#tw: small description of suicidal thoughts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

couldeatthatgirlforlunch · 4 months ago

Note

Yandere batfam or justice league with a reader who’s afraid of strong people/men due to a past abusive relationship? She never wants to feel that powerless and weak again so she actively avoids interacting with anyone stronger, bigger, taller any more than necessary. She doesn’t hold it against other ppl she just has a lot of trauma that she’d rather not work through and feel safe in her little bubble

Hit me Hard and Soft

Synopsis: You get saved by Robin, but not everything is as it seems.

Pairing: Yandere!Poly!Romantic!Batboys X Gn!Reader

Tw: All characters aged up, of course; Mentions and descriptions of violence, including physical, psychological, sexual and financial abuse, and Damian fighting criminals (I'm particularly proud of the action scene I wrote); Drugging and being unconscious; Mentions of death of minor characters and suicide; Mentions of past grooming (Reader's ex) and age gap (Reader’s ex, Reader X Bruce, and the batboys age is not mentioned); Implied stalking; Mentions of kidnapping; Reader's very traumatized and weary of everyone; Reader doesn't trust the police; Mention of a panic attack and descriptions of actual panic; Guns and knifes; Mention of cigarettes; Implied needles; English isn't my 1st language.

Requested? Yes.

Extra notes: Wish I had more interactions between Reader and the batboys here, but I'm more than willing to make a part 2 with the right idea.

General masterlist | Hit me Hard and Soft - Series masterlist

He's back again. You wish you could say you didn't know why he always came back, but you did. The food wasn't that great and it wasn't that close to where he told you he worked or lived. It also didn't help that he always made sure to be served by you. And that he flirted with you.

— Evening, (N/N)! Is there something as sweet as you on today’s menu? — You gave a small and polite laugh.

— Strawberry pie… As always…

It was kinda sad, but mostly scary. If it wasn't for your ex, you would be thrilled to have gotten the attention of Dick fucking Grayson. The whole city knew he was handsome, rich, talented and charismatic. Gotham's sweetheart, Gotham's golden boy. And from your daily interactions, he lived up to the expectations. He was polite even when flirting with you and asking you out. Yet, something held you back.

— Nice! Since you get out in a few, why don't you bring in two slices? One for me and one for you, it's on me, of course. — You shook your head quickly, with an empty heart, just wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.

You were with your ex since you were 17 to 26. Almost 10 years wasted on a dirtbag. He convinced you to leave your friends, to leave your family, to leave your job. As soon as you started living together, you were completely dependent on him. Sometimes you blamed him, sometimes yourself, sometimes the people you had around you, but back then, where you came from, people weren't questioning the imbalance of powers between a 17 year old highschooler with no job and a 23 year old man with a steady job and living alone.

He convinced you that going to college and ending your relationship was the worst decision you could take. Then, that you didn't need your family, he could take care of you. One day, he decided you couldn't have friends.

He often locked you inside the house, cursed your skills and appearance, neglected your overall health, intimidated you, screamed at you, broke your things that he did and didn't pay for. He hurt you physically, even sexually. You knew both dating him and leaving him was hard, you just expected living with the scars was going to be easier.

And it was! You decided to run away from him and to Gotham when you received the news that your mom died and he didn't even want to let you go to the funeral. The grieving made you reflexive and you realized how shitty your situation was. For years you just thought that it would eventually get better, that you just needed to be strong, that he showed he loved you when he wasn't being an asshole, that you couldn't get anything better, that he made you feel special.

You couldn't even go to the police, he was a cop, you knew the chances that in any scenario you would lose. So you ran.

You knew it was dangerous, but you had nothing to lose. If he didn't kill you, you would do it yourself. You made a plan, drugged him, took some of his money, used his house keys, left everything behind for the second time in your life. You didn't waste time asking for help from the people you knew. You took the bus and went as far away as you could.

Your paranoia was so bad that for almost a year, you would settle in a city, work to save up enough, and leave again, rinse and repeat. Eventually, Gotham seemed big and far enough to go by unnoticed.

Or that's what you thought, until Dick Grayson stopped by the diner you worked to have breakfast before going to work, as a cop, and decided you caught his attention.

Since then, he came back everyday. Either breakfast, lunch, dinner, or just to hang out with some family member, usually one of his brothers, his dad appeared with him sometimes too. Your boss loved the attention Bruce and Tim attracted, the two most media active ones, since they both led Wayne Enterprises.

Eventually, even them started appearing multiple times a week. You thought you were healing, until you found yourself crying for almost four hours at home in a panic attack.

You didn't want their attention. Not only was it weird, but they were just so… Superior to you.

They were all taller, more muscular, faster, smarter, richer. It was like reliving the beginning of your relationship at 17, plus 10 times worse. Five because they were five people mirroring your ex, and more five just because of your trauma, experience, negativity and lack of naiveness.

Also, why were they ALL into you??? And they were aware of it! It was weird! Why??

Bruce Wayne was disarmingly charming in his dilf way. Dick was surprisingly accessible. Jason was soft spoken despite his resting bitch face and leather jacket. Tim was cute in a nerdy way. Damian almost made you laugh with his sarcastic humor.

Either way, you never wanted to feel as little as you felt before, so you just did your job, acted polite, but ultimately kept your distance.

Freedom has its difficulties, one of them being that you need money, and for money, you need a job, which means sometimes you have to stay until closing time, at 11 PM, in Gotham.

You're not the only employee to stay so late, but you and your co-worker live in opposite directions, so walking alone it is. They're taking the bus, but you only live two blocks away, so you gulp down your anxiety and keep walking. One hand on your pocket, holding your taser firmly, and keeping your head up, turning to look at every sound.

It's cold, and the street is empty and dimly lit. Some places are so dark that you wonder why you're even paying taxes if the streetlamps won't work.

Two men turn the corner a few meters in front of you, one at least a foot taller, the other, two inches max. They're wearing hoodies and their hands are on their pockets, the light behind them creates a shadow that doesn't allow you to see their faces, nor where they're looking at, but they are coming in your direction.

There's a car, parked between you both. Some people might think at this point it's just paranoia, but you’ve heard stories of people walking next to cars, getting pulled inside by someone who was hiding in there, and getting kidnapped.

Your first instinct is flight, so you turn around, ready to run, even if you look weird in case those guys weren't planning to do anything with you, just to see other two guys emerging from the other corner, those two almost as tall as that first guy. Aside from the smaller one, they're all broad, even with their thick clothes covering them.

One of them has a cigarette on his mouth, which he throws on the ground when you turn your attention to him. Your fear might have caused you to hallucinate, but you're almost sure he's smirking.

You freeze for a second, your only escape is to run to the side, and pray their long legs don't get to you first. You think you hear one of them start hollering at you.

You only take a step to the side, when a loud crash startles you so hard that you have to look behind, while walking backwards to the street. You take a second to process the sight.

Robin is standing in the middle, just a few steps behind where you were standing a second ago. He's at least half a foot taller than all of them, and a lot broader. He's holding the tall one by his neck with his right hand, repeatedly hitting his head against the car’s window.

You're shell shocked, torn between staying put to watch this disaster, as interesting as a car crash, or running away. Gotham is so big that you never thought you would encounter one of its heroes, you weren't sure if you even wanted to.

When the guy seems to stop moving, Robin throws him against one of the other tall ones, the guy practically flies across 2 meters before hitting him, and when he does, they both fall to the ground. You remember all the times when your ex pushed you to the ground.

Your eyes are wide, horrified, watching the shortest guy take a pocket knife out of his pocket. Your throat locks, even if you want to scream for Robin to turn around, you only manage to stare and stay in place, however, the vigilant turns halfway around just in time to grab the guy by his wrist and his arm, just as he launched to stab him. He uses his body’s impulse to push the guy forward, the knife going to the fourth guy's shoulder, you hadn't even seen him get so close to him.

You look at the man from the car, he's still unconscious, the one who got tackled with him, however, is already standing and walking to the fight.

Everything’s happening too fast, you turn to the side to see the guy with the knife on his back on the ground, groaning and twitching in pain, while Robin is punching the shit out of the other guy, movements faster than you could ever dream of achieving. You remember being on the receiving end of someone's fists before.

With a final elbow to the cheek, the guy stumbles to the ground, you don't know what level of consciousness he’s in, by his posture before, you knew he was already compromised since the first hits he took.

Robin doesn't move, doesn't even turn to look at the guy who just fell, he's just looking forward, and when you notice this, you look at the remaining guy.

He's pointing a gun at him.

You don't think you can watch someone get shot in front of you, and you know if he gets rid of Robin, it's over for you. Logically, you knew these vigilantes somehow never die, still, it's counterintuitive to think he won't.

And he doesn't, in the blink of an eye, Robin's on the air, his right boot kicking the gun away, while still on the air, he wraps his legs around the guy's head, bends backwards, puts his hands on the ground, then launches his whole body to the front, the guy getting thrown over him. He falls to the ground, Robin stands on top of him with perfect balance. You don't even have time to process what just happened, the coolest and scariest thing you saw your whole life, when Robin punches him one last time. Now, he's definitely unconscious.

You’ve felt like a bystander this whole interaction, it felt like ages, but in reality all of this couldn't have taken more than 20 seconds, maybe even less than 15. You don't know what to do now. You're theoretically safe, but Robin’s still too big, too strong, too fast. He knocked out four guys without getting touched a single time. He broke a car's window. He threw around two guys who weighed at least 80kg. He's not even panting. And now he's looking at you.

A whimper gets stuck in your throat. You don't know if you should thank him, stay silent, or yell at him to stay away from you. When he takes a step in your direction, your instincts get the better of you and you turn around, running.

You hear him call your name, although your brain doesn't process it. You see headlights and look towards it. It's a car. You don't trust you’ll get help, but at least you're not alone. You run in it's direction, waving your arms and screaming bloody murder.

The car almost hits you, but you don’t process that until the last minute, but you get tackled to the ground just in time by the hero from before. You scream again, he's too close. Now, he's trying to hold you down. You keep screaming and trying to escape. You look to the side and the car just kept driving away, likely the driver wouldn't stay behind to be another victim to Robin's hands. You know you're not being rational right now, those guys are known for helping people, he just saved you, he's still trying to stop you from getting hurt, but you're scared. You've been scared since you were a teenager.

Your eyes burn, your arms and throat hurt, but adrenaline doesn't let you feel anything. Not even the invasion of a needle on your side.

— Was it really necessary? — Tim deadpans Damian, who growls.

— You would have done the same, Drake.

— No, I wouldn't. You were supposed to use the psychological first aid approach and (Y/N) would've calmed down and trust us more in the future. But of course, you never use your brain. — Damian growls, stepping towards Tim, but he is stopped by Dick’s hand resting on his chest.

— Damian, calm down, Tim’s right. You knew better than to sedate them. You knew of (Y/N)’s trauma and you knew the route we wanted to take. — Damian's brows furrowed and he crossed his arms.

— I knew your feelings toward (Y/N) would make you become impulsive again. — Tim looked at Bruce, who was silent, with hands intertwined and elbows on the table, focused on your vitals on the screen and the sight of you laid on the bed on the medbay. — Will you now consider just letting you, me and Dick keep an eye on them during patrol? — Damian and Jason scoffed.

— Why you aiming at me now? It was the demon who gave that guy brain death! — Jason protested and Tim looked at him.

— Just to be sure you won't freak out like him and kill thrice as many people, on purpose this time. — Jason glared at him.

— B, you better add more security measures around (Y/N), before Timbo tries to clone them or something. — He muttered with snark.

Dick shook his head and sighed, going to stand on Bruce's side, crossing his arms and looking at you through the camera with him.

— What's the plan now, B? They're probably waking up soon. — Bruce hummed, relaxing his stance and resting his back against his chair. The silence lingered for a few seconds, everyone just looking at you, waiting for the oldest’s opinion.

Bruce turned around, looking at them.

— … Damian, Tim's right. You were impulsive today and you killed someone, even if it was an accident. I stopped expecting that from you since you were 12, you're an adult now. You not only broke our trust, but (Y/N)’s already shattered trust. They need to know they're safe with us, and drugging them, instead of puting to use more time and effort to bring the comfort to them, is not going to do that. You weren't much different than the man who hurt them tonight. — His father's words were like a punch to Damian's stomach, leaving him speechless. Dick pursed his lips, not turning around as to make it easier to not comfort his brother just yet. Bruce turned to Tim. — Tim, I understand you want to take measures seriously. But you need to give Jason a chance. That was unasked for. — The mentioned blinked, still unacostummed with the treatment he received from his dad when he followed his rules. Tim looked away. Bruce turned to Damian again. — Damian, no patrolling around (Y/N) until you prove we can trust your temper again. — He waited for a confirmation, which came with a sneered lip.

— Yes, father.

Dick looked back a Bruce.

— What about (Y/N)? — He bit his lips. Bruce hummed, turning to look at the monitor again.

— … What do you all think?

— Well… Damian said their name, they might not remember it, but they can't just wake up at home. They’d try to flee from us. We could bring them home earlier, but our ideal plan was to make them come willingly, in the period of at least two years, in the best case. We could leave them at the hospital, and just keep our plan going. — Dick listed the possible strategies they could take. Bruce hummed.

Tim piped up.

— I already altered their phone's algorithm to send the job application as my assistant at Wayne Enterprises to them. And the Wayne Foundation’s application for the internship at Gotham Uni. — Bruce nodded.

— Damian? What do you understand about that? — It was clearly the beginning of his test.

— The more secure in their independence they feel, the easier it is to heal and open themselves up to new opportunities. — Damian exclaimed with confidence. Bruce nodded.

— Jason, are you still interested in college? — Everyone looked at Jason surprised, he was also surprised, he hadn't talked to Bruce about college since before he died.

It took a few seconds to processes what it would mean.

— Uh… I think so?! — Bruce nodded.

— What about me, father? — Damian spoke inquisitively. — I also want more opportunities to get closer to (Y/N)! — Bruce narrowed his eyes at him.

— We will think about that when you're in the clear.

— But-

— That's final. You reap what you sow. — Damian huffed and nodded begrudgingly. — … Now, since Robin was the one to save them, take the batmobile and leave them in the hospital. Then come straight back home. Understood? — Damian clenched his jaw and nodded silently, leaving to get your unconscious body.

Moments later, when you were both out, on the way to the hospital, Tim fiddled with the computer, the scream showed the batmobile’s tracker, your tracker, Damian's tracker, Damian's contact lenses’s camera and the car’s camera. They all looked at him.

— … It's just to make sure…

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darkmatilda · 2 months ago

Text

╰┈➤ the pumpkin reaper

part 3: the last day of investigation

previous part here

epilogue here

in which you and the BAU are handling the case of a murderer in a small, sleepy town.

tw: decapitation, description of a crime scene etc, mention of a suicide attempt, mentall illness

contents: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, solving a criminal mystery, angst, slow burn

words: 9 k....i'm insane, i'm aware

Your dad was the one who managed to explain everything to you.

Once, you hated the coldness he exuded. Everything he said seemed so devoid of emotion, as if he didn't have any at all. Probably, if he had ever tried to say "I love you," those words would have gotten stuck in his throat, causing choking and death.

At that moment, you appreciated it for the first time. He told you how your mom had found Jeremy in the bathtub, the water completely stained with blood. If an outsider had heard it, they would have thought he was talking about some stranger's child, not his own son, so composed he sounded. But you heard all the tiny breaks in his voice, the pauses to swallow saliva that slowly dripped down his throat.

You stood with your back against the door, the phone slipping from your numb hand.

For a moment, you felt simply empty. Without feelings or thoughts. What was this room you were in — the bathroom? A bathroom, what even is that? Syllables joined into a longer sound that should have some specific meaning. What meaning? You didn’t know. A loud ringing filled your ears, driving everything out of your mind.

The phone call had ended. The device was still pressed against your cheek, slipping further and further from your grip. After a while — you couldn’t tell how long — it simply fell to the floor, onto the simple black-and-white tiles. You didn’t even hear the sound it made.

You might have stayed frozen there for hours if not for the soft tapping on the other side of the door. You were only just returning to reality, so you couldn’t respond. Then someone spoke your name in a questioning tone. You ignored that too, though not intentionally. For a moment, you had simply forgotten your own name. This unsettled the person in the next room; after a few seconds, they grasped the handle and pushed the door. It met the barrier of your back, and that gentle jolt was what began to pull you out of your trance.

The first breath hurt; the first thought nearly brought you to your knees.

Jeremy. Your little brother.

Moving as if on autopilot, you turned toward the door and opened it. At first, Spencer seemed to exhale with relief, but then he saw the expression on your face, and his slightly hunched posture straightened, shifting to one of concern.

You’d taken over the bathroom as soon as you returned to the hotel, so he hadn’t had a chance to change. He’d only hung up his jacket by the door, taken off his vest, and remained in his shirt with a loosened tie and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

“W-what happened? I thought I heard something fall…”

“It was...um...the phone,” you managed to choke out.

“I-I was talking to my dad, my dad, but first with my mom, and…and she was mad at me because of…because of…wait, what did you ask?” The words spilling from you were one big jumble. You pressed a cool hand to your forehead, burning as if with fever, your brain throbbing with effort, as if you were delivering a university lecture on nuclear physics.

Spencer was no longer just concerned — he was terrified. Seeing how you were barely standing on legs that refused to cooperate, he caught you just before you fell. You collapsed face-first onto his shoulder, surrendering entirely to gravity.

“Oh…okay, okay, it’s okay now,” he whispered, resting one hand on the back of your head and the other on your back, offering support.

You closed your eyes, only now realizing they were filled with tears. The shock was fading, the barrier that had held back every other emotion finally breaking down. They began to overwhelm you, resulting in a muffled sob against his body.

“He tried to kill himself,” you finally managed to say, the meaning of the words slowly sinking in. You repeated it several times, each time quieter but with more awareness. “He tried…he tried…”

“No, you don’t have to... just... oh god, I’m so sorry...” He stammered. He realized that no words would be enough, none would help you. Instead of wasting energy on them, he poured it all into the embrace, holding you even tighter.

You simply stayed in that position, as time passed by.

"What's with him?" he asked when your breathing finally returned to a steady rhythm, and the pain wasn't as sharp. His voice was so soft, soothing like a lullaby. "Your brother?"

You realized that, because of your secrecy, you had never even casually mentioned Jeremy to him. This was the first time you were talking about him. Under these circumstances

"Dad said his condition is stable." You raised your head, and your eyes met by accident. You quickly looked back down at your hands. You felt exposed in a way you never had before with anyone else, and it was strange, unfamiliar. But you couldn’t say it was entirely negative. "He’s under observation now; he lost a lot of blood. If my mom hadn’t found him..."

You shook your head, trying to chase away the dark visions and scenarios.

"Spencer," you sighed, struggling to put into words what had been tormenting you from the very beginning. "I... I can’t stop thinking about how much of this is my fault."

"I left him with our parents. Fully aware of what they’re like. I told him he could rely on me but I was in another city, only keeping in touch by phone. Irregulary. Since we started working on this case, I’ve spoken to him once…"

Until now, you hadn’t maintained strong eye contact; each time it happened, you pulled away. But in that moment, there was something in his gaze that wouldn’t let you look away. Reid was definitely not one to offer empty words of comfort or general platitudes. Seeing him remain silent, you were certain he was about to say something entirely his own.

“Blaming yourself is a very common, I’d even say natural, part of grief, and I’m afraid that nothing I say will make you stop feeling this way, but I’ll try anyway. You didn’t abandon Jeremy. Even if there was distance between you, you still tried to be there for him, you cared for him like no one else did. You know, even if you usually avoided talking about it, it was still very clear. Sometimes I’d see you from a distance talking to him on the phone. I couldn’t hear a word, but… I wondered a lot who that person was. The one who makes you so happy” He looked slightly flustered, blushing as he realized what he had mentioned, but continued nonetheless. “You seemed so happy and genuinely invested. I can tell that you didn’t stay in touch with him out of guilt or obligation alone. He truly meant the world to you. And… what I’m trying to say is that… sometimes, no matter how much we try, there are things we just can’t control. This is incredibly hard for you, and you blame yourself for all of it, but I hope that someday you’ll see that not everything depended on you, and none of this is your fault."

You stared at him in silence, not knowing what to say. His words… they touched you, pierced your skin, and lodged deeply within your body. They soothed you, like a lullaby sung to a child before sleep. You realized just how incredibly grateful you were that you both shared this room.

"I don't know what I would do if you weren't here," you answered softly, feeling the area around your eyes tighten, signaling the tears that were about to come.

Without hesitation, he simply embraced you.

With his chin resting on the top of your head and your forehead pressed against his collarbone.

"You would manage. You’re strong. But you deserve to have someone by your side in a moment like this."

You whispered that you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. He offered you one of the sleeping pills he had mentioned in the car, though it would take a little while for them to take effect. You lay on your side, with your knees curled up. It wasn’t until the morning that you realized you were on his bed, surprised to find yourself so far from the window. That was your first thought, still not fully sober.

The room was drowning in darkness, the only sources of light being the faint glow of the moon sneaking in like a thief through the imperfectly drawn curtain, and the alarm clock on the nightstand between your beds, showing the time as 4:47.

You stretched your sleepy eyelids open and rubbed them with your hand, not moving from your spot. You felt a little embarrassed that you had fallen asleep in Spencer’s bed, but then you noticed his silhouette in yours. It turned out you had simply swapped places. Since it was only your second night in this hotel, it hadn’t yet absorbed his scent. Not that you were looking for it. You were just curious, which is why you pressed your face so firmly into the pillow.

Spencer was lying with his face turned toward you. However, he didn’t seem completely relaxed, almost as if even the sound of dust floating in the air could wake him. This turned out to be a very accurate observation, as the moment you opened your eyes, he did the same.

"Hey, how do you feel?" he asked. His voice was quiet, hoarse.

"I'm too awake to go back to sleep for another week. Unfortunately," you muttered, turning onto your back. Of course, it was sarcasm. You couldn’t sleep for too long, you had to... you weren’t even sure what you had to do. You urgently needed to find out what had happened with Jeremy over the past few hours. Was his condition still stable, or had it improved significantly overnight, or…

The thought of another conversation with your father drained you. Or, worse yet, your mother. They were, however, your only source of information about your unconscious brother.

So yes, you needed to make a call, then get up, pull yourself together, maybe eat something… it all sounded more than overwhelming.

"I'll talk to Hotch, if you want. He’ll let you go back, even today."

The mention of the boss’s name hit you like an ice cube dropped under your shirt. Despite everything that had happened yesterday, you were still at work. In the middle of hunting down a seven-time murderer who had discarded his last two victims just yesterday. A murderer who, from the very beginning, had stirred your intuition, suggesting that the answer to this puzzle lay somewhere at the back of your mind.

On the other hand, you felt obligated to be by Jeremy’s side when he woke up. Who else would be there for him? A nurse? An emotionally absent father? An unstable, bipolar mother who had probably stopped taking her meds again?

As if against your own will, you lifted yourself into a sitting position, a certain thought suddenly entering your mind.

"I'll stay," you decided.

"Are you sure? If you don't want to talk about it with the others, I’ll do it for you," he offered, propping himself up on his elbows. His hair was a mess, eyes gleaming with worry. "You know Hotch, he may not seem like it, but he's very understanding..."

"Really, I can handle it," you reassured him, but he didn’t seem convinced. "Reid, I need to finish this case. I think I’ve realized something."

He sat on the bed, furrowing his brow. The sudden change in the tone of your voice must have intrigued him; you sounded almost determined.

"What is it?"

You opened your mouth, ready to rush out a chaotic response, but stopped yourself at the last moment. It was so early in the morning, and your mind wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders — how could it be, when you’d only just woken up? It made more sense to wait, to go over the latest findings with the team; maybe they would fit perfectly with your newest theory.

And that’s exactly what happened.

“The victims found on the pumpkin farm have been identified,” Hotch announced instead of a greeting when you met just an hour and a half later. Everyone looked slightly dazed; the coffee they were sipping hadn’t yet kicked in. Likely, only you and Reid had been up this early—physically, you seemed the most alert, yet it was plain to see that your thoughts were still rooted in the previous day, struggling to keep up with everything happening around you. You sat close together, shoulder to shoulder, entirely on instinct, as if an invisible thread connected you, tightening painfully around your wrists whenever you tried to drift too far apart.

From time to time, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, as if checking to see if you were okay. Twice, he gave a slight nod in Hotch’s direction, reminding you that you could still talk to him, ask for permission to go back home. You silently reassured him that you were feeling relatively fine and didn’t want to bring it up with the boss. Just as you broke eye contact, ending the wordless conversation, you noticed Morgan and Prentiss watching the two of you, their heads tilted at the same angle in an almost eerily synchronized way.

You took a breath, feeling slightly embarrassed. Your sudden closeness with Reid must have seemed at the very least… suspicious to them.

“Their names were Denise Grant and Alexa Miller, and listen to this,” Garcia began, her voice quickening as her face appeared on the laptop screen. “Both of them worked at the same orphanage. And what's more — it's the very same orphanage where one of the earlier victims worked.”

The atmosphere thickened as everyone absorbed the significance of the information.

"What are the chances this could be a coincidence?" JJ asked rhetorically.

"Well..." Reid began. His friend raised an eyebrow. "I get it, no large numbers. But small ones. Smaller than the chance that the asteroid..."

"Were the remaining body parts of these women found?" Rossi asked matter-of-factly.

Hotch shook his head.

"Unfortunately, no. The forest is so heavily guarded by the police that it's unlikely the unsub managed to dump them there."

