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violetsmoak · 4 years ago

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The Specter at the Feast [1/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556579/chapters/59300599

Summary: A tragic incident as a child left Tim Drake with the ability to commune with the dead. It’s a skill he’s used to close some of the most confounding cases to come across his desk at Gotham City’s Major Crimes Unit. But when he learns of an apparent murder-suicide that could link to a very personal case he’s been working for ten years, he might need more than a connection to the afterlife to solve it. Especially when Detective Jason Todd, a man in denial about his own psychic abilities, is assigned lead on the same case.

Sparks immediately fly between the two detectives—and not necessarily in a good way—as they are forced to work together to take down a macabre serial killer before it’s too late.

Disclaimer: This story uses characters, situations and premises that are copyright DC Comics, Inc. No infringement pertaining to graphic novels, television series or films is intended by violetsmoak in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author’s Note: Here’s one of the stories I’ve been working on for JayTimWeek. As I mentioned on tumblr, I got hit by a big blast of inspiration for one of my original stories and have kind of been working on that like mad for the past three weeks, so unfortunately I didn’t have time to dedicate to the prompt fills for JTW as I wanted to. As soon as I run out of steam for that, I’ll get back to filling the prompts. So, bad news I probably won’t post anything else during the event, but eventually my prompts will all crop up once I recapture my attention span :P Huge thank you to strawberyjei for taking the time to beta-read this chapter!

_______________________________________________________________

“That stuff will kill you one day.”

Tim Drake frowns and glances to his right, noticing the half-amused and half-exasperated smile playing on his best friend’s face.

“Will not,” he retorts with the instantaneity of an oft-repeated argument and leans more securely against sun-warmed stone. He takes a defiant sip from his jumbo travel mug, enjoying the bitterness of his favorite morning indulgence—slow-brewed light roast with three shots of espresso. “Besides, how else do you expect me to be awake enough to drive out here at this hour?”

He doesn’t have to see Kon to know he’s rolling his eyes.

“You don’t actually have to—you’re the one who keeps showing up; I just wait here.”

There’s something buried in the joking tone, and Tim shifts in discomfort as he detects the unspoken scolding. Choosing to ignore it, he swallows another mouthful of coffee and stares past the well-kept shrubbery, observing the gentle waves on the river.

From a distance, Gotham’s elegance is deceptive. By daylight, the riot of architectural styles jutting into the horizon appear whimsical instead of grotesque, and the layers of filth and decay suggest character as opposed to rampant corruption. Even on a Sunday, it teems with energy.

I guess that’s what still convinces people to move to the crime capital of America.

Tim knows from experience that the city’s grandeur is not as noticeable when combing her streets for the criminal element.

That knowledge doesn’t stop him from digging out his cellphone and snapping a few lazy photos. The quality won’t compare to shots taken with the Nikon he has at home, but it’s rare to perceive the city of his birth as something other than sinister; he won’t squander the opportunity.

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” Tim suggests in a light tone. “I could just be out here, minding my business, taking in the scenery—”

“Hah!”

“—and you’re stalking me.”

“Stalking’s your thing.”

“Is it really stalking if you get paid for it?”

“Whatever you say, detective,” Kon sneers without true malice and crosses his arms across his chest. Despite the chilly early spring air, he’s wearing only a black t-shirt with a red Superman symbol. Tim gave it to him for his birthday a few years ago, but the sight of it these days still elicits a nostalgia-induced lump in his throat. “Either way, you’re the chump who showed up here on his first day off in forever. Sunday, remember? You’re supposed to be spending the day lounging at your fancy estate, getting ready to gorge yourself on Alfred-made dinner, not bumming around with me.”

“That’s not for hours,” Tim dismisses, “and to be honest, I’d rather skip it.”

Kon glances sideways at him. “Haven’t you missed it all month?”

“I was working the entire time. Everyone in the family has to do the occasional weekend rotation, Alfred knows that. Besides, I see them all at some point or another every week.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Kon taunts. “I thought we agreed you needed to stop isolating yourself?”

The furrow in his brow is one that Tim recognizes as a prelude to concern, though, and he suspects he won’t be able to deter his friend.

“I’m not isolating myself.”

“That so? When was your last date?”

And there it is.

“I left myself wide open for that one,” Tim sighs.

“You know I’m right.”

“Here it comes…”

“I’m serious—you can’t still be carrying a torch for your ex—”

“There are no torches.”

“—hoping it’ll work out—”

“I’m not!”

“—because that ship has sailed,” Kon concludes. “She’s dating your sister for God’s sake.”

“I’m aware.”

“And it’s been two years.”

“I’ve been on dates in the last two years,” Tim protests.

“Cassie doesn’t count,” Kon replies.

That earns a wince. “We agreed never to speak about that.”

“And I told you I was fine with it, man, it’s not like I was there.”

There’s a heavy sensation in Tim’s chest at that reminder, and he scowls at Kon for bringing it up. That usually earns a shrug or palms-up gesture of surrender, but today Kon squares his shoulders and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“I already told you it meant nothing. We were both hurting and just…needed someone,” Tim insists.

Kon ignores him. “Which I’m okay with—relieved, even. I know you guys wouldn’t have looked at each other if circumstances were different. Which brings me back to Cassie, not counting.”

“She was there for me as much as I was there for her—can we please talk about something else?”

“Depends—do you have a better example than my last girlfriend?”

“Hey, I’ve been with other people! Remember Tam?”

“Yeah, your dad’s former business manager’s daughter,” Kon deadpans, “who you only started dating because everyone thought it was convenient. And she left you because you weren’t interested enough in the relationship.”

“What are you talking about? I was interested!”

“You didn’t even get to second base with her, man.”

“Are you seriously using the baseball metaphor?”

“Then there’s Bernard Whatshisname for the occasional booty call.”

“I regret ever telling you about that.”

“And don’t even get me started on that cop from Hong Kong that you hooked up with last month.”

“Okay, that one was a mistake,” Tim admits.

“But none of those were actual relationships. You haven’t had one of those since Steph.”

“I don’t recall you being this judgy before.”

“You’re one of my only sources of entertainment,” Kon deflects. “It’s like binge-watching Netflix and yelling at the idiot hero to stop screwing up his life. Except in this case, the idiot hero can actually hear me and have to listen.”

“‘Have to’ is debatable…”

Kon pushes off the stone they are both leaning against and turns to face him. It always annoys Tim when he pulls this, given he’s three inches taller and has twice the upper body strength.

“This is what you do, Tim. You keep people at a distance and on the rare occasion where they disappoint you or hurt you, you close yourself off,” Kon sighs. “You need to relax, man.”

Tim’s phone rings, granting him a welcome distraction.

“The last time I relaxed, I got stabbed,” he reminds Kon as he glances at the device. He blinks in surprise when he recognizes his brother’s scowling face and phone number flashing up at him. “Speak of the devil.” He swipes at the screen and answers, making a face at his best friend. “Gremlin.”

“Timothy,” is the terse answer, and Tim can almost hear the scowl in the younger man’s voice.

Huh. First name today. Either something bad happened, or he wants something.

Tim ignores the tiny edge of worry blossoming at the thought; if it were a family emergency, Alfred or Dick would call him, not Damian.

It must be the second thing.

“What do you want?”

“Where are you this morning?” the younger man asks, ignoring the question.

“It’s Sunday, where do you think I am?” he shoots back, deciding two can play ‘answer-with-a-question.’

Except Damian seems to have no intention of following the usual script.

“Of course,” he says instead, sounding distracted. “Then you should be close enough.”

“…For what?”

There’s a beat of hesitation, and then Damian says, “I may have stumbled upon something you’d find…interesting.”

Because that doesn’t sound ominous…

“Define ‘interesting’.”

“I’m at work,” Damian says. “Securing a crime scene.”

That moves Tim along the spectrum from wary to defensive at once. He goes to substantial lengths to avoid working with any of his siblings in a professional capacity. It’s a necessity in a family where law enforcement is all but synonymous with the name Wayne. Even if their older brother Dick hadn’t started the tradition of downplaying that link in the professional sphere, Tim has always been diligent in establishing professional boundaries. So far, his family has respected them. Damian, in particular, has always been gleeful—almost militant—in keeping to that maxim; for him to break it, something must have upset him.

And for him to reach out to me instead of Dick is…I don’t think it’s ever happened.

“Are you sure you should have called me then?” Tim queries in a careful tone, wanting to make sure he’s not misreading the situation. “Dick might be a better option.”

“Richard wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t view it the same way.”

“The same way,” Tim repeats, the words sparking something—a flicker of suspicion begins to take shape.

“I shouldn’t even be telling you this,” Damian continues, “so you’d better be appreciative—”

“Spit it out, Damian.” Tim doesn’t have the patience for the adult version of ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’.

“Murder-suicide. Apparently. The bodies were posed,” Damian says, voice low as if he doesn’t want someone to overhear him, “And all the victims are holding hands.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry and his entire body tenses. “All?”

“Five,” Damian tells him shortly.

That makes Tim close his eyes in dismay. “Other than the number it’s the same MO as the others?”

“The crime itself, yes. Don’t your files say the last one was five years ago?”

Tim knows it should irritate him that Damian’s been poking around his casefiles—he always considered office protocol as more guidelines than law. But the infraction pales next to the knowledge blossoming into being.

It’s happening again.

“If you want to see for yourself, get here before whoever they assign as the lead detective does,” Damian is saying.

Torn, Tim’s eyes flick to Kon, who clearly knows what is being said and whose expression is all-too knowing for Tim’s liking.

“Where is it?” Tim asks at last.

“Diamond District. Gotham Tower Apartments.”

“That’s unusual,” Tim grunts, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. Only one of the earlier cases took place in what either of them would consider an upper-class neighborhood. “Also, outside of my jurisdiction.”

“That wouldn’t stop me if I were in your position.”

There’s a click and then a dial tone.

Tim gives a slow exhale, closing his eyes.

He and Damian were never the closest, but once the early friction between them eased, they developed their own dynamic. And one specific shared understanding that they bonded over in secret, away from the prying and often unintentionally judging eyes of family.

“How is he a jerk even when he’s trying to be helpful?” Tim mutters more to himself than Kon. He’s already calculating how long it will take him to get across the bridge from Metropolis.

Half an hour, with no traffic.

It will be cutting it close, assuming Damian holds off giving his own precinct the details until the last second.

He must be serious about this if he’ll risk being called up on discipline for not following protocol.

Tim turns to Kon. “Sorry, but I need to head out.”

“Like I won’t see you again next week,” Kon dismisses with a grim smile. “After all, you’re always here.”

“You say that like you don’t want me to be,” Tim replies, suspicious.

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re my best friend, I obviously want you to visit. But you need more in your life than work, checking in with me and—I dunno—chasing some white whale.”

“Really?” Tim deadpans. “You, of all people? You want me to give up trying to get justice—”

“Not what I’m saying,” Kon interrupts. “I’m just trying to tell you there’s more out there and you deserve to find it.” He pauses. “And agrees with me.”

Tim cuts off a curse with a hiss. “That is a low blow, you two ganging up on me.”

“What can I say? You’d better listen, or he’ll do something impulsive, if he hasn’t already.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tim grumbles, keying the coordinates of the crime scene into his phone’s GPS.

“Remember,” Kon calls after him, “ ”

“Always do,” Tim replies. As he heads for the gates of the cemetery, brushing his fingers against the headstone that reads: Connor Kent, Beloved Son, Brother, Friend—Brave Fireman of the Metropolis Fire Department.

⁂

“Six days,” Jason Todd fumes, glaring down at the muddle of papers and file folders in front of him. “I’m gone for six days, and you jerks decide to turn my desk into an episode of Hoarders.”

“Relax, Todd, it’s just paper, not toxic waste,” Detective Adams drawls as she passes by, unapologetically grabbing a few of the offending folders on her way.

“This? This is not just paper, it’s a potential biohazard.”

His desk, usually the immaculate outlier in the chaotic, open concept dumping ground of the 12th Precinct, is now covered in empty coffee cups, old take-out cartons, and other detritus.

“Says the man who filled my desk drawer with a cubic foot of golf balls the last time I was on leave.”

“None of which were covered in saliva—I mean, come on!” He holds up several crumpled napkins. “It’s just common fucking courtesy!”

“Take it up with Rayner.”

“Of course it was him. Guy has it out for me…”

“You did shoot him.”

“One time! And it was a shoulder wound! If I hadn’t, both our covers would have been blown and we’d both be dead.”

“Cry me a river, Todd,” Adams snorts. “I’ve got a lead on the Kirano case and don’t have time to wipe away your tears of manly angst.”

She stalks away, totally missing how he flips her the bird. Not that his heart is in it; he’s actually fond of Onyx and would even work with her if she could stand him. But the one time they were partnered together, it ended with them running away from an exploding truck and a two-inch-thick shard of metal through her shoulder.

Still trying to figure out how I got the blame for that one…

It’s not like he goes into a situation intending to get the people next to him injured. For some reason, he just happens to be better at intuiting incoming threats, whether it be a perp taking a swing with a knife or stopping just short of being shot.

It happens, sometimes, this inexplicable intuition. Roy always called it a sixth sense, but Jason takes issue with any of that hokey paranormal crap. He gets hunches—gut feelings that have served him extremely well in his career and helped him rise quickly through the ranks.

But he doesn’t like to think of himself as psychic.

He likes thinking of the possible reason for his “hunches” even less.

Finally getting the worst of the garbage into the trashcan beneath his desk, Jason starts on the wayward papers, pleased that most of it can be shredded and won’t require a trip to the file room. There’s one folder, however, that doesn’t fit anywhere: some arson report that has nothing to do with any of his ongoing cases.

He skims through the particulars of the folder and notes the name on the CSI report—B. Allen—which suggests it isn’t even recent. He’s been friends with the new ME, Stephanie Brown, for two years now, and never met the guy that was here before her.

Maybe someone’s trying to find a pattern or something.

Jason decides to bring it to the captain; if anyone’s missing a file related to their case, she’ll have a better idea.

He skirts around uniformed officers moving to and fro, some leading handcuffed offenders to the holding cells at the back of the building, others talking over their cases with each other or on the phone. He passes the office corkboard, filled with everything from sketches of perps at large (it seems Dr. Pamela Isley is up to her usual eco-terrorism) to reminders about the Gotham General Blood Drive (anyone who donates in uniform gets the rest of the day off, as well as the next one).

By the time he reaches the captain’s office, he’s sweating. It might be crisp outside, but inside there are so many bodies moving around that it might as well be the hottest day of summer.

Raising his hand to knock, he’s surprised when the door opens inward and the captain steps out.

“Todd,” she says with a blink, then nods to herself. “Right. You’re back today. That works. Get in here—I’ve got a case for you.”

He’s too used to Artemis’ brusque manner to be bemused; instead, he ducks into her office and closes the door behind him.

“It’s not another missing kid, is it?” he asks apprehensively; the last case involved a fourteen-year-old girl. “No promises I won’t break some scumbag’s teeth again if that’s the case.”

“You’d better not break anyone’s teeth,” Artemis chides him, a warning glint in her eyes. “Especially since you just got off suspension.”

And that for using “unnecessary force” in apprehending a drug dealer selling his shit to a bunch of kids.

“But no,” she continues, sitting behind her desk and reaching for a file, “it’s not. The officers on the scene are reporting it as an apparent murder-suicide.”

“And you thought that’s how I wanted to spend my first day back at work? I’m touched. Whatever made you think of me?”

“The fact that you were conveniently in front of me when I opened the door.”

“Aw, here I was expectin’ you to say something like, ‘well, you’re a constant pain in my ass, but you’ve also got the best record for closin’ cases in this department’.”

“You don’t need the ego boost. Now either take it and be grateful, or I’m giving it to Adams as I planned—”

“Gimme,” Jason interrupts, snatching the file folder from her.

“That’s what I thought.”

He settles into one of the chairs in front of the captain’s desk and opens the folder.

“I want this one looked into and closed as soon as possible,” Artemis goes on.

“Why?”

“Because of who the victim is.”

Jason frowns, scans through the preliminary report to see that the victim—victims—have, in fact, been identified. His eyebrows shoot upward.

“J. Devlin Davenport.” He looks up at Artemis, askance. “The investment guy? The one being investigated for embezzlement?”

“Fraud Squad’s been building a case against him for six months now,” Artemis confirms. “The guy set up a fake company and defrauded his investors out of 200 million. They’re still trying to track the stuff he funneled through the Bahamas.”

“If they find it, send it my way,” Jason says, still skimming through the papers.

“Could you sound any more cliché?”

“If I tried, maybe,” he replies, distracted as he slides the folder he brought to one side of her desk.

“What’s that?” Artemis asks.

“Dunno. File was on my desk. Arson, I think. Figured someone left it there.”

“We don’t have any arson cases ongoing at the moment, but I’ll ask around. Maybe someone’s doing case research.”

“Uh-huh,” Jason murmurs. He taps the paper in front of him. “Listen, if they’re saying this is a murder-suicide, that’s probably what it is.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Look at the transcript from when it was called in.”

“‘Bodies of the deceased were…arranged around the dinner table’,” Jason reads. “What the… ‘lack of struggle might suggest sedation before they were removed to the dining room and posed’—posed? Like a photographer does?” He makes a face. “Kind of a lot of effort for someone who just committed suicide right after…”

“If I’m not mistaken, that would be the thing that needs investigating.”

Jason ignores the sarcasm, checking to see who called this in.

Al-Ghul. Huh. Well, at least he’ll keep the place from being overrun. Kid’s scary good at keeping the rubberneckers away.

And pissing off the MEs by lurking around while they work.

Jason knows the new officer just wants to learn, but he also tends to be a bit of an entitled know-it-all like most of his generation. It’s a trait he’ll lose the longer he walks a beat and works up through the ranks, but right now it makes most people want to punch him.

Jason might be one of those people if it weren’t for the fact Al-Ghul is meticulous about taking statements, prompt in securing crime scenes, and entirely willing to go the extra mile to help a detective close a case even when he’s off the clock. He recognizes the ambition and the need to prove himself from his own first years as a cop.

If he adjusts that attitude a bit, I might even put in a recommendation to put him on detective track…

Jason closes the folder and grins at Artemis.

“So, who’s the unlucky bastard you’re pairing me with today?”

He doesn’t work well with a partner, given his tendency to ignore rules in favor of his gut instincts. Especially since it’s never steered him wrong. Most other detectives can’t stand that, with the exception of his last partner, Roy Harper, who transferred to Star City six months ago to be closer to his daughter. Then again, Roy always considered rules arbitrary anyhow.

Since then, Jason’s been cycled through almost all the detectives at the 9th Precinct, all without finding a decent fit.

Pretty sure it’s Artemis’ way of torturing me since plenty of other guys work their cases solo.

It’s a blatant implication that he needs a babysitter.

“Rayner wrapped up most of his cases last week,” Artemis replies without even checking the duty roster on her desk.

“Hell no.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I giving you the impression you have a choice?”

“Unless you want me back on suspension, you’re not putting me with that asshole.”

“Well, Jason,” she says, finally looking up at him with an expression that suggests she’s fully ready to call his bluff, “you have this tendency to either piss off or sleep with whoever gets assigned to you. At least if you’re working with someone that pisses you off, I’m less likely to need to fill out the paperwork to reassign them afterward.”

“And if they happen to fall into both categories?” he leers at her in an exaggerated manner. She was one of his partners once, both on the job and briefly outside of it. He prods at the plaque on her desk that reads Captain A. Bana-Migdhall. In retaliation, she reaches over and raps him on the knuckles with it. “Ow!”

“You’re not helping your case right now.”

