#with a knife from the floor of a PUBLIC BUS no less | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

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Come Now, Little Prince

Prompts: Hey uh... *brushed off dust from crashing in through the roof* Could you write something about Roman or Remus having Agoraphobia and them getting trapped somewhere? My brain just wants to relate. If not that’s fine! Love your writing! - anon

Might I suggest,,,, writing trope where the severely hurt person goes to their nemesis and says “sorry, I just didn’t have anywhere else to go” but it’s with Roman and Janus - 1namelessalien1

Ahh, yes, the inevitable. Honestly a lil surprised I haven't done this sooner but here we go! Finally...

Read on Ao3

Pairings: roceit, dukeceit, creativitwins. can be platonic or romantic you choose save for creativitwins. they brothers

Warnings: roman gets stabbed and has to get stitches, agoraphobia

Word Count: 7611

Cities are full of bright lights and shadows alike. Those that live in the light, the heroes, the 'good guys.' Those that live in the shadows, their grisly work only illuminated when the sun deigns to show its face again. Sometimes the shadows are too deep. Sometimes the spotlights are too much.

The Prince, Roman Prince, is the Golden Boy of the city. The newsreels, the cameras, the public adore him. But they don't see the winces when the bulbs go off right in his face, or whispers to be better, do better, perform better from the people that pull him aside after every daring adventure.

No one knows the name Janus, but they know his work. They don't shout, they whisper. They huddle together in the dark, searching for the light so as not to get caught in his coils.

But sometimes, when spotlights are too bright and shadows too flat, a little prince will make its way into the snake's den.

He didn’t mean to.

It just—his hand slipped and they fell and they—they—

He didn’t mean to drop them. They weren’t—they weren’t supposed to fall but the knife hurt too much and he flinched and he—he—

The choppers roar around the roof, battering his head with their noise, noise, noise. The wind whips up around the concrete railing, whistling, whining, wailing as the body falls down, down, down. The searchlights glint off the knife as they pull it down with them.

And then he is alone, in a crowd, on the top of a roof, king of the clouds.

The lights glare in his face as their body disappears. Then…then…

Then fear.

———————————

One of the best things about being seen as a ‘super villain,’ and how gauche is that term, is that no one wants to ask too many questions when you rent an apartment. There are really far too many landlords that want to get to know you, want to be your friend, while knowing full well that they participate in a system where there is no ethical consumption or behavior. Really, if he ever starts renting his own property, there will be no illusions on his end.

But hey, at least these ones know not to put their noses where they’ll get bitten off if they poke too far.

Janus sighs, opening the cupboard and taking the teacup down. The kettle whistles merrily on the stove as he reaches for the tea boxes.

Black, green, white, herbal…really, there are so many options. What to have for tonight, then? It is awfully late in the evening, there’s no real justification for consuming caffeine. Then again, he’ll do what he likes.

His phone buzzes. His real phone, not the one everyone sees him carry when he’s out and about. He rolls his eyes and takes the kettle off the heat as he spots the name on the text notification.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

“What’ve you done now, Remus,” he mutters as he slides the message open, “and which one of your messes am I cleaning up now?”

The message opens to a report. Brief, as is the style of all the reports Janus demands, but the thing that gives him pause is just how brief.

Remus, as one can very well imagine, is…not exactly compliant when it comes to following the rules. And while that can be useful in its own special way, it does mean that Janus occasionally has to factor emojis out of Remus’s reports.

Well, more than occasionally.

But this time the report is two sentences. Janus pours the water into the teapot as he glances over the words.

R. Sanders: Slaughter down at 85th and Marilyn. The head of the beast is cut off.

Well, on paper, that should be a fantastic report. The rival infringing on Janus’s turf has been, ah, taken down a few notches.

That’s undermined considerably by the fact that this report lacks any of Remus’s enthusiasm.

Janus sighs as he settles on the loose-leaf blueberry mint tea, placing the cup aside to brew as he wanders toward the window. Perhaps Remus is simply tired from all this work today. It wouldn’t be the first time the man’s manic energy had been tempered by a good amount of strenuous activity. And cutting off the head of the beast was never going to be a simple job to begin with. True, it was always an issue with causing more collateral damage than Janus was personally comfortable with, but what’s done is done.

The city starts to slumber, the last of the pleasant natural light fading from the sky, giving way to the horrid stained brown of the light pollution. The skyscrapers barely flinch in the oncoming night, instead choosing to stand firm as the workers inside slave away. The smaller shops close their doors, the nighttime crowds vanishing into subway tunnels and bus stations. Janus leans against the window, the glass reflecting the elegant lines of his suit alongside the angles of the buildings.

If he were slightly less himself, he’d say it looks like he belongs here.

When the light fades further, he sighs, turning away and fetching his tea. He drops into his favorite chair next to the window and raises the cup to his mouth.

The head of the beast has been cut off. He has no appointments, no reports, no debriefings to attend. He has his cup of tea, Remus will handle anything that blows up on the networks. It is the perfect evening to be alone, secure in his apartment.

So of course, there has to be something that sends a prickle up the back of his neck.

Why is Remus’s report sitting with him like this? This should be fantastic news, he should be willing to open the bottle of champagne that’s sat in preparation for this moment. And yet, as he raises the cup to his mouth again, his teeth hit the rim and he jolts, spilling a little more than he meant to into his mouth. He swallows, thankful that there’s no one else here to see it, and sets the cup and saucer aside.

He folds his gloved hands behind his back and goes to the window again.

If there were something wrong, someone would tell him. He has eyes all over the city, ears everywhere, and those under his employ know better than to try and cross him. Remus is alive and well—clearly, given by the way the evening’s progressed so far—and wouldn’t hesitate to gleefully drag anyone he suspected into his rooms or an abandoned warehouse.

He spares a glance over his shoulder. The phone stays silent.

Fingers tap against his hand as he looks down. Not for the first time, he wonders what it must be like, down there, scurrying about, without the faintest idea of what it looks like from up here. Oh, he’s walked on the sidewalk outside his building, who hasn’t, that’s how he gets into the building in the first place, but…not like that.

The outside world is so…temperamental. So many people, so many things. There is no better place to be alone than a crowded city street, but there is no more dangerous a place to be yourself.

When he’s finished his cup of tea, and the prickle has not left the back of his neck alone, he stifles a curse and turns. Remus will listen to him. Or, more precisely, Remus will ramble and scheme and reassure him that nothing is wrong. He might get a strange look—because while everyone else can underestimate how much Remus sees at their own peril, Janus never has—but he will do it.

Janus opens the door, idly wondering if he needs to bring his coat, and abruptly stops walking.

There is someone on their knees right outside his door.

Well.

That would explain the feeling he’s had of something being wrong, how on earth his security system didn’t alert him to their presence is beyond him. He doesn’t bother to hide his sigh as he pulls his cane from the holder and tilts their chin up.

“I’m certain that you must be…”

Janus trails off as he tilts up a chin to reveal a bloodstained, agonized expression of someone who should not be here.

“I’m sorry,” Roman Prince says in the voice of a lost child, “I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to go.”

Janus’s fingers twitch on the cane as he watches the roll of Roman’s throat.

“Y-you said if I—if I—ever needed help one day to know better than to—to try and go back to th-them.”

Remus’s report is beginning to make more sense.

Janus remembers. Janus remembers this upstart pain in his ass getting in the way of many operations, from transports to exchanges to hostage negotiations. He remembers the crooked smile straight out of a movie as this little shit got in the way of everything, including his resolve to not get involved with any of the so-called heroes that ran around in this city in their spandex and naiveté.

He remembers shaking his head at this shiny new one and saying that when he realized the world was much, much grayer than he wanted to believe, Janus would be there to watch. He remembers a softer offer, after a rescue had resulted in a building—abandoned, but a building—blowing up and the poor thing looking like someone had kicked his puppy.

He remembers watching the rival’s henchmen carted off to jail as the hero of the hour was reprimanded for causing too much collateral damage by the people who supposedly adored him.

“You were right,” Roman continues in that lost, lost voice, “I’m—I’m sorry.”

It takes Roman reaching for him for Janus to remember what is going on and the cane jerks his head up higher, forcing him to stop. Janus narrows his eyes at the hero kneeling on the floor, takes in the blood on his face, his neck, his hands.

“Why are you here,” he asks, wrenching that chin just a little higher, “why did you come to me?”

“You said you would help,” comes the reply, “if I—if I didn’t want to do this anymore.”

Has the perfect prince killed someone for the first time? Is that what’s brought on this little display?

His eyes trail lower, looking for the weapon.

The light from his apartment shines on a tunic stained with blood, cut and torn, and a dark, ugly stain that is not getting any smaller.

Roman’s head lolls forward, almost nuzzling Janus’s thigh as it slips off the cane. His hair sticks to his face, too soaked with blood.

Janus’s eyes go wide.

Roman Prince is here, on his knees, bleeding out because he has nowhere else to go. He came to Janus, the person he should trust the least out of everyone in this city, and he’s here on his knees, pleading.

The hand not on the cane twitches, then slowly reaches forward to find the least bloody spot on Roman’s head. It runs gently through his hair and finds its way to his chin, lifting it up once more. Roman’s eyes, full of tears, stare back at him.

“Come inside, little prince,” Janus says, his voice far softer than he would normally allow, “you’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

There aren’t many places to go that aren’t carpeted inside Janus’s apartment, but they make it over the threshold before Roman’s state begins to truly worry him.

How did he even get here? By how much blood there is, surely he would’ve passed out by now? Roman seems oblivious to his inside questions, simply looks around for wherever Janus is leading him before he notices how much blood he’s leaving behind him.

“It’s alright,” Janus says, surprising the both of them, “I can have the floor cleaned.”

Roman just blinks at him. And oh, if it doesn’t hurt to see that innocence still in the eyes of the little lamb, even as the wolf goes to take his arm.

“The bathroom is through this way,” he says softly, “come now…”

It is an odd experience, surely, to have one’s own nemesis bloody, wounded, completely at his mercy, as he strips off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, and want to do nothing but hunt down the people that made him this way.

Roman sits like a broken doll, he realizes as he watches the man ease himself down and wait as Janus pulls on a pair of plastic gloves. He is not uncooperative when Janus pushes his limbs to the side, snipping away at the fabric, trying to figure out what precisely is going on. He does not protest when Janus finds the stab wound and presses a cloth harshly on top, nor when Janus grabs his hand and bids him to hold it there, hard. He is not unfeeling, just very, very quiet as Janus begins to douse the pads in antiseptic.

He doesn’t flinch when Janus cleans the wound as best he can—he’s no doctor, after all—before muttering that it’s going to need stitches.

“Oh,” he mumbles instead, “okay.”

“Yes, so—hold still,” he barks, forcing Roman to sit back down, “where do you think you’re going?”

Roman blinks. “You said it needs stitches.”

“Yes, which is why you shouldn’t be moving.”

“I was going to go get the stitches.”

Now it’s Janus’s turn to blink. “I will stitch you up, Roman, now stay.”

And there’s that lamb-like innocence again as Roman tilts his head. “You will?”

“I may not be a doctor,” Janus mutters, twisting to grab the first aid kit, “but I do know how to suture a wound.”

He takes a few more wipes and cleans the blood he can, pointedly ignoring Roman’s attentive look.

“You could be a doctor,” comes the mumble, “you seem…good at it.”

Janus huffs. “Less a doctor, more a medic.”

Roman’s brows furrow. “What’s the difference?”

“A doctor fixes you, a medic makes dying more comfortable.”

There’s a moment of silence. Janus half-expects the poor thing to seize up in fear, tremble before him, or—god forbid—try and fight him, but he does none of that. Because that would make sense.

Instead, Roman just closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side against the tiled wall.

“You don’t have to make it comfortable then.”

Janus’s hands falter for a moment. His eyes flick to Roman’s bloodstained face before refocusing on the wound in front of him.

“You’re not going to die here,” he says firmly, and if he starts to work a little more quickly, that’s his business, not yours.

“Oh.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t’ve come here with the intent to die on my doorstep, that’s quite rude, you know.”

“…no.”

Now, see, as the best liar in the city, Janus knows when he hears one.

The absurdity of the situation strikes him once again, fainter this time, but still there. Roman Prince is here, bloody, wounded—fatally so if Janus hadn’t started tending to him right when he did— forced to roll over and show his belly, Janus’s teeth at his throat, and yet Janus reaches up to turn that pretty face to his.

“Tell me what happened, little prince,” he commands softly.

Roman swallows. “I didn’t mean to.”

Janus simply raises an eyebrow and starts to stitch up the wound. Roman doesn’t flinch but accepts the silent chide.

“I-it was the building security guard,” he mumbles, “they called in that someone was firing shots in the upper stories and couldn’t—couldn’t get away in time. They were—they—the call wasn’t completed.”

They died while they were on the line, Roman doesn’t say, but Janus hears it.

“Wh-when I got there, there were—they must’ve thought there was a mole in the—on the inside and they started—they were—“

They were killing their own people, Janus realizes, hiding his disgust behind another tied-off suture. He’s starting to have an awful feeling about where Roman’s been tonight.

“Something went wrong in one of the labs. They made a toxin, and it—it—“ Roman swallows— “it drove them insane.”

It made them homicidal, they killed each other.

“I...I think they were going to flee from the roof.”

As Janus ties off the last suture, he freezes.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I tried to stop them,” Roman whispers, “I was holding onto them, it was windy, they were going to fall, they ran too fast out of the door, I caught them, I—I had them, they—they were going to be safe but then they—they—“

Janus presses two fingers to the warm chest next to the wound. He can feel Roman’s heart jumping. He rubs in slow circles.

“They stabbed me,” Roman finishes, “and I—I—I—“

A small noise that sounds too much like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

Oh, this poor little prince…

Roman swallows another sob. “I’m sorry.”

Janus tilts his head. “What’re you apologizing to me for, little prince?”

“Well, I can’t imagine that this is how you imagined spending your evening.”

“No,” Janus says, folding his hands in front of him, “but I can’t imagine this is how you imagined spending yours either.”

The little prince bruises as easily as ever, only this time he doesn’t bother to hide behind his bravado.

“Off,” Janus says softly, tugging lightly at the remains of Roman’s costume, “the rest of you needs to be cleaned.”

He watches unashamed as Roman follows his instruction, eyes traveling over the scars littering the body revealed to him piece by piece. Too many scars. When he stands bare, Janus takes his hands and deliberately cleans them of the blood.

Roman doesn’t stop trembling until Janus has cleaned away every last bit.

The costume will need to be disposed of, there’s no saving it. The floor in the bathroom is littered with bits of blood and the carpet near the door will need to be cleaned quickly. Luckily the cleaner that Janus employs is well-accustomed to such a request. Instead, Janus walks back to the bedroom.

There the little prince sits, looking far too much like a lost child. Janus pauses at the door, tugging his normal gloves back on.

The little prince looks far too good wrapped in Janus’s colors.

“Why did you come to me, little prince,” he asks after a moment, “you had no way of knowing that I wouldn’t kill you.”

Roman lowers his head and the lie from the bathroom plays uncomfortably in his head. Janus tilts his head as Roman clears his throat.

“I thought—part of me thought you would.”

A harsh laugh tears out of his throat before he can stop it. “So what, I was to be your confessional? You would fall on your knees, repent, and I would put you out of your misery? Or put you down, like some misbehaved dog?”

Roman hunches his shoulders. Janus’s mirth disappears in a flash.

“…maybe.”

Roman Prince dragged himself from the roof of 85th and Marilyn, all the way across the city to Janus’s real apartment, disarmed his security, and did not once tend to the stab wound in his chest.

Roman Prince witnessed a slaughter, watched people be driven out of their minds, and dropped someone who did their very best to kill him off a roof by accident.

Roman Prince fell to his knees in front of the one man in this city who he knew would be capable of killing him without a second thought.

“…do you want me to kill you?”

There’s a softness in his voice again, one that slipped unbidden into the words to make the blow seem more like a caress.

“I would make it quick,” he murmurs, still leaning against the doorway, watching the little prince, “it wouldn’t hurt.”

Roman looks at him. The child is lost, so lost, and so, so tired. He opens his mouth.

“Don’t you want to?”

…well.

Does he? Certainly, the little prince has caused more than his fair share of mishaps, messes, and mistakes, and putting him out of the equation permanently benefits Janus in more ways than one. And it’s not like it would be difficult. No one knows Roman is here, let alone anyone who would care, and even fewer that wouldn’t expect him to never be seen alive again. Janus could kill him in half a dozen ways in the next minute that Roman couldn’t possibly fight against, a dozen more that would take scarcely any longer.

Unbidden, his mind begins to list off the possibilities. The gun in the cabinet, the knife tucked into his shirt, the poison stored in the bathroom, even snapping the little prince’s neck.

But he takes one more look at the little prince and all of them vanish in an instant.

“Why did you come here?” he murmurs again.

Roman lets out a long breath. His hand on the borrowed shirt tightens and loosens, tightens and loosens.

“You’re the only one I trust,” he tells him quietly, and it’s the saddest thing he could’ve possibly said.

Janus crosses the room and cups the back of the little prince’s neck. Roman just bows his head, the little lamb waiting for another hand to come up and twist. Janus bites back the snarl of rage at how resigned Roman is to dying tonight and brushes his thumb along the curve of his cheek.

Stroke by stroke, he coaxes the tears from the little prince’s eyes and wipes them away.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs, leaning his weight against the edge of the bed, “there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could’ve held on.”

“You’d just been stabbed, flinching is a perfectly understandable reaction.”

“But I’ve been stabbed before.”

“It’s not like you build up an immunity to knives going into you.”

“But I—“ Roman cuts himself off, curling his fist tightly in his lap.

“What is it, little prince?”

He just shakes his head firmly, lips pressed tightly together, red blooming on his cheeks.

Well, at least there’s blood flowing properly again. “We’re well past the point of embarrassment, little prince,” Janus remarks gently, “and if you’re worried about sharing weaknesses with me now…”

“I got scared,” Roman blurts, sounding every bit the reprimanded child. Janus pets his hair absentmindedly, encouraging him to speak again. When he won’t, Janus hums quietly.

“You were stabbed,” he reminds again, “that’s understandable.”

“Not of being stabbed.”

Janus frowns. “What then, little prince?”

“I…”

“I won’t harm you, little prince,” Janus murmurs when he hesitates.

“…I got scared of being outside.”

Janus’s hand pauses in Roman’s hair before gently lifting his chin. “What do you mean, little prince, that you were scared of being outside?”

“There—there was nowhere to go, I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t escape, there were too many people, the choppers were so—so loud and I—I didn’t know what to do—“

Fucking hell, Janus realizes as he shushes the little prince tenderly, he’s agoraphobic.

Flashes of their fights and altercations start to make more sense now. Why Roman prefers fighting in dark, cramped warehouses, why losing the hero on public transportation was so easy, why he almost never confronted Janus in public in broad daylight even though he clearly knows where Janus lives.