"But he has to be doing something with them," Prentiss said, biting the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. "Doesn't it make you wonder where he's committing all these crimes? He gets rid of the bodies quickly, and there were no signs on the victims suggesting they were held captive. Do you think he could be killing them in his own house?"

"That's possible," Morgan replied. "He wouldn't be the first. And unfortunately, he won't be the last."

"If that's the case, they're going to start smelling awful soon. He'll have to get rid of them, and with so much police presence around, it won't be that easy."

"Let's hope he makes a mistake in the process," Hotch summarized, scanning your faces carefully. Finally, his gaze landed on yours. "You’ll go to the orphanage with..." He swept his eyes over everyone around you, finally settling on Derek. Reid, sitting next to you, shifted uncomfortably.

"I'll go with her," he offered a bit too abruptly.

This shifted the focus of everyone’s attention onto you. You tried to act as if it didn’t matter who would go with you, but deep down, you were hoping it would be him.

You stared at your boss, waiting for his decision. Finally, he nodded and began assigning other tasks to the rest of the team. You couldn't help but smile, barely perceptibly, feeling grateful to Spencer.

It wasn’t that you minded the company of the others; it was simply that none of them had any idea what had happened the day before. They might ask questions about your more withdrawn-than-usual behavior or your subdued mood, and you didn’t want to talk about what had happened with your brother. You knew that with Reid, you would feel the most comfortable.

For a while, you continued discussing the farm workers, who turned out to be employed without contracts, and of course the owner who was hiring them off the books. But with each new statement from your colleagues, you became more and more detached. Your thoughts kept drifting to Jeremy and his behavior over the past few weeks. He had seemed down during your conversations, but you had chalked it up to just the usual busy period at school. On top of that, there was the family situation. Living alone, you'd almost forgotten what a typical day with your mother used to look like. You started to berate yourself, feeling guilty for not being more concerned about his state.

Eventually, everyone dispersed, ready to get back to their tasks.

You went to the car alone, as Reid had been stopped by Derek, who had asked him something with an unreadable expression. His eyebrow had raised suggestively, and you could have sworn you saw it even from several meters away. You stared at the two of them, leaning against the open passenger-side door, intrigued about what the conversation might be about. Normally, you weren’t the curious type; you didn’t like it when people asked you too many questions, and you avoided prying into others’ affairs. But this time, you couldn’t take your eyes off Spencer’s face, clearly embarrassed—maybe even… blushing?

Derek laughed at his reaction and gave him a pat on the back before walking away. Your companion sat in the driver's seat without a word, avoiding your gaze.

"Where is the orphanage?" he asked.

You turned toward him, brow furrowed.

"You remembered the whole map," you reminded him.

"Oh, right..."

You fell silent for several minutes, but your curiosity grew so much that you thought you might not be able to hold it in any longer.

"What were you two talking about? With Morgan?"

"Oh... just some stuff," he replied evasively, overly focused on the road. As if you were in the middle of a busy city during rush hour, rather than on a nearly empty road in the morning.

"You know Morgan and his... sense of humor."

"Yes, I know. Did he tell some great joke?"

"Not really."

"Go ahead. I'm curious."

"I’m telling you, nothing worth repeating... Besides, I've already forgotten it myself..."

"Reid, for God's sake, you literally have a photographic memory...!"

"Okay, fine!" he finally blurted out, removing one hand from the steering wheel and raising it in a defensive gesture. His voice went up a quarter of an octave. He then took a deep breath and put on a seemingly calm expression. "Morgan wanted to know if our... well, unusual... peculiar... definitely different from the previous days... behavior means that..."

"That what?" you asked encouragingly.

"That we slept with each other”

You blinked in slow motion, too shocked to respond. Spencer couldn't resist glancing at you, trying to gauge your reaction. For a moment, you sat frozen, then you burst into laughter.

"And what did you tell him?"

"What did I tell him?" he repeated in disbelief. "The truth, what else was I supposed to say?"

You realized how stupid your question was.

"Anyway, even if it were true... you know, that we... slept together... I wouldn't have mentioned it to him. I mean, don’t get me wrong” He quickly added the last part.“It's not that I’d be ashamed to admit it or... anything like that, I just would’ve preferred to sort it out with you first..."

You watched his growing embarrassment and... simply smiled.

"Sorry," you explained your reaction, letting out a slight chuckle. "I just thought... Well nevermind. Or…Fine, I was thinking about how strangely Emily was looking at me and how Derek probably wasn’t the only one who came to that conclusion. Look, we share a room with each other for the very first time and then suddenly we become so close... and then there's the fact that you asked to come with me..."

"That's because I wanted... I wanted to keep an eye on you after what happened yesterday."

"I understand that, and... I’m incredibly grateful to you for it. Really, Spence. But to others, it might look really suspicious."

He paused for a moment, thinking about your words. Ahead of you, the orphanage building came into view. Made of a mix of red and cream bricks, it resembled a small private school. Behind the fence, there was a small playground with a pink slide, its surface now covered in brown leaves.

"Wait," Reid asked with a slightly hoarse voice as you were about to get out of the car. "Does this mean that... you’d prefer we saw each other less?"

You were momentarily speechless.

"What? Of course not. Let them think what they want. Especially those two…lacherours, Morgan and Prentiss. It doesn’t change anything between us."

The air hit your face in waves, occasionally accompanied by a stray raindrop, but overall, the weather that day wasn’t terrible.

You made your way to the orphanage doors, trying to adopt serious, professional expressions fitting for your line of work. However, you couldn’t help but let those fleeting, secret smiles slip through. You felt a tight knot in your stomach loosen.

But back to business, no staff member at the orphanage wants to see two FBI agents on their doorstep at eight in the morning. Well, no one wants to see FBI agents on their doorstep. Regardless of the time. The woman who opened the door greeted you with a slight look of confusion. She was shorter than both of you, with thick blonde hair, wearing a fluffy lavender sweater. At first glance, she seemed friendly, but… incredibly downhearted.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked, clearly forcing a smile.

You looked at Reid and took a small breath, holding back a sigh. It dawned on both of you that… she probably didn’t know yet that the heads found on the farm belonged to her two coworkers.

Everyone in the town knew about the discovery, that was beyond doubt. The fact that these two women hadn’t shown up for work in several days should have made her realize it. But sometimes, as people, we prefer to deceive ourselves right until the very end.

You hated informing people that their loved ones had died, especially in such a horrific way. However, you knew you had to do what was required of you, reaching into your pocket for your badge.

"We're from the FBI," you said after introducing yourselves, trying to keep a gentle expression to spare some nerves for the already frightened woman. "Do you work here? We’d like to have a word with all the staff and the director."

The woman took a deep, nervous breath.

“Yes, I work here. Florence Terry. I’m… I’m a psychologist.”

She opened the door wider, letting you both inside. You quickly glanced around, immediately noticing how well-kept the place was. In your line of work, you’d surprisingly often found yourself visiting orphanages, and many — even in larger cities — were in far worse condition. In the spacious hallway stood a staircase made of light wood, leading to the upper floors. On one of the steps, someone had placed a teddy bear so that it looked like it was gazing down.

“Do you think it’s afraid of heights?” you whispered to Reid, careful that the psychologist couldn’t hear.

“I think it’s an inanimate object and therefore incapable of having fears,” he whispered back, leaning slightly toward you.

“I think you’re —”

“We’re just having breakfast,” Florence interrupted, leading you into the dining room, where a long table stood at the center. At the sight of you both, the adults seated there — likely other caregivers — put their utensils aside. There weren’t that many kids here; they could almost pass for an unusually large family, if not for the fact that nearly all of them were around the same age. There were no little ones — you noticed mostly teenagers. One boy spilled his tea on the table and wiped it up with his sleeve, his black bangs brushing against the glasses perched on his narrow nose. You weren’t sure if it was his appearance or his mannerisms, but he immediately reminded you of Jeremy.

Reid immediately noticed you staring. Of course he did. You gave a slight smile, reassuring him that everything was fine.

Your arrival didn’t cause much of a stir; most of the children didn’t even look up. It probably would have been different if they knew you were from the FBI. The expression on the psychologist's face, however, alarmed the adults. They exchanged tense glances, but tried to maintain appearances in front of the children.

The woman with the tight black ponytail stood up, introducing herself as the director.

“We can talk in my office,” she offered, shaking your hand.

“We’d like to speak with all the staff,” Reid informed her.

“Oh, of course. Then please, follow me…”

She led you to a small room on the ground floor, with the word "DIRECTOR" written on the door in colorful crayons. Three more people followed you, including the psychologist.

"Not everyone is here today," the director noted. "Some employees simply work different hours, while others..."

"That’s something we wanted to discuss," you said slowly.

The women and one man exchanged glances. They knew.

"Is… is this about Denise and Alexa?" Florence dared to ask.

To their horror, you had to confirm it. It was incredibly difficult to watch someone take in the news of not only the death of colleagues, but likely close friends as well. You lowered your gaze, staring at your shoes, giving them a moment before they were ready to continue with the questioning. Together with Reid, you had to ask them countless questions, probing to understand why these particular orphanage employees had become the killer’s victims. Or perhaps, whether they remembered any former resident who had long since left but whose behavior had raised suspicions. There was a strong likelihood that the unsub had come from there.

But before you began the questioning, the doorbell rang.

"That’s probably the volunteer. A teenager from town who comes by to help from time to time, sometimes she brings friends along," the director explained, her trembling hands pressed against her chest. "Their help has been especially valuable these past few days since… since Denise and Alexa… disappeared."

"I’ll let them in," you offered, glancing at Reid. It would be worth asking these teenagers a few questions as well.

He nodded, and you headed toward the entrance of the building. One girl pulled back quickly into the dining hall at the sight of you; she must have been eavesdropping. At first, you felt like smiling, but then sadness took over. These kids didn’t know yet about the death of their caretakers. How would the staff tell them? How would they react?

Worried by this thought, you opened the door and raised your eyebrows in surprise at the sight of… Charlotte.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted you, equally surprised. She wore the same white jacket you’d seen her in yesterday, with a colorful scarf covering half her face, her pale cheeks flushed from the cold. You glanced toward the parking lot, where the sheriff's car was just pulling away beside yours. He must have dropped off his daughter before heading straight back to his duties. The town needed him more than ever. “Dad told me who those women were… the ones I found yesterday. Is that why you’re here?”

You confirmed, lips pressed tightly together. She stepped inside, unzipping her jacket.

"My partner is talking with the staff right now," you said, stopping with her by the stairs, not wanting the children in the dining hall to overhear. "I had no idea you volunteered here. That’s really, really kind of you. How long have you been doing this?"

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly.

"Just a few months," she replied, but there was something incomplete in her tone. As if she wanted to say more but held back. You replayed your conversation from the day before in your mind, analyzing it moment by moment, trying to deduce what might be behind her behavior.

"My dad, surprisingly, isn’t too thrilled about it. I live on the other side of town, so he has to drive me here, and he also says I should be studying instead…” She lowered her voice to an embarrassed whisper. “…wandering around with the poor."

You were taken aback, even outraged, by the sheriff’s behavior. As a parent, he should be proud that his daughter took the initiative to get involved in charity work! Yet, as you looked at the girl, who was avoiding your gaze, you felt there was something she wasn’t telling you.

“I’m glad that despite his… forgive me for saying it, but rudeness, you’re still determined to help here,” you said, choosing your words carefully. Charlotte gave a shy smile at the compliment. “Out of curiosity, was it your idea? Or maybe your friends’, and you just got… drawn into it?”

The girl hesitated before finally sighing in surrender.

"My boyfriend grew up here," she admitted. "He told me a bit about this place, and… hearing his stories, I felt a need to help these kids. I started coming here, tutoring them, playing with them, teaching them to draw. You know, typical volunteer stuff."

Her answer didn’t surprise you much. Since she’d mentioned her boyfriend yesterday—describing him as someone who opposed rules and was the complete opposite of her father—you’d subconsciously known this topic would come up again. You didn’t hide the fact that the way she described him had raised concerns, making you question whether he was truly a good match for such a sensitive young girl.

"Does he know about this? Does he come help with you?"

"N-no. He doesn't have the best memories of this place... but he's really happy that I decided to do this."

You didn’t want to turn the conversation into an interrogation, but you felt you needed to ask these questions to get the full picture.

“How long ago did he leave the orphanage?”

Charlotte seemed increasingly tense during the conversation, glancing around as if expecting someone to come and rescue her. You couldn’t help but cross your arms over your chest, a gesture that may have seemed threatening or stern. Quickly realizing that you’d frightened her, you softened your posture, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

You were almost certain that this was a similar case. Charlotte was only sixteen, struggling with the death of her mother, a sensitive soul with an incredibly strict father—who also happened to be a cop. An older boyfriend might have given her a sense of escape from the heavy hand of her father’s authority, a feeling of freedom.

"Sorry, Charlotte. I didn’t mean to be so intrusive. Just a professional habit," you joked. She smiled faintly, still clearly on edge.

The way she spoke about him—the hint of fear, her earlier request for you not to mention him to her father, and her avoidance of answering how long ago he left the orphanage—made you start to seriously suspect that he was older than her. It wasn’t unusual for teenage girls to seek out older partners, and in most cases, it wasn’t a bad thing... but sometimes, those older partners turned out to be much older men. Manipulators.

Before you could say anything more, Reid appeared in the doorway of the office, casting a curious glance between you and the girl, whom he surely remembered from yesterday.

"Uh...Can I have a word with you?" he called you. Charlotte greeted him so quietly that he probably didn’t even hear it. "I think I’ve found something interesting."

"Oh, sure," you replied, remembering you shouldn’t leave him alone with the work for too long. Before leaving, you smiled at the sheriff’s daughter. The topic of her and her boyfriend was still nagging at you. "I’d like to talk to you later, okay? Either after we finish talking to the staff, or... you have my number, right?"

The girl nodded, murmuring a quick goodbye before disappearing into the dining hall, where a child squealed with delight at the sight of her.

"Did you find anything out?" you asked Reid. He had been watching the girl with obvious interest, which was piqued by your almost agitated stance. However, you didn’t have time to explain everything to him yet; you needed to get back to the main investigation.

You both returned to the office. The staff were standing in the same spots, looking as if they hadn’t moved an inch since you left.

"I asked a few questions that might help us figure out why the unsub chose three people who worked at this particular orphanage," he began. You noticed he was starting to speak faster, which meant a breakthrough had occurred, at least in his reasoning. You watched him, holding your breath. "And I found out that none of the people here have worked here for more than eight years. Just like the victims."

You furrowed your brow, not sure what that meant. The director quickly offered an explanation.

"Eight years ago, there was a huge scandal involving this orphanage," she explained, swallowing hard. "It came to light that the caretakers and the director at the time were abusing the children. Seriously abusing them. What’s worse, the case was reported multiple times, but no one in the town’s leadership did anything about it. The mayor stayed silent... They say he was afraid to do anything, so as not to lose the funding the orphanage was receiving. It wasn’t until eight years ago that the truth finally came out, the staff was convicted, and they were replaced by us."

"The town’s leadership didn’t react," you repeated her words, your mind working at full speed. "The earlier victims were part of the town’s leadership. This is the connection we’ve been looking for, Reid. The unsub must have been a victim of abuse right here in this orphanage."

"We need to tell the others," Reid decided. You both headed toward the exit, and then you remembered that you hadn’t even said goodbye to the orphanage staff.

"Thank you for your help, these are really useful pieces of information..." you said quickly as you passed them.

In the car, everything felt like it was spinning.

"Look, the unsub isn’t directly killing the people who abused him. If that were the case, the old staff would be the ones dying, not the current one. Remember, one of his victims was a teacher, completely unrelated to the orphanage. I think it’s not about punishing those people, but more about a symbolic revenge, one that doesn’t have to be logical. It doesn’t have to make sense to us, but it seems logical to him," Reid shared his thoughts as you drove toward the police station, where you expected to find the rest of your team. "He’s struggling with trauma. He’s been managing it somehow over the years, but now he’s unable to control the rage building up inside him. Decapitation is another symbol. It strips these people of the power they once had over him when he was a child or a teenager, and no one listened to his cries for help."

You straightened up in your seat, all the information starting to fall into place.

"Do you remember this morning when I mentioned that something came to my mind? That’s why I didn’t want to leave?" you asked. "At first, we were puzzled that some of the victims were treated with a different level of cruelty, specifically the women. Others, the ones from the city council, only had their heads cut off, with no other injuries. The unsub believes these innocent people are directly responsible for hurting him, he’s delusional. Sometimes he blames the city authorities for not reacting. The anger he feels toward them isn’t as intense as for the orphanage staff, which is why he harms them to a lesser extent. I think... he’s experiencing manic episodes, where all his feelings and paranoia are stronger. That’s when he kills with much greater cruelty."

“Mania?” Reid repeated, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You mean borderline?” You nodded. For a moment, he thought over your words, then his eyes lit up. “That... that’s very possible. There have been cases where borderline murderers nearly changed their modus operandi. During a manic episode, when someone with borderline personality disorder experiences heightened energy, a sense of grandeur, and excessive impulsivity, they may act more aggressively, brutally, and ruthlessly. In a depressive episode, on the other hand, the person may act more coldly, with calculated precision, focusing on their goal without emotional outbursts, but carrying a heavy load of negative emotions. It all fits.”

You nodded eagerly, feeling that familiar rush that came whenever you were close to solving a case. Your heart raced, and warmth crept over your neck, like a fever. You and Reid burst into the station, practically supporting each other like two converging whirlwinds, nearly colliding with Hotch in the process. He was initially startled, then his eyes narrowed as he took in both your faces, his expression becoming more focused as you explained everything.

For a moment, he was silent.

“Let’s call Garcia,” he finally said. “Have her find all the men who lived in that orphanage eight years ago.”

You took a deep breath. This was really happening. You were so close to catching the killer...

After filling Garcia in on everything you knew, she immediately set to work compiling a list of men who might fit the profile. Meanwhile, you and Reid headed to the coffee and snack machine. You bought yourself a drink and a chocolate bar, feeling the rush of adrenaline start to subside.

Taking advantage of the brief moment of calm, you checked your phone for any missed calls.

“Neither my mother nor my father called,” you said, slipping the phone back into your pocket. Sharing personal details with anyone on the team still felt strange—especially when it came to your family. You wondered if it would ever feel normal. You noticed Spencer giving you a concerned look. “It’s a good thing,” you added quickly. “It means Jeremy’s condition is stable. Or maybe even improving. If it were bad, I’d have twenty missed calls from my mom—and one from my dad.”

You tried to turn that last line into a joke, but it came out sounding more bleak than funny.

“I hope everything will be okay with him,” Reid said, as his cup filled with coffee from the machine. He reached for it, his gaze fixed on you. “You remember that you can come to me if things get tough, right?”

“I try not to forget,” you admitted, hugging your arms around yourself. “But it’s not something I’m used to.”

For a moment, he looked at you silently, holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes seemed so gentle and understanding that it was hard for you to look away.

"Hey, lovers!"

Spencer jumped and cursed as coffee spilled onto his hand. Startled, you both turned to see Morgan grinning at you with a playful smile.

"Come over here for a sec."

You felt the urge to cover your face at the sight of the entire team, who had all heard what he'd called you.

Some unknown force held you back from nudging Emily when she shot you an amused sidelong glance. But soon, your focus shifted to Garcia's face on the laptop screen, ready to share her findings.

"Tell us what you found, babygirl."

"So, I managed to pull up quite a long list of former orphanage residents. Surprisingly long, for such a small town. Hotch helped narrow it down a bit… I found twelve men who would now be between twenty and forty years old. Five of them still live in town, but one of them caught my eye. Well, actually, his story did. He was placed in the orphanage at ten years old after his mother, struggling with bipolar disorder, attempted suicide."

You already knew it was him.

"His name is Logan Osborne, currently twenty-four years old. He has one minor offense on record for selling weed, oddly enough, in another town. Here’s where it gets interesting—though not in a good way. His mother actually survived but passed away less than two years ago, and he inherited her house and apparently moved back into it."

"Returning to the town where he was abused must have been the trigger that pushed him to murder," said Reid.

"That would fit with my theory about bipolar personality disorder," you summarized. "Genetics alone doesn’t determine the disorder, but the fact is that in families with cases of this disorder, the likelihood of it appearing in other individuals is higher."

At one point, you had read a lot about it due to your own mother. An unpleasant shiver ran down your spine. Reid looked at you intently, surely noticing the sudden shift in the tone of your voice. God, he must have been that observant?

"What's the address of his house?" Hotch asked.

You waited in readiness as Garcia provided the information. Once she did, you all gathered and headed out.

If you had found him there, everything would have been so simple. Almost too simple.

But there was no sign of Logan Osborne at the house, nor any indication that it was inhabited by a serial killer who decapitated his victims. Instead of immediately securing the building, Hotch ordered a stakeout. Inside, several agents, including Morgan and Prentiss, waited for the moment he might show up.

The rest of the team had no tasks assigned. You waited at the precinct, hoping something would happen. Meanwhile, Garcia sifted through thousands of bits of information about the man. Some were more important than others, but unfortunately, it only seemed to fuel a growing sense of dread among you all.

Since inheriting his mother’s house, he hadn’t paid taxes or most of his bills. He didn’t have a steady job, though he picked up odd jobs here and there. You checked with the local police, but most didn’t recognize his name. One officer who did recall him said he didn’t have the best relations with the authorities. With anyone, really.

"A little anarchist, huh?" Rossi muttered.

You felt the vibration of your phone in your pocket. Reaching for it, you saw a message from an unknown number.

hey it’s charlotte. you said we could meet and talk when i needed to please can we meet? i can’t handle what i saw on the farm yesterday and my dad isn’t helping with his behavior either

A few hours had already passed since the ambush was set, and still nothing had happened, though the darkness outside was settling in.

“Would it be alright if I disappear for a quarter?” you asked. “I promised something to the sheriff’s daughter, and it looks like I’ll need to meet with her.”

You didn’t receive any opposition. If anything happened, you would be immediately informed by phone. Reid offered to go with you, but Hotch needed him for something. You wouldn’t have minded his company—on the contrary, you would have been glad for it—but on the other hand, Charlotte might not feel too comfortable with it. After all, she had arranged to meet only with you.

As you drove toward her house, you spent a lot of time reflecting on your earlier conversation. It was the first time you really had the chance to think about it seriously. Her mysterious boyfriend, whom she had been so reluctant to talk about and with whom there was probably an age gap. And who also grew up in that orphanage...

You didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you earlier. Maybe because of how well-behaved Charlotte seemed? Her big, bright eyes full of kindness. She herself seemed like the perfect teenager—sensitive and eager to help. Plus, she was the sheriff's daughter. For God's sake, you were about to go to the house of another cop.

You only realized how foolish you had been when, as soon as you stepped out of the car, something hit you in the back of the head.

You were woken up by nothing but the pain in the back of your head.

You opened your eyes, struggling to hold back a groan. Everything around you was blurry, as if you had a terrible vision problem and were forced to go somewhere without your glasses. The image, however, began to sharpen with each passing second, causing your heart to beat faster.

You were in…

It was hard to say what kind of place this was. Incredibly dark, the only weak light source was somewhere behind your back. It was possible it was a battery-powered lamp. You couldn’t confirm your suspicions, however… because you couldn’t move. You realized this with horror.

You were tied to the chair with rope. It wrapped tightly around your body, making it hard to breathe and pressing painfully on your ribs. Some of them might even be broken.

Wherever you were, the whole situation looked far from promising. Fragments of memories swirled around your head, randomly flying into your mind and helping you recall what had actually happened.

Of course, working for the FBI, you knew how to behave in the event of a kidnapping. The most important rule was: don’t panic. The problem was, it was damn hard to follow that.

Inhale, exhale, something jabbed at your ribs. You couldn’t stop another soft groan from escaping.

As if drawn by the sound, a young man appeared in your line of sight.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?” he asked, leaning over you as if you were an infant. After a second, he straightened up, the smile completely replaced by a serious expression. “I don’t like killing people when they’re asleep.”

Garcia had sent you his pictures, and even with the poor lighting, you were able to recognize your unsub in them.

"Logan Osborne?"

"I see you've done your homework."

"Where’s Charlotte?" you asked, a sudden rush of panic flooding through you. Maybe she was behind you, somewhere you couldn’t see? Was she involved in your abduction? After all, it was her who sent the message...

"You think I know where she is every moment of every day?" he sneered, suddenly angry. The room was small, but to your left, there was a rotting bench with metal objects arranged on it. You had to turn your head sharply to confirm your worst suspicion. Knives.

It was getting harder and harder not to panic.

"Knowing her, she's probably painting. My work on the farm really inspired her."

There was a sound. Like a drop falling from the ceiling.

"Where are we?" you asked.

"None of your business."

"Is this a bunker?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"What difference does it make if I find out? I'm tied up," you shrugged meaningfully, emphasizing your position. This caused a wave of pain to course through your chest.

For a moment, there was silence. The man was wandering around the surroundings, and all you could do was watch as he wiped each blade on his flannel shirt. The bile began to rise in your throat with every move he made. Pessimistic thoughts started flooding your mind, so tragic that you barely managed to hold back the tears.

First, everyone on your team thought you went to meet Charlotte. Meaning, it would likely be your prolonged absence that would eventually seem suspicious.

Second, you were in such a mysterious place that everything pointed to the fact that no one would find you, even by accident. Well, alive.

You knew you couldn’t give up, even though there was little you could do in such a situation. The only real solution in such a hopeless scenario was… convincing him to let you go. A scenario that was damn unlikely, but since death was already threatening you, why not give it a try?

