#nothing left to me but an empty husk of a sad fucking man

[ex-textura]

Out here begging with my dented tin cup and big sad eyes for something good to fucking happen. Please. Literally anything right now.

Please sir. I want some good vibes. Anything.

[muffindaddystyles]

Tell me you love me, before I go.

A/N: A very short smutty writing I had in my swirling whole night, which unapologetically I ended up writing in the wee hours of dark.

Summary: Harry and Y/N are rivals -- very passive aggressive enemies. When on a mission Y/N breaks into his room he had no choice but to punish her.

AU: Rivals to lovers, dark sci-fi, angry rough sex, spanking and spitting, reassurance kink and unrequited love.

A war between two groups. Left one with nothing but a tech base and other with almost everything. So the Arsonists raid the Phantoms' buildings to steal food items and necessary fuels for their people since they're mostly unarmed due to lack of weapons they try to use their brain as much as possible. 

Y/N works in one of the tech bases of Arsonists and right now she's standing with her five more mates trying to figure out how to break through these large gates of the villain's building, one of his most strong headquarters. 

They've to collect some data before another truck of fuel arrives for Phantoms next Wednesday so they could have access to it without doing much effort. 

Once sneaking in successfully because the two guards were too muddled in gossiping their arsess about their maiden. The building's nothing too extravagant, sleek and able to live, dimmed to an unpleasant light indicating everyone inside it is sleeping. 

She barges into the villain's room easily and almost had all the information in her hands from his drawers when the door to the room banged close, startling her at spot and the frames of her glasses fell on the carpeted floor. 

"Shit." 

"D'ya think cursing would take ye' out of here? if so you're down bad" Her heart sinks in when his cold insensate voice booms within the walls — a heavy boot comes crushing her glasses, again and again mercilessly. 

Her blood boils. Because, what the fuck. Doesn't he have any manners? 

"Do you think I need my glasses to punch the shit out of you, you prick!!" She pounced at him, almost breaking his nose into a splitted eiffel tower but he dodged it, twisting her wrists at her back and snatching the files from her sneering menacingly —- letting her painful grunts fly over his head without any remorse. 

"Well, well." She yelps when he tightens his grip angrily, "Look what cat dragged in come little mousey we're going to have some fun." She didn't know until now that someone could be this strong as he puts her in a chair like a rag doll binding her with no escape out. 

She tries to squirm and wriggle her butt out but he just tuts standing tall and evil in front of her, she rakes her gaze slowly up to his tanned biceps and clavicles popping from underneath his flimsy shirt, matted curls grazing his shoulders. 

"Oh no, trust me sweetheart, you're going to want to stay strapped in here. We're going to find out how many times an Arsonist can break –- and for the fact my people will kill you on the spot if you step out of my room." Shiver runs down her body from fear and he chuckles, flopping onto the edge of his bed, man spreading, leaning onto the heels of his palms behind him. 

"You're pathetic!" She spits out. Full of venom. 

"Pfft, a thief telling me that 'm pathetic." He shakes his head and she's despising his audacity as if he rules the world. She could kick him square in his sexy face but the thing's she's bound to this damn uncomfy chair. 

"Atleast, I don't go on killing people." She grumps and it's like she pushed a button when his irises turn pitch dark. Her eyes widen in astonishment, reeking with fear when he leaves his spot in a thunder striding towards her furiously and drags the chair closer to him, almost lifting it inches above floor. 

The next thing she knows that a gun is resting against her temple ready to be fired, "Ye' really that desperate fo' me to prove it to you, huh?" He growls, hooded gaze following the gun that's sliding down her cheek and the way her breath wavers —- lips trembles, nose twitches he knows he's fucked. 

"Will it hurt?" If she's going to die it better be an easy way. 

His eyes soften at that. Taking in the rosy features of her, the plushiness and squishiness of her skin that his fingers feels like dipping into cream. The women of Phantom aren't like this; they're built differently to fight and kill who wrongs them -- they're almost heartless at this point. 

"Dunno, You'll get to know after taking one." He shrugs like it's not a biggie tipping her chin with the gun's pointer and her eyelids slip shuts. She couldn't cry. Even her dead body wouldn't forgive her if she would cry infront of her worst enemy for the last time. 

"I hate you, Harry. I'd never ever forgive you for kidnapping my cat when we were small." There she said it. If she's gonna die soon she better let it off her chest. Before it could hit him right in the wound he builds a shield fast arguing back with a stoic chuckle. 

"Guilt tripping wouldn't help, darling." He tuts patting her cheek with the gun's barrel —- funny case it's empty of bullets. He just shooted all of them whilst doing target practice. 

"Fuck you." She yells. 

"It'd take much more action than just undressing me naked with your bare eyes." He squeaks dramatically. Stepping away and pouts when she huffs trying to kick her feet in his direction. 

"Not my fault that you're a perv." 

He pouts feigning fake disappointment putting a hand on his chest, "You're such a grudge holder." 

"Think about 10 ways to fuck me until then 'm heading to make amends for you -- see what they offer in return of their precious nerd." He smirks, it's sad such a gorgeous face could be such evil she thinks. 

// 

When he comes back she's fallen asleep from getting tired and exhausted being trapped in the same spot for hours, "Sorry, peaches but they don't want you back ��- even told me to kill you if that what it ta —- oooh" He halts in his tracks closing the door behind him quietly not to wake her up and pads softly towards her, putting her dangling head back gently in a comfortable position and tucks a strand of her hair that's tickling her nose behind her ear. 

You're not supposed to act that way with your enemy, you FUCKER. 

His brain screams but his heart says otherwise. 

She has changed. She never cries anymore. Everytime they kidnapped her or she ended up being caught from his henchmen —- she'd always need company to make her feel less frightened from the hollowness of their buildings, would cry when they'd lock her up in dark rooms. 

It's awfully hurtful how once bestfriends turns into rivals just because of a conflict that ruined their and their families lives. 

She has been doing all of this for people who doesn't even care about her. They're using her and many others like her to build a nuclear power plant so they could become intimidating. 

He retires to sleep. Debating in his sleep whether he should just free her and tell her to sleep in one of the rooms of the buildings but soon the possibilities died when he was high in his slumber. 

// 

He groans, knuckling the sleepiness away from his eyes. He woke up from loud the thumping and found Y/N trying to break the door knob, he winces covering his ears when she screams watching him lunge towards her in rush. 

His chocolate curls bouncing atop his head. His emerald eyes speaking with morning's gold and lips ripe like cherry. His brows kinked in annoyance and expression pinched in rage. 

"You're confident." He rasps out in his morning husk and slams his hands on either side of her head trapping, cornering her between him and the wall.

"Did you really think it was going to be this easy." He nothing but purres, pushing her against the door. She gasps abruptly aware of their height differences moreso the radiation of power he daunts that she ignored her whole life. 

"Hmm." He hummed. Eyes black with intimidation burning her under the intensity of it, he keeps his focus on her, smirking. "It suits you. This trying to fight me, desperation is a beautiful look on you." 

"Fuck you." 

"I mean if, ask nicely." His smile is sweetly honey and lethal if you ask me. 

She glares at him with blazing daggers, "This isn't the way you make people love you." Her chest heaving with his heat close to her and his scent enveloping her. 

"Love?" He laughs fondly even, crinkled forming by his eyes and he breathes out when she hovers her dry lips over his's, "Sweet thing this isn't about love — if ye ask me far from that." He's lying. He's full of bullshit. 

"And yet you don't touch me or hurt me." She squints her eyes up at him wrecking her brain how to slip away from his hold, "If you beg so." He simpers awfully lewd for her. Sure as rock for what he said with his whole chest. 

"Come get me then!" She trips him aside and rushes for the door when he pushes her into it tightening his hand around her throat, it's aching him to tell her the truth but he wants to let her know her worth. He rests his forehead against her's muttering a rumble deep within his chest, "They don't want you Y/N." Her windpipes squeezes painfully. The statement punching her lungs. Tears springing in her eyes. 

"You're lying!!" She looks up at him shattered and desperate. 

He caresses his knuckles against her tear stained cheek, "Shh, shh baby I'll always want you even if they don't — " He jerks back when she blows hit at his brawny chest yelling at him. 

"It's because of you!! You, you, you." He sighs. Grabbing her wrists and pining them above her head, "Shut up, please." His chillness irks her more and she nips at him feastly. 

"Make me." So he does. When her eyes drift up at his determined ones it takes her breath away and she knew it was over for her. 

His lips catches her's in a hard kiss, driving them apart with the force of it. Nothing gentle mind mushing about it rather pricking needles into her skin with the severeness of it. She feels the door rattling against her back when he shifts, pushing her against it with his hips, every thought of her exploding into white noise of want and lust. The dark curl of desire twisting in her stomach and pearling sweat on her neck. With the last thread of restraint in herself she tries to pull away. 

"No." He says bringing her lips back to his's. Cupping her cheeks to deepen the kiss and it's ardent as before not loosing it's spark, she slips her hands under his shirt — pulling him closer and the low groan at the back of his throat, a small pleading noise of want sets her skin on fire. 

"Fuck me."  She mewls. Trying to latch on his body like a kitten with it's dainty paws. 

He glides his clammy palms down her bum and grabs her thighs wrapping them around his waist. Not breaking the kiss but tasting ever dulcet corners of her mouth and creating heavenly noises. 

The next thing they know she's crawling back with the help of her bum to settle in the nest of pillows and he's fumbling with his belt buckle quite aggressively, she tugs the hem of his shirt down not satiated enough from having his lips on her and meanders her fingers in his hair to pull at them roughly in order to flush her chest up against his's.

"Never thought your sheets would have smelled other than sex." Because, genuinely. They smell that of fresh mint and roses. 

"So, you think of me doing dirty on this bed you're laying at the moment?" He asks mock and degradation evident in his tone, "D'ya get wet dreamin' 'bout me railin' ye' to death?" He grazes his teeth along her jaw and sucks at her earlobe counting in her silence. 

"Shut up." She gasps, probably from the abrupt press of his bulge against the inside of her thigh. 

"Make me then." He growls. Fisting the hem of her hoodie and pulls it over her head throwing it among his skinny jeans. Her head falls back and lips tremble from the effect of slap he landed at her outer thigh —-- she knows she can't shut him.

Though he knows that her single command and he'd be at his knees for her. 

When she clings to him for dear life and whimpers in his ear softly, his eyes widen in realization and he leans away to watch her expressions diffuse into manifold emotions. His nose scrunches up and he holds back his cooes for her. 

She's a subby. A cute one. 

Her eyes blink open to the sight of him out of his boxers and it waters her mouth —- her mind manipulating her to lunge forward and take his heavy member in her palm to give a good suck to his shiny crimson head. 

Down her throat. Nestle her nose against the trim patch of hair under his balls. 

"Like what y'see, doll?" He highers his chin quite smug about her staring and she hates him for that, "Pretty cocky for someone who likes staring at his enemy's tits." Her voice groggy. She wheezes a squeak through her nose when Harry pulls his shirt over his head revealing toned pecs and abs -- skin sewn with tats. 

Unfortunately, she doesn't get to stare at it for longer when that shirt comes wrapping around her eyes blocking her sight. 

He can never let her have nice things would he?

"Wanted to gag your mouth with it … but I'd rather love hearing you moan fo' daddy." He nips at her collarbones -- sucking it harshly to leave a prominent mark. His calloused hand rubs over her tummy smiling against her skin when she jolts and lets a little squeal slip. 

His cock drips precome at her tummy and her breath shudders into heavy pants when the tip of his cock dipped in her belly button nudging it. 

"Ha —- " He glides his sticky head down her happy trail and slips his large palm into her panties cupping her with his middle finger teasing her entrance, "Couldn't hear you!" He ducks down to put his ear near her lips and drums the pads of his digits against her cheek. 

She huffs and squirms for a second then moans breathily when he spanks the side of her hip leaving a sting, "Oh my god, daddy." His grin victorious and he lowers down to smudge his lips against her parted ones -- kissing her tongue and humming around it. 

She's somewhere it's hard to configure out, in between paradise and wonderland. 

"Tell me princess, what d'I do with you in your filthy dreams?" He grabs her jaw patching gentle pecks against her lips and he slops his finger into her throbbing pussy, "Fuckin' drippin' down ye' bum fo' me." She cries out trying to hook her thigh around him but he hisses slapping her cunt hardly -- turning her into a thrashing mess. She's trying hard to suppress the bitter-sweet sensation of her own body getting out of control and her glistening pussy lips flutter erratically creating sloppy noises. 

She squirts drenching the sheets underneath them and her panties. 

He slides his arm under her arching back pushing her up against his chest with a jerk, "Daddy's askin' you somethin'." He grits, propping his knee in between her thighs to rub it against her soaking centre. 

She gulps, licking her dry lips, "You–your rings … ah!" Her whimpers are muffled against his chest and he twists his thumb in tight circles to smear her wetness from her slit to clitoris, "What 'bout them, doll?" 

How does she tell him she liked what he did earlier. 

"Daddy, please … " She whines blindly searching for his face but he grips her wrists in his one hand and groans, "How's daddy gonna make you feel good when you don't tell him, pet?" He takes a kitten lick of her perky nipple. Teasing her areola with the tip of his cold tongue against her warm sweaty body —- he laps at it hungrily then creates a suckling noises, the noises, his slobbery tongue on her body, his fingers curled inside her pussy and the thick humidity is too overwhelming, she feels like fainting. 

She wants him, inside her needy pussy. 

She can't take the teasing anymore. 

"Spanking! I – I liked it when you did it, please." He kisses her nipple for the last time before smashing his mouth against her's in a fervent sinfulness and parts away with a smooching noise to sit back on his heels, "It wasn't that hard was it? Just a word and I could give you my whole world." The sincerity in his voice makes her want to hug him and kiss him for lifetime but for now he has other plans as he rips her panties away moaning obscenely gruff at the sight of her pussy weeping for him to pound his cock inside her, so ready and full of dripping honeyed wetness  for him. 

"Your safe word is clouds." He whispers in her ear. He knows her limits and her resistance but by any chance he'd cross it he'd never forgive himself, "What's it?" He asks and she says in wavering, "Clouds." 

"Atta girl." He pets her cheek. 

Her nail scratches the side of his hands that are pinning her down when he spits on her already damp cunt, a loud noise resonates along with her needy cries when his free hand adorned in jewels came spanking her pussy and her pelvis remains lifted in air bathing in the sting of metal and the throb rattling in her whole core. 

"This's what you wanted?" He kisses his teeth slapping her slick clit again and again, "To be roughed up by daddy, hmm." She bobs her head squirming and wriggling. Her words struck in her throat. 

"To be manhandled." He hums a growlish moan tasting his own fingers coated in her juices, "I'll show you what being manhandled really feels like." He promises her. She gasps a sweet yelp when he flips her over and throws her bum up.

His cock rubbing against her thigh and her heartbeat fastens, anticipating something, crimping the sheets in her fists and mewls into the mattress when he spanks her ass loving the way it jiggles stroking it afterwards to subside the burn down before landing another brutal one. 

She bolts her eyes shut throwing back her hips at him and he lays all the way over her back pushing her down on the bed, her cum trickling down the inside of her thigh, "Want daddy's cock?" He asks. Slicking the head of his prick up and down her asshole and slit. 

When she nods vigorously he bumps it in furious circles against her swollen bundle of nerves, "Then beg fo' it," He says intimidatingly and she doesn't waste a second before blabbering shamelessly. 

"Daddy … please I want your massive cock inside me, all of it." In her entire lifetime -- she never once uttered these kind of words. 

His heart mushes into a puddle seeing her a babbling mess and grabby hands for him, he kisses her gently speaking to her with foremost affectionate, "shh, shh moppet. You could have it anytime you want it, daddy's g'na fill you to rim with his cum and make you keep it there for hours with his prick still snug inside your little pussy, just made for him, c'mere...yeah just like that." He lays her back gently that her front is facing him now and wraps his hand around her calve raising it and pushing it against her chest firmly.

A series of pornographic moans and whimpers echoes in his bedroom when he seathes inside her slowly stretching her out in by inch leaving a burn behind her pulsating walls, their breath laboured breaths mingling, "Fuck you're so warm baby —-- hugging daddy's cock so good." He whines looking down where they're connected and knotted. His stomach twists and turns, his hips stiffens and he resists from pushing inside her when she's not ready but her milking him with her wetness isn't doing him any mercy too. 

She gropes his ass, nudging him to move and their teeths clanks, temples falls against eachother and lips whisper prayers of their unrequited love when he pulls all the way back to pound back inside her roughly. 

"You're daddy's good girl, making him feel so good. I want to keep you to myself. all of you and cherish you, make love to you, w'na mark you however I want." He groans eyes rolling back under his closed lids grinding his hips against her's in rhythmic pleasuring motions to give her clit stimulations and she cries out feeling another bursting orgasm bubbling in her tummy. 

"'M gonna cum, daddy!" She tugs at his roots and he drives more maniacly inside her, "Squirt around daddy's cock pet, so your pussy could swallow it deeper inside you." The headboard of bed hits against the wall vigorously and she digs her heels deeper into the dimples at his back moaning at the top of her lungs when she gushes all over his dick making more squelching, soapy, dirty noises of him raming inside her. 

She desires for more. 

She has become one little insatiable thing. 

His balls smacks against her bum and his thursts turn faster to chase his high, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He curses nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and keeps his hand around his throat with the slight pressure of claimation. 

"Come fo' me again." He spanks her ass and she clamps shut down at him pushing him to the edge of ecstasy, "Squeezing me so tight -- gimme more, I know you can princess." Her legs tremble around his waist when she crampies around him and his cock's head strokes against her sweet spot doing wonders to just topple her off real quick. 

"Daddy!" She feels floaty and foggy head coming on his cock for the many times she has forgotten. Her mind blocking out even the weak shuddering whimpers and beaten moans of Harry as he reaches his orgasm unloading inside her -- his cum sticking thickly to her walls and some of it oozing outside of her pussy hole but he pumps it back with lazy strokes. 

He lifts his smushed face from the dip of her neck, his own curls sweaty against the nape of his neck and he smoothes his palms down her sides to calm her, his lips brushing featherly against the corner of her mouth as she keeps on blabbering something. 

When he tries to pull out gently she cries out pawing at his shoulders, "Daddy no!" He caresses her sweaty hair back and gets rid of her blindfold, pecking her nose sweetly. 

He wants to take care of her. He yearned to have her like this for years. He has to bring her back from her sub-space before it's too late. 

"It's no daddy anymore, petal. I'll crush you in this position — " Carefully he tries to retreat but stop when she says in a very dejected feeble voice, bottom lip wobbling and tears springing at the corners of her eyes, "You don't want me too?" OH NO. This's what Harry was afraid about. A breakdown. He saw the storm coming but didn't know it could be this worst right when she's in her sub-space. 

His face pales at that. His state in frenzy and panic. 

"No bubba. I want you my precious girl -- s'just you're gonna get tired like this, hmm. 'N I have so much to show you and make you meet new people -- couldn't have me baby walkin' on her wobbly legs for whole day could I?" He cups her cheeks tenderly and smiles down at her warmly smothering her in devoted kisses. 

"Promise, daddy?" She sniffles staring up at him with doe innocent eyes and he shakes his head, "Harry sweet angel, come back to me moppet." He keeps his gaze locked with her's, gliding his thumb delicately against her cheeks and seals his promise with a kiss. 

"Promise." 

She lets him pull out and he shushes her wrecked whimpers with his lips. Falling to side with a large puff of breather and embraces her with his arm slinged around her shoulders protectively and she hides her face in his chest, mumbling incoherent things and he tries to stay with her emotionally and physically much as possible -- assuring her and soothing her with his sweet nothings. 

"Harry." She whispers softly and his ears perks up at that looking down at her with most loving eyes, "Hi baby." He giggles quietly kissing the tip of her nose and she sniffs cuddling into him. 

"Sorry —- " He shakes his head pinching her chin to make her look up. 

"You don't have to darling -- s'okay, everything's alright." After, making sure she's okay and giving her million re-assurances because he loves to he cleaned her with a damp wash rag. 

"Such a pretty babe." He makes her blush treating her as if she's a china glass doll who'd break at his slightest poke and showers her in praises and kisses because dunno who got her self-esteem and confidence like that but that person sure needs to get punched in their face. 

"Did I hurt you?" He asks tenderly applying a thin layer of cream on her red imprints. She shakes her intervining her fingers into his's one by one and kisses his knuckle, "No." 

"Good." He chuckles as if he was holding his breath. 

"How bout you take a lil nap and I see if I could bring us some brekkie, hmm?" He's gonna break his own rule. Taking food from mess area to your rooms and taking long showers was never allowed, having lights on after 12 because of the risk of attacks. 

"'M not hungry, please stay." Her eyes half open and her face buried into his scented pillow, "Dunno. But to me you look like y'could faint any time soon." He says sternly pulling a snugly clean duvet over her body. 

"Okie but come back quick." 

"Don't worry. In a snap I'll be infront of you." 

//

It's her fourth day here. She came out of his room to socialize just a day before and she realized from the nasty glowers thrown her way that not a single person likes her. 

But it felt like spending a lifespan with Harry. To fill the emptiness of all those moments of their childhood together they lost once after the war. 

She got to know he's the best cuddler and likes to be a small spoon, she loves to jetpack him. He seems rather scary and is scary when he's commanding people off -- they wouldn't dare but to speak a word over him but he's this big softie Y/N likes to squish in their privacy. 

He got her glasses fixed and put them over her nose with a mishevious kiss, she was unable to not to grin when he murmered against her lips, "Now you could punch me with your glasses on." 

"Seems like I don't have to do that anymore." She shrugged squealing afterwards when he threw her over his shoulder tickling her till all she coul see was him and stars. 

It was all going on track until now when she was passing through the lobby to go to Harry who's practicing out in field, "What are you doing here Alex?" She asks angrily grabbing his arm and he tells her feeling relieved she's okay, "I'm here to take you back." 

"But they don't want me back." She grits, he catches her wrist pleading her sadly, "We want you back -- Nia waits for you daily." Nia is his five years daughter. 

"I know that … but — " How she's gonna tell him she's in love with one person they despise with their whole hearts. 

"But what — "

"Alex!!" He was in the midst when she sees a bullet approaching his way from the side of his shoulder and screeches loudly pushing him aside, the bullet makes it's home in her chest. 

It was fired from Harry's gun with his own hands that were loving on her an hour ago. Life drains out of his body and he feels sickness approaching to split his throat, knees turning weak as he stares his shaking hand in horror. 

Before, he could do anything another bullet hits Y/N in shoulder knocking her to floor and this time it was one of his people, the shot was fired on instinct. 

"Put your gun down!!" He shouts at him shoving him away with a single forceful push and strides towards where the love of his life's laying in a pool of blood. 

He pulls his hair maniacly, falling to his knees and pulls her up in his lap cradling her head gently to press his lips against her forehead, "No,no,no,no baby." He sobs wiping his tears away harshly to see her properly. 

"Ouch. It actually hurts." She gives him a frail smile raising her shaky hand to cup his cheek. 

Will it hurt? 

You'll get to know after taking one. 

He wishes he could takes his words back. 

"You'll be fine, you're okay, 'm so so sorry moppet. Didn't-- didn't know y'were standing behind him, bu –-- but s'...s'okay yeah —-- call the doctor!! Why nobody has called him yet!!!" His scream thunders aggressively as everyone watches  their commander this defenceless and vulnerable infront of them for the first time in shock. 

