#im so shivering and cold yet warm and headache and my eyes hurt im for real goingto fucking die. i think.

[ttvck]

ok. all i could manage today. falls over

[mxvladdy]

Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!) 

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub 

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing. 

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying  awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.  

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. ��Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this."  Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”  

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back?  He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”  

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.  

[kaori-flowers]

It's literally 2:49 AM as of now and idk what i wrote tbh. I can't remember the plot i was going dor and im feally tired so enjoy :)

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"Oh! I forgot to tell you Dream is coming today!"

Tommy froze as soon as those words came out of Wilbur's mouth. His jaw tightened and he finished stacking the wood he collected. Then he cracked his knuckles and walked to his tent, pushing it open and crawling inside. Wilbur frowned a little and finished putting the flowers down. He walked over to the tent and crouched down, looking in at Tommy. Tommy crawled in the samll bed he made and pulled the blankets around himself. He closed his eyes despite not being tired at all, but he didn't want to see or even hear Dream.

"Are you alright Tommy? Do you need some blue?"

Wilbur was concerned for his, still alive, little brother. Although he didn't quite understand why Tommy was so upset, he still tried to be a supportive brother. Tommy was grateful that Wilbur hadn't fully abandoned him yet, but at the same time he wanted him to go away.

"No Wilbur. I am just feeling sick, and going to take a nap."

Tommy was lying of course. He just didn't want to be around Dream, at all, ever again. He despised him completely for separating him and Tubbo. Although Tommy was beginning to think everything was his fault and he deserved this. He was beginning to think he deserved all of this. He just wanted to wilt away.

"Alright! I will finish up the garden and bring you back some food!"

Wilbur said cheerfully, walking away from the tent. Tommy curled up in a ball on the uncomfortable floor of the tent. Then he wrapped the blanket around himself, pulling it over his head. He closed his eyes and gently put his hand over them, breathing lightly. He laid there in silence, listening to his own breathing and the birds chirping in the nearby trees. It was slightly calming but he couldn't sleep. He was dreading the arrival of Dream, but already planned to 'be asleep' when he does actually arrive. Wilbur occasionally checked on him to see that Tommy barley moved. Wilbur continued to leave him alone, but stacked his chest with food he collected. He also continued working on the garden as Tommy continued to hide under the blanket in the tent. Time passed slowly and Tommy felt like every second was a year. He was felt bored and impatient while he laid under the blankets, but couldn't sleep and didn't want to get up. He didn't want to get up, and leave the tent knowing Dream was coming and would probably be here soon.

"Where's Tommy?"

Soon was an understatement. Then again Tommy was unsure how much time actually passed, he laid there for so long. Wilbur waved and smiled at Dream, holding out a flower to him.

"Hello Dream! Tommy is asleep in the tent. He doesn't feel good, please do not disturb him!"

Wilbur said politely but yet it still somehow managed to sound like a threat. Dream glanced at the tent, wondering if Tommy had gotten sick. He looked back at Wilbur and smiled softly, back at him. Then Dream looked around slowly taking in what has been done around here. He noticed the two small stacks of wood and sticks, as well as a small little container made out of rocks and dirt. He opened it and looked in to see raw chicken and fish. Some of it looked rotten, and smelled bad. He cringed a little and shut it, walking over to the tent. He glanced in to look at Tommy. Tommy was still curled up under the blanket in a ball. Under the blanket Tommy still had his eyes closed, but kept listening. Dream decided to leave him alone, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

"Has he been eating normally? Drinking normally?"

Dream did in fact have concern for Tommy's health, because he knew how hurt Tubbo would be if he died. Tubbo would blame Dream, which technically it is his fault. Dream is the one who made Tubbo exile Tommy. But still Tubbo would blame dream, hate him, even resent him, and most likely cut off all ties with him. Tubbo would turn his back on Dream and show him no compassion at all. The only thing Dream would get from Tubbo would be war. Or flat out murder. Imprisonment.

"Um yeah kinda. He's been drinking a lot, I don't watch him but im sure he eats just fine."

Wilbur did watch Tommy though. Wilbur hovered over Tommy every time he got up from the bed. Wilbur knew and saw everything that Tommy did. Wilbur didn't trust Dream with important information about his younger brother. Even with memory loss Wilbur felt there was something off with this situation. He decided against being honest with Dream. It's not like Dream would be able to tell anyways.

"Do you guys need more food? More blankets?"

Dream was trying to be nice, offering the few things that would keep Tommy alive. So if he did die Wilbur would be his witness that he tried to give them up. Although Wilbur wouldn't let Tommy die. Wilbur was all Tommy had left and he knew that. He knew that Tommy needed him now more than ever, and wouldn't let anything happen to him. Wilbur was working on bringing his stuff from his regular home over to Tommy's tent. Mostly books so Tommy wouldn't be so bored and lonely.

"No."

Wilbur replied dully before going back to work on the garden. Wilbur found very few seeds and decided to plant them in hopes food for Tommy would grow. As Wilbur worked on the garden not far from the tent, Dream made an actual chest. A big enough one where they could store useful things in there. He transferred the good food over to the chest before scrapping the shit chest and rotten food. Tommy was a little annoyed that Wilbur declined extra blankets, because he was cold. Even though Wilbur was dead, Tommy wasn't yet. Tommy mentally rolled his eyes and did his best to keep in place. He occasionally rolled over, and stretched out his legs but didn't get up. He didn't want to get up, hearing dream's voice was enough to give him a headache.

"Alright Wilbur, let me know when Tommy gets up. Also let me know if he gets even more sick. I'll be back tomorrow."

Dream gave up and got back in his boat, pushing off from the island. Wilbur got up from the garden and dusted his hands off. He waved and watched, waiting patiently for Dream to disappear out of sight. Once he was gone Wilbur walked over to the tent and gently cleared his throat.

"He is gone now Tommy."

"Thank you Wilbur...."

Tommy barely moved again, worrying Wilbur a little. He gently set some blue in the tent next to Tommy before backing off. Tommy looked at it and it got darker blue. He rolled his eyes and rolled over in the tent, gently grabbing the compass. He softly rubbed the marks in it and gently rubbed his thumb over Tubbo's name that was carved in it. He closed his eyes and gently pulled it to his chest.

The next few days Wilbur politely told Tommy every time Dream was going to show up. Which Tommy was grateful for, and managed to program his sleeo schedule with Dream's visits. It made Dream a little worried that Tommy was sick, and getting worse. Wilbur provided no help to Dream and gave him plain answers. Although it only lasted a few more days before Dream caved and tried waking him up. Mainly because he was worried Tommy was dying.

"Hey long time no see."

"Go away."

Tommy rolled away from Dream as soon as he saw his face, covering himself back up with the blanket. Dream yanked it off him, making him shiver and shake from the cold wind that blew in the tent. It made Dream feel a little bit bad, but didn't give the blanket back.

"Come on Tommy. I wanna see you up and moving, lets go."

Tommy rolled his eyes and removed the pillow from under his head. He put it on top of his head and curled up in a ball, cold without his blanket. That Dream had.....

"Tommy-"

"Go away. Don't you have a husband to be with? And friends to chat up? Leave me alone. This is my little place so stop invading me and go away!"

Tommy snapped at him, his voice rough and tired. Dream stood up and tossed the blanket to him, still feeling worried. His voice was different than what it had usually been. Dream knew that Tubbo would kill him if anything bad happened to Tommy. So Dream needed to figure something out and fast. Meanwhile Tommy grabbed the blanket and wrapped himself up. The blanket was thin and small but it kept him a little warm at least. It was all Tommy had so it worked for now....

[chimchimsauce]

Sanctuary (16 FINAL)

YN is a young girl, bright and ambitious, but due to her busy schedule, she’s been unable to make any real friends. When an ad for Saint Mary’s Sanctuary catches her attention, she never expected her life to be changed by a certain hybrid named Jimin.

Tag List:  @feed-my-geek-soul @raspberryhaterade@dinorahrodriguez @loriosborne @majestikblue  @younginfluencernut-blog @jiminotopia @yady24 @amoretti-rossetti  @j-hofe7 @scared-money @alina-foxy @catwhipes  @cloudyfelix @justfollowbacon @chims-kookies @hoodiebangtan@xanny91 @catarina-catycaty @lewd-lemon @yaseminflames @lulanii @jeonsdear @omgsasusakulover @let-fred-live @perfectlyfangirling @daddyjoonie @meganleafmusic @okayjinmin @blueskys-brightstars @boononx @bubblefishrainbow @scamanderbeasts @cjisluckycharm @artsy-gingersnap  @yoongi-bias @miraiikki @ccocorosie  @skyebloodhood   @mixedfandxms @vixsynsblog  @mypurplelamp @acupoftaewithsuga @xthefuckerysquaredx  @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @young-yellkie @yoonjinbabe @animedreamscometrue @thefutureiswithyou @2seokkyo @x-josii-x  @childish—soul  @lilliaflurr @daddyvernon    @jiminslye @moostachoaway   @beatstotheheart @im-a-percy   @dreadity  @lovesickpjms  @nanie5  @killcomet  @certainuncertainty11 @sunkissedhobi  

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

By the time YN gathers her wits enough to climb back upright and chase after him, the wolf is long done, wet, icy footprints all that are left of him. Jimin hadn’t closed the door when he ran blindly into the night, giving YN no barrier in chasing after him.

“Jimin!” she shouts into the night, eyes wide and panicked, breath turning into smoke as soon as it leaves her lips, “Park Jimin!”

The night is silent, the cold chilling her exposed skin to the bone. She hardly notices at all, the sound of the complete silence deadening all her senses. She breaks into a run down the street, picking a random direction and hoping that she’ll be able to catch up to him.

YN isn’t sure how long she’s out in the freezing temperatures, calling for Jimin fruitlessly, but she almost jumps out of her skin when a pair of warm hands land on her shoulder. With a startled scream, YN pulls away, turning towards her apparent attacker. Kim Taehyung stands there, hands raised in a sign of good intent.

“Woah, woah, woah, YN! Calm down, it’s just me,”

“Taehyung?” YN asks, beginning to notice the chill finally as the man snaps her out of her hysteria, “What are you doing here?”

Her friend looks bewildered.