"Logan," you said, your voice trembling. In your mind, you replayed his profile, reminding yourself of facts that could give you an edge in your conversation with him. "Killing me won't help you. It's not me you want to hurt, it's those who hurt you in the orphanage. And those who didn’t react."

"Fine, it’s a bunker," he replied, as if he hadn’t even heard most of what you said. "Back in the Cold War, people built them by the dozen. They didn’t even inform the authorities. We found this one once with the kids from the orphanage, and we didn’t tell anyone, you know what that means, agent?"

You were painfully aware of it.

"Logan," you tried again. "My people know you killed those people. They'll find you the moment you step out into the open. Killing me won’t change anything..."

"Not killing me won’t either."

"They’ll look at you more favorably..."

"Favorably?" he exploded in a manic laugh, suddenly right in front of you. You flinched at the sight of his crazed face so close to yours. "They’ll look favorably on a seven-time murderer? Are you joking? Since I’m already screwed, I might as well cut off your head too..."

Fuck the fake calm, you were terrified.

You trembled, the pain in your ribs intensified, and the first tears began to fall from your eyes. You thought about how you’d never see Jeremy again. How he’d wake up and your death would probably be one of the first things he’d find out. What would he do then? God, your team would think you were an idiot. Of course, no one would say it out loud, but that’s what you were. You got yourself into this situation. Under these circumstances, they shouldn’t even particularly mourn, though they probably would, just a little.

Spencer would probably grieve a little more than the others. Those two nights in one room had brought you closer, you couldn’t deny that. Before, you had thought of him as just a regular coworker, the genius boy, sometimes amusing in his awkwardness. The way he supported you at the worst possible moment made you realize just how valuable he was.

Wherever you end up after death, you’ll miss him.

You didn’t know what motivated you to speak up again. Was it the thought of Jeremy and Spencer, or perhaps the sound of Logan sharpening some kind of weapon, probably an ax?

“Please," you pleaded simply, no longer knowing what else might reach him.

"Don’t cry. I hate it when girls cry. Charlotte does it all the time."

"Charlotte," you repeated. "Did she... know?"

You wanted to know if the girl you had tried so hard to help had played an active role in your murder.

"Of course not," he sneered. "She didn’t help me with anything, if that’s what you’re asking. But she told me about you, the nice FBI agent who snoops around a lot. She thought I was just some rebellious guy, attractive to a teenager like her. You know, with a tough cop dad. I won't lie, it turned me on, sleeping with the sheriff's daughter, knowing I was being hunted by him. And not just by him. Even by the damn FBI."

He seemed proud of himself. Maybe that’s what you should do? Appeal to his ego?

"You were really a tough case," you said, pretending to be impressed. "Seriously. Hours spent analyzing, we sat in silence, none of my colleagues knew what to say..."

“Spare me, I see what you're doing. You're trying to manipulate me... because... you feel superior." After saying those words, a sudden fury ignited in him. He knocked over the rotting table, the knives on it scattering to the floor. You took a breath, clenching your fists tightly in pure panic. "Just like they did. They thought they could hurt little kids, abuse them... because their position allowed it. After all, they were older, their word against a child's word. They say children have too vivid an imagination, have you ever heard that?!”

You closed your eyes, he was screaming it right in your face.

"No, Logan, that's not true... they were monsters, but I would have helped you if I... if I could."

"Then why didn't you?!"

"I... I... I..." Tears tore through you, and you got lost in your own words.

Logan opened his mouth again, but suddenly fell silent. His earlier screams were completely drowned out by a sound from above. You stiffened, recognizing it. Footsteps.

"They're here," you whispered, like a prayer. Tears began to flow down your cheeks.

The man, jaw clenched, stared at the entrance to the bunker. He suppressed a scream of rage, turned around, and grabbed his head, not knowing what to do. But suddenly, he bent down to pick something up from the floor, one of the knives he had knocked over when he flipped the table.

"W-what are you doing?" you asked. Something urged you to struggle, even though you knew it was pointless, the ropes were too tight. "What are you doing?!"

The footsteps mixed with voices, even a shout, and the room was soon flooded with a tsunami of daylight.

"Since they’ve got me anyway, I might as well slit your throat..."

You couldn’t stop the scream as he approached you with the knife. A firm grip on your shoulder, keeping you from squirming. The cold metal on your neck, grazing the thin skin.

And then a shot.

NOTE:

I HATE THE ENDING THE READER IS SO STUPID....!

but in my defence i got kind of lost in my plans and i had to change many things in the last moment

but i want to say that im very grateful for reading 2 previos parts and all the notes under<3 i didn't expect so many likes and comments

epilogue for this story will be posted tomorrow!

taglist: @nightfullofparadox @miriamnox @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

#criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x oc #derek morgan #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #jennifer jareau #jj #emily prentiss #david rossi #jason gideon #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal mind

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strom-in-the-sky · 2 years ago

Text

My baby my baby....

·˚✎ ﹏"I'm sorry... I'm such a shity older brother....just please don't leave me.....not like this..."

Port mafia times. Dazai has a younger sibling. Being the traumatized 15 years he is. He pushed away the only one person who was close to him. A stupid wish for you to die like the death he craved so much. But what if that one wish he didn't actually want came true. Those words that he said of wished he could take back. The wish he never wished to say, the one wish he wished that was replaced with all his other wishes. The only person that believed in him when he treated them so...so wong.

Tw. Mention of suicide, death, kinda descriptive mention of a body, violent behavior, manipulation, toxic family relationship, yandere-like behavior. Angst. Spoilers to dark ark. !!platonic relationship!! {Y/N} is 10. Dazai being dazai.

It was after a fight you two had. Hearing the front door close with a soft click. It was after his loud mouth to say something to scare you. God, he was so used to seeing the fear in other eyes. But seeing how you cried and ran out of the house. Made something inside in heart snap. No. He didn't consider himself human. He moved towards the bed, sitting on it, not caring if he got the sheets dirty. He was a fucking sinner anyways. What more to bring into the roof over the two heads. He didn't deserve to be called your sibling. You should just Die. Those thoughts filled his head overwhelming him again. His long black trench coat long discarded in the shared room. Since Mori decided to toss the two siblings into a small ass apartment. It had the needed things to live. It was better than the shipping container if anything. God he fucking hates him. He hates everyone to be honest. Other than Oda, Ango, and well maybe you. He tossed you away, yelled, and took his frustration out on poor you. He would never raise his hand but the words he said he could never take back. His younger sibling always comes back. He didn't blame you if you hated him. He wouldn't even be mad if you stab him in the night. Killed him. He was already restless in the night. Hearing your soft breathing as you sleep next to him. It was better right? You would be living a better life right? Maybe the two of you can commit suicide together and live the next life away from this hell. But he was smart and knew you wouldn't want that. He sighed as he moved to get up from the bed. Grumbling as he raised a hand to massage his head that hurt. Grabbing his coat and tossing it on his shoulder. He should let you cool down first before even trying to remotely talk to you. He knew it was easy to get you on his side. You listened to him better than the men he had the power of. As the sun set as the moon began to rise a bit peaking out from the tall buildings. It's been a couple hours. Where the hell could you go so long now. Never any stars just tall lanky buildings in this city. Yokomizo was a pretty big city after all. Pulling out his black flip-phone. He started to text your phone. Matching phones...he had a pure black one and you well a pure white one. He held no reaction when he shoved the present to you. Yeah he may be an ass be he not that much of an asshole....? Thought the way your eyes light up. When the box was opened. Made something tic in him was it his heart or mind...? It wouldn't hurt to spoil you some more.

Yea, where are you. 7:01

Unread.

Get your ass home or you're grounded for a week. 7:36

Unread

Are you even listing to me right now to pick up the fucking phone? Do you don't know how to type or something? 8:25

Unread

Pick up the fucking phone {y/n}. 8:41

Unread

I'm not playing around, pick up, or come home. Right now {y/n} 9:20

Unread

His eyes twitched a bit as the calls went unanswered as well as his text. The text reflected in one eye since the other was bandaged up. He scoffed and shoved his phone into his pocket. Moving to go out of the apartment harshly closing the door behind him. The apartment was clean since you cleaned it alot. Both your clothing and stuff. A silent thank you should of say every day coming home to something so peaceful and clean. You were only 10. He was 15 and didn't know how to do half of that stuff. Maybe he needs to take your tv time away so you can stop learning to back-talk him. He was always in a bitter mood or drunk when he came home. He shoved his hands in his pocket. It was no surprise Dazai knew where you went after a fight. The park he always took you. To see you smile with all the other younger children as he stayed in the shade. He wasn't a figure to see out in the public in the light. Always the dark or shadows. Thought this fight was more different than the other. Some share words then you both get ready for bed and sleep. No, this fight was like his last straw. Mori decided to fuck with him and send him on a mission. A dangerous one. He used your name in vain. Mori did know his weakness. It was you. You. Oh, how he does anything to punch his lights out. Once more he did and didn't get along well with you. Small memories of the easy life he had with the small form in his arms. So helpless and adorable in his arms. He missed those days. Just to let losses and be the kid he needed to be. To be that child with you. He was stressed and tired. Being also paired with the new ginger in the mafia. He was going to secretly spoil you with gifts when he got home. Seeing how you looked at a plushie from a window when he went out with you on the weekends. He failed to see a rival male from an alley away waiting for the two of you. Taking photos before leaving. It wasn't any surprise had many enemies. But he was always smarter than them. Why didn't he see it then?

It all started when. You asked to join him tomorrow to go to the Mafia headquarters. The place he banned you from going since it was so dangerous there. There are too many prying eyes. He fell for it, and now he doesn't even know he can leave. He wouldn't let the same thing happen to you. He doesn't even like to talk about the work he does with you. Sometimes, coming home dirty or covered in the blood from the missions. Yes, he was easygoing at times, but he let that façade drop at home. The stupid small apartment you both called some sort of home.

"The fuck do you know about my work!? Hm? your only 10 {y/n} so shut the hell-" He was quite tired and wasn't willing to hear anything at the moment just wanting to go to bed. The shared bed the two of you shared. He never dared to cuddle or even touch you. Both have separate blankets on the bed. Always back to back. On the bed.

"Osamu! please- I promise to be quiet -" you beg to join. He didn't blame you. No one wanted to be locked up in an apartment all day and only let out on the weekend. There is nothing to do other than watching TV or the suicide books on the shelf.

"No is a no {y/n}. I'm not speaking again. So shut the fuck up." He stated as he crossed his arms. He was bigger than your form. Well, that was quite clear to know being the older one after all. He sent a glare your way as he didn't expect you to storm off. It wouldn't be the first fight or the last.

He arrived at the park he always took you to. He didn't need to hide this time behind the big trees. The night was out, and well, the demons come out to play. He scans the playground part he always used to find you at before he will "drag" your ass home. A moment he remembered you were upset you couldn't go to school and came here. Sitting in the swing. Like always, he sat next to you on the swing in silence. Tonight wasn't like that night. He smelled like blood. Something he was used to. Seeing people. Shot, stabbing, and pulling each other apart were all normal to him. Till he saw a sigh that made his breath stop. He started to shake a bit as he slowly moved forward. It wasn't you, right? That white phone that was broken next to the body slumped on the ground covered in blood. It wasn't the same, right?? RIGHT? He slowly made his way over, not believing the sight he was seeing. It's not you right, not you, not you. It was you. A slumped body on the concrete ground bruised and bloody bleeding from who knows where. His baby sibling. That did nothing wrong. To need this. He needed this. For all he did - It was till the point the color red was around part of your body. He fell to his knees with his rapid breath. His one eye wasn't deceiving him. The worst nightmare came true. The nightmare he never wants to be true. A wish he didn't want but said it because he was a peace of shit. He moved his shaking hand towards the body. Lifting it close to his chest. He didn't care if the blood got on him he was used to it. But the blood icky him because it was your blood. He didn't cry or scream. Just shook he felt how small your breaths were. How quiet and weak it was. How fucking dare you do this to him. How dare someone touch his sibling. He quickly moved the body in his arms to a bridal style holding the form in his arms before he began to run. Run to the place he told you not to go run to the man he keep you so far away from. Fucking sick pervert. He knew the nurses were out for the night. The night nurses didn't do shit. Per experience. He ran to the man he called a boss knowing he was the last hope for your survival.

"Don't you dare fucking die on me. Or your never hearing the end of this."

He wasn't sure if that was just to reassure himself or make an unspoken promise to you to keep you safe. To keep you. To keep you as his baby sibling. Pure from this world.

He just prayed he wasn't too late to save his baby.

Hehehe cliffhanger.

Proofread - yup yup

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Might start advertising my bots in stories lol. I really need to do more better things in my life.

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#bsd fluff #yandere bsd #bsd x reader #pm dazai #dazai angst #dazai x y/n #dazai #dazai osamu #bsd #bsd scenarios #bsd spoilers #Strom story's

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nocturnesanomaly · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 5: Is your blood authentic?

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 5: Is your blood authentic?

Wordcount: 6.1K

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Grooming, depiction of suicide, self harm, blades

Description: You make plans to finally ship out, getting ever closer to your fate.

A/N: Hope you enjoy my work!

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

Simon has been absolving his distance a lot faster than you can handle.

He did as he promised, tries to go slow and from the beginning, yet the history between the two of you prevent you from feeling like it's a true beginning. It feels like you're both hiding from it, the looming truth over either of you. He doesn't fully know what happened, he doesn't know why your pen pal ship ended.

Even when it had begun it was tense, more distant than you wanted. Yet you clutched onto those letters from him like lifeline, no matter how much it burnt to read them over and over again, to whisper his words out in the night like a prayer.

You had wet those papers with your tears, crushed them, tore them and taped them back together. You had held those papers tightly in your hands, much like how you hold the files on the man you're meant to detain.

"We have to be discreet, if he senses something is up, he could get spooked and skip" Price proposes. He's holding a fat cigar between his lips; the smoke makes you dizzy. When he had originally been gracious enough to ask if it was alright, you had been enough of a sucker to nod your head.

Simon stood beside you in a rigid stance. He had said nothing either, so who were you to deny the captain his bread and butter.

"It's a small-time, close-knit community but new residents aren't foreign, tourists even less so. If we pose as one of them, stay low, don't attract attention nobody should suspect as anything other than another group of careless tourists." You offer up your idea to the room. You wish he would open a window.

Captain Price takes another long drag from his cigar; he keeps the smoke in for so long you think he might actually choke on it before he let's it go. "Hm, not a bad idea, gives us the advantage" his eyes flicker to Simon taking note of his careful gaze towards the scattered plans on the table.

"Ghost?"

You don't know when he turned this quiet. Even when you were kids, he was never the most talkative person in the class, but he was never this brooding. He's honed his focus a lot more over the years, you wish you could say the same for yourself.

You really wish the captain would open his window. Not only is the smoke starting to smell bad, but the smoke is already hazing the already dimly lit office. Meeting this late in the evening hadn't been your ideal choice, but the captain is a busy man as he said.

"If they find us out, we could be overrun quicker than we could defend ourselves" Simon speaks up after a moment of thought, "we have no idea how many they actually have."

"It's a risk we'll have to take if we're meant to make any progress," Price says while still holding clear consideration for the lieutenant’s proposed dilemma. Simon was objectively right, if the collective were to get aggressive it's likely they wouldn't be able to fend them off. Still death was an unlikely scenario, it wouldn't be their first resort.

He doesn't seem keen on the idea either way. "Even with Spider's intel it's a lot of uncertainty, what they have brought is extensive but...not much in the same lane," he glances towards you. His eyes say nothing but his gesture seems almost apologetic. You don't get why.

Most of the intel you brought on the cult was extensive but only scraped the tip of the iceberg. The things you once knew about the cult could have been changed, and most of the things you had on paper got burned when you went into hiding. All you had now was the few official documents that still counted, and your memory that often times don't serve you all that well.

"Spider?" Price asks confused. Your stomach drops. It hadn't even registered in your brain that he had used the nickname in front of a superior. "You two made up then," he smiles.

What.

"We're fine," Simon interjects before you can cast that bewildered glance you so desperately want to, "civil."

"Works for me," Price shrugs his beard creasing in a weird way when he adjusts his smile. "Spider could work for a good callsign, should you ever consider joining up with us again," he proposes. He is getting way ahead of himself.

"Unlikely..." you whisper quietly in response, the word concealed behind a heavy exhale. "We'll need to make our move soon. We don't actually know whether he will be in one town or the other, and if he is how long will he be."

"I'll clear it with Laswell and with any luck we ship out in the evening, there's no use delaying" Price concludes with a nod "can't waste our talents away here when we're needed out there."

Johnny hasn't felt this anxious in a long time. It borders excitement, but he wouldn't dare call it that openly. The promise of actual direction, the promise of being able to do something worthwhile, plus an interesting new recruit with them left him buzzing with newfound energy.

It has him pacing back and forth in his room, still with energy in his muscles even after Simon had dragged him to the gym in an attempt at tiring him out. "Would you calm down," Simon grumbles at him when he continues to pace back and forth.

The mental checklist in Johnny's head kept getting disordered. He had already packed what he needed for mission; it was an indefinite stay so the restrictions on what he could bring was more lax than usual. He doubted they would get much free time between the work they needed to conduct, but he'd be damned if he didn't put in some time to relax with his sketchbook.

There was a lot to keep focus on, a lot to keep track of and with his brain already focused on the wrong things it was difficult to not get into a frustrated confusion. "Johnny," Simon calls out when he doesn't stop.

He still doesn't answer, and keeps walking back and forth between the duffel bag in front of the bed and the dresser in the other side of the room. He needed to recheck his clothes. Did he have enough socks?

"Johnny."

He did have his pen, right? Extras. He should get extras if there was still space. Who knows how long they'd be staying, until they had something more concrete on the target mayhaps, more likely until there was a more finalized outcome on the whole thing.

"MacTavish..."

He really hoped it wouldn't surpass Christmas. His mother would be furious if he didn't make it home, it's been too long since he was able to see her and the rest of the family again, and despite Simon's apprehensions he knew they'd all want to see him too now that they've finally warmed up to each other.

"Hey! MacTavish, come help me."

Like a chord snapping in his brain, he spins on his heel to come plop down to his knees Infront of the bed where Simon has been sitting impatiently. "What is it," he huffs out looking up into his partners eyes. They had a way of being so expressive even behind the mask and the eye black, it had taken him a long time to learn to read them properly.

"Hold it," Simon hands off a small roll of support bandages into his hands. Johnny gives him an unimpressed look. Simon had been struggling with pains in his wrist, which was ironic as that was usually where he ended up himself with excessive drawing.

"Ye should really change it...get this one washed" he scrunches his nose up pretending there was a smell to get the dramatic effect across.

"I'll do it before we go," Simon mumbles and stretches out his wrist so it pops. His mask twists when, as Johnny assumes, he pulls his face into a grimace. "What's on your mind love," he mumbles out afterwards.

"All of it," Johnny huffs nursing the roll in his hands.

"Out of the ordinary?"

"Yeah, just everything about them," he thinks back to you, back to the meeting. You had been an antsy thing ever since he met you. He had chalked it up to you being shy, but later on he realized that wasn't exactly the case. You weren't as much shy as you were just anxious 99 percent of the time.

"Been getting along with them?" Simon reaches out to grab the roll from him again.

"Let me..." he mumbles reaching out to take a hold of Simon's wrist instead. He begins wrapping it around just like how he wants.

"Yeah, I have," he continues. "Ah think anyway..."

"They're difficult," Simon characterizes you rather nonchalant.

"They're new," Johnny corrects him, "they just need a little time, a little push. I still remember what you were like when I first met you, cold bastard"

"I remember you to be a pain my arse" Simon scoffs and turns over his hand so it's easier to wrap the rest of it.

"Still am sir" He answers cheekily.

He finishes the last wrap around his wrist, sealing it with the two little clasps. He watches as Simon retracts his hand, flexing it and almost stretching it too much before he could stop him. He had been there a few times himself; he knew how restrictive it felt, but any rest would do. It would be hard to get more rest for it when they deployed very soon.

"I like them," Johnny perks up again. "They can be charming in their own way; ah don't even have to drag them to lunch anymore they come willingly."

Simon snorts quietly in response, huffing out amused.

"Ah think yer little talk helped them calm down a bit, they seem more relaxed around me and Garrick too. Still tense but..eh...relaxed. Not so much of a laugh that one, but ah think they just need a bit more time, they have a funny side ah can feel it," he says with a light-hearted smirk.

"Lot of hope coming from you, taking a real liking to them then?" Simon asks, little crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes indicating the smirk beneath his mask.

"Can't tell me ye haven't? Used to like 'em something fierce didn't ye?" Johnny turns a suggestive look, one that is only reciprocated by a groan from his partner. He slowly rises off the floor and back to his feet, his knees starting to throb from the harsh wooden panels.

"That was a long time ago," Simon reaches out for him, puts his hands on his hips to pull him closer.

"But you did. They are a cute one, I definitely see the appeal" Johnny lifts a suggestive eyebrow. Though he somehow doubted it would happen, it wouldn't be the first time they had shared a person, it wouldn't be last if it turned out like it always did. For a brief moment he allowed himself to indulge in a pointless fantasy.

"Careful, Johnny. You don't know them like I do."

"Yeah, well ah seem to have a lot of luck with dark, gloomy, emotionally constipated bastards," he says with a smirk on his face. Simon's hands squeeze the meat on his thighs.

"I don't think they're interested in us like that. Don't got half a mind to know what they've been through; they seem very determined to get the job over and done with quick."

Johnny scoffs at that. He had always found it amusing how Simon couldn't see what was right in front of him. He was right that you weren't showing the same interest that Johnny was looking for, but the subtle attention you put into the details of your surroundings was noticeable.

"Ye have no idea how they look at ye then," Johnny blows air out through his nose, "got ways to go in warming up to myself but ye...ye already got them locked in."

"Easy." Simon says his hands traveling up to grab Johnny's wrists. It gets his attention, gets him to pause. "Just..." Simons clears his throat, "Just go easy on them, we don't know how they'd even feel about that. It's hardly professional, and they don't seem enticed in anything that isn't."

"Bit stuck up then?" Johnny mentions cheekily.

His smile drops when Simon gives him a look. "I'll go easy Simon, jus' jokin' around..." he turns his smile warmer, more welcoming to ease the looming anxiety that's no doubt building in his partners chest.

Johnny brings his hands to Simon's shoulders. They glide over them, squeezing at pressure points he knows gets his partner to relax. He trails his hands up, letting them hold the sides of his neck.

He doesn't miss the way Simon's breath hitches. He smiles at it, only satisfied when Simon finally allows himself to close his eyes and release the air in his lungs through a deep sigh. It wouldn't be the first time they would have invited a third into their bed, though he can see how this would be different for Simon.

He's typically not this worked up over a person. Then again this would be the closest Simon had to family that was still left, and he hadn't even been in contact for years. While he had originally meant the suggestion as a joke to lighten the mood, Simon hadn't exactly said no. It got further questions to stir in his mind, he would make sure to get answers one way or another eventually.

"At the end of the day it's jus' a mission like any other," Johnny reassures him, "with them or not."

Simon stirs, leans forward to bury his face in Johnny's stomach. It makes him feel mushy inside. "I'll tell you eventually...everything." Simon mumbles against him.

"I know..." he let's out a soft breath of relief, his arms moving to encircle around Simon's head instead. He leans down to place a kiss on his scalp. "Whenever ye're ready, we've done this before" he reassures him.

By nightfall it's reaching freezing temperatures. None of the clothes on your body is yours, and its warmth feels superficial. The plane is different than what you're used to, not so much packed to the teeth as what you'd have thought. Laswell was already having your new place of residence prepared with everything you needed.

You had always known her to be a resourceful woman. There wasn't much you could ask of her that she wouldn't be able to get you, the only real question was whether she wanted to or not.

Gaz took your bag from you, throwing it with the rest under a couple of seats. He had clearly stopped questioning your lack of belongings, though he seemed to find it no less weird.

"You got everything?" he asks looking you over as if you were supposed to be hiding something beneath your fuzzy jacket. You nod your head, finding no energy to offer him a verbal response.

The rest had already settled in, with their own things tucked neatly away. You didn't miss a lot about the military, but there was something to be said about the clean order enforced.

You walk past Simon and Soap, sparing them half a glance. Their hands are pressed against each other, a sorry attempt at making their affection subtle. You take a seat besides the captain. He's got a beanie on, tucked into a coat looking just as fuzzy as your own.

His eyes are closed, head tilted back, his hands folded neatly in his lap as if he were in a meeting. "You got a problem spider?" he asks amused, sensing your stare. Your chest heats up, your neck too from the sudden rush of blood.

You can't decide whether you dislike the new nickname or not. It sounds weird coming from his mouth; it sounds weird coming from anyone but Simon. It had been something intimate once, then it died along with some old memories, only to be reawakened on the wrong tongue.

"No sir."

You rip your eyes away from him, you could admire his beard from afar. The spiking pain you've been ignoring starts to come back through your nerves when you start to feel something warm and smooth trickle in your palm. Masking your hand with your other, you unwrap the chain from your wrist and pry the little crucifix from your skin. You wipe the fresh blood on your cargos, taking a moment let yourself linger on it.

You're getting closer to the source now, closer than you've been in a long time. There was little chance to back out now, but you knew you still wanted to. The only thing to carry you forward back into the den of wolves were the pure hatred you held for it. You could do little from afar, you needed to get in real close if you were to set it ablaze one last time.

