, and a very ashamed, very apologetic Lucy. Luna had cowered in a corner the entire time, scared to death of being hit with a flying chair, book or even pen. He nearly chuckled at the memory of Loopy suddenly coming out and nearly ripping out an entire cupboard door with a crazed smile ("Yawl an' yer plain ass weapons, I'LL SHOW YA SOME GOOD SHIT!"). That was when Lucas tried to knock her out with a chair.

It failed quite miserably, to say the least.

But it was calm now, everyone working on the paperwork of their most recent case (in which Alfendi had learned that all the Bakers were very perceptive). However, Lucy seemed to have forgotten what day it was.

"Lucy, isn't it Wednesday?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Loosha answered for her sister, "Aye! That it be!"

"Don't you leave work early? I can handle this you know."

Lucy suddenly looked up, "Really?" she then looked at the clock, "Shit! Wendy's Wednesdays, right!" she dashed about the room, grabbing the things she needed before heading out. "Lucas, Luna, Loosha! C'mon! Don't be gormless!"

Luna and Lucas rushed out with her, but Loosha stood at the door a little before giving Alfendi a mischievous smile.

"I'll start plannin' th' weddin' once Luce's up t'stick~" she said, before dashing out the door to catch up with her siblings, leaving Alfendi wide eyed and red cheeked.

Loosha's words had become a thought that would no longer leave his head.

*Gormless- Slow

*Up t'stick- Pregnant

***

After about fifteen minutes of running and nearly getting run over by drunk drivers and cyclists, the Bakers stood in front of a small, nearly hidden cafe.

El Café de Mamá

"Mama's Coffee..." said a quiet voice. Lucas, Luna, and Loosha turned to see a very familiar expression.

"Lucille!" Loosha exclaimed, smiling widely at the bright red eyed girl.

"Did.. one o' th' others bring me 'ere...?" Lucille asked shyly. Loosha nodded cheerfully, "Aye! Lucy!" she responded.

Lucille gave them a weak, almost pained smile before shuffling towards the door. "I-I work 'ere." she stated, "But I usually leave my stuff int' lockers. Y-Ya wouldn't mind it if..." her voice trailed off. Lucas answered her question.

"Sure! We'll watch yer stuff while ya work! Wot are siblin's for?"

Lucille smiled in response, a bit wider this time, opening the door.

"Llegas tarde, Lucille." The woman at the counter said once they entered.

Lucille bowed her head in utter shame, "Lo sé, y lo siento..." she muttered loud enough.

The woman waved as if to brush it all off, "Está bien, Lucille, ¡está bien!" She then seemed to notice the others behind Lucille, "¿Tus hermanos?" she asked. Lucille nodded. The woman at the counter then gave the Bakers a warm, friendly smile, "Hello" she said. Her accent was rather thick, but even so, they understood her. "I assume you don't speak Spanish?" she asked. Luna shook her head.

"Unfortunately, no." she said, "We didn't get that luxury..." The woman nodded in understanding. Lucille gestured to the woman, "Guys, this is M-Mariana," she said, "O-One o' my friends 'ere...". They said hi before Mariana turned to Lucille.

"Tus cosas están en la parte posterior, como siempre." she said. Lucille nodded in understanding and headed to the back room. Mariana returned her attention to the children, "I can seat you in her section, if you want." she offered. Loosha frowned, "But we're broker than poor jokes..." she said.

Mariana smiled, "On the house! As a treat!" she exclaimed. Suddenly, Lucille came back, a black bag in hand. She wore a long sleeved, collared shirt that flared a bit at sleeve's end, and a black knee-high skirt that also flared out slightly. She also wore thin white tights underneath the same brown and white Oxfords that Lucy wore. Her hair was tied up in mini pigtails with white ribbons, and she had put green contacts on.

Loosha looked at her sibling oddly, "Contacts? Where'dja get those?" she asked.

Lucille flushed, "M-Mariana..." she stuttered, "Mariana gave them t' me so that I could-um-hide my eyes from people..."

All three Bakers frowned. "Lucille, your eyes are fine!" Loosha tried to comfort her sister. Lucille flinched. "Not to Daddy they were..." she whispered. Loosha immediately took up a defensive pose.

"Daddy were an arse! Daddy doesn't matter anymore, an' 'e can't 'urt us!" she shouted, gaining the attention of the only four diners. Lucille bowed her head, "I wish that were true..." she mumbled, "But ya know 'e'll come runnin' back to search for us... And when 'e finds us..." A sudden look of terror came across her face as she hugged herself, "'e'll murder us where we stand."