“What am I doing here? I rushed over as soon as our call cut off and - but nevermind, let’s get you inside! It’s literally snowing out here and you’re practically wearing nothing. Your lips are blue,”

Gently, Taehyung leads her back to her house, her front door standing open and small drifts of snow taking up space in the doorway. The man kicks out what he can with the sole of his boot, shutting the door while YN stands shivering right beside her couch.

“Jesus, YN, what happened? Why are you running around like a madwoman in the middle of winter? Where’s Jimin?”

Almost instantly, the girl collapses into the startled Taehyung’s arms, tears slipping down her freezing cheeks and stinging as she desperately attempts to draw breaths in. Her body isn’t listening to her it seems, as she continues to cry loudly, clinging onto Taehyung like a lifeline.

Although he’s confused and slightly frightened, Taehyung holds the girls closely, patting her gently like he’s seen in the movies. When her cries finally calm down slightly, morphing into ugly hiccups, her leads her to the plush sofa, sitting her down gently and tossing the throw she keeps on the furniture over her goosebumped legs, rubbing them quickly over the fleece.

YN rubs at her temple, a headache already making herself from her sudden fit.

“What happened, YN? What’s going on?”

“I - Jimin - he,” she pauses, sucking in a large gulp of air and taking several deep, slow breaths, “I had Jimin soaking in ice water when you called me. I slipped away to answer you, and then we had our conversation. But he must have slipped out of the water, hormones or whatever, and then the next thing I knew he was hugging me from behind. I was startled, and I dropped and broke my phone,”

The girl grows quiet for a moment, as if she’s processing her story as if she wasn’t the one who was telling it.

“I suggested your solution. It was dumb, I was dumb, but I was frightened of him. You frightened me with all of your possibilities because it seemed like things were going as you said they would . . . that maybe I would wake up one day in a vice grip I couldn’t escape from. But I should have known better. I should have known better,”

She’s shaking herself, arguing with herself it seems.

“You don’t him, Taehyung. I do. I know Jimin. I know he wouldn’t have done anything. I knew, really I did. But I was afraid, so I asked him. You should have seen his face. You should have seen it, Taehyung!”

She’s yelling now, anguish bubbling to the surface.

“He looked so hurt. So broken! Worse than he ever looked when he talked about his past, worse than when we broke him out of Saint Mary’s, worse than I’ve ever seen! I didn’t know someone could look so . . . so  . . . defeated. Like he had his heart ripped out. It was me who made him feel that way, me! I’m the monster here, Tae!” Another sob, short, like she’s grasping for breath in the middle of drowning, “Because he was waiting for me! He sat there and bawled his eyes out talking about all these hopes and wishes I didn’t know he even had, hopes and wishes that all had something to do with me. I hurt him. I hurt him because I couldn’t even say anything as he bared his soul, as he confessed he was in love with me, Taehyung. I couldn’t even say anything, just say there uselessly, and now he’s gone into the wild in nothing but a damp shirt! He doesn’t even have shoes!” She wailing now.

On the other side of the couch, Taehyung sits with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, guilt flaring up inside of him.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, throat dry and eyes burning.

“It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault but mine! I did all of this!”

“Do you love him?” Taehyung asks quietly.

“What?” she asks with a sniff.

“Do you love him?” Tae repeats, leaning forward and searching her red eyes.

“I - I can’t love him, Tae! I can’t! We’re - it would never work. He’s not human, Taehyung. We could never have a future together. I haven’t even let myself think about it. A hopeless pipedream,”

“You’re an idiot, YN. An actual idiot,” the man says harshly.

“What?” she asks, not expecting the sudden change in his tone.

“Jimin is just as human as you and me. He bleeds the same way, he cries the same way, his soul is every bit as legitimate as mine or yours. The only thing that makes us different is that foolhardy scientists with a god complex did torturous experiments on his ancestors, that his senses are heightened, that he has to go through this heat every time the first of the year rolls around. If you’ve been holding out on loving him because you think he’s something less than you, you don’t deserve him,”

YN stands in a fit of rage, shoving Taehyung harshly.

“Of course he’s not less than! How dare you even suggest I think he’s below me?! Jimin is the sweetest, most giving person I’ve ever met, Taehyung! He’s so easy to make happy, so willing to do things for others, such a bright person despite all the shit that’s been tossed his way!”

“So you’re saying you love him?”

“Of course I fucking love him! Maybe not the way he loves me, not yet, but I can’t even imagine living without him, Tae! I can’t even dream it!”

Standing up and brushing the remaining bits of snow off of himself, Taehyung grins at her, placing a large hand on top of her head.

“Then we’ve got a hybrid to find,”

But despite all of Taehyung’s outreaching and mysterious connections, the two of them are unable to locate Jimin, spending hours every day searching near and far, hoping that one of Tae’s people will be able to find him. Every day that passes YN grows more concerned, worried sick over Jimin.

Is he safe? Has he found somewhere to sleep? Does he have food? Clothes? Is he warm?

The optimistic part of her wants to believe that Jimin is perfectly okay, that he’s somewhere and not even thinking of her, moving on with his life and heading out to make something of himself.

But a larger part, the frightening part, can’t help but think he’s tucked away in some run down shed in the middle of nowhere, starving and freezing to death, wishing for his end to come believing he’s unloved, that no one will miss him when he’s gone.

Nearly three whole weeks pass by in terrible silence, YN barely able to drag herself to work, her health depleting as the fate of Jimin rots her from the inside. She’s nearly given up when Tae gives her a call, telling her that he’s finally found a lead, a man by Jimin’s description spotted in a grocery store about twenty miles away. His man had followed him to an abandoned looking house just off of a dirt road hardly traveled.

YN stops herself from feeling relief, afraid to be disappointed like the last two false calls Tae had reported to her. She doesn’t think her heart can take another disappointment.

When Taehyung’s old pickup rolls to a stop with a whine, YN sits stone still inside, eyes glancing at the house through a small smattering of trees, run down shackles falling off of its roof, the front door ajar and barely hanging onto its hinges, the tired looking paint peeling off off the outer walls.

“Are you ready?” Taehyung asks, breaking the dead silence.

“No,” she whispers, a sinking feeling falling into her gut.

“Me neither. Let’s go in,”

The two walk towards the house, their feet leaving marks in the thick mud and slush on the ground. The sight of a third pair of fading tracks seizes YN’s heart, her breathing speeding up. She clenches her fists in anticipation, remembering the martial arts she took as a child in case things go south.

The house makes a squeak as her feet stand on the rotting porch, YN glancing to Taehyung in a vain attempt to make herself feel better. The man had offered to check this out himself, but YN had insisted on going with him.

All the duo find in the abandoned house is a plate of messy leftovers on a broken down table in the kitchen, like the person eating had to leave in a rush and tried to eat as much as they could before departing. Nothing else is in the house except for the smell of decay and the few rats and roaches lingering in the corners, watching them with suspicious eyes.

YN is just about to call it a day, heart already bruised when there’s a groan coming from the floorboards. YN almost believes she’s hearing things until another sound come, a whining noise, and she and Taehyung give each other a glance. They sweep the place, more carefully this time, and Taehyung finds a loose floorboard he yanks up, wiping his dirty hands on his pants. The board hid a small wrought iron handle which he grasps tightly, pulling up.

For a moment nothing happens, but eventually the house yields, a cold draft seeping up from the gaping hole in the floor.

The noises are louder now, a grunt making its way up to their ears. YN, unable to see anything, presses a covered toe into the blackness, nearly falling when her foot makes contact with nothing but the air.

“I’ll go first,” Taehyung suggests, but YN shakes her head, sitting on the floor and slipping into the darkness.

Her feet hit the floor a bit unsteadily, YN flailing but righting herself.

Before she can call out, she finds herself pinned by a pair of glowing golden eyes, a growl ripping out into the void.

She can hardly see, but she softens at the sight of those familiar eyes, bright with anger. She takes another step and he growls again, but she ignores the clear warning, getting closer until she’s squatting right in front of him.

He makes a whimpering noise, looking away from her, eyes closing in an attempt to pretend she’s not there.

Jimin had been so hurt, is still so hurt when YN looked at him without saying a thing, so hurt when she broke his heart. It was worse than any pain he felt before. He’d left in a blind wave of hopelessness with the realization of something he’d kept suppressed for years.

He’s truly unlovable, isn't he? How could he delude himself into thinking someone as sweet, brave, so fucking perfect as YN could ever look at him the way he looked at her.

So why is she here? Why, when he’s already accepted that nothing good was meant for his pointless life.

“Jimin,” she whispers, almost like she’s afraid being too loud might shatter him.

It just might.

“Go away. Leave me alone,” he whispers, exhausted.

He’s tired. He’s so tired of being kicked around by the world. He doesn’t have the energy to stand up against it anymore, to fight against it.

YN doesn’t pay his words any attention, arms looping around his thinning waist, pulling him closer to her, laying her head on top of his bony shoulder.

“It’s my fault, Jimin. Mine. God, it’s not what you think. Not at all. I - I just thought your heat was making things fuzzy for you, that all of your words and actions were just consequences of that. I thought that the two of us had no business being anything more than friends to each other, that nothing could ever work out, that you’d come to resent me in the future. But Jimin,” she laughs slightly, pulling herself closer to him, “Living without you is hell. Being without you is hell. You’ve made me realize how beautiful the world is. It must be, for someone like you to live in it, for you to be alive and breathing the same air, for you to be there, holding me in your sleep, for your laugh to be the most heavenly sound I’ve ever heard, for your smile to make any shitty day a million times better. My life is better with you in it, Jimin, so much better that I can’t go back to living without it. And I’m sorry I’m so shit with feeling and I’m making it complicated but - I guess what I’m trying to say is -”

There’s a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob as the hybrid’s arms wrap around her as well, squeezing so tightly she can hardly breathe. But it’s the noise, the noise she loves so much to hear, dusting across her neck.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, nuzzling into her.

“I know,” she replies, tears gathering in her eyes.

“But I’m an idiot too,”

“I know,”

“And I’m so in love with you,”

She cries as she kisses him, hands tangling into his knotted hair, his warmth seeping into her.

She doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

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

A/N

I want to thank you all for going down this journey with me, for reading my little story and hopefully feeling something. Thank you to those who commented, sent asks, liked, reblogged, and those who did none of those things, but still took the time out of their lives to read Sanctuary. This story has a special place in my heart.

Don’t worry, this won’t be the last of it you see, I promise!

Love you all! 