You could already see it in your mind. Another system set on fire, coated in oil and with a single lighter flame, you could burn it all down like you were taught to. You could bring down the hellfire on the right person this time.

"Oh, are ye religious?" the feint Scottish accent pulls you out of your fiery thoughts. You clutch the chain back into the little wound you've created. It stings beautifully.

"No."

Liar, liar, liar.

You tuck it back around your neck, hiding it beneath the layers that feel foreign on your skin. It's heavier than normal.

The chain rests comfortably beneath the military slacks that was just one size too big. Your heart is all the way up in your throat, pounding furiously against your ribcage. You had been ignoring the nausea for the last 10 minutes, but one encouraging clap on your back from a teammate had you bucking over and heaving for air.

You could still hear his mocking laugh at the sight.

When you had finally agreed to join up, you had expected it to be hard but not this excruciating. You'd had at least 10 thoughts of quitting this morning alone. Though you couldn't deny there was a sense of community among your teammates, you also couldn't seem to penetrate the invisible barrier that kept you from being apart of that community.

The sun is blaring atop the blue sky making it hard to see. Sweat dripples down your forehead, you no longer know whether it's from the heat of the sun, or from the drills you've been running the entire morning.

Everybody here had their own layer of cruelty to them. It could loud and brash like the group on base that you always made sure to avoid, or it could be quieter more calculated. Ones you had fallen for more than once before learning your lesson. You tiptoed around it, making yourself just good enough to qualify without standing out terribly much.

"You alright?"

You raise your head to look at her. About the only person you could rely on even a little here. You had joined up around the same time, through the same unconventional way. She had taken notice of you first, practically pushed her way through the crowd to introduce herself to you specifically. The weirdness of it in general was still throwing you off till this day.

"Thanks, Emma...yeah I'll live" you accept her outstretched hand offering support despite not truly needing it. At least she had always been nice, never demanding.

She claps her hand over your back, letting out the sweetest sunshine giggle you've ever heard. It makes you want to barf, yet you can't help but love it all the same. A nice cooling gust of winds pass the two of you, and her hand shoots up in a protective manner for her hair. She was still seeming to struggle with her new hairstyle, long black hair wound up in the tightest bun known to man. How her scalp isn't hurting constantly you have no idea.

"Don't worry, lunch will be here soon, can get some nutrition into you- "

A loud whistle interrupts her and sets everyone into motion. She quickly grabs onto your arm to pull you over in the forming line. You do your best to bite back on the hiss of pain, when her thumb presses down on the bruise beneath your long sleeves.

You straighten your back after she has practically shoved you into formation, eager to have you do it right on time. Her own version of a kind gesture after you came last three times in a row, and got pointed out even more than that.

One of your superiors starts walking down the line with someone else awfully familiar. You keep your eyes straight whenever your superior looks your way, but you manage to catch a glimpse of who he is. The man who got you into the whole thing in the first place. You hold back the excitement in your chest.

He stands tall, a true leader, blonde hair sleeked back and an expression on his face that would send any recruit running. It makes you smile. You had a lot to learn from him, and he had promised to teach you.

Your eyes dart to a furry companion he had brought. A big dog, you think. It looks a little too big to just be a dog, a little too wild for you to trust it wouldn't bite. It walks perfectly in line with him, it's tail swaying slowly behind it. Its coat is beautiful if it wasn't for the giant red cross painted across its head and down it's muzzle.

It has something uneasy stirring in your stomach. You force your gaze back up, catching yourself staring at him, he's staring back. He nods towards you, and sends you a smile that makes your legs feel like jelly.

His office is pristine. Not a single thing out of place, not a speck of dust to be found. It didn't get used often. He was always out travelling between places of God knows where, doing things that was to prepare for His grand plan. Or so he said anyway.

"Come in," he calls on you, your name sweet on his lips like the beckoning echo of weeping angels. He'd finally show you the way, like he had promised in the graveyard turned to ash. His elbows rest on his desk, his chin prepped on top of his folded hands as he regards you with a cold gaze.

You advance without falter in your step, coming to a stop at a more respectable distance. The same overgrown dog was resting in a corner of the room. Its black eyes follow you your every movement, as if just waiting for the command to strike at you.

"I'm not going to waste your time with menial formality," he slides an open convolute across the table, yet it's still too far away to read the small text. A formal invitation he clearly doesn't expect you to actually read.

"You'll be finishing your basic training soon, and what will happen to you next will be decided." He takes a moment to watch your reaction, but you remain stoic, giving him a simple nod in confirmation. "I've made a couple of deals to have you transferred directly under my care for my own initiative. All I need is for you to...agree to it," his tone turns leading, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Ofcourse, I'll agre-"

He speaks your name sternly, cutting you off before you can go on your rant about how you were practically ready to devote your life to this thing, whatever it was.

"I need to know that you'll be in it, truly in it. This new project is unconventional to what you've previously been exposed to. It will test your patience, your willpower, your faith. Do you believe you have the strength for it? Do you believe your blood is authentic? and will you be ready to spill it for the cause being run in His name?"

You nod fast. Too fast.

"Good, I didn't expect anything else from you. You'll be finishing your training here, I believe there may be others among your rank that would be inclined to join our cause as well, I expect you to find them and lead them towards the path."

He looks at you with an unrivalled determination, a fire roaring loud and hot inside him to drive him towards his goal. His expression doesn't leave much room for question or doubt, and before you can even comprehend what you're agreeing to, you take the first real step in.

"Don't worry, I have someone in mind, sir."

It's a little cabin in the distance. Laswell hadn't promised anything luxurious, you were there on "vacation," but you apparently couldn't afford something proper closer to the town itself. Still the sorry thing that tips over in hill in the distance made you want to turn around and walk the 30 minutes back to the plane.

You knew it was going to be an uncomfortable few weeks, if the ache in your body had anything to say for it. You had already declared snow your new mortal enemy in the first ten minutes of walking through the forest and sinking into the ground with each step.

There had already been the expectation and the preparations for a colder climate, but you hadn't expected to have snow up to your midthigh in some areas. Luckily it didn't go that deep near the dedicated paths. Some of them must be irregularly cleaned for tourists.

You've been walking at an irregular pace yourself, getting continuously passed by the others until Simon fell into step with you a few minutes ago. He blends in with his surroundings uncannily, each step he takes is thought out, quieter than the rest. You don't doubt that he's made an impeccable soldier, back in your own prime he'd likely have been able to take you down with minimal struggle, if size was something to go off of.

The fatigue was already starting to enter your legs, your brain fighting hard to not give into any brain fog. You could only hope you wouldn't catch a cold from the drastic change in environment. Price shouts out something you don't quite hear, but you know what he wanted to say. You're finally here.

It looks a lot bigger when you're this close. A one story that makes itself look better than it is by raising its roof higher, giving the illusion of more space when none of it is utilized. Soap and Gaz are getting agitated the more Price struggles with the keys.

Simon comes to a stop a few steps behind you. He's always back there, trekking behind everyone else. You'd be lying if you said it didn't make you a little antsy. Price utters a loud curse you haven't heard before when he finally gets the door to budge open.

The five of you seem to have pretty much the same idea of immediately throwing the heavy bags in a big pile on the floor. The fire is already going. Whoever you were renting this from atleast knew a little about hospitality.

"Finally," Gaz groans, stretching out his arms till they give off a nasty pop, going to do the same with his neck.

Soap is the first to go on a little exploration adventure through the living room you stepped into, the open kitchen at the end, and the smaller hallway connected to them both. You had been right, not as big as mistakenly advertised.

"Aye...no food though, going to have to do some shopping asap!" Soap shouts from the kitchen followed by a louder bang, likely having been the fridge door.

You internally thank yourself for packing an extra lunch you could eat as breakfast the morning after, should your stomach allow it.

"Really, this the best Laswell could scrounge up?" Gaz says frustratedly, "I saw at least four better options on the way to this isolated thing."

"Be grateful you get a roof over your head sergeant, it'll do" Price responds in a tone no less frustrated. He didn't seem to be any happier with the place than his subordinate. You couldn't really put fault on either of them, it was far from stellar only the necessities to remain inconspicuous.

Simon acquires the keys from Price, promptly doing his own little surveillance to make sure all the doors and windows had proper locks on them, and that they were in fact locked. You weren't the only one skittish about this place.

"Alright round up everyone, for tonight you are ordered to rest. It's been a long day, I know some of you are weary from the flight," he gives you a pointed look that feels almost accusatory. Soap walks back to little circle you had unintentionally formed, dragging Simon with him by his sleeve on his way.

"We don't have a lot of space to deal with so, Garrick and I will be the taking the smaller room at the end of the hall, Ghost, Soap and Spider can share the bigger one, figure out sleeping arrangements amongst yourselves."

"Only two beds, shouldn't be a problem for you two to share" Gaz says in a joking tone, putting a hand on Soap's shoulder that gets almost immediately shaken off. You keep your eyes to the ground. It wasn't any of your business. You fear they take notice.

"You're grown adults, I expect you to be able to figure it out," Price says already laying the ground rules of don't disturb him today. "I will be turning in, I suggest you all do the same, the real work starts tomorrow."

"Yeah yeah" Simon grumbles in a lower voice than normal, putting a firm hand on Soap's back to steer him away from the conversation before it drags out. Wordlessly you follow them down the hall, keeping a greater distance, at least as much as the narrow way would allow.

"Better not be cramped" Soap grumbles turning the handle and using more force than necessary on the door. It was his lucky day. The room was a lot more spacious than you had imagine it to be, it almost makes you feel bad for the captain and the other sergeant that they didn't opt for this one.

Two beds, two dressers, a big mirror on top of one of them and large windows at the end of the room looking onto the snowy mountains. It was better than you'd had in over a year, you had little to complain about.

Mountains. The mountains. The idea strikes you like a quiet zap of electricity. If the cave systems were still accessible it would be a viable place to investigate. If you knew the cult well, and you did, they were likely going to put the old pathways to use again.

Soap says something you don't catch as he walks over and claims one of the beds for him and Simon. You walk and claim the other one by placing your duffel on top of it. It was going to be weird sleeping next to them, or opposite of them. You could only pray that you wouldn't be visibly weird about it

"Ah guess It won't be so bad," Soap let's out a relieved sigh, finally able to dispose of some of the heavier gear and clothes that kept him warm.

"As Price said, it'll do" Simon agrees with a quiet hum and nod of his head.

Soap starts to roam around the room, opening the closet doors, moving the curtains around, stifling his curiosity the practical way. "Well should do, we have enough space, plenty of closet space for each of us, a damn good scenery out the window, can almost excuse it for a small vacation."

"Going to be far from a vacation this," you chuckle quietly, slightly enthused by his own newfound excitement over your living space.

"We should keep the curtains closed; we're exposed like this" Simon ever so practical walks over tugging on the curtains. He leaves it halfway open to let some light in while the sun was still up. It wouldn't be long before it would descend again and cloak the woods in a thick darkness.

"What do ye reckon is in there?" Soap gestures towards the door behind you. He walks a little close as you turn around to inspect it yourself. You hadn't even noticed it when you first claimed your bed. It's awfully close too, perhaps you could move your bed a bit further away from it so it wouldn't bother you if anyone should go in there, or out of there.

"Don't know...more closet space?" it's meant as a joke but turned away from them you can't see their reactions. You place your hand on the handle. It's ice cold. Your eyebrow furrows. The rest of the room had been comfortably warm, not even chilly despite the icy temperatures outside.

You open the door towards you to take a look inside. You feel your blood run cold. Your body freezing in place. Your hand gripping the handle impossibly tighter.

It's a bathroom. Ugly tile floor, small toilet to the right, sink next to it, shower right in front. You could almost have missed the blood from how well it mixes in with the orange tiles. But it's hard to ignore the body.

Her dead eyes are staring you down. Her last accusatory yet sad words are still on her lips unspoken. Her body is still wet from the water, the blood pooling from her arm mixing in with the water on the floor too. Her naked body is still littered with scars from head to toe. Though the cut going from wrist down her forearm hadn't been meant to add to the collection.

It had been final.

Intentional.

You can feel the glint of metal in the corner of your eyes. You don't need to look down to your feet to know that the blade is there. You can feel the blood coating your own arms, tainting the door handle with your sin.

Do you feel it yet? The pressure?

The shadows pool around her, grasping at her skin, pulling at her flesh.

They'll know. They'll dig dig dig. They'll cast you out to the wolves.

You don't know what she wants with you now, what she wanted with you then. You can't remember, your brain a vast empty space, a mere echo of who she was. There's a chill in your bones, something lost and angry, wanting you to know and answer. You still haven't answered it.

You try to remember her name, her significance to you. A misplaced droplet of blood runs down her forehead. The red complimented her complexion well. It had been her favourite colour.

"Hey.....hey....you okay?" his voice is muffled, far away, in a different reality from yours. He's going to reach you eventually, they all are. They'll see it all eventually, they'll figure it out, distrust you for it, abandon you, punish you.

Soap places his hand on your shoulders and your reflexes fire like a gun. You grab his wrist hard, looking at him with an angered look that only lasts a second before you tuck far away. His eyes widen, guilty entering his features as he removes his hand and puts them up in defeat.

"Woaah, sorry didn't mean to scare ye," he starts off in a gentling tone "ye weren't answering, it's just a bathroom, right?"

"Oh fuck...yeah...I zoned out" you excuse it moving a few steps back. The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You look back into the bathroom. Orange tile, toilet, sink, shower. She's gone. Soap nods looking in himself, to your luck he seems to let your weird reaction go, yet you can still feel Simon's stare in the back of your neck. You don't turn around to meet it.

You bite your lip, keeping your eyes on the bathroom as if she would appear again. You almost wish that she would, because you know who she is, who she was to you. You've always known, as if you could ever forget it.

Her name had been Emma, and she was the first to die.

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fall0utmind · 3 months ago

Text

Medical Leak AU Ch6

Chapter 6 - Burn/ Mistake Below (4k)

Part 1 - 5 here

Here on AO3

****

I'm still sick and my head hurts but i REALLY hope you guys enjoy this chapter of pure pain.

Thank you so much for all the love, I so so so appreciate it.

Let me know what you think!!

TW//// suicide - slight descriptions of suicide and dying (no actual death) - mentions of overdose and injury (all past)

The room holds its breath. Everyone is on high alert, their wide-eyed stares dancing between different group members, cataloguing every reaction. They are collectively choking on the escalating tension balancing on a razor’s edge, threatening to asphyxiate them all. Valentino studies the scene before him, blinking in confusion at the strange mix of people filling the small space. He raises his eyebrows at his boys, who shuffle awkwardly; Bez refuses to meet his eyes, staring steadfastly at the floor instead. Pecco and Luca do not share the same reservations, meeting his stare head-on. He is astonished to find unrestrained anger in Pecco’s eyes, and he questions what lies he has been fed to him by the surrounding men. He rips his gaze away, instead turning to assess the wider room.

Contrary to popular belief, Valentino is merely a person and, therefore, experiences very human emotions. Watching Marc fly off his bike, somersaulting in the air before slamming into the gravel, made his heart drop and his breath catch. When he didn’t make a move to get up, a decade’s worth of resentment and pain promptly disappeared as overwhelming fear choked him. However, the guilt that has been souring in his stomach since his run-in with Marquez earlieris beginning to evaporate, replaced by the scorching ragethat only Marc can illicit. Valentino observes how Marc has thrown himself on top of Dovizioso and Lorenzo, his teeth grinding in outrage. He cannot believe his insolence – to act like the world has done him some injustice; to fall into the arms of anyone who will offer; turning Valentino’s own riders against him. He seethes at the thought. How can Marc sit there acting so pleased when he has made Valentino feel this way? How dare he trick him like this? Alex is standing to the side, unnoticed, with his fists clenched by his sides, hot fury spilling over. Who the hell does Valentino think he is turning up here, after everything he has done?

Valentino glances at Marc again, pausing at what he observes. There is something odd about the way he is holding himself; his usual mask of cold indifference has fallen away, replaced by wide-eyed worry. Marc is coiled tight with tension and has been since he registered Valentino. His gaze is darting around the room, anxiety practically dripping off him. It makes no sense. He does not look pleased, or smug. He is not ready for a fight. Instead, he seems scared, defeated, and even drained, like he has nothing to give. Valentino deflates slightly at the lack of provocation he finds from the group, none of this makes sense.

Marc is still slouched on the couch and is visibly panicking now; his heart is thumping in his chest and his breathing has become laboured. The last person he wants to see after the craziness of this weekend is Valentino. He feels vulnerable and helpless, stripped bare in the face of his adversary and unprotected in his own safe space. Images conjured by his traitorous brain flood his mind: Valentino destroying his last remaining sanity; Marc losing everything he has left; and Marc's friends abandoning him when they discover how hopeless he is. He bites back the distressed whine trapped in his throat, desperately hoping no one notices the choked-off noise he makes instead, but 7 sets of eyes immediately dart towards him, the silence broken. He gulps on his fear, his body frozen despite his mind screaming for him to move. The attention of the whole room is directed at where he is staring like a rabbit in headlights, too scared to flee. In his periphery, he swears concern flashes across Valentino’s face, gone as soon as it came, before he speaks, uncharacteristic uncertainty colouring his voice.

“Marc, I-”

Jorge curtly cuts him off, unwilling to let Valentino land his first blow.

“Valentino, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Valentino looks him up and down, sitting at ease in Marc’s living room. The younger is still sprawled across him and Dovi, looking up with scared eyes. Molten-hot anger once more boils in Valentino’s stomach. He does not understand what elicits such a strong reaction; whether it is the presence of Lorenzo or the way Marc is all over the pair of retired riders. Although, why would he be angry about that? It is none of his business who Marc screws. He scoffs, his face contorting into harsh, livid lines. All his intentions for politeness are forgotten. But Jorge knows his old rival too well not to see what is going on, and he can’t allow that. He pushes Marc towards Dovi, letting him settle before he jumps up, starting towards Valentino and talking lowly so that only he can hear.

“Don’t you dare, he has every right to move on, you don’t give a shit about him. Don’t pretend you do. He’s wasted enough of his life over you when you went out of your way to ruin him”

Who said a little jealousy wasn’t good to make sure someone knew what they were missing? Valentino's jaw hits the floor, astonishment and fury pouring over him like gasoline to a fire.

“Move on? Move on from what? I don’t care what the hell the bastard does in his spare time, I just want him to leave my boys out of it. Get out of my way Lorenzo”

The heightened emotions leak into their voices, louder than intended, grabbing the interest of the others. Alex stands up, coming to stand next to Jorge. Marc’s face has shuttered at Valentino’s words. Luca and Pecco also make a start towards Vale but are halted by Jorge’s hand. Alex beat them all to it, swearing up a storm in Catalan.

“Vés a cagar a la via, puto desgraciat!”

Marc is staring at his brother with shock written across his face, he has never heard him sound so furious. Alex pays no mind, his wrath directed at Valentino.

“Puto imbècil de merda!”

Most of them have no idea what he is saying, but they can gather that isn’t exactly polite. Jorge looks torn between laughter and dismay. Alex collects himself enough to seethe once more in Valentino’s direction, in English this time, so he can understand.

“You bastard. You absolute bastard. How dare you turn up here and start acting so self-righteous. I hate you. You ruined everything. I almost lost him. We all almost lost him-”

Alex chokes on his next words, emotions overwhelming him. There are tears in his eyes which he furiously wipes at as he turns towards Jorge, gesturing for him to continue, before he slinks across the motorhome and through the door to the bedrooms. Valentino shakes himself from his stupor, astonished by the outburst.

“Is he always so dramatic-”

He never gets to finish that sentence as Jorge interrupts him, truly fed up with his nonchalance and refusal to see the truth.

“No, no, you listen here, you bastard. You didn’t have to watch him break down in your arms because of the things people have been saying. You didn’t have to watch him cling to the only people he had left for him because you took everyone else away. You left, walked out, left him broken, and let everyone else pick up the pieces of your mess. Fuck you, Valentino. Fuck you and your stupid denial and your ability to make your own problems everyone else’s.”

Vale stands silently, indignance rising inside him, rendered speechless by Jorge and Alex’s outbursts. He glances at Marc, who has masked his face into the perfect picture of media calm, only a slither of his previous panic shines through. His eyes look far away as if he is barely conscious of the chaos around him. He pushes the thought to the side.

“What the fuck? What did you just say? He lost me my tenth. We all know that I just told it as it was.”

He looks towards his academy boys, who all refuse to meet his eyes. It only makes him madder, a little hysterical at the idea that they too had been corrupted.

“No, we fucking don’t. Ask yourself Vale, what the hell would Marc gain from helping me over you? Why would he do that? He loved you, not me. You’ve clouded your own brain with lies and conspiracies and you’ve forgotten the truth. Marc did fuck all apart from trying to win.”

Marc reacts to that, grimacing from his seat, looking between Jorge and Valentino with barely concealed panic. Valentino gives him a side-eyed look and scoffs.

“Love? Yeah right, the only thing Marquez loves is his bike and winning. But maybe he wanted you more than me?”

“You’re kidding? Jesus Valentino, you’re so dense”

“Well, we all know he slept with half of the grid after Sepang, so it isn’t a giant leap.”

Alex growls at that; Valentino isn’t sure when he re-entered the room, but now he whips around towards Vale but is held back by Pecco. Jorge is panting now, seething with anger. Dani grabs his hands rubbing it comfortingly and pulls him back from Vale as Marc goes to stand, slightly wobbly on his feet.

“So that’s what you think of me huh? Do you think I’m some whore who won the championship for Jorge so I could sleep with him? Do you think I’m an attention seeker? A dangerous rider? That I’ve ruined this sport?”

Valentino watches him in silence, there is something off about Marc, something he can’t quite understand. Something lingers beneath the burning pride and resentment that he is so used to. His eyes are unfocused and a little lost; their usual warm brown has darkened, engulfed by his pupils and his anger. He somehow looks young, wide-eyed and naïve, despite the fury radiating off him. How he manages to look hurt, angry, and confused at once is baffling. It reminds Vale of that godforsaken photo that was taken at the press conference in Sepang, the one that has haunted him for a decade. When he first saw it, he laughed, but then it made him doubt everything. As the years have gone on and he’d solidified his stance on Marc, it still lingers.

“Did you know it was one of your fucking journalist pals that leaked my medical records? Were you part of that too? Did you take delight in all my pain, or was it just your fans? They never could let 2015 go, a little bit like you I suppose.”

Marc spits it out, venom burning his tongue. The room goes silent. Alex turns to him, just as shocked as the others.

“si, the team told me earlier, I couldn’t tell anyone yet, there’s no official confirmation, and frankly I didn’t want to face it. We’ve kept it quiet for your sake Valentino, but maybe we shouldn’t have. After all, you didn’t give a shit when they broke into my house and threatened my family. You didn’t give a shit when I almost died. Why would you care now? You always have had a sway with the media, no doubt they would find a way to spin this in your favour. A few choice words and all would be forgotten. Yes?”

Valentino looks like the floor has fallen out from underneath him. Pecco sits back down heavily as disbelief colours the air around them. The room drops a few degrees. Valentino’s face crumbles, the fight leaving him.

“You’re lying...”

Valentino doesn’t sound certain as the accusation falls past his lips. Marc simply laughs a harsh, cruel thing.

“Why would I lie about this? Let me guess, you think the rest of it is a lie too, huh? Did I make that up too?”

“Marc, I didn’t know”

Marc scoffs in response, rolling his eyes at his former hero.

“What didn’t you know Valentino? About the press digging up all my pain, your fans abusing me, or about how you left me back in 2015?”

Valentino stutters, grasping at the feeble trails of what used to be his truth - torn to shreds in the light of the motorhome.

“Go on Vale, say it, you didn’t know how bad it was? Didn’t know that I-“

“No stop, don't”

Valentino looks devastated now, eyes darting wildly around Marc’s face, looking for a hint of lies. He doesn’t find any. It makes sense then, what he found earlier, Marc looking out of it, clouded eyes, wobbling when he stood up. He’s spitting nothing but the truth because he’s clearly off his face on something. He shoots a desperate look at Alex, the younger meets his gaze but doesn’t react. Valentino starts to speak but pauses, unable to force the words out. Marc releases a bitter laugh.

“You can’t even say it. I had to live it, at 22. I was almost a CHILD. I LOST everything to you. I almost died. You took my heart with you when you left, and a knife in My back.”

Valentino chokes,

“Why didn’t you say?”

Marc laughs even harder, a manic edge to it.

“Of course, I didn’t fucking tell you. What was I meant to say? Hi Vale, I know you hate me and think I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you and the sport but I’m actually in hospital and I want to die. Just thought I’d let you know.

How about this? Valentino, I'm in love with you but actually, I've overdosed and in about ten minutes my brother will find me half-dead. But I thought you should know what you meant to me”

And God the aim was true on that one, Valentino gasps for air, clutching at any defence he can find.

“You were on track with a death wish? It’s not like I was wrong then”

The room startles at that, shocked by his cruelty. Luca puts his face in his hands, muttering obscenities under his breath in Italian as Pecco shoots daggers at his mentor. Dovi honest to God growls, prowling towards Valentino, but is stopped by Dani who is also glaring at the oldest Italian. Alex turns and punches the wall. Hard.

“Really? That’s what you’ve taken from this?”

Valentino seems to wake up to the room’s atmosphere then, realising the stupidity of his statement. He sensibly decides not to elaborate further on that point. Jorge begins to speak, hoping to put an end to the madness but Marc stops him. Now that he’s started laying it out, he can’t stop gutting himself in front of Valentino.