The weight of the expectations on Roman…how difficult his chosen occupation must be…how little support he gets for something that makes it infinitely harder for him…

Janus doesn’t realize he’s cradling Roman’s head until he strokes his thumb down his cheek and feels the soft brush of hair against his forearm. He looks down and sees Roman’s eyes all but flutter shut, lulled by the gentle touch against his face.

Trapped under the spotlights of the world, laid bare, stripped by their merciless eyes, unable to look away, escape from what they would only see as a colossal failure…

No wonder Roman sought out a denizen of the shadows where he could be sure no one would look for him.

What should, by all rights, feel like a cage to Roman might just become a den.

The snake tightens its coils protectively around the little prince and leans down to whisper in Roman’s ear.

“You’re safe, now,” he soothes, “there is no one else here but me, and I will look after you. There are no expectations here, you cannot do something wrong. I’m here to help you.”

The snake hisses in contentment as the little prince slumps into the coils, letting it pick him up and deposit him gently in the mass of the den, leaving only for a brief moment before returning to his side.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes as Roman blinks about in confusion, “you need to rest, I’ll be right here.”

“Why—what—“ Roman’s head hits the pillow and Janus almost laughs at how quickly his eyes close— “why’re you…helping?”

“You came to me for help, little prince.”

“But you…care?”

And oh, if that doesn’t make the snake’s cold black heart beat warmly in its chest.

“You may be surprised, little prince,” it hisses, drawing the little prince closer and closer, “but you’re not that difficult to care for.”

No, Janus decides, resigning himself to a night of little sleep as he watches Roman’s breathing begin to even out, stroking a hand through his hair, the little prince isn’t so hard to care for after all.

The snake has never been one to spare those that wander carelessly into its den, but this little prince did not do it carelessly. And it is surprisingly easy for Janus to soothe the remaining prickle on the back of his neck by scratching his fingers lightly along the back of Roman’s, to gentle the furrow in Roman’s sleep with a murmured reassurance into the little prince’s ear. The night passes slowly as the little prince dozes under the snake’s coils.

Only later, when the sun has begun to rise, does he realize he’s left his phone on the counter. He sighs, extricating himself gingerly from the sleeping Roman and going back to the kitchen.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

He glances toward the bedroom and opens the text.

R. Sanders: if you don’t get your security system back online yourself in the next 30 seconds I’m coming over

Well, considering this message is from two minutes ago, Janus simply sighs and opens the door.

“That,” Remus snarls as he stalks inside, “is not the point.”

“I was about to reboot the system, Remus, do calm yourself.”

“I’m not the one who spent the entire fucking night in an unsecured location!”

Janus raises an eyebrow. “By all means, Remus, do keep shouting about my security system at the top of your lungs while the door is still open.”

Remus mutters angrily to himself but has the decency—or perhaps, the self-preservation—to quiet down while Janus shuts the door and turns the security system back on.

“Now then,” he says easily, setting the kettle to boil again—blueberry mint really was the correct choice to make last night— “what would you like to drink?”

Remus regards his tea boxes like he regards the new bottles of bleach.

“You still don’t keep coffee in your house, do you?” At Janus’s look, he sighs. “Just hot water.”

“Splendid.”

Janus takes his time setting up his teapot. Looseleaf black tea, a new teacup, the honey laid out just so, all while Remus’s tapping gets more and more impatient. But Remus is a good dog, he’ll wait until he’d given leave to speak again.

“I imagine you must have a reason for infringing upon my privacy this morning,” Janus says as he stirs the honey into the tea, “if not just to turn my system back on so that a corpse could not be tampered with.”

“I didn’t know if you were fucking dead, Jan,” Remus snarls, and oh, the poor thing was worried. How touching.

“I’m fine, Remus,” Janus says, softening his voice just the barest amount, “and it certainly speaks to the faith you have in me.”

“Yeah, yeah, faith in your something.”

“Come now, dear, let’s not be crass.”

“You like me crass.”

Janus hides a smile behind the rim of his cup. There’s the Remus that was missing from the report. Though as he looks at the loyal minion sitting across from him, he sees that something is still bothering him.

“Well, if that’s all then?”

Remus takes the bait. “Wasn’t us.”

“Pardon?”

“The beast,” Remus mutters, still glancing around the apartment, “wasn’t us.”

Then he spots the blood.

In Remus’s defense, Janus did open the door right as he arrived and he was definitely given time to look around before Janus swept him into a conversation. Still, the fact that it took Remus this long to spot the blood is…well.

“Shit—“ Remus springs to his feet— “are you hurt? How many?”

“Keep your voice down,” Janus murmurs, “I’m not hurt.”

“Then explain to me why there’s blood everywhere—“

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why the fuck should I keep my voice down? Someone was here, there’s fucking blood—“

Both of them freeze as a rustle of covers comes from the other room. Remus’s eyes widen and his hand goes to the gun at his side. In two quick steps, he’s almost to the bedroom.

Janus catches him by the arm.

“Don’t.”

The steel in his tone finally gets Remus to settle, the man glancing at the door once before allowing himself to be held in place.

“What the hell is going on here,” he hisses, finally keeping his voice down, “what aren’t you telling me?”

“Stay out of that room,” Janus orders, even though it’s a redundancy at this point, “and tell me what else you know.”

Remus opens his mouth to protest but a look quells him. He glances at the door one more time before sighing.

“By the time we got there, everything was over. There were network choppers crawling over every inch of that place, swarming with civvies. We had to fence to get in. Janus, they—“

If Remus has to take a breath, what the hell happened?

“God, Janus, it’s like someone gave a neurotic thirteen-year-old a hallucinogenic and a sledgehammer and told ‘em the building was a giant whack-a-mole.” Remus shakes his head. “Heads bashed in, eyes gouged out, like they—they—“

“Like they did it to each other,” Janus finishes.

Remus nods, his face pale. He looks up at Janus and it’s the second time in the last twelve hours he’s been caught off guard by someone’s expression.

“Jan, it’s bad,” he says quietly, “if they—we’re lucky it only got into that building.”

“And you’re certain it’s contained?”

“Someone tripped the quarantine field. The building locked down. Only way out was the roof.” Remus shakes his head. “The head of the beast was splayed out on the street, spine snapped in half, bloody knife. Like he was pinned up like a butterfly.”

He quirks his brow.

“Gotta admire the craftsmanship.”

Janus nods. Remus notices his silence and steps a little closer.

“So who the fuck is in that room?”

As if on cue, there’s another muffled hiss.

“Don’t,” Janus says when Remus’s hand goes to his gun again, “you’ll scare him.”

Now Remus looks at him like he'd grown another head. “Who the fuck is in that room?”

Janus bites back a curse when there are more noises.

“The person who cut the head off.”

“If you think that’s gonna stop me from getting in there—“

“Remus.”

Remus subsides, looking at him carefully. Janus sighs. Remus knows better than to directly disobey an order, and if Janus pushes, Remus will leave.

And yes, part of the snake wants to wrap around its den and keep its precious charge safe from anything else.

A larger part of Janus knows that keeping this information completely under wraps will become a liability quickly.

“Watch the door,” Janus says, letting Remus go.

Remus hasn’t worked for him for this long without picking up some of his observational skills, so he goes without complaint. Janus opens the door to the bedroom and has to stop the fond smile on his face as he sees the little prince trying to feign sleep. As if it’s going to work.

He crosses the room and leans down.

“You can stop pretending now, little prince.”

Roman’s eyes open and the snake hisses gently, noticing the pressure the little prince’s position is putting on his stitches.

“By all means, ruin the work it took to suture you up,” he remarks dryly, chuckling as Roman quickly—and carefully—rolls onto his back, “better.”

“D-do—I can go now,” Roman mumbles, “if—if you—if you want. I can leave. You don’t have to see me again, I’ll—I’ll go.”

Janus quirks an eyebrow. “And let you leave without breakfast? How rude of me.”

Roman’s eyes widen. “N-no, I didn’t mean—you don’t—I—“

“Hush, little prince,” Janus murmurs, petting Roman’s hair again, “none of that now.”

Roman’s eyes keep darting around the room, from the closed door to Janus’s hands to his face and away again. Janus frowns.

“Oh, little prince, have you always been so afraid of me?”

“Yes.”

The honesty takes Janus by surprise. Roman Prince has never been afraid of him, at least not like this, like some creature constantly bracing for a blow. He’s responded brilliantly to whatever jibes Janus throws at him during one of their altercations, always ready with a quip on his tongue or a pretty blush to a flirtation. He’s not—he’s never been this.

Perhaps the little prince is a better actor than I gave him credit for.

There are not many people in this city capable of doing that.

Then there’s the sudden realization that the reassurances from the night will no longer work. Roman was safe because he was alone with Janus, there was nothing he could do wrong that would hurt him, there was an easy way to escape if need be. But now Remus is here, there’s another variable to worry about.

And Roman is no match for the both of them.

“Let me have a look, little prince,” he says instead, leaning down to gently tug the shirt up and out of the way. Despite the hero’s movement, there’s no blood, no popped stitches. The wound will still be tender for a while yet, but there’s nothing to worry about. Not at the moment. He says as much, ending with a soft: “sit up, let’s get you something to eat.”

Roman glances at the door again.

“Remus won’t hurt you,” Janus reassures, “not while I’m here.”

Roman’s head whips around so quickly he frets that the little prince will snap his own neck.

“R-Remus?”

Janus blinks. “Yes, Remus, he’s who’s here, he works for me.”

“Remus Sanders?”

He quirks a brow. “And here I thought you didn’t bother to learn my staff.”

“N-no, Remus Sanders, he’s—he’s not dead?”

Not dead?

Judging by the sudden silence in the other room, Janus has about three seconds to brace for it before Remus slams the door open.

Remus’s eyes are giant, his face almost drained of color. Three quick steps and he’s got a fist in Roman’s shirt, wrenching him away from Janus and slamming him up against a wall.

“Remus,” Janus barks, “put him down.”

It says something about Remus’s state of mind that he doesn’t even register Janus’s command. Instead, the man has a knife pressed to Roman’s throat, every muscle in his body bunched up like a clenched fist.

Roman hasn’t flinched. He’s just staring at Remus, his hands sliding and scrabbling uselessly at Remus’s shoulders.

“Y-you’re alive,” he keeps mumbling, “you’re not dead, you’re alive, you’re safe, you’re—you’re—“

Remus abruptly lets Roman go, shoves him further against the wall and yanks the shirt out of the way to see the stitches. The knife goes back in its holster as Roman keeps babbling about how Remus is alive.

“Was it him,” Remus asks in a soft, dangerous voice, cutting through Roman’s babble, “did that bastard stab you?”

Roman jerks his head up and down.

“…well, at least you finally learned how to stand up to your bullies.”

Ah.

Janus must be getting rusty.

“As much as I hate to interrupt the family reunion,” he says, startling the brothers, “I believe there is still business to attend to.”

Remus has the decency to look a little ashamed at directly disobeying several orders now, but the little prince is still staring at Remus like his life depends on it. Janus shakes his head, crossing the room to gently take his chin again.

“You need to eat, little prince,” he murmurs, “come now.”

He doesn’t have to ask Remus to help the little prince to the kitchen. By the time he’s followed them out—and made sure his tea isn’t ruined—Remus has Roman sitting on one of the bar stools, stood next to him, every bit the guard dog as Roman clutches Remus’s tactical vest. As Janus starts to get something together for Roman to eat, Remus doesn’t move once. Instead, he lets Roman cling onto him, mumble to himself, and absentmindedly rub his cheek against Remus’s chest.

Janus sets a plate of food in front of Roman and picks up his tea again, taking a sip and staring at them over the rim of the cup.

This could be a problem.

Remus’s loyalty is not easily won, nor is it easily lost. The man’s been dragged behind a truck by his fingernails and not squealed once. And yet as Remus lifts his head—finally—and looks at Janus, it’s the first time he’s seen that loyalty waver.

Janus stares back. Remus knows better than to try and cross him. Remus himself has been the blunt instrument that disposes of those who did. Remus knows the extent of Janus’s influence better than anyone else, aside from Janus himself.

And still, that loyalty wavers.

The little prince, oblivious to the staring match happening over his head, mumbles a small thanks as he starts to eat. His hands are still shaking. Remus steps closer, pressing Roman further into the counter and the little prince lets him. The message is clear.

This is the one thing of Remus’s that he won’t let Janus take.

Which would be a problem—or wouldn’t be, depending on how quickly Remus cooperates—if Janus weren’t currently dividing his attention between Remus and how his hands are itching to wipe the last speck of blood from the little prince’s hairline.

It takes barely a glance for Remus to understand that Janus would never.

“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, coming around to the other side of the counter once Roman finishes, “I need to have a talk with Remus, do you think you can sleep a little more?”

“I can try.”

“Let’s have you try.” Janus glances at Remus.

“C’mon, Ro-Bro,” Remus says quietly, one arm around Roman’s waist, “back to bed.”

“Re?”

“I gotcha, Roro, I’m right here.”

How adorable.

Remus closes the bedroom door and there’s a long pause.

“Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Janus takes another sip of his tea. “Does anyone else know what happened?”

“The networks have a hold of the main story, they won’t know what happened inside until the lockdown expires, but Jan—if he was there—“

“The choppers saw him.”

“Shit.”

“They saw him drop the beast’s head but him fleeing the scene won’t look good.”

“I’ve got the team scrambling the data, the location of the beast’s head won’t reach the airwaves.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

“…why’d he come here?”

Janus settles the cup back in its saucer. “…he said I was the only one he could trust.”

Remus snarls. “As if we needed more proof that they treat their people like shit.”

“Believe me, I’ve got quite the list of people I’d like to question.”

Remus bares his teeth. “Don’t do it without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He watches Remus stare at the door. “So…you have a brother?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know that from the extensive background check you did.”

Janus accepts it, setting the teacup aside. “The famous Roman Prince…oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Remus’s head flicks sharply around to stare at him. But Janus says it with none of his usual flare, dragging his gloved fingertips along the counter.

“Has he always been so…” He fumbles for the right word.

There isn’t one.

Thankfully, Remus understands what he’s trying to get at.

“It’s hard not to,” he mumbles, “even when I hated him—and I hated him, he was always…”

Remus trails off into silence too.

“There was never a moment where I didn’t know that he was still my fucking brother.”

This is dangerous.

The closest thing Janus has to a weakness, up until this point, has been Remus. And Remus is a loyal man, but even he knows Janus will watch him die and feel only the slightest bit of remorse that a useful tool will no longer be in use.

But not anymore.

“I think he wanted me to kill him,” Janus murmurs, noting the way that Remus jerks in surprise.

“Do you think that’s why he came?”

“He told me that I was right,” he says, “that I was—that he remembered I’d told him if he ever realized he couldn’t do it anymore, if he ever needed help, that he should know better than to go back to the people that pretend to care about him.”

“You basically told him you’d be his suicide gun?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Remus,” Janus says lowly, looking up.

Remus regards him. “Would you have?”

“Killed him?”

“Yes.”

Could he have killed Roman Prince? Yes, easily.

Can he kill the little prince in the bedroom?

“My God,” Remus breathes, “you can’t do it, can you?”

Janus shakes his head. Like it or not, the snake can’t kill the little prince.

“So what now?”

Janus stands up straight. “The city isn’t just going to let Roman Prince disappear, not like that. They’re going to look for him. He’s going to have to make another public appearance.”

“And we have to clean up the rest of the mess.”

“That we’re used to,” Janus sighs, “that I’m not worried about.”

“You’re worried about Roman’s people trying to look for him.” Janus nods. “We’ve got feelers out, we can keep tabs on that.”

“Good.”

Remus spares another glance at the door. “Are you gonna keep him here until then?”

“Yes.”

He lets out a low whistle.

“Go. Get to work.”

“Aye aye, boss.” Remus fixes him with one last look before he disappears out the door.

Janus walks to the bedroom. This time the fond smile crawls across his face unhindered.

“You don’t have to pretend, little prince,” he says as he crosses the room, “if you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep.”

Roman blinks up at him as Janus sits on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”

“No need for apologies.” He tilts his head to the side. “I never offered you painkillers, are you alright?”

Roman nods.

“Roman,” he asks softly, “why did you come here?”

There’s a pause.

“You said that you remembered me telling you that you could,” he continues, “and that you…trusted me, and yet you seemed surprised that I was—I am willing to help.”

“Still am.”

Remus’s words play in his head again. “You said you remembered what I said—and you be honest with me now,” he says, giving Roman a look, “did you want me to kill you?”

Roman swallows. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

And oh, Janus has waited so long to hear those words from that pretty mouth but not like this.

He pulls a tissue from the side table and tilts Roman’s head just so to get that last speck of blood, pausing at the way Roman shudders under his touch.

“When was the last time someone touched you,” he asks gently, “before this?”

Roman just shakes his head.

“What is the point,” the snake hisses, “of people pretending to care about you when they don’t give you what you obviously need?”

“You were,” the little prince mumbles, still a beat behind, “I think you were the last person to…to touch me.”

“Before…?”

“Yeah. When we…when you…”

When he had the little prince tied up in the factory downtown, another attempt to persuade him to back off. When he cupped the little prince’s chin in his hand and chuckled as a pretty blush spread across those cheeks. When he let gloved fingers run through his hair and smirked at how easily the little prince lost track of the conversation.

Now, though, Janus cradles the little prince’s face in his hands and lowers himself onto the bed.

“You can have it,” he whispers, running his fingers through the little prince’s hair, “if touch is what you need, you can have it.”

Roman’s eyes flutter, lost on the sensation of Janus’s touch, all but floating on the bed. He starts to curl unconsciously towards him, pliant and still. Janus lets him, moving to wrap his arms around the little prince as he tucks himself under Janus’s chin.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he asks gently, “that you were hurting so badly?”

He feels the roll of Roman’s throat. “Didn’t want you to think I was any weaker.”

Janus bites back a curse. “Well, I’m afraid you’re about to witness firsthand how weak I am.”

Before Roman can ask what he means, Janus cups the back of his neck and gently, gently kisses his forehead.

“If no one else will do what needs to be done,” he murmurs into Roman’s hair, “then I will.”

If no one else will take care of the little prince that sacrifices so much to protect this city, then the snake is happy to oblige.

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ilguna · 4 years ago

Text

Anteric - Chapter One (f.o)

summary: secrets have more worth than you gave them credit for.

warnings; swearing, KNIFE MENTION.

wc; 8.9k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

On the second day of every third month, you’re allowed to stand in front of the mirror. Four times a year, you get the chance to see how you’ve progressed over the months in between, and it’s only for a short amount of time. It’s vain to stare at yourself--to even take a peek--but it’s hard not to when you’re sitting right there.

It’s even harder considering you’re the one cutting your own hair.

You steal a glance every now and then, curious as to what your face looks like now. The last time you saw yourself, you were still baby-faced, and people found it easy to pick on you for it. Now, as you see yourself in bits, you think that you look older, even if it’s only a little bit. The bullying stopped a while ago, but the other kids always have much worse names to call you.