“You know, it’s not my fault Eddie decided he’d rather play Bond Babe for the scary CIA chick with the one eye. And Miguel’s the one who couldn’t keep his hands off me, so…”

“Just…go find Rayner,” Artemis sighs, waving her hand in dismissal. “I need that crime scene checked over and wrapped up quickly. The Mayor’s office wants an answer on this pronto.”

Jason sneers at that. “Of course they do. Because the Waynes and Davenports are old country club buddies, right?”

“Maybe fifty years ago. But Bruce Wayne spent more time as a cop than some rich college co-ed. He got elected based on his tough-on-crime stance, so it’s more likely he just wants to make sure the high-profile target of a class-action suit hasn’t been the victim of foul play.” Artemis pauses. “Especially since, having met the man, I’m pretty sure Wayne would have liked to beat the truth out of Davenport personally.”

“Now there’s a reality show I’d watch.”

“On your own time. Now go do your job.”

“Or Rayner.”

Artemis drops her pen and stares. “What?”

“Well, from what you said before, I figure if I fuck Rayner, it means you won’t ever make me work with him again, so—”

“Get the hell out of my office!” Artemis barks, throwing her tissue box at his head. Jason ducks and slips out of her office with a grin on his face.

There are a few good-natured laughs from his coworkers—“In trouble again, Todd?”—and he heads across the room to Kyle Rayner’s desk.

“What do you want?” the other detective demands, nose wrinkling at Jason like he’s just smelled something rank. It’s his default expression whenever they cross paths.

It’s also the expression that drives Jason to mess with him whenever he can.

Time for a bit of payback for the desk thing.

“Not me,” he says, affecting a nonchalant shrug. “Captain wanted to know if you could head down to the 7th.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Apparently her opposite number there has something she needs to be sent over and doesn’t want to wait on official channels to slow everything down.”

“What do I look like, a courier?” Rayner growls, but Jason can see from the way he smooths a hand through his hair that he’s got him.

It’s not exactly a secret that Jason’s workplace nemesis has a thing for Precinct 7’s Captain Troy, or that he’ll take any excuse to go flirt with her.

It’s unrequited, of course, and Jason’s bound to get an earful from Donna the next time they run into each other, but worth it to get Rayner out of his way.

“Whatever, man, I just work here,” he says, only half-pretending irritation. “You want to tell Captain ‘no’, it’s your balls in a vice, not mine.”

“Yeah, that’d be a switch, wouldn’t it?”

But the other man pushes back his chair and grabs his jacket.

Jason smirks at his retreating back and spins on his heel, returning to his own desk to grab his car keys.

Maybe the day’s looking up a bit.

⁂

There’s a gaggle of reporters already on the scene when Tim arrives, and he wonders not for the first time just how many of them have their own inside sources in the various police precincts of Gotham. There are also two ambulances on the scene, but thankfully someone had the foresight to park them in a way that shields the entrance of the high-rise apartment.

Officer Kelley, Damian’s partner of six months, is walking back and forth along the police tape to ensure none of the intrepid rubberneckers can get through. Head down and dark glasses firmly in place, Tim hurries past the press before they can recognize him (it thankfully doesn’t happen very often, but when it does it’s a pain in the ass) and approaches Kelly. Though they’ve met before, he flashes his badge and identifies himself.

All of Tim’s official identification name him as Timothy Drake-Wayne and have since he was about seventeen, but he only uses the latter name if he absolutely must. With regards to work, he’s only ever used it during official meetings with the Commissioner or during obligatory police ceremonies.

Or when Bruce makes up some official sounding excuse to check up on me when he feels he hasn’t heard from me in a while.

He's endured at least one of those this past month.

Kelley barely raises an eyebrow, suggesting Damian must have warned her who he was calling and waves him through. It speaks to how much they trust each other as partners that she’s going along with what’s clearly a personal issue. Most other cops would question the need for two law enforcement officers from the same family needing to be at the same crime scene.

There are two elevators in the lobby, one of which is already open with a sign posted to warn residents from using it. Another officer Tim doesn’t recognize is waiting beside it, and Tim once again flashes his badge before heading up.

He’s subjected to a brief interlude of elevator muzak, before the doors open to the foyer outside of what has to be the victims’ apartment. Two ambulance techs are just exiting, carrying with them tools that are clearly useless here. He waits for them to pass and slips inside, taking in the stylish décor of the hall and nearby living room. Inside the latter, there’s a small woman speaking to another EMT, a blanket over her shoulders as she tries to speak through sobs.

Damian is watching the scene from across the room, mouth pulled into his habitual frown; this deepens when he sees Tim. Undeterred, Tim strides over—he was invited, after all.

“So, are you going to tell me why I’m risking Cassie’s wrath this morning?” he asks as he joins the younger man. Tim's friend might not be the type of captain to fire him for the flagrant conduct unbecoming, but she can make his life miserable for the foreseeable future.

“The bodies were found this morning by the cleaning lady,” Damian says, also not bothering with such trite pleasantries as a greeting. “No signs of break-in or struggle.”

“Cleaning lady? This early on a Sunday? They must have been paying her overtime.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “Pennyworth works Sundays.”

“Only because it would take the same amount of phenobarbital to stun a moose as it would to make Alfred take a day of rest.” They exchange a wry look of agreement, and Tim returns to the subject at hand. “So, she identified the bodies?”

“Yes. Joseph Devlin Davenport, his wife Lina, and the three teenaged offspring—Neil, Irene, and Roderick.”

Tim’s eyes go wide; he’s met every one of them before. “Shit.”

“Indeed.” Damian flips through his notepad, though they both know it’s for show. “All the victims were executed by two gunshots to the head, except Davenport himself; the medical examiner was here, and her preliminary findings suggest the husband shot his wife and children first, then turned the gun on himself. There are no signs of struggle, no bruising, or markings on the bodies…”

“None of that’s particularly extraordinary though.”

“And then there’s their hands.”

They share a look.

“Did you mention that when you called it in to your superiors?”

“No, when I called it in I gave them the basics. Since then I’ve noticed a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the fact a firearm was discharged several times in a residential complex and no one heard anything,” Damian says. “Yet I didn’t find a suppressor anywhere on the scene; just the weapon itself.”

“Is the penthouse soundproofed?” Tim asks.

“No. When I spoke to the downstairs residents, they told me they had even made several noise complaints to the building management in the past. Nothing ever came from it, of course—money talks—but someone should have heard something.”

“Assuming they recognized the sound of gunfire. This isn’t exactly Burnley. Which…could be a good thing. Buildings like this tend to have good security systems.”

“Obviously that was my next thought,” Damian drawls. “While Kelley was calming down the help, I went to speak with the security guards in case the camera system caught sight of anyone suspicious.”

"And did they?"

“No. They apparently had to run a routine update on their software, which knocked out the feed between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m.”

“And you think this is when the shooting took place.”

“I imagine Brown will find the time of death to be around that point,” Damian agrees with a smug upward quirk of his lips. “For Davenport to decide to kill himself at the exact time when the security feeds go offline is rather coincidental.”

Tim shakes his head. “Maybe, maybe not. Anything else?”

“What about the fact Davenport was left-handed but shot himself with his right hand?”

Tim blinks. “And how do you figure he was left-handed?”

“Please,” Damian dismisses with a snort, “I’ve been forced to attend enough fundraisers with Father in the past, and Davenport was often present. Even you would remember that ham-fisted troglodyte trying to sip from a champagne flute had you ever deigned to attend.”

Tim tilts his head in acknowledgment of both the barb and the observation. “Fair. Though so far all of this sounds pretty circumstantial—nothing really screams 'second shooter' here. And other than the hand thing—”

“Go see for yourself. The bodies are in the dining room. I imagine your specific talents will confirm my suspicions.” Tim starts into the apartment. “By the way, if you’re still here when the lead detective gets here, I’ll deny knowing you.”

Tim snorts. “As expected.”

“And you are not to tell Richard I was involved in this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Tim has to hold back a chuckle at that; Damian is even more acquainted with Dick’s mollycoddling than he is.

“Noted. Let Alfred know I might be a bit late for dinner tonight.”

“It’s not Alfred you have to worry about.”

Tim heads down the hall, accepting a pair of plastic gloves from one of the passing investigators. As he pulls them on, he takes note of the doors to the bedrooms that remain open, and the photographs and paintings hanging on the walls. Nothing is disturbed, no signs of a struggle like there would be if the victims had been dragged from their beds, and there’s no sign of blood on the floors leading from the rooms or even the hallway itself.

That means the victims either walked voluntarily—which is unlikely—or sedated and carried.

It’s looking like Damian’s instincts might be on-point here, but it’s not until Tim steps foot in the dining room that he realizes just how much that’s the case.

He freezes in place, hit with a familiar jarring of his senses at something not meant to be perceived.

Davenport was a man in his mid-forties, tall and with the look of a skinny person that’s suddenly gained a whole lot of weight, and not in a healthy manner. Tim remembers meeting him at some dinner with his parents when he was younger, and his mother disparaging the man behind his back as a social-climbing schemer.

And that was before the Ponzi scheme.

The man’s blond hair implants are now plastered with blood and brain matter that oozes down the left side of his head. His eyes roll in wild fear, tears and snot running down his face, which is immobilized in a stiff smile from regular Botox injections. That mouth is now twisted in a grotesque scream that makes Tim wince even in its silence, the unsettling sensation of nails on a chalkboard traveling up through his nervous system.

Tim is careful not to draw the attention to himself, not just because of the crime scene team still milling about the scene, but because the last thing he needs right now is a panicked ghost latching on to him. Davenport’s spirit is still in too much shock for rationality and may fixate on Tim if he discovers he can see him. Which he knows from experience is not fun.

The newly dead are like drowning victims—if they catch hold of you, they’ll drag you under with them. Best case scenario, Tim experiences a few seconds of possession and a week of dissociative identity issues; worst-case scenario, he could die from the same trauma.

Unfortunately, given the lack of control newly dead spirits have, the latter is most likely.

The ghost is luckily far enough from the dining room table that Tim can edge past him without ostensibly acknowledging its presence; instead, he studies the actual bodies and tries not to regret his coffee that morning.

The five victims have not yet been moved, but the placement of tarps over them suggests the crime scene photographers have already been by. Going from one body to the next, Tim lifts the sheets carefully, trying not to disturb anything too much in his investigation. The victims are all dressed in their nightclothes, seated around the table on wooden, cloth-back chairs.

Damian wasn’t lying; all of them holding hands.

The dining room table is fully laden with dishes and cutlery, glasses filled with orange juice and bowls with the soggy remnants of cereal and milk. Other than the angry red entrance wounds on their foreheads—two shots each—there are no other visible injuries. Only the body of the presumed shooter, based on the position of the gun and his hand, is splayed out unnaturally across the table, ostensibly from the force of the gunshot.

Otherwise, it looks like they were all just sitting down to breakfast at the time of death.

His stomach roils a bit at the notion, not only because of the clearly depraved mind behind arranging the tableau but because the scene is familiar to him in a way he wishes it wasn’t.

Teeth clenched, Tim digs out his phone and starts to take his own pictures, not wanting to have to contact the lead detective and beg for copies. In the periphery, Davenport’s ghost continues to spasm and flail, making it hard for Tim to concentrate.

His eyes rest on the spot where the murder weapon fell and is struck by a sudden idea. Hoping he’s right, he takes a quick tour of the rest of the apartment but makes deliberate stops in the bedroom and the home office.

It’s another fifteen minutes of taking pictures and lightly rummaging through the belongings of the dead before he finds something. Striding out of the office and back toward the scene of the murder, Tim shoots a text message off to his friend Victor at the ATF.

Running gun serial numbers might be a little more complicated than on TV, but the guy owes me a favor. And if I’m right—

His thoughts cut off as he notices movement out of the corner of his eye, a movement that belongs to someone living this time.

There’s a newcomer on the scene, and from the way he flashes the badge, Tim would guess it’s the detective who’s actually supposed to be here. He’s redheaded, wearing a leather jacket and a loose tie that looks like he threw it on in a hurry. Even from this distance, Tim can make out a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his chin and the edge to his mouth that’s inherently challenging. The man’s whole esthetic reads scrapper, but his posture and carriage inarguably declare cop. Tim would know, his family is made up almost entirely of them.

Pretending like he hasn’t noticed the stranger, Tim shifts to face the scene once again, continuing to study him under his lashes as the man exchanges words with Damian.

He blames Kon entirely for the way his attention rests on the man’s muscular thighs, before the man turns toward Tim and starts forward, conversation with Damian clearly over.

Well shit…

⁂

Jason has an uneasy feeling in his stomach even before he even arrives at the Davenports’ penthouse apartment.

It’s not an anticipatory reaction to seeing the aftermath of a murder—he’s worked homicide long enough to have developed a means of distancing himself from the crimes he investigates. The feeling is more like expectation, a nagging sense that something huge is about to happen.

Never a good sign in my experience.

“Detective Todd?”

Jason pauses as he finishes putting on a pair of plastic gloves and glances up at the speaker.

“Officer Al-Ghul,” he replies, more formal than usual as he tries to shove the weird feeling to the back of his mind. “What’ve we got?”

The kid excuses himself from the small, tearful woman he’s speaking to and strides over.

“It seems to be a murder-suicide,” he says and launches into a report that’s almost word-for-word the transcript of what he called into the precinct, with a few extra additions. Jason lets the words wash over him, keeping an ear out for anything that deviates too much from what he already knows while casting his eyes about the apartment.

Geeze, you could fit three Crime Alley families in the living room alone. Who the fuck needs all this space?

His eyes fall upon someone across the room that he doesn’t recognize.

Young—maybe a bit younger than Jason—with an athletic build and good looks that, despite being clean-cut, give no clue as to whether they’re male or female. Whoever it is, they’re not dressed as a CSI or in an officer’s uniform, but they’re studying the crime scene with the eye of someone in the business. When the stranger notices Jason, he or she turns around, apparently fascinated by the photographs on the living room wall.

“Who’s that?” Jason interrupts Al-Ghul. “New CSI?”

Al-Ghul scowls in annoyance, either at the interruption or at the subject of the question, Jason isn’t sure.

“Major Crimes,” he says after a beat.

That immediately puts Jason’s back up. “What the hell is MCU doing here?”

Al-Ghul shrugs, as if to say, ‘that’s your problem, not mine’, and returns his attention to the woman from before. Deciding this is a welcome distraction from his own unease, Jason stalks toward the stranger, ready to rip them a new one.

“Hey, buddy—wanna tell me what you think you’re doing at my crime scene?”

“Just taking a look around,” the detective replies, not turning around immediately.

Jason’s eyes flick to the photos on the wall, wondering what seems so captivating.

Most of them are glamor shots, professionally done, but some are clearly personal photos. Davenport and his wife on a golf course, the teenagers lounging around against a tropical beach backdrop, and another of Davenport sitting in a bed surrounded by his kids. Though his surroundings seem comfortable, he’s hooked up to some kind of IV stand, and despite the smile on everyone’s faces, there’s a haunted edge to it.

Oh yeah, now I remember.

A while back there was something in the news about him undergoing treatment for some kind of blood cancer. He actually tried to use that to discourage his case from being investigated. Just proves what kind of scumbag Davenport is.

Was.

Which brings him back to the present.

“I’m gonna need a bit more than that unless you want me making a call to the brass up at MCU,” Jason warns.

The detective turns to offer Jason what is clearly intended to be a disarming smile. “No need for that, I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

Jason prides himself on not being susceptible to that sort of thing, but—

Holy shit, he’s hot up close.

And yes, that’s definitely a male face studying him with an air of appraisal, in spite of the deceptively delicate features. The guy is mostly clean-shaven and wearing a smart-looking peacoat that offers a compliment to his eyes, which are very blue. It’s the intense color you don’t see very often outside of newborn babies, but with a pronounced gleam of intelligence that feels almost penetrating.

There’s also a confident set to his shoulders and a stubborn bend to his lips that instantly puts Jason’s mind on the defensive (and other parts at attention).

“Detective Drake,” the guy goes on, offering a hand to Jason. His voice is warm and smooth, the kind that’s more suited for phone sex than reciting Miranda rights. “Major Crimes, as you already seem to be aware.”

Jason refrains from taking the hand. “Detective Todd. 12th Precinct. Homicide. There a reason you guys are sticking your noses into a murder-suicide?”

“There’s reason to believe this may actually be the work of a serial murderer,” Drake replies, looking unbothered by the rebuff.

“Really,” Jason says flatly. “And what are you basing that on? Because the report I got is leanin’ pretty hard on this guy killing his wife and kids, then himself. That’s probably how the city’s going to record it. This isn’t a scene that needs in-depth investigating and there’s no need for one lead detective here, let alone two—especially not a guy who’s clearly out of his jurisdiction.”

‘Detective Drake’ doesn’t appear to notice the clear marking of territory.

“Have you been in there yet?” he asks instead.

“No, because I’m wasting my time explainin’ protocol to a smart-ass out of his jurisdiction.”

Drake smirks at that, sharp and unwavering. “Well, when you get around to it, you’ll probably cotton on to the fact the murder weapon was a .32 automatic with the serial filed off.”

“So?”

“So, first of all, the neighbors would have heard the discharge if it was fired without a decent suppressor, but there’s no evidence of one at the scene of the crime.”

Which, Jason can admit, is out of the ordinary. Most people committing suicide don’t care about how loud the shot will be that takes them out, but if they did use one, it would still be attached to the gun.

“Second, Davenport was an ardent supporter of gun rights. I remember seeing a clip of him on the news, going at it with the Mayor over his proposed gun-control laws.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Your point being?”

“My point is that generally, gun rights activists own guns. Which Davenport did—you’ll find them in his closet and his study, next to all the relevant paperwork: 9mm Glocks. And they have serial numbers.” Drake levels a challenging stare at Jason. “What’s the point of procuring an unregistered weapon when you have your own within easy reach? And why chisel the number off if you’re just going to commit suicide? It’s not like you need to care about it being traced once you’re dead.”

“The guy was rich—rich people do weird things. Probably some convoluted insurance thing,” he suggests.

“Or it wasn’t his.”

“So maybe he was holdin’ it for a friend. It happens. Still doesn’t change the fact this tool offed his own family.”

“And what about the fact that the same model gun has been found at the scene of at least fourteen other murder-suicides in this city in the past ten years?”

“It’s Gotham. Play the probabilities game long enough, you’ll get a bunch of seemingly random crimes that resemble each other.”

“Maybe. But in the ninety-something years before that—in fact, as long as the city’s kept records on this sort of thing—there have been only two murder-suicides that could fit that pattern, and those had enough additional evidence to solve immediately. But in the past decade, we've got two particular years where a series of murder-suicides were committed using an unregistered .32, where neighbors didn’t hear any of the gunshots and yet there was no sign of a suppressor. Five years ago, and ten years ago,” Drake tells him grimly. “Both those years there were exactly seven incidents, and then they stopped. None of those have been solved.”

“That says more about the investigating cops than the crimes themselves. You don’t solve a murder-suicide—the evidence is right there,” Jason insists, though what Drake has to say is uncomfortably close to what his own gut was telling him when he walked into the apartment.

“And the fact that in each situation, the victims are found holding hands?” Drake challenges, with the air of someone presenting a winning argument.

And, yeah, that’s a bit of a weird coincidence, but still not an argument for a major investigation.

“If that’s an actual detail in all these supposed cases of yours, it would have been noted.”

“Not if no one thought it was worth noting,” Drake retorts. “Not if whoever made those reports just thought it was some kind of death pact or…cult related suicide. They weren’t looking for it.”

“But you are.”

“Clearly.”

Jason peers at him another beat and then shakes his head. “Look, I have about seven other cases of actual homicide that need my attention, so if you could just—"

“Seriously?” Drake demands, losing some of his smooth calm at last. “You don’t find any of that compelling enough to—”

“To what? Start imagining serial killers where there are none? No, I don’t,” Jason snaps. “All I see so far is some rich bastard got caught running a Ponzi scheme, so he decided to take the easy way out and dragged his poor family with him. It’s what rich people do when things get hard; because if they can’t have it, no one can.”