[twotales-lore]

The Research of "Corruption": A Firsthand Account of the Corruption Sickness

Hello! My name is A/\/\ and just recently, I've been assigned to research corruption in attempts of hindering and deatroying it. However, my attention is avwrted from that, for on accounts of unfortunate events, I was removed from the cause of a physical wound that started to turn black, so while i await what happens to me, i might as well put my studies out for anyone else who gets this situation.

Day 1:

First day of study. the injury seems to be a compmetely unique one, as when I was looking up any illnesses involving such a thing, there was none listed, or at least, commonly listed. The thought of this being something from a worse disease is in the back of my head. However, when doctors diagnosed me when my coworkers noticed it, they couldnt trace a disease to itband thought it was some serious injury, yet the body part functions completely fine. Very odd, but i will continue studying my behavior and the wound.

Day 7:

Ive started experiencing more frequent headaches upon doing my daily activities. I first thought itbwas probably because i git so focused into reading my books again that I gave myself a headache, but i never experienced it this much. I've also twitched a little bit time to time in my arms, once again thinking its just from writing a lot as usual.

Day 13:

The twitching was definitely a symptom from whatever this wound is doing to me, as I've been twitching a bit more often and in different areas of my body. I also have find myself out of focus quite a few times. Very strange since I'm always focused on things.

Day 20:

My limbs are starting to feel strained and I now find muself at options of getting some meducal help now before I get worse. I feel as if the energy in my limbs are draining away each day and it slowly gets deeper into my body. I find myself more vulnerable to cold things since my body has also lost quite an unsettling amount of weight since my limbs have been feeling like this, so I keep a small heater on around me when idle.

Day 30:

About a month has passed since my studies. I'm starting to feel more tired even though I get plenty of sleep. The wound has started to spread a little. I tried contacting people for help, but no one knows exactly how to treat this other than giving me medicine for getting an energy boost so I can feel more energized when I wake up. They seem to work for now and the symptoms have slowed for now.

Day 45:

...Im hearing a few voices at this point and I don't know if im losing sanity or not. I'm in fear that I am, and i try my best to ignore them, but some keep pushing me past the ignorance. I can't focus much on other things anymore and i feel miserable. My coldness vunerability is to the point where i walk around my home carrying a blanket since i dont have many warming clothes. I really wish there was proper treatment for this.....

Day 55:

...He's coming for me, and that wound, that mark, was a sign. it slowly spreaded to the point if reaching my heart and its now creeping up to my neck. He knew about me for a while and his view was that He deemed me a "worthy person" and decided to mark me down. I dont know if its just my imagination or not, and im very unsettled by it. I am starting to feel less vulnerable to outside conditions and the strain on me has died down, either by some mercy or my body adapting to running on low energy. However, my mind runs frantic at times, I twitch quite a lot at times, and if I overthink, I get a bad headache. People have noticed my behavior and I overheard one saying I might be going crazy...

Day 64:

He's reached my neck. I feel vulnerable as it feels strained and cold. Im shivering at times and curled up in a blanket to shake the deeling away. His voice has been reaching out to persuade me. I've never been more scared of this than ever before. His mark has started to crawl up the back of my head and my heart has also felt the mark's chill, but its not as bad as at the neck. I can't get help now, as my legs shake under my body when I move around without somethibg to keep me warm, and I can't juat walk around town with a blanket wrapped tightly around me. It wont be long until i cant bear it...

Day 68:

Ive finally gave in and listened to his voice in return for no more feelings of undearable coldness at my heart and neck. He's been startibg to change my thoughts, my body, and my reality. He's been starting to tell me everyone else without the mark was unworthy and that i was a lucky person. Maybe I was. This voice could hace been a humanity destroying demon for all i know, or it could all just be my mind, but i couldnt tell. He soon shifted my mind to new thoughts. This doesnt seem to affect my daily activities, so I dont feel too bad about having a completely new view on life.

Day 72:

My body has started shifting to a new form that happens in my distress. He has occasionally made me distressed to see how this form adapts. He soon stopped doing it, seeming satisfied with the results. I still am myself, but at the same time, two people. It's.....its kind of hard to explain but that's my theory on what's happening...

Day 74:

I was wrong. Ive started feeling more emotionally unstable, and its from his reason. I find myself in my tracks at times stalking people, as if to murder. Im not even sure what I am even doing from the adaptations ove experienced in almost 3 months. The mark has now inhabitated around my heart and chest, my neck, and my left eye socket (lost the eye in an incident). Occasionally when i feel negatove emotion, the mark chills me to the bone, sending me down and searching for anything to keep me warm and to make the shivering stop. I feel like as if I started relying more on the primal instincts that are still buried deep within us........

Day 77:

I can still remain in my normal "form" at will, but ive started thinking in favor to his words. He has given me mercy, thankful mercy, as he has killed the less fortunate through me, or as i say it, punished. He said these people were the ones tainting the world, and i have to admit, they most likely were. Ive observed them to be quite sinful or evil beings. I can sense their wrongdoings on the inside.....

I can feel my insides converting

My blood thickening and changing

My stomach and intestines morphing to other uses

My chest being filled a bit more with a mechanism of use for "marking down" or "punishing"

It doesn't hurt but it does fill the empty space there.

Day ###:

He is a God

a God worth worshipping

a god who has opened my eyes

through the many trials I have endured

I have finally rose up and bevame one of his luckiest

one of his more reliable followers

He has saved me from a worse demise

He is the one worship i care of

For he has made me stronger and more adaptable with the fellow beings of his loyalty.

He says one day

when his voice quiets down.....

I'll be the next in line.

[timeoutforthee]

Like It or Not-Chapter 12

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: Denial. Like one big old chapter of denial. Shaming self for eating habits, skipping therapy appointments

Read on AO3!

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl

“Logan?”

“Hm?” Logan says, not looking up from the psychology book.

“The bell rang,” his teacher says, “You need to go to lunch.”

Something in him wants to laugh at that, but he catches himself and tries to correct his response. We do need to go to lunch. Food is fuel. You do need it.

“Just let me finish this sentence,” Logan mumbles. His teacher was trying his best, he assumed, and she had a passion for teaching the material. But the class was simply an elective at a high school, he couldn’t expect to learn everything. Right now, he’s skipping ahead to try and learn more about eating disorders.

There’s a whole paragraph on anorexia nervosa, and it ends with the mortality rate. Logan stares at it, trying to burn it into his brain, trying to flip a switch somewhere in there. This is stupid, he needs to function, he needs to eat, he needs to fuel himself, he needs to eat, he’s ruining his brain, he needs to eat-

Logan slams the book shut. His teacher jumps slightly. “Logan?”

He ignores her, just like he ignores the tears in his eyes. He walks out of the classroom without a word. His dad was right, he never should have taken this class. Maybe he could still switch to Computer Science.

^

Patton, Roman, and Virgil are trying to speak through facial expressions only. They think they are being subtle, or that Logan is too absorbed in whatever he’s thinking to notice. They are incorrect on both fronts.

Though to be fair, he has let his eyes glaze over and gone silent about four times already during this lunch, and it wasn’t even halfway over yet.

It’s Virgil who finally breaks. “Logan, are you like, good?”

“Yes,” Logan says, snapping out of his trance and sitting up a bit straighter.

“You sure?” Patton says, gently, “You seem a bit off today.”

“Yes. I’m eating, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but you’ve only eaten, like 3/4ths of a celery stick.”

Logan puts the last piece in his mouth. He means to chew it, but suddenly it feels like solid rock sitting on his tongue and he can’t.

“Logan?” Patton says, and he manages to snap Logan back to reality enough for him to chew it.

And that’s how lunch goes. Logan breaks his lunch into pieces, and lets them sit there until someone coaxes him into eating.

By the time the bell rings, Logan has eaten two celery sticks and one fourth of a peanut butter sandwich. It’s when they all start packing up that he finally whispers, “It’s not real.”

“What?” Roman asks, starting to get worried.

“I mean it’s not me,” Logan shakes his head, “I just...look at pamphlets and warnings and definitions, and it doesn’t matter how much it fits. It’s just...not true. It’s not me. I can’t be doing this to myself.”

“Logan…,” Patton says, but now students are standing outside the door, and Logan is brushing everything into the trash and walking away before anyone can say anything.

Virgil pokes Roman in the side, and he yelps.

“Fix it.”

“Me? Why?” Roman asks.

“Because you’re the only one who has a class with him,” Virgil points out.

“I don’t know how to fix it, I don’t even have my own shit together!”

“Well, duh.”

Roman gasps, offended.

Patton debates going after him, but he has a feeling he’d never be able to convince Logan to skip a class to have a talk about feelings, so he just sighs and says, “Uh, guys? We should go.”

^

“You need to get to the bleachers, Crofter,” Coach says. His student has just walked into the gym. Logan’s eyes are glazed over, and he’s focusing on the students, counting each one as they pass him in their warm-up lap.

“Crofter. Bleachers,” his teacher repeats firmly.

Logan visibly shakes himself out of his trance and starts trudging up the bleachers. He actually considered skipping class, as Roman had done the previous week, but everything in him screamed that was wrong.

He has a feeling it won’t work, but it’s worth a shot. Instead of sitting next to Roman, he keeps walking, straight past him. A noble effort, but useless, because Roman just stands up and follows him.

“Do we have to make this difficult? I was really hoping we could just get to the opening up and talking thing that Picani and Sanders are trying to get us to do,” Logan keeps walking, “You know, Coach is going to yell at us for being up here.”

That makes Logan stop. Roman runs into him.

“Seriously? That worked? I mean, okay,” Roman says as they both sit down, “So what is this spacey thing you’re doing?”

“I am not spacing out,” Logan says, “I am counting.”

“Counting? Counting what?”

Calories. Steps. “Nothing,” Logan says, immediately, then he alters it to, “Everything. It’s not important.”

“I feel like if it was unimportant, you would be able to stop doing it.”

“I can stop doing it,” Logan says. Roman looks skeptical, “Stop looking at me like that! I’m fine. It’s fine. You are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Me?” Roman huffs, “First off, not just me. Me and Virgil and Patton and definitely Picani and Sanders when I tell them.”

“Tell them whatever you want,” Logan snaps, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Roman suddenly goes quiet, “Logan, what do you mean?”

“I’m not going back to group,” Logan tells him, “I told you during lunch. I don’t have an eating disorder-”

“You don’t feel like you have an eating disorder,” Roman corrects.