To worry about them would be self-indulgent, since you’re not supposed to care what everyone else thinks of you. And to some extent, it isn’t really a problem for you in the first place. Considering that they mostly resort to name-calling, it’s easy to miss what they’re saying most of the time. You stopped listening a while ago. It’s when they get physical, do you start to have trouble.

It’s taken a while to perfect it, but you don’t immediately retaliate anymore. Mostly because it started to reflect onto your family, and it’s not really something you guys need at the moment. You’ve already got a few heads turned your way, which is going against the entire premise of the faction. And it also expresses what type of parenting has been going on inside of your house.

You wish you could say that it’ll be easy to stay under the radar from now on. With the problem found, the easy route would be to just be on your best behavior for the rest of high school. Unfortunately, it’s not like that, and you have a sticky feeling it’s not going to be that way for a while.

You thin your hair out between your fingers, eyes fixated on what you’ll be trimming. If you take off too much, it’ll be harder to put your hair up. Then, you’ll have to find an alternative way to style your hair so that it looks as boring as possible. Or, as everyone else in the faction says it, unnoticeable.

You snip the hair, watching as the little bits float in the air, slowly making their way down. You place the scissors onto your lap before running a hand through your hair, getting out anything that’s loose. They fall together in clumps, joining the rest of the hair that’s on the floor.

Judging by touch, you think that the length is fine. The only real way to test it is to pin your hair up, so you use the hair tie around your wrist to do so. When you look in the mirror to make sure that nothing on your head is straying, you see your brother, Reed, standing behind you.

“Good morning.” your voice is fairly quiet, not trying to wake up your sister.

You’re also hoping that he hasn’t been standing there long enough to see each individual time you’ve snuck a look at yourself. He might be your brother, but he’s the only one keeping you in check, making sure you stick to the rules. Sometimes, you’re allowed to get away with acts of defiance like this, especially in the confines of your own home. On other days, he won’t hesitate to call you out on your behavior. It’s hard to tell what mood he’s in all the time, he hardly expresses what he’s feeling anymore.

“Good morning,” he says back, you let out a quiet sigh of relief. If he were annoyed, he would’ve voiced it by now, “If you needed help, you could’ve woken me.”

You shake your head, “No, I thought I’d let you sleep.”

You get off the stool, being careful not to step in your own hair. What you said to Reed is only half-true. Lately, Alyssum, your sister, has been waking up early in the morning, making it impossible for either of you to sleep in as much as you would like to. You decided that asking Reed to do something for you was fairly selfish, and you were also unsure if he would get mad about it. And the second reason why you didn’t wake him is because you’re hoping that he’ll take care of Alyssum so that you can make breakfast.

Oh, and the final reason is because Reed isn’t very good with a pair of scissors. He’s been giving you haircuts since he got custody of you, but he isn’t improving as quickly as you hoped he would. The only thing that he’s mildly good at, is spinning the scissors around his thumb while he finds the next spot in your hair to butcher. You’ll have to give him some credit, in all the times you’ve watched him with the scissors, he hasn’t once cut himself. He deserves a little praise for that fact.

“Okay, thank you.” he says.

You set the scissors onto an adjacent table, fingers finding the broom handle. You give Reed a smile, watching as he goes to leave the room. He’s halfway out the door before he stops, pulling the grey panel on the wall to cover the mirror. You disappear before your own eyes. The next time you should see yourself in the mirror will be three months from now, if things go how everyone in your faction hopes.

Reed doesn’t look at you again as he leaves the room and goes down the hall towards Alyssum’s bedroom. It looks like you’ll get your way with making breakfast after all. You don’t actually mind Reed’s cooking, as there isn’t much he can mess up in the first place, but taking care of Alyssum is a handful.

You sweep all of your hair into the dust pan, before carefully dumping it into the garbage can. When the lid shuts, you place everything back to where it was before you grabbed it. This is where it’ll likely sit for a couple of weeks, until Reed volunteers the house up for company. Then, you’ll need to help clean.

In Alyssum’s room, which used to belong to your parents, you hear the faint sound of cooing from Reed to calm her down before she has a meltdown. You pause on the top of the stairs for a second, staring at the open door with a slight urge to go over and look in to see the room before you leave for school today.

Then your feet begin to bring you down the steps, saving you from a morning of grief.

The condition of the road out where you live makes it practically impossible to drive a car. Because of this, your family decided a long time ago that it wasn’t necessary to buy one to drive you and your brothers to school everyday. Especially not when there’s perfect public transportation at the ready, that’ll get you there all the same.

Even now, when it’s just you, Reed and Alyssum, Reed didn’t find a need for a car either. He also didn’t think it was necessary to relocate to a smaller place, with only two bedrooms instead of three. Abnegation says that opposite genders can’t stay in the same room--except if you’re married, of course--but it doesn’t hold the same weight when it comes to housing sisters. Reed nearly went ahead and put you and Alyssum into a room together, until he realized that an entire room would be going to waste. So, she got your parents’ room all to herself.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t jealous over it. She’s staying in that room, and she’s not even old enough to comprehend the fact that she is, much less that she should be appreciating it. She’s in an intimate space, one that you had begged for multiple times. The only reason why Reed said no is because he was sure it was self-indulgent at this point.

It’s not. You know why you wanted to. It’s because it was your last effort to make it feel like you were still close to your parents. With Alyssum, the room had to be changed so that it would fit her needs, but the room the way it was before would have worked just fine for you. Now, you’re left to nothing but hazy memories that only seem to fade the older you get.

There’s nothing you wouldn’t give to hug them one last time.

The public bus comes to a slow stop in front of you, brakes squealing loudly. You and a couple more Abnegation teenagers stand at the stop. When the doors open, you don’t hesitate to go inside first, otherwise you’ll be standing there all day trying to decide an order. You head down the middle, eyes landing on a free spot off to the side.

You sit, scoot yourself as far back as possible, and then ball your fists when the bus starts moving. The ground is uneven, which makes for an awful ride out of your neighborhood. The good news is that the further you go, the more the asphalt begins to smooth out. There’s a few more stops on the way to the school, which allows you to watch as the bus fills up with adults, on the way to their work.

On the final stop, you watch as an Erudite woman with sleek black hair and electric blue glasses comes onto the bus. She’s the last person to get on the bus, all of the seats are full. Her eyes search anyway, with that sort of knowledge unknown to her. As she draws closer, you get to your feet, hand reaching for the bar above you to hold onto.

She notices your act of kindness, but her eyes narrow into slits anyway. You stare at her, and then you look towards the front of the bus. She sits where you were moments before, and not a single thanks leaves her mouth. In Abnegation, it’s expected of you to give up your spot of comfort for someone else. Apparently in Erudite, it’s not custom to express gratitude. Either that, or the hate speech they’re preaching is pretty effective, you can’t tell the difference anymore.

The road smooths out completely as you near the Hub, which means that you don’t have to brace yourself for potholes anymore. Still, the bus sways and groans as it tries to navigate through the streets. When it stops in front of the school, you readjust the backpack straps on your shoulders before making your way out.

The Upper Levels building--the high school, in other words--is the oldest building in the city. It’s tall, made of steel and glass. In front of the building is a large metal structure, symbolism for something. After school, the Dauntless like to climb it, and see who will reach the top first before they fall. You’ve never seen someone make it all the way up.

Sometimes you’ll stand around and watch them climb. You’ll note where they place their hands, where they wedge their feet in places that shouldn’t be possible. And you also notice when exactly they go wrong. Maybe they’ll shift their footing a little too hard, or they don’t move quick enough to the next piece of jarred metal. The Dauntless are fearless, but they retreat the fastest when they know they’re going to break a bone.

A part of you would like to try and see how they do it. Climbing it can’t be that hard, can it? You think that if they put a little more thought as to where they’re going exactly, they’d be up the structure in a heartbeat. The other part of you says that the idea is stupid, you’ll only get yourself hurt. You’ve never done something like that before, so how do you know that it’s easy?

After staring for a couple of seconds longer, you head inside of the school. The hallways are already pretty crowded, with students covering every inch of what would normally be open floor. The energy inside of the building is contagious, everyone here has an antsy feeling about them. They only seem to get louder, move quicker, and mess around with each other.

All classes are cut in half today because of the Aptitude test that’ll be taking place after lunch. This is why everyone is so antsy, the test will be the decider of where you’ll be spending the rest of your life. Which faction you’ll choose to go to tomorrow during the Choosing Ceremony. After today, you’ll never have to step foot into this building again. It’s more than just a relief.

You start toward your first class, gritting your teeth at the thought of the test. You’re sure that it wouldn’t be such a bad event if it weren’t for the fact of what happened last time someone in your family got to choose. He went quietly, without a word, a look in your direction, or a goodbye. You were thirteen then, you still remember the ache in your chest as you helped fold chairs with the rest of your faction. Reed didn’t even say anything.

He still hasn’t said anything.

You wait outside of the English classroom for a moment, looking down the hallway in the direction that you just came. All you see is the different colored clothing moving around, Erudite joining Erudite against the wall, Amity playing hand-clapping games in the middle. It’s only a few seconds later you’re seeing your best friend

As always, he’s hunched over, trying to look like he’s not as tall as he is. He’s in the middle of a growth spurt and if he stands at his full height, he can see inches over everyone’s heads. Last year he didn’t have to worry about ruining his back, but now he has to, otherwise he’ll start calling attention to himself. Which is hard enough considering the fact that he’s Finnick Odair.

You’ve known him since you were a kid, the two of you grew up side by side. You’ve seen him at plenty of dinner parties, volunteer movements, and at school. It was only a matter of time before you grew to be friends, and it just so happened to be sooner rather than later. If there’s anyone that you’d trust with your life, it would be Finnick.

He wears the same grey Abnegation robes that you do. His hands are stuffed into his front pockets. Per Abnegation rules, his hair is pretty short to keep it from distracting himself and getting in the way. His face starts off straight, but the closer he gets, the more he smiles, until it’s a full-on grin. He does this every single day without fail.

“Good morning, I see that your hair isn’t mauled this month.”

You deadpan. Leave it to him to immediately pick out your hair like an ass, “I see that your mom refused to let yours grow out more.”

Finnick makes his usual mocking face at you. He can’t really say what he wants to, there’s always people listening in on conversations. So, he developed a special face to give you each time to mock you in retaliation if you mock him. You’re still working on your face, but in the meantime, you mirror how he looks.

“Ready for testing?”

“Yeah, I think that I’m going to rig it so I don’t get Abnegation.” Finnick pulls a hand out of his pocket to scratch his arm.

Another thing about Finnick that’s important, he hates it here more than you do. There’s times when Finnick’s personality completely overlaps the Abnegation ideal’s. He doesn’t like to be quiet, he doesn’t like to give up his seat on the bus for rude Erudite women, he hates the constant reminder by his parents to do ‘his part’. You can’t blame him.

“What’re you going to rig it for? Erudite?”

You watch the smirk cross his face, “Even though that would definitely piss off my parents, I think I’ll have to pass.”

Finnick’s not completely thrilled by what Erudite has to say about Abnegation, either. Finnick might not like it here right now, but it’s his home. He was born here, raised here, and his family lives here. He can’t turn his back completely to it. Besides, what Erudite is doing is stooping low.

“Are you going to take it seriously?” he asks, turning toward the classroom.

Just before you go inside, you give him a half-shrug, “Might as well.”

During lunch, you sit across from Finnick. The two of you eat quietly, occasionally talking if a topic pops into your head. You mostly pick at your food, not really hungry. You’re honestly feeling nauseous. The teachers all day have been reminding their classes that the aptitude tests are nothing to worry over. But they are when you have things that are tethering you to the faction.

The test administrators call ten names at a time, one for every testing room. Most of the administrators are Abnegation volunteers, naturally. But there’s a Candor man and a Dauntless woman in two out of the ten rooms, because the rules state that you can’t be tested by someone in your own faction. So, you’ll be stuck with either the man, or the woman. The rules also say that you can’t prepare for the test, or talk about your results after. The aptitude test is a complete mystery to you. The idea alone is adding to the nausea.

The tables inside of the cafeteria are split up into different cliques. With the Abnegation at one table, sitting quietly--with the exception of a few people like you and Finnick--and trying not to inconvenience anyone around you guys. If you were to do something that your faction doesn’t normally allow, it would call attention to the Abnegation. This is why no one at the table speaks above a whisper.

The Erudite table is piled with different books, some of them being handed around like they’re toys to play with. They have no disregard for how loud they are when they discuss what they read--just like the Dauntless and Candor. The entire Candor seems to be split two ways in an important debate. There’s a couple of people standing, shouting over the others to try and get their point across. A few people are laughing, smiling, and pitching in as a joke.

As for the Dauntless, they’re always loud. Cheering, playing games, their laugh echoes across the entire cafeteria. Everyone is used to them, so no one turns a head when there’s a sudden scream coming from their side of the room. At the moment, they seem to be putting things on the line as they play an arm game. Whoever overpowers the strongest will win it all, but have to play the next person in line as a repercussion.

And finally, the Amity are all doing different things, almost as loud as Dauntless and Candor combined. There’s a group of girls at the end of the table singing a song together, which slowly seems to spread and infect the rest of the table. On the other end, some girls chitter and giggle to themselves.

A single thought comes to mind, about how all the rest of the factions are allowed to have fun. While the Abnegation have to sit and be as non-distracting as possible. You know that you love it here, but sometimes jealousy strikes when she sees just how little you’re able to do. In moments like these, you can see why Finnick doesn’t want to stay. And it almost feels like a good enough reason why you shouldn’t either. Your results have to be Abnegation, though.

The test administrators come out of the hallway together in a group. They read the ten names, which consists of two people from each of the factions. You are one of the names called, with Finnick being the second one. Together, the two of you rise from the table and join each other’s side. As you follow behind the other testees, you say nothing.

The hallway where the aptitude tests are administered is typically off limits, considering that the rooms are for the sole purpose of the tests. Today will be the first and last day that you’ll ever get to see the inside. The rooms are separated by mirrors. You’ll get to see yourself for a second time today.

Before you head into the room, you share a brief look with Finnick. He raises his eyebrows, gives you a childish grin, and then goes inside. You smile a little to yourself before you head inside room 8. Inside is the Dauntless woman, she shuts the door without a word. You resist the urge to take more than a peripheral glance at yourself in the mirror.

The Dauntless woman is tall, she has tan skin and wears a pure black suit. Her dark hair is long, and pinned out of her face. When she looks at you, you’re sure that she’s glaring, but it has to be her natural look. Her eyes shift away from you as fast as they came. You trail behind her.

The mirrors cover every wall in the room, making it practically impossible to avoid staring. You keep reminding yourself that you looked this morning, that it should be good enough, that you didn’t change in a few hours. To save it for three months from now, when you’ll have passed the Abnegation initiation and you’ll be more satisfied with who you are.

The ceilings are white, and the light that it emits is also white. In the middle of the room sits a singular reclined chair, where you’ll be sitting when you take the test. You stop next to it, not sure if you should go ahead and just sit on it. You look to the Dauntless woman for guidance, but she doesn’t seem to notice for a while.

When she speaks, her voice is smooth and calm, as if she never has a reason to raise her voice, “My name is Laurel. Go ahead and take a seat.”

You nod, slowly sliding onto the chair. You place your head on the headrest, and at the angle you’re sitting, the white light has a perfect opportunity to shine straight into your eyes. Laurel doesn’t say anything else as she works on the machine, which is to your right. You stare at her, still trying to get the thought of just a peek at the mirror, out of your head.

When she’s done with the machine, she produces two electrodes that she places onto your forehead. The third belongs to her, right in the middle, and then she attaches a wire to it, and then to you, and then to the machine. She works quickly, she must do this often if she’s so confident in her movements.

As you watch her move, you take notice that besides the dark clothing she wears, there’s no other hint that she’s in Dauntless. No piercings blatantly on her face, no tattoos on her arms, face or neck. She could belong in any faction, and you wouldn’t have a clue which, if it weren’t for the black clothes.

And as you continue staring, you finally see it. It’s just a peak of a tattoo on her forearm, the only reason why you’ve caught it is because her blazer sleeves don’t go down to her wrists. It ends in the middle of her forearm. You didn’t get a good enough look at it the first time, but when she stretches and reaches for something next to the machine, you can see a mannequin. A headless one, just the body on a stand. There’s no color to it, it’s just shaded in different tones of grey.

“I like your tattoo.” you say, as she moves behind you. Not being able to see her directly anymore makes you a little anxious.

You calm down some when she speaks, “Thank you.” She appears to your left, now. A vial of clear liquid in her fingers, out in your direction. You carefully take it from her, “Drink.”

You look at it for a moment, figuring that this is where the test starts. Not when you drink it, but whatever comes after. You’re careful not to let any of it spill onto your clothes. It tastes just like water, but your head feels heavy. Laurel takes the vial from you, you take a deep breath and close your eyes.

When they open, you’re not in the reclined chair. You’re not even inside of the aptitude testing room, you’re in the empty cafeteria, void of all students. The silence is overwhelming, you’re used to the screaming, laughing and singing. Now, you’re the only person here.

In front of you, on the table, sits two wooden baskets. Inside the one on the left, sits a hunk of cheese, a healthy yellow-orange color. While in the other basket is a knife, with a long silver blade. You stare at them for a moment, and nearly jump out of your skin when a voice breaks the silence.

“Choose.” The woman says behind you.

“What will I need them for?” you ask, eyes flickering between the choices.

“Choose.” The woman repeats, impatience growing in her voice.

Your fingers reach for the knife. When it’s in your hands, you stare down at it. The only times you use a knife is when you’re the one cooking dinner. It used to be a chore shared between everyone in your family, but now it’s only you and Reed. Depending on who starts the week off cooking, you’ll make dinner four times a week, or three.

The baskets disappear, the cheese with it. The only thing that stays is the knife, which you turn over in your hands, trying to find a comfortable way to hold it. A door creaks behind you, making you turn halfway to see what made the noise. You’re met with a dog, slowly inching its way towards you, lips peeling back as a growl rises in its throat.

In Abnegation, no one is allowed to have a pet. Whether it be a dog, a cat, a fish, or anything else. If you own a pet, it must be for your own pleasure, and not for the benefit of the animal. Therefore, owning an animal would be self-indulgent. The other factions don’t have to follow this rule, though. They’re allowed to own anything they’d like to.

Unfortunately, this means you have no experience with dogs. All you do know is that when you take a step backwards, the growl turns into a snarl. It’s loud and threatening enough to make you reconsider running away. You drag your foot back forward, and stare as the animal gets closer.

The dog thinks you’re a threat, right? So, what’s a way that makes you look friendly? You try your best to find an answer while the dog gets closer. Soon, it’ll be right on top of you. You’ve got to work quicker than this. It can’t be that difficult. You close your eyes and try to remember all the times you’ve seen Alyssum or Reed afraid. Reed is practically impossible, but for Alyssum, it’s all the time.