That earns him a cold look. “Out of the other fourteen cases, only one of them involved a couple who could be considered rich.”

“Fourteen other cases where only you seem to notice the pattern. I dunno what you want me to say, buddy. Clearly, you got an ax to grind, so do me a favor and grind it away from my scene.”

Despite his words, it’s not a suggestion, and Drake recognizes it.

Scowling at Jason in something like disgust, he straightens up. “Fine. I’m going. But when another family is slaughtered by this nutjob—and it will happen—you’ll remember this discussion. Hopefully, before you have to answer another six homicide calls.”

Drake spares Jason one final judgmental look and heads for the front door.

Jason watches him, briefly admiring the man’s ass as he walks away, and then puts the encounter out of his mind. He’s got a job to do, and Artemis said she wanted this sorted out today.

Squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for another grim sight—he hates crime scenes that involve kids—he heads out of the living room toward the back of the apartment and the scene of the crime.

Crossing the threshold to the dining room, Jason’s earlier disquiet morphs, evolving from nervous apprehension to a full-blown dip towards dread. He barely catches a glimpse of the tarps draped over the bodies, when his stomach pulls tight, shoulders tensing as if waiting for a blow from the right, but there’s no one there. Something far too close to fear chokes at his throat, forcing him to pause in the doorway and put a steadying hand on the doorframe.

Spots appear across his vision, a chill winding up his spine, and—

—sobbing, hysterical tears, please don’t do this, please just let them go, heart racing, blood thundering, please no, I’ll give you anything, someone help, click, bang, agony, nothing—

Jason shudders as he comes back to himself, reeling back a step.

The sensations ebb a little but don’t completely vanish, and he has to take a few breaths to regain his control. Now that he expects it, it won’t be too hard entering the room, but the fact it hit him like that...

Jason glances back to the entrance of the apartment, mouth setting into a grimace. He’s cleaned up plenty of suicides, and they never hit him with that degree of dread before.

He has a bad feeling that Detective Drake might have been right—whatever happened in the apartment, it wasn’t as simple as it's meant to look.

________________________________________________________________

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn't something you're comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel! ❤️️ = I love this story!

😳 = this was hot!

💐 = thank you for sharing this

🍵 = tea spilled

🍬 = so sweet and fluffy!

🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good!

😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER

😢 = you got me right in the feels

🤯mind blown

🤬god damn cliffhanger

😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

#JayTimWeek2020 #JayTimWeek #jaytim #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #DCU #batman #casefic #day 5 #detective!jason #detective!tim #psychic!jason #medium!tim #mystery #romance #drama

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dontshootmespence · 6 years ago

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Something Else Here

Summary: When a former classmate that won’t take the hint comes back to town, you beg your best friend Castiel to fake a marriage so that they’ll leave you alone.

Pairing: Human!Castiel x Reader

Word Count: 1,791

Warnings: A dude that won’t take no for an answer. Otherwise pretty fluffy.

A/N: This fulfills my fake marriage square for @castielspnbingo!

Raucous knocking downstairs made him pop out of bed, hair spiked up in the back and a tiny bit of drool dribbling down the corner of his mouth. “What the hell?” He mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Cas! Cas! Open up! Emergency!”

He sped downstairs and opened the door to see Y/N in perfect health, no cuts of bruises, even a smile on her face. “What’s the emergency? Why did you wake me up at 7-fucking-30 on my day off when you’re not bleeding or on fire?”

Laughing, Y/N walked into the house and into the streaming sunlight that Cas was shielding his eyes from. Like a vampire, it was just too early for this shit. “Glad to know that bleeding and on fire are the only things that constitute an emergency in your book,” she said with a snort. “It’s not a physical emergency. But it’s a friend emergency and I need your help.”

Cas ambled into the kitchen and began brewing some coffee, taking two cups out of the cabinet without even asking whether she wanted some. She always wanted some. It was rumored that it was caffeine and not blood that ran through her veins. “What do you need help with? It’s a good thing I love you, you know that?”

She sat down at the table and gave him the cheesiest smile imaginable. If they hadn’t grown up together, he’d have killed her by now. “I do,” she laughed. “Remember that guy in college that couldn’t take the hint?”

“Bradley Something?”

“Yes, Bradley Something.”

“What about him?”

Taking the cup of coffee from Cas, she leaned back in her chair, stretching her back muscles against the strong wood and explained that she heard through the grapevine he was going to be back in town for a short time.

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose willing the burgeoning headache to fuck off. “Okay and what does this mean in terms of emergency?”

“You remember him right?” Y/N exclaimed, sending a jolt of pain through her friend’s head. “He was uncomfortably close and could never take a hint, but he always seemed to leave the married women alone. It’s like that was his line in the sand.”

“So you want me to marry you?” He laughed.

“Well, no, not really, but could we fake it while he’s in town?”

Downing the rest of his coffee, he turned to pour another mug. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He thought, it could be worse. She was his best friend and drop dead gorgeous, but the idea was so ridiculous he couldn’t believe she was entertaining it. “Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll go out a couple times. I have a ring I can wear and we’ll get all lovey-dovey. You’re gonna have to kiss me though.”

“Have you seen your lips, Cas? Not a problem for me.” She popped up from the chair and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you so much. I know this is ridiculous but he won’t leave me alone and if marriage is his line in the sand then this might get him off my back.”

“I hope it does,” he laughed. “If it doesn’t we’ll just have to make out in front of him. Like, sloppy gross, public display of affection make out.”

Snickering, Y/N spoke, “You’d just hate that, wouldn’t you?”

-------

A week later, when the fucker that wouldn’t take a hint came back to town, Cas invited Y/N over so they could formulate a plan. Cas pulled out a fairly plain silver band that he’d inherited from his father to pass as a wedding ring and Y/N had something similar, an old family heirloom, to pose as her own. “Okay, so how are we going about this? Do we have any special plans? Mission Impossible-style?” Cas asked, raising his hands like finger guns.

“No, you dork, we can just do whatever we normally do. Go run errands, go out to eat, whatever. If we see him, which I’m sure we will because it’s like he seeks me out every time he’s in town, we have to act like newlyweds so he’ll know to back off.”

Cas smirked. “So that means I have to kiss you?”

“Yup.”

He closed the space between them and grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing the softest of kisses on her lips. He’d never kissed her before. Though they’d both thought about it one time or another. His lips were soft and inviting, comforting, familiar, and she nearly forgot that this was all a ploy.

-------

Both of them needed groceries, but for the week Y/N was planning to stay with Cas so they put together a joint list and headed out. She could still feel where his lips had touched hers and she wasn’t altogether unhappy about that. As a matter of fact, the image made her smile.

They’d never been on a date before and both found themselves questioning why. Anyone walking through the grocery store that didn’t know them already would think they were together, the easy-going smiles and comfortable embraces a dead giveaway that there was some kind of a connection there. Add to that the way they playfully teased each other at every turn and it was the perfect combination for a beautiful and healthy relationship.

After going back to his place to put away the groceries they’d bought for the week, they went mini-golfing. A new place had just opened up and Cas was a giant child so he practically threw a temper tantrum until Y/N had agreed to go. In all honesty, it didn’t take much convincing. They had nothing better to do and she hadn’t been in ages. It looked like fun.

And it was. A few people they knew happened to see them and asked about the rings. One in particular was Y/N’s old roommate from college. “We’re just pretending,” she whispered to her friend. “You remember how Brad would ask me out at least twice a week? Well, I begged Cas to fake a marriage so if we run into him he’ll back off.”

“Oh yea,” she laughed. “Married women always seemed to be the turn off for him.”

Of course the entire time they were on the golf course, Cas kept score and he beat Y/N by one point, so he was insufferable on the way to dinner. If she could materialize a pie from nowhere that would be wonderful because she wanted to shove it in his face. “Where should we go to dinner?”

“Diner down the block?” Cas asked. “I know it’s normally insane on the weekends, but I could go for a burger.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Inside the restaurant, Cas craned his head to the corner of the restaurant where Brad was sitting with what was probably some childhood friends. “Here’s our moment,” he laughed softly.

The way Brad’s eyes honed in on her made her skin crawl, but she grasped Cas’s hand and sat down across from him. “I mean, I know I’m your fake husband but I could go kick his ass if you he’s making you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s okay.” She felt icy cold when he looked at her, but hopefully he’d see their rings soon and back off. “Let’s just eat.”

Both of them got big greasy bacon cheeseburgers and a couple of root beers, barely saying a word to one another except to comment on the bacon. “Oh fuck, he’s coming over,” she whispered, wiping her mouth to give him a perfect fake smile. “Hi, Brad. What brings you back to town?”

As the restaurant became more and more crowded, Brad regaled them both the the boring tales of a work project that brought him back to town and on more than one occasion he tried to bring up their college days, his eyes always darting to her ring. Every time he brought it up, Cas reached over and squeezed her hand, an inward show of friendship and solidarity and an outward show of belonging. “So when did you two get married?” Brad asked with obvious disdain dripping in Cas’s direction, though he was looking at Y/N.

Cas answered quickly. “Just a few months ago. Eloped, just the two of us. Decided we couldn’t wait.”

He answered so quickly and with such sincerity that Y/N had to wonder if there was more than just the surface answer. “It was the perfect day,” Y/N replied.

“I’d always been hoping to scoop you up for myself,” Bradley added as the two faux lovebirds gazed at each other. “Figuring one day you might come around.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” she responded. She was not sorry in the slightest. Not even a little bit. “Cas and I have been friends forever. It’s always been him.” That also came out with a little too much sincerity.

“Well, I hope you two are happy,” he said. “I should get back to my friends. Nice seeing you, Y/N.”

Without a word, she waved him off and glanced at Cas. What they’d said to Bradley seemed more than just a cover up and both knew it, but Cas laughed it off. “He doesn’t like me.”

“No, he doesn’t. He’s staring you down.”

Bradley’s eyes pierced her, an icy blue settling into her spine. “If you weren’t here, I’d honestly be afraid.”

“Well, I’m here.”

As if he could see the chills crawl up her spine, Cas signaled for the check and paid quickly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they walked through the door and back out to the car. Unfortunately, Bradley and his crew were just a few steps behind them.”Hey Y/N,” he said, injecting some levity into his voice even though she could tell he was deadly serious, “if you guys don’t work out, give me a call.”

Shrugging it off, she mumbled ‘as if’ under her breath and slipped into the passenger’s seat. “Oh my god, I feel like I need a shower.”

“Seriously, he’s gross,” Cas said. “Take the hint, dude.”

“I think he did. He just wasn’t happy about it and he couldn’t hide his feelings.”

“Well, too bad for him. Ready to go home?”

Home. “Yea.”

“I know we saw him and he saw the rings, but I figured you’d probably stay with me until he left town, right?”

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t feel safe going back to my place.”

“Then with me it is,” he said, smiling.

On the drive back to Cas’s house, they stole glances, words hanging heavy but hopeful in the air. Maybe there was something else there. Something that neither had ever noticed or addressed, but something that could change them for the better nonetheless.

#castielspnbingo #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x y/n #castiel fanfiction #castiel fanfic #castiel imagine #dontshootmespence #something else here

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paradise-of-guilty-pleasures · 5 years ago

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Shattered Reflections {7}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 6. Most Memorable

A/N:

Chapter 6 ⇑ ⇑ ⇑ didn’t really show up in the tags cause of the links, so I suggest you go read that first if you haven’t yet, because chapter 6-8 are all direct continuations and you don’t wanna miss out on the Helsa goodness.

7. Consequential Confidante

Hans was right, she had to stop blaming herself for everything, sometimes bad things just happen.

Correct the past in the present, not in the past we can't access. Those words stuck out to Elsa, they were a wise way of thinking about life. Focus on changing what can still be changed. She aspired to start taking those words to heart herself.

Elsa felt the shift in his hand holding hers, getting lost in her thoughts had almost made her forget she was holding it. She briefly glanced down at their hands before giving another firm squeeze.

She met his gaze accompanied by a reassuring smile. " Yes, you are doing a pretty good job correcting," she assured with a slight nod of her head.

Hans looked relieved, but he still couldn't ask for forgiveness, feeling he had not yet earned it. He just held her hand in supportive and appreciative silence for a moment.

"I just wish advice was as easy to take as it is to give. Perhaps if I listened to it, I could have avoided a lot of problems in life. But then, life wouldn't have led me here, I suppose. Perhaps it was worth it."

It was strange that he could say that, with the skin nearly flayed from his back and turned into ropy scar tissue, bandages still covering his torso, a criminal in a foreign country.

But, from his perspective: He was an undeserving wretch holding the hand of the Ice Queen of Arendelle, who could have killed him as easily as looked at him. He had survived what he was not meant to survive on multiple occasions, and now he was in a spare room of a castle, holding the Queen's hand as if they were friends, or perhaps something else.

Not to say he could do that without guilt. No, he felt the guilt every day, each as strong as the last. But she didn't need to know that. She didn't need to know how he would have sooner hanged than hear what Anna thought of him to his face, or how he thought every day about how things could or should have been different.

Perhaps it was implied in what he said: He was very bad at following his own advice.

"Life doesn't always give you want, I know that for certain, but if you're lucky it gives you what you need."

Elsa had once believed she was bound to continue living as a recluse in her own castle. The gates would be forever closed after the coronation and everything would return to ‘normal’, because some things never change. Yet, life had a different plan.

Hans, his proposal and Anna's persistence had unknowingly become the catalyst that incidentally revealed Elsa's secret, which in turn started a chain reaction. Unfortunately the end results were Hans' treason.

Even though Elsa would never really remember all that transpired during the coronation incident fondly, she was still grateful of the doors it opened just for happening. She reconnected with her sister, finally let go, and found her freedom. It had also made other things possible that might not have happened otherwise, like Anna meeting Kristoff, the creation of Olaf, and finally; reopening the gates of Arendelle.

But just because things with Hans ended tragically during the coronation, didn’t mean they would have been better off without him, because if it weren't for him helping set off the reaction, some things might have never changed.

Elsa believed some things happened for a reason. Did she believe in destiny? Not exactly. She didn't see fate as something set in stone, but more like something that gave you opportunities, and how you use them is up to you.

"Very true." He agreed softly. He watched her as she got lost in thought, and he felt something. He wasn't sure what. Some degree of peace? Loyalty? Admiration seemed closest at the moment. He admired her beauty and her strength, her softness and her wisdom. Wisdom didn't always mean knowing everything, but accepting knowledge when it came.

"Shall I tell another story? Or have you other questions for me, Your Majesty?" He asked after a long moment, both seemingly lost in their own separate thoughts.

His questions brought her out of her thoughts. Listening to another story would be nice, she really enjoyed those a lot. Yet, there were still many unanswered questions.

There was a knotty question in particular that was eating away at her, it was probably best not to ask, for she may regret asking it for she not might like the answer, yet curiosity seemed to get the best of her.

So, against her better judgement, she dared to ask anyway.

" So, what did you really think of Anna?"

Hans thought about his response a bit.

"She's a sweet girl, a little naive, but that's not her fault. She's cute and endearing, and she needs someone who can listen to her and make sure she feels listened to. She's determined, too-- and has a right hook that could compete with my brothers." He laughed and touched his jaw, remembering that punch.

"She punched me off the boat." He laughed a little at that memory. "She's determined and wants to be taken seriously, she's impatient and excitable. If she weren't a princess I would advise she go spend some time exploring. If she got a little training and world-wise, she would be a fine pirate, I would wager." That was as much a joke as anything.

"Or are you asking my feelings for her? I consider her a good princess, and someone I wish I hadn't had to disappoint so thoroughly. I'd sooner she never see me again, if at all humanly possible."

His insight on her sister was reassuring, she was pleased that he spoke highly of her.

She wasn't exactly sure what she had been inquiring about herself, his real thoughts, feelings or maybe she just wanted to find an opening to tell him Anna was all right, after everything that happened.

" Anna was lucky to have found Kristoff then, he's a great listener." She smiled thinking of the gentle mountain man and how much he loved her sister.

" She truly is a free spirit, and had she been a pirate she would surely have wrought some havoc," she lightly laughed.

Elsa paused and her face began to grimace.

"I wish not to disappoint her myself... I forbade her from going to see you in the dungeon afraid of what she might do..." she was worried about Anna's well-being as well as Hans' come they cross paths." I have yet to inform her you are no longer there...and I'm afraid of upsetting her."

Hans listened, and smiled a bit. "Kristoff... the big mountain man, I assume? He seemed honest. Don't think I heard two words from him, but that's the impression I got." He shrugged.

"Thank you for that. It's not the violence I fear, anything she can do to me I'll bear without a word, but it's the disappointment and anger that hurts. I don't get to feel bad about it, though. I did this to myself. Maybe I was wrong, maybe everything would have turned out fine without my being a villain, I can't know. But it was so much easier to be a villain at the time and let her be angry with me, than for 'true love's kiss' not to work and for her to be disappointed in me, or worse, herself. Maybe that makes me a coward. It wouldn't be the first time I took the coward's route." He looked down at his hands, pulling his from hers to fold them in his lap. No, He didn't feel he deserved forgiveness of any stripe.

Elsa nodded to confirm his inquiry about Kristoff.

Elsa had once again forgotten their hands were intertwined until he retracted his hand from hers, letting the warmth that once surrounded it dissipate.

She drew back her hand balling it up against her chest. Elsa pursed her lips and they both sat silently for a moment.

She took in a breath as she opened her mouth to speak.

" Anna's frozen heart will always be my fault." Even if it was by accident, and Anna had easily forgiven her, she couldn't yet forgive herself, it was a guilt that continued to consume her, she had almost killed her sister, yet again.

" I'm sorry you felt caught between a rock and a hard place, and thought you were forced to choose the lesser of two evils," she apologized, for the circumstances. " Don't get me wrong, I don't condone your actions, but I do understand them."

"But, I don't believe a 'true love's kiss' would have saved Anna regardless if you actually loved her, I don't think true love works like that," she rationalized. "I don't know much about love myself, but I believe true love is unconditional and requires time. It isn't something that just happens between two strangers overnight, like in fairy tales, I’m afraid that’s just misinterpreting infatuation, and not actually true love." She briefly paused. She would have mentioned the only unconditional love she happening overnight would be parental love, that love between parents and their newborn child, but refrained herself from doing so, realizing that not everyone is lucky enough to have parents that felt that way.

"I believe what really ended up saving Anna was...her own selflessness." Elsa's voice grew softer. "She gave up her chance of saving herself...in order to save... me." There was a slight trembling in her tone. "Her sacrifice was the act of true love... she saved herself by saving me..." She paused as she tried to gulp down the lump that had grown in her throat. Talking about Anna's Frozen Heart on the fjord was hard on Elsa, she was getting teary-eyed. She took a deep breath,to keep herself from crying. "I love Anna with all my heart...but I feel my love is selfish compared to hers," Elsa thought of how Anna had never given up on her, even after the countless times Elsa had pushed her out and shut the door in her face. Elsa didn't think she was strong enough to endure that same pain Anna had without giving up hope.

" I can't think of any other way...we would all be here today...had you...had things not..." She clenched her fist tighter and inhaled again.

" We can never know for sure...how things would have played out differently. But, like you yourself said in the throne room, and I also believe, it was a rather-- miraculous outcome, to say the least."

"If you think yourself a coward, that makes me one as well. Had I stayed rather than run away, everything could have been prevented."

She spiraled into blaming herself for everything again, it was a habit that was hard to break.

Elsa hadn't noticed she had chilled the room as she spoke.

Hans watched her devolve into self-hate and near tears with a look of sympathy. She was clearly so deeply upset-- and in front of a prisoner.