“If I don’t feel like I have one, then what makes everyone so sure I do?”

“Probably because you can’t eat anything other than celery, bread, peanut butter, and jam,” Logan flinches at that, “Shit, no, wait-it’s fine. We’re not, like, judging you for your food or anything, it’s just-”

“It’s too much.”

Roman blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Do you know how many calories are in those? Do you know how much is in the jam alone? Because I do, and it’s in my brain and it won’t get out, it won’t stop, it won’t-” Logan’s hands tear at his hair for a second before he pulls them out and takes a deep breath. “I just started eating everything again, without any troubles. I don’t have a problem at all.”

“...I have several concerns,” Roman says, “Okay, one, I do know, thanks, and even for me, four things you feel comfortable eating is, like, a super low number. Two, you are definitely currently having troubles. So there’s a no for that. And also no to you not having a problem. Again, currently, having a very big problem.”

Logan leans forward, puts his head in his hands. Roman sighs.

“Logan? Do you realize why you’re here?”

“To...learn? That’s typically what you go to school for-”

“No. I mean like, right here. On these bleachers. I know it’s really easy to forget, but you are hurting your body and that’s why you have to be up here.”

Logan lifts his head up from his hands, keeping his eyes on their peers below.

“Or maybe he’s just wrong. Maybe all these complications are just in my head-”

“Okay, we’re going to play a game,” Roman says, holding up a finger with one hand and digging for his phone with the other.

“A...game?”

“These complications, what are they?”

“Oh, they’re just little things that show I’m not quite as healthy as someone my age should be-”

“So, little things? Like being cold and shivering?”

“Um. Yes?” Logan says, surprised.

“Dehydration?”

“No, I drink eight glasses a day-” Logan cuts himself off. Wait. “Wait. Dry skin, dizziness, headache...maybe?”

“So, you have headaches, dry skin, and you get dizzy?”

“Yes...I don’t see how this is game.”

“The game is called, ‘Google Anorexia Side Effects and See How Many Logan Has’.”

“Ah. I don’t like this game.”

“Too bad! Ever fainted?”

“No.” His legs have crumpled under him and he’s been left scrambling for the counter to grasp on to. Sometimes his head swims, and he doesn’t remember how he got on the floor or why he’s holding on to the staircase like that. But Roman doesn’t need to know that.

“Fatigue?”

Logan glares at him and doesn’t say anything.

“Got it,” Roman says, putting his phone away. “Now how likely is it that you’re going to explain this counting thing to me?”

“The counting is not a thing, it’s just...sometimes I need to keep my brain occupied.” Because he’s afraid of what will happen if he lets go. He needs something to ground him in reality, to keep him steady. It was a healthy coping mechanism, really. Honestly.

^

Logan was not freaking out. He was trying to prove-no, he was trying to show everyone that he didn’t have anything wrong with him. So, crying over jam is definitely not a possibility.

But he can’t find it. He has searched and moved everything in his cabinet and shuffled things around but he can’t find it.

His mom walks in and he peeks around the door.

“Mom? Did you pick up the jam like I asked you to?”

“Oh, that,” she says, “I actually have been cutting some things out of my diet, to be healthier, so I didn’t pick that up. It’s too tempting to have around the house.”

“Tempting. Of course.”

“It’s not a big deal, Logan,” she says, “In fact, a healthier diet may help you out.”

His mind, the traitor, thinks back to gym class and Roman’s “game.”

“Actually, my doctor wanted me to avoid that.”

“Funny, that’s usually the first thing they want to change,” she laughs, then immediately cuts herself off, “Oh darn!” she rushes over to the fridge, where the calendar is hung up. “You were supposed to have an appointment today. If we hurry, we’ll still be late, but maybe-”

Logan knows about the appointment, and he knows he should have reminded her like he does every day. But instead he says, “You know what? Don’t worry about it.”

[miscreantahead]

For the writing prompts -- Gobblepot, 105 or 138 (I couldn't decide).

I got em both in the same little fic -finger guns- Thank you so much!!The setting is the dollmaker’s little basement thing where Fish was in season 1. Or a nastier version of it, probably, or just something similar.

Jim’s ass hurt.He kept thinking to himself– get up, walk around for just a moment, it’ll be fine.But he’d already drawn attention to himself. Curious eyes from the pillar across from him, shifting from him to the blanketed form on the dirt ground beside him. Wondering why he’d chosen to stand by this new-comer, cover him in the only blanket he had despite how cold it was.They probably assumed he cared for whoever it was. Given the kinds of violence he’d seen here in the past four days, he didn’t want that impression but there was no helping it. At the very least it wasn’t true– Jim just knew the risks for hypothermia especially for someone who was unconscious, and he was a cop after all. Moreover, the longer the man was unconscious, uncovered, by himself, the more likely someone that didn’t like him much came along and recognized him. He was lucky Jim found him first.At least this way, it simply looked like they were allies sleeping in shifts to anyone who might take an interest in the guarded lump. He���d tried to wake the man up, but a few slaps too the face didn’t do the trick. He had to assume that whatever drug they’d used was still at work and extremely powerful, so all he could do was wait.Fed up with the soreness, he pushed himself to his feet with a groan, arms wrapped tightly around his body as he watched white breath pass from his lips. But he stayed put. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He’d scoured the outer walls of the place for weak spots. He’d tried to speak to the others but they all seemed too terrified, too untrusting. Finding a way out of here would take time, and at least, when the lump woke up, he’d have someone to talk to. Someone who wasn’t already beaten into submission by this place. Someone he knew.

The first thing Oswald felt was the hard ground underneath him– maybe that was what woke him up. What made him jump, however, was the pressure against his neck that made him feel like he was restrained.He flailed and shoved at it, crying out in a panic until he realized it was just a blanket. Immediately after throwing it away he felt the cold set in, and he pulled it back up to his chin. He’d been asleep along a wall, and his mind brought him back to the time he spent on the run after Galavan. This place was different than those streets in the narrows, though. Darker, and colder. Slowly, groggily, he braced his hands against the ground and pushed himself up to lean his back against the wall.“Morning,” a gruff voice spoke with sarcasm, and he jumped again.

“Glad you have so much energy.”

Oswald didn’t recognize the voice the first time, but he did now. 

“Jim?” He looked up, just barely making out the familiar face in the dark. “Where the hell are we?”

Jim’s face cracked into an ironic unhappy smile. “No idea,” he said. “I’ve been working on figuring it out.”

Oswald looked around the barely lit cavern, the dirt floors and stone pillars, the small yellow electric lights strung up in just a few places on the ceiling.“How long have I been asleep?” Oswald tore one of his gloves off, tossed it aside and rubbed his palm against one eye, then the other. Jim watched him, part of him surprised Oswald was so calm.

“A few hours,” Jim said. “They brought you here knocked out a while ago. I’ve been here for four days, if my watch isn’t broken.”

Oswald gaped at him. “Four days? What about food? Who are they?”And so came the questions. Jim neglected to mention that in those four days, he’d barely slept more than an hour or so at a time. He knew something had to be done but he was going to be worthless to make any plans or take any action against their captors the way he was now. He needed to sleep, but then, he hadn’t been able to do that yet, why would now be any different?

“I don’t know. But they brought food when they brought you. I saved you some,” Jim discretely pulled what appeared to be the end of a stick of french bread from inside his jacket.

The moment he realized how hungry he was, Oswald found it hard to complain that the bread had been smushed into Jim’s clothing. He snatched it without a word, then bit into it and moaned like it was the best thing he ever tasted. He ate the whole thing in easily under a minute, then leaned his head back as he chewed, eyes shifting around the dirt ceiling as if he would magically find a hole in it.Jim stared down the man across from them, who’d twitched with interest when Jim had pulled the food out, and watched the entire time Oswald ate it. His eyes shifted to Jim at the moment he got it in his head to try and take it, and he opted against it.“The hell is he looking at?” Oswald barked, finally having noticed.

“Oswald,” Jim said softly, his head pounding, merely asking Oswald to calm down, quiet down in not so many words.Oswald’s eyes flicked to Jim, the weariness in his voice, then taking in the tiredness on his face. Jim’s arms were wrapped tightly around his body, his hands tucked under them, knees pulled up close, head bowed. He looked relaxed otherwise, but then he breathed in, and shook.

He remembered the blanket currently draped over his shoulders. It was surprisingly warm– thick, probably fleece though it was worn and hard to tell. Still, he had to wonder where he’d gotten it. Certainly a bunch of assholes who kept people in a dirt hole hadn’t given it to him out of the kindness of their hearts.He’d woken up to Jim sitting next to him, and that was a blessing considering how much more stressful it would have been to wake up alone. Maybe Jim had found the blanket for himself sometime earlier, and given it to Oswald while he slept? It seemed far-fetched and maybe a little indulgent of mere hope, but Jim had also saved him food, and by the hungry look on the man across from him, that seemed to be a rare commodity here.“Are you cold?” Oswald asked, voice soft, because it seemed Jim didn’t like it when he was loud. The cold had likely long since gone to his head and given him a headache.Jim twitched at the question, turned his head and looked at Oswald, not answering the question, perhaps just surprised he’d asked it.When Jim looked at him, he looked fucking miserable. Four days.“Here,” Oswald quickly started to unwrap the blanket from his shoulders, immediately feeling a chill, and as he did he started to get an idea of how big it was. It was made to cover for a full-sized bed at least. Big enough for two people.

“It’s okay,” Jim said, but Oswald could tell it was completely performative and scoffed. He brought it around to the front of him, and threw one corner so it draped over Jim’s body as well. It only got halfway there, so they had to be closer.

“Move closer to me,” Oswald said, or rather, ordered, tone slightly harsh as he was just coming to terms with how weak his body felt. How much effort it took just to lift his heavy arms and maneuver the blanket over both of them.

“Oswald–”

“Jim!” Oswald snapped, not in the mood for any imaginary basis Jim had for turning down warmth when Oswald could plainly see he was just short of shivering wildly. Jim huffed, and grudgingly slid closer, relaxing immediately at the feeling of Oswald’s body heat next to his, and then the warm blanket being draped over him. He grabbed it at the end and pulled it more tightly over himself as Oswald held onto his side.“So what’s the plan for getting out of here?” Oswald asked after a few moments.