She doesn’t like strangers, Reed says that this is common among little kids because they don’t know who is coming towards them. Reed says that you used to run behind your mother’s legs until the stranger seemed more approachable. You try to imagine a scene where someone would look more approachable.

And then it comes to you.

Your eyes open, looking at the dog, who is mere inches away from you. Slowly, you lower yourself into a crouch, giving the dog a smile. You hope that it can tell the difference between a smile and you baring your teeth. To further your friendliness, go you ahead and gently set the knife against the tile flooring, the blade makes a clicking sound.

With the sudden urge to hold your hand out toward the dog, you follow your instincts. It’s your only choice, you’d hate to use the knife against the dog. You’ve never owned one before, never came across one. To have your first encounter be a murder would be miserable, you’re sure that it would stick with you for a while after.

The dog doesn’t stop moving, but you were right to hold your hand out. The dog carefully lowers it’s lips back into place as it touches its nose against your palm, sniffing. You just want to be friends, you’re not here to hurt it. All the dog has to do is calm down. You slowly lower one knee to the floor, trying to make the situation even better.

It works. The dog licks your hand, and then nudges its head into your hand. Gently, you rub its ears, letting it come closer. The dog licks your face, right up the side of your cheek. You knock back a gag at the smell of its breath as you use the sleeve of your shirt to wipe off the slobber. You keep with petting it.

One second, it’s only you and the dog in the cafeteria. The next, you see a little girl standing across the room. She wears a white dress, so she must be from Candor--the faction’s colors is black and white, as truth and lies are black and white, with no grey area. She stares, her eyes land on the dog, and then a smile spreads across her face.

She starts towards you, “Puppy!” she calls, hands outstretched.

You don’t think there’s a problem at first, but as soon as she starts to run, you tense. You reach your hand out, grabbing the back of the dog’s neck, hoping that’ll be enough to keep it in place. However, all it takes is one lurch towards the girl, and your hand slips. The girl stops in the aisle, eyes widening at the sight of the aggressive dog.

With how fast you get up, you nearly slip on the polished floor, chasing after the dog. It isn’t until you’re right next to it, do you remember the knife that’s still sitting on the floor, waiting to be used. It’s too late, you’re too far away, and if you turn back now, the dog will attack the girl. The dog goes to spring, you jump towards the girl.

Your hand curls around the back of her head to protect it from slamming against the tile. Her small arms wrap around your body like a hug. The floor draws near, and you tense again, bracing for the collision. But it’s all gone. The dog, the girl, the cafeteria. You’re back inside of the testing room, still alone.

You accidentally glance at the mirrors, and find that there’s no reflection. You go a little closer, hands touching the glass, a small frown appearing on your face. When you go towards the door, your handprint leaves a clear streak across the surface. Your hand turns the doorknob downward, and you push the door open.

There is no hallway on the other side of the door, only the bus you rode to school this morning. Carefully, you go out to join everyone else, but find that all the seats are full. You reach up, toward one of the metal handles on the ceiling just in case today’s ride isn’t smooth. When you look behind you, eyes searching for the door you came through, you see the bus. There was no door.

You stare out the window, over the top of a man’s head to watch the world outside blur. In his hands is a newspaper, opened wide enough to cover his face, but you can still see his hands. Slowly, you watch them clench around the paper, making it crinkle under the pressure.

“Do you know this guy?” The man asks you. You hum slightly, raising your eyebrows to see where he’s pointing to on the front page. The headline is bolded, “Brutal Murderer Finally Apprehended!”

You frown slightly, looking down to the picture next. You stare at it for a while, not sure what to say. The woman in the picture stares straight ahead, she has bangs, the rest of her hair is behind her shoulders. She doesn’t have any sort of facial expression, she’s just… calm.

“Do you?” he insists, your eyebrows push in.

You don’t know. Maybe you’ve seen her around somewhere at school? But she looks older than you, and you don’t know any older women. You can’t shake the expression on her face, though. You do know her? That can’t be right. You look to see the man’s face behind the newspaper, but you still can’t properly see. What do you tell him? You can’t just admit to something that you’re not sure is true.

“No.” you say slowly, hoping that’s the right answer. Up until now, you’ve been sure as to what to say and do, but now you’re caught in the unknown.

The man is silent for a moment, before he slowly raises to his feet, newspaper dropping to the ground. Your eyes land on his face, which is angry, his eyebrows pulled downward. He clenches his fists, towering over you. When he breathes, all you can smell is tobacco.

“You’re lying, I can hear it in your voice.” he snaps, voice raising.

“How is it lying if I’m unsure?” you ask back, staring him right in the eye, “Would you have rather me said yes even if I didn’t know? That would also have been a lie.”

This is a situation where you lose either way, isn’t it? Unless you were supposed to say yes, that you do know her. Just because you vaguely recognized her doesn’t mean you know her. It means that you’ve seen her before. Then again, this is all a test, none of it is real. Which means that he isn’t real either.

“If you know her, you could save me.” he says, and when you don’t budge, he shouts, “You could save me!”

You lean forward a little bit, “No.”

You wake with a jolt, your hands finding the arms of the reclined chair. There’s a breathless feeling in your chest, as you struggle to get a hold of yourself. Your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears that it takes a while before you can even focus on anything else.

Laurel slowly picks the electrodes off of your forehead, and then hers. She says nothing to you. Somehow, her silence is louder now than it was before you went into the test. She sets everything back into place next to the machine. She takes a deep breath, “I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

You stay where you are, watching as she leaves through the door you came in. This is not supposed to happen. You’re practically told nothing about the test, what you’ll do inside, and what happens after. But it doesn’t take a genius to know that there is something wrong. You just don’t know what it is, and she hasn’t told you just yet.

Minutes pass, you pick at your nails with your fingers to keep from gnawing them off. The problem is the test. You did something inside of the test to cause this. But what part of it? The knife? The dog? The girl? The man? You did all of it the way you would, which is what you need to do in order to get the most authentic test results. It’s the whole point of the test in the first place!

You can hear the doorknob turn before Laurel walks back in. She still gives you no indication as to what she might be thinking when she comes over. She stops right next to you, fingers rubbing over the mannequin tattoo on her arm. Her lips are pressed together as she stares at you.

“Your test results are inconclusive.” she says.

You open your mouth, and then close it. Inconclusive? There’s been no result?

“Each stage of the simulation is supposed to eliminate one or more of the factions. But you managed to only rule out two of the five.” Her face is calm, her voice suggests otherwise. When you don’t interject, she continues, “Grabbing the knife is a Dauntless-oriented response, which got rid of Amity completely. You threw yourself between the dog and the girl instead of attacking the dog, so Abnegation. But you can’t be Abnegation because of what happened on the bus.

“Which then, also, ruled out Candor because you didn’t tell the truth. However, when the man said that you could save him, you still didn’t say anything, which isn’t normal for people in Abnegation. The question you posed to him on the bus suggests Erudite, same thing for how you handled the aggressive dog.” she stops talking.

You’re quiet too, “So if I’m not Amity and Candor, I’m Erudite, Abnegation and Dauntless?”

“You hold equal aptitude for each of those factions, yes.” she says, and for the first time, you see a frown appear on her face. It looks unusual on her, especially now that you’ve figured she doesn’t typically show emotion, “(Y/n), when tests are inconclusive… it means the person taking it is Divergent.”

Suddenly, you don’t feel like you should be calm with this news. You’ve never heard of the word before, but the way she whispered it tells you that it’s not good. No matter what context it lies inside, no one should want to be Divergent. And here you are, stuck with the label.

“Do not tell anyone of your test result.” Laurel straightens up, “Not family, not friends, not the leader of the faction you choose next. Being Divergent is dangerous, and so is standing out.”

She moves out of the way, allowing you to get to your feet. She moves back over to the machine. You dig your nails into your palm.

“You have to report the test results, don’t you?” you ask, watching her.

“Yes.”

You press your lips together momentarily, “What are you putting me in as?”

Laurel’s fingers pause, thinking this over. When she looks at you, her eyebrows are raised, “What do you want it to be?”

You don’t want to make this choice. This should not be left up to you to decide. You didn’t even know what you really wanted going in, how are you supposed to know now? Especially when there aren’t any answers being given to you? But then you remember what you thought in the cafeteria.

“Abnegation.” you say.

It has to be Abnegation. There was no choice about it.

“I’ll put in Abnegation, then.”

You stand in the room, unsure of what to do next. But you guess that you can’t just disappear. If you’re already in deep trouble with the Divergence, then that means leaving on your own will could raise eyebrows. You just have to tough out the rest of the day, as soon as you’re alone, you’ll be able to think.

And convince yourself that you’re making the right choice.

Instead of taking the bus home, you walk with Finnick to the Abnegation housing so that you can spend as much time together as possible. This will be the last time the two of you will get to hang out and talk before the Choosing Ceremony tomorrow. Then, you’ll be left to switch to a different faction, or stay with the one you’re in now. Even with the time you’ve burned walking here, thinking to yourself, you’ve made no progress.

You thought that it would be over as soon as you picked Abnegation, that you would be able to move on immediately. But it feels like you’ve made the wrong decision. You don’t feel complete or satisfied with the answer you gave Laurel. In fact, each time you think about what you told her, you feel sick. You can’t be regretting it, can you?

If you are, you have less than a day to fix it and make up your mind.

Finnick kicks a rock, sending it flying down the asphalt. You watch as it slowly skitters along until it falls into a pothole, temporarily out of sight until you pass it when you get up there.

“So, you going to tell me what you got on the aptitude test or not?” you ask, looking at Finnick.

A smile cracks onto his face, “You’re not supposed to ask, you know.”

“Out of all the rules we’ve broken, you think this one matters the most?” you raise your eyebrows, “Wow, maybe you do deserve to stay in Abnegation.”

Finnick shoves your shoulder hard enough to make you barely lose balance. You laugh, he tries not to. But the longer it lasts, and the louder it gets, he can’t help the smile that comes across his face.

“It’s not funny.” he says, chuckling slightly.

“Then why are you smiling?”

“Because you won’t shut up.” he shakes his head.

You wait a moment, before trying a different angle, “Did you end up rigging it?”

“Nah, I was too nervous to. Plus I got stuck with the Candor guy so that kinda ruined it.” Finnick then cracks up, “All I did was look at myself in the mirror and the guy said: ‘That’s not very Abnegation of you’. So I told him that the Candor aren’t supposed to lie, speaking their mind wasn’t included the last time I checked. He wasn’t very happy.”

“I’m sure he called your mom immediately after.” You’re laughing.

“He probably cried after I left.” Finnick says, trying to keep a straight face. A second later, he’s laughing hard enough for him to stop so that he doesn’t fall.

Here, in the safe confines of the Abnegation neighborhoods, you’re not held under the same weights as you are inside of the school. You don’t have to be composed here, which means that you can be as loud as you want. You can laugh, joke, and play around with Finnick if you really wanted to. You’ve done it plenty of times in the past, before. It’s only when you’re in public spaces, around the other factions, when you’re supposed to be forgettable.

This is a reason why you don’t think that staying here could be bad. You will always have time to goof off, it’ll just have to be in private.

“How did your test go? You looked worried after.” Finnick stands his full height, reaching his arms into the air as he stretches. When he’s done, he grabs the backs of his shoulders and lets his elbows hand in his face.

“Oh, you know, my worst nightmare came true.”

Finnick falls quiet. Just like how you know that Finnick doesn’t want to be here, he knows that you don’t exactly find this place pleasant, either. There’s a lot of memories that have attached themselves to you against your will. Plus, everyone in this faction knows your secrets and what has happened to you in the last couple of years. It’s practically inescapable.

“So, you think you’ll stay?” he asks.

The two of you stop in front of your house. He lives further down the road, so Finnick has the perfect chance to walk you home everyday. On some days, you don’t like it because he’s more high-energy. But today, you wish that you could walk and talk with him for a little while longer. Take paths that you’ve never taken before, see new things and find a reason to stay that you haven’t thought of just yet.

You give Finnick a shrug because you don’t know. You may have made your results Abnegation, but they don’t tie you down. Just because you score something on your test doesn’t mean you have to stay. You didn’t get Amity and Candor, but tomorrow you could still choose to go there. It’s your choice, but you have to remember that it’s permanent. It has to be a choice that you can live with.

“I’m still looking for a reason not to.” you tell Finnick, “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what you’ve gotten?”

Finnick gives you a half-smile, “You’ll have to wait and see tomorrow.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, “It better be good.”

“I’ve decided to become a brainwashed Erudite.” Finnick says, he pretends to push up glasses that aren’t on his face, “According to my calculations, the chemical solution that you are currently holding in your hand--”

“Okay, you can shut up.” you laugh, “It’s horrifying enough trying to picture you in glasses.”

Finnick smiles again, “No matter what happens tomorrow, we’ll be okay, right?”

“Finnick, you’re my best friend. You’ll have to do a lot more than leaving me behind to make me mad at you.” you hold out your hand for him to take. In Abnegation, greetings are always done through head nods. You’re not supposed to get physical with others. However, this could be it. And you’ve broken so many rules, why not another?

Finnick places his hand in yours. You go to shake, figuring that the Candor greeting could be good enough, but he pulls you in. You collide with his body, feeling his arms wrap around you as a hug. For a moment, you stand there, arms hovering over his body. But then you place your head on his shoulder, squeezing him tightly. You might not have been cut out for Amity, but a goodbye like this feels natural.

“Choose what you want, not what everyone is telling you to.” he murmurs.

“Same thing goes for you, okay?” you pull away, giving him a warm smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Stupid’s my middle name.” Finnick backs up, and then holds up his hand, “See you on the flip side.”

You give him a wave, and then head inside of the house. The door clicks shut behind you, you stand in the doorway, staring into the living room. Reed is at work, Alyssum is next door, being watched by the neighbors. You walk through the quiet house and to your room. It’s bland, only the bare necessities in here. There’s no decoration on the desk, shelf or walls. You let the backpack drop to the floor.

You leave the house to go next door, knuckles hitting the door hard enough to call attention to the fact that you’re outside. You wait patiently, looking toward the direction where Finnick had gone. You’ve only been to his house a few times, and it was always to have dinner with his family.

The door in front of you opens to reveal Naida Dorazio, a family friend. She’s the mother of one girl, and four boys. Her two oldest kids are already gone and in different factions. The girl, Calandra, is well into her twenties, like Reed. She’s the oldest, and transferred to Erudite long before they started releasing reports about Abnegation. As for the second oldest, his name is Caspian, he was in Reed’s grade. They were good friends just before he transferred, you can’t remember where he is now.

Because Naida has three boys to take care of, who are all in either Lower Levels or Middle Levels, she stays home most of the time. She has a job, but it’s part-time. It’s her husband, Amon, who works full-time. She volunteered to take care of Alyssum during the day for your family so that Reed could go and work. You just have to be sure to pick her up after school.

Naida gives you a wide smile, “How was your test?”

“Good, thank you for asking.”

“It’s an easy decision, I hope.” she says.

You smile back, “Yeah.”

She disappears from the doorway for a moment. When she reappears, she’s got Alyssum in her arms. Upon seeing you, Aly stretches her arms in your direction, similar to how the little girl in the aptitude test reached for the dog. You bring Alyssum into your arms, she places her head against your shoulder.

“Thank you.” you say.

“Good luck tomorrow.”

She shuts the door when you start towards your own house. Alyssum will probably be put down for a brief nap so that you can make dinner, even though you made breakfast this morning. Technically, it should be Reed’s turn. But without any homework to do, and with how tired Alyssum is, you need an excuse to busy your hands.

Alyssum falls asleep almost immediately, you end up in the kitchen, humming to yourself. You defrost chicken, and start with a can of vegetables on the stove. You do the dishes, and bounce back to cook the chicken when you’re done. By the time that Reed comes home, dinner is ready, Alyssum is already in her high chair, and you’re setting the table.

Reed sets his things by the door, then helps you set the rest of the table. You place the food into serving plates and bowls, then set it on the table too. Reed has to make a separate plate for Alyssum, but she knows to wait until you and Reed are situated. You let Reed start and pass the bowls and plates to you so that you can serve yourself. In Abnegation, no one eats until everyone has a full plate.

The room is filled with forks and spoons clinking against the glass plates until Reed breaks the silence. You don’t speak first anymore. For a while, you used to. You just wanted something to talk about, because you can’t guess what Reed feels like. But after Reed got upset at you enough times, you stopped. How are you supposed to be Abnegation if you’re not comfortable in silence?

“How was your aptitude test?” he asks. For once, he actually watches you answer. Reed will ask questions out of courtesy of you. Like you said, you used to speak a lot during dinner. Sometimes he can tell when you just want something to talk about. Your day at school, his day at work, a dinner plan with a family, whatever.

Today is not one of those days when you need to speak about what happened.

“It went well.” you say, looking at him.

Most of the time, Reed won’t actually stare when you answer his questions. It’s like he’s always half-here, half-somewhere else. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t listen, though. He’s always listening, and if you aren’t careful about what you said, he’ll bring it up later, in a different conversation.

“If it went well, then why did you make dinner?” he asks, eyebrows raising slightly as he cuts into his chicken.

He acts like you can’t do anything nice in this house, “I didn’t have any homework. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to start dinner early.” you pause for a moment, not sure whether or not you should ask the question that’s burning on your tongue. But it’s coming out either way, because you’re not a child, and Reed can’t keep seeing you as one, “Is there a problem with that?”

Defiance is not a natural Abnegation trait, obedience is.

Reed doesn’t say anything in turn. He can’t ask about your results, Reed is a rule-follower. But maybe you saying that is a big enough hint of what you might have gotten. Laurel might have put you in as Abnegation, but you’ve got two other factions right on it’s tail. Some stronger, and a much better option for you, than others.

Tonight, dinner ends in a tense silence. Reed doesn’t allow you to clean the table, or the dishes. And there will be no time together in the family room tonight, either. Which is probably for the best, you’re not all that upset. Reed will need time to calm down before he speaks to you tomorrow morning. He doesn’t lose his composure often, but when it happens, it’s not pretty.

You go up to your room, shutting the door behind you. You stand in the middle of the room, staring at the wall. Tonight could be your last night inside of your room, inside of the house that you’ve called home for sixteen years. Or, you could come back to it tomorrow evening, after folding chairs and helping the other Abnegation clean the room.

The more today drags on, the more your sight begins to blur.

You’re not sure you can stay in Abnegation. Not without Finnick here to be around when you’re having a hard time with Reed. And if you stay, there’s a chance that he might too. Finnick is completely capable of picking things for himself, but you know that there will be a certain amount of guilt when it comes to him. You’re his best friend, he’s seen you in every condition that there is to be in.

Which might be all the more reason to go live somewhere else. It could mean something better. A fresh start.

A sick feeling rises in your stomach when you realize that this must be the exact confliction that Mox must have been in the night before his Choosing Ceremony. Mox, who seemed the most selfless out of the three of you. And still he had the courage to switch factions and try something new.