“Shocker but being suicidal doesn’t mean I tried to take myself or anyone else out in style on race day. Well, I certainly didn’t try to kill anyone else. I know you have convinced yourself that I am the devil, that I am dangerous. I can see that you will never change your mind. But you do not get to come here and pretend I have done something wrong by protecting the small amount of will to live I had left by avoiding you. Did you want me to call? In 2015? 2016? You would have loved to hear that you’d broken me. All I did was sleep and cry and be forced to eat when all I wanted to do was stop living. Do you think I should have messaged when I was riding through agony in 2020-2021? Maybe I should have asked you to take me back because I was in so much pain that I was abusing the medication. Do you like my humiliation? Is it some twisted game to you?”

It is then that the final piece of the puzzle falls into place. Valentino realises several truths at once.

Marc had been crying before he had entered and probably for quite some time considering his red-rimmed eyes, filled with hurt. It makes him wonder whether he allowed the others to watch him break apart; the thought makes a spike of resentment lance through him. Secondly, it is jealousy he has been experiencing all weekend, staring at the way Marc relaxes in front of Dovi and the other ex-riders. Valentino can’t pinpoint what he is jealous of, but it sits uncomfortably in his stomach, so he decides not to think about it. Thirdly, Marc hates vulnerability more than anything else; there’s no way he is enjoying this weekend, and he certainly didn’t cause it in a fit of attention-seeking. Valentino used to know him well, he doesn’t know how he overlooked that. For Marc, this must be torture, showing so much weakness to the world. He would be too proud to admit it, but he is hiding behind a wall of fake bravado even in his worst moments, scrambling desperately to hold his defences.

Valentino has seen the reports; the vivid descriptions of Marc’s pain make him wince. Some of them he couldn’t bring himself to read, too painful and gruesome to fathom. Marc’s history is printed out in black and white. He knows what they say, and now he realises with sickening clarity that they are all true. It makes him stumble slightly, horror dawning in his mind like the sun breaking the horizon, lighting up the truth with vivid clarity. He thinks about what he’s read, the graphic details of the overdose in 2015, where Alex had found him on the floor of their bathroom at home, slurring and on the brink of consciousness. All of it is written in stark medical terms, including the resuscitation. Marc had died on the table; it rocks him to the core. He rehashes the reports of Marc depressed and desolate after 2015, a chain he wore for many years to come. Reports of Marc on suicide watch and the subsequent concern of the doctors who cared for him. He feels sick when he imagines the aftermath of Jerez, the surgeries and the subsequent pain, the scribbled doctor’s notes talking about addiction and reliance. Words are thrown around like medical neglect, non-compliance, and risk to self and overdose. Tales of Marc riding through agony only to cram himself full of medication the rest of the time, just to numb the pain. It had all happened to him, to his Marc. And when had it become his Marc?

Vale feels as though he is free-falling off the edge of a building, without a parachute. He is struck again and again by the realisation of the truth of what he has done. He buckles under the weight of it, almost falling to his knees. Distantly, he sees his boys staring at him with a mix of confusion and horror. Valentino has fucked up. All those years, he turned a blind eye, chose to listen to his side of things, and ignored everything that told him otherwise. He’s going to be sick. He has lived in his own little world for too long and now it is as if someone has come along and burst his bubble; they have flicked on the lights. The truth does not portray him in a pretty light. The world outside his bubble is cruel and horrifying. He searches within himself but can no longer find any fury over Sepang, just guilt. He still believes Marx chose vengeance, he still thinks he can be dangerous, but can’t they all? It looks different now, it makes more sense and fits with the other perceptions of Marc. The stone-cold racer who will do anything to win. The suffering man who took solace in his bike. His Marc.

Valentino turns to Marc once more. Tears are shining in his eyes; he looks completely drained of life. Vale feels the same way.

“Marc, I didn’t know. I promise I didn’t know, Oh god, Cazzo. Marc, I had no idea. Cazzo. Cazzo.”

“Leave Valentino, just go.”

“No please, let me explain, I thought-”

“NO. GO! GET OUT. LEAVE. I DON’T WANT YOU HERE AGAIN. PLEASE, JUST GO.”

Marc loses his composure, screaming at Valentino. His voice cracks as the tears begin to spill over. He wipes furiously at his eyes, gazing at Valentino one last time before he looks away. As he turns, he says one last thing,

“You had your chance. Don’t come back”

Alex steps forward then, pushing Valentino to the door, with some delight. Luca, Bez, and Pecco trail after them awkwardly, Luca puts his hand on Marc's shoulder as he passes, apologising quietly. Pecco pulls him into a tight hug, surprising the older man. As he escorts them outside, Alex turns to Valentino, his tone is crystal clear but simmering with fury, delivering a killing blow.

“Maybe you should spend some time thinking about what it would be like to hold your brother in your arms, minutes away from death. I found him you know. I called for help, I took him to the hospital, and I watched the life fade out of him. No matter how many years go by, I’ll never, ever, forget holding him, thinking it would be his last breath, weeping over him. Nothing will ever be worse.

You’re the reason my brother lost everything, make it right or fuck off and don’t come back.”

The younger Italians look devastated as Alex turns to leave, barely sparing them a glance. Alex slams the door behind him. Vale is breathing heavily as he spins around and meets three disappointed stares. Pecco just shakes his head, turns on his heel and leaves. Bez surprises the older man as he offers Valentino a sad look.

“You’re a fucking idiot”

Luca’s reaction hurts the most, his younger brother levelling him with a disappointed glare and some harsh words.

“You need to fix it. You fucked up. Badly. Work it out, Vale.”

Vale watches Luca’s back disappear into the darkness, despair threatening to swallow him home. Vale stands there alone, outside Marc’s motorhome, for some time. It feels like time is suspended, the echoes of past mistakes haunting him. He really has screwed up, and he has no idea how to fix it.

#motogp #rosquez #marc marquez #motogp rpf #my fics #medical leak au #please yap in my asks guys #dovquez #jorge lorenzo #andrea dovizioso #dani pedrosa #pedrenzo #ahhh guys #this took so long #my head hurts

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suusoh · 6 months ago

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i wanna know what’s your theory on what happened to johan after the ending since it’s up to the audiences imagination yk?

THANK YOU FOR ASKING MY THOUGHTS ON THIS ANON! I give you kiss ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ I'm going to diverge more on headcanons of him in another post. These are just my nonsensical interpretations of Johan after monster.

(tw: talks of multiple suicide attempts (all failed though don't worry))

Another anon of mine sent another similar ask (will post said ask shortly as it dwelves more into the x reader aspects hehe) gave the description of post-monster/ post-rurenheim johan as "a juxtaposition to his regular omnipotent self" which is a 1000% perfect way on how I'd describe him post-monster/post-rurenheim.

I really do believe that although he still has a prowess for manipulation skills and psychology after monster, he wouldn't have as much charisma as before. Part of his godly charisma came from the fact that he himself has no identity so he can fine tune himself to anyone (presenting himself with such a pleasing expression and personality, his agreeability with some would come from his own lack of personall thoughts). But now that he's got his own individuality and a name, he wouldn't bother with being agreeable anymore, as it isn't as natural for him anymore.

It's kind of why he doesn't even bother keeping a soft smile anymore at the end of monster when he was confronting dr tenma. He's not trying to be approachable anymore, and instead opts to actually showing how he's feeling rn. Instead of just using a pleasant expression as a placeholder on his face. I mean just look at the stark difference:

All the trauma and stress has finally catched up to him and has even taken a PHYSICAL toll on his body as well. I haven't noticed it before as I thought it was just an art style, but you can can notice that over time after he uncovers his past since the library, his face actually starts growing eye bags

like he is TIRED. He cannot do this anymore, he's burnt out. Which is the number one characterization I would give him post-monster.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE when he is interpreted as still having that small serene smile on his face and living his life calmly after monster. I subscribe to that characterization and would write him like that too, especially if we're going to interpret it as it being second nature or muscle memory for him to have that politeness. —It's just another part of me loves the idea that him being slightly rude and unapproachable even. A part of his reclaiming of his own humanity, is him not keeping up appearances anymore. He doesn't need to keep up politeness and being friendly anymore.

Another thing I can see him doing for a while is actually being quite... listless? If that makes sense. Like he would just do a good solid nothing for a while. Walk around in parks and other places trying to take in the world around him again. Trying to grasp life after losing his inner monster/kinderheim programming/fucked up coping mechanism.

He might try bars now and other social gatherings to see the hype and try to feel something. But maybe it just makes him feel all the more alienated and detached from society. Imagine being surrounded by so much people but still feel so alone. He'd feel all the more disconnected from humanity.

--- talks of suicide start here ---

Kind of dark here but I think this might lead him to trying to attempt at ending his life again. He sees it so pointless now and his entire focal point has been shattered

He knows him and his sister aren't the same people anymore, he knows that he doesn't have to keep living his life as her shadow/half a person/the "worse" version of her. But man... after 20+ years of living like that it's really gonna hit once you realise that you can't do your sole life goal anymore...

His despair might come in the form of him genuinely not knowing how to live. Throughout monster it kinda felt like he was on autopilot, his own individuality and sense of self taking a backseat. So imagine out of nowhere the plane's crashing and you're suddenly put in the driver's seat all of a sudden when, you didn't even bother learning how to drive or fly this thing in the first place because 1.) You were convinced you didn't need to drive ever, you were forcefully stuffed in the plane's cargo by adults who traumatized you, 2.) You didn't even know you'd be flying this long.

(sorry for the plane analogy i'm just rambling my raw thoughts 💀 but yes man is lowkey crashing and burning)

If we're gonna put it in a smaller more related level, imagine your entire life you grew up trained to be like...like an archaeologist or something, like your childhood bedroom had archaeology stuff, you were raised to study archaeology and only archaeology, you excelled at it, you had the gear for archaeology, you're in college studying archaeology and even having a specific vision in your mind of you being an archaeologist....the only thoughts you grew up with is you and archaeology.

Only to find out from nowhere that you never actually were into archaeology. And that you liking archaeology (aka your hobby/interest, your entire IDENTITY) was conditioned and instilled into you by weird freaky scientists when you were a child. You find out that you actually had a personality BEFORE archaelogy, and now you're 20 and you've spent more than a decade of your life dedicated to archaeology only to find out that maybe this whole time archaeology isn't even a thing you liked in the first place.

yeah that's basically the library revelation. HAFHDJAH archaeology being his "monster".

And now you're wandering through life, that isn't about you being an archaeologist..... OF COURSE YOU'D FUCKING DESPAIR. What are you even supposed to do now????

But funnily enough, Naoki Urusawa says that monster is actually a dark comedy in his eyes (Lmaooo just as I thought. I was giggling watching monster), so in true shakespearean tragic-comedy fashion, Johan's attempt here might become a fail. Divine intervention if you will.

But worry not friends, as this suicide attempt of his was made when his monster was gone, where his coolness and emotional detachment are also gone. So I think him doing a suicide attempt post-monster might actually, in some miraculous roundabout way.... scare him a bit for the first time.

I think the scene/poem "The View from Halfway Down" from "Bojack Horseman" is the best way to describe how I see he'll start feeling things.

He'd wonder why his heart is beating suddenly and why a cold sweat is forming on his face and on his palms, and why his breathing is out of control. He's confused as hell as to why his adrenaline spiked up. He walked on the ledges of rooftops, the number of times he's had guns pointed at him is more than the fingers on his hands, he died twice for goodness sakes. So why?...why is he feeling this all of a sudden? he'd start to grow a bit frustrated because this doesn't. make. sense.

If we're still gonna go with the dark comedy route, we could write him as him trying and trying again to off himself💀i'm so sorry. I'm just rolling with Urusawa's vision here of him saying monster is a dark comedy. Each time Johan attempts with ending his life, it would just fail.

But if he got spooked off on his first suicide attempt post-monster, he'd probably stop after that one. Not because he wants to keep living, but because his stupid (incredible) brain chemicals keep making his body hesitate to off himself.

He'd be pissed at his own fear. I could see him actually almost tearing up in frustration at what's happening. He's never had to deal with shit like this before, he never hesitated, he never had to feel fear, hell— he didn't even have to LIVE before. He wasn't actually living during his time as "Johan Liebert". He didn't get the same agency to fully explore and navigate his own life in his own time like every other human being. He doesn't want to try. He just wants to end himself— and he can't even do that anymore. He's so frustrated, and pissed, and he's honestly just so... lost.

Buuuut! To quote Tom Hanks from "Castaway":

I was gonna die there, totally alone. I was gonna get sick, or get injured or something. The only choice I had, the only thing I could control was when, and how, and where it was going to happen. So... I made a rope and I went up to the summit, to hang myself. I had to test it, you know? Of course. You know me. And the weight of the log, snapped the limb of the tree, so I-I - , I couldn't even kill myself the way I wanted to. I had power over *nothing*. And that's when this feeling came over me like a warm blanket. I knew, somehow, that I had to stay alive. Somehow. I had to keep breathing. Even though there was no reason to hope. And all my logic said that I would never see this place again. So that's what I did. I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail."

He'd then sigh softly and shake his head...maybe let out a small sardonic laugh. Ah, how fate really does love to mess with him. Some higher being out there is really taking the piss with him, wasn't it? Because maybe.... just maybe. He kind of realises that Dr. Tenma and Nina were right.

I think this is the point where he'd kinda like.... cancel out nihilism WITH nihilism.

" I found everything pointless... until I realised even that was pointless" kinda vibe

Hope this satisfied your question anon! My thoughts are not organized here so pardon :)! Also please excuse if my tone in the more serious parts sounds a bit too light.

Thank you for reading and and asking me anon! ˘ ³ ˘ mwuah!!

#will tag and proofread later im so sleepyyy #c.johan liebert #johan liebert #monster anime #tw suicide ideation #tw mention of suicide #suusoh answers

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 11 months ago

Note

AITA for telling my mom I would blow up her entire household and myself in a gas explosion if my parents built me a house to live in?

TW for descriptions of child abuse and suicide mention

I (22NB) cut off my abusive father (mid40M) and left home when I turned 18. I'm going to call him Harry (fake name) from now on because I'm going to have to talk about him a lot. When covid lockdowns started I had to leave home because I phsyically could not be in the same room as Harry without fully disassociating and would constantly have homicidal thoughts, suicidal thoughts and panic attacks just hearing him walk around the house or talk from locked away in my bedroom. Growing up Harry would phsyically and verbally abuse me, he's thrown me out of a window and locked me outside of the house, pinned me to the ground and stabbed me in the back of the neck with a pair chopsticks, slapped me, kicked me while I was curled up on the ground and so on. My mom (mid40F) would watch all these things and never did anything to stop the abuse, his abuse started ramping down when my little brother was born (12M) so most of these things happened to me from 6 years old to being 10. Harry has never been phsyically and verbally abusive towards my mom or my siblings I was his only victim at home.

I developed a slew of mental illness traits the main of which being diagnosed cPTSD from this abusive upbringing. I also ended up developing a phsyical disability that limits my mobility when I was turning 20, I live alone and the house I live in is extremely unaccessible and even dangerous for me to live in. Because of this I am still in regular contact with my mom getting her help with things I can't manage to do on my own due to my disability. Her and Harry are planning to move out to the countryside and have a house built there so I am aware I won't be able to rely on her for too many years longer. One day she mentions to me that apparently they had been planning to build me a small house tucked away at the back of their property for me to live in so she could keep taking care of me. I'd never heard of this plan before and never asked for anything like this.

First of all I found it incredibly demeaning to build a little doghouse out of sight to keep your traumatized disabled child like an unwanted pet only kept around out of pity and some sense of responsibility, my mom comes from a culture where its the norm to treat disabled people like this and make sure they are unseen but I did not appreciate it. Second of all this would literally be the most nightmarish scenario for me to live through possible, I can't drive I don't have a car and there is no public transport or delivery services for food and grocceries at all outside of the capital of my country. My mom doesn't drive either so she would put me in a scenario where literally every single aspect of my life would become completely dependent on my transphobic abuser that I still get full blown PTSD episodes even just thinking about. My house, my food, where I can go and getting to the doctor would all become completely at the mercy of Harry in this situation. This is when I told my mom if put in this situation I would blow up all of us in a gas explosion to escape it because that's how awful living through that would be.

She didn't really react to me saying I would blow all of them up if this happens because I use exaggerated violent language often, she just called me ungrateful. While it was mainly to express just how bad this situation would be for me it was also somewhat meant as a threat, due to my disability I've had other family members try to get me declared legally incompetent so they could get a government caregiver from me. My parents could absolutely use the law to force me into this housing situation even as an adult, it was partially a threat because I wanted it in their heads that it a bad idea for them to do this to me, realistically I would just commit suicide to escape it instead. My cPTSD makes me incapable of having grounded thoughts and reactions to the things that trigger it, I know my mental problems make me an asshole a lot of the time but I just want to live my shitty life as painlessly as possible for however long I've got left.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #suicide cw

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kitsuga · 4 months ago

Text

void of shadows, void of sun. {Shane x Reader/Farmer}

Description:

A fic in which Shane finds solace in the sun.

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Tags: angst with happy ending, aka hurt/comfort, tw: suicidal ideation, tw: suicidal thoughts, happy ending though truly i promise!!, reader is referred to as "Farmer"!, stardew valley/sdv x reader/farmer, shane x reader/farmer, stardew valley/sdv, shane

Word Count: 2,598

A/N: Written on: November 18, 2022

My sister begged for this fic not remembering im a hoe for character analysis and angst yet she continues to give me fic ideas :sparkles:

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Shane wasn’t sure what he expected in life.

It wasn’t much, he might add—the bar was very low—but he didn’t know what to expect from it.

He had lost his friends; he wasn’t very good at anything—had no ambitions and stuck in the hell of a mundane, retail, 9 to 5. He simply kept his head low and fell victim to the allure and enticement of just how good his vices felt before even they too decided he wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t sure what he expected in life beyond this repeating of days simply because he never saw beyond them—he never assumed there was a tomorrow until his eyes opened the next day.

He wasn’t stupid, however. He knew what other people had to say about him, and he knew it was of no use to try to change their minds. They’d be passive or rude, and he’d respond in kind—very rarely was he surprised by kind words, and they’d replay in his head for days until he tried to reset with another beer. His mind constantly ran with thoughts, hopes, dreams, prayers. He’d wish for his shift to be over, he’d think about an ice-cold beer at the saloon, he’d hope for Jas to be happy, he’d dream of a better life, and he’d pray he wouldn’t wake to the rising sun.

Deprecating thoughts and suicidal ideations occupied most of his brain. Never being good enough, never knowing what to do with himself, never wanting to see the next day and relive the pain over again. The shadows no longer crept in the corners, they constantly surrounded every inch of him and suffocated him until his lungs would burn and the one solace he could receive was another glass.

It had been a lot darker, lately. His mind could never stop running, and the chaser was more bitter than the shot. There had been no sunlight, no silence, in so long. He figured this was it, finally, the whispers were getting far too loud; he was going crazy—finally—he was reaching his end. What else was there to do in the dark than to simply dive in? To lay down and fall asleep? He was ready.

A small, blinking light kept grabbing his attention, however. Piercing the dark, there was a faint light in the distance that blinked almost every day, burning just a bit brighter every so often. The whispers that turned to screams in his ears would die down, growing timid and quiet whenever the small light would appear. The light started to get closer and closer until it started to get brighter, and it was blinding him—annoying him. He tried to drown it out, create his own darkness, trying to find some sleep.

The light wouldn’t let him. Like the sun, burning bright and wrapping him up in a blanket of warmth, the light shooed away the shadows and shushed the whispers. The light had become his new day, and Shane opened his eyes to find the new Farmer in front of him, wearing a frown and worry written all over their face.

“Why should I even go on?” Shane managed to get out. “Tell me... T..tell me why I shouldn’t roll off this cliff right now...”

Shane couldn’t hear their reply, but he could feel words of his own spill out onto the ground next to him. What was that annoying, bright light again? Everything kept fading into such a fuzzy darkness that he couldn’t keep track. What was he here for again? What had he been doing? What was that annoying, bright light that was keeping him awake?

He remembered now-- to save his eyes, he’d bring a pair of sunglasses with him if he heard even the slightest hint of the sun coming near him. Protected from the light, he could brush them off with cold words that stung against the heat that would take over his chest when they spoke. The shade was his favourite hiding spot when the sun smiled just a bit too brightly at him—why did he still wish to be around it? If it blinded him so badly, if it warmed him far too much, why was he so desperate for the sun—for the Farmer—to be in his life? He’d mull over his words before spitting venom back out to them. Whatever warmth filled his body as they smiled at him, brought him gifts, are even tried to get to know him, would quickly dissipate on its own; their love wasn’t meant for him, nor was anyone’s worth wasting on a man like him in a world he didn’t belong to. Time went on, he tried telling himself, but these feelings refused to move along with it. He would drink to forget where he even was and let the shadows do all the talking—however, tonight, the shadows didn’t want a word with the Farmer, but with the look on the sun’s face, he certainly did.

He wanted to speak; Shane just couldn’t find the words, nor could he find the capability. His mind was a blur; everything was—his vision, his thoughts, the words he tried to say. The world was spinning, sinking, flying, all at once; the world was ending. Life was slowly slipping away; the shadows were taking his place. He always thought his body would simply fall limp, feeling nothing at all as they took over in his stead—but it did not feel like that; nobody warned him that he’d be afraid. He thought he was ready, so why was there the pit of fear in his stomach? Why was he trying so hard to open his mouth and speak? To ask them to save him? This is the end that he deserved, so why did he want to survive right here, right now, so desperately?

Maybe it was the fear of looking like a fool in front of the Farmer. Maybe it was the fear of pity in their eyes if he could manage to open his own and look at them. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see the sun for just one more day. Panic started to set in.

Regret clawed at his throat as he tried to say something, anything, to the Farmer—to ask for help, to ask the sun for forgiveness. His body felt so far away from him, he didn’t know how to control it. The strings attached to his puppet were loose, and he was a terrible puppeteer. The voices in his ears grew so loud, berating him, laughing at him, reminding him that he couldn’t even die correctly as his hoarse voice started to whisper the Farmer’s name.

“I’m sorry,” he tried desperately to say.

“Are you sorry?” A heavy voice drowned him out. “Are you truly sorry?”

The shadows started ripping at his skin, their bites, their words, their claws all burning with such intensity he couldn’t bear. He tried to cry out once again, to no avail. He saw the soft light in front of him once again, the Farmer’s voice very subtly, softly, breaking through and calling out his name; he reached for them. His hand was shaking, his arm was almost too weak to hold itself up. He hoped he was reaching; he didn’t know, he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t know he felt so cold until the sun itself placed its gentle touch on his skin.

The rays of the sun seemed to caress him, cradle him, and shoo the shadows away. The loud voices screamed, hissed, and were drowned out by the sun’s soothing voice. The Farmer felt so warm—it was all he could think of anymore. His body had given up, gone limp. Though the sun was beside him, he could see the corners of his vision start to turn black; his eyes started to close, he couldn’t fight the sleep that was taking hold of him any longer. Unfairly, he knew, he put his life in the Farmer’s hands and asked them to take him to the hospital. The world around him shut down.

He awoke almost a whole day later, in a bed at the clinic. His vision was blurry, his mouth was dry, and his body was still limp; he looked around the room to find anything that could help him recall what had happened. Shane’s head hurt more than it ever had before; every movement of his eyes seemed to bang loud drums inside his head.

His body was cleared out to remove the alcohol—could’ve been poisoning, Harvey said—but Shane still felt like there was venom coursing through his veins. No part of him felt clean, nor did it feel right; just as the alcohol ate away at his physical, the guilt had now started to take turns biting into his emotional being. He listened closely as Harvey spoke to him, carefully, about the course of the night.

“There’s help for you out there,” the doctor told him. “There’s someone I recommend that you go see.”

Go see? Did Shane have the capability to see anymore? His vision had become so blurred since he last encountered the sun, yet he felt deep in his bones that he ached for the warmth to blind him once again.

Void of shadows, void of sun. Void of cold, void of warmth. Void of himself, void of the Farmer. Shane mulled over Harvey’s words as he left the clinic, taking each word of the pamphlet in his hand to his heart. The sun had so graciously saved him from himself, but would they want to even bother listening to a poor worshipper’s words? Could a poor worshipper like him have anything to offer to a celestial being such as them? It was time to grow up, he knew, it was time to move on. It was time to take life a step at a time, jumping from lightened path to lightened path to avoid the shadows that clawed at his ankles—it was time to finally seek help and make a place for himself in this world; somewhere small, somewhere insignificant to others, but somewhere just for him—that's where he’d go.

Before realizing it, he found himself on the unfamiliar doorstep of the very Farmer he had been avoiding since their arrival. The door in front of him swung open before his knuckles could even touch the wood. He froze—though he was so warm—greeted by a bewildered Farmer and comforted by the smile of the sun. Words, he thought to himself, use words, make sentences, sing your praises and chant your worships.

“Uh... hey,” he started off weak. “Um...”

Shane scratched at the back of his neck, afraid to meet eyes with the Farmer; he cleared his throat and tried again—this was something that needed to be said without shadows, shade, or sunglasses.

“Oh man... Uh... How do I say this?” He swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry about what happened at the cliffs. That was... embarrassing...”

The Farmer smiled at him, tilting their head ever so slightly—Shane felt as though it was deliberate to shoot another arrow through his heart—as they gave him their well wishes.

“I’m just happy you’re still here.”