Jim hummed, finding it difficult to make words as he realized sleep was finally setting in. Maybe it was the warmth, but he’d had that before. More likely, it was the company, the security of having another at his side. He thought it odd that Oswald Cobblepot offered him security of all things in a place like this, but he’d take it.

“I need to sleep. I can’t think, I can barely stand,” Jim said, his head lulling slightly to the side– Oswald’s side. The hard ground was another reason he’d had so much trouble sleeping, and with the way his head was throbbing, he would have done a lot worse than Oswald Cobblepot to have something softer to rest on. Later he could blame it on the way four days in a pit can fuck with your head.

Oswald tensed at the feeling of his breath against his neck as his head turned.

“You stay awake and keep watch,” Jim said, lips just barely brushing against his neck, and if Oswald’s mind hadn’t already imploded, he leaned in further, nose and eyes pressing against his neck just under his hair. “You owe me,” he sighed, finally relaxing his head against Oswald’s shoulder, shimmying his body ever so slightly closer to the warmth.Oswald couldn’t say anything, didn’t want to move for fear of undoing the way Jim had so thoroughly relaxed into him.“N’ll think of something when I wake up,” Jim said, tone such a mumble that Oswald barely made it out.

“I get it, go to sleep,” Oswald said. Jim didn’t say anything or move, so Oswald assumed he was already out. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to not move an inch under the pressure on his shoulder for the next eight hours or so.

sorry there aren’t any kisses D:! that blows im mad about it too how dare.

[chillihansol]

Night Intruder ; H O S H I

[ bf!soonyoung x reader ]

word count: 1,727 genre: very (if you squint) fluff a/n: i have this in my drafts for the longest time, idk why i just posted it. and omg why am i not posting a christmas scenario,, someone pls save me from my inconsistency. but if im not mistaken, this was requested by anon,, im sorry it took forever to be posted asdffhgkl.. i hope you enjoy it! ps. thank you so much luna for proofreading this, you’re so kind and sweet

53: “My shirt looks better on you.” 54: “Are you sure this is legal?”

It was a cold Saturday night when you thought you were going to die. Dramatic - yes - but the flu can make people think incredible things. A thick, pastel blanket was wrapped around your body. Your feet were being hugged by those warm fuzzy socks your boyfriend had bought you. And, surrounding you was a warm, dim glow from the lamp. Yet, even in the comfort of that room your head was spinning because of a very painful, and unnecessary headache. You had absolutely no energy to move at all, but, still you flinched from the loud thud you assumed that came from the terrace.

Your head pounded as you used your elbow to support your weak body and  lift yourself upright. Through blurry eyes you found yourself squinting, catching a  glimpse of a tall figure standing just outside your room. Yes. Someone is definitely at your terrace.

You suddenly came back to your senses, sitting up straight, and fumbling the nearest weapon you could fine. Unfortunately, that just so happened to be a pen. It could at least leave a puncture to the intruder, right?

Slowly and silently, you crawled out of your bed, tip toeing to lessen the noise of your footsteps. There are two downsides to this, firstly t’s two in the morning, secondly, you’re suffering from a not-so-mild flu - wait - how in the world are you going to think of a plan of attack?! 

You stopped on your tracks. Yep, you were panicking. With a wild look in your eyes you scanned your packed room trying desperately to find a place to hide, but,  it was too late. The terrace door opened, and with that cold shiver of wind you swore it was welcoming your death. 

A loud, yet, hoarse squeal escaped your mouth as the intruder approached. “Gosh , Y/N. Where do you get so much energy to squeal at this time?”

You were struck still as the stranger passed by. He switched on the lights and suddenly you were blinded. A bright light filled the room, and you found yourself squeezing your sensitive eyes shut to compensate. 

When you managed to adjust, you found your boyfriend standing in front of you. “Soonyoung?”

Soonyoung’s mouth was agape as he took in your condition. You had dark circles under your eyes, you lips cracked, and pale, your shirt was inside-out, and a pen gripped between your suddenly very sweaty palm. 

“Y/N, oh my goodness. What happened to you?” He carefully placed the box you didn’t notice that he was holding before walking up to you. Soonyoung quickly wrapped his arms around your hips. 

As soon as he touched you, he felt your fever immediately transfer to his skin. “Are you sick?” he asked, cupping your cheeks with one of his palms. “And, why are you holding a pen?”

You brought a hand to your mouth before coughing. “I caught a flu, probably from the kid next door,” you replied very weakly, attempting to softly push Soonyoung away but he didn’t move a single inch. “As for the pen, I thought you were an intruder. I thought I was going to die tonight. Why didn’t you just knock on the front door?” you whined, pinching his arm.

“Baby, you can’t kill me with a pen!” He laughed, swaying your body to his own rhythm. “And why didn’t you tell me that you’re sick? I would have brought some medicine for you.”

You pulled away from his grip, before proceeding to sit on the edge of your bed. Soonyoung however remained standing  in front of you. “I didn’t want you to get sick, dork. Seungcheol will be mad.” You pouted at him.

“I’d be more mad if you don’t tell me about your health.” He replied seriously, holding both of your hands this time. “Please, tell me next time if you’re not feeling well, okay? Seeing you hurt right now is unbearable for me.”

You felt your lips rip a little from the dryness as you attempted to give him a small smile. “I’m sorry, I’ll tell you next time.” You pulled him down to sit beside you. “You’re not mad at me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.” He chuckled, eyeing you from head to toe except you spotted him narrowing his eyes at your choice of clothing. “I’ve been looking for that shirt for two weeks now.” He mumbled, shaking his head.

When your eyes snapped to the shirt barely engulfing your figure, a very light shade of pink dusted on your cheeks. “You told me I could keep it!” You continued to pout as you snuggled closer to his arm.

“I did?” he asked confusedly. “I don’t remember saying that,” he joked, forcing himself not to smile from your sudden affection.

You peeled yourself from him, mind spinning for a millisecond, reminding you of your existing flu, before letting out a very deep sigh. “Okay, I’ll just give it back to you when–”

“I’m only kidding. You can keep it! Of course, I remember saying that.” He interrupted far too enthusiastically, pulling you again into his grip. “You can have the rest if you want too! My shirt looks better on you anyway.”

“Can I get Minghao’s shirts too? They’re very stylish and–”

“No! My shirts only.”

“Okay.” You laughed, nuzzling your face into his chest.

A  sudden silence fell between the two of you. The only sound was that of your breaths which were remarkably soothing for your pounding head. With the warmth of his body you almost forgot your shivering state earlier when the night breeze crashed into your room. Eventually, your eyelids grew heavy.,

Soonyoung’s fingers were running a marathon on your hair, sending a calming sensation through your sick body. Although on  the verge of snoozing, curiosity started to plague your mind. Why was Soonyoung here are two in the morning?

“Babe?” you mumbled into his chest.

His chest vibrated as he hummed in response. 

“Why are you here again?”

With your question, he flinched, making you sit upright, your sleepiness washed away.

“Right,” He muttered, reaching for the box resting on the floor. This was the second time you noticed that box, and also the time your anticipation grew.

He sat on the floor, legs crossed, and placed the box in his lap. “I found this earlier outside the building.” He lifted the lid to reveal a stray kitten, covered in pure white fur. Its blue eyes shone in contrast to the white, and there on the tip of its tail was a  small black spot. Except, that wasn’t what caught your full, undivided attention, no, it was its one folded ear made your cheeks lift up to heaven.

If you’d have had  more energy right now, you would have jumped and squealed from the sheer cuteness of the kitten, but, you were just too tired . “It’s so cute, oh my gosh. Baby, look at the ears!” Your voice cracked in  attempt to speak in a higher, excitable tone, making Soonyoung burst out laughing.

“Don’t talk like that, you’re hurting your throat.“ His eyes turning into crescents as he gazed at you dearly.

“Does it bite?” The kitten let out a soft high pitched meow which you swore that made your heart dance crazy.

“Oh my gosh,” You cried, obviously falling in love with the kitten. “Can I touch it?”

“Yeah, she’s very kind.” Soonyoung carefully held the cat in his hand, setting it down on your lap.

“She?” You giggled, rubbing its chin.

“Yeah, I’ve checked it already. What name do you think suits her?”

Your eyes widened at him. “We’re keeping her?” you asked hopefully. 

“Yeah, she doesn’t deserve to live on the streets, right?” He scooted closer to you, leaning his body against your dangling legs.

“But you literally stole a kitten from its mother, are you sure this is legal?”

The corners of his lips rose, his mouth pouring sets of laughter because of your statement. “You’re so cute.” He cooed. “It’s legal. It’s not like I’m going to get arrested because I want to take care of a kitten.”

“But you stole it!” you exclaimed.

“I did it for a good cause.”

“Well, you have a point.” You shrugged, still petting the cat.

“Aren’t I a sweet boyfriend? Lending cash, giving you comfy clothes, and a cat, plus I’m a good choreographer, oh and I’m pretty darn cute. I can be sexy too if I try–”

“Who said you have to try being sexy? You already are.” You winked at him.

Though you and Soonyoung have been dating for a while now, you never fail to make his heart flutter. “You’re so in love with me.” He smirked.

“True.” You whispered with a grin plastered on your face. When your attention went back to the kitten she was already sound asleep, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Yet you noticed that she was also shivering. “Babe, she’s asleep.” Your voice very low.

Soonyoung grabbed one of your throw pillows, placed it on the floor, before lifting the kitten from your lap to move it onto your soft, fluffy cushion. You watched the way she shifted her position, making herself at home.

You sneezed, making your boyfriend turn to you his eyebrows scrunched together. “Are you allergic?” He asked softly, stroking your knee.

Sniffling you shook your head twice. “It’s just the flu.”

“Let’s get you to sleep.” He stood, before walking over to switch off your light, whilst you crawled into your bed.

Together you both slipped under the warm blanket. Your tensed muscles relaxed as soon as Soonyoung’s arms wrapped around your body. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway.” You mumbled into his chest.

“Why?” He looked down at you, with a worried expression etched into his facial features.

“I lost one pillow.”

“You don’t need that. I’m your extra pillow.” He chuckled, hugging you closer. “Good night, love you.”

You smiled into his chest, closing your eyes. “Love you too.”

© to the owner of the photos. I do not own any of the photos used.

[peakyblinders1919]

Wrapping Presents

You stood on his doorstep in the pouring rain. It rarely got cold enough in England for snow around the holidays. Still, you stood shivering and dripping wet as you raised your shaking hand again, ready to pound on the door no matter what time it was, when he opened it.