The question is, do you?

ANTERIC IS A SPIN-OFF DIVERGENT AU //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@amixedwitch / @justthatfangirloverthere / @fnnshelbys / @neenieweenie / @vxntae / @liaaacantwrite

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair anteric #anteric #anteric chapter one

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upthewitchypunx · 5 years ago

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A Dabbler’s week of DIY Witchery

All us witches are steamed about the nonsense article where the person tried to become a witch in a week and concluded that we were anti-vax science deniers. We can all be annoyed at the article, but @asksecularwitch had a better idea to suggest what we would have someone do to explore witchcraft for a week or to dabble in witchcraft. There’s no shame in dabbling! How are you ever going to know if you like something if you don’t dabble?

So, here’s mine. I preface it with saying that I am an agnostic secular witch and I call my practice DIY Witchery. So, here’s how to explore that if it’s a think you might like doing.

Day 1: Clean your fucking room!

I’m not going to say what day of the week you should start. My weekend is Wednesday/Thursday so start whenever you want. You know what, you don’t even have to do this one day after another day if something comes up, just the idea that you intend to do all of it is a good start.

What you need: Tea light, safety pin, a match or lighter, a notebook, a pen, and a lot of work.

The first day of any project is almost always the most exciting one and the one that you are more inclined to put effort into. So, we are going to go big!

Clean your room! I mean it. Wash and put away your clothes, change your sheets, sweep or vacuum your floor, wash your windows, dust, change that burnt out lightbulb, take all the dishes out of your room, take your trash out and I mean the trash literally and figuratively. While you are cleaning your room think about what you want to gain from a week of exploring witchcraft. What are your interests in witchcraft? Do you want to do spells? Do you want to feel more safe? Are you interested in self-care? Do you like plants/cooking/animals and think there is something more you can do with these interests in an esoteric or occult way? Do you just want to see what all this new age woo fuss is about? All of these are valid reasons so keep them in mind when we go on to the next step and also keep your mind open because all of these things could change and that’s okay too. Then, take a bath or shower and get all that cleaning grime off you. There’s a reason “shower thoughts” hit us the way they do. Our body is relaxed and processing things differently so keep thinking about those thoughts you’ve had all day and what you are going to do with them.

Do you have an altar? I’ll bet you do! It doesn’t have to be all candles, cauldrons, and goblets and shit. It could be a flat surface where you have trinket boxes you received as gifts or an area where you have photos of friends and loved ones, or maybe a desk with your computer which is like a link to the world. We all create these spaces because they are pleasing and they remind us of who we are. Sometimes these get cluttered with empty ice cream tubs, keys, receipts, random paper but that’s why you cleaned your room so you can keep this space clear for the week. For this week, we’ll call this space “your space”

It may have been a long day and you are probably tired but you are almost done. Look around your room and admire your work. Seriously, a deep clean is so much work but so fulfilling when it is done. Get yourself a snack (or order some food if your budget allows) and get something to drink and find a cozy place to sit with your notebook.

Okay, get your snack and your drink and get that tealight candle and with a safety pin or a knife or something and carve something into the candle like “witchcraft” or “witch week” or “let’s dabble”, basically something that states that this is something you want work on. Place that in your space and light it while you write in your notebook. Think about all that stuff you were thinking about while you were cleaning. What interests you in witchcraft? If there are any aspects of witchcraft that interest you, write that down. State that you are starting this DIY project in earnest and are actually interested in taking it on. Part of taking up this project is too look at the world in a new way. The world is full of tools that might be useful if you learned to look at them in a different way. This week if you feel the urge to pick up weird objects off the ground to be used later or things that catch you eye like an acorn cap, bottle cap, or a literal fork you find it the road, or even if you see an object you can afford to buy that you think might be useful, do it. These collected things will be used for a divination project at the end of the week. Collect them and place them in your space throughout the week and document where you find them. Keep in mind your commitment to this DIY project all week when you are making choices. Remember if you decide to change your goals that’s cool.

Day 2 - Energy, Grounding & Centering

Yesterday was a lot of work so today we are going to do a quick exercise called Gounding and Centering. A simple exercise that a lot of witchcraft books I started on always mentioned that seems to be out of fashion or just skipped these days. I find it is a good trick to keep in my pocket for when I’m am upset of scared or anxious and not just for casting spells or whatever.

The general idea is to feel energy moving or to at least visualize it or maybe understand it in a strange intellectual way. It’s good to keep you in the moment, for me at least. First, let’s talk about the body and energy and how weird it is that we are alive and how our body has all these electrical impulses shooting through our nerves and telling my fingers to type this right now, ya? Being alive is pretty neat. What does a process that happens without thought feel like? Put your hands/palms together less than an inch apart without touching and think about the feeling. is it warm? Is it prickly? Does it feel like magnets repelling each other? Move your hands back and forth with the same short distance between them. Do you feel anything? It’s okay if you don’t, just try it. Write down your thoughts in your notebook.

This is what is called a visualization and sometimes people aren’t really into it or are unable to do it and that’s okay but at least give it a try The traditional grounding and centering is to sit comfortably on the floor, in a chair, or on your bed in your beautifully clean room. Sit comfortably, relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw, and notice your breathing, count to whatever numbers in and out that makes sense to you, I like 3s but maybe 5s or 7s are more you jam?

Traditionally your are supposed to visualize yourself as a tree with a tap root from the base of your spine going deep into the earth and drawing energy up and into your body as you focus on your breathing. This would be a way to draw energy for spell work but we aren’t going to do that so just send that energy right back where it came from. I actually like to physically touch my hands to the ground to shed excess energy. Maybe that visualization doesn’t work for you. It’s not really my thing. I imagine a specific location that is a watershed and all the water that falls for many square miles heads to the river, trickles through rocks to a specific place. I gather that and hold what I need and let what I don’t need pass though like the spillway of a damn. It’s more of a receptacle kind of thing for me. Maybe you like the idea of fire filling a room with warmth or the air down a canyon or some sort of science thing like water cycles, heat transference, or osmosis. Write down your thoughts about this experiement, try it a few times in one way and maybe a few times throughout this week.

Day 3- Perception and Animism

What you need: a bus pass and the ability to go outside, and your notebook

Part of this whole witch exercise is look at the world differently so go outside, talk to a tree, watch patterns in nature including humans doing human things like riding the bus or grocery shopping. Don’t wear headphones. Interact with strangers that approach you. Pretend they are NPCs in a video game. Take your notebook with you. Write down any thoughts that come to you about the things you see or feel. Write something on a piece of paper you want to get rid of like a bad date, a habit you would like to quit, an intrusive thought, and throw it away in the garbage in a public place and don’t look back. That’s a small kind of spell. If you see some change on the ground pick it up. If you see anything of interest fallen on the ground and you feel comfortable picking it up take in home and put it in your space for later, do it. Maybe go to a thrift store and see if anything catches your eye. Does your space need a tealight candle holder? I like to say I go to thrift stores to see if anything ones to come home with me.

Animism is the idea that everything (plants, animals, houses, cars, pencils, etc) has a soul, maybe you don’t believe in souls, I’m a bit iffy on the topic myself. But I do believe things and places have unique essences that make them what they are. I like to call myself a “soft-animist”. Things are created with purpose like a spoon. How do you interact with the spoon doing a spoon thing? Why does a certain smell lift your spirit? Why do you even have a favorite color? This day what about interacting with the essences of things. Things move us without our thinking about it, how do you move things? How do you interact with the world? Write about it in your notebook.

Day 4 - Correspondences and Critical Thinking

What you need: the internet, critical thinking skills, and your notebook

This one might take some time and I kind of apologize but you do have a clean room and the internet so you don’t have to go find some shitty new age book in the bookstore. A lot of witchcraft and spellcraft is based on the use of correspondences for spell ingredients. You will see a lot of these lists that are like “rose quarts is for love” and “rosemary is for everything” or “the color blue is for tranquility and green is for prosperity but also fertility” You will just see lists of these things with no explanation and you are just supposed to memorize them I guess? If you get really detailed some will mention what astrological sign or planet they are associated with even the classical elements of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. These elements show up in modern witchcraft a lot, they aren’t really my thing, but worth exploring even as a metaphor if you have the time. You’ll also see correspondences for days of the week and hours of the day or season of the year. These ingredients get put in jars, or sachets, or burned in spells. A Correspondence list is just stuff that is associated with a desired outcome of a of spell.

Some of these are based in astrological concepts or the movement of planets as observed through western mystery traditions. Some concepts of correspondences are filtered through folk magic and the idea that like attracts like, this is called Sympathetic magic. It’s like what you did if you wrote a bad date on paper and tossed it in the trash the other day. See, you did a spell! There is also the Doctrine of Signatures stating that plants that look like things like a plant that looks like a heart is good for your heart or a plant that grows aggressively is good for making a spell to make something move faster.

This is why there are endless lists of correspondences. You can go look up some endless lists of correspondences to see what I mean. Does this sort of historical context mean anything to you? Does timing mean anything to you? What if you made your own correspondences? What would that look like? What if you hate the color orange because it was your ex-husband’s favorite color? Then chuck it out of the rainbow mix! Plants and other things are often gendered, why?

Pick 3 herbs in your spice cabinet or a plant you found outside and look up the magical correspondence for it. Does it make sense to you? If not, what do you think would better represent a desired outcome? What colors, plants, flowers, sounds make you happy or sad, write that down.

Day 5 - Sigils

What you need: Pen and paper

I love sigils but the idea of what they are and how they work has been changing lately. I’m kind of old school with sigils. The idea is that you have a statement of something you want to achieve, but you write it in the present. Maybe you have decided you want to be a witch so you write “I AM A WITCH” now, drop the vowels, “M W T C H” now take those letters and turn them into a symbol, overlap the letters, make it look pleasing to you. There! You have a sigil. I like to keep these around for a few days until you forget what it was supposed to be. The idea is that you take in the idea of the symbol and it becomes part of you, then you burn it and the sigil is gone but still resides in you. There’s are lots of ways for sigils to operate these day it seems, some are charged through self pleasuring before being destroyed, some act like a sticker that you place on something and it stays there and is not destroyed, I just like to hang out with them subtly reminding myself of whatever the reason I crafted it. I highly suggest reading this article on Run Soup about sigils and images in general and how they affect humans.

Day 6 - Knot Spell

What you need: a length of swing or rope

This is a fairly simple folk charm. There’s a lot you can do with fiber art and magic but we’ll start here. Get a length of string, or dental floss or an old shoelace, whatever can be tied 9 times. If you wanna feel witchy, light the candle in your space in your clean room. Think of something you would like to manifest like waking up on time to get to work early or remembering to water your houseplants, do that grounding and centering thing from day 2, then tie the length of thread in order as outlined in this image while saying each line of the spell. Now you would let go of that energy and eat some food. Leave the knotted string in your space. Write down your thoughts on the experience.

Day 7 - Divination

What you need: A book, some way to listen to music digital and all the stuff you picked up off the ground

When people think of divination they think of tarot cards or reading tea leaves but there’s lots of different kinds of divination and there’s no reason to fork over money for a tarot deck when it just might not be your thing. I don’t know how it works or why it works but I’m more inclined to say that our brain is paying attention to everything and we fixate on symbols and archetypes because they remind of what our unconscious has been sorting out while we’ve been sleeping.

I’m going to suggest three forms of divination: Biliomancy, Shufflemancy, and Cleromancy. Pick one or pick all three if you feel like it. If you guessed bibliomancy was about books, you would be correct! Originally it was to use the bible but any big book will do, especially if the books means something to you. I have this lovely edition of Lord of the Rings that’s fantastic for this. Close your eyes, you can do the grounding and centering thing if you would like, think of a question, open the book to a random page, point your finger and read the line. Did you get some sort of answer?

Shufflemancy would be putting your music on shuffle and asking a questions for and for the next track to give you some insight.

Cleromancy is divination through small objects. It often has to do with tossing the objects and observing where they land in relation to each other but we are just going to simplify it. Remember all that stuff you picked up off the street? You didn’t do it? That’s okay. Get a small bag or maybe a stock or something and gather some small object, the ones you found or some other objects that will fit in the bag. Ask a question, toss the bag around a bit and let one object fall out. What does that object mean to you? Was it something you found? Where did you find it and under what circumstances? Was it a gift from a friend or something that has special meaning? Write it down in your notebook.

And thus concludes your week of dabbling in DIY Witchery. Maybe you hated it, but at least you have a clean room.

#diy witchery #secular witchcraft #a week of witchcraft dabbling #dabbling in witchcraft #witchcraft #witchcraft*#witchblr

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alexiessan · 5 years ago

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Never alone - Chapter Eight - Soulmate AU

AO3

Previous - Here - Next

Master List

It’s kind of funny to write Marinette’s imagination going overboard x)

Hey, anyone ever wrote a Miraculous x Doctor Who cross over? I’ve been bing watching the serie and I’m obsessed with it!

Marinette was tired after this day, but a good tired. Working with Tim was amazing, she has learned so much in just a day and she couldn’t wait for the next.

When seeing everyone on the bus on the way back to the hotel, she was happy to find that her classmates had a good time at Wayne Enterprises. They were all talking about the things they learned and how nice the people they were working with were.

She exchanged a glance with Alya and they fist-bumped, happy that they made a good choice with this trip. They would all mature from this experience.

Arriving at the hotel, despite being tired, the designer also felt restless. She wanted to move, run or something. She wished she could go on a run on the roofs of Gotham as Ladybug but it would be too much risk and possibly compromise her identity.

Maybe Robin would agree to take her on a run on some of the safest roofs.

Marinette was in her room with Alya, reviewing all the notes she had taken while listening to Timothy. She had already filled a few pages of her brand new notebook that she bought back in Paris specifically for this internship.

Looking at the time, she realized that it was almost time for dinner and closed her book. She discreetely took a cookie out of a box and gave it to Tikki. Her eyes landed on the glasses inside, feeling a bit guilty that she kept the Miraculous inactive and that Kaalki couldn’t be with them, but it was safer this way. Hiding one kwami was already a difficult task, but two…

She didn’t want a repeat of Kwami Buster when both Tikki and Plagg were both caught by Mrs. Mendeleiev.

She preferred not to think about that event, Plagg’s presence at her school still unsettled her, despite Chat Noir claiming not knowing what school Françoise Dupont was.

She recognized a lie when she heard one, herself having to make the most ridiculous excuses to cover her superheroing.

But it was better not thinking about it, she wasn’t ready for anything regarding their identities.

And right now, she was hungry.

“Are you ready to go eat Alya? I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, just let me save this on my external drive and we can go!”

She watched as the reporter did just that and started chatting about her day.

“God, Mari, I’m so happy we applied for this program. I’ve learned so much today and it was only the first day. Mrs. Finnigan taught Adrien how to handle the press when they spread false information about him and she told me all about the relations between the public relations teams and the media. I heard from Nino that he has ten pages of notes about copyrights already and it’s not over! He’s already planning to get some of his songs protected!”

“That’s great, Alya!”

The class had an essay to write about their time at Wayne Enterprises when they get back to Paris, and while it should have been a source of complaints from the students, hearing how everyone loved their time there, writing an essay about him shouldn’t be a chore for anyone.

She heard at dinner that some had even started the outline of their essays and the two girls could see how proud Miss Bustier was of her students.

The laughs from the class’ table in the hotel’s restaurant could be heard from the lobby.

His brothers were laughing at his expense and Damian was seconds away from hitting them.

And probably do way more violent things too.

During dinner, Tim related his day with Marinette, smirking at his youngest brother all the while. He was telling them what a sunshine their future sister in law was and how Damian literally ran away from her the moment he saw her in the co-CEO’s office.

And of course, Jason and Dick found it hilarious.

“You spend every night with her as Robin but you can’t handle seeing her as yourself?!”

“Shut up Todd, before I make you regret your words.”

“It’s that he just can’t handle it, Jason! He literally noped out of it!” laughed Tim along with his brothers.

Unfortunately, Tim dodged out of the way of the knife he threw at him.

Maybe he should put something sharp in his shoes when he wasn’t looking. Maybe, then, his brother would just shut up.

The youngest Robin sighed. Siblings were such a drag.

“What the hell is that thing?!”

Robin and Marinette were on the roofs of her hotel for their daily meetings and for once, she was in her pajamas without her contact on. He got used to seeing her with two blue eyes so it was a bit weird to see her with a jade green eye just like his. All that added to his cape that she was wearing, just like every day before, was enough to make the tip of his ears go red.

Damn, she was cute like this.

But it wasn’t what prompted him to react the way he did.

No, what warranted such a response was the tiny red thing that was floating next to her and looking at him with weird big blue eyes and an antenna on its head.

The bluenette laughed.

“This is Tikki. She’s a Kwami and it’s thank to her that I can transform into Ladybug. She’s been- Comment on dit, déjà ? Ah! She’s been granting me my powers ever since I got the Miraculous.”

“It’s very nice to meet you! I’m so glad Marinette found her soulmate!” the… the thing said with a high pitch that hurt his ears.

“So a literal insect is giving you your powers?” he asked, skeptical.

The kwami frowned.

“Hey! Have some respect, would you? I’m not an insect, but a Kwami! I’m basically a god!”

“A… god? This tiny thing?”

Tikki scowled and scoffed.

“I’ll go back to the room, Marinette!”

And without another glance to Robin, she disappeared.

“I think you offended her.”

“Well, excuse me for being skeptical about a tiny thing that looks like an insect being a god.”

Marinette laughed.

“I can’t blame you. When I first met her I called her a blatte-souris. Hm… a croroch-mouse?”

“A cockroach-mouse?”

“Yeah, a cockroach-mouse! Sorry.”

Robin smiled, amused.

“So, yeah. I panicked and all so I wasn’t better than you.”

She clapped her hands.

“Anyway! I was actually hoping that you would accept to take me on a run somewhere, I’m feeling restless.”

“Absolutely not.”

There was a heavy silence as Marinette just looked at him.

“Why not?”

“Do you realize how dangerous it would be? We can’t risk anyone recognizing you! Could you imagine if someone saw Robin and an unmasked girl running around Gotham? The media would have a field day!”

Robin watched as the designer thought about it and could see the moment she agreed with him.

That girl really was an open book, he thought.

“Alright, alright. Then… Maybe you could teach me some basic martial art moves? As you know, I’m basically acting on instincts as Ladybug, but it would help a lot if I actually knew how to fight. Properly. Especially since the Akumas are getting a lot more violent.”

That, he could do.

“Fine. But we’ll need to spar a little so I can assess your skills and see where to go from there.”

The Parisian beamed.

“Alright! I’m ready.”

As she got in a defensive position, the vigilante observed her carefully.

“First of all, don’t make your fist that way. Don’t put your thumb inside, but outside. You could break it upon impact.”

The teenage girl did as he said and he waited a few seconds more before he attacked.

She dodged easily but she didn’t see his next move. Of course, he didn’t put strength in his hit, the goal wasn’t to hurt her but to observe.