"It's not your fault, okay?" She manages to speak groaning and eyes rolling back from pain residing in her bones torturesly, he cries out like a wounded puppy patting her cheek to keep her awake, "Please stay with me baby, please." Her chest tightens. His chest tightens from the fear of loosing her and he stands up carrying her bridal style tumbling his way on wobbly legs towards the medical ward in the building. 

His tears shiny droplets on her skin and she nuzzles into his fragrance for the last time. 

"There was no happy ending to this," She murmurs. Any, sign of life fading from inside her and replacing her eyes with stoness.

He brings her closer to himself, "hey, hey now none of that -- you're not leaving. 'M not letting you leave." He kicks open the door and lays her limp body on the stretcher. Snapping his head outrageously in every direction to find any doctor but none and drags his palms down his teary face.

He couldn't stop crying.

He's loosing the sunlight of his bleak life he must protect her at all costs.

But, life's prize is something that would have him selling all of what he had worked for and still he'd be unable to even bring her back from cold dark earth.

"Shit. Shit ---– I'll patch you up myself. I know how to take a bullet out — " He creates a ruckus around to collect stuff, "Harry! Harry! listen to me." but her hollow anguish calls for him breaks him at last. 

"How about you spend these last few minutes with me because 'm really 'bout to die commander." She tries to keep her anxious voice cheery but fails drastically coughing blood, "Don't say that baby -- I just got you, don't leave me, don't make me hate myself again." Sad tears trickles down her cheeks and he feels like fainting imagining the pain, agony and fear she's suffering from. 

She's hating to leave him.

"Maybe in afterlife, we could have a nice homely house, long warm baths and two smol kittens —- and oh I forgive you for kidnapping my cat." She admires him for the last time wiping his tears away and tries to lift his head that's lowered into shame. 

She's so fond of him at the moment.

She gulps, trying to gasp for oxygen feeling her heartbeat drop to zero, pleading him, "Tell me you love me before I go." His bloodshot eyes snap to her's and his chest heaves ruggedly with heartbreaking sobs -- his words full of sorrow tasting the bitterness of goodbye on her lips streaking away the blood on her mouth. 

"I love you so much, baby. Never stopped. Never will." She cries at last kissing him back with all the blood she has left pumping to her heart and tries to exchange the words but it was too late before she lost it all -- cold in his loving embrace. 

"Stay…." He begs praying like he did never before. 

"Y/N!!" He screams trying to shake her alive and hugs his angel to himself with mournful wails. 

Everyone standing outside the room knows that they'll never see this Harry again. 

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 16

in which everyone has a bad time. except kasia. he's having fun

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lavmars @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly @itaina-anta @whump-it @haro-whumps @simplygrimly @alex-ember @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @mnmlover2002 @jordanstrophe @princessofonward @xmonster-under-the-bed @as-a-matter-of-whump @5boys1house @crystalrainwing @starnight-whump @chifechi @unicornscotty @penny-for-your-whump @getyourwhumphere @likeit-or-whumpit @jasm0307 @lightdrinker @hurting-fictional-people @captainseconds @glamrockgregory @justbreakonme @downrivergirl914 @cdragontogacotar @whumps-up @vaguelyhumanvoid @kim-poce @kween-pinescales

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, force feeding, stress positions, references to mouth whump and burns

-

Rowe took to repeating the affirmations every day, whispering them past the newly empty gaps in his gums. When he did them, he could forget for a little while that he was going to die in his cell. At least he could die as something. He wouldn’t let Kasia turn him into an empty husk.

I have worth.

I don’t deserve pain.

I’m a person.

He was careful, of course, to lock them away when Kasia visited. He tried not to associate them with pain; he said them every day when he woke up, not when he was freshly hurting. He didn’t want to ever, ever, say them in front of Kasia.

He knew if he did it would just get him another beating, but they were his. They were precious. They were a relic of Master that Kasia couldn’t corrupt.

He just had to keep his stupid mouth shut when it mattered.

For the first time since his arrival here, Rowe spent a whole day alone. The hours ticked by as he started to see shapes in the floor, and wondered if Kasia would ever return. Was this it? Had he got bored already? Would Rowe be left to die and rot after less than a week, his capture so recent he could still feel Master’s hands in his?

In reality it only meant that when Kasia did come back the next day, Rowe despised himself for the brief flash of relief. The man he was at the mercy of had returned to torture him another day.

Kasia had brought more chains, and restraints, always in his duffle bag, and Rowe had quickly learnt to shrink away at the mere sight of it. Rowe stayed curled up on the floor as he entered, eyeing him like a kicked dog.

“Did you miss me, pup?”

“Please,” he replied hoarsely. “Please give me f-food. Please.”

Rowe would never have dared beg with his first Master. But he had always known that he would be fed, eventually, once he had learnt his lesson. And of course, he’d never needed to beg Master Tomas. But here, there weren’t any rules. Nothing was guaranteed. So fuck it, he might as well try to prolong his life.

“Today’s your lucky day. I actually brought something. You’ll have to earn it, though. No getting on my fucking nerves, yeah?”

You’re the one who chooses to come here, Rowe thought despairingly.

“Okay, okay, just please-“

“Didn’t you just hear me?” Kasia kicked him in the stomach and Rowe moaned. He nodded, wincing as the burns on his neck pressed together.

“Arms up, come on.”

. . .

Tomas had made it from the shower to the downstairs sofa, and he was content with that. Not proud, no, proud would imply he was happy with himself in some way, but at least he wasn’t completely catatonic today. Luca had texted saying to answer the door if it rang, and a part of Tomas still wanted to impress him, despite it all. So he had showered and brushed the last of the blood from his hair. God, how many days had it been?

A small movement on the floor caught his eye. A spider, out of reach, too far to feasibly get him. He felt acutely aware of his own apathy then, as instead of shrieking or running away, he just stared.

The chance of the spider hurting him was practically zero. And yet he was still afraid. Afraid of it crawling over his skin, afraid that it might come near him in the night when he was asleep and vulnerable, and although he knew deep down that it wouldn’t, there was always the possibility of it deciding to run up his leg at any given moment. Even being near it made him afraid.

He thought of Rowe. He felt like he understood something. He sighed.

Luca arrived not half an hour later, banging on the door and shouting for Tomas as if nothing was wrong.

“Hey! It’s me- don’t leave me outside on this cold night. I’m only an orphan boy.”

Tomas pulled the door open. He couldn’t smile, but seeing Luca felt like the weight in his stomach was lifted slightly.

“It’s not cold. And you’re not an orphan.”

“I am happy to see you, though,” Luca said calmly. He was holding a basket, its contents hidden under a teatowel. “I brought you a pull-yourself-together hamper. Some ready meals, dry shampoo, fruit, and stuff. And the teatowel. ‘Cause why not.”

Already Tomas could feel Luca’s warmth seeping into him. He put a hand over his mouth and nodded. “Than- thanks, thank you, you know you don’t owe me anything-“

“I know, handsome lad. But the thought of Rowe being kidnapped is- god, it’s awful. Don’t worry, I’m here of my own free will. Sometimes you just need someone else in the house.”

Tomas let him inside, feeling guilty about the mess, then feeling guilty because he was the one who allowed it to accumulate.

“Let’s open a window,” Luca suggested, and Tomas sloped over. “Want me to get that spider?”

He shook his head, trying uselessly to hide his face. “It’s fine, it’s fine, you can let it stay, I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m-“

His own voice cracking cut him off but he pressed on.

“I’m fine, I really am.”

“You’re not. It’s okay.”

“Just- how- how the fuck did I let this happen. How did I not, I mean, I trusted him this whole- whole time and now it’s all gone wrong and-“

He sat heavily on the floor, leaning his face into the side of the sofa, not blinking, not seeing. He breathed out and time seemed to slow.

Luca’s hand rested on his shoulder, a gentle pressure to his fingers.

“What’s done is done. You can’t help Rowe by falling apart, and you definitely can’t help yourself like that either. It’s, ah, it’s hard. It’s really hard. But you can collapse and cry and disintegrate when Rowe is back, I promise. Do you know where Kasia lives?”

Tomas nodded. “I haven’t even thought about that. I can’t believe myself.”

“Hey, no falling apart okay?” Luca’s tone was firm, and it made Tomas pull his head up, to look at him. His hair, braided in two chunky plaits, hung asymmetrically, one past his collarbone and one down his back. His eyeliner was winged like the letter V, drawn out in a point that came sharply back over his eyelid. Pretty. “That’s good to know, though. You could catch him on his way in or out, try to strike up a deal, I don’t know. I’ve not exactly had any experience with kidnappings either.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking stupid isn’t it. This whole situation is stupid. Fuck.”

Luca just looked at him, a sad smile ghosting over his face.

“I just can’t stop thinking about all the things that might be happening,” Tomas confessed. “He’s unhinged, he really is. He’s sick. And he’s got Rowe and the police don’t care, no one cares.”

“I care. You care.”

Tomas didn’t reply and the words hung over them. Two people caring wasn’t much. But, he supposed, it was better than nothing.

. . .

Rowe’s arms would dislocate, they would they absolutely would, Kasia was setting him up to dislocate both his god damn shoulders or arms or whatever. Rowe could hardly tell where the pain was located, it felt like it was everywhere, burning through his like a fire burns a taut string.

The food- dog food, but still edible, still something- sat before him, emptied on the floor, and from where Rowe knelt he should’ve been able to lean and eat easily. But Kasia had his arms bound and tied to the bars of the cage door, pulling them back and turning any movement into agony. Not only was he bent out of shape, but the burns along his shoulders were irritated awfully. He was sure his skin would burst open any second.

It had been twenty minutes at most, and already he was exhausted. Sweat rolled down him, dripping off his nose. He could hardly breathe.

Kasia’s heavy boot pressed down on the crown of his head, and his moan quickly became a scream of pain.

“No, no please!”

“I thought you were hungry. I’m helping.”

The pressure doubled, forcing Rowe’s face closer to the dog food, until he was close enough to open his mouth and take a bite. Disgust flooded him, and it only increased when he chewed. He swallowed past the collar, his throat pressing uncomfortably against it, and oh god, it felt so good, it was food in his belly, he was thankful for it despite everything. Kasia seemed satisfied and released his boot, sending Rowe’s head springing back to relieve the pressure on his shoulders. The skin near his burns had ripped and were bleeding, but nothing was dislocated.

“You’re definitely still hungry. How about another bite?”

Before Rowe could speak, Kasia had grabbed a fistful of hair, shoving him down, the sudden pull on his arms a thousand times worse than before, worse than anything, the pain was clouding his mind and he couldn’t think of anything but the barest, most built-in responses.

He screamed.

Spit flew from his mouth. Kasia kept pressing, his fingers curling tighter together, and the burning on Rowe’s scalp joined the rest of his body. His fingers were surely purple with how hard Kasia had tied them. Rowe had lost all feeling beyond his wrists.

“Please!”

Kasia ignored him.

“Please, st-stop, please M-M-Master Tomas help me-“

“He’s not fucking coming you stupid dog,” Kasia growled and pulled Rowe’s face all the way down, cracking his chin against the concrete, a deep shooting pain through his face and remaining teeth. He moaned. More skin tore along his shoulders. “No one’s coming to save you.”

A kick sent him lurching to the side, twisting his body until he was sprawled with his back to the floor, staring up at his bound hands, which were a mixture of blue and purple and were not moving at all.

He turned his head to see Kasia grabbing a fistful of the dog food from the floor and stepping over him.

“Mouth open.” Rowe complied and Kasia smiled mockingly. “Good boy.”

The dog food was shoved in, packing against the walls of his mouth, Kasia’s fingers prodding his gums, and it took everything not to vomit. His stomach heaved but nothing came. All he could do was be a good boy, and eat.

“Tomas isn’t your Master. He’s not coming.”

Present tense, thought Rowe as his eyes watered from the taste. He’s not dead.

. . .

Tomas couldn’t stop his legs from shaking as he stood on Kasia’s street, his hands tucked under his armpits for warmth. Yeah, the shaking was definitely just from the cold. Sure.

By the time Kasia appeared, it was night. He stalked down the street, stumbling slightly, and Tomas realised he was drunk. If he hadn’t had a reason to be there, he would have walked away right now, and fast.

When Kasia got close enough, Tomas stepped out of the shadows, forcing Kasia to stop and fix him with a glare.

“Give him back.”

“Or what?” he asked flatly, as if this meeting was no surprise. “Hah, you look like shit Tomas.”

“Give him fucking back, what do you want for him, money? You’re torturing a human being you sick fuck.”

“I’m having some fun with a Pet,” Kasia smiled. “And if you start whining like this I will just kill him.”

Tomas stiffened. “You wouldn’t.”

“You so sure about that?”

“Let him go.”

“No,” Kasia pushed him once and Tomas stumbled back, hitting a wall. He blinked and Kasia’s face was pressed up in front of his. He stank of booze and cigarettes. “Fuck off or I’ll kill him. I’ll hurt him worse to make up for this, too.”

“No, fuck no just leave him fucking alone-“

Kasia swung once, but mercifully something made him miss. Carelessness, the alcohol, perhaps just the assumption that Tomas was too pathetic to move out of the way. His fist cracked against the wall and as he shouted in pain Tomas considered kicking him between the legs, spitting on him, whatever. But Rowe’s life was at stake so, like the coward he was, he ran into the night, Kasia shouting taunts behind him.

Luca looked up when he pushed through the door, panting. He’d run the entire way. Luca stayed silent; the look on Tomas’s face was telling enough.

“I’m a fucking failure,” he whispered, and started to cry.

[visceryl]

Forget Me Not

@hogwartsmystory and I co-wrote a short story involving Jaxson (Ethren’s brother) and Konnor a few years after the Order. Hal Greywind belongs to @one-very-angry-hufflepunk and Idmon Malin belongs to @zuulosdovah ------

The pitter of rain bounced off the roof of the colonial farmhouse and dripped down every window. It had rained from first daylight to evening, turning the grounds outside to muddy puddles, while animals sought shelter in barns and enclosures sparsely populated throughout the owned land. 

Inside, the dim glow of a single living room lamp and the hearth of a fire lit up the room where Konnor lounged tiredly in a reclining armchair. His feet propped up atop a fluffy mass of white fur as a large dog chewed idly at a cow ankle bone that crunched beneath its jaws. A book’s spine was broken across the arm of his seat, untouched for hours unlike the glass of red wine he turned in his grasp.

Somehow the day off work had been longer and more exhausting than if he’d gone. With no papers to keep up with or assignments to see to, Konnor was left to his thoughts alone in the empty house he called home. Hal and Charlie had invited him over to stave away the blues of the day, but as he denied every year, he’d insisted anniversaries shouldn’t be skipped.

Even the bad ones.

The glass lifted to the edge of his lips as he took down a long sip and set it on the nearby side table. In his other hand, he gripped tightly to the crumpled and dirted remains of a photograph. Taken several years back in shoddy quality and with minimal color, a light leak consumed the entire lower half of it. But the importance of it remained. Grouped all together, Konnor could still make out the faces of those he’d joined the Order with. Talbott, Chiara, himself, Hal, Tonks, Ben, Eileen, Ethren. 

He sucked up a breath and his gaze tore from the photograph. His head knocked to the cushioned back of his chair. Like flashes of moments from harder times, they lingered in his mind. The day of the final battle nearly broke him. He ended it with several broken ribs and a scar that ran from his hip down to his thigh, but the worst injury had been the heartbreak after, when bodies were fished from where they laid. 

A crack of lightning flashed outside the window, followed by the rolling boom of thunder that shook the shudders. Konnor parted from his thoughts to rub a hand over his face, massaging tiredly at a temple. Beneath him, the Great Pyreneese stirred and gathered to her feet before making off for the kitchen.

“Yeah, I get it. Bit too miserable in here, huh?” he called after the dog. The picture was set aside his wine glass with another fleeting glance before he drew the book in hand again. It was some shitty mystery novel to pass the time. 

Konnor read for another half hour until he came to a stop at the end of a page, hardly remembering a single word from the entire chapter. Too distracted. Another gulp of wine disappeared behind his lips. Mourning the dead was like getting your soul devoured by dementors. 

He lost himself to thought again, droning out to the crackle of the fire as the rain relentlessly poured outside. Then a knock came. Several harsh repetitive raps that sent Iris into a loud barking frenzy from the other room. “Quiet, quiet!” Konnor yelled out, pushing up onto his feet. He crosses the room, quietly muttering to himself about how Hal couldn’t leave well enough alone. But that wasn’t who he found.

As the door swung open, Konn straightened in surprise, half shielded from the gust of wind and rain. 

A cold, unforgiving rain poured down from the angry grey clouds above. It pelted the tattered, brown leather duster of the man who stood beneath its rage, auburn hair plastered against his face. 

Konnor's eyes widened. "Jax?" 

"Konnor." Tired bags hung under his eyes and rain dripped off the end of his nose. "Mind if I come in?" 

Konnor shielded himself half behind the door from the blustering wind. "It's late. Why are you all the way out here?" 

"Maybe I just needed to drink with someone other than a little kid." Jaxson caught on to the look of disapproval on the man's face in seconds. "Don't worry," he mumbered, long fingers fishing through his hair. "I didn't just leave him alone. Summer has him for the night."

Konnor sighed. "Come on in," he murmured as Jax stomped into the house, shaking his hair out like a wet dog. "You really need to stop bouncing him around so much. It's probably confusing. And uh... pick your poison." He motioned to a liquor cabinet near where the TV rested. 

"It's better than being stuck with me. Believe me." 

“Maybe when you get like this, yeah.”

Jaxson made a beeline for the whiskey. He swiped up a bottle and heaved down into one of the chairs. The neon glow of the screen reflected in dull eyes, and wordlessly the man tipped the bottle back. 

Konnor eased down next to him, eyes searching the man. "If you're going to drink me dry, you can at least tell me what's going on." 

"What. Can't just come over and visit my brother's best friend?" 

"Then you should know better. I'm practically a professional at dealing with you emotionally constipated Whitecross boys. And you don't make a habit of visiting. I'm always hunting you." 

"The kid keeps me busy. Sorry." Jaxson took another long gulp. Red had flushed onto his cheeks. 

His eyes caught the photograph that Konnor had left on the table. The Order always made sure to photograph its members... to remember those gone, or killed during the war effort. That particular one... had been the recruits of 1995.

Ethren. 

Jaxson dragged his gaze away, heart twisting into painful knots. “...Ethren and Tonks?”

Konnor grimaced. “...I always pull that dusty old thing out on the battle’s anniversary.” He retrieved his own wine glass, polishing the dwindling remainds and held out the glass. "Don't leave me out. How is Alaire doing? Feels like time has flown." 

Jaxson sighed. "Perfect," he murmured as he poured the man a glass. "Somehow, he's managed to dodge a bullet. He doesn't have his dad's cynicism, or his mother's cruelty. He's... growing up to be a very kind and thoughtful boy."

"..he's three now, right? Think you'll consider preschool for him? He'll just end up going to Hogwarts or Ilvermorny, but muggle schools before then aren't so bad." 

Jaxson's jaw tightened. "I... I was thinking of just schooling him myself. At first." 

Konnor arched a brow. "Yourself? No offense, Jax, but what do you know about current day curriculum? You're already here looking like death just getting by as is." 

Jaxson's teal gaze flashed with a sudden rush of anger. "I'll manage!" He shouted, cracks tearing down the cup. A deep breath followed, as fingers massaged his face. "...it'll be fine." 

He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. 

"You're not alone, you know," Konnor said, his voice gentle. "In any of it." He stared down into his own glass. "I know you think you have to do it all yourself... but it's not healthy for you. Or the kid. Ethren wouldn't want this for you."

"Ethren's dead. Doesn't matter what he wants." 

"That's horseshit. Don't make him come haunt your ass." "Horseshit?" 

The edge of Jaxson's lip lifted. “...he's gone. Enjoying whatever paradise he's found, or maybe just...nothing. It's us, the ones who survived who are fucked over." 

"Well, I'm sure as hell am not going to sit here and wallow because he made a dumb decision." Konnor's eyes searched Jaxson's face. "There's still stuff we can do. We can live our lives now. I put everything I had on the line to make sure of it just like he did, and now his kid can have a good life and a family if you'd just let him have that. You can't push all your shit onto that little boy."

Jaxson's eyes were tinted with red as he stared down at his hands. Calloused, and decorated with the scars of nails digging into his palms. With a breath, they curled into fists. "I know. Alaire... he doesn't deserve that. I need to get over it. That's why I'm here. I need your help.”

Konnor grabbed Jaxson's shoulder. "Ethren was my best friend. Anything, Jax." 

"It's come to my attention that you're proficient in a rare caliber of magic." Jaxson glanced over. "You know how to obliviate."  

Konnor's hand lifted up from his shoulder and hovered. "...I learned it in the order." His eyes narrowed. What does that have to do with you?" 

"Take him away." Jaxson's voice unraveled into a whispered beg, and he snatched Konnor's hand in a desperate grasp. "Ethren. Please. I... I can't do it anymore."

Silence lifted from Konn as a wave of sadness twisted his features into something soft and knowing. He sighed, letting his shoulders fall. “You can’t seriously be asking me that, Jax. I can’t do that… It’s not right. I know it hurts but that pain is something you have to push through.”

“What’s the point!?” Jaxson snapped. “It’ll never go away! It… it fucking hurts. And it's hurting the kid too. I can’t be this broken husk taking care of Alaire, he deserves better!”

“Obliviating those memories won’t help you any. It's dangerous. It creates holes. Empty spaces... If you completely cut ties with everything that could remind you of him, maybe it could work but that's not the case. Which is why I'm saying you can lean on all of us. We can help you get back on your feet and manage that pain. To give the kid a good life.”

“It’s not enough.”

“It has to be, Jaxson. It’s all we’ve got.”

Jaxson tore up to his feet, knocking the bottle of whiskey aside and it teetered on the end table. Konnor quickly leaned to catch it from spilling as the older man tangled his fingers up through his hair. “You know…” he finally growled. Jax locked his gaze on Konnor. “I thought you of all people would understand.”

Shock rippled over and Konnor pushed up after him. “I do understand. I know where this is coming from, but it’s not the answer.”

“You took Allston’s memories!” His eyes clouded with a lingering wetness. “He was your own brother. How dare you deny me what you did for yourself!”

“Don’t,” Konnor snapped sharply. In a few short steps he got right up into Jaxson’s face, the roots of his hair beginning to bleed from pink to a darker red. The two were level with another, tension crawling between them. “I have to live with what I did every damn day! I have to miss him like he's as good as dead! I took his memories so he would live, Jaxson. You know how easily I could have forgotten him too?! But that's not the point. The point is we have to remember for them. To protect what is left."

“And what about what I want?! Allston didn’t even ask for you to take his memories, you forced it on him. This is… This is something I want! If you were able to take the coward’s way out then I have every right to do the same.”

Crack.

It happened in a flash. A cold anger burned and strangled in Konnor’s throat as the rest of his hair bled with crimson rage and his fist snapped against Jaxson’s jaw. Then he shoved him. With fingers wrenched up in his jacket, Konnor sent Jaxson to the ground. “Don’t you dare call me a coward! What I did saved my brother’s life, I’m not running from what I did. You… you don’t get to come here and do this to me, Jaxson!” He grasped at his throbbing knuckles, turning away as the sting of tears met his eyes. “Especially not today. I lost my best friends. My brother. And you want to call me the coward?”