There it was, the world shattering. Shane gripped his heart through his jacket, trying to calm his nerves and bring the heat down from his face. Awkwardly, to keep his courage up, he spoke again.

“Wow, it was, uh,” he cleared his throat again, this time trying to keep himself from stuttering, “it was that serious, huh? I can hardly remember...”

The Farmer nodded; their smile now changed to a gentle frown. Concern riddled their features and Shane realized it wasn’t a look he enjoyed bringing to their face; he’d much rather be the cause of that beautiful, sun ray smile.

“It was... not pleasant, Shane. I’m... very worried about you.” Their tone was serious, with no hint of pity nor did their eyes look down the bridge of their nose at him. “I think for your own sake, you should seek some sort of help.”

They waved a hand in front of them, nervously smiling once again before they spoke quickly, afraid of offending him. Little did they know, the sun had warmed him from the very core.

“Sorry if that was rude! Not that I wouldn’t be willing to help you out, too! Just, you know, someone professional would... be... better...” they ended with an awkward giggle.

It was Shane’s turn to be awkward, quickly throwing his arm out to hold out the crumpled-up pamphlet in his hand that he had gripped along with his jacket earlier.

“Oh, yeah! Harvey gave me this, said he had someone in the city I should go see...”

He noticed the Farmer look at the crumpled piece of paper and gave a small, awkward laugh under his breath as he tried to straighten it out again.

The Farmer laughed. It was with him, Shane could see, rather than at him—how long had it been with him? How long had it been since he was so tainted by his own shadows, running from his own self-hatred, that he started to see the world laugh at him instead of with him? Had people been laughing with him at times instead of at him, and he was just unable to see? Maybe this counselor really could help him see.

They had asked him if he planned to go see this counselor—if he was ready to live. He was so unprepared—what would he answer? What was he ready to live for? The correct answer would be himself, but it wasn’t the case, and he was aware of it. All he could think about was how beautiful they were, how lovely the light they radiated made them look. They stared expectantly at him, though his heart had betrayed him as his mouth opened to answer.

“I... sorry, I don’t know why my mind goes blank whenever I look... at... you...” He trailed off, ready to smack himself in the back of the head for being so dumb. “I think I might be going crazy. Maybe I should go see this counselor.”

Another soft, lively laugh from the sun. He felt much warmer than he did before; the heat in his cheeks was almost too much to bear, let alone the flames dancing across his chest.

They teased him, saying that maybe he should bring them his diagnosis so they could prescribe him something to help; he mumbled for them to shut up as he turned away, completely embarrassed.

Shane had gotten used to the sun—everything seemed to be crystal clear, and nothing was blinding him once he smiled back at the Farmer—genuinely, this time. He was ready to admit that he had always been fond of the sun, though his shadows made him believe the dark was his only place in the world; now, however, he knew that he could have a place in their life should he take the reins of his own. He thanked the Farmer again and left that day ready to see the rising sun on a new morning, as a new Shane.

With time, maybe, just maybe, Icarus could have a happy ending if he worked out a way to protect his wings; and with that, Shane would have to find the answer himself as the sun patiently, kindly, waited for him on the wooden steps of that old farmhouse.

#tw: suicidal ideation #tw: suicidal thoughts #stardew valley x reader #stardew valley x farmer #sdv x reader #sdv x farmer #sdv shane x reader #sdv shane x farmer #kitsu.writes #kitsu.sdv #kitsu.sdv shane #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #sdv fanfic

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the-kingshound · 1 year ago

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Decision - part 2 of ?

TW: suicidal/self harming thoughts, description of violence, grief.

Time has lost all kind of matter or significance. After having torn the masked person apart limb by limb, slowly, until your clothes and your hair and your skin drip blood, still tasting metal in your mouth, you have functioned in an empty shell. Their screams weren't satisfying, they wouldn't be enough for the pain caused. The wound on your abdomen is closed, but pulses and doesn't hurt nearly enough.

You took down Arthur and Saraah's bodies. You hugged them and dry heaved. You weren't able to truly cry. It hurt too much, to hold their cold boneless body, so you didn't allow yourself any more contact than necessary.

It is your fault.

You stay in the room where it all happened. An unbearable amount of time later, someone finds you, kneeling in a pool of blood like a broken useless doll.

"Oh, no..."

It's Merlin. He gets you out. He enchants the bodies you hold not to rot, preserving them. When your mind starts revolting and clawing at your chest, Merlin shushes you like a small child.

"Drink," he tells you, placing a tea in your hand. You do, only because the warm smell of it compels you to as intended.

Merlin keeps you sedated for a while. Sometimes you wake, groggy, laid inside his tent. He is either working on your injury, or making potions and teas. He makes you drink something that pulls you into consciousness again. And again. Perhaps he wants to spare you, but from the very first conscious inhale you take when you wake, pain devours you whole and doesn't stop until you fall into magic induced sleep again.

The fourt time you wake up, he does allow you too stay awake. For good measure, he puts a warm cup in your hand.

"That is just for the nausea," he explains, somewhat avoiding your gaze. As if he knew it was your fault, as if he blamed you and he SHOULD he should blame you-

"I didn't make it in time," Merlin confesses, taking a steaming mug for himself. This time, he is looking at you, and he looks so old and tired. Guilty. "Mordred alerted me. Told me where to look. But I was too late and now..."

He takes a small sip of his tea. "I never though I would have to live past my boy. I hoped I wouldn't. I am old enough, as you can see."

Your heart breaks. You want to throw up, to destroy the tent, to tear up the entire kingdom.

Merlin then places the pomel of a sword in your hand. You feel a wave of anguish, instantly washed down in favour of warm consolation. Excalibur grieves, and yet it tries to soothe your pain.

"Here. Hold it. It wanted to stay with you."

You swallow, and this time you might cry. For a brief moment you feel an intense desire to cut your throat with Excalibur but you know it will stay blunt.

You have to bring your King and your brother home.

#more angst but also merlin #merlin #enjoy the angst #hurt no comfort saga

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m4dm4yhem · 2 years ago

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love letters

tw: suicide, brief mention of character death, injury description

summary: [name]’s love language was gift giving..after his death, miles can’t help but look at everything..one last time.

implied 42 miles sorry guys 😓

3/24/xx

“ dear miles morales

as of late I’ve been thinking about you, so I decided to write this letter to you; I feel bad when I think about everything you do for me; telling your mom about us, and spoiling me with love. I know it’s hard to open up and let your walls, and I appreciate you for everything you do for me. I feel bad because all I can do is make you things, these letters, crochet, and send you paragraphs but I’m happy you appreciate them! :)

yours forever,

[name] morales ( hopefully ^_^) “

miles folded the letter back up; stuffing it back in the bag..a few words were smudged, hidden by his blood. a tear ran down his face; a shaky breath leaving his lips as he grabbed another one, the first letter he had ever received from his late boyfriend; who’s lifeless body lay limp on his lap.

“ hi miles!

i know we’ve been friends for like years and we’ve been talking a bunch recently. which I appreciate you doing; making time for me. I know you’re a very busy guy… but I just wanted to say I love you. I love you more than I think a man should love another man. I’ve been thinking about it, for a minute. I don’t even know if you like boys but I appreciate everything you do for me. I wanna be more than friends with you. I have for a minute and I don’t want to be without you. I’ve only never really said anything because I didn’t know if you liked boys because your straight man Cosplay is out of this world.”

when miles read that line the first time he busted out laughing; this time all he could muster was a chuckle.. he had always put up this kind of wall where he only talked about women in the romantic sense, he’s had girlfriends and only girlfriends. [name] was his first boyfriend, the inexperience he had, while [name] had never even had a crush before miles..it was safe to say the first six months were awkward..they didn’t even kiss until their one year anniversary when one of [name]’s friends pushed miles into him.

..that was a good memory, a good one.

miles looked down in his bag once more, he mustered what little strength he had to pick up a small purple cat his boyfriend had crocheted for him, he knew his own life was slipping away from him, but.. there was no way he was going to live in a world where his love couldn’t live with him.

maybe they had a happy ending.. miles thought as his vision blurred, his eyelids were heavy, his blood staining every single gift he received from his lover, his head was spinning.. it hurt.. the wound in his stomach.. the wound in his lower back.. the one in his shoulder.. blood pooling out of them both.. it hurt

but.. as he took his last breath.. his thought finished..

maybe they had a happy ending..

in a different universe

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madi-writes-things · 6 months ago

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Francesca Pt. 2

Summary:

It broke Schlatt when he had to let Y/N go, But he would go through hell a thousand times if it meant he got to hold her again.

“If I could hold you for a minute… I’d go through it again.”

Word Count: 791

TW: Mental Illness, angst, ocd, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, break up, pining, feelings of worthlessness, basically a self insert without a physical description, Schlatt is Based in Texas… because so am I

A/N: This totally isn’t a vent fix based loosely upon what the inside of my brain looks like on a daily basis. This is the only way to work through it, and I this fic will probably only get more complicated and sad.

Did you know that Ted is actually teal years older than Schlatt? Reader is Schlatts age. Enjoy!!!

-Madi <3

“”“”“”“”“”

Schlatt’s POV

The drive home was hell, but nothing prepares me for the first time walking into a newly empty house. It didn’t look any different at a first glance… the pictures on the walls, the dirty clothes left in a hamper, the dishes in the sink.

The reality doesn’t hit until I walk into the bedroom. Her side of the room shows no proof that anyone had been living there for the last three years. I walk over and sit down on my side with a deep sigh. I hadn’t realized that I was holding my breath.

I reach over to open up my nightstand. All that sits in the drawer is a small velvet box. All that sits inside is a nearly $5,000 ring… a ring picked out for the love of my life.

I can’t help the soft patter of tears falling to the floor beneath me.

I can’t do this without her.

“”“”“”“”“”

Three Weeks Later

I don’t even know how I found it. I was just rearranging the house in an attempt to distract myself… I was moving the bed when it happened.

As I lifted the mattress, I noticed a small pink envelope… as I moved it completely away, I was taken aback by the sight of dozens of little pink envelopes. They all had names written on them, mostly consisting of mine and Ted’s, but not limited to us.

Now I sit in the floor surrounded by a pile of the opened letters, praying that Ted answers the phone.

“Hey Schlatt, what’s up?” He sounds too happy. This will ruin his day.

“What is this?” He’s silent for a second before asking me what the hell I'm talking about. “Dear Ted, things have been getting worse… but if you’re reading this, you already know that.” I take a deep breath before continuing. “Dear Jay, this isn’t your fault.” I can practically hear the realization hit him. I hear him release a deep sigh. “Dear mom and dad… Dear Charlie… Dear Tucker… Dear Friends and Family…”

I can’t breathe. Ted is silent on the other end of the call.

“She never told you?” He sounds so calm, as if I didn’t just tell him that his best friend has a stash of suicide notes.

What.

The.

Fuck.

“You knew that she wanted to kill herself and didn’t tell me?!” My voice is laced with hurt and anger. How could he keep this from me. “You should have told me… you live almost 20 hours away, it’s not like you could have helped if she had.”

“She’s not going to kill herself Schlatt…” He sounds exhausted, like he doesn’t want to have to explain himself.

I don’t know how to respond. She obviously thinks about it, how can he be so nonchalant about this?

After a few seconds of silence he corrects himself. “She doesn’t want to kill herself, it’s just something that she thinks about sometimes.”

“How long has this been going on?” What I really want to ask is why didn’t she tell me, but I don’t know if I’ll like the answer.

Ted’s silence is deafening. It takes a good three minutes before I hear him take a long breath in. It’s ragged, much like mine.

“it’s been going on since she was like twelve… she used to tell me about it, but something happened a few years back, and she stopped talking to me.”

Twelve? That’s half her life. Why didn’t she tell me? How did I not know? Why did she shut Ted out? He was the only person she trusted.

“What happened? Why did she stop telling you about it?” I have so many questions. I have way to ask her.

Ted gets silent again, like he’s deciding if he should tell me. I stay silent, wondering if I want the answer.

Ted breaks the silence after what feels like an eternity. “After she graduated, we got a small two bedroom house together…” I can hear the hesitation, almost like he’s making sure she won’t hear him. “I was still in school, and she was working as a teachers aide at the local elementary. Not long after her 19th birthday… she… I…” Oh God. What happened? “I came home one day to one those notes on the table, and the car running in the garage. She begged me not to tell her parents… and after that she stopped telling me about her bad thoughts.”

“She’s not okay… I can’t believe I didn’t see this… you need to keep an eye on her, I can’t lose h-” I stop myself, because I already did lose her.

Ted promises that he won’t let that happen, and I hang up the phone.

“”“”“”“”“”

@unbruisable @bernardsbendystraws @sturniolo-fann @jnkvivi @stasiesturn

@h3arts4harry @slutforsturniolos @memento-rory @memea32221 @writingsbyzuzu

#madi writes things #angst #tw: suidice #schlatt #schlatt x reader #schlatt angst

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livingfast04 · 2 years ago

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Monster Au? - Part 6

one two three four five II seven Tw: Body Horror, disordered Eating, anxiety, dehumanization, refences to past child abuse, depression, suicidal thoughts, very mild nudity (not descriptive, it's just brief mention of being naked) It might get worse from here. Sorry not sorry ---

Steve stares at himself, all long monster-ish limbs, the lines of his ribcage. His fingers shake as he reaches up to hover his hands over the concave of his stomach, he stares at his reflection, at the unnatural long fingers- his thin fingers, discolored nail beds and the freckles that cover the backs of his hands, trace up his arms.

He doesn’t recognize the thing that stares back at him.

The bones that rest so visibly under his skin, the vivid violet mark across his neck. Mama says it’ll scar, just like his stomach, it’ll scar worse since it’s all so old. Steve’s ears twitch, ducking his head to hide his eyes under his hair. The wavy strands are too long, this form gone too long without a haircut, his bangs just slightly brush over the top of his lip.

He wants to shorten them, wants the strands to tuck back across his forehead. Steve reaches up, he curls his fingers around the hair, hands shaking with visible tremors as he does. It rattles in front of his face. The white scars over his knuckles, eyes darting down to his hand still posed just over his sides. The scars there.

The only parts that have actually healed. Of course it’s his hands. The smaller marks, the cuts, scared over, pale and disgusting. The new bite marks on his palm, the imprint of jagged teeth. His own sharp teeth. On his other palm is a darker set of scarred skin, more flower-like- more deformed. A monster more monster than those who live in this world.

His hands healed the fastest. The rest of his body struggled to catch up. Steve turned his gaze back to the mirror, met the dark eyes blinking back at him from behind his fringe. There’s the familiar relief, even at his dislike for the longer strands of hair- pushing the waves out of his eyes. He traces the crook in his nose, the small white scars that line his left eye-

Billy Hargroves handy work.

The scar on his chin, arched up and speared over his lips- the scar tissue was rough, he ran his tongue over it. The scar around his eye, both Russians and Hargrove. Steve lets out a long breath. He stares at the thing that looks back at him, moves with him, blinks when he does.

It’s nauseating.

Mama clicks from down the hall, Steve turns and his throat is raw as he calls back on instinct, the noise is weak and hardly passes his lips. Mama calls again, stronger- she’s looking for him, Da clicks from his office. Steve grabs the sweater sitting on the counter, pulling it over his head before remembering the rows of stitches and the bandages he’s supposed to cover them with. It doesn’t matter. Steve stumbles out of the bathroom, Mama is standing in the bedroom- their bedroom. Steve feels like a baby, a cub- tucked away in their nest. His parents had hardly let him leave the room, his Mama clicked at him, Steve ducked his head behind his hair- he wasn’t complaining.

All his parents expected of him was to eat, sleep, and cuddle. And god did Steve want to snuggle back up in their bed with

them. Mama crossed the room, her fingers tracing over his face, pushing Steve’s hair out of his eyes gently. “How are you feeling?” Steve leans into the touch, his Mama letting out a soft coo.

“Better.” The word felt clunky in his mouth, with sharp teeth, and scars that stretch on his skin. He hasn’t said much of anything lately, other than rough clicks, and a few single words here or there. Throat too raw, the feeling of his tongue against his teeth foreign.

Mama hummed, continuing to drag her fingers through his hair. She cupped his jaw, his ears twitched, pressing his cheek into her hold. “There’s a snack out on the counter in the kitchen for you. Even if you aren’t all that hungry you have to eat one of them.” Steve wrinkled his nose, but gave a soft click in agreement. Least of all he starts an argument or displeases his parents and they leave him.

His chest was tight at the thought.

Steve trailed after his Mother as she left the room, her form shifting a little, hair curling up around the nape of her neck and turning a soft honey blonde. Steve swallowed around nothing as he passed her to head to the kitchen. She clicked loud enough that Steve could hear her, and his Father responded.

There was an unopened cup of yogurt on the table, and a bowl of fruit. His teeth ached, pulling out a stool at the counter- he dropped down onto it, legs twisting up to rest on the seat.

Steve’s hands shook as he picked out a strawberry from the bowl, pressing it against the roof of his mouth, squishing the soft fruit. Mama had added sugar, his fingers sticky as he kept just picking out the soft fruits. A few grapes, a few orange slices- but mostly strawberries.

Steve licked at his fingers, shifting his weight on the stool as his knee started to ache. He could hear his parents talking, it was muffled, and sounded a little bit like he was underwater. If they wanted him to know, they’d talk about it where he could see them. If anything it was probably about work, Steve squished another piece of fruit against the roof of his mouth, and he really didn’t care to think about them leaving him again.

He can’t, it’ll ruin him. Steve picks at the few apples in the bowl, digging his nail into the fruit.

Mama brushes through the house, Steve twisted slightly to watch her as she came into the kitchen she tugged on a piece of his hair. Da followed her in, brushing his hand over Steve’s shoulder. He also picks up a piece of apple from the bowl of fruit.

Steve can’t stop himself from lifting his lips, growling at him, shoulders tense and lifted up by his ears. His thoughts tumble from his hands with little grace, the low noise claws up his throat- fingers digging into the ceramic of the bowl and dragging it towards him. Eyes flicking from his Father’s frozen fingers, and his Mother’s face.

His growl tapers off, lips still curled. Steve’s hair falling in his face from where Mama had pushed it back. The tension in the room was almost tangible, Steve felt shame flood his face, and he fumbled, he was mortified. His parents where just staring at him, “Sorry- sorry, I-”

They were going to leave again, they were going to leave him again- They were going to leave him, they know- they know he’s a monster

Steve’s body protested as he all but fell off the stool as he struggled to get his leg unwound to stand up. His heart hammered in his throat, “I didn’t-” the words came out rough, and garbled. Da makes a soft click, followed by a soothing noise- Steve jerks at the noise, ears flicking sharply.

He shuffles away from the counter, shoving the bowl of fruit towards his Father. Steve avoided eye contact, shoulders hunched, his sides protested, his whole body hurts. Mama coos, “Stephan.” Father’s voice is sharp, he jerks a little at the tone. Steve won’t meet his eyes, but he knows better that it’ll be worse if he doesn’t at least look in the direction of his Father.

There’s a soft scraping noise as the bowl is pushed on the countertop. “You are alright Bub.” His voice is firm, but soft, “It’s yours, I wasn’t thinking.” Food possessive, aggressive. Steve follows the length of his old man’s hand, the apple still in his fingers. Steve blinks, stumbling slightly as he reaches back of the bowl, curling his arms around it and lifting it to his chest.

It’s sad, just a little, that Steve’s clinging to a bowl like a child clings to a toy. He knows it is, his father holds out the apple slice, he jerks at the sudden movement, shuffling back a little bit, lips curling.

Face flushed, shame curling in his stomach, but something heavy in his chest.

“Just- keep it.” He shuffled out of the kitchen, and into the living room. Retreating, away- just get away. Steve avoided the furniture, it still smelled like The Party, Mama had ordered all new sets of things, but it wasn’t due to arrive for a few more weeks.

Steve clung to the bowl, body aching as he fled. Pressing his back against the wall, sliding down to sit in the corner.

His parents' voices were quiet, and he stared down at the mix of fruit. They were going to remember he isn’t worth the effort eventually. That they never thought he was worth the effort.

They were going to realize just like The Party had, that Steve was useless.

---

Eddie curled his legs closer to his chest, the blanket was sticking to his legs, his sheets, honestly his hair was in his face and couldn’t care less. It had been far too long since he’d let himself linger, wallow, lay in his own misery. Eddie won’t say he misses it, it doges his footsteps outside of his room. It’s just harder to avoid now.

Clinging to imprint bonds he’s angry at having- clinging to a bond that he should have loved a little more.

He knows this upsets Wayne, knows it because his Uncle is loud about his dislike for Eddie’s mild comatose state every time he does it. And it’s- it’s not like Eddie wallows a lot, it’s hard to, because he has to get up- has to check on people, see them, know they are okay. And sure, Eddie knows, he’s a dramatic person at heart.

But this is different.

Normally it’s like this because he’s upset, when sadness clings and doesn’t let go. Eddie’s never been rendered numb by anger before. He’s fucked this all up because he thought he knew the most.

That in and of itself is a common mistake of his. Thinking he knows all because he should, because Eddie knows best. He’s a firm believer that he's never wrong, at least until he is. This, this isn’t a simple fuck up. This is a fuck up of all fuck ups.

Everything’s been riding on holding on to the idea that he hasn’t screwed this all up this badly, for three weeks, he’s been living in anger- and in guilt, and in shame. And now- now he’s just empty.

Mind narrowed in on the rough thump of Steve’s heart beat, the shaky nervousness of the younger heartbeat. It’s easier this way, to ignore the fact that if he gives in and goes to Steve, everyone’s just winning at the end of the day. Everyone but Steve.

Eddie won’t participate, he won’t, he won’t get involved, he won’t slowly kill Steve again. No matter how many calls the kids make to the trailer, no matter how many times the radio goes off for someone to shout at him. Eddie refuses.

Imprinting is sacred, and they all know that. Eddie would rather- he would rather, Eddie swallows- his tongue a heavy weight in his mouth. He can hear Wayne talking to someone in the living room, he knows that a few of the kids have been actually over, banging on the door, shouting- especially after Eddie turned off the walkie.

He blinks, staring at nothing.

There’s a door shutting, and footsteps down the hall. His door creaks open, Eddie doesn’t move, doesn’t even feel like breathing- then he’ll get a mouth full of whoever it is, whose disappointment and anger he has to face. “You can’t hold your breath forever.” Gareth.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath, curling his fingers a little more around the blanket in his fist. “You know when Wayne told me you where wallowing, I almost wanted to tell him to fuck off.” It would be valid, all of his friends would be within their right to tell him to eat shit and die.

Gareth flopped down on the other side of Eddie’s bed. The weight caused him to move slightly, “But, then he explained it… I should still tell you to fuck off.” He should, he should- it would be more than Eddie deserved, this was more than Eddie deserved. “Collector of strays and you kicked Harrington to the curb the second he wasn’t unnatural?” Gareth was only partially supernatural, witchy but not quite. Eddie knows the other doesn’t fully practice his bloodline.

He was just as human as anyone else is, even with magic in his blood. “That was shitty.”

“Y’ah.” Eddie doesn’t recognize his own voice, his lips are dry and the movement cracks them. Gareth makes a noise, and Eddie blinks a little harder.

They sat in silence for a while longer, the fan running in the background was good filler for space- at least for Gareth, maybe Eddie wouldn’t know. Too busy using Steve’s heartbeat as background noise, his brain unfogged a little at the lack of tunnel vision.

Gareth poked him in the ribs with his elbow, “You stink.” Eddie hummed, letting out a soft mmm sound at the comment. He probably did, no, he did. Eddie had been laying unmoving in this bed for people over a week. Drifting between sleep and completely zoned out. He can’t remember the last time he ate anything, or the last time he got up to go to the bathroom.

Not that he really needed to do those things, Vampire and all. Well he did, but it wasn't super necessary, not for short term living. Eddie couldn’t lay here forever, sure he’d live for years like this before eventually his mind would crumble, and what little beating his heart would do would just stop.

That would be kinder than what they were doing to Steve.

“You should shower.” Probably. Eddie didn’t make a noise this time, kept quiet, didn’t have the energy to really respond, didn’t want to move, didn’t want to get up. Gareth jabbed him again, and he twisted on base reaction - his body jerking away from the aggressive movement. “Alright I’m done,” Gareth shoved him, hard. Eddie wasn’t unfamiliar with falling out of his own bed, but never this violently. He jerked letting out a loud unhappy hiss, fumbling to grab anything at the sudden movement before landing face first on the carpeted floor. His forehead knocking hard, and the responding thump rattled the items on the walls of the trailer.

It’s like something sharp has popped his bubble, something pressing on his skin, anger welling up in his throat. “What the fuck.” The words are muffled in the carpet, rough and Eddie can’t even identify the tone in his own voice. He can hear Gareth moving around his bed, “What the fuck.” The tone is mocking, mimicking, “You are the most annoying motherfucker in this forsaken town, and you are worse when you feel like you’ve wronged someone. Or you know. So you are going to get your sorry ass out of this goddamn trailer, and apologize. Or so help me, I will take your fucking Guitar and sell it to some punk fuck in Indy.”

Eddie twists his head around, to just stare at him. He slowly processes the words, Eddie works his jaw, careful to keep his teeth from touching, his lip curls without his permission. “Don’t y’u fuck’n dare.” His fangs dig into his lower lip, face flushing hot as his lisp regestures.

Gareth doesn’t look amused with him in the slightest. “Go take a fucking shower.” His retreating form almost mocks Eddie, almost. The carpet is rough on his skin, a cast off belt is digging into his stomach. Curling his fingers, Eddie pushes himself up on his elbows and struggles to sit back on his knees.