She attacked in return but none of her blow hit home.

Two minutes in the sparring and Marinette was on her back, Robin having softly flipped her.

“Again.”

They sparred a few times, each time Marinette lasted a bit longer, but she never lasted more than five minutes.

She was breathing heavily while he barely broke a sweat.

“I’ll be honest with you, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

He winced. He hasn’t shown her this side of him yet.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” she scoffed.

Good, she could take it. He was afraid that she would be offended.

He sat next to her as she stayed on the floor, like a starfish.

“We’ll have to start from scratch. I’ll teach you some basic moves but there is only so much I can teach you in less than a week. You really need to take lessons when you get back to Paris, no matter how full your schedule already is.”

Marinette looked at him, giving him a sad smile.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll do it.”

“But you’re not hopeless. You adapt fast.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, every time we sparred, you would last longer.”

The Eurasian girl laughed.

“I didn’t last more than five minutes!”

“No, but in the first spar, you lasted only two minutes. So it’s progress. It shows that you adapt easily. You’re also aware of your surroundings and know how to use it. If you take this seriously, you’ll progress fast.”

He watched as she was still breathing heavily.

“Come on, give me your phone.”

She did as he asked and he took his own phone out too. He unlocked her phone easily.

“And for the love of God, Marinette, put a password on your phone.”

She smiled sheepishly.

He entered his contact information and send a message to himself from her phone and then saved her contact. He gave her her phone back.

“Here, I entered my number. I’ll send you a training program. You need to build up your strength and your stamina. You can’t afford to be out of breath like that.”

He hoped she wasn’t offended. He only did this because he cared and he didn’t want her to get killed fighting Akumas because she wasn’t strong enough.

The way she smiled at him showed him that she knew that.

“Thank you.” she breathed.

Marinette was like an open book, but Robin knew he wasn’t. He didn’t know how to feel that she could read him so easily. Was he already lowering his guard around her?

He sighed. He knew that the answer was yes. He already was lowering his guard. He did it unconsciously because he wanted things to work with his soulmate.

He didn’t want to be the man his mother wanted him to be. Not anymore.

“We’ll start some training tomorrow. In the meantime, I believe I promised you to show you some of my drawings.”

Marinette beamed as he took a few pieces of paper and she straightened, sitting next to him as he showed her drawings of Titus, Alfred the cat and the batcow.

He smiled as she cooed at them.

When she woke up the next day, Marinette cursed Robin. She was sore at some places that she didn’t know had muscles. She had a headache, but that was probably because she only got two hours of sleep, she and Robin had stayed later than usual, losing themselves in their conversations unaware of the time passing.

Marinette heard a noise next to her.

“Marinette, wake up! Breakfast is in twenty minutes.”

The designer cursed once more in her head. It was the first time since the beginning of the trip that Alya woke up before her. The dark-haired girl panicked for a few seconds, already imagining the reporter seeing her green eye. She could already picture her asking questions about her soulmate, who they were and when it happened. She could already see herself screw up and admitting that Robin was her soulmate and it would be on the Ladyblog and it would spread worldwide and Robin would hate her!

She wanted to scream until her mind cleared. Why was she panicking? Hiding her eye was, actually, really simple.

Marinette got up, rubbing her eyes and feigning a yawn as she made her way to the bathroom.

Nailed it, she thought as she closed the door behind her.

Tag list:

@bigpicklebananatree @animegirlweeb @crazylittlemunchkin @northernbluetongue @cutechip @justafanwarrior @iloontjeboontje @resignedcatservant @maribat-is-lifeblood @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @toodaloo-kangaroo @mikantsume @dast218 @amayakans @zestyzealot @lunarwolfspn @corabeth11

#maribat #daminette #maridami #miraculous x dc #ml x dc #damian x marinette

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stalkvr · 4 years ago

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ethan winters — ( @amanmolded )

They're both staring at the knife on the floor, stained and used and terrible, and although it's quiet outside of the other man's question, all Ethan can hear is the sound it made slipping out of his jacket pocket when they'd accidentally bumped into each other.

Pink floods into Ethan's cheeks, down his neck and around the curve of his ears, a combination of embarrassment (he'd survived the Bakers and was back in normal society, why was he even still carrying that thing?) and the bubbling animosity that always seemed to lurk just below the surface.

-- He'd never been so angry, in the before times. Especially not over something so small and insignificant.

Carefully, slowly, Ethan leans down to pick up the knife, slipping it back into his pocket with a shrug, as if this were nothing. As if this was normal for normal people.

"I'm a big fan of Taylor Swift."

The delivery is dry. — ( *69 )

a superlative stalker never broke his line of sight. not a bus hissing to a stop nor a throng of blazers that blended into a seam-full sea could come between he and his heart's desire. he memorized her going-nowhere-quickly pace and the cherishable up and down flounce of her bob. he tracked her invisible outline through the obstacle like an x-ray, calculating her every step. her admirer knew when she'd reemerge with the same certainty as to his next heartbeat. nothing could stand between him and his obsession.

nothing except perhaps the clatter of a knife against pavement.

paranoia zapped his body into a dreadful cold sphere and jumped like a startled cat into the base of his throat. was that his? the terrifying thought lasted far less than a second when he spotted the crude blade idling on the concrete. nothing like his gossamer buck. if anything, the shriveled thing was more like the pocket knife he got from a gaudy gift shop outside of goblin valley. it was his business casual knife, the one he kept with him for the just-in-case when his trusted companion lied in wait for nightfall.

❝ can't argue with that logic, ❞ the man just dropped a concealed weapon in public and took a crack at pop culture while he was at it.

the ghost smiled.

hunger grinned behind the guise of boyish nerves and uncertainty, ❝ i'd be more careful with that, sir. people might get the wrong impression. ❞

#amanmolded #amanmolded / 01.#furtive chase / reply.#main tbt.

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maren-as-an-adult · 4 years ago

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The 2020 Experience, Part 4

December was...rough. Every free moment I had was spent looking for better paying jobs and more apartments. Christmas gifts were planned and purchased under extreme budget. I had an upcoming OB-GYN appointment. And the accumulated stress finally broke me physically and mentally.

I started noticing it when I had my OB-GYN appointment. My appointment wasn’t until 4:30pm, but I wanted to get some Christmas shopping done, so I took an early train into Atlantic Terminal to do some shopping in and around Barclay’s Center. I didn’t have breakfast before I left, so I grabbed a latte and a slice of iced lemon cake from Starbucks. There were some benches outside where I sat down and ate. Afterwards, I hit up Target and Marshall’s. Once I was in line for Marshall’s, I started feeling... off. I could feel my pulse rushing in my face, and my stomach felt simultaneously empty and twisted upside down. I couldn’t tell if I felt like I was going to vomit or poop, or if I was just really gassy and needed to fart. I made it through purchasing and left to sit down somewhere, anywhere. I think I settled down in front of either TJ Maxx or Burlington on the ground. I pulled my knees into my chest, waiting and hoping for this feeling to pass. After about 15 minutes and no change, I knew I needed to find a bathroom. And in COVID times, I had a better chance of finding a four-leaf clover growing out of the concrete than a public toilet I could access.

Target, however, was my savior. Having purchased from them earlier, I happily took advantage of their open and clean bathroom facilities. I won’t go into too much detail, but I will say I spent a long time on that toilet trying to feel better. Eventually I had to move on, and I decided I would go outside and get as much fresh air as I could, hoping that would somehow cure me of this... whatever feeling it was. It helped, or at least that’s what I told myself as I slowly sipped water from my water bottle. I tried to make one last stop at one last shop before heading down to Bay Ridge for my OB-GYN appointment, but after two instances where I was forced to sit down again and wait for the feeling to pass to something barely more manageable, I decided the best course of action would be to arrive exceptionally early to my appointment and hope they had an unoccupied bathroom I could access.

Thankfully, they did. I somehow managed a thirty minute train ride, a ten minute wait for the bus, a ten minute bus ride, and a ten minute walk to the doctor’s office, where after filling out a few forms I retreated to their very clean single occupancy bathroom. I felt awful and wanted something done about it, so I open mouth breathed while kneeling in front of the toilet bowl for a while. It’s a technique I use when I feel like I may throw up and want to encourage my stomach to expel whatever’s clearly upsetting it. [I also wish to take this moment to make this very clear: I am not, nor have I ever been, bulimic. I don’t endorse or condone bulimia. I’m sure it’s very easy to read what I just wrote as inducing vomiting to purposefully purge, but it is not. I was not trying to make myself vomit, but I was prepared for that to happen should my body have decided that’s what it needed to do.] What ended up happening was about five minutes of dry heaving before my body apparently decided that because there was nothing there, that nothing was wrong anymore.

What was wrong with me? I hadn’t interacted with anyone who was sick, had I? I had recently started babysitting, could I have gotten something from one of the kids? Was I not as diligent as I thought I’d been with maintaining social distance and wearing a mask and sanitizing and washing my hands? Or was it something else? All I’d had to eat that day was some processed cake and a sugary latte, could I possibly have developed celiac disease overnight? Was my body finally shutting down it’s lactose-digesting functions? Was I just really overcaffeinated because I forgot to specify “half-caf” in my Starbucks order?

I posited these queries to my doctor while she poked around my vagina. She said it was possible I could be lactose intolerant or I could be crashing from the caffeine. When the staff had taken my temperature I wasn’t running a fever, so it wasn’t likely I’d caught anything off of someone. With a final fingering to gauge the position of my uterus (I learned it has a slight anterior tilt), my appointment was done and I was free to go home. Though I felt better, I decided against calling on my old roommates and to instead just head back to Graham’s. I made one last gift purchase before hopping on the LIRR, and my Christmas shopping was essentially done.

The feeling didn’t disappear though, and on some days it became unmanageable. My GI system was clearly in distress, and not a lot was helping. I found a few packs of ginger turmeric tea at Graham’s house and made myself a cup, firmly placing my faith in the healing properties of what some (uncultured) people call “hot leaf juice”. I think it helped, but I can’t be sure. I’d told Graham about what was going on and what I thought it could be, and he could sympathize and to a degree empathize. It wasn’t until one night when I was again dry heaving into a toilet bowl that Graham fully saw what an awful state I was in. I told him at this point I thought it was a manifestation of the stress we’d been under for the past eight weeks. For eight weeks we’d been searching for apartments, passing on nice ones just out of our budget, trying to come to terms with the infinite number of mediocre same-floor plan, same-color, same-appliances, same-building looking ones, and getting discouraged with the shitty, falling apart ones. I had spent my first Thanksgiving away from my family and had resigned myself to spending Christmas apart from my family for the first time as well. I’d had three separate COVID tests in the past two months. I hadn’t spoken to my therapist since before Thanksgiving. And I had spent the entire month at Graham’s family’s house, which was not something I had wanted.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Truly, I’m indebted to Graham’s mom for letting me not only stay with them rent-free (but agreeing to walk their dogs) but also keep my stuff there while she is also getting ready to move out. But I have never felt comfortable calling someone else’s place my home. I cannot help but feel like an outsider, and no matter how many times people tell me to “make [myself] comfortable” and “help [myself] to whatever food there is” I will feel like an imposition and a burden. It’s only my anxiety coming through, but it comes through LOUD.

I finally scheduled an appointment with my therapist again, and poured all this out to him. I told him exactly how bad things had gotten, and not for the first time I considered asking to be prescribed anti-anxiety medication and possibly antidepressants. I decided to keep going without them...for now.

Christmas Eve came and Graham, his family, and I all celebrated together. We were gifted some lovely items to start our life living together, like a knife set, a set of glasses, new bedding, and a casserole dish. It was a lovely respite from the stress.

On Christmas Day, Graham and I went to see another apartment. This apartment was in the same building as the apartment we almost signed for, and the only differences were that this apartment was on a lower floor and didn’t have a balcony. It was also almost $100/month less than what we had almost agreed to. The owner said he would send over the application and answers to our questions on Monday. We both felt good about this apartment.

When Monday came with no e-mail from the guy, I reached out to him to ask when we could expect it. His response was that he had just been diagnosed with COVID-19 and now wanted to sell instead of rent. This became all too much for me, and when I got back into Graham’s car as we were out running errands, I started screaming. I hadn’t screamed like this since a particularly bad day of work I had back when I worked at Target. It was cathartic, but I felt cold and disconnected from Graham for the rest of the day. Something had broken inside me, and I wasn’t sure if it was my heart, my soul, my mind, or all three. It took a while for me to recover, and honestly I’m still hurt and feel betrayed by this guy. I understand I cannot speak for what’s best for him or what he felt he should have done, but Graham and I felt that we were given the runaround by this guy. We scheduled another COVID test for ourselves, and tried to move forward.

We made it to New Year’s Eve, and stayed up to watch 2020 end. New Year’s felt somber this year, and it felt hard to celebrate the start of a new year when the one we just went through was so damaging.

But we made it. We’re here, and it’s the first week of January in 2021. Currently there are radical conservatives storming the Capitol protesting the electoral college results, but in less than 20 days, Trump will be out of office. I’ve given myself goals that are manageable for the new year, and Graham and I have three applications out for three different apartments, and there’s a chance we may be able to get the apartment we saw on Christmas Day. We keep moving forward, because the alternative is to not move at all.

And I refuse to allow that for myself.

#part 4

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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

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FIC: The Elephant in the Room ch.4 (baon)

Summary: Jeff has started working at the Embassy. He’s got a new job, a new car, and a new place to live. Now if only the rest of his life could fall into order, that’d be great. Any time now…any time at all…

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Past Suicidal Thoughts, Mental Health Issues, Friendship

Notes: Jeff is headed home after his chat with Red, and there is so much that he doesn’t understand. But he’s starting to see why no one goes looking for Red, (whose other name is chaos).

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

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By the time Jeff left the Embassy, most of the rush hour traffic had rushed on home, so it was a fairly easy drive to New New Home. Even the traffic lights seemed to be on his side, winking to green before he even tapped the brake. Everything was going his way, so it was a damn shame that his inner turmoil was really starting to rev up in speed.

Somehow now that his professional and personal life were getting it together, his love life was the thing falling apart and it didn’t make any damn sense. It wasn’t anything he could put a finger on, even. After a year of trying to figure out his place in, well, everywhere, it felt like things were on a good track. Not that he’d enjoyed getting stabbed to get there, but hell with it, if the gift horse was a little rough with the delivery, Jeff wasn’t going to argue with the outcome.

And now, he and Antwan were seeing each other more than ever, though that might be because of proximity more than anything. Antwan came over nearly every day after work, much to Blue’s rapturous delight. He’d stay for dinner and they’d all chat about their day, what was happening at the Embassy, new policies they were working on, hell, even taking a side track into what movies they wanted to see. It was like…like a family dinner, only one Jeff enjoyed, not like when he was a kid where they all sat silently at the large, mahogany table that his parents got years ago as a wedding gift, trying to eat as quickly as possible so he could escape. In the evening, they all might watch some television, Antwan working on his laptop if there was a big case coming up, or sometimes, he’d put his arms around Jeff and simply hold him, big and warm and right there. On those nights, Jeff sometimes secretly closed his eyes, the better to feel him with, my dear. Netflix would always be there, he needed to get his snuggle fix when he could. Antwan would either stay the night, since Jeff finally had a bed that could fit two fully grown humans and not barely most of one, or they’d drive over to sleep at Antwan’s place. Where they slept seemed to depend mostly on whether they were having sex or not, and maybe they’d started this with dinner and blowjobs, but Antwan wasn’t fussing about not getting laid every night. On the nights they stayed in Jeff’s bed, they curled up together and slept, the blankets pulled up around them in a comfy, secret world that Jeff wanted to stay in as long as he could.

Or, well, at least for the night. Because waking up in Antwan’s arms, with the smell of coffee wafting up the stairs? Yeah, Jeff was good with that. The first few days or so after he’d gotten out of the hospital, Jeff had been really worried; Antwan hadn’t seemed himself, but considering how fucked up that whole situation had been from the gate to the front door, maybe he should be happy Antwan had only seemed as odd as he had. Whatever his problem was, he seemed to have gotten past it and the last few weeks seemed like a little patch of heaven So, what the hell just happened in his office?

Jeff always figured Antwan and Red were friends of some sort; every Wednesday the two of them went out to the bar together, but that was definitely not a friendly bar-mate vibe he got today.

Not with Red sitting behind his desk, dressed like he might be called in to play the lead in West Side story at any moment and Antwan glaring at him like he was on the rival gang’s side.

It’d hurt a little when Antwan sort of dismissed him out the door, but that was easy enough to let go. The way he’d refused to take his eyes off Red made Jeff think a little of Edge, the way he looked around them now when they were all out in public.

Gone were the easy days of leaving Chinese restaurants without a care; now when they went down sidewalks, Edge tended to act like he was in threat assessment mode, and that was exactly how Antwan looked at Red. Stretch might be confident enough to ignore it, snatching up Edge’s hand to hold or pestering him with puns, but Jeff wasn’t quite so certain. Especially since Red wasn’t some random Human with a knife; he was a guy who showed up Thanksgiving dinner and movie nights, who Antwan shared drinks with almost week..

Better to let the two of them deal with their problems on their own. He hoped.

Jeff pulled into the driveway next to Blue’s Volkswagen, and he’d barely turned off the car when his phone buzzed with a text alert. The number came up as unknown, but even if his phone didn’t recognize the sender, Jeff did. hey, handy andy. think you can meet with me tomorrow, talk a little bit more about your pal steve Interesting. As anxiety-inducing as Red was, Jeff got a little thrill to think he might be able to actually help. Remembering that day last year on the bus, Stretch’s fear as that guy screamed at him. Thinking of Edge’s wary gaze while they were in Ebott. If he could help keep any Monster from feeling the same, even one, Jeff was all for it. He walked up the sidewalk to the door, past the flowerbeds on either side. Blue’s decorations were for a more subtle autumn, a little like he imagined someone’s grandma might have. Not exactly the same as the Halloween displays Stretch put up, weird to think those two were brothers. Jeff sure didn’t mind walking into a house that smelled like apple pie and cinnamon rather than his old place that always smelled a little like wet feet.

With the open floor plan, Jeff could see the dining room from the doorway and Blue was already laying out plates and silverware. “There you are,” Blue scolded before he even took off his shoes. “I was just about to text you.” It made Jeff have to hold back a smile. Having someone worrying about him wasn’t exactly something he was familiar with, not for a long time. He thought maybe he wouldn’t mind getting used to it. Blue was setting the table for three because Antwan almost always came over for dinner. Sometimes straight from work even if he wasn’t quite finished, and he’d have to leave the table to answer his phone, which made Blue tut and shake his head. He kept it to disapproving glances for Antwan, but Jeff’s gotten a couple of earfuls from Blue about how Antwan and Edge both worked too long and too hard, and needed to spend more time with family. Not that Antwan had any family close by, but Jeff figured the sentiment was nice. “Sorry, I should’ve called,” Jeff said contritely. Blue flapped a hand at him, already moving on. One thing about Blue that he’d learned quickly was that he didn’t hold a grudge. “No need to apologize! Dinner’s almost ready.” Which was certain to be delicious, based on every other meal he’d had since moving in.