Jaxson caught himself on an arm as he hit the ground. Stunned. Fingers drifted to the dull ache of his jaw before his teeth ground together, ignoring the slightest twinge of metal on his tastebuds. For a long while he didn’t meet Konnor’s gaze and when he did, a faint sheen of wetness marred his cheeks. “I can’t make it like this,” he whispered. “I’m trying to save my life. I…” His voice cut off in a choke and he bowed over to hide his face. “Everything I did. Everything I was, it was to keep him safe. Now...now.. What am I supposed to do!?”

The hurt strangled in Konnor’s chest. “Find something,” he hissed bitterly. His hands shook and he fell back onto the couch, collapsing to sink his face into his palms. “Find even the tiniest shred of happiness and live. We don't get fairytale endings, Jax, we just have to make the most of what's left and you've got a whole lot waiting for you with Alaire." He dared glance up, wiping a sleeve across his own face. “I’ll be damned if I lose another one of you because you couldn’t stop dwelling on one single thing.”

“An arrow killed Ethren.”

“An arrow didn’t god damn kill him, Jax!” Konnor lashed. He retrieved the bottle up from the table and knocked it back for a long swig to ease the matching ache of his fist and heart. “He couldn’t move on. He couldn’t let go of the poison that is Merula fucking Snyde. She was never going to be good for him.”

Jaxson hadn’t moved from his place on the floor, staring down absently at his own hands. “You mean his obsession.”

“What else?! You’re all selfish bastards. Chasing after your obsessions like starving dogs with little regard for who it ends up hurting.”

“Is that why you did it, then? Allston couldn’t move on?”

Konnor let a sad chuckle rattle from his chest. Angry locks of fiery red had returned to their soft, white shade. "Towards the end.. my cover got blown with some death eaters. I hadn't seen Allston in a while and it seemed like I never would. I was hunted and somehow.. somehow the second I was cornered he was there. He got himself captured and tortured and I know the only reason he knew was because he was doing things illegally. When I found him I got him out, Jax. Before he could kill himself."

“...Sounds like your brother and I have a lot in common then.” Jaxson drew a sharp breath as a tear dripped down from the tip of his nose. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid of falling into the same things he did. Falling until it… I just want to stop feeling like this. How am I supposed to move on?”

"...do what Ethren couldn't. What Allston couldn't. Let go. Be what they couldn't be. Be someone who cares for who they have left, even on bad days." 

"That feels impossible," Jaxson muttered. Still on his hands and knees, his fingers gripped his soaking wet shirt, like he was trying to grab at his heart. "I feel like my soul died with him. I wouldn't have made it this far if I didn't have Alaire."

"Maybe you two should go on a vacation. Go somewhere new for a couple weeks... find your soul again, being his guardian the right way. You cut away from your family wealth, right? Look, I'd cover it for you." 

"..yeah. Sounds great." Jaxson's voice was numb. Cold. Slowly, he pushed to his feet. "Thanks, Kon. Sorry for... this." 

Jaxson went for the door. Konnor chewed on his lip and exhaled in an exasperated breath. "Stop." He motioned to the cushion beside him. "Stay the night, Jax. I think... we can afford a night of booze and talking about him. A night to break." 

Jaxson didn't turn. "I thought the point was to not break." 

"The point is to not let it consume you." Konnor's let his gaze travel to the picture on the mantle. His smile was sad. "We're just people,” he murmured as he pushed up to take it in hand. His thumb drew over Ethren’s face, and he ignored the sharp twist of his heart. “We hurt. We ache. Sometimes, things feel like it's too much. So a night of drinking and accepting that is good, every once in a while. Otherwise, we just burn out."

Jaxson's head turned. Rather than anger... appreciation glittered in his eyes and he sighed. "Guess that's true," Jaxson said. "Won't do Alaire any good to pick him up and still be wallowing," he muttered as he eased down into the seat. 

Konnor followed close after, tipping the bottle his way. "Did Ethren ever tell you about our trip to Paris?" 

"You two went to Paris?" 

"Oooh yeah. He put me on his damn death trap of a bike." Konnor shook his head with a snort. "Your dad was screwing my mom, so we decided to pay a visit and have a luxury dinner on them after." 

Jaxson stared at Konnor for a long while before laughter bubbled from him. The first semblance of a real smile. "That... really doesn't surprise me. Our dad... he was always with other women until..." Jaxson's eyes darkened. His jaw tightened and he downed another gulp. 

"...I know. My dad's dead and my mom is basically dead to me. Aren't we just pathetic?" 

"Ethren wasn't," Jaxson muttered. "When mom was in danger... he dropped everything to find her. Even used all the unforgivable curses. He would have torn down the world to get to her." He leaned back. His wet hair flattened against the back of the sofa, and the neon light of the television reflected in his eyes. "That was just the kind of person he was. Friend, family... lover. When he bonded with someone, he would never give up on them." 

"You really idolized him, didn't you...?" 

"Idolize him?" Jaxson considered that. "Guess it's only natural to talk about... the good things when someone isn't here anymore. But no... I didn't idolize him." Jaxson snorted and leaned forward, auburn bangs falling with him. "Ethren was selfish. Selfish and obsessive and downright cowardly , at times. He didn't want to live for himself, so he lived on the whims and needs of others. And when he did want to live for himself, he threw it away, for a war he should have never been a part of and a girl that never deserved him."

"Good. I'd have to hit you again." Konnor stared at his knuckles, already beginning to bruise. Likewise, Jax's jaw was swelling in a rush of blue and black. "We had a no bullshit policy. Sometimes, while we were in the Order, I'd make a phone call to him or he'd make one to me. Like we weren't at war, and no time had passed... we'd laugh or talk or cry or curse until we lost our voices. Something like that would completely undo the stress of having to get up the next day and go right back into a room full of enemies." He grimaced. His hair had dulled to a bluish grey tint. "We had a deal that after everything was over, a few of us would high tail it to some remote island and piss away a few weeks." 

"Yeah?" Jaxson said quietly. "Probably Tredyffrin Island... the one  our family owns... no one ever goes there anymore. It would have been perfect." The elder brother sighed and poured himself another glass. He stared at the downpour of red pooling at the bottom of the crystal goblet while thunder roared outside the glass window. "He made me a lot of promises, too. Like when he was an uncle, he was going to spoil the shit out of whatever kid Idmon and I adopted. He insisted he'd never have a kid of his own." Jaxson dragged a sharp breath. "...fuck."

"Everything changed... you ever still think about giving Alaire someone to grow up with?" 

"...no. Between Idmon and I... we probably only have enough sanity between us for one brat. And that's with the girls' help. Aisling and Summer... they’re absolute life savers."

 "Well, I can't blame you for that," Konnor said with a tired smile. "Shit, I always imagined a family and kids one day, but... I think after everything, I've only got it left in me to help all of you guys manage your own rascals. Hal and Charlie have two right next door. And ever since Barnaby found out I've got my own little menagerie, he drags Aisling and their kids over all the time. And Alaire is always welcome." 

"He's been so excited to come back and see Uncle Kon." Jaxson's smile was short-lived. "...how do you manage it all?" 

"Depends on what you mean by 'all.'" 

"Losing Allston. You'll never be able to talk to him again. Losing Ethren... Tonks... Your dad...everything." 

"Well, if you haven't noticed, I have a healthy supply of alcohol. But I don't make a habit out of that, my position requires me sober, obviously." He swished his drink thoughtfully. "What really drives me is knowing what all I've still got. Lots of people still want and need me around." 

"I don't actually want to forget him," Jaxson whispered. "Remembering the good times...it's part of what pushes me forward. And Alaire deserves to know those stories. It just seems so much... harder this way." 

"I know." Konnor leaned over, and his fragile fist punched Jaxson's shoulder lightly. "Don't ever ask me to take away your memories again. That magic can go right to hell." 

Jaxson smirked. "...Ethren always hated that spell. He said to be obliviated... it was the deepest violation a person could endure. Those memories are precious." He gave a deep breath and lifted his goblet. "...to remembering the fallen. And living in their honor." 

Konnor lifted his glass in turn. "Help me finish this bottle, and the guest room will have your name written all over it."

-------

Morning came with the promise of clear skies. As the sun painted the sky a beautiful array of pinks and purples that began to open up to the blue of day, Konnor rolled to the other side of the bed with a tangle of sheets around his legs. At the end of his bed, Iris snoozed with soft snores. 

From downstairs he could hear the rustle of footsteps cascading against the hardwood floors and with a tired rub of his head, Konnor swung himself to stand from the bed. His hair poked out in all directions as his hands raised up in the air and a series of pops crawled up his spine. “Jax?” he called out through the house.

No answer.

Konnor sighed and crossed the room with last feeble attempts to pat his platinum hair down into something presentable. The stairs winding down from the hallway just outside his room creaked with each step. He passed several pictures of Hal, Charlie, and the twins on the way down until his feet stalled on the bottom step. 

Jaxson stood at the doorway in the living room, dragging his jacket over his shoulders.

“You’re leaving?”

Jax’s gaze darted up. He looked rough. From the clear as day hangover to the black and blue bruise in the size of a small fist surrounding the right side of his jaw. “...Yeah. I figured I’d leave you to your day.”

“You could always stay for breakfast, you know. Bet you could use it.”

“Nah, I should probably go pick Alaire up. But uh… Konnor?”

Konnor finally touched down into the living room, flicking on the light to join the flecks of light illuminating from the window. “What’s up?”

“Sorry for last night, and thanks. I needed that.”

“Yeah I’ll bet you needed that knuckle sandwich. Just don’t be so much of a stranger. You better haul yourself and Alaire back over here soon or I’m going to lob you another one.”

Jaxson hid the beginnings of a smirk. “Do that and I’ll have to get you back. Don’t worry, we’ll visit soon. I think I just need some time to clear my head first.”

“Then do that. You can always call too, and tell Alaire I say hi.”

Fingers curled around the doorknob, opening it ever so slightly. “I will.” He opened the door, and all but fell backwards as a small toddler came barreling into the house to cling to his legs. 

“Found you!” Alaire giggled as he buried his face into his Uncle’s leg and Jaxson blinked. 

“Alaire?! How did you-”

“Summer mentioned that you’d gone for the night... and that you might need me.” That voice. He’d know that voice even in a symphony of voices. Idmon Malin came from around the corner, blue eyes soft, his smile kind as he lifted Alaire up into his arms. Blonde hair fell down his back. “I thought I might drop- Merlin’s beard, Jaxson, are you all right?” 

Jaxson, still stunned at his boyfriend having shown up out of the blue, blinked. “W-wha?”

“Your face. Bloody- did you get hit with a bludger last night?”

“A...oh.” Red bled onto his cheeks as Idmon’s long, delicate fingers gently brushed his bruise. “No, there was an uh... accident last night involving an erumpent and a... uh-”

“I slugged him,” Konnor purred as he leaned against the doorframe.

Idmon snorted. “Well, I imagine he deserved it,” he said. As Alaire began to fuss, he put the child down and he rushed over to jump into Uncle Konnor’s arms and his gaze searched his lover. “...are you alright. You look... like a mess.”

Two short steps brought Jaxson to his boyfriend. His arms hooked tight around his shoulders and he rested his head against Idmon’s, a ragged breath drawing from his lungs. “...it was a long night.”

“..the anniversary,” Idmon whispered. His palm found Jaxson’s cheek. “You should have stayed with me..”

“Shouldn’t have run,” Jaxson agreed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize... did you find what you were looking for..?”

“Uncle Konnor!” Alaire tugged on Konnor’s shirt. “Aunt Summer gave me a toy snitch!” 

“Did she?” Konnor lifted the boy up into his arms. “That was very sweet of her. And speaking of sweet... I think I have some biscuits in the cabinet. Want some?” 

Alaire giggled. “They’re cookies, biscuits are... biscuits!”

“Oh, no,” Konnor grinned as he tickled the squealing boy.  “Do not start that, your dad and I got into so many fights about cookies and biscuits!”

Jaxson’s eyes softened as he watched Alaire smile and hug Konnor around the neck. His hand found Idmon’s, squeezed, and gave a breath. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I think I did... let’s stay for a bit, then go home.”

[animemangasoul]

You Have A Home With Me

Summery: Tim takes in a meta human kid and tries to keep him a secret from the rest of the batfamily until his team gets back. It doesn't go as well as he'd hoped. And with an entire criminal empire after the kid, it's all Tim can do to keep it all under wraps and away from the media's attention.

Characters: Tim Drake, Batfamily, Young Justice

Chapter: 4/?

Tim doesn’t know when he fell asleep, but he wakes up to a sharp ringtone piercing through the air. He startles. Eyes flying open as he almost stumbles off the sofa, where he’d apparently fallen asleep without knowing. “What the,” he mutters, yawning loudly and sluggishly pulling himself back on his feet. ‘Did I set up an alarm?’ But no, that ringtone.... It was his phone and-- “Shit!” He exclaims, practically throwing himself over the coffee table to snatch up the ringing object. “Hello,” he says, voice catching due to his dry throat. “Who-”

“Tim.”

A single word.  

He blinks, now wide awake. “Bruce?”

“Where are you. The meeting is about to start.”

“What?” Shit shit shit. Stretching out his arm to look at the time, he pales. Fuck.

“T...m... im- Tim...Tim.”

“Yes, yes I’m here Bruce. Sorry.”

“You have less than thirty minutes to get here kid. Be thankful you don’t live far away to make that a problem.”

“I-” Tim gulped, reaching out to hastily scoop up his paperwork and lick his lips. He knew a Bruce scolding tone when he heard it and it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. If he hadn’t fallen asleep like an amateur. He wouldn’t have had.... Fuck. “Sorry Bruce,” he said. “I’ll be there in fifteen. I promise. I’ll just take my car and-”

“No need.”

His blood ran cold. Bruce couldn’t... he wouldn’t-- Tim wasn’t even late! Dick had been late plenty of time and sure Tim was the CEO and should be more responsible but he’d been so freaking tired lately and he had a kid now—Well, not a kid kid but a kid he was currently taking care of and he’d over slept butthathardlymeanthewasn’tqualified---

“Tim Tim. Can you hear me? Did you catch what I said?”

Tim couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and his chest hurt, and it was all kinds of messed up in his head right now, but he forced himself to. Taking a big gulp of air, he tried to steady his beating heart before pressing his phone against his ear again and humming softly. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you Bruce.”

“Good,” his father said, an edge of frustration in his tone. “Dick is coming to get you. He’ll be there in ten. Be ready.”

Dick.... What?

“What? Dick? What do you mean Bruce?”

A heavy sigh. Tim winced. He didn’t want to annoy the man but--

“Dick volunteered to come get you and he’s already on his way. It will cut your time short so hurry up and get dressed.” Bruce doesn’t say anything else, just hangs up and leaves Tim staring befuddled down at his phone.  

He only remains confused for a second though, because the minute Bruce’s words fully dawn on him, pure horror runs down his spine. Because Matt!

“Shit shit shit,” he hisses, finally turning around to look at the sofa. “Matt, kiddo I-”

He isn’t there.  

The kid isn’t there. Tim almost chokes. “Matt! Kid, where are you?” The sofa is empty. His discarded suit jacked the only thing indicating that someone had been sleeping under it. Frantically he paces the length of the room. Looking at every nook and cranny as a mild sense of panic slowly creeps in to squeeze at his heart.

Maybe he’d run away? Maybe he was out there fighting for his life after a bad mugging? Maybe M.E.T had found him or they called him threatening to kill--- Wait wait how would they even know his number, no no, shaking his head, Tim runs a shaking hand through his hair and tries to take a deep breath.  

There must be a logical explanation for this. ‘Stop panicking Tim,’ he silently berates himself. ‘You’re a bat. Act like it.’  

Something had woken the kid up, either somewhere during the night or---

His eyes widen. The phone call! If it had woken him up than surely.... Taking three giant steps forward, he leans down to rest his hand on the empty spot and yes, it’s still warm. Sighing in pure relief Tim fumbles his way around the sofa and rushes to check the kitchen before jogging over to the bathroom. He’s already planning to check the bedrooms, but a soft sniffle from the locked door makes him pause.  

“Matt?”

The noise stops. Tim sighs.  

“Matt, if you’re in there kiddo I need you to open the door and let me see you.”

“No.”

Tim gapes in surprise. “What do you mean no? I need to go soon so if-”

The door suddenly flings open and it’s only thanks to his reflexes that Tim manages to dodge the hurtling wood before it bounces off his forehead.  

“Wow,” he says, arms coming up in a placating manner. “Careful kid.” But Matt is already heaving where he stands. Small hands clutching at his oversized shirt and eyes red-rimmed from what obviously had been crying. “Hey hey hey. It’s ok.” Tim says, falling down to his knees to be closer to his level. “It’s ok. I know the phone call scared you, but it was just Bruce. He’s sort of like my father,” he says, an edge of confusion in his tone even as he explains it to the kid. “It wasn’t them ok?”

“Don’t.... go.”

“What?”

A glare and the kid takes a step back and ok... Tim could fix this.  

“It’s work related,” he says slowly. “I need to go in to present this project I’ve been working on with the tech department and it’s not gonna be for long and I’ll be back before you kno--”

“Don’t go.”

Tim holds back a sad sigh. “I can’t do that kiddo. You know that. Me staying here raises all kinds of red flags and my brother will be here in a few--”

“NO!”

The sudden outburst is so startling it takes Tim a second to even process it in his mind before he can physically snap his mouth shut and stare befuddled at the blonde child in front of him, who is now crossing his arms, lower lip sticking out and glare of utter suspicion swirling in his eyes.  

“I have to.”

“No.”

“Matt-”

“No!”

“Please understand-”

“I won’t let you!”

And... Tim is so fucking tired. So so tired. He’d been up for a week trying to uncover M.E.T’S scheme before he could make the mistake of signing a long term contract with them and he’d been helping both Dick and Jason with their respective cases, coupled with the Wayne Enterprise Project and looking after the workload of his Titans teammates, he was running on empty. Burrowing energy from future weeks in fact and now Dick would be here in less than ten minutes and Matt... Matt just wouldn’t understand! He just-

“Look,” Tim mutters as gently and as softly as he can. “I need to go Matt. I promise to call and--”

“NO!” And this one is a roar. A pure, angry, furious roar and Tim snaps.

“Enough!” He’s standing before he can even think, frustration making his fists curl “Just stop being a brat for one damn second and listen to me for once!” and.... and... it’s only when he sees the wide, frightened rabbit eyes staring up at him from a too pale and bruised face that it all sinks in and his stomach drops. Oh no. “Matt I-”

He doesn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before something invisible is shoving him away, hard and the door is slamming shut.  

No no no no.

He hears a whimper. A low keening sound that is so terrifyingly pained, his heart stutters to a stop.

“Matt! Matt! Kiddo, please open up. I didn’t mean to yell! Matt!”

Nothing.

He feels bile rise up his throat and dizziness overcome him. He fucked up. He really, truly fucked up and now.... What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Frustration didn’t excuse yelling at a traumatized kid. It didn’t excuse anything. So what if he was tired? Everyone was tired. It didn’t make Tim special, and now he’d probably irrevocable damaged the little trust he’d build up with the kid and oh my God. Tim was the absolute worst. No wonder Bruce didn’t take him seriously. He couldn’t even take care of one ten years old without screwing it up.  

Matt was crying damn it. Matt had been crying, Tim should have focused on that more than his own annoyance. The kid had been crying and what did Tim do? Scream at him.  

“Matt, please?”

Nothing.

He feels a silent itch building up behind his eyes and he can’t cry. Tim hadn’t cried in years. He wouldn’t show that kind of weakness. ‘The strong pray on the weak my love,’ his mom had said; cold fingers brushing away his tears with a softness that she rarely exhibited. ‘Never allow others to see your weakness. They will use it against you. Always.’

Tim swallowed. Gave himself a full thirty seconds to calm down and then stood up. Raising a fist to knock on the bathroom door but hesitating at the last second. “Matt?” Silence. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you, and I promise to do better from here on out.” Silence. His shoulders slump.  

Maybe the kid just needed time. Maybe Tim could call Bruce back and ask him to let Tam take over the presentation for him. She knew the project almost as well as he did and he was sure if he sent her the details she’d somehow manage to pull off a miracle. And....

Tim had hated being left alone. He’d hated it every second of the day and not even following Batman and Robin around had filled the aching hole of abandonment in his chest. So, him more than anyone should have known... He should have known. Matt needed him and he hadn’t even listened.  

Yeah, ‘I think I’ll call Bruce and arrange something else.’ It raised a funny feeling in his stomach when he thought about what Bruce would say when he again managed to let him down, but he would make it up to the man. Take on as many projects as needed to earn back his trust. Yeah, he could do that. For Matt, he could do that.

But then, just as Tim thought he couldn’t feel any worst.

“Babybird! You in here!” He froze. “Babybird! Timbo! We came to pick you up!”

We? Tim shuffled down the hall almost in daze, slowly reconstructing his face into the blank emotionless husk he’d come to assume in front of his family. “Dick,” he acknowledged when he finally stepped into the livingroom, an artificial smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Demon spawn,” he added, smile dying down a bit. “What’s he doing here?” he asked, turning fully to face his smiling brother. “Bruce said you’ll be the one picking me up?”

“Sorry babybro,” Dick said; happily bouncing up to him but not flinging his arms around him like he used to. Tim didn’t know whether he missed the casual affection or not. But his heart stinging momentarily gave him an answer he still wasn’t ready to accept. “Dami was let out of school early so I thought why not catch two birds with one stone!”

“We would not even be here if your incompetence wasn’t inconveniencing father Drake. Perhaps I ought to take over the company sooner than expected.”

Tim looked down at him, unimpressed. Yeah, no. Tim wouldn’t be calling back Bruce anytime soon. Hell would freeze over before he let the gremlin see him struggling. Matt.... Matt would have to understand, just this once. Plus, cancelling now, while currently being faced with his brother and his demon pseudo-son, they would surely be suspicious. Tim couldn’t afford suspicion. Not when Matt’s life was on the line. He swallowed thickly. Utter guilt churning in his stomach just thinking about leaving the kid alone and distraught. But what else could he do?

“Give me a second,” he said to Dick, all but ignoring Damian. “I need to change clothes and I’ll be with you in a minute.” Dick only smiled and waved him away.  

“Anything I can do for you while we wait?”

A flat out no was on the tip of Tim’s tongue, but he paused. “Tidy up my files for me?” he asked eventually, trying not to react to the softer smile sent his way. “I’ll only be a minute.” He doesn’t listen to the tirade of insults Damian heaps at his supposed incompetence and rushes to quickly get changed before Beelzebub decides to make changes to his speech or something.

Dressed in a new suit, head combed perfectly and red business tie dangling from his neck, Tim hesitates in front of the bathroom door. One hand pressed up against the wood and teeth chewing at his lips. “I’m sorry,” he mutters against the doorframe, afraid his siblings might hear if he speaks any louder. “I’ll leave a phone outside the door and it has my number on it so call me if you need anything ok?” He pauses, hoping to hear anything from the kid, but nothing. He sighs. “Just be safe ok? I’ll try to come back as soon as possible.” Dropping the phone on the ground, he allows himself a tiny bit of hope of receiving a response, but again, silence.