No, he couldn't still be a prisoner. Prisoners did not see the Queen cry. Whatever he was, things had changed. He wasn't sure why. His focus was elsewhere.

He took her cold hands in his and knelt in front of her on the floor, to warm her.

"Hey, hush now." He cooed softly, familiar words from long ago, ones she wouldn't know the way he did. He reached up to pet her hair.

"Stop this thought, you're killing yourself slowly, and one day you'll think like this and make the last decision you'll ever make, forgetting all the people around you who would never be the same. Your sister, your servants, your people, your guards, Kristoff, your snow-creations, myself. There must be a hundred names you know, faces you remember, people who would shed a thousand tears if they knew what pains drove you here. Don't make my mistakes. I made that decision once, someone else stopped me, and I saw the cost of thinking this way for everyone else. Stop feeding your hate, even if it's hate for yourself, even if it's disguised as sorrow. You have made mistakes, had accidents, but you were never a treasoner. You never raised a sword to another intending to kill. You are a wondrous person and if you keep thinking the way you are, I fear we all may one day find that wondrous person missing from our lives forever. I know too many who would never bear that thought."

He spoke quietly, almost in a rush, but always with genuine-seeming care and concern, her hands clasped in his, on one knee on the cold stone without sign of discomfort, looking up at her.

He was alluding to some uncomfortable things. Whether she understood them, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Elsa's hands tightly clasped to his with a slight tremble. She looked down at him with her blue eyes welled up with tears.

The return of his warmth was comforting. His cooing and tender touches had momentarily soothed her. She'd continued to fight back the tears, but to no avail, his words failed to console her heavy heart and she began to weep.

Elsa understood what he was implying, and recognized what decision he had intended to take, before being stopped by someone. The easy way out, the thought that briefly crossed her own mind up at the North Mountain, of the world better off without her. It hurt her heart to hear, he had impelled to take such an action. She wondered what had provoked him to do so, and dreaded to think it might have been his remorse.

"I-I would never...I love...Anna... Arendelle... too much to ever... make them suffer because of me again." She murmured, with a sniffle.

Her whole body began to quiver.

"But I can't help, but feel guilty... the mistakes I made shouldn't be brushed off as if they were nothing or pretend they never happened... just because I am Queen... they were fatal mistakes...I may not be deemed a treasoner...but...people almost lost their lives...one of being...my own sister and all because of...me.

"...And yet Anna keeps telling me... 'It's alright'...because I didn't mean to..but is it really all right?..Does my intention really matter?..A life lost is a lost life... and it would have been...blood on my hands... no matter what.

"I know... love is the key...to my ability...but deep down... I'm still afraid... if I... if I...accidentally lose control again...I could actually end up...killing someone...with-without a second thought."

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

She was letting out the hidden darkness that kept eating away at her heart, thoughts that often kept her up at night, to a man that almost killed her himself, nonetheless. Why? Why did she feel compelled to pour her heart out this man? Why not confide in Anna? Her sweet sister who deeply loved her. Or maybe Kristoff? Who was wise and always willing to listen. Why did it have to be him? Why Hans?..Why?

Maybe, because out of everyone, he was the only one that could truly understand her.

Hans was surprised she would weep in front of him. It was heartbreaking, truly. But, he could see something had shifted between them. He was something more than a prisoner, though still something less than a person. Still, so were the fey, and they seemed to have sway here.

"Hey, shh, shh, it's alright." He cooed, dimly remembering the same gentleness from his father, as he reached up to brush away her tears with warm hands.

"You're trapped in an awful paradox. To be responsible you have fears, but every fear makes your powers tremble to fix it like a dog after a stick. What can you do? Stop viewing this as fear, that's the dark side, that part that blocks out the sun and gives the ice room to grow. It's your love of others that recedes the shadows and melts the ice. It's the love of your sister, your people, your kingdom that makes you so concerned for them. There will not be blood on your hands, you are too kind, for your ice to let anyone truly die. I have seen that for myself." She, he had heard, was in the room while the doctor fixed his back. She had seen the damage and the scars, infections and blood. She stood by and assisted through it all. That was not the work of a killer.

"Sit with me, you should have a shoulder to cry on, and for all my injury, my shoulders are fine." He joked a little, to encourage her to move to sit on his bed with him, that he could hold her and let her cry.

Was it proper, for a queen and her prisoner? No. None of it was. But he recognized that something was different.

'They'll never see me cry!'

Elsa had once told herself. And yet look at her now, sitting here sobbing like a child. She'd failed to conceal and not feel yet again.

Was it improper for a queen to let herself cave in and weep ( especially in front of a man she'd ruled her prisoner)? By all means, yes. Ill-advised? Most certainly. Starting to lament it? Without a doubt. But, had it been a mistake? That was something that was yet to be determined.

She nodded at his offer, shifting her body to sit next to his (once he sat), with little to no reluctance. She was already weeping, it could be no worse to allow herself some solace.

Elsa slightly leaned her head upon his shoulder. One hand grasping at his shirt.

"I'm sorry," she muttered under her breath.

Hans pulled Elsa closer so she could rest against his chest. In truth, it was not his shoulder he felt she needed, but the rest of him. To be held and recognize another human being close to her, recognizing her pain.

"You never need to apologize to me. You did nothing to me that I didn't do to myself." He assured gently. It had been his choices, his responses that got him where he was. He stroked her hair and held her as if they had always been friends, or perhaps as something else.

"Cry all you like, I'll not tell a soul. Sometimes it's all we can do to stay sane. And when you're done, I'll make a fool of myself to brighten your spirits, make you laugh."

Even weeping, she was beautiful. It was a heart-rending scene, and in a way, he was glad he was a prisoner there. It was easier, he suspected, to give secrets to a man who could have none of his own. To someone who would speak to no-one. By rights, Arendelle, and Isles law, he was hers to command, and he had no problems with that. He wondered if she fully recognized that.

Elsa's body naturally tensed up at the shift, though she didn't not resist Hans pulling her closer. His embrace was warm, much like that of the blankets she would often nestle herself in, when she sought comfort from Anna and a cup of cocoa.

She did not try to force her tears to stop, fearing it might cause her to sob even harder than just allowing them to flow. Even if she hated feeling so vulnerable crying, it did seem to be easing her aching heart.

His gentle hair stroking was soothing. For the longest time she heard nothing but the sounds of her own whimpering. Her ear was pressed up against his chest, she tried to focus her attention on Hans' respiration, his breath was calm and steady compared to hers, she slowly tried to make hers replicate his. She closed her eyes and listened more attentively to hear his heart, it's beat soft and it's rhythm calming.

After staying like that for a while, her tears had stopped flowing and she felt she had calmed down significantly.

She slowly shifted, bringing up her hands pushing her palms against face brushing away the remnants of her tears. She looked up at Hans as she sat up.

"Thank you, " Elsa whispered, followed by a sniffle.

"Of course." Hans assured, watching her with softness in his eyes. "Did I tell you about the depth of symbolism, in a man of the Isles surrendering his sword? It is to a noble similar to giving up a crown. My loyalties are yours." Maybe he shouldn't have said it, but he thought that perhaps it might distract her from her woes. He reached up to help dry her eyes, affectionate and caring. He had some fondness for her, even if he really shouldn't have.

Elsa's heart skipped a beat and felt her face flushing. She wasn't sure if it was brought about by: the softness green eyes, the weight of his words or maybe their proximity was finally sinking in, all three together were a bit overwhelming.

"Uh-I wasn't aware of that." she said, shaking her head. "You only told me was that the surrender sword belonged to me now and you couldn't have another unless gifted back by Arendelle, I believe." Elsa tried her best to keep eye-contact but her blue eyes kept dancing back and forth trying to escape his gaze.

"Yes, it goes a little deeper than that. It's a willing lack of defense. What's more, Nobody held a knife to my throat or threatened my family. I came willingly and gave you my sword, my loyalties are yours and your command is mine to take. Even if I were to receive lands, unless a sword is gifted to me first, they would traditionally fall to you instead. Of course, whether or not that works in practice is another question, it's a medieval tradition in this modern age. But I like to hold to our sword traditions. A prisoner, of course, has no rights to weapons or lands to begin with. But I'd have given over my sword anyway. Else, why bother getting a facsimile made? It was only a symbolic fill-in, there's no purpose to that for a prisoner who didn't come willingly. Hm, all this to say, I can have my uses. If that use is to be a confidant, then that's my use. I certainly won't judge you for your tears, one of us should be able to have them." He reached up a hand to brush his thumb below her eye, as if to wipe away any remnants of tears she may have had. He did have some fondness for her. Maybe he shouldn't have, but he did.

Maybe in a way he always had.

Hans was supposed to be her prisoner, but he definitely wasn't one anymore, she didn't know what he was to her now, exactly. A friend perhaps? Not quite, but he most certainly seemed to have become an incidental confidant. She no longer saw him as a prisoner, that’s for sure, something prevented her from seeing him as such, his humanity perhaps or maybe something else. Whatever it was Elsa was just now starting realizing she might have gotten herself in too deep.

Hans' thumb brushing against her skin made her whole face tingle. Her face felt unbearably warm, either from the heat coming off his skin or from the flush growing warmer, most likely both. She didn't understand why a simple touch had made her reaction in such a way, when she had been far closer to him mere moments ago.

"Thank you," she replied to his words, not knowing how else to respond, being slightly flustered.

Hans hesitated a moment there, though to what end was anyone's guess.

"Cold will reduce the evidence of tears, I daresay you have that handled. I imagine you've been here a fraction too long for the guards' liking. Luckily, nobody asks us questions."

He drew back from her, distancing and giving her reasons and advice, as if he was something to hide, as well as her and her tears. In his life, tears were forbidden. He hadn't had them since his childhood, at least not that he would admit. It was much more becoming on women.

When Hans began retracting himself from Elsa (and even if her face was burning because of his proximity), there was a force within her wishing he wouldn't, like the resistance of pulling two magnets apart. She had grown accustomed to his warmness, in every sense of the word, and did not wish to lose it. He was absolutely right though. Elsa might overstayed her welcome, she had just broken down in tears in front of him after all, something that should absolutely not be happening, especially between a queen and her supposed prisoner. Even if she knew he was right, there was a part of her that didn't wish to leave yet.

"You're right, I really should go...but if I leave now, my breath might still give me away." Elsa stated. "Even with no questions asked they might still assume."

Though it was true that she still had a slight puffing to her breath that she could not yet control, it might have been more of Elsa giving herself an excuse to let herself stay, if only a tad bit longer.

Sure the guards could assume she'd been crying, but they could be assuming far worse then her shedding tears, yet that didn't really cross her mind.

Hans smiled a little in spite of himself.

"Her Majesty is right again." He admitted, amused.

"Shall I tell another amusing story then? Perhaps loudly so the guards might be entertained? We could make a game of it, see if we can make them laugh through the wall. I was never very good at Improvisation, but I might try nonetheless if it would make you laugh. Or worse, I'll try puns and jokes. I have a good many musical ones." He did like to play games and tell stories. Despite the sadness of his life, he enjoyed it when everyone was having a good time. That was the only time he liked to be noticed.

#Helsa #Iceburns #Hans x Elsa #Frozen #Frozen FanFiction #Shattered Reflections

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niceandaccurateme · 5 years ago

Text

Human Love

Authors Note: This is the prequel to “Not Too Fast” I would link it but I’m on mobile and it’s now 4:00 AM and I’ve written 2 fics in one night.

...

Late one evening, a few weeks after the Apocalypse hadn’t happened, Aziraphale sat in his favorite reading chair with his nose buried in a novel. Just as he was about to take a sip of his cocoa, a knock came at the door. Without even tearing his eyes from the page he called out “Sorry, we’re closed for today,” to whoever was behind the door.

“It’s me,” Came a familiar voice from the other side. A warm smile came to the angel’s face as he set down his mug and carefully slid a book mark into his book.

“Coming!” He replied, quickly getting up from his chair and hurrying to get the door. “Crowley!” He greeted his friend cheerfully as he opened the door. “What brings you by so late?”

The angel’s smile faded slightly when he got a good look at Crowley’s face as the demon moved from the darkness outside to the light of the shop. He wore an expression wrought with consternation. This was made more apparent by the fact that his sunglasses were hanging from the collar of his shirt rather than covering his eyes like usual. Aziraphale bristled with worry at all these unusual details.

“I need to talk to you,” Crowley said after a moment of tense silence.

Aziraphale rushed over towards his friend, fear taking hold of him. “Did something happen? Are you in danger?” he asked in a panicked voice. His odd behavior, coupled with that last statement made the angel think that whatever the demon was here about, it must be of grave importance. This was, in a large part, influenced by the fact that just under a month ago they had the forces of heaven and hell trying their hardest to kill the both of them. He jumped to the logical conclusion that it must be related to that.

“No, no!” Crowley snapped back rather harshly. Then he withered and softened slightly, seemingly not having the will to really be angry with Aziraphale. “No, it’s… it’s not anything like that. Not an emergency. I just need to…” he sighed heavily. “Talk.”

Aziraphale nodded warily. He then showed Crowley to a table in the back of the shop. He offered to get his guest a hot beverage, or perhaps something stronger, but Crowley declined. So, Aziraphale just sat down across from him and waited anxiously for whatever the other had to say. The demon took one last deep breath and then he spoke.

“There seems to be a lot of things demons do that angels... don’t do,” His words were awkward, and uncertain. As though, he wasn’t really sure he knew how to word what he was thinking.

“Well of course we do different things,” Aziraphale said with a startled chuckle at such an obvious, yet odd, statement “That’s what… makes us angels or makes us demons!” He said with a laugh, as though it were plain as day. He then saw the furrowed brow and deep frown on Crowley’s face, though, and his laugh faltered. “What sort of… things, in particular, were you referring to?”

“Like... like dancing and possessing humans…,”

Aziraphale gulped softly. He had done both of those things on different occasions. Of course, he had done lots of things that angels didn’t normally do, like befriending a demon. He didn’t quite understand what Crowley was getting at. The demon continued rattling off his list.

“Being pricks to each other for no reason, swearing, fighting, torturing people,” the angel had also sworn on more than one occasion but now wasn’t the time for that.

“What is your point, dear?” Aziraphale prompted, brow furrowed in concern at this point.

“My point is!” Crowley exclaimed, starting to sound frustrated. “My point is demons seem a lot more like humans than angels do!” He was practically yelling by this point.

“And maybe that makes sense! You know? I mean when you’re an angel you’re supposed to be this perfectly obedient being of light, and then if you start asking questions and using your own free will then you... you fall! And so it’s like god gave us all free will but only humans are allowed to use it! Because otherwise what would separate the angels from the humans?” He was rambling now, seemingly manic. Frustration, pain, and panic carved into his expression as he spoke.

“What are you talking about?” Aziraphale asked in utter confusion, now truly and deeply worried about his friend. He had no idea where this rant was going, but he could tell that Crowley was incredible pain. Watching him suffer like that with no clue of how to help was torture. It felt light a vice-grip was clamped around his heart, tightening with every moment he had to watch his friend in pain.

“Only humans fall in love!” Crowley shouted, his voice cracking with barely-restrained sorrow.

Aziraphale stared at him in shock. Out of all the places he had expected that tornado of words to end, that was not one of them. “Wh-wha-,” He started to ask, only to be cut off by Crowley.

“You don’t get it,” The demon lamented mournfully, slumping back in his chair. “Can angels even feel love?” He muttered, the question almost lost in a sigh.

“Of course we can…” Aziraphale replied gently, leaning in, desperate to ease his companions apparent sadness. “Angels are beings of love, we feel love for everyone and everything created by god,”

“Not like that damn it!” Crowley clamored, slamming his fist on the table, causing Aziraphale to jump. “I’m talking about the human kind of love! The kind of love where you have this other person that means more to you than anything else in the world. The kind of love where all you want to do is be around them and your heart aches for them when you’re apart from them for too long. That… That! Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, impulsive, blinding, ‘I’ll die if I can’t be with you’ kind of love! The human kind!”

“O-oh…” The angel stammered weakly. He looked down in thought, covering his mouth as he tried to think. “I’m… Not sure if angels can feel that…” He mumbled with uncertainty. He thought as hard as he could about Crowley’s words. But was too distracted and confused to really parse out an answer. His mind was clouded with trying to figure out why Crowley was asking these things, rather than actually trying to figuring out how to reply. If he could just figure what had caused Crowley to be in this state, perhaps he would know the right thing to say to comfort him right now. He reached across the table and put his hand on the other’s, making eye contact with him. “Please… tell me what is wrong? Why these strange questions?” Desperation crept into his tone.

Piercing yellow eyes filled with longing, a longing to say something that could not be said, held his gaze. Moment after moment of loaded silence passed, feeling like it would last forever until finally Crowley spoke again.

“I’m in love with you,” Crowley’s voice was soft and broken. Like he had just admitted something he was deeply ashamed of. Aziraphales was simultaneously stunned and heartbroken to hear the tender phrase spoken in such a defeated way. He stared, eyes wide and full of confusion and sadness, at a loss for words.

“And I wondered if… if you even could feel that way about me in return,” Crowley continued, his voice much softer and weaker than before. “I know you’re an angel… and there are a lot of things angels don’t do. And there are a lot of ways that angels and demons… and humans… are different. But you also do a lot of things that other angels don’t. And a lot of times... We seem a lot more similar to each other than we do to,” He made a vague, all encompassing gesture. “Anyone else. So, I thought… I hoped that maybe… you could feel the same way about me.” His eyes could no longer meet Aziraphales. His head hung low and he stared down at the table, seemingly afraid to witness the other’s reaction.

Silence hung over them once more. Aziraphale tried to process exactly what had just happened but his brain had apparently decided to come to a screeching halt. As though this new information had run right in front of his train of thought and caused the whole thing to swerve off the tracks and crash. How in the world was he supposed to respond?

“I…” He started uncertainly but took a deep breath and steeled himself. Crowley was vulnerable right now, he had just bared his soul. He needed to be strong, for Crowley. He sat up straight, smoothing out his waistcoat. “You know why I have to do little miracles for me? Like taking stains out of my clothes or finding little things that I need?” He asked, getting a confused look from across the table. “I could do them myself, easily. I could probably even do them without a miracle. But knowing that you did it for me, that you took the time and care to do a little gesture for me… it makes it different. It makes it special.”

“And perhaps,” He said with a breathy, almost nervous, laugh “I’ve become too accustomed to you doing things for me. Because any time anything goes wrong, I look for you. I come to you whenever I have a problem because I know you’ll figure out a way to fix. I know you’ll figure it out because you are brilliant. Brilliant, and resourceful and imaginative a-and,” he stuttered slightly, face turning red as he begun to gain traction with his thoughts again. “And it’s not just that I know you’ll always figure out the perfect solution it’s because I wouldn’t want anyone else’s help but yours. You are always there for me exactly when I need you and if anyone else even tried I’m not sure I’d want them instead because at the end of the day when you help me… it’s different. It’s different because it’s you.”

Crowley had raised his head once more, his face lifting and Aziraphale could see a glint of hope in his eyes. It encouraged him and the angel carried on greater zeal, encouraged by the effect it was having on his companion.

“I don’t know what I would do without you! Because of all that the thought of ever losing you… terrifies me! I remember when you asked me to get you that holy water and I thought you might use it on yourself, the idea that I might one day have to live in a world where you were gone shook me to my very core! I couldn’t give it to you because I couldn’t bear to be a part of making that horrible, horrible world a reality!” He was speaking quickly now, almost breathless. “But then I found out you were just going to go and get it yourself which might put you in even greater danger so I gave it to you anyway! And then I told you, you were too fast for me because knowing that you were willing to put yourself in danger like that frightened me!” Tears were starting to well in the corners of his eyes. “But really I just wanted to push you away so it wouldn’t hurt so terribly much if I ever did have to lose you!”