If asked, Jeff wouldn’t be able to tell which of the skeleton family was a better cook. Partly because he valued his life; there an odd sort of tension between Blue and Edge that Jeff couldn’t help noticing, and adding another rivalry would probably be bad for the world. But also because frankly, their food was equally delicious. It was only different. Blue made homier meals that made Jeff think of small ma and pa diners, while Edge made an eclectic variety that wouldn’t be out of place at some hipster hole in the wall. Nobody was asking for his opinion yet and Jeff wasn’t about to offer. He wanted to keep enjoying the spoils of their labors, thanks, even if he would have to start getting up for morning runs. A knock at the door made them look up and the door opened before either of them could answer it. To Jeff’s surprise, it wasn’t Antwan but Stretch, offering them a lopsided grin and a wave. “Papy!” Blue moved in a blur that matched his namesake and Stretch was already kneeling down, pulling his brother into a tight embrace. “hey, bro,” Stretch gave him a clacking kiss on top of his skull, and Jeff had to look away, faint tears prickling. He’d always gotten the feeling that Stretch and Blue butted heads a lot, with a laundry list of issues between them. None of that seemed to affect how much they cared about each other and big hugs were the norm. Less so was Stretch standing with his brother balanced on one arm, waddling over to rope Jeff into a three-way hug. “heya, andy, how’s tricks?” “I haven’t come up with any new ones since I saw you this morning,” Jeff said, with an attempt at dryness. He didn’t really succeed, not with Blue snuggling in on one side and Stretch on the other, but eh, he wasn’t about to manage Edge’s Sahara-levels anyway. The kitchen timer going off put a quick end to it and Blue squirmed down, dashing off to the kitchen. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?” Jeff asked curiously. Stretch had come over a couple times for dinner after Jeff moved in, but usually on Wednesday when Edge was gone for the evening. “not sure,” Stretch admitted. “red sent me a text, told me i should come down and watch the show, and i haven’t done anything phenomenally stupid lately, so i figured i was due.” “Listening to Red is phenomenally stupid?” Stretch shrugged, “it’s bad for life expectancy, for sure.” “Papy, don’t you dare use that in the house,” Blue said the moment the kitchen door opened. The bony hand that was stealthy creeping towards Stretch’s hoodie pocket froze and slid guiltily away, “sorry, bro. habit.” “I don’t see how Edge allows you to vape in the house, anyway, I—“ Blue visibly caught himself and cleared his throat, “but of course, it’s his house. Are you staying for dinner?” “wouldn’t have come over at dinnertime if i wasn’t,” Stretch said easily. He straddled one of the dining room chairs, ignoring his brother’s fussing about sitting properly, honestly, Papy! Jeff only watched, bemused. He wasn’t sure what show Red wanted Stretch to watch, but this one never failed to amuse. Any time Blue said anything remotely like a slight against Edge, Stretch’s version of a punishment was being a passive-aggressive annoyance. It made him wonder if Blue actually knew exactly what Stretch was doing and simply accepted it as his due. An unspoken language shared between brothers. His phone buzzing again made Jeff frown and he looked down. It was an unknown number again. can you meet me in the cafeteria at noon? He didn’t think that would be a problem and texted back a quick affirmative. Another brisk knock at the door and it was a wonder that he hadn’t known immediately that it wasn’t Antwan the first time. Stretch’s knock was lazily rhythmic and Antwan’s a firm rap that announced his presence better than a fanfare. Not that Jeff minded; he kinda liked the forewarning, the better to appreciate Antwan when he came in. He usually came in his business suit, and yeah, that was pretty mouthwatering in a Risky Business sort of way. Better to Jeff’s way of thinking was days like today, when he stopped to change into casual clothes before coming over. Jeans and a soft pullover, and Jeff wanted to cling to him the same way that denim did. He wanted to snuggled into that pullover, breathe in his cologne and the familiar scent of his laundry detergent. He settled for a smile, widening as Antwan immediately strode over to give him a kiss. Um, okay, more like a kiss, with more enthusiasm and a hell of a lot more tongue than he usually gave for a simple hello. Not that Jeff was about to turn it down, he clung like Antwan was a life raft and he was drowning, heedless of their audience. Blue only cleared his throat and Stretch finally called, “the food is getting cold, romeo!” That wasn’t enough to stop him and Jeff knew it was rude, but he wasn’t much inclined to pull away either. Not from Antwan’s mouth, not from Antwan at all, he could stay here all night and to hell with dinner. His phone buzzing did what all the impatient huffs behind them didn’t. Antwan finally pulled away with a last, soft kiss, whispering to Jeff, “Is that important?” “It’s probably just Red again,” he whispered back. And, okay, maybe he’d said it deliberately, a test of sorts, but he couldn’t tell if Antwan’s expression was passing or failing from the way he scowled irritably. “What the hell does he want?” “Security stuff,” Jeff shrugged. Some of Stretch’s pettiness might be rubbing off on him because he left it at that, glancing at the text. scratch that, why don’t we go out to lunch. less chance of being overheard Sure, Jeff texted back. He gave Antwan’s sulky mouth a last peck and went into the dining room. The table was laden with a large casserole dish with rich gravy still bubbling, a basket filled with fluffy biscuits and a variety of vegetable side dishes. Stretch was already filling his plate, moaning his delight at the biscuits while Blue sat squirming with obvious happiness. In Jeff’s experience, all the skeletons liked to feed people, the ones who cooked most of all, and Jeff was more than happy to do his part for them. Conversation was put on hold in exchange for eating and for long moments there was only forks scraping plates and hums of appreciation. It wasn’t until they were on seconds that Blue spoke up to ask, “So, Jeff, what was it you needed to see Red about today that was so important?” “Um,” Jeff kept his gaze on his plate, because if he looked at Stretch, there was no doubt his friend would guess immediately. He couldn’t be sure that Stretch wouldn’t appreciate him meddling, he could be really moody about anyone being overprotective. If he was going to tell him, Jeff preferred it to be the only two of them rather than having Blue and Antwan laser-gazing him down. His phone buzzing saved him from answering. He started to reach for it and hesitated; he didn’t really want to be quite as passive aggressive as Stretch. “Oh, go ahead,” Blue sighed. “Antwan lives on his phone whether or not we’re at the table, anyway.” Normally, that would get a smart remark, maybe a little pointed sarcasm that making sure people weren’t stuck in jail was more important than dessert, but Antwan only watched mutely as Jeff checked the message. italian? mexican? I like Thai better, Jeff sent back and set his phone aside. “well?” Stretch asked, lazily amused. “what did red want this time?” “What makes you think it was Red?” Jeff hedged. “oh, no, don’t even try, you do not want to play this game with me, i’m way better than you are,” Stretch leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Try what?” Jeff said, purely innocent. “what did the little gremlin waaaaant,” Stretch sang out. “what did he want, what did he want, what did he want—“ “Papy, Jeff doesn’t need to tell us his personal business,” Blue said primly. As if his starry eye lights weren’t blown wide with curiosity, the traitor. “maybe jeff doesn’t, but andy is dying to say. c’mon, spill.” “He wanted to know if I liked Mexican or Italian,” Jeff admitted. “pfft, whatever,” Stretch sniffed, a pretty remarkable feat without a nose, “a true friend would know you’re not keen on either. too much from the tomato branch of the nightshade family.” “I can’t really say I like eating from any other branch related to nightshade, either.”

“You love mashed potatoes,” Blue pointed out. “give eggplant a try,” Stretch added, “edge makes a great—“ “Why is Red inviting you out for lunch,” Antwan burst out. That irritation from earlier seemed like a minor glitch in the Matrix compared to now. Visibly flustered, nothing of the cool, competent lawyer showing. “Security reasons.” Jeff said again. He didn’t want to make Antwan mad, but, damn if something about this wasn’t a little thrilling. Dangerously so, Jeff wasn’t great at playing with fire, he might be getting burned if he kept it up. But for now, Antwan was glaring at him and Jeff only looked back serenely. He could go to lunch with anyone he wanted, thank you, even so-called gremlins. “lunch. in-ter-esting,” Stretch drawled. He slanted a sly glance at Antwan. “didn’t red invite you? you guys should be a package deal, right?” Okay, that made Jeff wince, a little too pointed. But Antwan stepped up to the plate and swung, saying, “Is that how it’s supposed to be? Because you haven’t attended many of the lunches Edge and I have.” Stretch’s grin sharpened; looked like Antwan hit a home run. “touché. you’re probably right, anyway. i mean, you never come hang out when me and andy grab some nosh.” “Yeah, because I trust you,” Antwan said shortly. “Do you trust me?” Quietly. Because this was funny, but. Yeah. Jeff really needed to know. Something hot twisting in his chest slowly unraveled as Antwan gave him a stricken look. “Of course I do, it’s—“ A knock at the door interrupted him and Jeff needed to fight the urge to shout, ‘go away!’. This was an answer he damn well needed and he didn’t care anymore that Blue and Stretch were watching avidly. Before he could stumble over into rude, the door opened and Edge stepped in. His gaze lit on Stretch and without preamble he announced. “We’re leaving.” A chorus of protests rose, loudly from Blue and Stretch, weakly from Jeff, and not a single word from Antwan, who was looking down at his plate, his fingers pressed so hard against the table that the nail beds were blanched. Edge was unmoved, only crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, please.” “excuse me? i just got here!” Stretch grumbled. Blue looked like he’d bitten into a lemon, surely plenty of words locked behind his teeth that Jeff would hear later about Edge being too controlling, while in another minute he’d complain that Edge let Papy get away with too much. “And you’re just going,” Edge said evenly. “Neither of us are going to be party to whatever my brother is doing.” “but-” whatever Edge silently communicated made Stretch trail off. He sighed out, “yeah, okay, i’m out. sorry, guys.” “For what?” Jeff asked, bewildered. This whole thing was confusing, but he wasn’t really sorry to lose half the audience. Stretch only shrugged. “beats me, but i bet we’ll figure it out soon.” Stretch snagged his coat and slid it on. Then he stood still, smiling crookedly while Edge fussed over him, making sure he had the hood up against the evening chill. A last wave and he was out the door, Edge at his heels and the last glance Edge gave Antwan was so incongruous on his angular face at first Jeff didn’t recognize it for what it was. Helpless apology and whether it was for Stretch, Red, or a combination of the two was anyone’s guess. “Honestly, what’s gotten into everyone!” Blue huffed out as he started gathering up plates. “Going to lunch with Red is perfectly fine, he and I go out sometimes! He’s a bit uncouth, certainly, but-“ The chime of a text sounded, but for once, it wasn’t Jeff’s. Blue broke off with surprise, hopping down to his feet and going to where his phone was set on an end table. “Maybe Papy forgot something—hm. That’s odd.” “What’s odd?” Blue frowned at the little screen. “Antwan, Red is asking me to tell you that his offer is still open?” Everything simultaneously made more and less sense. Obviously, Antwan and Red were having it out about something, and whatever offer Red had made didn’t seem to be for anything as simple as lunch.

Antwan stood abruptly with a rattle of plates and silverware. “Excuse me for a moment,” Antwan said stiffly, and he walked straight out the front door, shutting it firmly behind him. “Goodness,” Blue said. His round face was drawn up with worry. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” “I’m sure it’s fine,” Jeff said slowly. He really wasn’t. “Let’s clear off the table.” By the time they were done and the leftovers neatly labeled and put away, Antwan still hadn’t come back in. Jeff wasn’t sure which way on the path to head, wait for him or not? But the tight knot of worry in his chest was giving him a lead. “I’m going to check on him.” “Yes, all right. Jeff?” Blue gave him a gentle smile. “I’m sure everything is all right.” He really wished he had Blue’s certainty. Antwan hadn’t gone far. It wasn’t quite dark yet, the sun at the crest of the horizon, but it was chilly. Antwan wasn’t wearing a coat, but he didn’t seem to notice the cold. He was sitting on the porch, smoking, the cigarette burned down almost to the butt. He flicked a glance Jeff’s way as he stepped out, but only took another wordless drag. Not inviting but not asking him to leave, so Jeff would choose his own adventure.

He stepped out, shutting the door behind him. “Stretch just quit so you’re taking it up?” Jeff teased, uncertainly. “He’s not quitting,” Antwan scoffed. “He didn’t quit the ten other times he tried. And I’m not taking it up. Quit a few years ago, but sometimes the need hits.” He took a last puff and then pinched it out. “Come here?” With one hand, he guided Jeff down to the lower step to sit between his feet, then draped his arms over Jeff’s shoulders, pulling him in before he could even start shivering. Antwan was big enough to practically wear like a blanket and Jeff snuggled in, basking in his warmth. Right here, he could be happy right here for just about forever. Except he didn’t think Antwan was quite as content, and Jeff hated to rock the boat. He’d been avoiding it from the beginning, clinging to the temporary.

But if Antwan wasn’t happy, maybe it was time to risk falling overboard. He had a home here now, friends, family. Jeff wouldn’t be alone. But, god, it was going to hurt to lose him. "What's wrong?" Jeff asked, softly. He felt Antwan inhale, long and deep, exhaled and Jeff could smell cigarettes and spicy, familiar cologne. "Edge told me once he almost lost out on everything by being an asshole,” Antwan whispered it to him, raw and low. "Please, don't let me make the mistake that he missed. Please stay with me." That…wasn’t like anything Jeff was braced to hear, and the pain in Antwan’s voice echoed in his own chest. He tried to pull away, to twist around and look at Antwan, but he refused to let go, holding tight until Jeff subsided. He could only sit on the cold step, Antwan warm behind him as Jeff blurted out, bewildered, “But I wasn't going anywhere.” “No?” Antwan settled his chin on Jeff’s shoulder, digging in a little, and he could feel as much as hear him speaking. “Baby, I don’t want you to stay because you’re afraid you don’t have anywhere else to go, either.” Jeff swallowed hard, okay, yeah, he could see how someone could think that; he was kind of needy, always wanting more, but, “I’m not. I’m really not, I swear.” “Shh,” Antwan’s arms tightened, lips brushing Jeff’s cheek. “It’s okay. Do you remember talking to me in the hospital, the day after your surgery. You might not, you were a little out of it.” “Maybe?” Antwan had been there a lot right after his surgery and Jeff’s memories of it were blurred through painkillers. Antwan nodded a little. “Do you remember telling me you love me?”

Oh. Jeff closed his eyes, squeezed them shut hard, “Antwan-“ “You don’t, do you. And you haven’t said it again, but that’s okay, because we both know I haven’t either.” Antwan sighed heavily, and his arms were strong and firm around Jeff, not letting him escape. Not pushing him away. “What kind of lover have I been that you were afraid to tell me?” “I wasn’t afraid of you!” Jeff blurted, because he couldn’t bear this, hadn’t even known Antwan was hurting and it was his fault. “But you were of how I’d react,” Antwan insisted. “Which means I’ve done a shitty job of letting you know how much I love you.” Hot tears were blurring Jeff’s vision. This…this was…“You don’t have to—“ “I do have to,” Antwan rubbed their cheeks together, stubble faintly scraping. “I do, because it’s true and I should have told you a long time ago, and now I’m losing you.” “You’re not.” A broad thumb stroked gently down the side of Jeff’s face, wiping away tears that were starting to escape from beneath his lashes. “But you don’t believe me when I say I love you and I don’t blame you. What do I have to do to make you believe?" The wet streaks on Jeff’s face were cooling in the chilly wind and he finally opened his eyes, ready to see what was in front of him. Tidy flowerbeds, the sidewalk, the road, other cookie cutter homes with their own flowers, filled with people he knew. All of New New Home, right there. Everything he’d ever wanted in life was coming to him, like maybe he hadn’t helped a Monster on the bus a year ago, he’d helped a genie and wishes he hadn’t dared make were still coming true. Friends, family, a job. And love, if he was brave enough to reach for it. Five years ago, Jeff might not have, two years, one year. But Andy had come to life in him since then and he was more than ready to grab hold. “I guess you should stay with me and keep saying it as much as you can,” Jeff said, and if his voice trembled, who here would care? “You’re bound to convince me eventually." He felt as Antwan suddenly laughed, the rich, warm chuckle that Jeff loved so much filling the air and taking the tension with it. He squeezed Jeff playfully hard, making him wheeze. “I think I can make an argument for that. You know, at the hospital, I asked you to move in with me.” “Oh.” Jeff swallowed hard with new dismay, he wanted that, he did, but he’d just moved in with Blue and— Antwan saved him, again, fingers combing through Jeff’s windblown hair. “I’d love to have you, but this is okay, too. Maybe take a little while and get used to the whole love thing?” Gentle, uncertain teasing. “Blue is a nice guy and I think having you here has been good for him. He and the other diplomats have a big trip coming up in a few months, maybe when he leaves, we can revisit the idea?” “I’d like that.” Jeff took a deep breath, let it out, because it was his turn, drugged confessions notwithstanding, and he could do this. “I love you.” “I love you, too.” Terrifyingly thrilling to hear it echoed back again and maybe Antwan knew that, adding, “Get used to hearing me say it.” “It might take a while,” Jeff admitted. “That’s fine.” Warm lips brushed Jeff’s temple. “I don’t have anything else I want to do more.”

Okay, enough was enough. Jeff needed a kiss to seal this deal and he needed it now. He squirmed free of Antwan’s grabby hold, fumbling his way to his knees and kissing him before he even caught his balance. Let Antwan keep him from falling off the step, pulling him in close, cupping his face in large, warm hands. His mouth was hot, his lips cold, and Jeff slipped both arms around Antwan and held on tight. He was still lost in that heady kiss when his phone buzzed again. Jeff ignored it. He had everything he needed for now right here.

Lunch could wait.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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mazojo · 6 years ago

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I'm loving your drunk headcanon! How about a scenario where jumin and mc are having an argument about him being overworked and not getting any real rest and he went back to the company with bitterness. Feeling worried for him mc decides to go to Jumin to make ammend but something terrible happens when someone tries to kill him. At the last minute mc turn the table around and protect him and takes the blow instead. I really love a desperate jumin. Can you make this angsty and ends it with a fluff

Ohhhhh thank youu ~~ I love me some Jumin angst head canons so i’ll give it a try

Warning: Some violence so beware ~

Jumin x MC Fight Headcanon

MC is on their penthouse sitting stiffly on their living room couch, the apartment feeling very cold. Its 11pm and he still hasn’t arrived. As she leaves another voice call again for what feels like the 20th time that night the door unlocks and in comes the man of the hour.

- “God I hate company meetings, seriously do these airheads think they could put information past me? I am so go-”

- Suddenly Jumin trails off seeing MC sitting on the couch, her beautiful face is full of emotion he cant decipher, anger? sadness? disappointment?

- “Jumin Han do you know what time it is? Do you know how worried sick ive been? Is your phone suddenly absent when your wife calls you to know when you are arriving home?”