With nothing else left to say, he straightens out, heavy heart lodged between his ribs and casually struts back into the livingroom. “Ready?” he asks, and Dick enthusiastic nod doesn’t do much to lift his mood.

They are out the door, down the elevator and walking to the car when Dick makes a tiny noise of exclamation before he stops and startles looking through the plastic bag he’d somehow been holding this whole time without Tim noticing. “What?” Tim asks, pausing in his hurried steps to look back at his brother and Dick makes a triumphant sound and extends a thermos and a sandwich in his direction. Tim stares at him, making the other shrug. “I thought you might have not eaten so,” he says, shaking the plastic wrapped sandwich in his direction. “I hoped you’d appreciate this. It’s your favorite,” he adds on almost as if unsure and.... sometimes, sometimes when he does stuff like this, it’s when Tim remembers why he loved him so much.  

Tilting his head, Tim smiles; it’s small but sincere this time. “Thanks Dick.” His brother only grins.

But just as Tim is about to take the God sent food out of the elder's hands, he stills.

“What?”

“Drake quit stalling we need to go!”

“Wait here,” he says, and he’s off, even before either of his siblings can talk. Pressing the elevator door impatiently and jumping in as soon as it descends.  

The minute he makes it upstairs he rushes into the kitchen; shoes and all and practically flings open the fridge. Snatching up the milk before scouring the shelfs for a bowl, and at soon as he finds it, he picks up two different cereals. Balancing his loot all the way to the still closed bathroom door, he knocks at the wood gently with his foot. “Matt,” he calls out, slightly out of breath. “I need to go now and I’m sorry about our argument and for shouting, but I’ll just leave cereals out here ok? In case you get hungry and stuff and you decide you don’t wanna leave the bathroom and... Yeah. Just... there is milk and oh shit.”

Getting back on his feet after putting the breakfast food down on the ground, he rushes back to the kitchen and opens the second drawer, riffling through it until he gets his hand on a spoon before jogging to the bathroom again. “I forgot the spoon, but I got it now, so you don’t have to drink the cereal or anything. So here.” he says, placing the spoon in the bowl and taking a step back. “I need to go now.”

No sounds come from the other side and Tim finds himself wishing that he could just stay. “Bye Matt.”  

And with those last words he leaves the silent apartment and heads to work.  

End

@miss-choco-chips , @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen anyone else who want me to tag them please let me know and thanks for reading everyone :)

-----

God Tim just breaks my heart. He has so many issues that raises red flags and he’s still just a kid himself and I don’t know why I make him suffer so much because of it. And fyi, being tired and exhausted and rundown is an excuse for having outburst sometimes (as long as they are not violent and you know you did wrong and try not to make that sort of behaviour a habit)

[webcricket]

Thursday’s Child

Pairing: CastielXReader Word Count: 2759 (Pt. 1) Summary: Part 1 of 5 - You met Castiel during his stint at being human and knew him as Steve, a sweet, albeit mysterious, man working at the local Gas-N-Sip with sad blue eyes that seemed to light up in your presence. That was eight years ago; now the daughter he fathered during your brief time together - the girl he doesn’t know about because he stole from your bed without a word and slipped out of your life before you knew you were pregnant - is asking for him. You realize, for her sake, it’s time to face the painful truth in order to find him. A/N - Part 1 is an angsty intro to the reader, the next part brings us up to speed on where Cas is at ...

Pt. 1

You walked into the Gas-N-Sip onto a scene a match stick strike short of complete chaos. Beyond the sea of customers waiting at the counter, the grumbled volume of their impatience rising like a storm’s tide breaking on a rocky shore, you saw not the blue-eyed sales associate you sought for, but the ragged figure of the manager, Nora, as she slammed her fist against the side of the cash register to compel its cooperation.

The machine spat its contents out in a metallic ding barely audible above the thunder of discontent. Nora flung a handful of crumpled bills at the gaping man stood before her and waved him toward the door with his uncapped cup of cold coffee without a word regarding well wishes for the goodness of the day.

The frazzled blonde jabbed a finger at her temple, peered blankly over the counter, and muttered, “Can I help whose next?” in a manner that made whomsoever was next dither in presenting themselves for customer service slaughter, and two people leave without getting the gasoline they came for - one of whom had trudged there on foot through the snow uphill in a pair of threadbare tangerine Converse after their car ran out of juice three miles down the road.

As the sea swelled in murmured confusion over who was next, you dove into the crush of shoulders and shoved a path through to the front.

Pressed into the counter, you jostled a carousel display of novelty keychains, the inconvenient disturbance of which, more than your voice, caught Nora’s strained attention. “Nora!” you panted. Caging the scattering of metal rings within your elbows to prevent their clattering to the floor, you ignored the nicotine-husked scolding of a wrinkled weather-worn woman sounding in your ear about cutting the line.

“Y/N?” A flicker of hope lightened Nora’s craggy sleep-deprived aspect at the sight of you. “Have you seen Steve?” Clutching at your wrist, she asked the desperate-toned question before you could, unknowingly answering yours in its sameness. “He hasn’t been in for two days. No call out. Nothing. That’s not like him.”

Cheeks paling, you agreed – conscientious to a fault, it wasn’t like him at all to just disappear.

The sickly sense of suspicion festering in your stomach during the last forty-eight hours that began upon waking to empty sheets and fattened itself not on food, because you’d barely eaten under the barrage of worried emotions, but rather fed on a gluttony of unreturned calls and texts, shuddered and flipped with enough weight to unsteady your feet; wrist yanked from her grip, you flattened your palm to the front of your jeans as an awareness of imminent ill shot sour bile up your gullet.

You shook your head; taking a second, you choked back the throat-searing fluid and fortified your dizzied balance against the confirmation he had indeed gone without a trace. “N-no, I haven’t-” you sputtered- “I-I was hoping-”

Cutting you off, unable to hear anything beyond the unhelpful news of your weakly uttered ‘No,’ frustration rutted her sweat-beaded forehead. “Well when you do see him, tell him he’s fired. He left me in the middle of a mess of inventory and I haven’t had anyone to open. For fuck’s sake, it’s the holidays! I’m in a real lurch here.” Wheezing to reach for the final bit of breath required to bellow out her contained fury, she gestured at the crowd and flashed the one or two nearest folks shocked by her expletive outburst a conciliatory service industry contrived smile.

“If-if you see him-” you attempted to request the returned favor through the burst levy of her rage as the woman spewing insults about your impudence wedged between you and the counter to demand immediate attention. Funneled in defeat to the center of the store, you broke for the bathroom before the wet brim of heartache flooded your lashes and a renewed heave of nausea hollowed your belly of its fill of woe.

<<<>>> 

“Mama?” The girl outfitted in pastel blue and magenta feather-bedecked fleece footie pajamas curled on the bed beside you stirred sleepily in the crook of your arm; the friction of her minute movements and dry forced heat air of winter combined sparked a static shock where the soft warmth of her bare fingers brushed your own calloused cooler ones.

“Yeah, honeybee?” Swiveling your concentration from the pages of the storybook held above the both of you, you closed the pages and sniffed your reply ticklishly into the freshly washed soap-smell of your daughter’s scalp – the scent of her a welcome haven from the heady aromas clinging to you of yeasted bread, warmed spice, and browned sugar that otherwise denoted a hectic day spent toiling in the bakery and sweet shop you operated below the small apartment.

She squirmed and giggled beneath your unrelenting Eskimo kisses until, fidgeting sideways to evade and escape, she squealed mid-laugh a query so completely unrelated to the book you’d been reading aloud minutes before it took you aback. “Where’s daddy?”

Her innocent and wholly natural curiosity stilled your showering of affection, seized at the center of your chest to steal your breath, and skipped your heart a few agonizing beats, but only a few; you’d grown emotionally numb over many years to the hurt of not knowing what happened with her father, of trying to reconcile your questions with a lack of answers in order to figure out what you did wrong, if anything, to warrant Steve’s disappearance from your life – and his own - without a goodbye, a warning, or so much as an inkling of a reason.

Although you tried and mostly succeeded in tidily boxing up the train wreck aftermath of emotion in your brain, he remained nonetheless an enigma forever in front of you because she was his; she wore his smile, albeit a bit easier and more often than he did; she saw the world through that same shade of inwardly illuminated blue, giving everyone she gazed upon the benefit of the doubt; she treated everything she touched, too, with a kindness, carefulness, and consideration so like him.

He endured even in his absence as an end without an end - the only proofs of the brief love-swept spell of him having been in your life a blunted memory stonewashed by time to dull the jagged edge of loss in believing he was the best thing to ever happen to you, and the life he sparked in your womb, a little girl who turned out to be what he wasn’t – the love of your life.

Yet despite the distance of years and the layers of a life well-lived laid on top of past pain, and like the first time you met him, every once in a while, when you least expected it, in moments when you were most relaxed, his recollection had a way of taking you by surprise such that you forgot how to breathe.

Her inquisitiveness, however, did not; she asked after him on occasion, especially now that she was in school and of an age to notice and wonder at the differences between her family and those of her classmates.

“Max has two daddies.”

Her observation, spoken in an airy awe punctuated by a yawn, penetrated your reverie into the past.

“That so?” Shifting up onto an elbow to better study the seriousness scrunching up her nose, you smoothed her disheveled hair into a chestnut halo of bouncy ringlets encircling her head on the polka dot patterned pillowcase; your fingertips fondly followed a wild whorl rebelling above her ear.

“Mm-hmm,” she drowsily drew out the noise, blinking heavily-lashed eyes that danced over the neon glow of star stickers arranged in constellations on the ceiling. With a mumbled, “and a dog, too” -she tossed the blanket, burrowed face-first into the pillow, and fell soundly asleep.

Staying absolutely motionless, you praised in grateful silence the sudden seizure of slumber children are wont to succumb to for temporarily relieving you from an explanation; whatever she dreamed of would be better than the reality of not knowing you had to offer.

You slipped from the bed and into the hallway, flicking lights off as you walked the worn oriental carpet runner to your bedroom, and found yourself standing in front of the closet digging for a shoebox stuffed in the topmost corner behind a stack of spare sheets.

Extricating the box with a grunt, you sunk to the floor, pushed off the lid, and dumped the contents, those few physical scraps you possessed of Steve - notes, snapshots, and the crumbling petals of a pressed red rose he left behind besides the scars on your heart and her - into your lap.

Last season, perched on Santa’s lap at the mall, your daughter told the falsely bearded jolly supplier of holiday spirit and maker of childhood magic she wanted him to bring her daddy home for Christmas. The pitying frowns donned by Saint Nick and his helper elf upon hearing her request haunted you for weeks afterward. The bright pink bike you bought to place under the tree as her big gift that year seemed a paltry substitute for what she really longed for.

It also prompted you to hire a private investigator to track Steve down. You hadn’t looked for him before then – you’d gotten on just fine without him; but it was becoming clear she needed to know him, if not as the father figure she idealized, at least as a means for both of you to get some kind of closure.

Part of you supposed regardless of why he left he should know he had a daughter and it was unfair - however unfairly he’d treated you - to keep her to yourself when you’d created her together. Whether he wanted to be a part of her life once he knew he’d not only deserted you, but left you knocked up, heartbroken, jobless, and in deep debt holding a newly minted mortgage for a building in need of major renovations before you could bake up that first batch of blueberry scones and realize a long-imagined dream – a dream he inspired you to pursue - would be entirely up to him.

Maybe you’d hesitated to look for so long because you felt he would want to be in your lives out of a sense of obligation rather than any emotive attachment of fatherly feeling; whatever had happened, the Steve you loved was a good man – dutiful of responsibilities to a fault. But Steve chose to leave and you wondered if he’d feel more trapped than anything if he knew there was a child; that he would be there like a hare snagged in a hunter’s snare awaiting fate, but that he wouldn’t want to be there.

In terms of fairness, that consequence wouldn’t be fair to any of you.

You eyed the sealed legal-sized manila envelope folded in half and jammed in the bottom of the emptied box. The part of you that preferred not knowing and defaulted to pigeonholing pain instead of dealing with it stuck it in there a month ago when the backlogged and grandfatherly private investigator working for literal beans of the brewed coffee variety and a weekly doughnut delivery as a personal favor to you got around to handing his findings over along with the kindly-intended counsel that he’d uncovered enough of the big picture to deem the case concluded, and it was up to you to decide whether it was worth hunting the guy down for a face-to-face to fill in the remainder of the damnable details.

Tucking the document into your outstretched hand – the fingers suffering from a nervy tremble no amount of suppressive will would quiet - he strongly cautioned against the latter pursuit of an in person meet up on the basis of having had decades of not so positive experience with quote unquote, “This same sort of dead beat dodging child support.”

Bolstering your resolve to learn the truth with a lungful of air, you slid a finger into the glue affixed gap of the envelope; the flap sliced your flesh as you tore into the paper. Soothing the slash against the warmth of your tongue, you slipped free the sheets within and rotated the cover page to scan the paragraph typed thereon – it comprised a summary of the steps the investigator took, contained a list of contacts in South Dakota and Kansas – potential current states of residence based on credit card activity - should you want to trail him further, and provided a social security number along with a name in bold uppercase print: JIMMY NOVAK.

A noose of nerves cinched tightly at your throat. The last thing you expected was an outright lie.

Steve … no, Jimmy, he carried a sadness in the slouch of his shoulders, a something secretive that distanced his gaze sometimes; he told you he lost everything - his family, his home - that he started over with nothing save the two feet he landed on to build a foundation. You believed him, respected his fortitude to move forward, and loved him enough not to push him to talk about a past obviously painful to him until he was ready.

You never dreamed what he meant to say was everything you knew of him, everything he shared, was a fabrication built not to move on from the truth, but to hide it from you.

The whoosh of your pulse pounded in your ears; vision tunneled, the panicked pump of racing blood blackened the periphery of the white sheet when you turned to the next page.

Written there was the fact Jimmy had another family; had a daughter – Claire. He left them, too. He hadn’t lost his family and home, he ran out on them just like he ran out on you.

“Mama?” Dainty fingers tapped at the damp shine of your cheek; she crept in so quietly you hadn’t heard the tip-toe tread of her bare feet on the carpet. “Mama?” she said it again, a broken whisper verging on a sob, and tangled her limbs around your neck.

You shoved the papers off your crossed legs and pulled the ball of her body into your embrace. “What’s wrong, baby bee?” Blinking to staunch the sting of your tears, your piqued emotion surrendered to a roused motherly alarm as you folded the mess of her sweat-matted hair to your bosom where she could hear the reassuring thump-thump housed within.

“I had a bad dream,” she murmured and fisted the fabric of your robe.

Me, too, you thought, and snuggled her in tighter.

Glancing at the discarded report amid the box’s other trinkets, your bleary gaze landed on a glossy polaroid photo of you and Steve snapped at a holiday party you goaded him into attending with you when your original plus one ditched you at the last minute so you wouldn’t have to face alone a roomful of tipsy marketing execs you loathed.

That night, that moment, his fingers flirting hesitatingly at your waist, touches giving in to the pull of gravity as the night wore on to graze then hug your hips as if they belonged there - had always been there - a confidant and comfort tenderly testing the territory of more - you naïvely yielding like pliant putty to his touch - that was the point of no return; through the retrospective filter of the truth it became clear he seemed too good to be true, because nothing about him was true.

Part of you wished you could reseal the envelope and the truth with it and return to the comparative bliss of not knowing. Mostly you seethed, an unprocessed anger relegated to the back-burner ignited, inflaming mind and muscle until your entire frame radiated a heat of rage.

The girl quaking in your grasp, bend of her spine shivering as you skimmed it in soothing caresses, reminded you some nightmares do evolve to have happy endings; no matter what happened, or what would happen, you had her and he couldn’t take that away from you.

Wiping her fear and tear flushed features into your pajamas, she gasped a desire that plunged daggers through your heart. “I want my daddy.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you spoke in a whisper to shush her whimpers and calm the heated tempest of your nerves.

She went limp wrapped in the safety of your words and arms; you’d do anything for her, including suffer pain and swallow your pride to dredge up a monster from the past. You only prayed he wouldn’t hurt her, too.

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[cactachu]

Hate Follows -- {Obey Me OC}

side note: uhhhh no shipping between oc and the canon characters, just her being sad and lonely