Finally, he came to a stopping point, tears running down his cheeks. He hiccupped and sniffled softly as he tried to catch his breath and calm down. He looked across the table at Crowley and smiled, still crying. “So tell me… is that what your ‘human love’ is supposed to feel like?”

The demon didn’t reply. Instead he abruptly stood up, and nearly jumped across the table to embrace Aziraphale. He hugged him tightly as the angel began letting out a mixture of relieved laughter and soft sobs. Aziraphale was feeling such a rushing whirlwind of emotion right now, he just couldn’t contain any of it. He was relieved he had comforted Crowley, confused at having to interpret and explain all these long-held feelings, sad that Crowley had thought he couldn’t feel the same way about him in the first place. But mostly, he felt love. He felt it swell up inside his chest and fill up his whole body with warmth and joy. And he knew it was love now, he could be very sure of it.

“I love you so much, Angel,” Crowley whispered, burying his face into the golden locks of Aziraphale’s hair. “I’ve loved you for millennia and I will love you for the rest of eternity. I will always be there for you whenever you need me,”

“You always have,” Aziraphale interjected, nuzzling against his shoulder.

“I love you too, Crowley.”

#good omens fanfiction #good omens #ineffable husbands #gay omens

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geekygoddesss · 6 years ago

Text

Shit Happens

I don’t need anyone in this world to remind me how clumsy I could be sometimes, I know I am clumsy, it runs in my blood. I’ve had my moments where I wished I could just vanish that ‘talent’ of mine completely so I could live a normal and peaceful life, but sometimes this things just come in the package, and I’m going to tell you about that time I wished it was dead and gone from my life forever.

I remember it happening on a Monday morning, maybe a Thursday, on one of those days where the only thing that I seemed to do best to kill time was thinking on stuff that might as well be completely useless. Luke wasn’t home, it was one of those days, they were completely packed in work and he would barely even call during the whole day, leaving me all by myself in a gigantic house, free to do whatever I want. No restrictions at all. That is the big mistake.

Usually on days like this, I would usually limit myself to two things, cooking whatever and watching some Netflix, but knowing how long he was going to take to come back and how little people I know around the city, I could not make plans with anyone in particular, nor I could sit on my ass all day. So in a desperate move, trying to plan on something to keep me occupied for the day, I did the second best thing I could think of. Call my boyfriend’s stylist, also well known as my stepbrother.

My plan was really simple at first, I just wanted someone to chill while my boyfriend was gone, but then his mind got over me and filled me with ideas, slowly corrupting me until he got what he wanted, it was looking pretty fun though. He thought it would be nice to have a good workout session between us, which was fairly a good idea and I agreed on very easily, all I had to do was to change in some better clothing, but then came the hard part. He suggested it would be a would idea to clear up the living room so we could follow a workout video, also kind of easy, but then afterward, came the real fun, the music for our workout, we needed a speaker.

At first, when I thought about a speaker there was only one thing that came to mind and that was the only good speaker around this house, the one Luke always took out for parties and that would be perfect for this occasion. We went for it. I knew where to look but what I didn’t know is that I would be finding myself climbing on his shelves, that from my view looked higher than ever and balancing on my feet to keep myself steady so I could see better. Certainly dangerous but in my head, it was worth this. Little did I know, that’s how all this mess started.

“Do you see it?” My brother asks as he holds me by the hips and lets me have a good look to the surface.

“I think so,” I say, looking around a little, it was a little dark, but I could see something “it’s kind of far though” I say, standing on the tips of my toes and grabbing the edges of the wood tight.

“Oh man,” he says, almost as he was panicking “let me help” he says, squeezing on my hips a little as a signal, I suppose.

“No no, I got it” I say waving his suggestion off.

I grab the edge of the shelve with one hand and with the other, I reach out for the black and enormous speaker at the end of the compartment. I know it is not that far, but when you look at it from my eyes, for carrying such a big gadget it was kind of a big distance. I stand on my toes until I can reach my furthest and when my the tips of my fingers are touching the handle, I smile. I got this.

“almost there” I sing sang, looking down at my brother shortly.

“Are you sure?” He asks again, looking up at me with a slight frown as I drag the heavy object all along towards me “(Y/n) I can do it, really”

“No, it’s okay” I say, my voice seems forced, this is really heavier than I anticipated. “just a bit more” I assure, making a bit more strength when it gets closer and closer “I got it!” I cheer, grabbing the handle and trying to lift it.

Mistake. Big fucking mistake.

I don’t know If that was exactly a big miscalculation of me, or just destiny telling me that I should not grab things that are far off my height and standing in unstabilized structures. It was probably one of the biggest mistakes I have done in a long time, but the moment I grab that handle and lyft the speaker up, I lose my balance completely. Travis is holding me down but it is not enough, I stumble and fell on the floor. but not only that, my head bangs against the floor and the speaker falls with me and strikes right on my wrist, I yell in pain, it was something I was not expecting.

What gave me the worst pain came next, the moment the shelf went down and fell to its side. Books came flying around everywhere and a big and destructive noise filled the room, we just broke something big and we are in big trouble.

I am crying and I don’t even realize when I even started crying. I want to get up but when my eyes open I can’t see much but a blurry picture that starts getting more clear as the seconds passed, everything looks like a mess, definitely not how I found this when I came in this room.

Apparently, Travis stepped aside when this all happened I could see that by how he ran towards me after I hit the floor and how fast he was actually moving, he was in one piece, on my part I was not.

“Oh crap!” He yelled, moving some of the books around me to the side and he helped me turn around gently and carefully sat me up “Are you okay?!”

I wanna shake my head yes, but the moment I lift my back and try to support my weight with my right hand, my wrist bends in one painful and weak move, I couldn't even hold myself together. This was a pure and real pain.

“Ow, my hand!” I cry as I lay on the floor and take in the throbbing pain coming from my hand.

“Shit, C'mon I’ll help you” Travis says, totally panicking and helping me up himself, and carefully examining my hurt hand.

“It hurts really bad” I cry hard. This is the kind of thing that happened when I got in my head too much and came out with too many ideas. Never again.

I look around the room and for a second in my head I am just begging to the gods it is not as bad as it is, but it is worst, the shelve is broken, or at least that’s what it looks like, the books are everywhere, the speaker is fine but the figurines that previously stood around decorating the shelve a little are all shattered, but the worst part of all and the thing that might cause me nightmares for a while, Luke’s guitar is broken, torn apart, destroyed, and I did it.

“Oh no” I say in a little voice, turning my head on every direction to take a look at the room once again. I did it, it’s my fault, my own fault.

“Is your head alright?” Travis ask, but I can’t hear him, there is only one thing in my mind.

“That’s Luke’s guitar” I mumble, pressing my lips together and swallowing down a big cry.

Travis turns to see it, his eyes widening at the sight of the broken and very expensive piece.

“Oh my gosh” he sighs, shaking his head in pure stress.

“It’s broken” I cry softly as I take in the thought “that thing costs like two thousand dollars”

He doesn’t answer, he takes one look at the room, then looks at me and looks around the room again, almost as if he wanted to think of something we could do to fix anything.

“C'mon, get up” he commands me as he grabs my good hand and gets up to his feet in a quick move. “You can get up, right?”

I nod my head yes as I slowly take some support from his hold and pull myself on my feet “Ouch” I say, looking down at my own hand before turning to look at the rest of the mess of the room, my eyes instantly going to that guitar, that freaking expensive piece of wood. “I can't pay for that, it’s so expensive” I cry harder, letting the tears fall freely on my face.

“Why is your hand bending that way?” my brother says, gently inspecting my hand and taking a good look.

“Oh my gosh, it’s so broken, I’m a mess” I cry harder, not even being able to hear him.

he sighs, shaking his head in pure desperation, he carefully puts his arms around my shoulders and says gently “Honey, we’ll worry about that later, we need to go to the hospital”

“No I need to check this out-“ I sob, trying to turn around, but he stops me.

“I think this is more important”

And that is the story on how I got in the emergency room, with a possible concussion and a weirdly bent hand. at that moment there were a lot of things going on in my mind, starting from the fact that sometimes I totally hated the way my mind worked and ending in the possibility on how Luke will probably break up with me after this. I should just have stayed at home watching movies or studying like I always do, I should have used some chair in the first place if I wanted to reach a damn speaker, I should have told Travis I had no speakers at all, I should use my brain for once and know that it’s not a good idea to climb on things because these things happen. I repeat myself those same things, over and over, since we left the house until we get to that hospital.

I can’t even think about what will happen when Luke finds out and apparently all I have left for now is to wait and see if he will be good to me or get as mad as I am expecting, because I expect him too, I would as well. I am a mess after all.

I’ve been here for about an hour and since then so far I’ve had one nurse looking at me and move me in some kind of room to wait for any doctor, a lot of quick examinations later all I know is that my wrist is broken and I need a cast, my head was hit pretty hard and I need tests. My day is going horribly.

I do my best to see the positive side of things but I can’t, I really do take an effort on it though, but the moment my brother leaves me for just a couple minutes, I can’t help to think and overthink everything like I always do. Which lead me to the inevitable, thinking of all these possible endings this could have. So maybe after all this mess, you can probably imagine how much I felt like my head was about to explode, well, I promise it got so much worst.

Because the moment I saw Luke walk into my room my heart almost stopped and seeing the scared expression on his face left me nearly speechless. He looks relieved and like he had the scare of his life, he had no idea, I was glad to see him but at the same time, I was afraid.

He sighs in relief and walks up to me, carefully pulling me in a hug and kissing my forehead.

“Oh” I say in surprise when he comes up to me and wraps me in his warm arms. “hi”

He doesn’t answer, he just looks down to me with a frown in his face and goes straight to the point. “What happened?”

I fail to speak, I sigh and try to take a deep breath, I feel like I can’t speak. So I take his hand and almost in a whisper I say “I love you, please don’t be mad”

“What’s going on?” He asks, caressing my hair with the tips of his fingers and taking a good look the red and slightly bloody mark spreading on my forehead “I got the call and I came here as soon as I could”

I shake my head a little bit, I wish he could take a bit of distance because I couldn’t stand just the thought of looking at him when telling him what I did. Especially this close, so I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and let it out.

“I was trying to look for that speaker you use all the time but it was too high up and I knocked the whole shelf down” I explain in one small voice “the speaker is fine but I broke your guitar, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to” my voice breaks at my last words, I hate to seem this small and fragile in front of him but I had to say it one way or another.

He is quiet, way too quiet. I look up at him to find his face in a neutral expression, his lips pressed together, I could barely tell if he was angry or not, he was just complete serious and if I am being honest, that sort of scared me.

“Which one?” He says, in a soft but serious voice, one that definitely told me he was mad but he was controlling himself.

“The red one” I let out, he sighs, not a pleased sigh. It makes me panic immediately, I know how much he loved it “I’m sorry, I’ll pay for it and the bookshelf and anything, I swear” I say, grabbing his hand and joining our fingers together “I promise”

Again he just stays quiet, he’s looking down at his feet, almost as if he was analyzing the situation entirely. He raises his look at me and I immediately flinch, I’m preparing myself for the worst, but instead, he places his hand on my cheek and asks.

“What happened to you?”

Somehow I fail to speak and the first thing that comes out of my mouth is a stupid sound, one that I immediately swat away and instead I say “I broke my wrist” I explain, showing him the uncasted wrist that I was still waiting to be taking care of.

“Is your head alright?” He asks then, raising his hand to my forehead and rubbing the hurt spot.

I shrug “Yeah, no concussion I think, they took a scan, I’m waiting for the results” I explain to him looking down “I can see fine by now” I scoff trying to give a little lightness to this whole situation.

“Good” he nods, walking forward and kissing my forehead softly.

It takes me a bit of effort to get this out but when my body relaxes, I feel ready to ask, it was the only way I would know what’s on his mind

“You aren’t mad?” I ask, looking up at him shyly.

He sighs and shakes his head as he mumbles a short “No”

One way or another, I don’t believe him, because the moment I raise my eyebrows in a questioning look he is already giving up on me and admitting “I’m a little upset yeah but babe” both of his hands come to my face “it was accident, you got hurt it could have ended up ugly, We’re in the emergency room” he says shaking his head “a broken guitar is the least of my problems when I come home and find that mess, I just want to make sure you’re alright”

My bottom lip trembles a little and I don’t hesitate one second on wrapping him in a big hug. I’m so happy he is taking this Alright. I was so scared he would react differently

“Thanks” I mumble against his shirt “I was very worried”

He shakes his head, I feel his fingers running through my hair “Don’t be, i'm not mad, I promise you” he says, kissing my forehead repeatedly “I can replace a guitar but not you, I have to keep you in one piece”

I smile up to him and purse my lips together, he takes the signal immediately, I know that because he is instantly leaning over me and placing his lips against mine in a short kiss.

“Thanks” I say, in a small voice “I’m sorry for being a paranoid”

He shakes his head, waving his all way. “Stop apologizing, You’ll be fine” he assures me as he moves me aside just a bit and takes a seat beside me “when we’re out of here, I'll take you for ice cream”

“I would love that” l say smiling as I lean my head on his shoulder.

There was one thing about this whole situation I was grateful for and that was the fact I could finally see inside of his mind. Sure, he loved his expensive goods and all that, but those were just materials things, they can be replaced, but the people you love the most, you don’t find those everywhere, you have to protect those with your life.

And today I found out something, there can be a lot of boys around. But my boy,

I can’t definitely replace him.

#Luke hemmings minis #luke hemmings imagines #michael clifford imagines #calum hood imagines #ashton irwim imagines #5sos preferences

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a-functional-lowlife-blog · 5 years ago

Text

8.11.19

So I’ve never really utilized anything other than a diary to jot down my daily feels, but something tells me I might find some comfort knowing that nobody can sneak into my room and read my journal. Tumblr seems like a good enough void to dump these thoughts into. Maybe it’s my psyche craving a positive outlet.. Id rather this be private, but sometimes connections supposed to help, right? If topics of abuse, death, suicide, or depression trigger you, please do not continue reading. So I guess, let’s start from the top.

I’m 2X years old, & I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing with my life right now. I’m a gamer, & employed, But it’s not like I”m pursuing some great dream. I’m kind of coasting through life, trading experiences for fragments of myself. But I’m honestly rather content, at the moment. I make decent enough money. I can afford to shelter myself, feed myself, & entertain myself. So to some people, yeah it might look like i’ve had it pretty easy. In some ways, I have; in others, not really.

It was just me & my mom growing up. Dad wasn’t around, & i don’t really want to get into that right now. My mom did everything she could for me. And I, of course being a growing hormonal boy, never truly appreciated it until I got into the real world. Thanks mom. She low-key prepared me for almost anything. I graduated high school, no special titles or accolades, but I could hear her screaming well above the entire stadium of parents when they called my name. I hope I can make her that proud again someday. I haven’t seen her in almost 4 years. Life can be a bitch like that once you’re an actual adult.

Since graduating high school, I’ve fathered a child, a little girl, who continues to blow my mind every day, with her brains & beauty. Damn, my ugly mug made one amazing little girl. Everything I do, I do for her. Even when it doesn’t seem like it. The mother & I are still on fantastic terms, but we separated a couple years after the birth. It just didn’t work as a healthy relationship anymore, & our daughter deserved better than that.

After we parted ways, I got myself tangled up with a girl that, in hindsight, I should have never said hello to. Now don’t get me wrong, the first 2 years were truly magical. She was young, beautiful, petite body, alternative with piercings & tattoos. Which was basically me, young, rather handsome, fit body, alternative with piercings and tattoos. A match, it would seem, made in heaven. She made me feel alive again. She reinvigorated me to my soul, showed me new experiences I never could have imagined, or dared to do otherwise. I felt happy. Which for me, is a rather fleeting bird, one that’s typically driven away by the raven. It was just like a fairy-tale. We all know those aren’t real. I should have seen the warning signs. The “red flags” that everyone says I ignored. But red flags look like regular flags when looking through rose-tinted glass. If you’ve stumbled upon this by chance, & are triggered by abuse, or suicide, I suggest you stop reading now.

It started out with little things. Roast-like insults, but sometimes they hurt a little more than they should. Which, obviously, led my mind to tell me “stop being so sensitive.” I’d let it slide. As we approached the 2 year mark, it started getting nastier. Her patience with me was very thin. The smallest error, like I forgot to pick up soda on the way home from my 10 hour shift once, led to me being belittled with insults to my intelligence & even attacks on my dedication to her. It only got worse as time went on. I silently cried myself to sleep most nights. My self-esteem was in an entirely different dimension by this point. I’ve become completely submissive to her. I looked at myself in the mirror one night, after doing things that I regret doing, and being disgusted in myself for letting it get so bad. For never stepping back up & standing my ground. I got us through homelessness. I had helped her get help because she had a severe mental illness that I will not put here. Her every wish, within my power, was my command. Why should I tolerate being treated like something stuck to the bottom of her shoe when kindness didn’t suit her? So I did. That was the first time she hit me. Just once, open palmed to my left temple.

It didn’t stop. It got worse. I will not go into details, because almost 3 years later, I still panic when I try to think about those months. Most of my friends & family do not know how bad it got. And those that do, do not even know who she even was. It collapsed faster when I started to dissociate after multiple (thankfully) failed suicide attempts. I started cheating, trying to get her to leave me, since she wouldn’t allow me to leave her without threatening to kill herself. “You’re my soulmate, I won’t live without you.” She kept me in that state of submissive fear for another year, using the same lines. Using the same deflection tactics to make me question myself. All while calling me her “soul mate”. I hate that fucking word now.

But I did finally get the courage to leave. In the middle of the night, a train ride back to my hometown. She tried to work back into my life a few times over the next 2 years. I eventually stopped talking to her, because she would always try to convince me to come back to her, that it can be different, that she’s willing to start over. So I stopped talking to her last year. And now, I can’t anymore, because last month, she killed herself. I honestly never stopped loving her. I can feel the hole where her energy used to be, the bits she contributed to my soul, snuffed out.. I blame myself for her suicide. And I hate that I fell in love with such a beautiful, toxic soul.

We can skip over the few fling relationships I held while in my hometown, except for one girl, who I will forever thank for showing me what a true loving, healthy relationship, based on trust and open communication can actually be like. We got into it knowing we were on a time limit, because I was already in the process of saving up to move again, this time, 3,000 miles away. But we had good chemistry, and I think the relationship was the perfect amount of time for both of us. She’s a LoZ girl. Major fan. As in, owns every game, tons of merch, follows tons of streamers on Twitch who play Legend of Zelda, especially if it’s Ocarina of Time. Coastal gamer girl is probably the best description of her. She’s still one of my best friends, & I talk to her on occasion. She’s super happy, and living a rather adventurous life. I’m super happy for her.

Our fateful day came, and I had to move away. She comforted me during the entire packing process. Which literally filled 2 boxes I shipped to my new address, my military backpack, & a laptop case. It still resulted in 8 hours of back to back anxiety attacks. I only knew TWO people in the town where I was moving to. One of them, I had never physically met before in our entire 14 year friendship. So, rightfully, I was terrified to leave. I’d reconnected with old friends in my hometown. I’d met an amazing girl in my hometown. I’d landed a really fantastic job in the medical field in my hometown. What was I thinking?! Leave all of THIS?!

But I knew why. She knew why. Everyone in my life knew why. The answer was simple. Yeah, I had a good job, a good girl, & a relatively good life. But I wasn’t truly happy. In my soul. Just as I was in the states I’ve lived before. And that was okay. We had the perfect amount of happiness.