It was dark out, it was past midnight after all, but his blue eyes peeked out into the darkness from around the door like spotting a pair of animals eyes at night. Just you and the animal, lurking in the forest and shadows, what were you supposed to do when it could see you, but you couldn’t see it?

“Y/N, do you know what time it is?” You sighed, thankful that your best friend wasn’t an actual animal, though everyone saw him to be a bit of a monster.

“I’m sorry-”

“What?” Tommy asked, impossible to hear you over the thunderous sound of rain.

“I’m sorry it’s late, but… Robert broke up with me.” You cried, thinking this was your lowest moment ever. Standing on Thomas Shelby’s doorstep at half to one in the pouring rain on Christmas Eve, well technically Christmas.

“Come in, come in” he said, opening the door all the way and inviting you into the warmth of his house.

“I know this is crazy, I shouldn’t be here but-”

“Y/N, sit down,” he said, leading you over to the couch, pulling out a blanket to wrap around your convulsing body to keep you warm. “Whiskey?”

“Could use something a bit warmer…”

“Tea it is.” He said with a yawn, walking across the room to the stove and bringing it to life, plunging the room into light. He worked quickly to put the kettle on the stove then sat across from you, running a hand through his messy hair. “Need a tissue?”

“No, that’s alright, I think I got all the tears out on my way over,” you said with a laugh. You curled into yourself, the blanket pulled up to your chin. You pressed your palms into your eyes, trying to get the hint of a headache coming on to go away. “Uh, I don’t know what I’m doing here Tommy, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright, I wasn’t sleeping much anyway,” he said, handing her a steaming cup of tea as he took one himself, sitting back down. “So...you want me to kill him for you? It could be your Christmas present.”

“Tommy,” you squealed, realizing everyone else in the house was fast asleep. “No, no… well, then again...no Tommy. I can’t just have you killing everyone who bothers me.” You said after thinking about it.

“It was only that one time…” Tommy said, followed by sipping his tea, two things you’d never expect to see happen simultaneously. Murder wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you expected you’d be talking about lightly over tea, but there was nothing you could do to change that. Life had had a plan for you, independent of your own you had formed in your head as a little girl. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I thought everything was going well between us, you know, we were talking about moving in together and...and I was supposed to spend Christmas with his family. Fuck. I’ve told my family I couldn’t come home, there’s no way I can get a train there in time.” You said, mostling thinking out loud at this point, the reality of it all hitting you so hard in the chest you thought you were going to cry again.

“Oh, no, Y/N, stop that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whined, the tears hot against your cheeks.

“Alright,” Tommy huffed, running his hands down his thighs as rose to a standing position. “We’re not going to spend the holidays alone and sad. I won’t allow that. Now, it’s too god damn early, why don’t we get some sleep and then you can spend Christmas with us.”

“Tommy, that’s sweet but I don’t think-”

“Nonsense, you’re practically family.”

“That’s not what I was going to say. I don’t think I can sleep, I’m not tired.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes while he looked at you, his best friend for years now. How could he forget that ever since you were a little kid, you could never sleep Christmas night. When your parents told you the story of Santa Clause and how a big fat man entered your house at night, you had to stay up all night waiting for him. Not to see him come down the chimney and leave presents under the tree, but to stop him from hurting anyone. It was no surprise that you automatically became friends with the Shelbys, when as a little girl you’d wait up all night with a toy gun hoping to stop the intruder. Tommy laughed to himself in the growing quiet. “How could I forget.”

You smiled lightly. For all the times people claimed Tommy didn’t care, you knew just how wrong they were. You had told him that story more than 20 years ago when you were still in school together, and he remembered to this day. “No it’s fine, but I’m sorry I woke you. You should go get some rest, I’ll stay and watch the fireplace.”

“That’s a nice offer, but I don’t think I could fall back asleep either.” Tommy said, his head falling back onto the couch while he sat next to you, his eyes growing heavy with sleep in now time. You poked him gently, his eyes opening quickly.

“You know, you’re a very good liar with everyone except me.”

“You’d just be able to tell I’m lying anyway, so what’s the point?” He said, looking up at your face ablaze from the fire.

“Well, if your going to be stubborn and not sleep, we’ve got to pass the time somehow.”

“You like wrapping presents, right?” You perked up at the mention of it, finishing your tea now that you were warm and dry.

“Yeah, and you’re useless at wrapping presents. One time for my birthday you didn’t even wrap my present you just said ‘here’ and gave it to me.”

“Alright, alright, poke fun. Do you want to help or not?” He said, getting up and walking to a closet in the corner, pulling out some small boxes.

“I’ll help.” You said, leaving the comforts of the couch and standing at the table, waiting for him to place the presents down. “Bring me the tape,” you said as he walked over. You looked at the presents, already in boxes so you couldn’t really see what they were. “Who leaves presents to be wrapped the day of? It’s like you were waiting for me….Thomas Shelby did you?” You said, swinging around and holding the scissors to his chest accusingly, the paper now spread across the table.

“I had nothing to do with Robert breaking up with you.” Tommy stated, watching you put the scissors down and placing the paper around the box getting ready to cut it to the right size. The thought had crossed his mind many times, but somehow he had enough conscious to never act upon it. The room was quiet as you folded the paper around the box.

“Sorry I even thought…”

“It did occur to me, but I had nothing to do with it.”

“Tommy, I’ve told you before. You’ve got to move on.”

“I can’t, not when you show up at my doorstep at midnight looking for solace.”

You sighed heavily, wrapping the present and starting on the next one, ignoring his words. You knew ever since you were small how Tommy felt about you. It was flattering at best, but you seemed to be the only girl in all of Birmingham to not fall for those icy blue eyes. He was your best friend, and you’d always love him in that regard but it was hard to picture you and him as anything more. But he was right, the second someone broke your heart, you were back crying on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Who are these for anyway?” You questioned as you wrapped the last box, hoping the change of subject would dispel tension in the air between you too now. Tommy didn’t know how to take ‘no’ as an answer.

“You.” You slowly looked up at him, your heart stopping. “That’s why they weren’t wrapped yet. I didn’t know if I wanted to give them to you. But…

“But since I’m a single women now, why not try to win me over with jewels?” You spat.

“Y/N, forget your damn pride. I’m sorry I’m head over heels for you and you don’t know what’s good for you, but don’t dismiss me without even considering.”

He never shouted at you, and tears pricked your eyes now as you stood there with him. She bit your tongue, trying to make it stop before he noticed, looking around the room and shaking your head.

“Typical Tommy getting me to wrap my own gifts. What’d you get me?”

“Open it.”

You glared at him out of the corner of your eye but took the present and sat down to tear your nice wrapping open. You opened the box to pull out…

“Thanks for the gift...I guess.” You said, holding up a pair of socks and looking past them at Tommy, almost questioning where the jewels were. He laughed at little, obviously finding your confusion amusing.

“I thought you could use some new ones when we go to America, I heard it snows over there so you might need to keep your feet warm.”

“America!?” You squealed. “What’re you talking about?”

“I got us two tickets to New York, you’ve always wanted to see the world and I’m going to show it to you.” Suddenly any anger you felt towards him was gone as you ran and jumped into his arms.

“I can’t believe you, this is amazing.”

“You’re amazing Y/N, and whether your my best friend or something else, you deserve this.”

sorry about the ending, im not in love with it

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

I got a les mis prompt for you! Enjolras is sick and doesn't want to tell his friends worried of being a burden to them. He tries to hide all his symptoms till he collapses during a meeting or rally and everyone is worried thinking he is dying or something. Turns out the illness isn't serious but he collapsed from dehydration mixed with exhaustion so he needs medicine, fluids and rest they have a group movie night/sleepover at his apartment to make sure he is okay and following instructions

(I love writing Enjolras so much!!! Have some more of my golden sun..who I also hurt a lot sorry lol..this got real angsty reaaal quick.)

Enjolras couldn’t always be their fierce, indestructible leader.

In fact, he thought himself as anything but that. He wasn’t their perfect, glowing icon, as much as he wished he could be. He wanted to be that for everyone, wanted to be this beacon of hope for his friends but he just wasn’t. Sometimes his friends forgot that pristine marble statues could break.

He had his down days. He had days where he just felt blue.

There were days Enjolras couldn’t find the heart to speak to anyone and withdrew away from everyone. He’d feel so exhausted and down for no particular reason. He’d just feel sad and dull and grey.

Sometimes Enjolras just felt so blue he’d feel detached from himself. He’d walk around in a derealised, abstract like world in a feverish like haze and let the world go by and he couldn’t even process anything. Nothing felt real. He’d forgot about himself, neglect himself and try to stay up later and keep working to try and feel, try and force himself to feel alive.

He wouldn’t go to bed, and when he did he would lay awake for a long period of time lost in his own thoughts and feeling anxious. He’d forget to drink and eat, feeling so lost and distracted that he just forgot.

At some point during all the late, sleepless nights and his lack of self care, the weird faux feverish haze he’d be experiencing actually became a feverish haze.

When he woke up with a splitting headache he knew he had taken ill, but there was no way Enjolras was going to tell anyone that he had.

They were only days before their rally, and they were truly hectic days. Everyone was busy and stressed trying to organise things and making sure everything was okay. Enjolras beyond proud of his amazing friends, and could not find the heart to burden their shoulders any more. It was a fever, he was going to be okay.

Enjolras dug through his closet, searching desperately for his winter clothing. It was nearing the end of the summer, but it was still pretty warm and hot. At least according to the weather app. But Enjolras was shaking furiously, and it was unbelievably hard to get out of his blankets that morning. Enjolras yanked an article of clothing out of his closet,  pulled on his signature red sweater that hadn’t been taken out since the early spring.

Enjolras pulled on his thicker jeans and shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to keep himself warmer. He lets out a scratchy, rough cough against the crook of his arm and winces as his body is racked at the sheer force.

Once Enjolras finished, he sniffles weakly and splutters for a little. He wipes his nose tiredly on his jumper sleeve, his nose squishing against the material roughly. He looked up to see himself in the little mirror on the wall and cringed at his own appearance. He’s white as snow, besides his cheeks which are saturated a deep red. He’s got dark circles, and he looks like shit.