fuckin uhhhhhh. don't bully me im sensitive thanks

summary: salem has lived millennia, all while the death of her sexy nymph gf weighs heavily on her. she swears to never love again. her swears don’t mean shit.

~~~

Love is a beautiful thing.

It leaves a tingly feeling in your chest, as if hundreds of butterflies are softly beating their wings against your heart. A specific warmth floods your body when love first festers, and nothing can truly measure up to that feeling.

Some say love is innocent, that it always will be.

Spoiler alert: they’re wrong.

Because there’s a possibility of love leaving-- a possibility of the person you love leaving. A possibility of them leaving you behind as an empty husk of who you once were.

Love comes with risk, and risk leads to danger. Put your heart in someone else’s hands and it’s bound to break.

Love isn’t innocent, because when it leaves-- and it will leave, it always leaves-- it leaves behind hate.

And Salem firmly believed that.

It started with Lilise, an elegant and aloof tree nymph who put the angels themselves to shame. She was enchanting, like the very oak trees she lived among, with eyes brighter than the sun. The embodiment of beauty and grace-- the complete opposite of Salem.

Salem was young, inexperienced, and clumsy. She was new to this world, and completely unaware of the fact that she had wandered into Dryad territory. So, when Salem sat against a tree to rest, she definitely didn’t expect a gorgeous woman to appear in front of her.

Stunned by the woman’s beauty, the words left her mouth before she could stop them, “Somnium mentium transgredi.” There was a fluttering in her chest, heat all over her body. It was a new feeling she didn’t know how to describe, and, judging by the woman’s expression, she was feeling the same thing.

“...daimonas.” 

The woman spoke, crescendo light and smooth, in a foreign tongue.

Salem understood very little about the situation: where the woman came from, what she was, who she was, but that mattered little.

And so their love blossomed, and although it lacked words, it did not lack passion or sincerity.

They would communicate through gestures, gifts, and soft smiles they would only share with each other. Salem learned more about the woman-- learnt her language through trial and error, with the first phrase she knew by heart being ‘I love you’. She learnt of the woman’s name, what she was, who she was.

Lilise. Dryad. A graceful nymph with the power and charisma to melt anyone’s heart.

And for the first time since she was created, Salem was happy.

Then there was the Celestial War.

A war between angels. A war unheard of by man.

A war so bloody that those in the crossfire never stood a chance.

An unfamiliar cold crept up her neck, ironic considering the once enchanting forest was now engulfed in flames. She knew she should’ve left-- that it was dangerous to stay any longer than she already had. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to tear her eyes away from the crumpled body in front of her.

She wanted to scream, avenge the nymph she loved so dearly-- lose control and tear whoever was responsible apart piece by piece, but all she could do was fall on her knees and pathetically caress the face that was once so content.

God, it fucking hurt. The eyes once so bright looked up at her, the ghost of a smile on Lilise’s face. She knew it was coming.

Salem refused to accept it.

“Chairomai, pou isastan esy…”

No it was too soon, it was way to soon. Please, please, please. Please help. Please, God, someone help.

“...den tha afiso pote tin plevra sou.”

As the eyes she loved so dearly slowly closed, she hugged her beloved close and, despite being a demon, prayed for God himself to heal her wounds.

It’s a shame God doesn’t love sinners.

Then, she had met Lucifer. Lucifer, the fallen angel who started a rebellion against the God of the fucking universe, the fucking angel that started the war.

Lucifer, the Morning Star. The fallen angel who had everything and threw it away.

He threw it away, only to gain it back in Devildom as Diavolo’s right hand man? Well, isn’t that just fucking dandy.

She remembers how she felt when she first met Lucifer. In fact, she remembers how she felt when she met all 7 brothers.

And she remembers how fucking angry she was.

She was running on rage, looking to pin Lilise’s death on someone else to avoid collapsing into a pit of self-hatred. She knew that if she fed into the desire, it would consume her-- the feeling of hate would consume her.

And as much as she hated it, she would have to see the people who indirectly killed Lilise every fucking day.

And when that’s the case, locking your true feelings away is that much easier, just like replacing your true feelings with fake happiness feels so much better than facing the truth.

A fake, festering ball of hate, who is always on the verge of collapsing from the guilt.

At the end of the day, that’s all that Salem was.

And she would’ve stayed that way if not for the exchange program.

[dafukdidiwatch]

The Happening

When titles like “The Event” were already taken.

tw: will mention different types of suicides, will start/end paragraph with tw

So....that happened. Ha, I’m hilarious.

I don’t know if this is cheating or not, but for a while I would watch reviews of movies I haven’t seen or read the wikipedia plot for movies I don’t care to see to get the story without actually seeing the film. And The Happening just happened to be one of them. So I knew from the beginning what the twist was.

But what I forgotten from those reviews was how dead and robotic the actors where.

Overview: In New York City and all over the Northeast of the U.S, people are performing mass suicide in a daze. Fearful for his family, high school teacher Elliot flees with his wife, friend, and friend’s child to avoid the catastrophe, unaware that the danger is all around them.

Let’s get the elephant in the review out of the way first otherwise it’s gonna be on my mind all the time.

Plants did it. I knew that the Plants did it. It was the only thing that I actually retained from my review watching habit. And you know what, when I heard it I knew it was going to be stupid. They came up with some psudo-science bullshit about plant pheramones being so so strong that it affects the self-preservation part of our brains to make us want to kill ourselves. Like, this is just so easy to pick apart with basic scientific and logic.

The thing is that I don’t care.

I’ve seen bad anime with worse logical reasoning for having the plot happen. Like evil virus that only affect men so there’s like 10 guys left on the planet filled with women. Or waking up on an island via LOST style and having to fight off against giant insects. So I get it. The reasoning of “who did it” or “how did this happened” doesn’t really matter in the context of the movie. The plant thing is dumb, but it is something that I can understand people ignoring it to just enjoy the movie.

The Problem is that the rest of the movie is boring as shit.

tw The beginning of the film, Very Beginning, it was interesting. It had me by my seats. People are killing themselves, that’s pretty fuck up. And the movie doesn’t hold back in how fucked up it was. Seeing people just calmly in a daze just stab themselves in the neck with their own hair pin? Like, I had to take a step back. Was not expecting that shit at all. It certainly sets the mood, though I don’t know why they do this...backwards walking thing before they die. To show them being rewired? But my favorite part was with the construction workers dealing with people jumping off the building. That was really emotional to me. You just see the heartbreak during this slowburn of one person jumping, then another, then just 30 in one go. It went from sad to horrific in a great way. tw

TOO BAD it was freaking undercut by Matt Wallburg’s science class which killed ALL MOOD that was set up.

You CAN’T set up a thriller movie with the actual scary thing happening, only for the main character to just....completely ignore it/not know it for a long ass time! It ruins the whole thing!!

Like, HINTS!!! HINTS ARE A THING!! I thought you were supposed to be good at subtly Shyamalan! 

Ok, so here’s a quick sidebar. Train to Busan. Great movie. Go watch it. Same director as Parasite. It’s about surviving the zombie apocalypse on a train. Highly recommended. But the thing with THAT movie, is that we get Hints that the zombies exist in the beginning. We get some information that there could be danger, but we don’t SEE the actual zombies until it is too late.

HERE, we SEE people literally off themselves in some very realistic ways. You can’t expect me to mood shift that fast to Matt Wallburg just casually teaching about the death of nature and bees! That kills the mood! And makes the main cast look like an idiot because WE know what’s going on, but THEY DON’T!! It’s hard to feel connected to the main characters when we know more than they do.

And these characters SUUUUUUUUCK!

Matt...you stink. If I have to judge your acting career based on this movie, I will never watch anything with you in it again. He’s just so boring! And Dull! Everything he says sounds like a blank empty husk of a man. He has the worst reactions to Everything around him. Like a woman accuses him of killed her in her sleep (which is a bizarre scene anyway) and we get THIS

God he’s the worst! And this dull-ass line-reading bleeds to every other character!

Apparently her name is actually Alma. And here I thought that it was Emma. Doesn’t matter, did not give a shit about her. I really couldn’t give a shit about the romance. At all. Like, not one ounce. I was actually rooting for them to get a divorce that was so how uninvested I was in them. They are both bland. The whole thing hinged on them working things out and not emotionally cheat I guess, but it just seemed like Emma was getting worked up over Nothing. She ate cake after work with a coworker. Alright. You see her getting calls from him and when she does answer saying “no I love my husband it was just cake we had nothing between us” except it was just the guy talking about all the bad shit happening in whatever area he was. So, again, she just blew things up all out of proportion here.

Then the children....the little child Jess gets a pass. She’s not the greatest, but she’s a tiny child. There’s a lot more things to worry about than her acting. Like the other teen boys they meet while escaping, Jake and John. They have them randomly show up as part of their small group. Only for the Next Scene for them to be killed. Like, what the fuck movie? There’s dramatic tension, then there’s just bad writing.

Most of this is just a bunch of bad tiny plot decisions like....why the fuck did they add this in the movie? Just a lot of them trying to add in characterization...but it falls flat so so bad. Humor of Matt talking to a plastic plant? Lame. Trying to distract a person from horrors with a math problem? Possibly could have worked if they actually had any personality of a rock. Matt talking about how he...I guess was thinking of emotionally cheating on his wife with a pharmacist but was just lying.....just why??

Hotdog Man who first said it was the plants to begin with? He actually gets a pass. The hotdog thing is weird as fuck but he seems like the ONLY genuine actual human in this movie. I like Hotdog man. He was just trying his goddamn best.

Then different moments of trying to add tension when there shouldn’t really be? Like...some random ass hyper tension of Matt walking into a room that just has a doll? And I guess it is to...MAYBE imply that the old woman is nuts and thinks the doll is actually her daughter? That’s a bit of a stretch coming from me, but that’s all I got for why that scene exists. But that was soooo unneeded, unnecessary, no purpose to the plot for ANY REASON! Like, just....it’s shit like this that’s bad.

Look, Disaster Films need 2 things for it to work: A) showing the destruction that the disaster is causing, and B) Showing people trying to survive through said destruction. The Happening has a decent pass for the 1st part, mostly. The suicides are creative and disturbing. Just seeing people randomly grabbing the nearest thing to passively kill themselves does make you step back. Like driving through a street where people hung themselves. Or watching 30 people jump off of buildings. Or a guy sees a nearby lawn mower and just lays down before him. (The one where a dude just sits down casually to cut himself with glass, really fucked me up).

It’s the second half that needs work. None of these guys seem to give any actual human responses to that’s going on, whether it was the main cast or any of the side characters. It was like the movie was trying to make everything high tension and that comes off forced, boring, and bizarre.

Overall: I was not a fan of this movie. Did not like this movie one way or another. There was so much bad in it, but not in the fun bad. Just bad bad. The only two good things I liked were the Hotdog Man and the beginning scene with the construction workers. That’s it, and it does not save the movie.

If you want something similar to this that is a little better, try Cell by Stephen King. Instead of Plants it was Cell Phone reception. Just as ridiculous but a lot more heartfelt and frightening that whatever this mess was.

[devnny]

CHAPTER FIVE.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

godDAMN this chapter is long... 5k words of emotions and long-winded talking from one sad, sad maniac

Devi growled at the canvas in front of her, bitter that the eyes of her newest subject look an awful lot like the eyes of the wretched man that had filled her thoughts with venom the past week or so. She devoted her time since their fight to some personal pieces, with Sickness’s little outburst at the forefront of her worries, but it brought her little comfort to vent her frustration through painting. The idea of ripping Johnny’s head clean off of his shoulders was much more appealing, even if that urge might be from some hideous demon trying to coerce her into becoming then city’s next mass murderer.

She brought a finger up to the tacky paint on her canvas, and pressed her nail harshly into her subject’s eye, scraping the pupil away with one forceful drag downwards. The acrylic caking under her nail was not as satisfying as she had hoped, and Devi made her way to the kitchen sink to wash her hands.

As time passed between her petrifying new encounter with Johnny and the present, she hoped that her white-hot revulsion for his very being would have settled some, but it hadn’t. Her rage persisted, mostly because she was hideously mad that she felt genuine disappointment about his sudden switch. She felt like such an ugly fool for even halfway believing his lies; all his spout about loyalty – he had nothing of the sort! It just added to the mountain of evidence that told her she should always listen to her intuition when it came to these things.

But that changed nothing about the fact that Johnny needed to be managed, especially now that he was upset again. There was no way he was using the creative centers of his brainmeats for anything productive, so the possibility that he was decaying rapidly was very high.

Devi sighed and turned the water off. Tenna was coming over to force her to eat food tonight, so that would be as good a time as any to talk out her options and decide what the Hell she was going to do about Johnny.

-

DINNER:

Tenna waved her fork at Devi while she spoke, little bits of Korean barbeque flicking out of her mouth as she did.

“So have you officially called off this Johnny business, then?”

“No.” Devi sighed, poking at her dinner with little interest.

“And why not?” Tenna asked with a skeptical look. Devi sighed again.

“I just… can’t. I don’t see another option for this. Well, besides murder I mean.” She flipped the same piece of meat over for the fifth time. “And I’m not going to murder him, no matter how badly I’d love to dig my fingers into the sides of his head and rip his fucking face off.”

Tenna reared back to laugh at the image, only to choke and sputter rice everywhere.

“HAK—HAK! Ah, it is funny.” She wiped her eyes. “He’s lucky you’re not as ‘sick’ as he is.”

“Yes.” Devi glowered down at nothing. “He is.”

“Aww, don’t be all murder-y and mad, Devi! You beat his ass, again! That feels good, right?”

“I wish that I’d punching him in the nose like before, then maybe I’d feel better.” Her lip twitched at her lie. Her hands still felt shaky remembering the pure adrenaline pumping through her when she realized he was attacking her – it was a horrible, buzzy feeling, and it made her stomach upset to know she was afraid of him then, even if she was too pumped up to realize it at the time. It only reminded her of how badly shaken she was the first time she escaped death at his hands, and being victimized like that pissed her off more than anything.

“DAMN him!” Devi tossed her fork down with bared teeth. “I bet he’s sitting around, thinking of ways to piss me off. Plotting the next way he’s gunna FUCK WITH ME!”

-

ELSEWHERE:

Johnny laid across his couch, as he had for days now, more forlorn than he had been in a very long time. The frenzied sobbing and screams of self-loathing and self-pity had died the night he returned home from Devi’s; all he could manage as it was now was sprawling pathetically on his belly and wishing he was dead.

He could not believe how fucking stupid he was. How could he have tried to attack Devi, the one who had so kindly removed him of his literal demons, simply because his pride was hurt by her words. If he could go back, Johnny would let her rip his ego apart – he would sit and listen to any violent words she had for him and feel his worth burn away and crumble into nothingness, because if the words were coming from her, he most certainly deserved them. He definitely felt strongly that he did now, after betraying her compassion as he did. Again.

His arms contorted around his head so his fingers could scrape at the back of his skull as another bitter tear fought its way out of his eye. He could hardly believe he had any water left in him. The tear wormed its way down the hook of Johnny’s nose, stilling for just a moment on its pointed end before dripping onto the worn fabric of the sofa.

“Oh, Devi.” Johnny muttered pitifully, and twisted his head further into his bicep.

“It pains me to see you like this Johnny, but your pain is not without meaning. Let it course through you, feel the passions of heartache!” Reverend Meat spoke as he appeared suddenly on a side table. Johnny snarled bitterly.

“The is NOTHING passionate about this pain!” He retorted with all the emotion left in him. “I am hollowed again – my cavernous chest whistles with ghoulish EMPTINESS! You idiot, if your plan was to fill me with any wanton feelings and superfluous desire, you have failed utterly! I’ve never been more motivated to carve out any humanity I have left and live as a needless husk forever.”

As that breath left him, Johnny felt his body wheeze flat, like a deflating balloon, and he allowed his woefulness to consume him again. He laid unmoving in his anguish, taking no satisfaction in Meat’s silence after his outburst. Meat did not seem bothered.

-

DEVI’S APARTMENT:

Tenna had taken up eating most of Devi’s food after finishing her own, and chewed away while she watched her friend walk around her apartment grumbling and thinking aloud.

“Why do I have to be stuck with this fucking… God dammit…!” Devi mumbled sporadically. Tenna frowned, her friend’s sanity again a notable concern.

“Ughhh, I fucking hate this!” Devi’s voice pitched up suddenly, only to tapper off into groaning again. “I don’t even want to see him. I hate him so much right now.”

“You don’t have to—” Tenna started, but stopped when Devi turned to look at her with a mixture of annoyance and despair.

“Tenna, you know I have to. I have to persevere with this stupid… thing.” She snorted a sigh through her nose. “I think I can still… I don’t know. Control him? I let my guard down, something I should never do. I can’t let myself get comfortable – this is work.”

“You do know that you, in fact, work too much, right?”

“Don’t start.” Devi pointed at her. “And if it makes you any happier, after Johnny’s ‘better’ I’ll be working a perfectly normal amount.”

“Yay!” Tenna grinned. “How long will that take, you think?”

Devi’s eyes darkened at the abysmal concept of time. With as many setbacks as she had had thus far, it could be months and months before Johnny might have a decent grasp on his sanity, and even then, he’s so incompetent that she might need to keep checking in on him long after that. Years, even.

“That’s not a good face.” Tenna commented, and Devi grunted at the floor again.

“A WHILE.” Devi answered finally, before stalking to the kitchen to get the wireless receiver for her house phone. She preferred her headset, usually, but right now gripping something in her fist was all that she could do to keep her anger from exploding out of her in curse words and banshee screams. Devi returned to the couch to sit in a bitter slouch.

“I think…” She hesitated. ��I think I’m going to… call him.”

The women exchanged uneasy glances, both aware of what happened the last time Devi placed a phone call to the C. residence. Neither had the gall to say as much, though. With only an uncomfortable stare as response from her companion, Devi turned her attention back to the phone and punched in the number that she hated to admit she had memorized.

--

MEANWHILE:

Johnny had not moved beyond adjusting his laying position from his stomach onto his side. He stared apathetically at the unplugged television set on the opposite wall, listening to the creaking of his dilapidated house and any sounds outside as a source of audio for the static he was imagining on the screen. Or maybe his vision was getting spotty, he wasn’t sure.

Emotions were so exhausting to deal with, and while he hadn’t slept in months, bawling his lungs out always made him more tired than anything else could. Johnny had fought the urge to let his body completely rest since he’d collapsed on the couch days ago, but it seemed like he was finally loosing that internal battle. Sleep was consuming his body whole; from his torso all the way out to the ends of his fingers, his worthless machine felt tired, tired, tired.

A few slow blinks eased his mind closer to unconsciousness, but just as his eyelids settled closed, an abrupt Ringgg! stirred his brain back to life. The exhaustion he felt just a second prior drained out of him like gunky water as he realized the sound he was hearing was his telephone.

Johnny sat up and stared at where the phone sat on the other side of the room, and through his surprise managed to chastise himself for having even an inkling of hope that it might be her. Why on Earth would she call him? No, there was just no possible way that it would be Devi.

As he crossed the room, he convinced himself that the wobbling feeling in his legs was a result of not standing for a long time, and not nervousness. The phone seemed impatient, its shrill chiming coming off as more aggressive the longer that Johnny did not answer the call. He stood, heels together, watching the receiver rattle on its perch with growing anxiety.

Despite his quick dismissals over the identity of the caller being Devi, he could not imagine who else would be calling him. And to add to that, if it really was Devi, did he have anything he could say that could remedy the massive divide between them that he had only served to widen with his careless behavior? He doubted so.

Still, he picked up the phone and held it to his ear.

“…Hello?”

Johnny could not see the relief on the caller’s face that his ‘hello’ was not followed by a gunshot and screaming.

“…Hi.” Devi spoke finally. Johnny’s eyes grew large as her voice reached him, and his throat closed up from dread. Whatever she had to say to him, he had little doubt that it was anything less than malicious, and he couldn’t bear to hear her say that she never wanted to see him again, or to go jump off a bridge – he might actually do just that, in fact, if she told him to. But his fear restrained him from speaking or hanging up, leaving him the only option of standing there wordlessly.

Devi scowled the longer the silence stretched on.

“Are you there, Johnny?” She gnashed, and Johnny’s spine straightened from the impatience in her voice that only thinly covered the anger hiding beneath it.

“Yes.” He replied quickly, then allowed the call to go quiet again. He could hear a sigh growl out from Devi’s throat.

“Listen,” Devi kept her anger at a simmer. “I am going to give you one fucking chance to talk to me about what… happened. Are you willing to do that?”

Johnny sucked in a breath. He was in disbelief – could he really be so fortunate as to be offered such an opportunity? He never had such luck!

“Y-Yes!” He exclaimed. “Yes, I, I would like to do that very much.”

“Good.” Devi wanted to keep this short, lest she explode.

“I am going to be… at the convenience store, near Dragon’s Books. You remember the one?” She asked, and Johnny hurriedly affirmed. She hesitated a moment, doubting whether she had the stomach to do this, but reassured herself for the umpteenth time that she did. “Oh-kay. I will be there at 9:00PM. Do not be late.”

She said it like it was more of a threat than a request, but Johnny didn’t care. Through his immense fear he was elated – Devi still wanted to meet with him! Even if it might just be a rouse to lure him out so she could beat him to death in an alley, he would eagerly go.

“I’ll… see you there!” Johnny nearly gasped. Devi’s lip curled bitterly.

“…Yeah. I’ll see you there.” She parroted back to him, then hung up.

The dial tone finalized the deal for both of them. Each looked to their respective clocks, and winced that 9:00PM was only two short hours away.

--

8:45PM:

Devi crushed another handful of chips between her teeth, demanding that her body emit the kind of grim energy that repelled weaker-willed humans away from her in uneasy terror. Her back pushed discontentedly against the bricked wall of the Grab n’ Go, where she stood in the shadow that its fluorescent sign cast against the corner of the building.

She ignored any anxiety that she felt from the idea of seeing Johnny again, and focused instead on feeding her vindictive anger – if she was mad, than she couldn’t be afraid, pure and simple. And he wasn’t something to be scared of if she was expecting him to do something stupid and violent, anyway. He wouldn’t catch her lowering her guard again, that was for sure.

The coughing of a neglected engine caught her attention, and she watched a small grey car turn into the parking lot, its round headlights scanning across the ashfalt like a pair of shifting eyes. Devi frowned, vaguely recognizing it as Johnny’s car. The vehicle stopped abruptly, as if it noticed her, then quickly turned into the parking space at the very end of the store’s front, the spot closest to her. As the headlights died, Devi’s suspicions were confirmed. Johnny’s blackened figure stared back at her a moment with a mixture of longing and hesitation, before he began fumbling with his car door.

Johnny stepped out and clicked his door shut, then turned to the woman on the curb glaring at him. All he could do was stand there lamely.

Maybe saying that he would ‘eagerly’ meet her was a step without forethought. While he was certainly eager, he was also immensely frightened of her and her ability to remove herself from his life if he said the wrong thing – and he wasn’t exactly known for saying the right thing.

He intertwined his fingers behind his back, then thought better of it, not wanting Devi to think he was hiding a weapon, and moved his hands back to his sides, choosing to pick at the fraying seams of his pants to calm him instead. Johnny reminded himself that it was Devi that had suggested this encounter, and tried to ride that wave of assurance, along with all the courage that he could muster, as he walked to meet her. He stopped a few feet in front of her and waited a moment before speaking.

“Hello, Devi.”

Devi didn’t reply, and only continued glaring at him. Her eyes fell to the pavement, tired of looking at him, and focused on the cracks that spread underneath her boots instead. Johnny shrunk slightly, but tried to take some solace in the fact that she hadn’t screamed at him. He stepped around to her side, and leaned up against the wall with her, leaving a respectable distance between them. After a tense few moments, Devi could no longer keep herself from saying something.

“I can’t believe you fucking did that.” Devi fumed quietly. Johnny sunk his head low into his collar, too afraid to reply.

The silence persisted after her comment, and Johnny could only guess what she was thinking. He had been so excited to see her again, but he also knew that Devi’s desire to see him was self-preservative in nature. His life posed an immediate risk to her own, so of course she would want to see him, want to know what he’s doing. He desperately wanted to say something to ease her concerns, anything that could garner some of her trust back, but he knew that whatever he said would come off as superficial and empty to Devi’s jagged and hard-to-impress nature. Not that he could blame her, he would surely think the same.

Idly, Johnny dragged the side his boot on the sidewalk, letting the faint sound of scratching metal lull him into his mind. It wasn’t exactly the safest place to be, but he needed to think over his words carefully for such a delicate situation. Words like “sorry” and “regret” and “remorse” all sounded so pathetically small in the face of his violent actions, and would likely only anger his companion further.

Devi’s breath seemed more labored suddenly, and Johnny stopped his movements, fearful that he was aggravating her by making any sound at all. He hesitantly lifted his gaze up to her face, and was relieved that she was looking at a far-off dumpster instead of pointing her icy eyes at him. Even if they weren’t directed at him, Johnny couldn’t help staring at her green irises, having to strain with all his might to see their color in the shadowed area of the parking lot.

He watched her pupils narrow and twitch in response to the thoughts in her head, and the strength that flickered in them made his chest tighten. While he couldn’t boast that he ever knew exactly what she was thinking even when they were friends, he had loved seeing the attitude that swirled in her bright eyes. Whether it was a level of annoyance, or anger, or excitement, or mischievousness, it never mattered; the fire behind that glint was always the same, and it always made him feel the same, too. Even now, when the white-hot anger cradled inside them was reserved for him, he could only feel adoration.