So here I am, in an undisclosed new location, three-thousand miles away from my hometown. And honestly, I’m happier here than I’ve ever been anywhere else. Do I see myself dying here? No, not really. But I could kick it here for a decade or so, if the fates allow my life that long? Sure. The best friend I’d never met before, is just as amazing in person. We play video games together now & then, and go out to the downtown bar scene sometimes for karaoke. There’s 3 roommates total. I enjoy being their roommate. Also, there’s 4 cats. who I absolutely love, and will contemplate posting their pictures here too, for memories sake.

I’ve made some really amazing friends, especially one girl in particular. She’s been very good to me, in many ways. Dinners, events, concerts, party weekend for my last birthday to pass. All while both of us just have a blast around each other. She’s helped me alot these last few months, everything from food to rent, while I struggled to find work, & get on my own two feet. I struggled for 5 months before I landed myself where I am now. So to celebrate, she & I went and got tattoos today.

I got a tattoo of the chemical structure of serotonin on my wrist. To remind myself to be happy, because I’ve already spent so much time being sad. And that I’m going to keep making myself happier, by staying true to myself, learning & growing from the events I’ve been through in my life, both good and bad. Creative, & destructive. Because it’s all molded me into who I am now.

So really without getting into childhood stories, high school shenanigans, & college hijinx, that’s the story of Z. A recent handle I’ve taken to lately, in case someone does decide to read this. I’d like to add to this little... off-site journal once a week, maybe more often.

That’s all I’ve got for today. I’m sufficiently stoned now, & would like to return to playing Apex Legends.

Signing off,

#journal #private #tw suicide #tw abuse #tw drugs #read at your own discretion #do not repost #venting

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iamjjmmma · 6 years ago

Text

“Number All My Bones: There and Back Again” Part 1, Chapter 2

Beginning: https://bit.ly/2NtGPgu

Previous: https://bit.ly/2GMt4Zx

Next: https://bit.ly/2H5dDej

A month earlier, he was alright.

We were all alright.

Our house is right on the corner of a monster-only neighborhood, arranged by someone who would be one of my closest friends. But for now, she was hidden and tucked away. Our house is a pretty little thing, one that I don’t think I could dream up in the underground. It has the same type of red etched onto it that you’d look at it and it’d remind you of faded ruby. It has a few windows in the front, and if you could climb up there, you’d see right into our rooms.

You’d see mine, which is impeccable except for what could only be described as a hot mess sitting on my desk. But if you’d look inside my hot mess, you’d find a beautiful little mixture of classifications here, potential experiments there, and half of the desk covered in lesson plans to engage the thermal physics class at the university.

Right to the left, you’d see Papyrus’ room, which is redder than the walls of the house but having a happy little streak of orange all over the baseboards. Despite him being fifteen, you can see a fifty-dollar electric guitar hanging on one side of the wall and a hodgepodge of action figures on the other. His bed, like mine, is impeccable.

To his left, you’d see Sans’ less-than-impeccable room. You’d look in the door and find a trombone and a fifty-dollar telescope. There’s almost always a pile of trash in the corner. But what you can’t see is the ceiling, which looks like the Sistine Chapel of planetariums, all of the stars arranged in what would be the actual configuration in the sky.

Our living room is nothing special, but it’s what Papyrus ran into, sneakers a’blazin’, and it’s the place where I worked on the couch, coaxing a theory out of my brain about a new method of spectroscopy.

“Dad! Dad!”

“What is it? I’m almost finished with my work.” I finished a few sentences, keen on finishing a few more sentences right after those, and I pressed so hard the graphite had bent slightly to the side by the time I was finished.

“It’s four o’clock! We need to go now, don’t we?”

If it was just Sans and I, he’d remind me, and he’d get ready while I lagged on about five minutes behind him. But this was Papyrus, and with Papyrus, when it was four o’clock, it was four o’clock. When Papyrus started shaking me just a little, just a little, I laughed and exclaimed a few “Alright, alright!”s before I headed my way to the car.

We’re not far from a city that they call Boston, and locals tend to boast about some of the scenic drives around there. But driving next to Mount Ebott is one of the most beautiful things I’ve gotten out of life here. It’s filled with gentle hills here and there with Mount Ebott smiling down on them, knowing that she’s bigger, taller, a mix of menacing and protective. The Japanese dogwoods and towering, spindly red oaks’ shadows cover up the road, although it lets the sun come in the car at some points and turns the car into a spotty, almost epileptic flash of light and dark. Flowers poke out of the grounds and out of bushes, flowers that Sans has hated since he came up here, but Papyrus always seems to take a liking to. Lilacs that tend to attract mothers, tucking little flowerets into their babies’ carriages. The pink rhododendrons that hurt Sans’ eyes, that hurt mine, but still draw me in the more I try to look away. The roses, artificially planted but still there, still there, poking out and saying hello in every color, every language, each color a different one.

This is where we live. Maybe it really would be a paradise in a different world.

But a sharp turn to the right, and a honk from a human driver later, and we’re at the elementary school, reaching so high that I can’t see the sunlight. I went to the left, found a parking spot more towards the back, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself knowing that I would get to spend time with Papyrus a little longer than usual. It was walks like that where I could look at his eyes, looking at his own type of wonder and delight.

I smiled a toothless smile at Papyrus, letting him slam the door for me. He laughed in his contagious glee, almost snatching my keys before I could lock the door. I punched him playfully, and he laughed all the harder. Fatherhood allows me to be young again like that.

I wish I could say that the schools here were just as palatial as the drive. But when we went here, we were introduced to the concept of these being places controlled by the government, which bristled with me, but didn’t chafe with me quite yet. But this particular school gives me the willies, and each turn of a corner makes me wonder how children can stay here forty hours a week.

The cameras.

The cameras may be what’s doing it. A quick glance on the side will reveal three little letters: “A”, “M”, and “D”, three letters that almost elicit a punch to somewhere, if not the camera itself. Those three little letters stand for Anti-Monster Department, which is just as pleasant as it sounds. At first, I thought it was a scapegoat for everything we couldn’t do, but further research proved that those were all lies, that it was the one who was really initiating it all.

The monsters that can’t participate in the same classes as humans can. Blame it on the AMD, I used to say. The AMD’s causing it with its legislation, I say now.

The monsters that walk home without an occupation when their human peers aren’t quite as adept. Blame it on the AMD, I used to say. The AMD’s causing it with its legislation, I say now.

The monsters that come to the hospitals, battered here and there. Blame it on the AMD, I used to say.

Blame it on the AMD, I say now.

Papyrus taps me on the shoulder, and I know. He doesn’t like me to dwell on anything this negative, and neither do I want to, deep down. So I turn away, looking back a little first, and then head to the library. The signs say the library’s supposed to be nice and quiet, but except on occasions where he’s in his room, my oldest never really is quiet.

Neither are the two around him, either. There’s one to his left whose name is Chara, rolling his eyes and trying to get the whole of them to study. But on his right, there’s someone new, someone I haven’t ever seen before. Huh. Must be a new student.

This is one of his tutoring sessions, and even when both he and I know he’s fully capable of getting home on his own, it still brings a hefty smile to my face to see Papyrus’ light up. And both Sans and I know that for a fact. I walk up to him, the mold from the forgotten school vents blowing into my face, while Papyrus starts shifting around the library, going off to the fiction section whereas I would be combing the science section. He tells another joke, no doubt on what they’re studying… “guys, we gotta go back to studyin’, otherwise, we’ll be a lot more DENSE…”.

I tap his shoulder, and the corners of his smile retreat back to where they were, but the smile is still there. “Sorry. Gotta go back home.” He tapped my shoulder right back. “Dadster here says I gotta go.”

“Awww!” says the kid to the right, and I try to look at her, but she reminds me of the times before I was steeped in work, so I look back at Sans, the floor, Sans again. “But we’ve just started-”

Sans chuckles. “Kiddo, it’s been an hour.” He heaves off of the bean bag chair, and I walk over to Papyrus, steeped in some sort of mystery novel that’s sucking him in so that his nose is just barely hovering off of the page.

“Paps.”

Nothing.

“Papyrus.”

Still nothing.

It comes with the territory, the doctor said even after reviewing my qualifications. Kids on the spectrum tend not to reply, the doctor said. Touching them isn’t a good idea, either, the doctor says. So getting his attention is about as hard as making flerovium, which is about as hard as herding a cat lady’s entire colony.

But after a few minutes- he tells me he finished the chapter- we all pile into the minivan, Sans still in tow, and head home. Papyrus pops in Led Zeppelin, played obsessively. But it’s not because it’s the type of music that he likes. It’s the type of music I like, which is why he plays it over and over again.

The recorders just start to set in in the first minute of the song when Sans, forever condemned to the back seat because of his height, starts to talk.

“Dad?”

“Yes, son?” I have to turn down the music, Papyrus almost protesting.

“You know the new girl that I was tutoring today, right?”

“Yes; continue.”

“She asked me somethin’ even I can’t answer. An’ because you’re a fancy-pants scientist with a fancy-pants degree, I thought you could.”

“Alright.” I sat up taller in my seat.

“She asked if.. well, I don’t know how to… if… if scientists think it’s okay to kill people in comas.”

What?

I try to pull over, but it ends up more as a swerve, and a black car that’s been riding our tail this whole time honks as it blows right by us. Papyrus shouts as we head into the parking lane, the car jolting forward slightly. A month on the surface means that I’m not very well acquainted with “driving” yet.

“What did you say, son?!” My heart’s still going faster than the car ever went.

“Dad, I asked if comatose-”

“Nono. I know what you said. It’s just that-”

Euthanization? Euthanization? I’ve never talked to them about this before. Besides, why would the girl sitting next to him… a girl only about ten years old… ask something like that? What happened to her? What could have possibly made her ask this? How could she possibly get an answer?

I took a breath.

How could I possibly give an answer?

“Alright, son. Who is this girl who asked this? And why did she ask this? What happened with her? Do you know?”

“Her name’s Betty-she’s been in the school for a month or two- and she knows a lot, and- Dad, I- Dad, please, I don’t know, I-”

Betty, huh?

I take a breath. Another. Another. One question is all he can take. All I can take.

“What was her SOUL color?”

If she was purple, that may be able to explain it. Perseverance SOULs are much more inquisitive than the average SOUL, and were in fact the majority of the lineup of those who want to take the job I have at the university. If it were yellow, then that would explain it also. Justice SOULs are keen to achieve virtually whatever social goal they need, and if this “Betty” had a Justice SOUL, that may have explained it.

But it was what he said that made everything go to shambles. That made everything crumble into bits, that started the fire that wouldn’t stop, that never stops.

“No, Dad. It’s-”

He has to take a breath, too. A deep one.

“It’s pink.”

#glitchtale #glitchtale anniversary #camila cuevas

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vacationcalendar · 3 years ago

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7/19/21

Alright bitch, welcome back. Holy shit I make sitting down to blog look fucking impossible don’t I. Alright alright, let’s keep it pg-13 if we can..

I set an alarm for 10am to go off every day that just says BLOG TIME. I’d preferably like to get banging out words onto the page a little bit BEFORE that. It’s a powerful “awakening” activity in my experience, and I should be using that to my advantage. I also want to take as much time as I can on this project, especially if it’s psuedo-replacing a 40hr/week job. The earlier I get started the less I have to worry about what time it is when I’m done. My procrastination on day 2 has cost me the entirety of a sunny day. Well, it’s 2:30 now; so I imagine by the time I wrap this up I’ll have missed peek sun time. But who’s to say?

I’m starting to get that sense of dread again. That feeling I sometimes get when I can see hard plans lining my calendar far too densely populated for my liking. Big dentist appointment tomorrow. Day after that is a wash as far as I’m concerned. Even if my mouth miraculously heals in time to actually enjoy my Wednesday, I can already guarantee the psychic wounds of enduring an hours long, 600$-ish sit under the drill will take at least a couple extended sets of the fitful rest to recover from. Then I leave on Thursday to begin a full weeklong family vacation. And in that week I’ll have to figure out how to keep fucking blogging, or this thing is gonna stall out on the train tracks 100%. Do I have to explain that to you? I mean you get it; you know I’m right about that. I’m a naturally cowardly, sinful guy. I have to build up inertia on any remotely dutiful or healthy task, or I simply cannot keep it up...

So the next 3 days are all going to test my ability to actually sit here and write something. I’m really not going to want to, even though I want for literally nothing else right now. The only thing I want to do more than this creative process is to simply not exist at all. And it’s all compounded by these blasted plans. Fuck these plans. These are the dastardly plans that just cannot get canceled. They’re too high impact, and “good”(?). So then the fact that these blogs are also a “plan” just piles it up too high for me seemingly. It is quite clearly, objectively, not too much to handle. But I cannot help the fact that I feel claustrophobic. I just do. The strategy can’t be to NOT feel that way, it can’t be preventative. It has to deal with the feeling somehow. Hmmm... it’s tricky. To me, in this moment, as I’m typing this, it feels tricky. I honestly think that by the time I’m finished typing here, it WON’T feel so tricky. I’m certainly hoping that’s the case.

Ok new track: Part of why I procrastinated so long today was pretty simple. I was hungover. I was hungover and I didn’t know what to talk about. Instead of going to be thinking about my usual faire, I was just thinking I feel like shit; I hope I don’t throw up. So I woke up late, slow, and with zero thoughts bouncing around my head. So I just watched LCS footage and read twitter, and by the time I got up and made coffee (mandatory for the blog. Blogging without coffee sounds insane. What would you ponderously sip between sentences? Water? How would that even work?) and sat down to write, I had squeezed out another full hour of procrastination. Now I won’t be hungover again for a while. This was a special occasion of sorts. Another one of my dreaded “plans.” Fuck’s sake. It was a 2nd meet up of Olivia’s peeps for drinks. It was penciled in after the first hang so that we could include everybody that didn’t make it the first time. Perfectly reasonable idea. And the first time sitting and drinking was so much fun that I sort of figured I was obligated to, pay my dues I suppose, for this second meet-up that sounded significantly less fun. But it was perfectly enjoyable. It had the energy of a hangout that could happen every single week like a sitcom. Very easy, probably more drinking than one could maintain if it were a weekly occurrence, but not too much. I don’t know where I’m going with this. Just record keeping, I guess?

Anyways, this morning was not the le morning that I can usually anticipate. So circumstances withstanding PLUS the procrastination ended up pushing the writing well past 3pm. These next 3 days (and the next 8 days after that, holy shit) are also going to mesh quite poorly with this sloppy, laissez-faire approach to getting this done. So I’m worried about it. Look, I want to do this, but I absolutely don’t want to have to worry about it. Is that asking too much? And obviously I can do this without worrying about it, in theory. But I do not believe in myself, ok? I don’t. I’m telling you that right now. I want to cancel everything and just do this when I fucking get around to it. And, well; here’s the kicker. I didn’t mention this yet, and I probably should have. Once I get back from this GD vacation, my hiatus between jobs will officially be past a full month. I can hear the timer ticking in my head. I am in charge of how much sand I put in this particular hourglass. My mother will fully disagree with me there. I mean, I’m about to spend 8 days with someone who ask me every single day “so have you gotten your new job yet?”

You’re thinking, ‘Max, it’s not just impractical to ask a question with such a clear answer more than once without waiting for any circumstances to change, it flat out does not make any sense at all!’ I agree. We are on the exact same page guy. But you are missing the fact that “it doesn’t hurt to think about it. And maybe you can look online on your phone while you’re here trying to enjoy a vacation.”

Parents are weird. This feeling I’m describing is so relatable to some people. And other people just can’t parse it at all. There are a tiny handful of people in your life that will exist in totality literally forever. I mean one of you will die first, but for that person who died, the other people existed THE ENTIRE TIME. Minus like pre-birth and stuff, but that’s semantics. They are inevitable. They can travel all over the spectrum of human emotion vis-a-vi your relationship, but 99.9% of the grades will result in your staying completely still in your relationship to them. He sucks, but he’s my dad. He’s my dad, he’s fine. He’s my dad, I love him My dad’s the best! These father/son relationships all virtually fill up the exact same liminal space as far as I can tell. The way far ends of the bell curve are where it ever seems to yield different results. My dad is my best friend! One day I will kill my father, and I will finally be free of him. Let’s set those aside for this cross-section (vocab?). Every other relationship ship under the bell curve carries this seeming inevitability to it. These relationships seems like they get “finished” in a way. We know the personality of our parents so completely (and they have stopped changing/growing as people at a certain point), that we don’t actually have to go to them to learn about them. You don’t have to ask them questions or inquire about their opinions, because you can successfully deduce the answer using simple math. But THEN, you have to talk to them still, because they are close to you and want to learn about YOU, because you are still an incomplete puzzle. I don’t know, I just think the part of the parent/child dynamic where you have to share info with a parent even though the conversation has already been “solved;” the formality of it. The chore of it. That’s what it is. It’s chores. We know how chores are going to go, but until you actually do them, there’s this disorder. But instead of a dishwasher it’s a human being, that doesn’t “get” CRT. And if I can’t fucking convince my mother that my 28,000$ in savings will be able to tide me over for more than a week while I actually take a legitimate run at feeling fulfilled in my LIFE, convincing her to dismantle the foundation of our nation’s socio-economic structures in order to save our species from annihilation seems, I don’t know, tough.

Ok, I think I’m done. That took about an hour. I don’t think that’s bad at all. Am I still scared about tomorrow’s blog and therefore the rest of my life as I know it? Yes. Of course.

But at least you’ll be there with me when I get there. Take care bud, eat a good dinner tonight.

Love you

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lieskeepyoualive · 4 years ago

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Hell Puppy Crowley X faery!OC

Summary: The Winchester’s friend, a faery from another dimension, can apparently see hell hounds. One particular pup becomes rather attached to her and the King of Hell follows his lead.

Warnings: age gap between immortals and innuendos

Word count: 1600

Hell Puppy Part Two (Part One here)

Crowley had left quickly the first time we'd met, not waiting for my answer to his question before transporting the puppy and himself back to hell. In the coming weeks, the hound - who I'd named Stormy - made regular appearances wherever I went. His invisible scampering had scared the Winchester's more than once and I'd had to resolve to making him visible to all whenever the brothers were around. Dean was still against his presence, which was understandable.

Every time the puppy had wandered off, a demon would appear to return it to their king. The ruler himself seemed too busy to retrieve an adolescent hell hound from the likes of a young faery and I'd quickly resigned myself to never seeing the man again. At least, never seeing him outside of my dreams again unless I did finally sell my soul. The thought had crossed my mind.

In certain moments, when the alcohol I'd consumed with the two Winchesters was clearly more than I should have gone near, I'd create little plans. Selling my soul to have control over the king of hell for ten years was my personal favourite. No demon would allow it, but I still enjoyed the idea. On the other hand, using the king of hell as the replacement for a mate hardly seemed like a reasonable thing to do. I was hours away from coming of age, there was no need

Stormy and I had been sitting in the Men of Letters bunker for the past few hours. He was game-fully employed with a ball that I'd charmed to bounce around the room as I researched the ghost the boys were tracking. The smell of old books surrounded me mixed with the lavender scent I had as a flower faery. The room smelled like a summary of my life - nature, books and animals, though those animals were rarely hell puppies. I felt in my element, Earth, but somehow I was still attracted to fire.

My adolescence, of an immortal, rather than a mortal seemed to make me lust after a man I could not allow myself to desire. Over two hundred and thirty years is a large age gap, even for us immortals. Even if demon and faery friendships weren't frowned upon- in both of our dimensions- I was most likely still a child in the eyes of Crowley. Although, when I'd mentioned my age to Dean, he looked mildly panicked as he choked on the beer I'd previously given him.

"I'll be one hundred and eighteen tomorrow." I mused that evening, while stirring the broth I'd been lovingly attending to in the kitchen. That was when I'd heard the spluttering.

"What?" Sam had asked as he entered the room, probably curious about his brother's sudden coughing fit. He petted Stormy on the head, clearly more welcoming of the enthusiastic hell hound in their safe house than Dean was.