It was at this moment it began to rain, and the Bakers knew that they were not out of the woods yet. Their father still sought out for their blood, even as they spoke. If anything, neither of them could even trust each other, as someone may have told their father of their whereabouts.

Why, in this moment of terror induced silence, save for the storm outside, they failed to notice the black haired man outside the window, fleeing from an unknown entity in the pouring rain...

[lsdruid]

“Anyone else feeling homicidal right now?”

[1] Love for Maximus The real psychopaths of history, upon learning that killing is frowned upon in most cultures, take up research and author textbooks. These demonic cysts of the world never die. Across generations, they appear in the lives of young Gilneans, their spirits wild and lustful like young wolves, and then fuck them over until the young wolves roll over and expose their vulnerable undersides to their now dominant lover. Boredom, apathy, and homicidal thoughts are the half-demon love children. It was the words comprehensible to only an educated fraction of all Gilneans, swimming in blue ink across a fragile page, that were the only remnant of a dignified life long gone. Through the ink, a disembodied voice endured. Somebody made love under sheets, slid coins across the counters of sweet shops, sobbed over graves, and slipped into death beneath the gazes of loved ones. Who’s dying now? The only souls currently thinking of his name, a pair ofstudents. For the rest of their lives, the name “Albert Hendrick” will flush their faces with a furrowed brow and taut lips, as if remembering a spurned lover, or closer to the truth, hours choking their own minds with formulas. “Y'know, some people internalize, wanna kill themselves.” a slender, pale hand flattened a lock of reddish hair against a soft cotton nightgown, directly over the heart thudding beneath milky, speckled skin. A willowy index finger jutted into the spine of the open textbook. “This makes me wanna kill -somebody else-.” A boy with neglected blond curls and savage blue eyes lied down alongside, obliviously peering into the book, his eyes soft and curious where his amber-eyed companion’s were simmering with frustration. He was six feet, very tall for a Gilnean of fifteen. His looks have been compared to a number of celebrities. “You’re almost all the way through.” The boy reported matter-of-factly, deftly snatching his friend’s calculation-smeared paper from underneath a cocked elbow. “Hey, how are y'doing these problems without making the table?” “I uh, have no idea. He doesn’t check for accuracy, I’m bullshitting so I can get this over with and get credit,” the girl explained, suddenly flustered. “Ha, I thought you knew some super genius shortcut to these ‘n I was wasting my time here, Miss four point somethin’” “Just finish that up so we can get going.” “Might as well do some learning while I’m filling this sheet out, rather than write down nonsense.” “When are you ever gonna need to know the scientific name of the knee cap? Like, oh fuck, oh shit, help, I got shot in the patella.” “I used to be an adventurer like you, then I took an arrow to the patella.” “You are finishing that today, and we are -leaving in ten minutes-,“The girl snapped, her last words spoken with the restrained fervor of a judge sentencing a man to die. “Patience of a saint.” He patted the girl’s back. The girl jabbed her elbow into his ribs. A nerve has been touched, and the boy, no gambler, wouldn’t test his luck again. The subtle, sarcastic comment was applicable. Anxiety and impatience haunted the girl like a lingering disease. Nothing was ever accomplished quickly enough, nothing was ever quite right. She lived in the past, she clawed at the corners of her mind as if with enough mutilation, their guts would spill and yield answers from the future. It is believed that whoever created life would be disappointed; the gift of youth, meant to be enjoyed, was wasted fretting. Then again, these believers should be reminded that urchins in the streets are starving. What does another irritated soul matter to this maker of things, or to anyone? “For fuck’s sake, you’re gonna get going, or you’re gonna get two shattered patellas.” “Well, shit, I’ve only got so many of those!” It took several minutes to slip into cotton shirts and heavy woolen garments. Breakfast took another five – honey and bread was jammed into mouths and scarfed down, the plain crumbs chokingly thick, dry, and hesitant to go down a throat at this bleary hour of the morning. Out the door in thirty seconds, enough time to walk several miles of winding Gilnean streets with time to spare. The sun had yet to breach the layers of cumulus that hung languidly over the city. A vicious cold lurked in the fog, its moisture chilling the air to a deep freeze. With tops of buildings drenched in fog, the sky appeared oppressively low. If it weren’t for the lamps that distributed vital light along the cobblestone streets, wet and slippery with morning dew, school children would never be able to trek to their livelihoods at the proper time of seven in the morning. The conversation was as sparse and bland as breakfast, but it was basked in the unassuming warmth of old friendship. The cold wasn’t bad enough to bite through their layers and worry their skin, and the morning was pleasant aside from the weather. the streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional stranger, who always seemed to be as bundled up, sleepy and shy as they were. The boy occasionally initiated cheerful good mornings, but was never returned anything aside from mumbled greetings. After one of these failed social gestures, the girl scuffed puddle water at her buddy, who pretended to be unaware of her antics. Bored, she skipped to his side. “I just remembered, I wanted to get to school a -bit- early to speak with a teacher, and we’re running a -bit- behind,” the boy pointed out, his tone optimistically rising in pitch. She dug into him with a pointed amber glare as her perfect morning schedule melted in her hands. “You -forgot-.” The possible words left unsaid, yet hinted by her threatening look, is what unnerved him the most. “We’re good, hey, we should be able to cut through here.” When the pair turned into a musty alley, they were hardly able to walk side by side. The girl could have sworn the buildings were trying to squeeze them like bugs. It was hard to navigate, but the boy possessed an amazing sense of spatial awareness. His knack for navigation never failed him, although in this situation, after winding through a few forks in a narrow labyrinthian alley of an overcrowded city, it looked like it might be a while before they got an idea of their whereabouts. Once they were thoroughly lost, the darkness unraveled something large and fanged on four legs. It was just a dog. The girl moved behind the boy, grabbed his gloved hand, and gently tugged. Frothy drool oozed from the bitch’s jowls and shiny drops of saliva coalesced on the ground, glinting like little coins in the teasing light. She moved forward, but it wasn’t quite right, the gait was interrupted every moment with a limp. She dragged herself over the dark, wet cobblestones like a demon from hell. She opened up a mouth full of horrendous teeth and strings of spit. The boy looked inside and froze. His repose was shattered by a jarring cry that sounded like a woman’s shriek combined with a slamming door. The adrenaline iced his blood, then set it on fire. When his senses cleared, he realized he had stood bleary eyed while his companion swung her fifteen pound book bag into the beast’s twisted, fanged grimace. It was still standing after the blow, staring at them, froth and vapor both streaming from its maw. The vapor floated up in delicate spirals and the saliva, thick as porridge, laboriously tumbled onto the cobbles. In an attempt to startle the rabid animal, the boy raised both arms and waved vigorously. The beast gazed at him, perplexed. Then, it slid to the ground on its side. The mangy, wiry form was suddenly overtaken by erratic tremors. “Oh, damn. Just keep walking,” the boy hissed to his gaping companion, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, gently coaxing her to abandon the scene, to stroll around the rabid dog without looking. It was nearly over. They were some ten feet away when the girl braced her legs, bringing the two bodies moving as one to a halt. “Wait! I hear something.” He could hear it now. The silence in the motionless alley managed to sustain a whimpering so quiet he had to listen for a moment to assure himself he was not mistaken. The girl drifted from her companion’s side, slowly moving towards a pile of rubbish blurred by the hazy darkness. She had traced the sound to its source. She knelt and the boy took several wary steps towards her. A soaked and unpleasantly grimy cloth sheltered an equally grimily unpleasant puppy. He had the coloration of a cow, white with large ink stains of black. The fur was congealed to the bony little body with a foul-smelling soup. The boy raced over, peeling the outermost coat from his shoulders and arms as he went. He plucked the mud puppy from the dirty hands of his companion and swaddled the little beast in wool, holding the bundle close to his chest. The pup looked up at him with large, milky brown eyes. They both giggled, first the boy in low, coughing spurts, and then the girl with breathy chuckles. The shock of the attack melted to overwhelming adoration of a baby animal. It looked to them both, and then began to cry out indignantly for care, its little form shaking like a leaf. Upon request, dog and jacket were shoved into the straight-faced boy’s shirt. The little head popped out. “Are you naming him? You found him.” “I’ll give -you- the honor,” the girl huffed out in between giggles. “Then he is Maximus. Maximus, Conqueror of Words! Hero of our time.” “He doesn’t look like a Maximus.” “He’ll grow into it. Look at those big paws!“

The puppy arched its neck and squirmed around until he was able to press noses with the boy. A little pink tongue darted out, the cleanest bit of flesh they’d ever seen from this little animal, to wash the boys chin and lips. “That’s disgusting. You could start drooling and snarling at me like the mum. Stop what you’re doing.” “Wise advice from a wise girl.” “Yeah, well, obviously it’s because Im ‘Miss Four Point Something’ and you’re slackin’ at three point three three three threethreethreethreethreethreethteethreethreeththththththth-” He had a breathtaking moment of fear in which he morbidly imagined her never being able to stop, so he covered her lips with his own. The moment it dawned on her that she’s practically being spooned dog saliva, she shoves the guffawing boy away. The puppy yowled, and she yowled right back. "Y'talking politics to ‘em, Jay?” "I think he’s a Godfrey supporter.” “Oh, dear god.”