Johnny dropped his focus to his shoes again with a painfully quiet sigh. Devi was always full of such beautiful, vibrant life, and he couldn’t believe that he would be so selfish as to try and extinguish it not once, but twice. With that thought, his mind wandered to the memories of their half-wonderful, half-horrible date, and his heart squeezed and expanded with the intense emotion that he had failed so miserably at removing from his body.

As he navigated all of the feelings he recalled from that time, his thoughts began pouring from his mouth absentmindedly.

“The… morning after our failed outing…” He murmured, gathering Devi’s attention without notice. “I woke up, surrounded by blood and glass. My memory was very foggy, but I did remember that I tried to attack you…”

Devi frowned, irritated that he would bring up that night, but couldn’t interject before Johnny continued.

“I’ve never been so afraid. I was so terrified that I’d killed you, or horribly wounded you. I ran to the TV room, and the front door was wide open, and I could see your car was gone.” He hesitated a moment, his voice threatening to hitch.

“I felt such overwhelming relief. You were safe – alive. None of the blood on me was anyone’s but my own. But the relief was fleeting… I was consumed with unimaginable sorrow as I stood there. Your car was gone – you were gone. Everything that was between us before, was gone too.”

The confession surprised Devi, to a degree, and she remained quiet, curious to see where he was going with this particular tangent.

“Surely you hated me.” Johnny nodded his head in her direction, fully aware that he was speaking to her now. “How could you not hate me? And that had been what I wanted so badly to stop from happening… I never wanted there to be a time I could look back on, and know without a doubt you were upset with me, or I was upset with you. I never wanted your anger or sadness directed at me. I never wanted to know with absolute certainty that there was ill-will from you to I, or vice versa.”

Johnny swallowed. He was nervous to attempt this explanation again, seeing as his lengthy talking had pissed Devi off often in the past.

“You see… the idea was that… if I killed you then, that your affection would always be there for me. That the happiness we both felt in that moment would never be tainted with petty fighting – your smile, your laugh, your warmth, all of that would be mine to look back on and remember that joy can really be holistic. That the happiness you gave me will always be untouched by ugly feelings, like betrayal or grief or rage.”

His body tightened, every nerve ending he had aware of the furious stare Devi was burying into his temple. Ignoring his heart’s frantic palpitations, he pushed on, begging that his remorse would be enough to calm her rage.

“But now… I’m so grateful that you are alive to hate me.” The sentence alone was enough to confuse Devi out of her raw anger, and Johnny felt himself relax enough to feel his anguish properly.

“Even if my memories of you now are so bittersweet; all the times you smiled at me and the talks we shared, yes, they are quickly followed by the pain I feel knowing that you despise me… but I would bear this agony for an eternity if it meant that you would still be alive. Regardless of your feelings for me, you are still the person I admire and respect most of all, you know. The painful reminders that your tenderness for me is long departed doesn’t, and cannot, change that, and I’ve learned that because of you and your insistence to live – live regardless of what anyone else has to say about it!”

He calmed himself a moment, still cautious about expressing himself too wildly tonight.

“My actions before… they were selfish. So selfish – I knew that, and I didn’t care. But I think now, that while I knew that, I don’t think I understood it, until I had to live with the fact that you loathe my very existence.”

Johnny finally garnered the courage to look Devi in the eyes, and he didn’t allow himself even a second to digest the intimidation he felt from the act, instead demanding that he continue his apology before he lost the words again.

“You are such a strong person, Devi. Your love and hate burn with such an intensity, I can only be envious of it. You are rigid in your passions – your work motivates you, and in turn your steadfastness protected your work. You are the perfect example of what I can only piss and cry about wanting to be.”

“And no pain in this world could be worse than the idea that you would cease to exist. No glass impeded in my face, no bullets through my skull, could ever possibly hurt more than the mere concept that you could be gone.”

“I am very limited in facets when it comes to stubbornness like yours, but one thing I’m sure of, is that I’d vehemently agree to continuously fail, continuously hurt, forever, if it meant that you are alive, Devi. When you look at me, and I can see the energy and emotion and life flaring inside of your eyes, I am reminded of my biggest failures – the worst of my mistakes, the biggest slips of foresight – and it brings me such an intense feeling of relief. It makes not sense, and yet, it makes more sense than anything on Earth!! Failure should make you feel bad, but when the result is you being unharmed, I am happy!”

Johnny could feel that he was starting to monologue uncontrollably, and had to literally clench his jaw shut to stop the rantings from growing louder and more crazed. Devi was still staring at him, and he couldn’t read her expression aside from the fact that she wasn’t mad. This was as good a time as any to apologize, he supposed.

“…I know forgiveness is about as likely as it’s always been, but I still want to say that I’m very sorry for trying to stab you with a pen. You see now why I was so insistent on voiding myself of all feelings. I’m still too selfish, and I still lose myself in my anger more than I would like to admit… I was so foolish; I had started fantasizing that, maybe, we could be friends again. I knew it was very unlikely, but I still let myself get carried off in the daydream that you might still, I don’t know, enjoy my company… Hearing the facts about our er, relationship, just upset me. N-Not that I blame you for that, of course, it’s just that I’m so… well you know, not good with— ugh, I am bad at explaining.”

Johnny slumped against the wall. Despite the exhaustion he felt from releasing so many feel-y words at once, it did feel sort-of good at the same time. Much more satisfying for the soul than his ill-fated phone call apology months back. Devi watched him until she was sure he was done talking, then crossed her arms and leaned back more comfortably while she debated how to respond.

She wasn’t really expecting anything articulate from him, and had, in fact, intended to shut him down if he dared to try spewing more of his fake-wisdom bullshit about feelings and human nature, but this time it felt… kind of genuine. Kind of. She wasn’t going to give him too much credit.

“And um,” Johnny mumbled. “I forgot to say, uh, I’m very grateful that you would meet with me tonight… I didn’t expect you to offer me the chance to speak, either, so…”

Devi rolled her eyes with a hint of amusement in her exacerbation.

“Oh, can it already, would you?” She turned to him, and Johnny immediately quieted himself, though more do to the fact that Devi’s voice had since softened from the last time she spoke.

Devi observed his unassuming and nervous posture, and instead of again feeling rage that he would try to appear meek, felt some level of pride that he truly was so intimidated by her. She had insistently told herself that, when it came to Johnny, the power imbalance was in her favor, but after his little confession, she was more secure in that belief. It did make her feel slightly at ease, though she refused to lower her guard all the same. Even if he didn’t mean to hurt her, he still tried to, after all. It might even be worse that his violent outbursts are triggered by his feelings, regardless of if he actually wants the bloody, end result or not – but that was just something to file away as an important note, and didn’t change the fact that he would be coming back to her apartment again.

She uncrossed one of her arms and offered him her bag of chips, almost nonchalantly. Johnny blinked in surprise at the gesture, and flickered his eyes between her and the bag hesitantly a few times before sticking his hand inside and taking a palmful of chips out. Part of him imagined that she had set a mousetrap inside to snap on his fingers, or something.

“Well,” Devi sighed to the sky while he munched away. “you ready to pick up where we left off?”

Johnny stopped mid-chew, staring at her in shock. He swallowed quickly.

“Wh—r-really??” He asked. “You would really want to, to continue mentoring me??”

Devi smiled smugly.

“If I’m supposed to believe what you’re saying, than your emotions are so intense that even when you respect someone, you can’t stop yourself from resorting to violence if they upset you. Your ‘fight or flight’ instinct is too much for you to control, as it is now.” She tilted her head to him. “Which means we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Johnny smiled, smothering the remaining chips in his hand unintentionally, as his fist tightened against his chest with elation. He could barely absorb her words with his brain buzzing the way it was, but he nodded madly all the same,

“Yes! Yes, I’m ready!” He grinned. “Can we go now?”

Devi’s mouth slanted, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“What?” She asked. “No, not tonight, you nutcase.”

“Why not??” He pushed, smile still sprawled up to his cheeks. “We could go, and keep it short—!”

“HEY.” Devi huffed, sticking a finger aggressively between his eyes. Johnny’s mouth shut, his eyes crossed to stare at her pointed nail hovering just over the bend of his nose, only uncrossing when she spoke again.

“I’m going to be way harder on you now, so don’t get all comfy on me, Johnny.” She retracted her hand, then offered another slit of a smile. “And I need a night to sleep on your stupid-ass apology before I even think of helping you along. Just, come over tomorrow night, ‘kay?”

Even with all the insults, Johnny couldn’t stop his smile from bursting back to life.

“Okay!” He beamed. “Okay, I will see you tomorrow night! 6:00PM, yes?”

“Yes.” Devi groaned, shaking her head with the faint remnants of a smile, and returned to her car. She needed a fucking nap. Johnny finally unfurled his fist, shoving the remaining chip crumbs into his mouth and waving goodbye to her enthusiastically as she drove off.

--

NEXT.

[stusbunker]

Lay Me Down

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Sam and Dean Winchester, unnamed female character/ reader, Castiel, briefly Jack

A/N: Show level violence and gore. Lots of gunshots, attempted suicide(bad guy). Angst. Character death. I decided to try this for @supernatural-jackles #Weekly Writing Challenge. Prompts will be in bold. I have about fifty other things I should be writing and of course this came out instead. Case is rushed, but action demanded it. xoxo Stu

Word Count: ~3388

Song Inspired: All the Pretty Girls by Kaleo

“What?” Sam recoiled at her smug display.

“She totally wanted to take a bite of you, man,” she warned, leaning back to watch the cop retreat behind her desk.

Dean sneaked up on them at just the right moment. “What are we looking at?”

“The cop making goo-goo eyes at your brother.”

“Not the time, Sammy. We have a team ganking those poor saps, so we need our A game.”

Sam stammered, “I wasn’t-”

“Later, Romeo.” She pulled him out of the precinct by linking their arms, patting on his large hand as to comfort him of his loss. The Impala waited for them at the curb outside and in less than ten minutes they found their next stop, the only store in town that carried ammo. Whoever they were hunting seemed to like their magic with a side of gunshot wounds, that’s why no one else had put two and two together. Until Sam got the autopsy reports emailed to him, anonymously.

C.O.D. may have been G.S.W. to the chest, but whatever potions they had added to the bullets left the people purple husks of themselves. Five victims over twelve months in a town with little other major crime. The public were passed high alert and into panic mode. The locals practically threw a party for the fake Federal Agents that morning, and not just the chipper traffic cop. Everyone wanted answers.

^*^

After narrowing down the suspect pool, Dean called Cas in. He didn’t want anyone to be left without back up and with what seemed to be two witches at work, neither were to be underestimated.

“What I don’t get is why shoot them, then poison them,” Dean groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Tell me about it, is it just to confuse the M.E.?”

“Not a very innocuous way to destroy evidence,” Sam added, closing the folder in his lap.

“That can’t be it. Whatever magic this is, it isn’t a poison. Because that would be cleaner than shooting someone. The potion must be for something else,” Dean continued.

“It’s a soul siphoning serum,” Castiel had been squinting at the photographs from the morgue.

“Say that five times fast,” Dean said under his breath, she couldn’t help but laugh as he goaded her.

“So whoever is doing this is sucking out the victims’ souls?” Sam cleared his throat, giving his brother and their friend a teacher’s scowl.

“It’s like a conduit, instead of the soul being released by the witch or more likely warlock, the serum allows the power of the deceased’s soul to be absorbed by the spell’s caster,” Castiel grabbed a pen and started writing down some runes.

Meanwhile she got Sam’s attention, “how much do you guys know about warlocks?”

“Uh, some, I think Cuthbert Sinclair probably was the closest we’ve dealt with,” Sam frowned as his focus turned back to his laptop.

“Not that douche, so what, we’ve got people’s souls in jars or is it an instant recharge button. Boom, the bastards get some more pep in their step?” Dean waited for Cas to finish his scribbling.

“It’s a lot more than pep, Dean. If we are going in, we need to set up a trap. As warlocks tap into demonic energy, these should dampen their powers, but at least one of them will still have elevated abilities.”

“Still got those witch killing bullets, boys?” She sat up straight, determination masking the fear in her eyes.

“Never leave the Bunker without them,” Sam smirked.

“Sam and I will work on, enhancing, the ammunition for a warlock,” Cas suggested. “You two work out exactly who they are and how we can draw them out.”

^*^

“You know teasing Sam about girls is about the fastest way to get him to retreat, right?” Dean asked her once they were comfortably down the road.

“Dean, stop, okay? It’s not like that, with either of you,” she looked him dead in the eye as he cocked his head and considered her rebuttal.

“You jumped on that pretty fast,” licking his lips like the smooth bastard he was. “But I was talking in general, you know. Girls and Sam are a touchy subject.”

“After Eileen?”

“Um, yeah, but there were others and each one ended wrong. But don’t tell him I told you that.”

“Won’t, plus it’s not like you have a list of epic romances that ended mutually. None of us do, that’s not hunter style, not really,” she called him out and summed it up, like she always did. Speaking hard truths and kicking ass. Ignoring and denying herself, because there were more important things. Dean nodded, squinting into the afternoon sunshine. She wondered if he owned a pair of sunglasses or if he just liked straining his eyes. Dumb ass.

Dean pulled into the circular drive of the looming old house, though it was immaculately cared for, it still wore its years at the seams. She led the charge to the ornate front door, hoping the well-respected Mason wasn’t an unholy murderer all the same. Dean scowled as the door remained unanswered, though two vehicles were visible in the car port. As they peeked in different windows, their suspicions were verified when a rumble erupted from inside the house.

They drew their weapons and as Dean squared himself to kick in the door, it burst open. A golden blast of light sent him and the door on top of him back ten feet. Dean rolled, hunching against the cruel landing on the front lawn.

“Freeze, Federal Agents,” she tried to keep charade, at least for the neighbors who may be home during the day.

“Sorry, honey, but you’re coming with me,” the man’s unnaturally breathy voice answered. And before she could reply or Dean could focus enough to aim, they disappeared.

“Fuck!” Dean roared.

^*^

Cas and Sam took a cab and met Dean outside the house as the locals swarmed the premises after being called in for a disturbance. Dean was talking to the lead detective about what happened, who insisted he get checked out after losing consciousness.

“Dean, we can’t do a thorough search with all of these people aggravating the contents of the house,” Cas worried.

“Yeah, well, better than letting them search it alone and end up a toad or worse,” Dean snipped, giving Cas his sad half smile.

“We’ll get her back, Dean.”

“Oh, you bet your ass we will.” He wouldn’t look his brother in the eye.

Two hours passed where nothing exploded or remotely magically was found on any level of the house. Dean’s agitation grew by the minute.

“Okay, I, uh, we all need something to do. So let’s get back to the motel and regroup, find the partner, maybe, or –”

“Sounds like a plan, food on the way?”

It was the damn coroner the whole time. Which they only discovered after reviewing the autopsy reports that Sam had been sent versus the official ones, which were lousy with muted details and outright omissions. They waited for night fall and made their way back to the morgue.

^*^

It was a trap, she was bait and she was pissed. Mouth breather one and clammy hands doctor were slowly trying to take over the town. Power hungry loners together at last. Luckily, she knew the guys would be prepared for anything, but it didn’t make the worry stop churning in her gut. Instead of focusing on the negative, she used her time to figure out what made each man tick.

Obviously, Mister pillar-of-the-community was the dominant personality while the M.E. was the minion. She tried not to let her biases determine who had just sucked down a soul, but it seemed like her kidnapper wasn’t the type to share such power. He certainly wasn’t the type to stick around and babysit her. He left her in the back office with his sidekick going on an hour and a half. Before she could properly sweet talk the pasty coroner, her rescue team arrived.

They sent in Castiel, in scrubs, she caught his reflection in the window from the hallway, which she figured was because he hadn’t been on the case during initial interviews. But it was a small town and any new face caused justifiable distrust. While Cas waited for whatever paperwork or samples he had been sent to claim, she worked on freeing herself.

*^*

With the second can of spray paint emptied along the surrounding corridor, Sam signaled Dean to move on. Everything seemed to move in cornered urgency once the lights went out. When the emergency spots came on at the exits, Dean spotted him approaching, tendrils of magic crawling from his eyes, a deep amber pendant pulsing at his throat as he threw everything he had at the hunters. Both men were pinned to the wall, backs rattling the blinds on the opposite side of the windows where Cas was trying to buy them time.

“What was that?!”

“I’m not sure, perhaps you should check?” Cas tried, he really did, but he still wasn’t very convincing. The coroner froze for two beats as he waited for Castiel to move, panic won out and he dove back into the office to ensure their bait was still on the hook. The door slammed in Cas’s face, handle burning hot with warding. Cas’s grace blazed through him as he tried to break the enchantment stopping him. The sound of choking forced him to turn around and see what the Winchesters were facing in the hall.

^*^

She stumbled out the back, trying to breach the heavy emergency door as quietly as possible. The cement steps continued out into the base of a massive retaining wall and another set of stairs. She threw herself forward hoping to find the Impala and any of its weapons to circle back. She heard the door burst open behind her as she reached the final stair, but she didn’t look back. She ran with everything she had to reach the corner of the building and the hope of suitable cover but the shot that echoed in the cool night air was faster.

^*^

Castiel stared at the warlock pinning Sam and Dean in place in confusion, the warding should be dampening his abilities. Castiel reached out with his grace and broke the man’s concentration, pulling him out of his trance.

“He’s channeling powers, besides the souls,” Castiel spoke through the strain.

“Somebody is a quick study, now, uh, what are we, hmmm?” The man’s eyes sparkled as he measured Castiel. “Devon! Devon let’s get this one first. He’s going to be just, divine.”

“He doesn’t have a soul you can suck on, Sparky,” Dean barked, clamping a firm hand on the distracted warlock’s shoulder, as soon as he made contact Dean flew back once more.

“Yes, I know that, Dude, but his Grace is extractable as well, isn’t it?”

“Where is she?” Sam changed the subject, standing beside Castiel. “You’d knew we’d come for her, what did you do with her?”

“Devon has your little pet, quite the talons on that one,” he hummed before gasping, finally a waiver in his resolve. Which is all it took for Dean to try for the amulet at his throat once more. Sam flanked him, grabbing his left hand and locking it into iron shackles. In a split second a shot rang out and the three men fell in a huddle as Cas’s hold broke. Dean wrenched the thick cables of cord from his neck, the magic radiating from the cursed stone. Sam worked to secure the other wrist.

“I think… I think I’ve been shot,” Cas groaned as he slummed against the far wall, along the office door frame.

“Cas?!” Dean was there in four strides, panic filled him as he checked the wound, the bullet still inside him. “Sam!”

Sam kicked away from the nullified warlock. “On it,” he replied as he chased down the infamous sidekick Devon, gun drawn and menacing.

^*^

The cement hit every part of her, a mass of uncontrollable weight fell hard against the wet stone. She should have been uncomfortable, but the magic of the bullet seemed to muffle the pain into a bubble of heat centered just above her bottom ribs. The spell spread quickly, like spilled water on a tabletop, spreading until it had no more volume to spare. She willed herself to roll, to push on, but the magic dulled every resistance. The sky was hard to make out against the fluorescent security lights, but she convinced herself there were stars beyond the false beacons. That there was something worth wishing on.

^*^

“Come on Cas, heal damnit!” Dean growled.

“I am, Dean.” Cas sighed in exasperation, digging the bullet from his vessel before continuing to flood the body with healing light. “The magic was strong, but it wasn’t meant for angels. It will just be a bit longer. Go find Sam and the partner.”

“We still gotta–”

“I’ll find her, in a sec.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean patted his shoulder before checking his gun. As Dean strode passed the prone man, he contemplated putting a bullet straight between the guys’ eyes, but let the urge pass as he raced after his brother.

Cas stood slowly, eyes burning the now terrified man across the hall. He spotted the pendant on the floor where Dean had dropped it and just before he crushed it beneath his heel, Castiel muttered a chilling, “good riddance.”

^*^

There were only a few rooms left where Devon could have gone, but Sam took his time, clearing each office and storage room with the diligence that was ingrained in his very being. He felt Dean behind him, but spun all the same, as the brothers locked eyes they moved to the last room. The chill in the air greeting them as they stepped to either side of the Autopsy Room. The wall of refrigerated beds their only option.

“This guy is whacked,” Dean muttered, starting at the top row and working down.

“Ya think?”

“Uh, Cas is getting her, by the way, but we should get back quick, he’s still weak,” Dean froze in front of the final door, counting down with his fingers.

3-2-1

Sam’s finger was itching on the trigger before they realized it wasn’t Devon, but another victim. A lab tech that Sam recognized from another case, he couldn’t remember her name, but she must have sent him the original reports. Their hearts sank as they left her there on the metal tray. Dean sealed the door once more and they backtracked.

^*^

Cas staggered through the office, finding her restraints empty. He followed her only possible course, quickly ending up outside. The smell of blood and the slowing of a heartbeat pulled the healing angel to the edge of the building.

“Oh no,” Cas fell to his knees, hand sliding down her face to her pulse. “Where?”

“He got me in the back, can you believe it?” She groaned as Castiel carefully slid her on to her side.

“You’re going to be fine.”

“When are we ever fine, Cas?”

^*^

Devon was back in the first hallway, devastated tears pooling down his face as he paced, the damaged necklace clutched in his fist with his gun in the other.

“What happened,” Sam whispered.

“I don’t know, Cas must have snuffed him,” Dean shrugged and aimed. “Devon, come on man, it’s over.”

��You! You did this!” Devon pointed his gun at Dean’s face, his arm visibly trembling with grief.

“No, man, look, I left him where he was, I swear,” Dean held up his hands, belting his weapon with a single glance at Sam, whose was still at the ready.

They were at a standstill, when suddenly Devon countered, “I will make this right.”

“Devon don’t do anything stupid,” Sam barked.

“Loyalty isn’t stupid, even you dude-bros have to know that,” Devon-the-coroner spat.

“What are you talking about?” Dean took a step forward, only to throw his hands back up when Devon squared his shoulders and straightened his gun arm.

“My soul will give him enough power to heal himself,” Devon sniffed and turned the barrel to his temple.

“He’s gone, man. Don’t do this, your life isn’t worth this,” Dean begged.

“Good luck, Matthew,” Devon closed his eyes against the shouts of the hunters, but before he could pull the trigger, Sam did.

Dean spun, incredulous at his brother’s move. “I couldn’t risk it working, Dean,” Sam swallowed, not pleased with making the tough choice.

^*^

She could feel the cool touch of his Grace as he tried to heal her. It was a simple comfort beneath her now unbearable reality. They had her back, even when she couldn’t get back to help them. She watched Cas’s brow furrow as he worked, eyes closed. He always had kind eyes, even when he was furious. It would be a good last face to see. Something more tangible to make her wishes on.

“I just need you to do this one thing for me,” she struggled against the blood filling her lung. “I need you to burn my journal. They, they don’t need to find that. It would only make it, worse.” She swallowed, “D’you hear me?”

Cas leaned forward, struggling to knit her wounds closed, but the more he tried, the harder the magic seeped into her system and pushed back. “You can burn it yourself,” his deep voice clipped.

“Cas? It’s okay, just let me go ‘ith my Reaper. My books have all been swapped out now,” she said simply, with little worry in her voice. But the telltale tears mirrored themselves in the angel’s ancient eyes. He nodded his understanding and watched her go where he was no longer welcome. Though the serum chased her soul, the effects fizzled out as Sam left no spell-caster standing for it to return to. Her soul was safe.

^*^

Dean reached them first, sliding down to their level to lend a hand. The moments of frantically patting at her body only echoed the quiet stillness that was Castiel. Dean’s large palm found her cheek, his eyes burned as he looked into the open lifeless eyes of his friend. He called to her, begged her, berated Cas, but nothing could undo what was done. He rocked her into his lap, holding her to his chest as the weight of her body seemed to increase with every passing agony.

She still smelled the same, sure there was blood and dark magic swirling from her too, but that was just any other hunt. This was just another hunt. He didn’t realize he had lost his grip until Sam pulled him to standing. It took Sam five tries before Dean heard him. Sam gestured to Cas, who held her body in his arms, as they walked back to the Impala. Dean sat in the back with them as only Sam could drive at that point.

Sam didn’t sleep, driving all night only to find Jack to help with the pyre. Cas dragged Dean away so he could wrap the body without him falling apart again. When Dean fell asleep it was with gunsmoke and rust in his nose. He couldn’t dream and found no rest. Sam searched for her, naturally, she was wrapped and waiting on her bed, her hands crossed over her chest beneath the mock-ghost white sheet. It wasn’t how they usually did it, but he didn’t say anything. In truth, Sam was grateful he wouldn’t have to dwell on what the magic had done to her.

His exhales were ragged as he spoke to her, little things about how she always stole his shampoo or sang worse than Dean. Words of gratitude and affirmation that she wouldn’t have accepted were she alive. After more tears and pauses than he would have liked, Sam gave his farewell. Trusting Billie’s minions had taken her to paradise; she deserved the best a hunter could get. Hell, she deserved better.

When he kissed her forehead, Dean’s voice stilled him. “We ready?”

“Never ready for this one,” Sam croaked, but nodded to his brother all the same. He took her shoulders while Dean hooked her knees beneath his elbow. Castiel and Jack followed them out into the woods where they laid her down on the bed of brush and logs in silence.

^*^

@madlu45 @dontshootmespence @mrswhozeewhatsis @mogaruke @because-imma-lady-assface

@seenashwrite How’d I do on the no Y/N part?

[sibillascribbles08]

Sleep what is that??? lmaooooo

Anyway have some more... Max

In which Toby brings him to visit but they trip on the way in

Uhhh warnings for mentions of child death idk if I need a more serious warning or not for this mmmm