The puppy had spent the majority of the day with me and, despite the elder Winchester's adamant refusal whenever it was mentioned, Dean had scratched his belly once he'd whined enough. Puppy dog eyes got to the best of us at times. Stormy's puppy dog eyes spent most of their time getting to me as I gave in to however many cuddles and scratches he wanted.

"Dean's just shocked that I'm not twenty five," pausing to add my chopped carrots to the pot, "One hundred and eighteen tomorrow, Sammy." I smiled at the mild shock on Sam's face before he nodded and resumed reading the book he was carrying.

Seeing the opportunity almost immediately, Dean declared the need for a bar trip the next evening; neither Sam nor I protested, our enthusiasm for the trip was simply less than that of the aforementioned burger lover. The prospect of a night out kept him happy for the rest of the night as Sam and I researched in peace and Stormy curled up at my feet.

By the time I was getting into bed I was somewhat surprised that no one had come to retrieve Stormy. Though my unanswered questions didn't stay in my mind long as I let the giant puppy curl up on the bed next to me. Upon my waking the next morning, there was no sign of him except a letter on the covers of the bed.

Happy birthday, pet

Something about the king of hell referring to me as pet had my insides doing somersaults as I got out of bed. If I hadn't been so naive, I would have said the ruler of the fiery pits below was flirting. But I was a creature of naivety and instead assumed he was merely trying to punish me for regularly taking his hellhound. So, for the rest of the daylight hours, I pushed Crowley from my mind and continued with my day with little thought of his teasing.

***

It wasn't until the boys and I were sitting in a bar, drinking and eating in celebration that I had to even consider the existence of the world below. We- Sam and I- had decided to make it an occasion for fancy dress, more so I could allow my wings to be visible, than to annoy Dean. Although, the irritation was enough of an amusement. The three of us sat, dressed as a fairy, a literature character I hadn't heard of, and a cowboy.

Sam was repeatedly interested in the physics surrounding my wings, though I had failed to explain it multiple times. I'd resorted to making the translucent and shimmering wings change colour whenever he asked, which in turn had caused Dean to ask for his own amusement. His appendage related entertainment continued until, through the window, I could see a fluffy, hyperactive hellhound with his tongue out and ruby eyes on me.

"Excuse me, Stormy is outside." in slight fear that, if I didn't take myself outside, the excitable canine would find a way in, I slipped through the entrance and into the cold night air. The puppy jumped at me immediately, almost knocking me over as I stumbled back. I led him round a corner so as to not confuse any humans at the existence of an invisible giant puppy.

Once away from the people I crouched down to ruffle his fur, retrieving the collar from my pocket and placing around the puppy's neck.

"What are you doing to my hellhound, darling?" the deep voice made me spin around instantly, staring at him before I could reply.

"Nice of you to make an appearance. Am I suddenly important enough to visit?" I didn't look at him too long, knowing I wouldn't be able to look away if I did.

"You avoided my question, butterfly." my eyebrows raised at the new nickname, not that I had any objection to it. My heart had anything but an issue with it as it hammered against my chest.

"He needed a collar." I cooed at the puppy as he rolled around on the ground, using magic to pet him as I stood up to face the king of hell.

"So does the little girl faery." if looks could kill, Crowley would have been dead all over again. Not that I didn't appreciate how his voice had my insides burning and my face blushing like a school child.

"Less of the little girl, I'm older than the queen." my voice was meant to sound more sassy and carefree than it did which seemed to only make him smirk more. My wings began to flap gently as a sign of my nervousness.

"Oh yes," he paused to click his fingers, a black bag appearing in his hand, "Your birthday."

"What about it?" somewhere in my head, the wires for feisty comebacks and submissive questions had clearly become crossed. If he'd told me to kneel for him, I'm not convinced I would have even bothered to resist. Not that he needed to know that.

"I got you something, pet." he stepped towards me, "Maybe it'll persuade you to like an old man."

"What sort of persuasion do you have in mind?" I wasn't sure I needed any persuasion from him; even if I didn't find my mate, the king of hell was a more than worthy substitute.

"You'll see." he held out the small velvet bag to me and I examined it.

"What is it?" I asked, hesitant to take anything from a demon, even if the demon was the most attractive man this side of my dreams. Upon reflection, even inside my dreams Crowley was the most attractive person that ever made an appearance.

When a faery finds their mate, the person they're destined to be with forever, their wings glow and burn like a thousand suns. When I'd left my dimension, I'd accepted the chances of me finding my mate were as likely as the king of hell kissing me. Though one now seemed far more likely than the other.

"A surprise." Crowley's voice was growing more gruff and irritated the longer I stalled taking it from him, "Come on, pet, I won't bite."

"Is that a promise?" I leaned towards him, suppressing a giggle, "I like a man who bites."

That was when I made the mistake, I touched his hand while removing the bag from it. Everything was normal and then my wings surrounded us in dazzling light. Crowley stepped back in shock, Stormy whined and hid behind his master and I, out of fear of what it meant, transported myself immediately back to my cottage.

(Part Three here)

#supernatural fic #supernatural fandom #supernatural #lieskeepyousupernatural #crowley #crowley supernatural #crowley spn #spn crowley #supernatural crowley #spn #spn fanfic series #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #crowley x faery #faery #other characters #hell hound

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wannawrite · 7 years ago

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I Miss You

Monsta X’s I.M X Reader Angst, angsty til the end Word count: 2025 • based off their song ‘Miss You’ ( i almost cried im so sensitive ) but from reader’s POV • sAD VERY SAD • buT I LOVE IT JDSHSKD CONFLICTED im emo don’t touch me but thank you for requesting anon, i suppose a little angst never hurt anyone ;) hope you like it ITS A crINGY MESS BTW GOODNESS - admin L __________ //We need time, in a maze trapped with emotions.// When was the last time you saw Changkyun’s face? You didn’t know. How many nights have you spent alone, longing for your boyfriend? You had lost count. Was there an incident where he had called you after he arrived? Yes, once. It was a hurricane of emotions, all tossed and turned, intertwined. Wrapped up in sorrows, they clouded your head, blurring your vision and trapping your thoughts. It was like a jigsaw puzzle that refused to be fixed, you seemed like a blind man searching for sticks. How much time had you given him? Maybe he needed more. //You’re unable to escape, and only comfort me.// Some days, you found yourself worrying for him. You wondered how he was fairing, how he was being treated. Whether he was eating and sleeping well. You forced yourself back into the past, reminiscing about the times he was a source of hope, a source of happiness, a source of comfort for you. He was your pillar of support. Did he crumble and fall? //Leave behind all the words about it being our last, I’m more persistent than you think.// “Y/N, we never say goodbye okay? It’s always see you soon,” Changkyun had declared, locking his pinky with yours in a promise. “How could I ever leave you? I’d never let you go, jagi.” He leaned forward a pressed a kiss to your forehead, embracing you close to his chest at the same time. Then, you smiled. Promises are the lies you want to keep. ( this is for dramatisation purposes only ) You learned that the hard way. It hurt your heart to think about it. To think about all the promises you made, the promises he made. What were they to you now? Did he even fight for your relationship? Then again, did you? //Girl, I’m standing in this post, I miss you and thank you, I want to kiss you// You chuckled in disbelief, shaking your head at all the empty words and silly pledges. Changkyun always insisted his success was because of his constant support, partially true but you knew it was due to his hard work. He was living his dream, doing what he wanted to do, it would be selfish of you if you stopped him yet a part of you wished you did. Missing him was inevitable, you couldn’t avoid that one no matter how hard you tried. //Where are you right now? Do you know that I’m looking for you like this?// Your gaze met the clear blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds, not a single storm cloud in sight. The mild sunlight danced on your skin, kissing it tenderly as you basked in the sun. Your back resting on the blanket that covered the lush green grass, it brought you great sense of tranquility. Where could he be? You pondered, eyes closed in a relaxed mode. We used to do this all the time, could we be looking up at the same sky? Changkyun, if only I could tell you how much I miss you but I’d never be able to put it in words. Do you sense me? I’m still waiting for you as much as my heart wants me to. //When I miss you. When I’m sick, you already know, baby.// Not even the universe could keep secrets from the two of you. It was like it was meant to be, knowing even those notes in bottles thrown into the sea. Not meant for anyone in particular but someone floated to you. In your heart - you guessed - there it grew. The relationship was built on trust and knowledge, both could sense if the other had an aura of trouble or discomfort. To an extent it was invading and rude, but it was a factor that helped set the mood. //Where you at right now? Leaving behind my face that waits for you.// Rain or shine, snow or fall, he’d be there, waiting for you. Changkyun was there without fail, standing by your school gate still in his own uniform. On occasion, he held onto a fancy bouquet of flowers or a paper bag containing a small gift for you. You could recall his lips curving into an excited grin and if he was too impatient for you to exit the school, he’d walk up to you despite how different his uniform looked. The exact angle of his jaw, how his hair flopped and covered half his face when he laughed at a stupid joke. Changkyun let you trace his face before, you remembered every curve or indent of his features, how smooth and flawless his skin was. You reassured him that you loved him even with his flaws. It had been a year. Where was that all now? It was just a distant memory of the past. Where was he now? You couldn’t answer. Who was he waiting for now? That thought plagued your mind for there was no definite answer. //How could you leave me, baby? My baby, I miss you// There was no denying at a point in time, he was your boyfriend. There was no lying that you thought he would be your last. How could you leave all you had built up over a span of four years? It seemed impossible. But nothing ever is. You ended on good terms, you would tell yourself. There was a mutual agreement. It was a big lie. No one wanted the split but you forced it to happen. It was for the best, you told yourself. We could have celebrated our fifth year together today but no, it’s only me blowing out candles on the cake. Why do I still miss you even though my head tells me not to? It doesn’t make sense how it tricks me into loving you. I hope you have moved on and I know I should too but I don’t think I will ever stop missing you. … //Whenever I close my eyes, I think of you. Even stars in the night sky seem like you.// Sleep could not be an easy feat. Tossing restlessly in the sheets, I told myself that I was fine, that you were not worth the whine. When I couldn’t sleep, I looked at the stars, wondering how they shone from so far. They made me think of you, contrasting a blue. Then sometimes, I’d admire them until the sun awoke, a constant beckoning not to mope. Still, maybe once or probably twice, my pillow would be damp with tears and I’d wake up to one cold side of the bed, the sense of longing stabbing at my heart, glaring in my face like a tasty strawberry tart. I guess as much as stars seemed like you, there were some differences too. They kept me company on long lonely nights. //I’m missing you like crazy. Like a young child who had lost their mum// It drove you mad. You were confused, lost in the twisted web with no exit in sight. You supposed it was life and you had to learn but it seemed harder to let go the more you yearned. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down but to no avail. The tears still fell, in sync with the raindrops that pattered outside. You were glad you decided to spend the remainder of the day at home, your sobbing was an unforgiving sight. However, Changkyun always cradled you each time you cried, dashing away your tears and whispering soft lullabies. He said you were gorgeous no matter how appalling your exterior looked when you wailed. Who knew he was such a good fibber? You hated his lies and his reassuring words but if you could hear them once more, you would do so in a heartbeat. //You who shined on me and gave warmth like a sun. I can’t see anything ahead, where are you?// Your road was blocked. You weren’t sure why. Perhaps it was the same reason for that sigh. He always complimented your skin, blessed by the sunlight and shining within. It made you feel like you were the light in his life. But it couldn’t be, for there were always things more meaningful than thee. This tangled mess of emotions left you dazed so you prayed and prayed, God, please take them away. Where are you? How far have you run? Are you just a fragment of my imagination? Those thoughts hurt but they couldn’t kill. It would be over soon, you reassured. //Stepping on all those painful memories, please light up those glittering days again// The memories in one jar were cheerful and bright, leaving no room for darkness or obstruction of sight. The other contained upsetting and dismal things, those swept under the carpet for good reason. You wanted to relive good all days when everything was all horseplay. No rules, no rights, no fear of being left behind. He’s chasing his dream, you wanted that too but you wanted his dream to be you. Changkyun morphed from your dream to your nightmare. He was like the rain during sunshine, bittersweet. You missed him. You just wondered if you had even crossed his mind. A tear fell from your glossy eyes, it rolled down your cheek and landed on the sleeve of your shirt. You wanted those days back but they were gone forever. Still, those memories were engrained in your memory forever. Everything around you still screamed his presence, it was like an insult you would love you receive. Changkyun, you hated when we argued and I’m sorry i offended you. Let’s not live in this tangled web of emotions, I can’t keep living like this. You stripped your wall of polaroids, those with smiles, kisses and love. His hoodies were shoved to the very back of the closet, you promised you would send them back to him one day but for now, they would have to bite the dust. After you had rid your room with the obvious traces of him, you stepped outside your house. The fresh scent of freedom welcomed you, accompanied by the feeling of wind brushing through your hair. It was blissful, it was calm. So, you wandered along the edges of the neighbourhood near the park. You felt someone glaring lasers into your back but refused to turn around. It wasn’t Changkyun. Why? Because he stood in front of you, with a group of boys you had never seen in your life before. They were well dressed and had prettily dyed hair, assistants and stylists rushing to attend to their every need. Changkyun was living his dream. As much as you wanted to turn and run into his arms, the force you applied was much stronger. You ignored him, ignored his stare, oblivious to the world around you. You walked away. All this time when you wondered where he was, he was right by you. Every time you called for him, he nearly reached your side. Without knowing where to go, you would have sunk down but this time, your mind was clear. As much as you missed him and even though you still loved him, you had to let him go. I.M, I’m sorry. I miss you but will let you go. The polaroid that you once treasured and kept in your wallet bent and floated with the wind as it left your grasp, tears raining down your cheeks. A part of you hurt to let it go but missing him anymore was a big no-no. … “Hyung, wait! I think I stepped on-” I.M couldn’t finish his sentence, he picked up the polaroid with shaking hands. His eyebrows narrowed in confusion, guilt and sadness stabbed at his conscience. Sighing, he tucked it into the pocket of his jeans, running after his hyungs as if nothing had happened. He bit back tears which only fell onto his pillow much later at night, holding on to an ex love with all his might. Y/N, I miss you too but I will let you go.

#screams #I.M #lim changkyun #shownu #sohn hyunwoo #shin hoseok #wonho #minhyuk #lee minhyuk #kihyun #yoo kihyun #hyungwon #chae hyungwon #jooheon #lee jooheon #monsta x #monsta x scenarios #monbebes

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mokonalord · 8 years ago

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The Orchard Scene According to Me

(Once day, I will probably add the images of the scene here myself, but you can find the Dark Horse version of the scene I'm talking about here)

My personal analysis of the orchard scene and why I think leaving it (or anything comparative) out of the anime was a huge mistake they should forever be kicking themselves for. (Perhaps not quite as hard as they should be kicking themselves for Eagle's death or the WTF-ery that was Sierra's excuse for a side plot, but kicking themselves regardless)

Let's start with the setup. Umi's wandering around after Hikaru finally awake again, contemplating just why Hikaru could enter the road when Umi couldn't. She doesn't have an answer for this, and dwelling on it doesn't seem to be getting her anywhere. Thankfully, there's a convenient distraction just around the corner.

Hey, look, it's Ascot, local Disney Princess and his animal friends! [Insert personal headcanon: It's entirely possible that Umi has not encountered Ascot at all since their initial reunion in volume four. Given this guy had to be dragged out of hiding for that one reunion to even happen and that we didn't see him in volume five (save one quick general reference), I don't think it's much of a stretch to suggest he currently lacks the nerve to try talking to her himself.] [Personal headcanon addendum: This is not wholly a 'trouble talking to cute person' situation. It's easy to forget this in season two given what a cinnamon roll he is now, but Ascot did start out as a villain. A villain who was more than ready to kill the Magic Knights ('Hey, my friends can play with them like little dolls!' anyone?). That Umi was able to forgive that once he backed down and even come to sympathize with his situation is such strength of heart, the fact that Ascot is so hesitant to impose on her just goes to show how very aware he is that he didn't deserve it.]

Umi greets him cheerfully. There is nothing in any of her mannerisms to suggest that she bears him any ill will or distrusts him. In fact, if she did, she probably wouldn't have bothered to show herself, or at the very least, there would've been some hesitation before approaching. There would've been none of that hand-holding action, for sure. (Wait, Ascot was holding a bowl of fruit in that one panel, where'd it disappear to in the next one? Oh, who cares, give me that accidental touching)

Okay, let's take a moment to review real quick. Umi shows up out of the blue (hey, how'd that pun get there?), treating Ascot like nothing less than a close friend on sight despite everything, and on top of that, oh, hand-hold? At this point, is it any goddamn wonder Ascot likes her so much?

But, here's the thing. It doesn't stop there. Next, Umi greets the nearest beast. Remember how Ascot's whole motive for helping Zagato in the first place was the beasts? Remember just how upset he was over people not being able to accept them, how torn-up he was over realizing what he himself was doing to them? Remember just how much it affected him when she did that the first time (another beautiful moment that should've been in the anime)? And here she is, doing it again. Not even giving the poor sensitive summoner's heart a chance to recover from the last onslaught. Absolutely merciless.

And, bless Umi, there's more. Now she's telling him she's proud of him. When she left him in the shrine first season, she'd been worried. Even with everything she'd already done for him, she'd wished she hadn't had to leave him like that, she'd wanted to do more. She'd wondered if saving Princess Emeraude and Cephiro would really help him, and I think she suspected it wouldn't do much, that there were too many other issues afoot. For her to come back and find he's managed to get that at least somewhat sorted out, especially considering how many of the Magic Knights initial efforts in Cephiro turned out so horribly, it's got to be a relief to have something turn out okay. So, yeah, she's proud.

Now, once again, consider just how much it probably means to Ascot to hear that from her. From someone that's done so much for him, that means so much to him, that just up until a few days back at most, he had no real expectation of ever seeing again. He's barely squeaked out two short sentences this whole time and she just keeps layering on the goodness.

[Another headcanon for consideration: At this point, Umi isn't sure what Ascot's thinking, but she definitely wants him to like her, at least on friend terms. She might still feel bad about killing some of his friends/'abandoning' him at the shrine, so on top of just being genuinely happy to get the chance to catch up with a friend, she's likely being extra nice with that in mind. It's just given Ascot's already favorable opinion and precious sensitive soul, well, while trying for 'someone Ascot doesn't hate' she accidentally managed 'someone Ascot would follow to the ends of the world if she let him'. Overkill would be putting it lightly.]

Moving on, she reaches for his hat, a sort of parallel to that time she did the same in the first part (another scene needlessly cut from the anime). If you haven't noticed already, Umi's a touchy person. It's cute. Only this time, she can't quite reach (insert waa-waa music here). She follows up with an, "Oh, must be because your heart matured," as if she hadn't been sweet enough already, and finally, Ascot finds himself some words. Tentatively at first, just enough to get her attention, and then…

BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE!

Ascot just gave her the credit for pretty much everything good she's said about him just now. And the best part? He's not trying to impress. He's just being completely honest. She's just been overloading him with feels the past minute or so, surely it'd be okay to let her know something, right? Umi clearly wasn't expecting that. Going back to my own headcanons, she hasn't seen all that much of Ascot, she might not have been entirely sure he even wanted to be her friend. Until he just went and blew all that uncertainty out of the water, that is.

Then, next panel, SHE'S the one complaining about being embarrassed. Oh, Umi, you precious hypocrite, you. Dishes it but just can't take it. Meanwhile, Ascot's all 'Oops, I've said too much' despite only managing a total of maybe five sentences. She de-escalates the feels by bringing it back to the fruit-picking, offering to help out. This is followed by Yaris offering his services as Ultimate Cherry Picker™ and World's Greatest Wingman™. Some indeterminate time later, we see her still there, picking that fruit, just about as happy as we've ever seen her. Fuu and Ferio come around, and she mentions this being something she did a lot of back in grade school.