[emptyheartandsoul-blog1]

I have a nack for ruining most things. So I'm never surprised when I do something and the consequence is destruction and peril. I had told one of my friends, someone I care about dearly that I would cause her to leave and she shouldn't expect that she was any different from anyone else. This probably made her frustrated as she always said that she wouldn't leave and she wouldn't not love me because of the way I am. I wish she had realized she was wrong so long ago. Before I told her all the things that make up my past, my present and future. I told her im annoying and one day she'll tire of hearing me talk. I told her I'm cruel, that one day I'll cause her to look at me different than how she perceives me. That I'm not the sweet caring girl she thinks I am. I told her so many different things that should have hinted to get away, to run while she still could but she didnt. She was so sure I was just being the pessimistic Debbie downer I am, that some of my other friends know I am too, and that she was different. that she wouldn't leave. I tried to leave her but I'm selfish and I told her this. Someone gave me the attention and conversation I craved for years. So I kept her but never stopped telling her what kind of poison I was to her. Just recently I annoyed the shit out of her with my apathetic view on someone else's emotions. I dont blame her for being annoyed. But I told her these things. Things others have left my life because, things my friends currently think about me but she's so sure she's different. She likes to say that shell buy me a house, shell buy me a bunch of things I like... but I know she won't, so I amuse her anyways and pretend it bothers me "Noooo save your money for important things in the future" I say, and she says something along the lines of 'I do what I want'. But the thing is, I know she won't do any of these things. Not that she wouldn't because she totally would. But I know by the time she can do any of that, I won't matter anymore. By that time I will have faded from important to acquaintance. If any of my friends still decide to talk to me by the end of this year I'll be fucking surprised. Its currently 1:03 am and I know that just like how the sun will rise in five hours I know that they will grow tired of me. My pessimism, clumsiness, incompetence, rudeness, etc will drive them away as it has everyone else. I love them but they aren't mine to keep. They're someone else's. Shit, no they're each others. I was barged in on and thrown into this without their consent. A mutual friend at the time had introduced me to her because he saw me sitting alone and decided they would keep me company. But it was that brief moment, when I ruined their lives. When they crumbled under my touch. They were all friends before hand, some at least. And the one added was because I had shown her them. I refuse to say names even though I know no one will even give this a glance so I'll just use the alphabet. Person A and Person B are best friends, both girls. Person C is person A's good friend and person B's friend and a boy. I drove person C away with my own drama and hypocrisy. Person C and I would talk about how person B wasn't the greatest person. Person A would just watch, probably be pissed at us. When person C pissed me off I drove him off with my stubbornness and backwards morals and bullshit. He's now more of a good acquaintance with Person A and not with person B. Now I treat person B like she's good and great because she is but I wasn't feeling that way months ago and I'm such a shit person for that. I used her to fill the empty holes in myself because if I asked her to she did. Im pathetic. Person A, I talk to 24/7 no exaggeration if we didnt have to sleep we probably would, we have. But she watches. She knows everything and sees all. Watches my personality changes and the lies I tell. The most common one is "I never lie". she watches me burn down everything she's had. She let's me destroy everything and says nothing, just watches and then tells me she loves me. As if I hadn't just torn another person out of her life with my personality. I knew I would destroy everything. Its what I do best. I dont belong here with them. They dance and sing and move wonderfully together like they are always meant to be together. They have their life plans but I... I wasn't never meant to be here. I sit and watch when they practice. I dont flow along with them I bump and stumble and get lost. I see them smile more and have more laughter leave their lungs when I'm not around, or when I'm falling behind when we walk in a group. I see what I'll never have. What is never going to be in my grasp. What I am currently breaking into shambles. But they all let me. They let me ruin the love they all have as a family because they thought adopting the rabid dog off the streets was a good idea. But the dog is chewing holes in the walls and biting people. I have one talent I can do better than anything. Isolating myself.