Vision spinning, head rush, vertigo, dizzy spell- didn’t matter. He breathed heavily through his nose before stumbling to his feet, swaying in place, room giving a valiant effort to move around him.

Standing in the hallway between the living room, Wayne’s door- and the bathroom. Eddie made eye contact with Gareth, who was just staring at him. Opening and then closing his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed. There was nothing to say, Eddie was- he hissed, more at himself than anything else and jerked his gaze down to stare at the carpet.

Even if it was a new trailer, it was still the same old muddy as fuck trailer park. The carpet was tracked through, over- he doesn’t know the exact term. It doesn’t matter, he stares at the mud stains instead of looking at Wayne or Gareth. Least his shame climb out of his skin, shed his muscles on the floor and bare its gnarled teeth for the rest of the world to see.

“I can smell you from here.” Eddie’s shoulders hitch up by his ears.

His fangs are still down, pressing sharply against his lower lip, and he grables out “I’m fuckin goin’.” around the awkward shape of his teeth at his friend and stumbles into the wall when he turns around. Eddie jerks, stepping back on shaky legs, he shakes himself off.

Embarrassment doesn't even claw its way to the surface, Eddie swallows, his tongue dry, pressing against the back of his teeth, running over the texture, the shape of each tooth. Righting is orientation in the hallway, and the bathroom door- Eddie tried again.

Knocking against the doorframe, but ultimately, he made it in the bathroom without running fully into a wall again. He fumbles around, shedding his shirt, Eddie pauses, blinking long and hard against the dark of the bathroom. Fingers finding the light switch, he kicks out with his foot to finish closing the door.

Eddie shoves at his shorts, and kicks them off- slamming his hip into the counter in the process. Hissing lightly, he twisted around in the small space to turn on the shower, soaking the bathroom for a split second, cursing sluggishly and loud- as he struggled to pull the curtain too.

Letting out a rough huff, already fucking soaked, Eddie jerked the curtain back. Stepping over the tub ledge, mildly proud of himself when he didn’t fucking trip on it, and closed the cutrain behind him.

The water was warm, Eddie hadn’t realized just how cold he was before now. It was a jar to his system, it wasn’t unusual for him to be cold. Vampire and all, but he did- you know have a heartbeat, and some blood that actually belonged to him. It just didn't replenish, it was a whole thing. Doesn’t matter.

The point is, it was like waking the fuck up. His stomach growled, finally realizing that it was empty. Eddie stood under the spray for a little longer, curling into the warmth, letting it settle into his bones. Thinks about what they have in the fridge, and chews on his lip as he gets the shampoo bottle off the shelf.

Going through the motions to clean himself, rushing towards the end at the demands of his stomach. Steve’s heart still thumps in the background, but Eddie isn’t hyper focused, he’s not zoned in on it. It’s white noise for him now.

Drying his hair roughly, not really bothering with anything other than straightening his bangs in the foggy mirror. Rubbing the water clinging to the glass, Eddie stares at his slightly out of focus reflection. Wayne had tried his best to get non-silver and rather aluminum backed mirrors.

But- Eddie got his hand wet under the sink, running his fingers through his bangs. Dropping the towel he used to dry his hair on the floor, shoving at it with his foot to kick it out of the general small walk space.

He shuffles out of the bathroom to his bedroom, shuts the door behind him and sets out to find the cleanest item of clothing in his room. Eddie knows he has clean underwear, and he digs those out of the dresser first.

Spinning around, staring at the rest of his room, Eddie notices a little dumbly that his hamper is full of clean clothes. Instantly he feels bad, he steps over, staring into the basket, he hadn’t even noticed that Wayne had done his laundry. He picks out a shirt from the pile, thumbing at the soft feeling before yanking it over his head, wet curls sticking to his neck.

A pair of jeans that are laid over the back of his chair. Eddie sits on his bed to pull them on, still dizzy, and honestly not really sure he could get them on standing up without falling over.

Eddie sits there for a moment, fidgeting with his pants button, just staring at the wall- mind clinging to the sound of Steve’s heart beat, it jumps a little- racing harsh and loud, and continues to do so. His gums itched, his skin too tight- something as wrong-

His stomach growls.

Right, right- Steve’s fine, he’ll be okay- Eddie, Eddie can check on him. Apologize. He just needs to eat first.

It’s a quiet affair, Eddie leaving his bedroom, walking into the kitchen, and getting a blood pop shoved at him. His eyes zero in, and he sticks the cold treat in his mouth instantly. Eddie lets out a groan, his teeth digging into the popsicle, Gareth basically herds him towards the couch and Eddie goes willingly. Laving his tongue over the bloodpop.

It takes him probably ten minutes to eat the entire thing, and he gnaws on the stick when he’s finished, sinking his teeth into the wood with little care for the fragility of them. Wayne growls, Eddie jerks his eyes over to him, pulling his teeth out of the stick.

Wayne holds out his hand, Eddie’s fingers are steady as he drops the bite riddled popsicle stick in his uncle's hand. Gareth elbows him again, “Eat.” Half baked meat cubes. Eddie tucks his knees up to his chest, resting the plate on top of them, gnawing on the cubes of meat almost absently. His best friend and his uncle are quiet. Eddie sinks his teeth into the cube, staring at the TV, it’s turned off. It wasn’t before- the screen is still static like. “I need to apologize.” “Yeah, you do.” Gareth’s voice is sharp, angry, fair enough. Eddie’s being stupid. “I don’t even like Harrington and I know you are being a dickwad.”

Eddie makes a face, darting his eyes to look over to Wayne. His Uncle was staring at him with an unreadable expression. Furrowing his brow, “Pops?” Wayne grumbles, his expression hardening. Swallowing hard, Wayne doesn’t look at him like that very often. A handful of times where Wayne’s really pressed rank, Eddie ducks his head slightly, not making eye contact. “Not for them, you understand me Edward? You apologize to that boy, because he deserves it, not ‘cause that group of yours wants to use him.” Eddie’s eyes go wide, “You apologize to that boy, and you fix this.” He nods, jerking his head up and down for a long moment sending his vision spinning. “Today.”

Eddie shoves another cube in his mouth, “Yes sir.” His voice is quiet, muffled around the piece of meat, but Wayne rumbles softly, Eddie tracks the movement of his Uncle reaching out to pull on one of his curls.

“‘M not mad at ya’ Eds,” Hesitant eye contact, the words are gruff, in all the ways that his Uncle always is, “disappointed, but not mad.” Eddie nods his head like a poor bobble head. “I’m fucking mad at you.” Gareth’s voice is sharp, “I’m so angry at you, how dare you-” “Gareth.” Eddie tucks his head down, “Later.” Wayne’s voice is sharper now, Gareth has no position here, and he knows the wix knows it too, snapping his mouth shut, jaw making an audible click. Teeth colliding aggressively, Eddie cringes, sympathy for the other’s teeth.

They sit in silence as Eddie finishes eating, slower on the last few pieces, anxiety pooling in his limbs as he goes. Mind focusing back on Steve’s heart beat as he goes about the motions of putting on socks, shoes, staring at Gareth’s retreating back as the younger leaves the trailer, slamming the door behind him. Eddie tosses his keys back and forth in his hands. “I fucked up.” quiet, hardly above a whisper. It’s not for anyone but himself, Wayne won’t respond- he knows, knows that Eddie’s talking to himself- it’s, it’s- this is all so fucked.

He says goodbye to Wayne, tells him he’ll call him, and heads out. The ride is eerie, silent, Eddie doesn’t bother with turning on the radio. He’s not worthy of a distraction, ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Steve, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t mean to do any of this, and I’m so sorry you got hurt, I’m sorry we hurt you. That I hurt you.’ It felt- pathetic, wasteful, mouthful of words, empty, empty words. Why would Steve even listen to him? He’s done nothing but hurt the younger boy.

Eddie has been nothing but cruel to Steve.

Only Steve's BMW was parked in the driveway, Eddie parked on the street. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. For all of it- He smashed his hand against the steering wheel, fumbling to turn his van off. The keys rattle in the silence of the space. It feels oddly more like a death march walking up to the house, than the ride to kill Vecna did; walking up to the door, the world was so loud. Each of his steps loud against his ears. Competing with the steady thump of Steve’s heartbeat in his own chest.

Eddie stood in front of the door, staring at the wood, breathing harshly through his nose. And he knocked, cracking his knuckles against the colored wood, Steve’s pulse jumps, rocks against his ears and Eddie whines behind his teeth. I’m so sorry- I’m so sorry- There’s a little bit of shouting in the house, the hair on the back of his neck raises. Steve’s heart beat swells closer, and Eddie rocks back on his heels. Anxiety resting against his collar bones, pooling on his tongue. The door opens-

Steve looks terrible, Eddie’s heart aches, his teeth itch, and his bones claw at his skin. His hair is long, and falling in his face, there’s scars on his face that Eddie had never seen before, the line around his neck- the one from the demo-bats, it’s stark against his skin. Steve’s eyes widen, and Eddie’s hands shake at his sides.

“Hi?”

--- Bloop. Sorry that this took forever, took a tiny break, and then fist fought writers block for far longer than I should have. And if anyone knows me From "An Untuned Piano" I tend to get sick, get better, and then get sick again. So, currently- sick. 0/10, at least I didn't get an incredibly high fever and then decide I was going to write, rewrite the plot, and fuck myself over... again. (I may have also fucked up my hand somewhere in between-) I'm not the happiest with this, because I couldn't put together exactly what I had pictured in my head. But it's whatever. It's fine. The next part I know what I want to do, and what I want to get done. Some of it's already finished- so it shouldn't be too long. !! Thank you for your very sweet feedback!! And to the one person who keeps leaving me very nice comments and then asking me to post it on ao3, I will! I just have a very specific word count that my brain makes me reach before I can think about posting something. I'll post it pretty soon, though it will probably be in a two-shot.

Tags: @theghostinmymachine @sadcanadianwinter @failedstarsandgoldenclouds @a-huge-nerdy-nerd @bisexualdisastersworld @intergalactic-president-awesome @vampireinthesun @estrellami-1 @raysreads @knightofthieves @sassysleeplord @gezell-igg @ledleaf @haluton @h0n3y-dw @thegingerrapunzel @finalmoondragon @warrior-616 @lexyvey @thesuninyaface @whalesharksart @two-faced-biatch @plasticcrotches @xtkxkrzrizir @minjintea @potatofist18 @just-a-tiny-void @selune2 @hellomynameismoo @princessstevemunson @plantzzsandpencilzzs @wearelosersyoudumbfuck @dbquills @pheonixashtree

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yohohonabottle · 2 months ago

Text

Clown's reminiscing & Bear's 'sin' (that outed half of the guests' present.)

The song that inspired it, lyrics got altered to match better.

TW: Description of mild game-cannon violence, mentions of death threat & implied/referenced suicidal tendencies.

youtube

Everyone was gathered in the Mystical house, the Magister Merlin having sent the invites and thrown this grand party. ...Everyone, but a certain wandering spirit. And tonight, on this wintery celebration evening, she held up a friendly Century Quest & Card duel competition- The prize being something simple. A patch.

Everyone knew that should the Incarnated spirit have been present, and took part--He would've won. Not even trying, just having fun and enjoying the friendly-fire rounds or 'spars' with people.. Regardless of who's who and what, stranger, enemy, friend or more. In the end, Thoran somehow won. And the Graveborns, aside from Earl Ludovic, didn't care about this small detail. Nor did the Hypogeans, other Maulers who managed to make it here. Half the guests didn't really care, half were not too approving of how...selective the party and competition feels. And the other half were only bit puzzled as to why the 'Magister' wasn't invited but figured he's probably busy or chose to be by himself tonight. Watching the Bantus king smugly claim the Ironjaw patch, Soren frowns. This just isn't right. Getting up from his seat at the table, his steps thump on the lounge's wooden floor. The memories of old adventures hold a burning, putrid sting-- A scalding, acid-like and drowning guilt still haunting his conscious and conscience to this day. It'll plague him 'til the end of his days. Rightly so.

—"Merlin, nothing personal but Pirin Hestios should've won the patch tonight." Sweeping a disdainful eye over the faces of the two nobles, king and pirate, the warrior's gloomy glare turns to Merlin. "And you people are crazy for not realizing that." Hodgkin scoffs with an amused snort from his seat at another table in the tavern.

"Why would we give that Rat the Patch, eh? So he could use it as a blanket?" Valen, Lorsan, Alsa and Eironn wince. Sinbad and Lyca scowl. Sonja and Lucca keep their mouth shut, but the edge of varying discontent tinging their masks of stoically dutiful neutrality is enough clue. Soren's ears pin back in annoyance as hearty laughter booms from some of the guests, Merlin included.

"That's the reaction I thought I'd get." A flicker of an idea lights up Lorsan's eyes at recalling a silly 'exercise' Pirin once did with Eironn. The aim was to help the Stormsword express better his emotions, or at least get more comfortable with them regardless of their nature. And also lift his spirit, by lifting some of the 'doom and gloom' with putting them through song. A method that the Burning star took to the desert and applied with the young Mauler. Absurd as it seems, felt and likely also is, to a degree, it did help. Taking out his lute, the bard easily comes up with a melody, and strums on the strings with a deft hand.

"Everyone in this room has been associated with Pirin, Either through adventure, the tavern or various odd jobs he does around for free or at most a silver." -The teen's voice is gruff as a buzzard's and gravelly with a small rasp, but darn it he kept pushing on. A few eyebrows were raised in question, some smiled and some rolled their eyes or scoffed. The hare kept on plucking the strings, setting the melody. "And I'm guessing most of you have either laughed in Pirin's face Or ruthlessly made fun of his eyebrows or body, or voice, or temper or shortness when he wasn't looking-" Merlin narrowly flinches, Rhys pulls a face at getting called out, Chippy & Hammie look down guiltily, Sinbad winces and Lenya pretends to play dumb. Lyca throws the catwoman a disbelieving look that quickly flips to sour.

Cecia and Salazer inwardly bristle for a second but show no reaction... Because both know they've done it. Just as Sir Lucius looks away in guilty shame along with Atalanta, Kafra, and Satrana. Hodgkin knew he'd done all of the above and harbors not a drop of remorse or care. Lorsan winces as he carries on playing the guitar, remembering that one time he'd grimaced at the man's 'Graveborn' appearance and cringed at his voice.

Seated at one of the tables with his wife, Niru calmly sweeps his eyes over the other patrons' faces. Notes the reactions. Plenty of guilty fellows tonight, it seems.

Valen tries not to grimace, the memory of how he'd pointed out his love's peculiar eyebrows-- Back when they truly met for the very first time. It wasn't out of mockery and malice...but the fact he'd teased him about it still stands.

"But the next time you'd see him, he'd still go out of his way to smile And wave at you and ask you about your mother's operation or something like that. Because he unlike us actually cares about someone other than himself--" Berial's laughter and gleeful grin dies down, memories resurfacing unwanted.

--------------——-=== - -- --——--- -- - ===-———-------------

For the very first time, the diabolical jester had found himself in a pinch after pranking the Magister--Nothing actually lethal mind you. Same reason as to why his pranks on her stand-in and the people of Esperia, too aren't actually aiming to kill. A nasty scare here, heaping misfortunes and or nightmares there, or something completely goofy sans the cruelty and evil.

Dumping a bucket of period blood, tree-sap and rotten seaweed (Because that's what came to his mind as funny) he'd conjured up, the nasty little fiend then cackled merrily. Oh the Magister's horrified yell of being startled and the disgusted grimace she had pulled were priceless. The two pip-squeaks cries of alarm, the horror on their chubby gorged cheeks and frantic fussing--It made it five times funnier! Well the Arch-mage's wrath that followed right after in retaliation wasn't fun. Bloody Mary proceeded to 'prank' back with a mean bite--Casting a spell to not only nail his body with Dura's oh so holly sword...But instead of sealing him and finishing the deal, Merlin worked on purifying and extracting magic straight out his core.

How it burnt, how it burnt! It was like being boiled, grilled and burned alive all in one! "It was just a prank! What're you draining me for?! I didn't even try to hurt you this time! At all! OW-!" --He'd wailed, almost beginning to regret his prank. And suddenly Pirin's 'curse' was a far, far more pleasant experience to go through again.

Being a nobody and feeling phantasmal-ly powerless in a nightmare is much more favorable, better, than actually being truly dead. Hell! Being turned to stone, or a mortal and chucked at the Order would work too! Just not total, real death and erasure of existing!

...And then the nail was removed, a compassionate Blazing star having warily approached after Merlin has long left. Hollowed eyes with diminished glow feebly lift to gaze at his 'nemesis.' That day, Berial honestly expected to be finished off, be met with more ire. Certainly wouldn't have blamed the man for it, considering the time his pranks on him crossed the line and also the troubles he'd caused, being a perfect doppelgänger.

But no. No torment or wrath came. The spirit squandered the chance to kill him off for good instead. Weaving a small spell, pulling at the threads of neutral-aligned and free-flowing magic; tainting it with dark emotions, intents lingering from a past life's grief-borne bloodlust, memories vicious-- The tar-like oozing flame orb was held out to him. Squinting up at the lost descendant with nothing but immense confusion, the slowly-withering Hypogean stares for a long moment. There are no expectations in those mirror-like eyes, nor hope for reward, no desire for favors and deals.

".....Why?" Why're you helping me? Why aren't you hurting or trying to finish me off for good? The answer the 'idiot', or maybe Pirin really was an idiot, gave in turn to his weak rasp, was even more baffling. But the serene sincerity of simple conviction was unmistakable. Like a slap.

—"Only good can't exist, not without its counterpart. You have your own place in the scheme, though hard to grasp by many." The jester scoffs, forcing on a pitiful attempt to grin like usual..but it crumbles to dust. While trying and failing to make sense of this strange, funny, 'naïve' blockhead.

—"Not what I asked. What? You want a deal? Power, glory, endless gold, adoration? Name your wish, and I'll grant it.~" The refute was like a cold slash of a blade.

—"Just take it. If you insist on doing me a favor," His discarded top-hat is picked up from the ground, the orb placed bit harshly into his palms. Dusting the hat off, the gloved hand places it back onto the inky head, the demon blinking down at the ball of potent abyss. Then blinks up, a sense of....something stirring somewhere in his black core. Respect, partially begrudging from last time.. and also sincere.

"then a simple 'thank you' will do. Or a smile, if that's too pricey." On eye-level, that ember of kindness coloring the magister's light smile as it does his eyes. Too pricey?? Excuse you???

"Thank you."

For once, the clown's grin isn't malign nor sneering. Gobbling up the orb without needing to be told twice, instantly returning to his normal lively self. It was delicious! No longer on Death's door, sockets and wide grin now back to their vibrant glow and ashen features wrought with life once more-- But he makes no move to attack. Or prank.

How can you be so genuinely selfless like a saint?

—"Seriously though—Why did you help me? You could've left me to die and everyone would thank you for it, you know?" I'm a Hypogean, the literal embodiment of evil. You know my track-record. You could get hurt. I could kill you at any moment, and those you hold dearly. I know. —"I don't want anyone to suffer in the ways I have." Not anymore. I did, once, took the lives of many in my blind rage. Brutally so, without remorse or guilt, drawing and dragging out their agony-- The instigators, the perpetrators, the accomplices...and along with them, the innocent, too, got in the line of slaughter. In my grief, revenge, I couldn't, didn't, distinguish nor cared to. I wanted nothing more, but to make the world suffer -Pay for it. I was no better, than those that called and inflicted the genocide of my kin. Not the first time I've been a sadistic monster either-- Same rage and pettiness, same cause of it, just a different world. (In a different lifecycle two prior.)

I'm still paying the price myself. (For my own senseless evils.)

----------———-—=== -- --——--- -- ===—-———------------ "The reason I bring this up to you Is because I... was the worst offender, of all." --Lorsan masterfully glides a hand over the strings. What he hears next, stirs up confused anger and shocked disbelief, the way the teenager outs himself. His mistreatment towards the vampire they'd come to call a 'nightingale', 'little finch' or 'lark'. It was in the early days of his adventures with the Magister, yes, but still doesn't make it okay!

"My life was simply going nowhere, Then a tiny, little man, rushed to my side. He should've gotten a big thank you, Instead he got a quicksand-dunking ride."

Some of the Graveborns laugh, pleased at the revelation. With the mental imagery of their pesky, meddling, enemy's abuse in the past.

Ludovic's hold on the branch of delicate flowers ever so subtly tightens for a second. Subdued, reserve and strongly disapproving anger flashing in the young boy's melancholic eyes. Like last time, when Merlin had beat up the felled star, beautiful white lilies were left on Pirin's nightstand.

The only thing to soothe away his pains of heart and mind, the nightmares, besides his Jolly sailor and loyal Knight.

Tonight, the 'Magister' would likely find himself another branch of those lovely blooms. Or in a patch of them. An eternal sufferer, in a way... and also a mere sincere gift from a friend. A gesture of kindness to keep the warm, kind bleeding heart from growing cold. A quiet way to say, remind the man there's someone(s) out there, who care.

"I was such a shithead. But he never quit on me, 'Til I told him he was useless,...and should go take his own life.." Shock flashes in the young lord's stern, saddened, pale green irises- Shaking out the melancholy and composure. Covering his mouth with a hand, other hand gripping the flowers even tighter.

The immense, crushing shame and guilt in the Mauler's voice aren't lost on him, ringing clearly in his voice with deep remorse. But the spark of fiery fury that flares in the young noble's dead heart is there. Lorsan very narrowly stops playing his guitar, jaw drop on the ground. Valen's eyebrows shoot to his hairline, Sinbad's face darkens and Lyca gapes at the warrior, just as his sister does.

How did Pirin not lash out...? Beat the ever-loving lights out of this punk? ...Why did he take the blows? Berial remains draped on his seat at his own table, already knowing what happened next. The sweet little thing held himself back from pummeling the whelp, knowing all too well what his own anger looks like. And didn't wish to inflict it. Instead he simply smiled instead, hurt, but smiled anyway. Forgave Bear-boy for the wrongdoings, and moved on like nothing happened. 'I don't want anyone to suffer' (In the ways I have.)

"I snapped at Soren more severely, once. After he crossed a line. I haven't gotten so angry, in a long while.. Not like this. Couldn't hold back-- In a blink he was on the ground, and I just...kept clawing and punching at him like a straw dummy, anywhere I could strike." --A pained 'Magister' laments devastated, fur sprouted along his neck and arms. And the Joker quietly listened to Batman's confession of 'sin', slight against the young former Grimmaw orphan he'd recently become foster father to. How he'd pelted the fighter with a flurry of vicious strikes, giving the brat two nice black-eyes, a crooked nose, nicked ears and plenty of nasty bruises.. and a dislocated shoulder from almost twisting his furry arm.

Blinded by anger. Just like in his old days.

"...I could've taken his life, only barely managed to stop myself. Had to force myself to flee, go to my dorm at the Mystical House and turn it to an arena, let my anger there. Better than him or anyone else getting the brunt of it." --The distraught spirit uttered in a shaky rasp, almost a choked quiet sob. Horrified with himself.

"I almost killed him, Berial! I-" How did a prank of dropping a bucket of blood-looking juice lead to this moment? The Hypogean had no clue, but kept his mouth shut. For once in his entire life. I'm a monster. I really am like the Temple says-- So he'd placed an inky hand firmly on the boney shoulder, stopping the train right there.

"No." Stop with that nonsense. What monster cares, and so much? Runs away before it could do harm? None, that's what. How in the Abyss did we become frenemies? No idea. Can't complain, keeps things interesting with these twists. 'Sides, even villains got downtime, no?

That day, the performer put up a show--Simple and comically flashy, without horrors, mockery or gore. ...Okay fine, he snuck in a literal eye in one of the tricks as a punchline and pulled out dead doves out his hat then revived them, and made the birds disintegrate into regular confetti. Just to cheer this one 'idiot' of a 'magister'. Hypogeans can't feel actual love you see, or care in the typical constraints of mortal understanding and their rigid, dull morality lofty ideals.

More like... Favor. Have interest in someone or something, and in turn keep it safe. Can't have that person or thing go 'poof' in any way, can we now? It wouldn't do. In a way, to a degree, it can be called 'care'. ----------———-—=== -- --——--- -- ===—-———------------ Somehow pulled into the spirit of confessing 'sins' in song, Sir Lucius takes the turn to sing next. Outing himself, right as Soren sits down back in his seat, ears drooping in remorseful shame.

"Once when we were watching Sunday spectacle in the Gala square, A fuzzy movement was all that we could see." The image comes back, a gloomy day in Holistone and how Father David sent for Pirin. The ghostly-pale man had earned himself the reputation of being a reliable hand, outside of his duty as Merlin. That Father knew, and the music was playing, a spectacle in Dura's name to honor her, the Archons and Heroes of the Immortal war.

A way to draw youth back to morality and tradition, to spread the good will and sacred words. And perhaps also incite interest in them for the Temple, for the Divine and for Faith. The lights had abruptly given out and needed to be fixed, newly-acquired technology from Alkali. Poor man, a diligent jack of all trades, worked on fixing the blasted stage lights in the background whilst the show continued.

"Pirin came over with a toolkit-- And spent the spectacle on top of the theater grids.. And when the lightning struck him, He let out a wicked loud yell. .

But we just turned up the volume, And ignored, covered up the burning smell-- we should all rot in hell!" It was horrible, going up to the rafters after the performance... only to find a charred body, miraculously alive. But unconscious. That day he'd grabbed the man, and tore through town-- ran straight to the doctor's office, cutting the queue of patients and frantically explained the situation through prayers and pleads for help.