Toby probably should have given his friend some kind of run down or a warning before he pulled them both through the jump. But in all the excitement it didn’t really cross his mind.

Not until they landed, and Max’s wide grin rapidly turned into shock and horror.

Toby followed his gaze to where he was looking, at a pair of security droids chatting with each other across the street.

Static shot up his left arm, a sensation he didn’t recognize but he knew it wasn’t good. He saw Max bare his teeth, the gold growing them into fangs. Purple smog began to rise from his skin.

Toby reacted as fast as he could. He snatched Max’s arm and dragged them both through another jump, dropping them far outside the city. It was a messy leap, causing them both to crash onto the grass. Toby was quick to roll back onto his feet, watching Max.

“What the fuck?” His friend scrambled back up, fangs still out. Gold was leaking into his eye. “What the hell was that?”

“Max, it’s okay.” Toby walked toward him, hands out. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you–” 

“Why are those things just walking around?” Max pointed to the city which could still be seen from the hill they stood on.

“They live here.” Toby cringed. Why didn’t he consider Max would have a negative reaction to that. Hell, he still didn’t know the details of what his friend had been through.

“They what?” When Max shouted his whole body seemed to ripple, as if something was trying to break out of his skin. “Why?”

“Things have changed.” That was the simple explanation at least. “They don’t work for The Overlord anymore. If it wasn’t for them I couldn’t have gotten the city to where it is now.” Toby gestured at the buildings, or most of them anyway. Hopefully Max wouldn’t focus on the husk of Borg tower that still stood at the center. “I promise, Max, they’re not a threat.”

“That doesn’t change what they did to us.”

“No,” Toby agreed. “But there’s no point in lingering in that when they’ve done all they can to make up for it. Doesn’t that make sense?”

Max didn’t seem completely convinced, but at least the smoke dissipated and the gold retreated from his eye. “Guess things are just really different around here, huh?” He blew his hair out of his face. “But I have to admit, not sure I’m comfortable standing in the same room as them right now.”

“That’s fine.” Toby waved his hands. “We can uhhhh look around the city at night. Almost all of them go inside at night, pretend curfew stuff.” He nodded a few times, as if it was a for sure solution. “Except Gizmo, he’s up all night, but I know his routine.” 

His friend studied him for a few more moments before his shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, that might be better to start.” He turned around to look at the city, then at everything else. “It’s really weird to think this universe is so similar to the one I’m from. It’s so... vibrant.”

“It wasn’t always.” Toby offered a smile, relieved that whole mess was over. “Actually, there is something we can look at right now if you want. I know no one will be up there.”

Max still seemed uncertain, but curious enough to take Toby’s hand when he extended it.

One more jump had them landing in the top floor of the factory, the hallways Toby converted into a memorial. Names and numbers lined the entire wall, from top to bottom. Failed experiments, kids who never saw the light of day, others that died trying to fight back.

Toby wanted to make sure not a single one was left out.

It didn’t seem he needed to explain what it was at least. Max looked around the room, in a sort of awe. His gaze darted over the names before he stepped forward, running his fingers over the engravings.

“Huh,” his voice echoed in the empty room. “Really puts stuff into perspective doesn’t it.”

“Yeah.” Toby always felt some kind of comfort in coming here, but it still made him sad at the same time. He never even met most of these kids. “Part of why I had it made.”

Max kept walking along, looking at names, until he came to a stop again. His fingers lingered over where his own name was. “Can’t lie.” He tried to smile. “That’s a bit odd.”

“Yeah well, in some other universe it’s probably my name up there.”

His friend chuckled. “Man, remember how you got your name? Back when we were all planning our escape? Is it the same for you as it was for me?”

“What?” Toby smiled back. “You asking me what I wanted my name to be? And I repeated ‘to be’ so many times it just turned into Toby?”

“Yeah!” Max pointed at him and grinned wider. At least those fangs were gone. “Brook suggested it, and Flare said it was super lame.”

“Too bad, it stuck.” Toby stuck out his tongue. “Sorry I wasn’t creative to come up with cool names like Flare or Maximum.”

“Oh god, don’t remind me.” Max ran his hand down his face, letting it linger over his mouth. “Why did I think that was a good idea?”

“Because we were kids.” Toby said it as a joke, but the air was swallowed into silence again as the pair of them looked at each other.

They were kids.

They were just kids.

“You said you were just ten, right?” Max frowned. “When I fell apart.”

Toby cringed. “Can we... not talk about that?” He hugged himself. “Honestly, despite all the shit I’ve seen it still stacks up as one of the worst memories of my life.”

“Sorry,” Max ran his hand through his hair. “I just... pisses me off you were put in that position. It’s one thing if it’s me but–”

“What does that mean?” Toby didn’t mean to growl. “As if killing you friends gets easier with age.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” His voice cracked and he swallowed. “I shouldn’t have been put in that position and neither should you. It doesn’t matter if you were older.” He shook his head. “You were always like that, trying to be responsible for everything. Even when you were dying you wouldn’t stop apologizing for dropping that burden on me. Hell, at first you tried to convince me to just run.”

Max frowned, his eye wide. “At first?”

Toby pressed his lips together, more than aware of the threatening tears as the images and sounds tried to rip through his head. “Yeah, then the pain really hit you and you... it was so bad you were begging me to put a stop to it.”

Max moved so quick Toby almost didn’t notice. His friend pulled him into a hug, holding him close.

“I’m sorry.” Max muttered.

“Stop apologizing for it.” Toby replied, though it made little sense to say. This was a different Max. “You were just a kid like the rest of us, older or not.”

“Yeah, but I know how it feels.” Max pulled away enough that he could nudge Toby’s bangs away from his face. “And the thought of you having to go through that at an even younger age... I wish I could have protected you from it. I wish I could have protected all of you.” He looked back at the wall of names.

Toby shook his head. “As much as it sucks, you can’t save everyone.” He rubbed his eyes where tears were trying to form. “You just do what you can, and try and make a better future for those you could save.”

“Hah,” Max’s smile was sad as he took another step back. “I couldn’t save anyone.”

Toby blinked, about to ask what that meant, but it was interrupted by familiar footsteps.

“Toby?”

He spun around to see Cryptor standing in the hall. His boyfriend’s eye darted from him to Max.

Oh no.

That same spark hit his arm. He spun around and rushed in front of Max, that gold already covering his eye.

“Max, it’s okay.” Toby said, not wanting to warp them out unless he had to. “He’s a friend, I promise.”

“Him?” Max’s voice boomed in the hall. “I know who that is.”

“I know you know.” Toby ran the risk of gripping his arms. “But he’s not the one you knew, I swear. Just take a breath.”

Relief rushed through him when Max did as he asked. The sensation in his arm dissipated.

“Sorry,” Max said. “Did you need Toby for something?” His expression toward Cryptor was nothing short of threatening, as if daring the nindroid to speak.

“I...” Cryptor’s gaze kept flashing over Max, occasionally pausing at the pin that held his cloak together. “I heard he came back. Thought it odd that he did without coming to see me but I suppose this explains why.”

Max snorted. “Well, if you need to catch up that’s fine.” He stepped out of Toby’s grip. “I’ll be in the roof.”

Toby moved to follow. “Max–”

His friend suddenly shifted into water, all of it dropping to the floor before it slid under the wall like a snake.

“Is... that normal?” Cryptor stepped up to Toby, but slow, cautious, as if he expected Max to come back at any second.

“I don’t know.” Toby frowned. “To be honest I’m still getting to know him all over again.”

“You said that was Max? But isn’t Max–”

“Alternate universes, you know.” Toby shrugged, his smile was half hearted. “Sorry, I would have explained as soon as I got here but he uh... isn’t a fan of nindroids.”

Cryptor crossed his arms. “In all fairness, you shouldn’t be either. I suppose I can understand his reaction.”

Toby shook his head. “I’ll sort it out, promise, but I better go check on him. I um... I’m not sure if I should have him running around this place on his own.”

Cryptor nodded. “Understood. I’ll leave you to it then. Come find me when he’s up for it, or when you get some free time.”

Toby smiled and stepped over. He put his hand on Cryptor’s wrist, convincing the nindroid to lower his arms so he could move in close before giving him a kiss.

Cryptor smiled. “Is that the ‘I’m sorry’ kiss or the ‘I missed you’ kiss.”

“That was the ‘I missed you’ kiss.” Toby grinned before kissing Cryptor’s nose. “That’s the ‘I’m sorry’ kiss.” He started to trail kisses over his cheek and to his neck. “These are the ‘I love you’ kisses.”

“Alright, stop.” Cryptor pushed him away, but he was still smiling. “You need to follow him.”

“Aw,” Toby pouted. “No ‘I love you’ back?”

His boyfriend shook his head before reaching out, hands on both of Toby’s cheeks as he returned a kiss. “I love you too. I’ll see you later.”

He was grinning again. He nuzzled his nose against Cryptor’s cheek and stole one last kiss before teleporting to the roof.

[mindlessselfdeprivation]

The Nothing

It’s just like The Neverending Story. It’s not darkness, it’s not even a hole, because even hole would be something. No, this...this is just nothing.

That’s depression. That’s what true despair is, it’s The Nothing that eats up your everything. It bleaches your life, nothing has any color or flavor or texture anymore. Food sucks, company is annoying, being alone is excruciating and substances exist only as a shit-ass temporary floaty. Recreation means nothing anymore, every desperate action during the day is taken only to distract me from myself for a little bit longer. Sleep will come soon, and in sleep there’s just that sweet fucking nothing. 

Which is what you feel like you constantly have, at any given time. Nothing. The Nothing has it now. And now every memory is covered in spikes, too painful to even go near.

Nothing can make you feel ok anymore, and your good days are the ones where you only brood and lament your life for a few hours out of the day. You know, as opposed to every second you’re awake. 

Those days happen so much more often. I swear to fucking God, some days I feel like the pain inside me is gonna open a fucking hole in the earth. Like I’m no longer going to be able to keep this horrible monster at bay anymore, and the scream that finally peals out of me will shred my lungs and crack open an abyss that swallows me once and for all. 

I fear for anyone that might be around when that bomb goes off. Which is another problem. Although I’m desperate to be seen and heard and known and loved, I’m fucking terrified of getting near anyone ever again, it seems like an absurd idea to even say it out loud. I’m a goddamned hurricane, I’m a fucking natural disaster on legs, an extinction level event taken human form. All of my relationships....it’s just a festering sewage basin, that whole area of my life. Everything there, flies and pestilence, disease and rot. 

That’s my heart in there too. Fucking rotten, like an old forgotten tree stump wasting away in a swamp somewhere in whogivesafuck. Thinking on it, can I even love anymore? Do I even know what that is anymore? 

An older woman I work with asked me for a hug the other day cause she was a little sad, thinking about her brother that died...and I was happy to oblige, she’s the sweetest little thing. And I realized - holy shit, this is the first real hug I’ve had in an entire year. I’ve hardly touched anyone for ten months outside of a handshake or a friendly bro-hug. 

And afterwards she thanked me and said I gave great hugs, and it dawned on me...I remembered being a guy who loved hugs, remembered a guy that was very romantic and affectionate, that insisted on using physical touch to remind those around him that he loved them dearly....then I looked over from that guy to the one that’s in there now. What a shadow, what a husk he’s become. Empty and hollow and discarded. A lost soul...an inevitable consequence of The Nothing.

The worst thing? I mean, if there is a blacker black than all the rest...

The Apathy. That’s what The Nothing shits out and leaves behind for you. You just don’t....fucking....care...anymore.

I used to have passion, play music, learn language or just about any damn thing else (I was always such a junkie for knowledge), write stories or poetry or music or any one of a dozen other things that enjoyed. And I don’t even write this out of sadness or with some sense of self pity, this is just a cold, apathetic recall of facts. There was a guy who knew love and there’s the guy sitting there now. And those are simply two different guys. And the insurance adjuster in me is fairly certain that at this level of damage, it’ll cost more to repair the existing vehicle than it would to just buy a new one.

I don’t have any real relationships anymore. I have the ones that are necessary to maintain normal social function, but even those I put in just enough to get buy and no more. I’ve lost too much and hurt too deeply and hurt others far too much to let anyone close anymore. It’s hard to describe how it feels to look around you and realize you’re standing alone, no one around. 

The only times I hear from someone is when they need something from me. I’m like a tool for rent. Why buy this thing when I only ever need to use it once in a blue moon?

Family? No, two sisters and two brothers in law that I don’t know anymore and they definitely don’t know me. A mom that taught me to use people like pawns and a dad so devoid of emotion and connection that it’s impossible to communicate, a daughter I never see or speak to anymore and an ex that swore we’d remain amicable for the sake of our daughter but slowly, methodically, and fucking brilliantly shut me out of her life completely...and my daughter with her by extension. Friends? No one there that knows me either, just people I talk to on occasion to spend a little bit of my distraction time with someone else.

But no one around me knows this. I put on a pretty decent mask I suppose, my boss apparently thought I was a really happy guy and married with kids. Ha. Cool, it’s working. I’ve gotten good at camouflage. It’s just another form of lying, and I’m incredibly good at lying. 

Talking about it, is like...what’s the fucking point? This is a tar pit, baby. I’m not bringing anyone else in this. Even if you were standing right next to me with a brilliant torch, this darkness, this Nothing around me is far too thick to see it. 

I miss writing though, maybe that’s why I’m finally doing this. Putting something down. I’m going to commit to talking to this fucking thing everyday. No one knows me here, I barely use this website. I only ever got onto it for....well, another person who eventually left. Maybe that’s why I feel I can be ok here, being naked and bleeding and fucked up and real.....no one who knows me by my mask will have to know what lives underneath it. This is my tree of trust.

I don’t want this to just be a dumping ground for depressed Emo bullshit though, I can go listen to Dashboard Confessionals while cutting myself if I wanted to go there. What I want is a true exploration and record of The Nothing as it grows stronger, what it’s taking, what fuels it, can I escape. I don’t want help either, I don’t think there is any such thing (see tar pit reference above). Maybe you’re always alone too, maybe you’re also constantly afraid that the house of cards will get blown down and people will see the real ugly inside. 

Maybe this is just me yelling into the wind that you’re alone, but not so alone. Maybe all of us are and none of us. Maybe I don’t know what to believe anymore.

I’ve tried to remember it, you know. Happiness. I’ve tried to find that motherfucker like Sherlock and his dear Watson, complete with cocaine and violins. You ever try to think of a nice warm fire while you’re soaking wet and freezing your balls off? And how’d that work out for ya? Same idea - “Just think happy thoughts” is like telling someone that just fell into arctic waters that they should “Just think of a nice warm fire”.

Hopefully, they’re still giving you the finger when their body gets frozen in place. It’d be a bit of justice, if there is such a thing.

That happiness is like the thought of a warm blanket when I’m currently buried in snow. Doesn’t actually exist.

There’s not a day where I don’t wake up wishing to fuck that I hadn’t. And there isn’t a night that I go to sleep that I don’t pray that I won’t wake up this time. Life has become a grueling marathon of pain and most days I have trouble figuring out why I fucking bother. 

Even as I’m writing this, I’m constantly stopping to wonder what’s the fucking point. 

I’ve gone on dating apps, funny enough. But every time I actually think about having a connection with someone, it honestly freaks me the fuck out. I’m so fucking damaged, there’s just no fucking way I’ll find someone with a back strong enough to help me carry all this baggage. I freak out and delete the account.

It’s completely not about the sex for me, if you can believe it. I’ve got such a low libido recently that even the idea of it lately gives me paralyzing anxiety. I don’t want to have sex if it’s not with someone I have a good intellectual connection with, and I never have. The problem with that is that sex in my mind is held on this strange pedestal where it straddles the line between sacred entity and foul beast, and it’s gotten so complicated and ridiculous that I just don’t care anymore. 

There isn’t anything even tempting or alluring about sex anymore. Even masturbation is almost completely without enjoyment, used every so often as a tool for general upkeep. And even this The Nothing has it’s hands on. The other day, I stumbled on a video that looked almost exactly like my child’s mother with another man...and I got physically ill. After throwing up 3 times and shaking for nearly an hour, I slowly pulled myself back from the panic attack I was having.

I didn’t eat for 3 days and I couldn’t get another erection for more than a week. Suppose it’s safe to say I’m still in love with that woman, I guess. Not only did I feel like absolute shit that whole week, I felt like shit for feeling like shit. My Yin and my Yang were both very very pissed off. This is just one of a number of broken fuses and faulty wires inside this broken machine.

Sometimes I wish we had the ability to do a form of Vulcan Min-meld, but with emotions and empathy. Especially when someone asks what’s wrong. Just grab their hand and rest it gently over my heart and let it tell the story for which I’ll never have the words. 

That’s also why I’d be scared like hell if that were possible, I’d be afraid the weight of it would crush them. I’m not trying to be really morose or hyperbolic, I’m fairly certain the vast majority of people walking around out there don’t carry this. I’ve talked to them, I know them. When you’ve spent a fucking lifetime perfecting your camouflage and your tower of lies, you can spot someone else playing that game from a mile away. And I’m not saying everyone else out there is skipping through a magic pixie lolly-pop fairyland or anything, but most people out there are general pretty stoked about being alive and doing stuff. People like me are out there, but I don’t see very many people that are under the spell of The Nothing.

I fucking hope not, this is an existence I wouldn’t wish on anyone, friend or foe. On that note, I also hope you aren’t going through that as well if you’re reading this right now. If you’ve never counted the different ways you could choose to end your life instead of counting sheep to fall asleep at night, you are truly blessed. 

I hope you stay whole. And with whatever capacity I’m still capable of feeling it, I love you. Cause maybe you don’t hear it that often either, and for that I’m sorry. I’d rather go without food than love, and I’ve been in both spots before.

I hope The Nothing never finds you.

Until next time.

[bluesnsuch]

Bears and Bees: A love story without an ending Part 4

"There’s good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad.” -Kurt Cobain

For Belen, you knew perfectly how to melt my heart, and how to break it.

A home to call the our own, paid with our own money and filled with our own things, complete with our own little dog. What more could someone possibly want? It was a feat to accomplish, something I think I was proud of and it was almost like a dream I never saw, but only felt in the deepest recesses of my mind. I was a family man, I could picture the future even clearer, little doggie, wifey, kids pattering through the halls, a nice picket fence and sunshine brushing over our home. Whatever we were going to do in our first home here, was gonna be the first step towards our forever, one that I would want, forever. Living in that apartment wasn't easy, there were lots of times where things in there didn't work right, or we were stressed about bills or food, but at the end of the day, at least we were with each other and able to support when we needed it most. Those early days of shopping together and bonding over making dinner together, watching television like our little routine and loving each other warms my heart just picturing being there again. It's almost like a window, and I'm just a passerby who can't go inside those memories anymore, just look and envy I suppose. I was happy to be married, happy to be supporting a life I built, and happy to have my one rock, my angel and inspiration to keep moving forward. I recall so many of our little routines, getting two for one chocolates and sharing with each other, walking through the thrift stores and loving all the little treasures we'd find. It's funny to think about all the impulsive purchases we made, but it made our home that much more special and unique. Getting to just cuddle up with a dog and great partner, was enough to keep me going till the next day. I don't think things started going as downhill as they did until Bee quit their job, I supported it heavily though, they were working my baby too harshly and it wasn't good for their health. A large portion of the financial burden was on me, when you've got a spouse with depression as well, it's not easy to manage it all with little support. I dove into my work, and this is not even taking into account my university studies. In a sense, I truly was working around the clock. I regret not being strong enough to both attend to my duties as a husband and provider, and being able to be emotionally supportive to my spouse, able to comfort them and be what they needed. I was gone a lot, and so stressed and tired when I was around, I can see how it wasn't easy to live with me, let alone keep alive the romance. Life became more and more of a routine that wasn't ideal, especially considering the new and more grueling hours of work I was taking, but I did it all for the sake of a better future, I did it for hope, for us. I just wanted to provide, to make our happy ending. We were fighting a lot, I saw a lot of what were her mistakes and problems through the stress, not enough of the magic and support she gave me. Substance abuse doesn't help this bad situation either, we disconnected, and I was so wrapped up and stressed, it felt like I was in every place but my own home. There reached a breaking point, and to this day it's like I still feel the chills and endless night in the sky, my cold breath barely able to warm the empty cavity in my chest. My wife sits me down, tells me that they're planning on leaving, don't know for how long, and don't know when they'll be back, but they need the space to clear their head. With holidays around the corner, this breaks my heart, it won't get out of my head, and I can't help but stress more, and I just feel so alone. I remember feeling neglected myself, as if I had such a large burden and no one to help, and my partner in life just gave up on me, on us. We had a fight one night, it was really bad, I said what I said to hurt them, because I was hurt. It ended with them saying they were still leaving, only they didn't want to come back, and this was going to be the last time I ever saw them.

It's all a blur of tears and sad songs from there, I remember gathering my pride and bringing a bouquet for my wife, because I did love them, with all my heart and I did regret what I said and I did want things to change. They didn't care, my wife wanted out, wasn't interested in any sort of additional or different therapy or counseling or techniques I had. As far as they were concerned, I was just talking a big game cause I was scared and I didn't really love them. I was scared, but I wasn't just trying to latch onto them like a leech. When you truly love someone, and you truly hurt them, you feel that pain, you don't feel any better, you feel empty, you feel like garbage, and you don't like that. The one thing I wanted to do was fix things, make my wife happy again, be better for the both of us, get something and warm us both, change things. If I had begged and humbled myself any more, I would've been beneath the very earth itself, but even your best effort to make someone stay won't make them care.

When they left, they never even said goodbye. I saw them at work, I came home to an apartment, empty, and a little dog missing one of his owners. I can't describe what I felt, i felt almost inhuman. My home, built from the ground up, just an empty husk of things and everything just showing the missing piece, my Bee. That period after, was hard. Tears, drinking, lots and lots of drinking, and lots of eating. I was alone, I had the world in my hands, and lost it all. Bee was never coming back, they didn't want me, and they didn't want us. I felt like it was all my fault. I was without words, and all I could really do was go further and further down the bottle, as I later lost my job, and I lost our home. Turns out paying for all the debt of two people when one leaves, isn't easy. I've never felt so undead in my life, in that moment, everything, all the time I devoted and spent trying to make something was gone. I was but a skeleton sitting on a pile of ashes, with nothing to show for it, but what I lost. No amount of drinking, or meaningless sex and drugs could fix that, didn't stop me though. We all cope in different ways.

[pyrogenetic]

--{What do you have.

(( Disclaimer: this was written in 2013, and takes place even before saro’s blog was made, and given a few edits to make it less horrifying to read but was mostly left in its original state. I deleted it previously on accident but wanted to put it back on saro’s blog because it was an important turning point for her character. so here you go! ))

You had no concept of humanity.

What was the point? That was all you could really think, watching him, sitting there, useless, the both of you in that filthy alleyway as he withered away. It’d been three days since he came through that portal with you. Three days since you’d dragged him from that hellish wasteland of silence and metal trees, introduced yourself, and got told that unless you found some way to awaken him, to give him some humanity, he wouldn’t live. He’d die as a pitiful husk. You still didn’t understand what that meant. What humanity, exactly? The kind you didn’’t have? Why you. Why now. Why him, a sliver of a barely living being slumped in front of you in that rainy, dank alley.

“Wake the fuck up! Come on, sunshine! Give me something, you pissant!” That’s what you’d screamed at him. It was in hopes that he’d maybe get up to at least fucking move out of the rain, so you didn’t have to carry him back before he caught his death.

He replied with more silence. Of course.

He was pallid, and monochrome, with long hair down to his skinny ass. He’s nothing but grey. He’s literally colorless. That’s what Bandas had said he’d look like. Until you did something about it. But what? You’d tried everything you know, you’d tried hugging him, albeit very reluctantly, and feeding him, and he just sat there hour after fucking hour with that same, mocking frown on his face and that same lifeless grey veil that covered him head to toe. His skin was chill to the bone. He wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t talk. Hell, he barely even moved half the time, and you’d have to check to make sure he was still breathing.

What were you supposed to do? What did he want from you? This had gone on for three days. Since you dragged him by the wings out of that weird realm. The last thing he did was fight you. Nearly killed you actually, before he apparently decided to give up, and became the catatonic piece of shit that sat around with no purpose and no will to live in front of you. But, you couldn’t let him die. That would go against your personal policy. Starvation and dehydration were the worst ways to die in your opinion, you’d rather not see that happen.

So even now, as he’d pressed himself against the wall of the alley in the pouring rain, you felt something odd twist inside your stomach. It burned, in a dull, aching way. It felt like pity, but a deeper version of it. A kind that’d made you want to weep for him. Sympathy, perhaps? That was new. Not very pleasant either. You weren’t sure you wanted to experience this new feeling very much. Snapping out of your thoughts, you glared back at the sad sap on the ground before you.

“Enough screwing around, fuckass! Time to smell the fucking coffee! Get up! Come on!” You leaned down in his face, yelling again, your voice echoing against the damp walls of the empty alley. This time, you noticed minute response. A twitch of his nose as if he tried to snivel. Nice, so he’s a crybaby, too.