Suddenly there was a soft knock at the door of his apartment, causing Enjolras to jump slightly. He cleared his throat, quickly trying to tame his messy, golden curls as he rushed over to his door. He opened it to reveal Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac was beaming, glowing with energy and looked about the epitome of health. A vast contrast to how Enjolras looking. He was radiating with sunshine, smile so wide and in black shorts and a bright yellow, thin t-shirt. The sight of him in such thin clothing made Enjolras shudder.

“You ready, mon ami?” He beamed.

Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by a sharp, congested little cough he had to swiftly cover with his wrist, whipping his head away. He grinned sheepishly, “I am. Lets go?”

Courfeyrac seemed unfazed by it all and was more than willing to leave, but was quickly stopped by Combeferre who had an eyebrow raised. He clearly wasn’t very thrilled with the gruff edge to Enjolras’s voice, and the look of his face.

“Enj..what’s wrong? You look..you don’t look great,” Combeferre frowned.

Enjolras shook his head, chuckling lightheartedly.

“I-I’m okay, I promise, just a little jittery. We’ve..got a huge number turning up, bigger than we’ve had in a while,” Enjolras reassured, flashing then his winning, charming smile although it is a little flat. He felt way too sick and empty to be his usual, radiant self.

Combeferre took it for now, sighing fondly and tossing Enjolras’s hair about, “You’re going to be alright, E. It’s going to be okay. Lets go, now.”

Enjolras gave him a half hearted grin, trying to ignore how heavy and miserable he felt. He felt like he was about to collapse, and he couldn’t walk in a straight line. He wobbled hopelessly, desperately wishing that he could just see the world straight. He didn’t even feel at one with his own body. How was he supposed to make people feel whole and alive, when he couldn’t even feel alive at all?

The next hour went by in a daze.

It didn’t even feel real, like he was trapped in some abstract impressionist painting. He didn’t feel connected to his own body and just watched the world as it went by. He watched an empty clearing suddenly pile in with people, and then there was hundreds. It so much, and Enjolras felt both a weird culmination of overwhelmed and nothing at all.

Enjolras watched as people yelled with passion, hope and energy. It was exhilarating, and it was amazing, but it drained Enjolras to the very bone. He felt like there was a heavy weight hanging over his shoulders, and he was slumping and he felt so sick. He was shivering hard, desperately wishing he was in bed, and he loathed himself for it.

The Cause was so much bigger than some fever. It was so much bigger than his illness. He was such an awful person for this. There were so many people out there who needed to be enlightened, and yet he couldn’t just make himself cop on a little bit and feel less empty. He needed to be their fierce, passionate leader, but he was nothing, and Enjolras felt like such a horrible burden.

Enjolras blinked blearily, smothering a harsh, rugged cough against the crook of his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut as a pang of pain stabbed at his lungs as he coughed, balling his fists as his body convulsed with the intensity of his coughing. He was taken out of it by a warm hand on his shoulder, and it felt amazing against his freezing frame.

Enjolras turned around, and when his blue eyes met green he instantly felt a little better. For a moment he felt a little less empty, and somewhere inside of him a little spark ignited and it was a little warmer. Grantaire had this weird little magical ability to ground him and hold him steady when he seemed to be floating away.

Grantaire’s smile was soft, and his eyes were sparkling with the kindest eyes Enjolras had ever seen, it was melting him, “Hey, good luck out there.”

Enjolras couldn’t help the fond smile that wiped across his face, and the pink dusting his cheeks took as he looked away shyly. “..T-thanks..”

Grantaire only smiled, and hesitated for a moment, looking a little shaky and unsure, but then he was firm and so sure.

“..I just..wanted to let you know that..I believe in you.”

Enjolras froze up, and suddenly he felt a lot less empty and more something. He felt alive, the spark igniting into a burning fire.

“..You’ve given me something to believe in, Enjolras..and uh..I’m not really sure if you believe in yourself..I’ve noticed you’ve been a little distant the past week and not quite yourself. Not our usual, strong, invincible leader. I hope you’re okay.”

Enjolras laughed awkwardly, giving him a sad little smile, “Thank you for the concern..but uh..you’re slightly wrong there, I’ve been more myself this past week than I’ve ever been. I’m not really your strong invincible leader…u-uh i..”

Tears pricked his eyes as he tried to wipe them away and he chuckled nervously, “Im just not. Not really that. I-I’m really sorry.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened, laced with a mixture of sadness, concern, guilt and a lot more that Enjolras couldn’t really read in his fevered state. Then a moment of clarity washed over his eyes.

“..I never said I believed in this strong, invincible leader.”

Enjolras looked up to see his loving smile.

“..I said I believed in you. So get out there, tiger. You can do it.”

A tear spilled from his eyes, which he quickly wiped away as he let out a shaky laugh and smile. He nodded, turning away from him and facing the curtain. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and thought of Grantaire, shutting out all the parts of himself that told him he couldn’t. All he could hear was Grantaire telling him he could and he felt so alive.

He stepped out onto the stage and he shone.

Everything went by in a weird blur, all he can really remember was passionate screaming, a fire blazing in his heart as people cheered him on. He felt exhilarated, this hopeful, euphoric buzz spreading and dancing within his veins as this energy burst into flame inside of him.

His illness would come back and bite him to remind himself of its sickened state, he would have to turn away to cough for a while. Sometimes he’d have to grip tight onto the podium as a wave of nausea hit him once his headache intensified. Waves of coldness would hit him and he would shake violently, and heat waves would wash over him, so scorching hot he was close to toppling over and fainting.

But none of this mattered.

What mattered was the hundreds of people with hope, hope for a better tomorrow. A better world, a kinder world. He could see the hope and enlightenment in their eyes, ablaze with determination. They were being inspired by his words, but more than anything he was being inspired by them. He felt amazing.

Then it was over, and the crowd was roaring and clapping. There was so much happening. He took a small, humble bow before he made his way back stage, to where his friends awaited.

Their faces were lit with happiness, they were all glowing. Their eyes twinkled, smiles wide and bright, arms open. They looked so loving Enjolras wondered why he ever thought he was a burden.

He could faintly hear his friends congratulating him and saying other positive things, but they were all being drowned out by a loud ringing in his ears. His headache intensified, as he tried to inch closer to them but his body felt so weak and exhausted that every step he took leeched his energy.

Grantaire’s arms were open wide for him, and as much as Enjolras wanted to melt into his embrace and fall into him he couldn’t go much closer because his knees were buckling and his vision was dotting and darkening.

Then he was free falling and the last thing he heard was the horrified screams of his friends.

It’s chaos.

Their sun and moon, collapsed on the floor. Weakened and sick, Grantaire’s not even sure if he’s breathing.

In these hectic, horrifying moments he’s suddenly realising how much a world without Enjolras would pain him. How empty that world would be. And right now his beautiful world with Enjolras in it is teetering on the edge to becoming a world he does not want to live in.

Everyone is panicking, but Combeferre is running and checking for a pulse. Enjolras is alive.

Grantaire doesn’t even know much time has passed because he’s just standing there with his heart racing scared that he’s lost him. That’s a thought Grantaire’s heart cannot bear.

Combeferre tells them he’s alright, that he’s just fevered and sick, and that he needs to go home, all will be fine.

But until Enjolras is awake and he can see those beautiful blue eyes shining with its charming sparkle nothing is fine.

When Enjolras wakes up he’s snuggled up in his favourite blanket on his couch, and he can faintly hear the beginning of the Breakfast Club in the background. Someone is softly caressing and playing with his curls, and it feels so nice. His head is lying on a soft little pillow taken from his bed, on top of someone’s lap. He looks down and sees his feet plopped onto Courfeyrac’s lap, who is happily munching away at some popcorn.

Enjolras looks a little further to see Combeferre sitting on the arm rest next to Courfeyrac and is sharing his popcorn, one hand placed firmly on his shoulder. He stirs and looks down and sees the sleeping bags and blowup mattresses scattered across his floor. Cosette is lying her head on Marius’s shoulder, who’s cuddling her and resting his chin on the top of her hair. Eponine is sitting near them, with Feuilly next to her as they share a packet of gummy bears. Jehan and Bahorel are sharing a bag of crisps, Joly is drinking a glass of water, Bossuet is wiping up some spilled soda on the floor, and Musichetta is coming back from the entrance holding a few boxes of pizza.

The person who is stroking his hair accidentally strokes against his nose, and Enjolras’s breath hitched twice before he shifts to cover his sneeze with the crook of his arm.

Grantaire chuckles softly, “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Enjolras looked up to see him and he blushed hard, the rush of emotions suddenly making him aware of his headache. He shook his head.

“No, I woke up a minute before that,” His voice was hoarse and croaky. He sounds awful.

Combeferre frowned and felt Enjolras’s forehead, gets up and returned shortly afterwards with a glass of water, medicine, and a damp towel. He passed the glass of water and medicine for him to consume. Enjolras obliged.

“You had a pretty dangerous fever earlier, E, and you were extremely dehydrated so you passed out. Why didn’t you say anything?” Combeferre scolds worriedly.

Enjolras laid back against Grantaire and snuggled against him, curling up as Grantaire draped the damp cloth over his forehead.

“..I don’t really know,” Enjolras said shyly.

He could feel everyone’s worried gazes.

“Enjolras, you know you can speak to us about anything,” Cosette cooed gently.

“It’s nothing, I just didn’t realise,” Enjolras brushed off quickly.

Grantaire sighed, “E, you know it isn’t that.”

Enjolras looks around wildly, and realised he can’t win, and pushed himself off of Grantaire to sit up. He’s a bit awkward, uncomfortable from being so vulnerable and feeling overwhelmed by everyone pausing the movie and turning around to look at him softly.

Before Enjolras even opens his mouth tears are already pricking his eyes, “I-I..just..had such a bad week..I-I felt so..so alone..which is really stupid because you’re all here for me and I just..felt so sad. I forgot to take care of myself and I-it’s..b-been tough..”

Enjolras’s voice cracked and he swallows, sniffling and looking away, “U-uh..I just felt like such a burden, you know? Y-you all see me as this amazing leader b-but the truth is, you guys, I’m just not. I’m so fucking weak. I-I’m so sorry I’m not but I’m just a stupid fucking boy who w-wants a better world.”

“Enj..you should’ve said so..” Courfeyrac said sadly.

“..You’re always telling us to reach out and you’re always here to listen to us, but you need to realise that it also applies to you, okay? We’re all here for you,” Combeferre said kindly.