Just getting to see Umi 'contents under pressure' Ryuuzaki relax for a bit is refreshing. Much like a mother who can't go five minutes without their kids getting into trouble, however, it's short-lived, and we find out Hikaru's gone missing. Alas. End Scene.

Now, this nice dynamic Ascot and Umi have in the manga, this sweetness that still holds whether or not you ship them, it fails in the anime because they only bothered to transcribe half of it. They get 'Ascot being an absolute cinnamon roll who'd die for her if the occasion arose' but they left out so much of 'Umi honestly caring that this guy find his way despite everything'. In the manga, you can debate about whether or not her feelings could be or turn romantic in nature, but you can't pretend their friendship is one-sided. In the anime, it's almost conspiratorial how many of the scenes they cut that show how much she cared.

Leaving this particular scene in (or coming up with something equivalent) could've fixed the discrepancy. While I might not like their decision to push things in the Clemi direction in the anime, I could've accepted it if it didn't seem to come at the cost of what was a beautiful friendship. As Elizabeth Bennet once said of Mr. Darcy, "I'd more easily forgive his vanity had he not wounded mine."

So, that's my thoughts on the orchard scene. Well, not all of them, if I'm completely honest, but the real meat of it. Hope it was either informative, thought-provoking, or just entertaining.

#too many thoughts on a scene that was only six manga pages #that is how I roll #umi ryuuzaki #palu ascot #magic knight rayearth #otp #umi ascot #Dragons and Monsters #are you pondering what I'm pondering?#meta #my stuff

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bluejaytxt-blog · 7 years ago

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★ fill in the questions as if you are being interviewed for an article and you were your muse.

TAGGED BY: @sunvcincd (thank you!!!!!) TAGGING: @aceprinccss, @fourridersandaking, @ignision

Alois, Lucas, and Elliot because they’re brothers and comparing their answers could be fun

1. WHAT IS YOUR NAME? Alois: “Alois Weston.” Lucas: “My name is Lucas, and yours?” Elliot: “Elliot... why?”

2. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME? Alois: “Alois.” Lucas: “....It’s Lucas, got it legally changed.” Elliot: “Elliot...”

3. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU’RE CALLED THAT? Alois: “Not really, but I do like the name.” Lucas: “I liked it and it suits me.” Elliot: “I was blessed with a gender neutral name.”

4. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN? Alois: “Single and ready to mingle~ ...Oh god that one was bad.” Lucas: “Single but I wouldn’t be opposed to a relationship. Sounds nice.” Elliot: “Tragically single.”

5. WHAT ARE YOUR POWERS AND ABILITIES? Alois: “I’m hardworking, determined, and a great communicator.” Lucas "I can cook pretty well.” Elliot: “I... I don’t have any.”

6. WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES? Alois: “Green, kind of a grassy spring color.” Lucas: “Blue.” Elliot: “Green... they look just like Alois’ but they look better on him.”

7. HAVE YOU EVER DYED YOUR HAIR? Alois: “I don’t want to ruin it so no.” Lucas: “No, I was born with blue hair.” Elliot: “I dye it blonde but it’s a light brown to begin with.”

8. DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY MEMBERS? Alois: “Two brothers and parents, along with other assorted family of course.” Lucas: “I got cut off so no, not really... Although I did do that one to myself.” Elliot: “Maybe Lucas on a good day.”

9. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? Alois: “No but I want a cat.” Lucas: “A dog would be nice... Can’t have pets in dorms though.” Elliot: “Do plants count?”

10. TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE. Alois: “I hate losing.” Lucas: “I’m not a fan of being lonely...” Elliot: “Binders in the summer.”

11. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES OR ACTIVITIES YOU DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME? Alois: "I’m an artist so art I suppose.” Lucas: “Cooking, reading... I guess babysitting counts since it’s fun.” Elliot: “Baking, reading, taking care of plants... I don’t have much free time though.”

12. HAVE YOU EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE? Alois: “Probably yes.” Lucas: “I hope not.” Elliot: “I couldn’t hurt a flea.”

13. HAVE YOU EVER… KILLED ANYONE? Alois: “Well that would ruin my chances are a job, now would it?” Lucas: “No. Why would you even ask about that?” Elliot: “No.”

14. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU? Alois: “Cat! I’d make a cute catboy too, wouldn’t I?” Lucas: “Human? Oh wait do you mean like animal you’d want to be? Because dog, people love dogs...” Elliot: “Probably something small and fluffy, like a kitten.”

15. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS. Alliot: “Being too competitive.” Lucas: “I procrastinate on schoolwork.” Elliot: “Most things I do probably...”

16. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE? Alois: “Yes, lots of my professors.” Lucas: “No one in particular, professors and mentor figures I suppose.” Elliot: “No one really.”

17. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL? Alois: “Gay~ and single, I mentioned that right?” Lucas: “Bi, slight preference for men but I do like older women too... they both have their appeals.” Elliot: “Bi, and you care because?”

18. DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL? Alois: “Yeah, fashion design and business on the side.” Lucas: “Mhm, Culinary Arts.” Elliot: “What’s the point?”

19. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS SOMEDAY? Alois: “Yes, two kids would be nice... nice house with a good yard for a dog perhaps? Maybe a cat too... And a nice husband who loves me. Sounds like a dream.” Lucas: “I love kids, just don’t really want to be the one to have the kid. Being married though... I don’t think I’d mind it.” Elliot: “Maybe... If my partner wants to start a family and marry me then yes.”

20. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANS? Alois: “Why wouldn’t I~?” Lucas: “Fans? No, of course not.” Elliot: “No...”

21. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF? Alois: “Failure.” Lucas: “Being alone forever.” Elliot: “...Being alone but being forgotten about by those I love too.”

22. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR? Alois: “I wish I could dress better but that takes money so usually a nice shirt and some pants, usually jeans. I’d wear skirts if I could, pants are awful...” Lucas: “Pants and sweaters, in the summer perhaps some short sleeve shirts. I’ve worn formal clothes on occasion.” Elliot: “Anything comfy.”

23. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE? Alois: “...Perhaps.” Lucas: “I’d like to one day...” Elliot: “I know no one loves me...”

24. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU? Alois: “Middle?” Lucas: “Middle, lower middle probably I’m in college.” Elliot: “...I don’t know anymore.”

25. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE? Alois: “A lot, but only a few good close ones.” Lucas: “Not many, I’m not exactly approachable.” Elliot: “Do coworkers count?”

26. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE? Alois: “It’s nice... Pumpkin pie is really good.” Lucas: “It’s fun to make.” Elliot: “Fun to make and eat by yourself on the couch.”

27. FAVORITE DRINK? Alois: “Coffee with more creamer than coffee.” Lucas: “Tea, coffee is nice too sometimes.” Elliot: “Tea, chamomile specifically.”

29. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE? Alois: “Around those who love me. Home is where the heart is, after all.” Lucas: “I... Well theres this person I babysit for... His house.” Elliot: “My apartment.”

30. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE? Alois: “Mmm... Maybe~” Lucas: “Yes and no... guess it wouldn’t hurt to know more about them but if they don’t want to tell me I won’t push.” Elliot: “I wish someone would be interested in me.”

31. WHAT’S YOUR DICK SIZE? Alois: “...Have some tact and at least buy me dinner first.” Lucas: “I don’t have one so... 0?” Elliot: “Non existent.”

32. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN? Alois: “The ocean.” Lucas: “I prefer to sit under and umbrella and read at the beach.” Elliot: “Not swimming either way.”

33. WHAT’S YOUR ‘TYPE’? Alois: “Rich men to be honest... I kid! But it’s not exactly a problem if you are and want to spoil me~” Lucas: “Mature people... older women and men are quite nice... but people in my age group aren’t bad either! You did ask my type...” Elliot: “Someone taller than me so they can be the big spoon.”

34. ANY FETISHES? Alois: “Again, dinner first.” Lucas: “I... there could be children listening to this.” Elliot: “…No answer.”

35. TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE? Alois: “Geeze... Buy me dinner and slip me a few bills then ask again. “ Lucas: “....I wouldn’t know.” Elliot: “...” He’s blushing.

36. CAMPING, OR INDOORS? Alois: “Indoors! But... I’d be willing to camp occasionally.” Lucas: “…Camping sounds fun... Maybe one day when I have a family.” Elliot: “Camping could be fun...”

37. ARE YOU WAITING FOR THIS INTERVIEW TO BE OVER? Alois: “No, no feel free to ask me more.” Lucas: “Yes, thank you for having me.” Elliot: “Yeah, I have work soon anyway.”

#Meme #Lucas #Alois #Elliot

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expatsecuador · 5 years ago

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Is Ecuador Safe?

When you start planning your move to Ecuador, you'll most likely be constantly asked, "But, is Ecuador safe?"

I know I've been asked this question many times. And of course, it was a key consideration for me when I decided to make the move the Ecuador.

There's a few caveats, but yes, I consider Ecuador a safe country to visit and live.

By the end of this article you'll understand how I've reached this conclusion, and I'll also run through some common risks, how to avoid them and my learnings from some not-so-good experiences in Ecuador.

Ecuador's safety compared to other countries

Ecuador is a small country in Latin America that neighbours Colombia and Peru. Whilst it's tempting to lump all of Latin America into one category to assess safety as a region, I'd argue this is not the way to approach it as each country, and city, has very different safety risks.

The below graph shows how peaceful a country is according to the Global Peace Index. This index takes 23 factors into consideration such as violent crime, terrorism, political instability and access to weapons.

Ecuador ranked 71 out of 163

Ecuador's rank is 71, with only Uruguay and Panama ranked higher out of all South American countries. So, from one of the best objective measures we have, Ecuador is safer than almost every other country in the area (and the United States).

Ecuador's crime concerns

Just because Ecuador ranks relatively highly on the GPI, that doesn't mean it's a peaceful utopia. Like anywhere, there are risks. Luckily, most of them can be mitigated with common sense.

Border with Colombia

Ecuador's north eastern border with Colombia is considered a no-go zone because of narco trafficking related deaths. Even journalists have been murdered in this lawless corner of Ecuador. If you're coming from Colombia, crossing the border between Ipiales and Tulcan is safe.

Pick Pocketing in tourist hot spots

Violent crime is rare, but opportunistic crimes like pick pocketing are fairly common in tourist areas. Some well known areas to be paying extra attention:

Quito

Centro historico: especially walking up the hill to El Pancillo. This walk is just private enough for robbers to strike. Taking a taxi to the top is highly recommended (and cheap). However, I've done this walk several times and haven't seen anything remotely suspicious.

Buses: Absolutely be on guard and watch your belongings when on cramped buses. Especially the Ecovia line - it's almost a rite of passage to lose your phone on this bus line (I've lost one).

Plaza Foch: Drunk tourists make easier targets. I'm not the fun police, just know that you have a higher risk of being pick-pocketed in Quito's main drinking & dancing sector.

Parks: A common scam is for someone to spill/squirt/throw a liquid onto your clothes and then try to clean it off. Whilst cleaning they lift your wallet or phone etc. If you feel any liquid (even bird poop), then it's best to keep on walking until you're no longer around anyone.

Cuenca

Cuenca is touted as a safe place for expats - a reason why many retire here. But, secluded areas by the rivers can be tempting for thieves.

Violent crime against expats

Thankfully, violent crimes in Ecuador are rare. But they do happen. This murder of a 79 year old lady from the US sent shock waves through my community in Cuenca when it happened. This was allegedly perpetrated by a worker of the deceased - so not a completely random act.

As a gringo, there will be the presumption that you have money. Which can make you a target - especially for opportunistic crimes. But, this is not likely to lead to anything more than petty theft or worse case a home robbery when the house is unattended.

For peace of mind I do recommend paying attention to the security features of your home/apartment. This includes paying for monitored home security and quality fences.

Ecuador's earthquake & volcano risks

Ecuadorian's have been dealing with the persistent risks from earthquakes and volcanoes forever. Ecuador sits on a tectonic plate, meaning there are also real volcano and earthquake risks to consider. One of Ecuador's main coastal expat destinations, Manta, was hit hard in the 2016 earthquake which killed over 600 people and levelled parts of Manta and other towns.

Volcanic eruptions in the sierras do occur. The large volcanoes around Quito are of particular concern. Cotopaxi, one of the highest volcanoes in the world (5,897m) hasn't had a great eruption since 1877, with some experts suggesting it's due for another.

Ash from erupting volcanoes can cause havoc. It's rained ash on our house several times in Cuenca - nothing severe, but it is a reminder to have a volcano action plan ready just in case.

Honestly, adjusting to the persistent earthquake and volcano risk was a little difficult for me at first. It's not something I've ever had to deal with. But, I rarely think of it now as I've accepted natural disasters can happen anywhere.

The sun & UV

Perhaps your biggest risk as a new arrival is getting sunburn. The high altitude can result in very high UV, meaning you can get sunburnt in a matter of 15-20 minutes. Always have suncream and water with you.

Is driving safe in Ecuador?

We own a car and have driven around most of Ecuador. But, I still find this question difficult to answer as it's relatively complex.

Roads

Many of Ecuador's roads and highways got a major upgrade under a former president (Correa). However, with the seismic activity and constant landslides, maintenance of these roads is a constant issue. This forces you to be on guard to avoid potholes and other obstacles like surprise speed bumps.

I'd definitely suggest against driving at night, especially in poor lit areas. Fog is also an issue in the mountains.

Other drivers

My experience is that other drivers can be quite unpredictable everywhere in Ecuador. Probably once or twice each month I'm perplexed at a decision made by a fellow driver. These are mostly harmless like driving slow in the fast lane, but there have been a couple of close calls that could have been avoided.

Trucks and buses are of the most concern. Keeping to aggressive time schedules turns some otherwise good drivers into risk takers and risk takers into downright lunatics. Bus accidents are too common as a result.

Fault & jail

I'm still coming to grips with Ecuador's justice system and how this impacts drivers' rights. If there is an accident where someone is injured, all parties will go to jail until fault is determined. This can last days.

I'll admit that I'm paranoid about being the scapegoat because I'm not a local. It has happened to me before (in Dubai). My perceived risk is that I will be found to be at fault because I'll be judged by the police to have money and therefore more able to pay for the recovery - or heaven forbid, blood money to the family of the deceased.

For this reason I purchased a dashboard camera with the purpose of being able to prove my innocence should I find myself in such a situation. My rationale was that it's a small amount to pay in the off-chance that such discrimination ever takes place.

Is Ecuador safe for solo female travellers?

Yes, but be prepared to put up with machismo culture. Some Ecuadorian men are known to make females uncomfortable with unwanted attention. This can be in the form of catcalling, staring or being overly forward. In much rarer occasions it can involve touching.

Ecuador is a mostly traditional, catholic culture. So, victim blaming issues aside, you will stand out if you don't dress conservatively. I would not suggest wearing anything too revealing until you have a good grasp on the culture.

My experiences

I've tried to keep the above somewhat objective. Now I'm going to provide some first-hand experiences and what I've learnt from them.

Ecuador vs Colombia

I arrived in Ecuador after spending 6 months in Medellin, Colombia. I really loved Medellin. I fell for it's energy, it's people and general attitude towards enjoying life. But, it is dangerous. I'd gotten used to constantly watching my back and belongings at all times. It was just part of life.

My first stop in Ecuador was Quito, and it immediately felt safer to me. Protecting myself from being a victim of crime was no longer something that consumed my thoughts.

That was a key reason I stayed in Ecuador. I felt safe here. Moving from Quito to Cuenca further increased my feeling of safety.

The value of feeling safe

My key learning from this experience was that I didn't realise how much I valued the feeling of safety until I'd put myself in an environment that I felt safe.

You may not get the same feeling if you visit or live in Ecuador. Maybe you feel safer in Medellin, or New York, or Toronto, or Sydney, wherever. That is all okay. I only urge you to consider how much value you put on 'feeling safe' and include it in your criteria when deciding where to live.

Buses and pick pockets

As I mentioned above, I've been pick pocketed on the Ecovia bus in Quito. This bus line is notorious for bags being slashed, wallets and phones stolen. Even my Spanish teacher at PUCE warned me to keep my bag on my front to avoid being robbed.

It happened to me on my way to Spanish class. I was running late and hadn't had my morning coffee yet - I'm basically non-functioning with out it...

I'm normally super careful and keep my right hand in my right jeans pocket to hold onto both my phone and my wallet. This allows me to keep my left hand free to hold onto the rail. Maybe I wasn't alert because of my lack of coffee or maybe I was over-confident as I'd ridden the Ecovia many times without incident.

But for whatever reason, that day my right hand was not covering my belongings in my pocket. It was free as a bird and my phone could easily be seen in my jeans pocket. At my stop I tried to leave the bus, but there was a very obese male in his early 20's blocking my exit. I tried to get past him on the right, he'd move right. I'd shuffle across to the left and try to leave, he'd block my exit again. But, he did it in such a way that I saw it as more annoying than deliberate.

As I pushed past him, the doors closed and the music in my headphones stopped. I immediately knew my phone was pinched. My first reaction was to be angry at myself for letting my guard down. I was actually furious at myself for doing so. Then, I moved to being grateful that it was only a cheap phone and it could have been something more difficult to replace like my wallet with IDs and bank cards.

I knew the pain of losing a wallet in Ecuador as I'd done it about a year earlier. I was riding an inter provincial bus that dropped me in Puerto Lopez on Ecuador's coast. As I was exiting the bus, my wallet dropped out of my pants and onto the seat. I went to grab a coffee at the station and could not find my wallet to pay. I ran back to my seat no more than 1 minute later and my wallet was gone. Someone had picked it up and taken it. I asked everyone, including the driver. I'd paid the driver my fare less than 15 minutes before arriving, so it was clear a fellow passenger had it and they were not going to give it up.

This might sound weird, but this incident hurt me more than the theft of my phone by actual criminals. I guess I expected strangers on a bus to be more likely to help out a fellow traveller.

The lessons here are pretty clear. Don't let your guard down. Even if you've done the trip 100's of times. It's when you get complacent that you become an easy target.

The Paro - Ecuador's State of Emergency 2019

I'm going to wrap this up with my observations from the State of Emergency that evolved over a 2 week period in October 2019.

It was a very weird experience. I hadn't seen society crumble like that. Supply lines were cut off, food was hoarded, schools and streets closed. There was a peculiar mixture of fear and fiesta circulating the streets.

I work online, so I tried to go about my business as much as I could. We'd stocked up on gas, groceries and water. We felt as safe as we could under the circumstances. It wasn't until the last days of the strike, when our street was blocked off and an angry mob was roaming close to our house that I thought we could be under genuine threat. Mob mentality can be very dangerous, and the mob had been drinking most of the day.

I found it hard to understand how Ecuadorians could cause so much damage to their own country. Damaging roads, buildings and other property. Most of the groups I'd seen going into town to strike didn't seem to be politically motivated - rather they looked like they were in it for the excitement. Like teenagers going to join a street party, booze and all.

I'm not doubting that there were many that had political intentions. But that was not what I saw. We deliberately tried to stay as far away as possible to keep our family safe.

As amazed as I was at how easily Ecuadorians could damage their own country, I was equally in awe at how quickly they were willing to repair it. The thousands of people volunteering to clean the streets immediately after the paro was called off was so heart warming. You could see the people coming together to start rebuilding their country. It was so good to see.

The paro was a genuine reminder that life in Ecuador can be unpredictable. You do need to be prepared for things you'd never thought possible. But isn't that part of life as an expat - to experience how other people live? Warts, beauty and everything in between.

from Expats Ecuador https://expatsecuador.com/is-ecuador-safe/

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