After that he'd taken the 'mercenary' to Valen's home with all the medicaments needed (that Lucius bought with his own money) in tow. Valen looked scared and distraught at the sight, then gave an angry earful "What were you and the Temple thinking?!" "The weather was clear today, until the projectors gave out near the spectacle's end...Father called for Pirin to repair them.." "What?! Ohh greeat, go tell Father to be more mindful- And carefully check the weather forecast when planning events! You've put not only Pirin's but also the citizens' safety at risk! People could've gotten seriously hurt!" Covering his face with an armored hand and bowing his head, Lucius closes his eyes, mumbling under his breath. "Dura above, please forgive our sins..." The blond Templar knight's eyes blink open, head snapping up when Archon Talene softly rises from her seat, hand on her heart. And divine features pinched into a guilty, ashamed look.

"I went to high Pantheon with Pirin, in a previous cycle of his.... As a joke I told him to meet me at the banquet, needing a cavalier.. When he got there I said, ''I can't believe you thought I was serious.''"

Dionel and the Hypogeans look up at the firebird, Harak with a mouthful of fish and chicken, blinking up in confused surprise. Some of the bones stick out his maw; Berial blinks, then grins half in sneering amusement at one of those pomps having dirty laundry (not surprising, ask Dionel but the perpetually drunk sloth won't tell you. And suavely divert your attention elsewhere, like pulling a rug right from under your feet oh so smoothly). Phraesto and Reinier couldn't care less. Scarlita stays silent as usual, hands rested atop the handle of her battle-axe, remembering the scene all too well.

"So he ran home crying because of my deceit and slow-danced with his mom." Worst part is the Blazing star only agreed to begin with, was not because he had romantic feelings towards Talene--But because the child simply wanted to help. Along with bearing curiosity as to what the gods' victory feast and celebratory ceremony is like.

The Dusklord's young familiar had been transferred over to Talene after the war-god met his end. Just as the god of the waves relinquished his own familiar to Misarte shortly prior to dying himself-- *rrEEeep-lu lu lu lu* Hestopeous (Jaallanne - Diinqan -Hestios), the mother, child of a family in the Eclipse lineage. Upon being given to Misarte, she took on the name Larra in place of Jaallanne.

And the boy's father, whom the god of war chose as his familiar first (before taking fancy to Pirin and taking the child under his wing as 'familiar in training')-- *Thwack-Clanck* Hestopeous, child of a Crimsonfang bloodline family (Ekchauh - Hunahpu-Hestios) was given to Dulingr.

"What a crushing blow to Pirin. Bet you wish you could take it back." -The rowdy hustler joins the song, chastising and accusing himself of the exact same, as much as he's discontent with Talene's antics.

"How could you all be so mean to Pirin? Sound to me like you're all on crack!" -Rhys crows from another nearby table, leaning back on his terrabird. Doesn't have the smallest clue what all these 'confessions' are about or why people are doing it in song out of the blue, but still pipes up anyways. Harak blissfully goes back to wolfing down his own large portion of yummy food, keeping a curious ear on his surroundings.

It was strange to him, why the mage kept switching scents.

Sweet, very sugary and fruity, almond-like one moment-- Then this funny weak earthy and floral scent with different trees in there. And the attitude jumped back and forth too! It was only when two Merlins stood side by side (he was caught in the bottle he'd smashed in his feasting), that the strange smell and personality-flip finally made sense. It's TWO mages, one of cold and one of fruity!

And then he'd been woken up, recruited and placed onto a team. All but dropped in the cold Merlin's hands by the sugary one. With a harness and a leash-- Sugary mage's idea. ("Merlin, what am I supposed to do with him..?"

"Eh I dunno, train Harak to behave or something.?"

"....Merlin, this is a shark we're talking about. Not a dog or a dolphin." "Well actually, sharks can be trained! I red it in a book on aquatic life yesterday!" "Merlin!" D:<<) Cold Merlin--Pirin-- Was very annoyed. Then turned to glare at Harak, like he was the problem!

"You. You better behave yourself, ya hear?" -Hissed with narrowed eyes, jabbing a clawed finger at his chest. Disgruntled. "Or so help me, I will kick your fish ass AND Merlin's, I don't care how strong you are!" Harak only blinked down at angry mage, confused and amused. And that's how Harak was kept on the team! Annoyed Merlin is nice though, tosses tasty fish to Harak.. (And Harak behaves nicely, a good boy to get yummy food. Annoyed Merlin's dreams taste nasty though, reeealllly bitter and rotten, and like octopus ink! And stink of smoke! Nasty dreams!)

"Tonight Pirin was counting on this team, To show that we care,

But the first time he really needed us, we weren't there." - The shark Hypogean looks up at the blue-dressed girl with white short hair. Tilting his head, still puzzled what this song is about and what it's got to do with the Annoyed Merlin. By now the two Graveborn nobles have left.

"It is just not fair." -Dulingr at last joins the song, adding to the music- Dionel takes the turn to sing next. Comes up with a very absurd chorus, the other more singing-inclined guests both sober and drunk join in too. Valen and Ludovic quietly get up from their seats after exchanging a look, silently agreeing to go see the missing guest. Not before catching Rhys crow "I wonder if that guy ever wiped his ass with the wrong hand", throwing Hodgkin a grin. Some cringe--Valen included, the young earl wincing internally both at the vulgar language and question itself. Others laugh. The ''Strongest captain in the world ever'' glares at the red-head Mauler with a scandalized and seething snarl, eyebrows set into a very deep frown. What stupid question is this?!?

"OI! Watch it Furball! I'll turn you into a damn coat!" (yes) Harak laughs as well, his croaking raspy laugh echoing all around the lounge. ...And then his eye catch on the two figures sauntering to the exit, fish dangling out of his mouth that he just stuffed in. Where is Cold Merlin's mate going?

Getting up, snatching handful of tasty meat from the plate (which was Lorsan's because he had already scarfed his own food. Also Bunny man hasn't touched the food. So Harak took it, bunnies don't eat tasty meat anyway.), the spiny shark Hypogean slinks after the two. His tail grabs a nearby jar with a heart (Niru's collection, the doctor's attention away) along the way. ----------———-—=== - -- --——--- - -- - ===—-———------------

. No hair or hide of the fake, faction chameleon. Where could he have possibly gone? Not in town at any rate, nor Ryeham. Looking around with a scowl tainting his boyishly dazzling face, Valen exhales a dejected sigh. At this point, the Mystical House is a permanent no-go when searching for the ghost. And why wouldn't it be?

I wouldn't go there or be near Merlin unless necessary. Even then I wouldn't stick around, or anything related to the Magister. It's really a shame she spiraled so terribly, got lost in 'madness'. Does Hogan know? The general will be...devastated, if he were to learn Merlin no longer cares about anything, anyone, other than himself. Him included. The grass crunches softly under their feet, the silence interrupted by the sounds of that Hyposhark gnawing on ribs.

Is this why the Magister summoned Pirin and placed the journey onto his shoulders to bear? Because he's from the Eclipse, a lineage of clear-cut rationality and clarity of mind? The Pallid covenants were known as the most mildly tempered and diplomatic of the bloodlines.

Arbiters and ambassadors, as well as mediators and overseers. Of all colonies, it's them that can swiftly pierce through the haze of deceit, illusion and temptation--Find the raw truth, and reflect it. Unbiased. With these attributes and his longevity, perhaps the night nymph is rather difficult to fall prey for ''The Kings' madness''....

—"Harak?" Clear blue eyes inquisitively settle onto his form. "Can you find Pirin, lead us to him? We've been walking for two hours now and no sight of him yet." It's a gamble, but-

—"Mate worried for Angry Merlin.?" What...? I mean, not that he's wrong, just... Oh nevermind. Good gods, this shark-thing stinks like dead fish and oil!

—"Yes. ...Brown-haired Merlin was very mean to ''Angry Merlin'' last time, hurt him very badly. Still is being mean to him. So ''Angry Merlin'' chooses to stay far away from the brown-haired mage." Chewing on the chicken bones to scrape off the flesh, confusion and displeasure colors the shark's face. A low, unhappy growl rumbling from the Hypogean's chest, eyes narrowing. Letting go of the bone with a 'click' of sharp, pointy teeth.

—"Why very mean?" —"Because jealous Pirin has many people who care and proudly declare his name while he doesn't." A huff. The team ''guard shark-dog'' seeing it as stupid. Which it is. "I can't see him at all, or hear him.. Help us find him. Please?" Another rumbling noise ripples in the shark's throat, not exactly a growl, more of a hum. As if that wee little brain is working to process and piece together things, crunching pensively on the bones caught in his maw.

Sniffing the air, the Hypogean abruptly darts ahead. —"Come! Found Angry Merlin!" Valen needed not be told twice, darting after the hulking form with the young master close behind. This thing's fast! Really fast and nimble! Eventually their path leads to the ruins far past the Altar, past the hut on the riverbank, through the Dark Forest's canopy and....to the foot of the Vaduso Mountains far away from the Wilders villages and settlements.

No civilization. Only this cold, snowy lone and silent mountain. Looking up and sniffing the air, Harak shivers as the cold bites into his hardened skin, head up. And clicks his teeth, making a small noise of mild discomfort, breath coming in a misty puff. But still refuses to back away or leave and flee, lifting a hand--Points to the clouds with a clawed finger.

—"There. Your mate up there....Cold." Squinting up at the fog of clouds swirled around the summit, the knight tries to find his love. Nothing, even with following the direction the fiend is pointing in. The Graveborn noble gazes up at the clouds, frigid winds tussling his hair as well as the knight's. ''Sometimes... people tire me vastly, mostly Merlin and his hamsters. I prefer to hide away, calm down in peace'.'

—"I can't see him... Can you?" —"No. Only smell. Mate is circling." No chance he hasn't heard us. A night nymph's hearing is scarily keen, puts Bryon's to shame. So sharp, that they can hear your every heartbeat, every breath, the flow of blood in your veins, the vibrations of your voice.

Stepping back, Valen draws in a deep breath. Holds it for a second, then lets it out in a long-drawn out, sharp and shrill whistle. The echo answering back as though taunting. Nothing. Another whistle, interspersing it with shorter, lower ones. A 'song'.

''Night nymphs rely heavily on voice and hearing, thus singing and voice becoming prominent in their forming culture. When courting, the suitor 'sings', flexing a wide variety of vocals and tones--Whistles, thrills, chirps, sonar calls and tweets along with clicks. Varying in pitch, tone, frequency and duration. May sometimes include human vocal mimicry, covering both the male and female ranges.' (Although that is most common in Nephylims than vampires.) Through song, one's voice, a bonding or already bonded pair can also locate each other. Each song is unique to each pair.''

One last whistle, low-pitched and drawn out, ending with a mid-drawn out, soft click and a short thrill at the end. Very much akin to a songbird's melody. A name in that sonorous language, foreign to man. And now if you don't at least answer, I'll look like a lunatic. Or like a foo--A shrill, mildly agitated whistling cry calls back with a thrill paired with short clicks of 'clack-clack-clack', or 'k-k-k-k'.

A figure pierces through the haze, swifter than an arrow fired. A long-tailed bat, wings folded at the sides, fur pristinely pale as the snow itself. With a quiet 'thump', the long tailed creature lands before the three of them, the long fur around his neck swayed by the blizzard winds.

For first time, Valen finds his breath entirely stolen away. Majestic. No other word can describe the being standing before his eyes. In this form, Pirin barely reaches to his chest-line, yet still no less mighty. And gorgeous, the regal look to him still not gone.

Suddenly the biting chill doesn't matter, a patch of white lilies blooming under his feet. Carefully approaching, the Solitaire feels his lips upturn into an enamored, awed smile, falling on one knee. Hands lifting, cupping the bat's face.

—"Just as ethereal as in human form.. Here I was, thinking you couldn't get any more regal and majestic. A dragon, in your own way." One of his hands moves over the fur tufts on the critter's cheekbones, gliding over one long ear and lightly scratching behind it; moves down to smooth down the thick, silky collar at the neck. A little coarse and tangled, but soft as cotton candy and finest silk regardless. A low, quiet purr reverberating from the spirit's throat--relaxing, content. Leaning into his touch, eyes closing tiredly.

"...Why did you run so far away, dove?" A huff, a click and a very short low-pitched thrill.

—" 'Needed to return home.' " -The brunet stiffens for a short moment, startled by Ludovic's soft voice. Almost forgot the Earl is still here. Glancing up at the boy, a look of mild surprise sets on Valen's visage, still running a gentle palm through Pirin's fur absently.

—"You can decipher what he's saying?" —"Yes, albeit not quite as precise as Magister Merlin. I fear that my knowledge regarding the Night nymphs' language is.. slightly subpar. I used to have a tome describing their customs and behavior in-depth, however it unfortunately got lost."

—"Far better than mine at any rate. I only know that voice is very important to them, along with weaving and blood. Just made-up the 'song' when calling him."

—"I could attempt to find my tome and lend it to you, if you wish Sir Valen?" The ghost of a happy smile plays on the aristocrat's ashen features. Observing the two of them, peering at Pirin with subdued wonder and humble curiosity. The swordsman's purple eyes light up.

—"Really? Thank you, my lord! ...I mean, if it wouldn't be troublesome. It would mean a lot to me, being able to better understand Pirin." —"It shall be of no trouble to me, rest assured. I shall bring the book to you, once I find it. Furthermore....You may keep the tome. I no longer have use for it. It appears that it shall find better use in your possession rather than gather dust." —"..My lord-" But it seems Earl Ludovic has already made up his mind. "We should return to Golden Wheatshire, probably. Harak already left to go back to the Dream Isles." A jar with a heart inside sits on the ground where the Hypogean once stood. Picking up the bat and letting him perch onto his shoulders, curl around his neck like a scarf, the solder rises up to his feet. And the two make their way back to the closest waystone, to teleport back home. Valen's cheery voice fills the quiet along the way, telling stories of past adventures, the young Earl listening intently. Already, many ideas, scenes take shape into his mind's eye-- Of swaying wheat fields and a heroic trio fighting off elementals, a night nymph leaping into the flames to save a family from debris and suffocation; Of a hare Wilder and his friends, their dense rainforest... Of ruins and a battle against a raging, looming golem.

Much to paint, and all the time to perfectly replicate the experiences.

#afk journey #quick post #oc #songfic?#light angst #angst and humor #or attempt at humor through the song #oneshot #comfort #fluff?#afk lyca #afk soren #afk eironn #afk merlin #afk valen #afk berial #afk hodgkin #And other afkj cast members #happy ending

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bookaddict24-7 · 4 months ago

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REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

Every week I will post various reviews I've written so far in 2024. You can check out my Goodreads for more up-to-date reviews HERE. You can friend me on Goodreads here.

Have you read any of these? What were your thoughts?

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305. Kraken's Sacrifice by Katee Robert--⭐️⭐️⭐️

This was OK, kind of forgettable. Someone wrote a short review that just said "I wish this series was written better" and honestly...yes. LOL. There is SO MUCH potential here.

The romance was kind of weird, like the pacing was off. One moment he hates her and then boom--sexy time and suddenly he's in love. I also couldn't stop giggling at the fact that she sees his tentacles and immediately was like, "Yes, that. I want." Listen, I don't want to yuck anyone's yum, but I think it's okay to side-eye the fact that your husband has tentacles that could be used during fun times.

I did like the connection at the end and how communication saved the day. SEE?! Communication can even happen between a human and a Kraken Man. No excuses. But yeah, I liked the ending for this one more than book one, simply because it wasn't drawn out.

I felt really bad for the FMC and how the MMC had to overcome his grief to move forward in his life. She has had a very tragic life (as is alluded to in the beginning and can be seen in her actions throughout the novella).

Overall, this was a short and kinky story that had some spicy spice and had a very interesting dynamic. I think if this had been a bit longer and the characters were a bit more rounded, this would have been a better story.

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306. Burden Falls by Kat Ellis--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I honestly didn't know what to expect from BURDEN FALLS. At some point, I was convinced it was a vampire story--look, an Apple and Blood? Definitely TWILIGHT coded.

But no, this is a mystery with a haunting mystery, a creepy set of deaths, and a family torn apart by loss. Though it took me a bit to get into this story, I was curious throughout the whole thing and really enjoyed that twist.

I have to give props to Kat Ellis for setting such a great atmosphere. It was described so well that I could see it perfectly in my mind and I imagined myself walking through dying apple orchards, trying to figure out who keeps killing the people who've affected the MC's life in one way or another.

I will say, however, that the romance was a bit expected and predictable. But I wasn't really here for that romance, more for the mystery. BURDEN FALLS was the kind of book that I think would have been fine without the romance. BUT with that being said, I liked that neither of the characters lost themselves to their relationship.

The whole story led up to an explosive reveal and some great scary times along the way, with some pretty haunting descriptions. Definitely a great read for the Fall, especially if you're visiting an apple orchard in a small, haunted town.

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307. Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock by Matthew Quick--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

TW: Suicide Ideation, Description of SA, Threatened Gun Violence, Depression, Parental Abandonment.

I think if you liked THE CATCHER IN THE RYE, or if you empathized with Holden Caufield, you'll empathize more with this MC and his thought process. One of the things I don't think I'll ever understand about the hate CATCHER gets is that Holden is insufferable. He may be a tough pill to swallow, but that kid was extremely traumatized and in desperate need of therapy.

Much like Holden, this MC is in a very dark place. Everything he does is a cry for help--from his need to be a quiet observer just to not feel lonely, to trying to find a connection in a horrible and misguided way, this MC was on a downward spiral and the person who should have noticed the most was too self-involved to be a parent to him.

I did like, however, that despite the darker moments and the commitment to the coming end, there WERE characters who noticed the MC's mindset. They saw the signs and while the MC would set near-impossible goals for those around him to meet, he missed all of the other signs that people DID notice.

My problem when I read books like this is that I empathize so much with the MC that I almost fall into their mindset--I feel their annoyances, their frustrations, and their feelings of being misunderstood. With this MC, his mind was a very dark place to be in. While there WERE signs of others noticing his mental state, there were also signs that no one noticed. I could see how the MC might have reached this point.

I remember reading somewhere that although everyone's struggle is different, it doesn't change how giant someone's struggle still feels. The world is chaos and there are multitudes of people living truly traumatizing lives, but to a teenager, the end of the world truly DOES feel like the end of the world. This MC may have been rich and may have had freedoms that others his age never had, but his trauma and loneliness, and lack of guidance in his messy world led up to this suicidal and pivotal moment.

By the end of the book, there is little hope. BUT this is also a realistic take because mental health is an ongoing fight for the rest of one's life--especially for a teenager. Every day is a different day and you never know what might come. While the ending isn't the best, it is sadly realistic.

The topic of the gun in this book and how he mentally uses it as a way to get through his day (by quietly threatening the students around him) is a very real problem right now--especially with the school shootings--but I think it's easy to focus on those moments of the story and bypass the SA that he suffers at a young age, which essentially changed him completely.

This book isn't an easy read. It can even be incredibly triggering. But I also think it can be very important. It shows that you never really know what that person beside you is thinking, feeling, or experiencing.

___

308. Hope & Other Punchlines by Julie Buxbaum--⭐️⭐️⭐️

I went through a phase a few years ago where I read a few of Buxbaum's works because they were the type of YA contemporary that had me hooked. While HOPE & OTHER PUNCHLINES had a lot of those things, I think I read this too far after I purchased it. There were certain things in here that made me give this book side eye, but it's fine. Everything is fine.

One of the things that this book definitely had going for it was the very unique approach to 9/11. And let be super clear here: when I read this, I had no idea it was about 9/11, so starting it on that same date 23 years later was not planned.

I think one of the questions a lot of people ask themselves is: Where were you when 9/11 happened? I remember I was in grade 6, hearing about it happening. I remember seeing all of the parents picking us up in a panic, thinking that Canadian schools would be next (which like...why?) and I remember my dad being very worried. And then I remember writing letters to...who? I don't know, but it's very clear in my mind that we wrote letters.

Anyway, I digress. This was such a unique take on the topic. I never even thought about what life must have been like for survivors so many years after the tragedy. Which seems callous, but I was twelve and it has become one of those things in our history that is a fact. But we're sadly at the point where we don't even do a moment of silence anymore. The human consciousness is...sometimes depressing like that.

Man, I am going off base a lot.

The romance in this book was...questionable. The connections between the two characters starts as blackmail, which was very off-putting and icky. Despite that beginning, I liked the characters and parents.

The MMC trying to find out what happened to his dad was honestly heartbreaking. I can't even imagine having that "what if" as such a big part of your identity. I think that was one of my favourite sad moments of this book--him trying to figure out this mystery, while also navigating the complicated relationships around him.

The FMC is one of those characters that had the best intentions, but made not so great choices. I did like that she was empathetic and still carved out her identity despite what the world expected of her.

If you're thinking of reading this, keep in mind that it does explore topics about loss, family, 9/11 and its after effects--such as the health side-effects so many people experienced years later.

___

309. Last One to Die by Cynthia Murphy--⭐️��️

Meh.

this book was a blur, but not in a good way. This felt like it needed...more? Why do I care for these characters that are introduced before becoming the victims of the killer?

What was that twist? I know it had been alluded to throughout the book, but I never truly expected it. In a weird way, I would have preferred the very cliched twist.

I do think this book had a lot of potential. There were so many things that could have been done and the way everything came to light at the end would have been really great if it hadn't all been revealed at once. My main issue with LAST ONE TO DIE was that it felt under developed. Like the author was given this book as an assignment and they followed the bare minimum. Give me a more rounded character, give me a reason to care for these victims that we literally JUST met.

And seriously, I know we got an "answer" at the end, but WHY was this killer so obsessed with the MC? It was all just so flat.

I didn't make this one star because there was a lot of potential here. And I was so excited to have found this author because I love YA horror/thrillers. I have already DNFed one other book by this author.

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310. Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger--⭐️⭐️⭐️

I had to really suspend my disbelief for this one LOL.

RUTHLESS CREATURES had a spicy and intriguing mystery throughout, but I was stuck on how quickly these two connected, especially when he is this cold and murderous human. I guess there are people out there that can tame the bad boy with their long black hair and curves. Imagine the POWER.

Anyway, I'm glad these two got to live their sexiest best lives.

This was spicy and fun and full of moments that had me giggling. This was the perfect read after reading a few heavier YA novels. I knew from the moment I started it that I was going to enjoy it for what it was. Do I agree with how fast it happened and how she just completely disregards that he's a murderer? Absolutely not. But you know, Fiction™️.

I won't lie, I'm excited to read book two. I LOVED her best friend. She's got the type of personality that would stick with you through life and death. I want to see her fall in love because she's so adamant that it doesn't exist for her. I just know that book is going to have a lot of personality. I also know it'll be hilarious and spicy af.

Anyway, I somehow read the fourth book in this series without realizing it. So, at least I know I've already enjoyed some aspect of this series. Glad I gave this one a shot!

___

311. Spanking Shakespeare by Jake Wizner & Richard Ewing (Illustrator)--⭐️⭐️⭐️

I'm going to be 100% honest with this one: I almost DNF'ed SPANKING SHAKESPEARE. I came so close to not finishing this book, mainly because it was...a lot. The MC is your typical seventeen year-old horny boy and his POV took some time to get used to.

But, I'm glad I kept going because he had some good character growth throughout the story, leading up to a pretty good ending.

And while some of the humour was truly teen boy cringe, there were some genuinely funny moments. A good chunk of the events in this book are told as writing projects by the MC and I liked those retellings more than the actual out of character writing. Despite the cringe honesty, I appreciated the humour in this book. I especially laughed at that last story told in the book.

I also liked how the MC learned about others' experiences in comparison to his own. While his parents definitely do questionable stuff, he learns that there are some kids who would love to have parents like his.

I think this book would have been a very relatable source for teen boys maybe a decade or two ago. There were some pretty important topics discussed and some great moments of self-discoveries that a teen boy might appreciate.

If you want to read this because of that title, expect the humour that comes naturally with that title. But also be prepared for the cringe moments that can only come from a very honest point of view of a horny seventeen year old boy.

___

312. To Be Taught, If Fortunate by Becky Chambers--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

TO BE TAUGHT, IF FORTUNATE is my third Becky Chambers novella and much like the other two I've read, this one does such a great job of exploring humanity. We see it in the decisions the characters make when certain truths come to light, and when they interact to creatures that aren't from Earth.

But in a way, Chamber's novel also reminded me how small we really are in the universe. All that keeps these astronauts connected to their Earthly humanity is a delayed radio signal. I can't even imagine how lonely it must be to know that you're so far away that the people you know would be dead by the time you arrive back home.

I think this book is also a hopeful story of how humanity might treat the world beyond Earth. Preserving life, rather than conquering it? What a concept.

Overall, there is a good and interesting exploration of grief that weighs heavily over the crew. They each, in turn, experience a moment where they disconnect to process the losses they're finally coming to terms with. Even when explaining what the process of goodbye looks like before the mission, the MC keeps it partially private. Grief is a human emotion, but it is sometimes felt better in the dark, even if that could potentially lead to suicidal ideation (in the case of this book)--which is where we see that teamwork come into effect.

By the end, there is this sense of hope but also sadness that permeates the book. A sad hopefulness for a future meant to be lived beyond the story. And that's the beauty of a Becky Chambers book--she'll have you for a moment, but her writing will linger for a while afterward.

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Happy reading!

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