Marius offers him a soft smile,  "And you are not weak. You’re one of the strongest people I know.“

"But you also have to start telling us these things, all of us would’ve been more than willing to be there for you. You really scared us, earlier, Enj..we thought you had died,” Bahorel says softly.

Grantaire wraps his arms around him and brings him close, embracing him with so much love and care, “Enjolras..we don’t need you to be fucking superman. You being just a guy, is so much more inspiring that way. A human can change the world, a human with flaws, it shows me there is still hope. You’ve given me hope again, Enjolras.”

Grantaire presses a shy, soft kiss against his cheek, “..We are right here, right by your side.”

Enjolras lets out a shaky laugh, and lets himself melt into Grantaire’s loving embrace and right here in his arms the world feels a lot lighter.

[bringinthebacon]

Distracted: Chapter 2- Control

Another chapter of this, not so much gore in this one... but it won't be gone for long....

It’s late when I wake up the next morning and the panic to get to class in time is only overwhelmed by the memories of the adrenaline that pounded through my body last night.

It’s late when I wake up the next morning and the panic to get to class in time is only overwhelmed by the memories of the adrenaline that pounded through my body last night. The sweet taste of Jeff’s blood on my lips and pleasure from tearing his skin to ribbons. I shake my head, banishing the thought. I will get to continue later. He can wait. A low chuckle erupts from my mouth as I realize the joke. Of course, he’ll wait. He can’t leave. He’s mine. That thought in itself make me shiver in delight. By now I’ve walked into the classroom and my smile leaves my face as I see Hana sitting and laughing with the redhead. How could I have forgotten about her. She was the reason I killed Jon. She was the most important. How could I have been distracted with the ecstasy that came with torturing Jeff? Because it’s the best thing, better than Hana.

NO!

NO! That can’t be right. Stop it!

I love Hana. She is everything.

But with Jeff we have control!

WHATEVER! WHATEVER!!! I can’t think about this right now, I’m in class.

Hana turns and waves at me and I smile, I barely catch the gleam in the redhead’s eye and the wicked grin she gives me. She has no right to look at me like that. I am no prey. I slid into my seat and glance at Ian out of the corner of my eye, why does Hana even like him? Ian knows that she loves him. I can tell. And yet he still rejects her, that makes me furious.

I can feel my anger rising up, ready to erupt from my chest. Ms. Shizuka enters the class before I lose control of myself. My teeth creak and I lean backwards in the chair, attempting to concentrate on the words that the middle-aged woman spouted. Though if I’m honest, it doesn’t really matter to me.

After class I stop by my locker before I head to lunch but the red head girl, Hana’s friend, corners me, slamming her hand against the locker next to mine. I immediately switch into the personality that my friends have come to know. A smile blooms across my face, “Hey, Mai. What’s up?”

Her face is set in a scowl, but my naïve smile is still blooming on my face. It’s easy to pretend to not see her accusing expression, Jon’s acting practice really was useful for something. “I saw you.”

I laugh, “Yeah? I see you too.”

“I saw you last night--- Dead weight sure is heavy, isn’t it?”

My heart skips a beat. She knows. She’ll tell. Hana will learn of it. I won’t get to hurt him anymore. They’ll save him, won’t they? Then she begins speaking again, “I’m not going to tell.”

A sigh heaves from my chest and I breathe deeply, still not trusting her words. She’s a liar. I already know. “I know what happened to Jon. But I don’t care. We all have our secrets. But if you hurt Hana or Jared, I swear to God I’ll tell.”

An uncomfortable laugh erupts from my mouth, “What are you talking about?” I immediately leave the joking manner behind me and close the distance between our faces, my voice dark and threatening, “Kill Hana, pfft. But if you do tell… Jared will die a bloody and painful death. And so will you.”

She laughs, her face leaving the dark undertones and morphing back into the friendly and open expression she almost always wears. She winks and turns away, heading toward the lunchroom, “Sounds like we understand each other.”

I shove my backpack into the locker and follow after her, “How did you see me anyway? Shouldn’t you be at the girl’s dorm at that time of night?”

Her face goes a rosy pink and I scoff, of course. Jared. Whatever, not like it matters to me unless one of them goes after Hana. I drop the subject and we walk silently toward the cafeteria. Before the doors open to the crowded room Mai stops in front of me, “I want to watch.”

“What?”

“You’re going to kill Jeff, right? Let me watch.”

I roll my eyes and shove past her into the room, ignoring her question and plastering a smile on my face, laughing at an imaginary joke. I join the others at the lunch table after grabbing a plate of food. Hana rarely sits with us anymore, as she usually is with those Hidden Block scum, but today, today is a good day. She laughs at Josh as he does his Joshualina impression and goes back to listening to the conversations around her. Mai shoves in next to her, flashing me an impertinent grin. I grind my teeth and sit next to Shane and Jirard, the only ones who haven’t shown improper interest in my lovely.

Hana turns to Mai and asks what took her so long. “I was talking to PBG about something.”

I feel my jaw clench and Hana asks, “What about?”

Mai winks, “Oh, I asking if I could help him with a project. He hasn’t given me an answer yet.” I can imagine the life going out of the red head slowly as I choke her, letting her lungs deplete and her body slowly shutting down from the lack of oxygen. In my mind’s eye I see her face turns red then pale as she slowly dies in my hands. I snap out of the illusion, having missed Hana’s reply.

~^v^v^v^v^v^~

After lunch I head back to the classroom and see that Mai is sitting alone, I rap on the desk and glare at her.

“Fine.”

It takes her a moment to realize what I’ve said but by the time a wide grin appears on her face I’ve already turned and slumped into my desk, thinking about strategies for soccer later today. My mind runs through maneuvers and plays, I momentarily forget that Jeff is currently out of commission and imagine him in my simulations. When I realize that he won’t be interrupting my strategy anymore my thoughts turn dark and I ponder what sort of torture I can inflict on him today. I can imagine the sweet smell of his blood on my hands and the feeling of the tip of my knife piercing his skin. I remember though, that if I want to continue with this he’ll have to heal, I don’t want to kill him anymore. I don’t—

No.

I don’t want to kill him.

I sit up and gasp in realization that it’s true. I don’t want to kill him anymore… I just want to hurt ‘im. Miss Shizuka glares at me, “Mr. ButterGamer, do you have something to share with the class.”

The other students stare at me and I put my head down again, “No.”

“Then I suggest you refrain from interrupting the class again.”

I grind my teeth and conjure up images of Jeff’s pain to keep my temper in check. I glance at the window and see Hana’s slight smile at me. My insides warm and the images of suffering temporarily fly from my thoughts. However, within minutes my attention shifts back to the agony I will cause. Back to the problem. I want Jeff to fear me.

But I also want to see the pointless hope of escape in his eye… and crush it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. A quiet sigh escapes my lips and my eyes roam the room once again taking in my year-mates quietly listening to the lecture. Seeing the shock of brilliant red makes me smile as I feel the start of an idea take shape in my mind.

~^v^v^v^v^v^~

Tight ropes cut into Jeff’s skin as he struggles against them and the dark of the closet is claustrophobic and suffocating. The gag is still lodged in his mouth and his chest still bare. The pain explodes as he finally loses adrenaline and wakes into this nightmare. Tears seep from his eye sockets though the empty hole is now covered by a small patch. The anguish is unrelenting and each part of his body screams in terror. There is no blindfold on his face but the room is dark, the only light a thin strip of gray from under the door. Each small cut and tiny slice is precise and throbs and stings. Little to say for his knee, which feels like a mallet is continuously shattering it, and the empty socket where his eye used to be. The funny thing is, if anything could be funny in this situation, he doesn’t feel any pain from the blood-soaked bandage on his face, and although he is shirtless and in the basement of Bluebell, he isn’t cold. It feels like ages that Jeff sits there. Grinding his teeth. Occasional tears slipping down his face and dripping onto his legs. Darkness and silence so enclosing he might’ve thought he was dead. All except the suffering he experienced. The lack of light eventually seeps into his brain and so when the door finally opens, the light is blinding and bright, adding further to the headache pressing at his temples. Once his vision clears the first thought that races through his head is of escape.

Mai stands in front of him, a grimace on her face as she surveys the injuries covering Jeff’s body (and the tight bandages covering grotesque horrors). His eye is wide and hopeful and she rushes forward, assurances on her breath. “Jeff! What happened to you?”

She pulls the gag out of his mouth and he breaths deeply before he answers, “PBG did this. He killed Jon too. I think he’s gone insane, we have to call the cops.”

“PBG did this? Crap. Do you think it’s because of Hana? People do crazy things when they don’t get to be with the main character. But no, we can’t call the police. He could kill more people. Or us. I have no doubt that he would.”

Jeff’s face twitches in pain and she can see his struggle to keep from crying, the emotional turmoil boiling in his mind must be fierce and violent. On one hand, the misery is more than he believed he’d ever have to bear, but on the other hand he doesn’t want more of his friends to die.

Still slightly loopy from the drugs he finds that deep thoughts only cause his brain to throb and the pain in his body feels excruciating. “Look. Why don’t I give you new bandages, maybe help you feel better? I assume he’s not going to kill you because he’s the only one who could have bandaged you in the first place.”

She busies herself searching the rooms in the moist dark and every moment that Jeff can’t see her toned body he’s afraid she’ll never return and he’ll be left to rot alone in the gloom. She returns and rewraps the injuries that PBG had inflicted the night before and when she’s close to finishing she looks again at Jeff’s marred face and sighs. “I don’t know if he’s just toying with you though, give you hope and then kill you off later. Maybe I could convince him to let me join him, not for real of course, and make sure he doesn’t kill you.”

Jeff nods, agreement the most obvious answer. She pulls a bottle of pain killers from her pocket and gives him two, “I know it’s not much and it won’t last long anyway, but maybe this will help a little.”

He accepts the drugs graciously and swallows them dry, his throat still parched and arid. And she holds up the ropes and gag, “I guess we have to put these back on don’t we. I’ll bring you water in a little while if I know he isn’t going to come down.”

He nods stoically, his sticky matted hair shifting over his face so he can’t even see out of the only eye he has left. After the Mai ties the ropes snugly around his wrists she gives him a sad smile that seems to say, ‘we’re going to get out of this’ and shuts the door, enclosing him in suffocating silence once again. And though the torture and misery of his situation seems inescapable, he feels a tiny swell of hope within his heart.