You took the opportunity to kneel in front of him. No response to that. Not a thing from him. Of course not. You took his face tenderly in your hands, being mindful of your claws.

--And you hit him smack in the mouth.

Nothing. That didn’t work at all, in fact it looked like the wanker bit his tongue too hard and it’d started bleeding. Great. You cursed to yourself as you opened his fanged mouth to check inside. It wasn’t too severe, a bite against the side of his cheek. Boo-hoo, he’d get over it. Maybe. Hopefully.

You were starting to think the tough approach isn’t going to work. What else could you do though? What else can you do. This was all you knew. You knew pain. Pain is human enough, right? Apparently not. Your panic wasn’t getting better. You didn’t want him to die. You really weren’t sure why, but you didn’t. You felt as if he died, something in you would die alongside him. You didn’t know what that something was, it might be something important like your liver, so you should really fix him. How? a voice echoed in your head.

You grew increasingly desperate as the rain soaked you to the core the longer you stood out in it like an idiot, shouting at this pathetic husk that couldn’t even feed himself. It was the brand of desperate that can only be described by the words that run through your head over and over. Bad bad bad bad bad. Don’t die don’t die don’t die don’t die. How do you teach someone to be human? How do you teach them to be something that you so clearly were not?

How do you teach a person to be alive?

The rain began to pour harder as you leaned forward to do the most primal thing that came to you instinctually, even as an abomination of nature. You wrapped your arms around this drenched, sad creature. You tried to bury your face in his clammy shoulder which, like the rest of him, was cold as hell. The only reason it’s bare was because the clothes you chose for him practically fell off with how big they were against his thin figure. You stayed like that for a while. How long? That was between you and the rain. Your eyes started to sting a little during that time, though you weren’t sure why. Slowly, you realized your embrace was really doing nothing, even after you sat there and squeezed tighter. The only thing that greeted you in response was a tiny rasp of breath when you constricted him. Well. At least he’s breathing.

Finally, you loosened your grip. You pulled away only to realize there’s something warm, and moist bubbling up in your eyes. Your hand reached up to wipe some of it away, registering the liquid as tears instead of really weird rain that hit your eyes without you noticing.

Tears. Crying. You were crying.

Crying is human, right?

You followed the next logical course of action. You took some of those tears that were now making their way down your cheeks and mingling with the downpour, and you smudged them unceremoniously on the sides of his face. Very subtle. That should work, right? It has to. You’re tired. You being tired means this game is over, you’ve won, or have to win. You always won. If you don’t, everyone else loses because you quit and there can be no winner that’s not you. However, nothing was happening. He was still unresponsive. The only thing that’d changed was the fact he had your disgusting tears on his cheeks. That had to have worked. It had to, it wasn’t allowed not to from the minute you figured out you were crying. Yet, there he sat. What do you do? What could you do?

You had nothing else.

Now, you got angry again. It was an anger that made your throat clench, made you cry more, too, you noticed, as more tears started to prick your eyes in the same unfamiliar way. He should wake the fuck up already. Game’s over, bucko, you thought, unable to push the words through your strangled vocal chords. You needed to win now. You didn’t lose. You couldn’t lose. Except.

You had.

You’d lost because this was one game you couldn’t cheat, lie, or burn your way out of. You’d lost because all you were was a monster who couldn’t give anyone something of emotional or sentimental worth. Even this scrappy, unfeeling asshole could see that under all that fucking hair of his, that’s why he wasn’t responding. He knew what you were. The epiphany came to you as you grew more and more frustrated. You screeched and tugged at your ears so hard that the pain it brought shocked you out of your thoughts for a moment.

And you stopped. You sagged down where you were kneeling on the dirty, muddy ground. At that point you couldn’t care less about your clothes. Or his clothes. Or anyone’s clothes for that matter. You hoped this rain fucked over everyone without an umbrella, in fact. Right now, you wanted to cry like a child. The child you really were, deep down. You were crying like a child, actually. Your nose began running as you gazed up at him again with eyes that definitely weren’t wet from the rain. Your hand rose in a very deliberate motion to touch his cheek with just the tips of your tiny, sharpened claws. Finally, you whispered something you never thought you’d hear come out of your own mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

It came out cracked, and weak. It sounded very bizarre coming from you. However, there was an unmistakable tone of defeat in it. You knew when you’d been beaten. It’s about time, you thought, with your ass sliding to the ground. You pulled your knees to your chest. You hid your face in your hands like a mourning statue. A dreadful kind of shame filled you. You’d failed. This was how failure tasted. Knowing that you could kill without a second glance, and the one time you’d wanted to save someone, you’d failed. You destroyed. Not mended. Not helped. Destroyed. That was that.

Man, failure tasted gross.

There was no sound as you retreated into yourself. Even the rain seemed muffled around you. You sat there, your mind blank, next to a dying person. Not the first time that’d happened, though admittedly it’d never happened quite like this. The sadness inside you welled, a fresh batch of tears spilling over your cheeks. It was a profound sense of sorrow, strong enough that it was nearly warm, a hot feeling of shame in your stomach. You were so wrapped up in your grief, you didn’t see the strange light that silently flowed from you to the almost lifeless form across from you. The light flickered out as quickly as it came, with you none the wiser. It was followed by a brief shuffling noise, and something that sounded like someone gasping quietly, as if it was the first breath they’d taken in a very long time.

You elected to ignore the noises, too withdrawn at this point to pick yourself up and look. It grew silent again. Whoever had made the noise before seemed to say something, though you couldn’t tell what it was, or if it was even talking or not, but they promptly ceased. Then, something warm extended to you to touch your shoulder. It elicited an involuntary shiver from you. If that person killed you then and there, you probably deserved it. You didn’t fight back, despite your instincts screaming at you to try. The touching didn’t stop, but it didn’t start to hurt either. In fact, you heard more shuffling and there was more warmth touching you, holding you. It embraced you until you didn’t even feel the rain anymore, just the warmth of that stranger against you. Your mind made itself up for you, and your weary face lifted itself from the shroud of your hands to find an unfamiliar visage smiling back at it.

“Hello there, miss. My name is Markiin. Allow me to extend my sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting.”

[some-rfa-imagines]

my r [saeran]

based off of the song 'my r' | fem!reader | soulmate au but i'll tell you which at the end (don't skip there!) | v sad ending my bad | also unedited but that's nothing new lmao

also, i know the act of  taking off your shoes before committing suicide has Japanese origin but for the sake of the oneshot just pretend pls. this is a slightly different storyline than the main game as well ^^;

this is from my wattpad so it’s format is a little different than it usually is here ^^;

TW: Suicide/implied suicide, abuse, swearing, general sadness & angst.

Please be VERY careful and if you're feeling depressed PLEASE talk to someone. NEVER take your own life, I promise it's not worth it.

Saeran pushed open the door to the rooftop. He had had enough, his energy was completely drained and honestly? He really saw no point to the world. Monochrome. Monochrome was his life, his resolve, his will to keep on living. His soulmate could do better. God, soulmates. The thought made him feel cold, lonely, empty. Saeran was still young, 23 was a perfectly acceptable age to not have a soulmate. In fact, the elderly home that he volunteered at occasionally had many people still without a soulmate.

But Saeran didn't really care. About the words on his wrist nor about the existence of a soulmate of his own. The abuse from his mother until she passed, maybe, ten years ago, had slowly squeezed every drop of empathy from him, sucking him dry. He was 13 when she finally died. From there, he was placed into foster care - without his brother. But nobody wanted a husk of a child. At 15 he finally ran away and got a temporary job as a florists assistant. After that, he simply existed.

Now here he was, at 23, standing above the city with a note clutched firmly in his hand. Sighing, he wandered over to a bench, sitting down to remove his shoes. That's when he saw a purse, left beside him on the seat. Eyes widening, Saeran jolted, frantically looking around the edge of the skyrise. Across the rooftop, stood a girl with two, loose, (h/c) braids. She was in a loose, black top and high-waisted shorts. Behind her rested two black shoes, socks tucked neatly inside. Her back was turned to him and she looked up at the night sky, stars barely visible against the light of the city.

Saeran froze. He didn't know what to do. He watched as she stepped up onto the ledge. In a fit of panic, he stood, pacing quickly across the cement roof.

"Hey! Don't do it, please!"

Woah, wait a minute, what the fuck did I just say? He was now behind her, heaving slightly from moving so suddenly, eyes wide. I don't even care - I don't have the right to care. Saeran clenched his hands into tight fists by his side. He was pissed now. This was such a missed opportunity. Damn.

You turned around - slowly so you didn't fall - before seeing the accuser of the shouting. Before you stood a man, roughly your age, with silvery-white hair. The tips were a light pink and the roots had begun to grow out into a soft vermillion. He wore a black jacket, red singlet and had a striking tattoo on his right arm. But what captivated you most were his eyes - one a luminescent gold, the colour of honey and the other a bright teal that seemed to literally glow. Your breath caught in your throat. Swept up in the soft amber glow of the city, this stranger looked simply stunning.

Little did you know, he was equally captivated by you.

"Please, just come down from there. I promise, whatever is pushing you to this is so much more fucking insignificant than you might think."

"...Okay..." A whisper fell from your lips. Hey, Saeran considered, it's a start.

Slowly, you stepped down from the ledge, pulling yourself over the glass railing. Moving quietly as to not startle you, the stranger picked up your shoes and held out a hand to you. Tentatively, you took it and he guided you further onto the rooftop. You reached the bench where you had abandoned your purse. There, you began to talk. 'You've probably heard it all before,' you said. You told him about your cheating boyfriend, about how - on your three-year anniversary mind you, - he admitted to seeing other people behind your back. You were absolutely devastated. 'I really thought he might be the one, but then he told me he was done.'

Saeran grit his teeth. You've got to be kidding me.

"Oh, for god's sake, please!" He shouted, standing to face you in frustration. You jumped slightly, startled by his unexpected reaction. "Are you serious?!"

"W-What...?"

"I just can't believe that for some stupid reason - for some fucking asshole - you got here before me!" His outburst came as a painful shock to the system. "Are you upset, just because you couldn't get what you wanted? You've got to be joking- at least you've never been robbed of anything! Of your future, of your friends!"

You blinked in surprise before your vision hazed. You felt the soft, familiar trickle of tears as you forced out a broken laugh. Burying your face in your hands, you nodded, chest heaving in disbelief as you came to your senses. The stranger was silent now and you looked up, crookedly smiling at him. "Yeah. God, you're so right. What the hell am I doing...?" All the tension drained from your body and you gazed up at the sky, exhausted. "I'm feeling better now, thank you."

Saeran was quiet for a moment. How do you respond to that? He had never been good at socialising with others. "You don't need to thank me." He murmured, turning to face the sky as well.

You laughed from beside him and he paused, listening. After a moment, he decided he liked the sound of your laughter more than your crying.

"I will anyway. Thank you for listening, and for talking me down."

He let a small smile touch his lips. "Yeah, no problem."

Alright, today. Today is the day.

Several months after his last attempt, Saeran wandered up onto the rooftop of his apartment complex once more. It was late afternoon and he wanted to get this over with before he could be interrupted again. Stretching lazily, he rested a hand against the wall to support himself, unlacing his shoes and kicking off his socks. He dug around in his jacket pocket, picking out a letter from between his keys and phone. Holding onto it tightly so it wouldn't fly away in the breeze, Saeran tucked his phone and keys into his shoes.

Glancing up, he froze. What the fuck is she doing back here? Again, just like last time, the girl with (h/c) hair stood on the edge, just beyond the glass panes. She rested tranquilly against the railing, quietly lost thought. This time, she wore a knitted cream jumper and a black skirt. Her hair glowed amber in the afternoon light, the breeze picking it up and toying with it. Saeran watched warily as she mindlessly drew patterns on the glass edge. It was then Saeran realised how delicately she held herself. It was though she thought of herself as glass.

"Oi! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" He shouted, voice carrying across the breeze.

You started at the sudden interruption in your stream of thought. Wait a moment, I recognise that voice... Turning, you faced the same stranger who stopped you last time, his hair lit up gold in the honey, afternoon glow. Barefoot, he walked toward you as you twisted to rest your body weight on the thin railing. You heard cars behind you - the evening rush. "Hey, stranger. What a coincidence."

"Come on, dipstick. You'll slip, get back over here." He held out a hand to you and a soft chuckle slipped through your lips. You unfurled your arms, taking his hand and climbing nimbly back over the railing.

Saeran internally sighed in relief, glad she stepped down so easily. If she hadn't... well, he wouldn't know what to do. God, he thought, I'm such a hypocrite.

"Why do you even care what happens to me?" Her soft-spoken words shook him out of his stupor. "Everyone else ignores me, everyone else steals. It's not like we exactly fit together either."

Saeran glanced down at the girl by his side. She looked out over the cityscape, resting against the railing once more, and he could see her (e/c) eyes looked a little duller than last time. Sighing tiredly, he looked over the skyrises as well. "You must be joking." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her glance at him. He continued, "another day, another stupid reason to get here before me."

He looked over at her, catching her quiet eyes. "Even if your friends seem to hate you, you still have your family and they still love you. Even if everyone backstabs you, you still have dinner on the table when you go home. Right?" Saeran held her gaze, watching her reaction closely.

You gasped softly, caught in the man's tired eyes. They were even more beautiful up close. What the hell am I doing... Why haven't I learnt my lesson yet? I'm such an idiot. You smiled lightly. "Yeah. I'm hungry."

Stepping away from the railing, you picked up your shoes and walked barefoot back to the door. Beaming, you faced the stranger. "Come get some food with me - my treat. For saving me again."

Saeran blinked before chuckling to himself. It's going to have to wait. As long as he could guarantee the girl standing in front of him would be okay tonight, he could survive a few more weeks. It was okay, even if no one did the same for him. Even if he had to hide his own pain every time he took on hers.

-

Half a year later, he tries again. Exactly like the first time, Saeran sees (Y/N). Sitting on the edge. She wore a soft yellow cardigan and her hair was loosely braided.

"(Y/N)...?" He surprised himself by speaking. He didn't think his voice could be so soft. It's become a habit and before he knows it, his shoes are off and he's running towards her. Saeran's hands shake as he jumps over the railing, slowing to a stop behind her. (Y/N) was uncharacteristically quiet.

After their impromptu dinner 6 months ago, they exchanged phone numbers and kept in contact. (Y/N) had moved back in with her parents while she got back on her feet and they hadn't been able to meet for some time. Some time passed and she suddenly stopped answering her phone. Saeran would never admit it, but he was incredibly worried about her and constantly hoped she was okay.

Walking to her side, he took a seat next to her. Noting her shoes were already off, he watched her carefully. Her eyes were completely dull, lifeless, familiar. He knew those eyes. He knew those eyes very well. He knew those eyes because those eyes were the exact same that stared at him in the mirror every morning. Those eyes that smiles never quite reached, that laughter didn't crease and that didn't light up in anticipation. Oh, god, what have they done to you?

Silently, she reached out, grasping his hand tightly. Her eyes never left the horizon as the wind picked up, ruffling her hair and lifting her cardigan. Bandages...

"I just want to stop the scars that grow every time that I go home. That's why I came up here instead." That's what the girl in the cardigan said.

...Woah, wait a minute, what did I just say? I couldn't care less either way. But in the moment, I just screamed something that I did not believe.

"Hey, don't do it, please."

Panic. Saeran's fight or flight response triggered and a wave of dread overcame him. AAAA What to do! I can't stop her this time, oh this is new. For once I think I've bitten off more than I can chew. He clasped her hand tightly to his chest. The wind bit at his eyes as icy tears began to spill. (Y/N) froze. Then her eyes turned sad, so very sad and she shoved herself further back onto the ledge before tugging him into her embrace. Please just go away, so I can't see... Your pitiful expression is just too much for me.

A broken laugh fell from your lips as you held Saeran as tight as you could muster. "I guess today is just not my day." You pursed your lips, looking out over the sunset. "I guess today is just not my day."

There's no one on the rooftop today. I guess it's time. Saeran surveyed the empty roof. Yep. No one. He sighed, kicking off his shoes and socks. He fumbled in his pocket for the fourth time, pulling out letter number four. Rewritten, permanently. Just me, myself and I. He exhaled lightly, dropping his phone and keys into his shoes as well as a second letter, just in case.

"There's no one who can interfere. No one to get in my way." He mumbled, cracking his neck. Taking off his jacket, he dropped it on the railing before running a hand through his red locks. "I'm going to do it. And I'll be free." He mounted the railing, dropping swiftly down onto the other side. "I'll be okay, (Y/N)."

You sprinted towards the rooftop door. You knew something was wrong - why didn't I check on him earlier? Yanking it open, your bare feet stung against the concrete as you raced towards the man on the edge of the building. Idiot, idiot, idiot! You screamed before you could even consider stopping yourself.

"SAERAN! DON'T DO IT! PLEASE!"

A doctor in the ward was the first to notice. Your last words to him cried loud enough for bystanders to finally notice the commotion on the rooftop. Your last words, carved into his wrists as his were into yours.

soulmate AU where the first and last words you say to your soulmate are written on their wrists, but the first only appear after you've said the last. weellll i just made myself sad

[vaetherborn-blog]

Entry #3

The Day that Bastard Stole my Fucking Rings

Our next step toward our goal was a man with a mine infested with creatures that were terrorizing the miners. He didn’t have money to offer us (his name was Grrg, what do you expect?), but he had a friend who could do us a favor if we helped him. So we went down into the mines, stumbling upon a family of goblins and their bugbear caretaker. We took them out with little issue, picking up a few useful new skills along the way, and went back to let Grrg know we’d completed his task. The following day we met with Grrg’s friend (lover) Leo, who was a pirate with no ship and no crew. Despite his shortcomings (and being chronically late to every meeting we schedule), Leo seemed to know his way around, and was willing to get us going in the right direction. So we left that town and headed north, hopefully in the direction of the man who could help us get off this godforsaken plane. Leo told us we were going to meet his first mate in the next town, and when we all decided to set out, he offered me a high-five. Seeing this as the first sign of comradery since I wound up in this plane, I gladly accepted. He laughed a bit and promptly left.

The following day we met with Leo and left town. Along the path, we stumbled upon a house that had been dropped in from another plane, and only made it halfway through. The more I observed the landscape the more I realized everything was this way: seemingly plucked from a different world and placed here, in a place that had no original landmarks to call its own. The grass was different colors in patches, with different plant life found every few yards. The ground was like a patchwork quilt of different wildlife, constantly changing and ripping apart to accommodate the intrusions from other dimensions. It was oddly appealing to me, someone with no set place in this world and no certainty that tomorrow would come, that this world was so different and constantly changing; the uncertainty was as familiar to me as the dust that formed my “skin.”

We approached the house with caution, but once we were certain that there was no one inside we entered. The house was on a hill, and it seemed to be cut neatly in half. After some investigation, we discovered the food to be rotten or stale, and nothing of use was left behind. The house was certainly from a world unlike any that our group had been to. The flooring was soft and clean like a rug but more evenly sewn, the walls were filled with tiny pictures that were far too detailed to be painted, and the rooms were scattered with books and small gadgets that none of us could decipher. On the second floor was the decaying body of a teenage human, cut in half when the house was teleported. We rooted around for a while and found nothing of use, aside from some interesting looking clothes (some of which I took) and a book entitled “Monster Manual.” I took this, as its pages were full of information on the monsters that exist in different universes. If I was going to save my own life, I was going to need to make sure my comrades survived. And if I was going to keep fumbling in combat, the least I could do was understand the monsters we were fighting.

As we investigated the house, a centipede-like monster plummeted through the ceiling into the hallway. This time I managed to deal a healthy amount of damage to it, and together we defeated it without too much trouble. It fell to the floor and crumbled to pieces, leaving a mess on the wood and forcing several of us to step through it to get to the stairs. When we made it downstairs we found Leo in the kitchen eating stale food, casually asking us what had happened.

It was then that I got a strange feeling of emptiness. I looked down at my right hand and noticed that three of my rings were missing. I never take them off for any reason, so the only solution was that they’d been stolen. I had no way of knowing when they’d been stolen or who could’ve done it, but a knot formed in my stomach – or the area that would have been my stomach – at the thought of having lost them. There were three missing. One was gold with three sapphires in a triangle on the top. One was silver, and had a snake’s head on it. And the last was a simple steel ring. I’d gotten all of them from people I had known on Kaladesh. Hell, I’d even liked one of the people the rings had come from. The rings were marks of unity, signs that people I’d met would have my back in times of need. This was how I’d shown the first four people I’d ever known that I would be there for them, and this was how I’d come to communicate my comradery to people since then. Losing a ring was like losing a friend, especially in a place so far from where the few people I might be able to call my friends were. Those three rings symbolized three connections that may have been severed forever.

I looked at Leo. “Did you take my rings?”

“What?” Leo took a bite of his stale food. “No.”

As far as I could tell, he wasn’t lying. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the one who’d taken them from me. None of my companions seemed like the type to take anything from me, except for maybe Xunjra, but she hadn’t touched me a single time. She also didn’t seem like she needed money enough to steal something from me to sell it. After all, she was the only one of us with any kind of stable source of income in this world.

Then again, she almost certainly hated me, so I wouldn’t put it past her.

We decided to settle down in the house for the night. I took a seat by the edge of the house where it was severed in half, looking down over the sheer drop to the ground thirty feet below. The others worked out where they were going to sleep while I pulled the “Monster Manual” out of my bag and cracked it open, leaning back against the wall to look it over. The opening chapters of the book covered basic creatures like goblins, orcs, skeletons, and zombies; creatures any mediocre adventurer could point out their first day on the road. Most of the information wasn’t foreign to me, but there was enough to learn to keep me occupied the full eight hours the others would be asleep.

Aetherborn don’t sleep, eat, drink, breathe, or experience any other bodily functions that other more humanoid creatures do. We can hardly even experience real emotion. The only thing powerful enough to permeate the ashy limitations of our existence is anger, and guilt, and sadness, and occasionally the giddy bliss of a high. I’ve known happy aetherborn, but they are few and far between, considering most of us are vengeful and hedonistic and spend our days causing chaos or making trouble for those around us. What else can we do? They tell us to be happy we get a chance to live, but most of the time I wish I’d never been forced to exist. I didn’t ask to be created, and I never got the choice to live a different life. I’d felt true, unadulterated happiness only once, and it was ripped away from me almost as quickly as I found it; so I gave up on the sensation and have lived my life since then in bitter chaos, refusing to allow myself to experience anything even remotely similar since then. Maybe I didn’t want to get my hopes up, or perhaps I didn’t want to betray the experience I’d had when I was happy, at this point I honestly don’t remember.

I sprang into existence within minutes of four other aetherborn, whom I clung to like they were my family. That is to say, I clung to them as long as I could before they all faded into nothingness. The first to go died only a month after we were all created. The next was six months, and the other two died a few weeks ago. Now it’s just me. I was never the kindest member of our group; in fact you might say I was always the angriest and most selfish member. I hated everyone who wasn’t aetherborn because they got a chance to live that we would never know. In Kaladesh, those who aren’t aetherborn are predisposed to hating the aetherborn. They hate us because we’re destructive street rats, but with our short lives and no real opportunities to better ourselves, what choice do we have? If I could become something better than the dusty husk of hopelessness that I am, I would. If I knew that I could find a way to sustain myself that didn’t involve the draining of others’ life force, I would. But I don’t have any other choice, unless I resign myself to death – and I refuse to do that. I don’t deserve to die because I have no reasonable way to live. I’ve done my best to turn my ability on the kinds of people who deserve to feel pain, but sometimes I don’t have a choice and I wind up picking someone who has a family or wasn’t all that bad or was only stealing because they had no more choice than I did.

It’s amazing what lengths the system will go to exploit the disadvantaged. The higher-ups don’t even care if we wander the streets murdering each other, as long as we do it quietly and stay out of their way. I’ve been caught red-handed draining the life out of a civilian by an official before, and though she watched as the light faded from my victim’s eyes, she decided to do nothing about it. She just rolled her eyes and moved along. That was the only time I’ve ever felt guilty about stealing the life from someone; knowing that even taking the life of an unsuspecting petty thief wasn’t important enough for the people of Kaladesh to give me a second look was emptying. I let the thief’s body drop to the ground and walked away, spending the rest of my day – and most of the following day – standing on the side of the busiest road in the city, watching the cars fly past me, feet away from the oblivion I so badly craved but so deeply feared.

Well, I think we know where I went from there.

Ring count: 9.