- She never called him by his full name, never.

- Crap, he totally forgot to turn his phone on after the meeting and the whole ride home he was too angry thinking about the way the meeting had gone, he should have called her.

- “I am extremely sorry MC. Today has been an off day and I would rather you not get agitated right now. Have you eaten? Did the chef’s cuisines meet your standards?”

- “Jumin Han I am being serious right now and you are talking about food quality? Its the third time this week the meetings have kept you longer than 9pm. And dont you dare change the topic to cuisine standards” MC said the last part with a mocking tone bordering sadness.

- But he wasn’t changing he topic. Couldn’t she see he was genuinely concerned about the food quality? He couldn’t bare her having something that didn’t reach excellence. Couldn’t she see this was all for her? He wouldn’t stand being less than perfect, the man she deserved.

- “I worked this schedule because I need to be the perfect man for you, to deserve your love. I didn’t me-”

- “This isn’t what I signed up for Jumin Han! I want your company to succeed and I am trying to understand your work habits, but not at the expense of your health, sleep and my sanity! Sitting for the past 2 hours waiting for a call or a miserable text! This isn’t the life I want!”

- The temperature suddenly drops by 10 degrees and MC regrets the words as soon as she says them. Of course this is the man he wants, just not when overworking to strive perfection for her blinds him.

- It stings. This isn’t the life she wants? Of course it isn’t. Who would like to be with someone emotionally unstable who doesn’t know a thing about relationships? He is the problem, always have been.

- “You’re right, I need to go, I need to think. Please do not follow me. Go get the rest you deserve and we’ll talk later when we cool off” His tone was cool and calculating but the could see how much her words hurt him.

- Jumin grabs his car keys in a hurry and doesn’t even ask the chauffeur to accompany him, he needed to be alone.

- MC crumbles as tears of anger, frustration and sadness roll down her cheeks. Stupid. Why cant he see she loves him no matter how many deals he closes? She just wants him to let loose a little and realize he loves Jumin Han for the cat loving concerned self, not corporate director Jumin Han for his titles.

- MC looks at the time, 11:20, its way too late and she knew were he was headed. He always went to the office and trap himself in a pile of work whenever he is stressed out. MC grabs her coat and gets in the first cab passing by against the security guards protests. They knew Mr. Han would not approve MC going out by herself on a cab at this hour.

- Meanwhile Jumin is driving faster than he should. The words This isn’t the life I want screaming in his head.

- He stops the car in front of the building he left no longer than an hour ago. sigh. As he ran a hand through his hair he thought about the look MC gave him as the worlds rolled out. Regret.

- He loses his tie remembering it was the one MC choose. She always made sure to wake up with him to have breakfast and select his tie. Her picks were always perfect and those few moments they stole each morning remained with him for the rest of the day while he constantly looked at his watch for the time to arrive home and see her beautiful eyes. God he loved her eyes and the way they looked at him with concern for the tiniest things like whether he ate lunch or wether he liked her outfit (mind you, he always did, she was perfect). Tonight those eyes were cold and unforgiving.

- As he turned on the phone exiting the car he noticed some movement in the corner of his eyes.

- The cab MC took drove fast, she was sure they were breaking the speed limit but she didn’t care. She needed to find her husband.

- As they arrive, MC rolls out a couple bills not even caring for the change and with only one thought in mind, Jumin.

- She sees it first. The man approaching his dark haired boy with an impeccable stealth and a knife. No.

- Time seems to stop and as Jumin slowly turns around sensing something is off the man raises his knife menacing demanding he gives him his phone.

- Jumin eyes widen and is struck dumb in his place. As the man starts approaching Jumin, each step more threateningly, Jumin catches a sight of straight brown hair in the corner and panic fills him up. What is she doing here?

- “Dont you dare lay a hand on him!” MC screams while pushing Jumin out of the way just as the man strikes with his knife, slashing MC’s side. With MC’s scream and noticing the security cameras on the front of the building, he flees.

- No. no no no. Idiot. A feeling Jumin had never felt took over him. She is hurt and its my fault. Its my god damn fault someone laid a hand on her.

- MC clutches her side and falls to the pavement. As she looks up she finds Jumin with the most petrified and horrified expression on his face.

- Realizing he is standing there staring at her he finally decided to move for MC. The first thing he does is hug her fiercely, not even caring about the blood which will certainly leave a stain on his blazer. Red, so red.

- “Its okay, it was just a cut, probably will only leave a bruise”. He knew her damn well to know she was playing it off. She is bleeding.

- “Take your shirt off” He said it as a first instinct leaving all poise aside, he needed to see the wound. MC eyes widen and he realizes she is still laying down in the cold floor in a public street with a wound on her side which was his fault.

“Shit. shit. shit” Without thinking it twice he carries her making sure she is comfortable in his arms. He takes her over to his car and fumbling with his keys, lays her down on the passenger seat rolling her shirt aside to examine the wound.

- He would call the paramedics. No they take too damn long. If he called the firefighters they could clear the already empty streets and arrive faster to the hospital. He could drive her but there was no way she would travel in the backseat by herself risking falling down or straining herself. He could probably call his private chauffeur to bring the helicopter bu-

- “Honey, its okay, I am okay. The important thing is that you are okay” Remembering he hadn’t say a word for the last 30 seconds he suddenly turned to her meeting her eyes for the first time since the incident. Since the fight. No, the thing is that you are not okay and I wasn’t able to save you.

- As MC meets Jumin’s eyes she sees an edge on his normally composed face. He was terrified and she needed to reassure him she was there, she was his.

- Gathering a little strength MC sits up enough to catch his lips and wake him up from his trance. It seems to work as he desperately holds onto her, tears working their way into his cheeks.

- “Honey, this is what we will do; you’ll grab your phone and call an ambulance which should arrive in 10 minutes or so considering urgent care is 5 blocks ahead. We will wait here and in no way am I letting you take the blame for this. I decided to come follow you and tackle you, and god knows what would have happened if I didn’t. I am here and I am yours”

- She is perfect and I am a fool.

- “MC, I-I swear if someone touches you again ever they will pay. God, he will pay and I am making damn sure they find that piece of trash to rot in jail.”

- It was unsettling seeing him so decompose, his calming features twisted in a rage she had never seen as he dials the hospital and as he hangs the phone MC remembers the reason why she was coming in the first place to look for him.

- “Babe I know its not the best of times, god I was just stabbed and a man almost killed you but I- I am so s-sorry” She tried her best not to cry but broke down in the last word. “I-I didn’t mean what I said and of c-course this is the life I want, hell I would give my life for y-yours, its just… Seeing the eye bags under your eyes each morning kills me because you work so damn hard all the t-time and my one job as your wive is to ensure you’re okay and I even fail at that a-and…”

- Jumin holds her as her sobbing intensifies and his features soften. He knew she meant every word she just said and knowing he had caused her such pain made his insides churn. He pressed his lips to hers softly, like she would break, and convey everything he was thinking. He loved her and she will never suffer again because of him, never.

Lolll I kinda went overboard //hides. Thanks for the request! Hope I made it justice ;w;

#mystic messenger #my headcanons #headcanon #hc #mystic messenger headcanon #mysme #jumin #ask #request #fic

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dis-easedfairy · 7 years ago

Text

Impulsive Decision Pt.6

Female Path | Male Path

Chapter 6: Different Feelings

Warnings: Kidnapping | Mentions of Rape | Slight Smut (not really)

Genre: Poly!au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, yandere!au

Pairings: BTS x Reader / Kim Taehyung x Reader / Kim Seokjin x Reader / Jung Hoseok / OC x Reader / Park Jimin x Reader (just a lil bit)

Word Count: 5,654 (sorry got carried away!)

Summary: F/n is the owner of a very wealthy and successful company, Barnanby Inc. F/n attends a BTS show. They make a very impulsive decision to show a loophole in BTS’s security and end up kidnapping BTS and 2 girls. In a fit of panic F/n stashes BTS and the girls in a very luxurious bunker for the time being, but F/n’s world slowly starts to crumble the longer the boys are out of the public’s eye.

A/N: Sorry this took longer than it was supposed to. I’m going to start Pt.7 as soon as I can!

I woke up in what seemed like Jason’s apartment. The room was too bright and I’m sure I puked in the trash near me at some point. I pulled myself off the couch and stumbled to the bathroom. I was wearing black ripped jeans, a white t-shirt, black boots and my father's varsity jacket last night. I had it all on, but the boots weren’t tied right, my pants unzipped, my shirt stretched out. The only thing left untouched was my jacket, thank god.

I wasn’t sure where Jason was, but I turned on the shower and opened the window for fresh air. I began to peel off the clothes, examining the bruises on my neck, chest, arms, legs, thighs, and stomach. I felt an emotional detachment from the bruises, like it was no big deal. I untied my boots and pulled off my pants and socks. More bruises. I got in the shower and just hoped Jason went to the bunker.

After the shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and took a shirt from Jason. I put on my clothes from last night and searched for my phone. I found it under the couch.

I headed to the company, went into my office and stood there like nothing happened.

Around lunch I got a call on my office phone. I picked it up as I worked on what it would take to expand to snacks.

“ Barnaby Inc. L/n F/n speaking.” I answered, getting out a pad and pen.

“F/n? What are you doing at the office!? Everyone is worried.” Jason’s voice rang through.

“Everyone? Who’s everyone?”

“Jin, Tae, Hobi, Seongmi, they were wondering why you didn’t come home! I came this morning and thought you’d get here and explain why I just found you laying on the ground by the river!”

“Listen I have a lot of work to-”

“Why do you sound emotionless?” Tae suddenly asked.

“Of course I’m on speakerphone. Just, don’t worry. I’m working. I’ll be home for dinner.” I lied, turning back to my computer.

“Did you eat lunch?” Hobi asked.

“I’ll order something later.”

“F/n, what happened last night?” Jin questioned softly.

“Honestly? I don’t remember, okay?”

“Are you sure you’re fine?” Jason pressed.

“Yes! Just peachy, would you like to know my blood type as well?” I snapped.

I sighed.

“I’m sorry. That was wrong of me, you all just care. I’ll be okay, I just need the day to myself.” I added.

I saw a few interns guiding two men in police uniforms to my office.

“I have to go! I’ll be home for dinner.” I hung up before they could respond and waved them in before the intern could knock.

“Hello, officers? What can I help you with?” I asked, leaning on my desk like I actually cared.

“We’re here regarding the kpop group BTS, you must have heard they’ve gone missing by now?” Officer #1 stated.

Officer #1 looked like he was in his late 30’s. Office #2, however, looked about my age, he was actually pretty hot.

“I have heard. It would be impossible not to. Why?” I questioned.

“The police department would like for you to run an announcement on leads or other police matters regarding the case. We had gone you your sister, Broadcasting, but she stated that you were fully in charge of finalizing everything.”

What a way to throw me under the bus, Jillian.

I frowned.

“Well, that’s regarding advertisement and lower budget animations. I don’t see why she didn’t let you run it. If you give it to me, I’ll be sure to have it broadcasted and give you the schedule in when it runs. ” I promised, writing when I felt the announcement should be scheduled.

“Thank you, Miss. L/n. That would be greatly appreciated.” Office #1 sighed in relief as he handed me the papers and a USB.

“Where were you when BTS went missing?” Officer #2 quickly asked, earning a look from Officer #1.

I looked up to meet his gaze.

“With my family. We’re trying to expand to video games so we’ve been very busy here. I was supposed to go to the event but I chose to work instead, I sold my ticket to a random person online and that was that. I heard it was a good show…not considering the aftermath.” I didn’t miss a beat or falter.

Officer #2 only nodded, dropping his gaze to the floor. I was praying they didn’t check my bank account. I did use my credit card to buy the everyone things, I used cash. They would see that I was using a lot more money than usual though.

I finished the makeshift schedule and signed the bottom of the paper and handed it to Officer #1.

“This is roughly when the announcements should come out, I signed it so your higher-ups will know it’s legit. I’ll be sure to call to tell you the exact times and or if anything changes.”

After the police left I called in an order for lunch, making sure I ate. As I was waiting I foolishly looked at my phone gallery.

The pictures I didn’t want to see.

The videos that were disgusting.

The recordings that made me actually queasy.

I threw my phone across the room. I hated that phone and everything in it. I gathered my things and on the way out I get out a frustrated sigh. I walked over to the shattered phone and picked it up. I decided to pick up lunch and finally face everyone at the bunker.

As soon as I got out the car my heart started racing and I knew I had to get in there, say what I needed to and get away from everyone as soon as I could. I quickly unlocked the vault door and pinched in the dial code. I went as quick as I could to the double doors and was relieved to see them all gathered around the kitchen island. I grabbed the magnetic pad off the fridge and a pen that was nearby.

Dog. Cloud. Moon. Stars. Rain. Cat.

I pulled out the vault key and slammed it on top of the note as my chest felt tighter. I took my phone out my pocket and put it on the counter so I could get my keys from the same pocket and added it to the pile.

“You’re all free to leave tomorrow morning.” I announced, making everyone’s eyes widen,

“F/n, you can’t be se-” I cut Jason off by holding my hand out.

“The longer you are all gone the worse everything will get. I… I’m an emotional wreck right now. Right now there is so much hitting me right now, but tomorrow I’ll be completely numb. So here is the dial code and the key to the vault. I’m sure Jason won’t mind driving you, just make up a story for him please.” I started quickly as I could feel and hear my heart going a million miles a minute.

“No! Not yet, F/n! At least wait until this partnership goes through!” Jason begged.

“No! It’s not right, Jason!” I argued as I felt a heaviness on my chest as it tightened up.

“What happened last night!? Why is your phone shattered!? And why did you never pick up when I called you on it!?” Jason demanded.

“Who fucking cares about this fucked up phone!?” I grabbed my phone and threw it in an empty island drawer so no one saw or talked about it.

The room was dead silent.

“You’re free tomorrow. I figured you’d all be happy.” I struggled a little to breathe with a sad smile as tears started to form in my eyes.

I quickly left the room and found an empty unfurnished bedroom and sat on the floor as I felt my throat start to close up. I pulled my knees to my chest as my breathing became labored. I wasn’t sad, but a choked sob came from my chest as tears began to gather more.

I woke up to the sound of the door opening harshly. The light from the hallway was bright. I just saw a figure at the door.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” The person growled.

“Wha-?”

Jimin closed the door behind him and flicked on the lights. He walked closer to me. His face was twisted with pure anger, but he had tears in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone!? Why didn’t you go to the police!?” He almost shouted.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jimin pulled my shattered phone out his pocket.

“I figured out the password. I saw it all! They said their names in the videos, F/n! Those dumbasses showed their faces! You have solid evidence! You have proof that they raped you and yet you sit here doing nothing! Here! Look! ” Jimin got my phone and pulled up a video, holding it close to my face.

I hit his arm away, looking in the opposite direction.

“You’re seriously going to let these disgusting human beings walk around with no punishment!? What if they try to do it to someone else!? What if they come for you again because they think you’re compliant by not telling!?”

“What do you expect me to do!? Eighty percent of the police don’t care, Jimin! Not for my family at least! They will do less than they can! They don’t care what evidence you have that will prove I’m a victim! The fact that I kidnapped 9 people will also be found out if I tell! Jason isn’t out of the woods yet for me to do that!” I shouted back.

“No one deserves that! You don’t deserve that!” Jimin began to pace.

“Linza thinks so.” I spit coldly, making Jimin freeze.

“I mean if I go to the police, I’d be a hypocrite.” Jimin’s eyes widened.

“No! You won’t be! You’re not a rapist!” He suddenly sounded hurt.

“Says who? What if Tae, Jin, Hobi, and Seongmi fell into my ‘sick game’.”

“Stop! I’m sorry okay!? You’re not a rapist! You’re just a girl who got sca-”

“A psychotic fan who isn’t sure of their sexuality.”

“Stop!”

“That’s what I was when Linza tried to pin me down to the bed! That’s what I was when you held a knife to my back right!? Let’s keep it that way!”

Jimin shook his head rapidly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for yo-” I cut him off.

“I don’t get why you suddenly care about what happens to me. This isn’t the first time this happens, and with my luck, it may not be the last!” I stood up and began to push Jimin out the room.

“Go tell Linza, I bet she’s just dying to see the videos since she wanted to do the same. I’d bet you’d defend her if she tried again.” I snapped.

Jimin whirled around and grabbed my upper arms.

“No! I promise I won’t defend her anymore! She’s sick! I won’t even look her direction if you don’t want me to! Just tell the police, F/n! They can’t get away with this!” Jimin pleaded.

I thought I actually saw pain in his eyes. I knew better now, he seemed caring and nice but didn’t actually care at all. When the next argument would happen, he wouldn’t defend me. If Linza decided to go after me again, he wouldn’t protect me. I smirked.

“They will.” I pushed him fully out and closed the door, locking it this time.

I shut the lights back off and leaned against the wall. I just wanted sleep, until the cops came.

I woke up again in a room I couldn’t figure out at first, until I saw two Barnaby plushies on the bed across from the one I was on. I pulled myself to sit up. I looked around the room, trying to figure out why I was here and not arrested.

The door to the room opened. Tae slipped in, he was wearing just a regular gray sweater and black sweat pants. He saw I was awake and smiled.

I was happy to see him if I was being perfectly honest. Meaning they, or at least, he didn’t leave.

“How are you feeling?” Tae asked, quickly taking the place beside me on the edge of the bed beside me.

Numb.

“Uh, I’ll get back to you on that one.” I smiled a little.

Tae frowned and put his hand on the center of my chest and slowly pushed me back. I lied back, confused as to what he wanted. Tae out his hand that was on my chest on the other side of me so he could hover over me. He was so close, yet I wasn’t even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

I scanned his face and smiled. I cupped his face and ran my thumb gently under his left eye.

“I hope people tell you how much your beauty marks make them crazy. ” I said is almost a whisper.

He smiled. He closed his eyes and came a little closer, letting his nose brush against mine. He began to rub his nose against mine, earning a giggle from me. He opened his eyes. Something about the way his half-lidded eyes were staring me made me keep his gaze. His eyes dropped to my lips and went back up to my eyes.

My heart started to speed up, I’m sure it wasn’t any mental or physical disorders causing it. Just him.

I felt now. I felt wanted. Accepted. Comforted. Loved. His said so much without opening his mouth as his hand slid from the bed up my arm to the side of my neck. His eyes dropped back down to my lips as he tilted his head and softly pressed his lips to mine.

The numbness was gone as I felt a million emotions at once. I returned the kiss moving my other hand to grip the side of his shirt and tilted my head to deepen the kiss. His other hand held onto my hip as he pulled away slightly to end this kiss. His hands left my neck and hip as they went to the front of my jeans.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going any farther, I just want to make you more comfortable.” He assured be against my lips.

He unzipped my jeans and began to pull them down. I was suddenly hyper-aware of him seeing my underwear and the bruises littered around my body, but Tae didn’t seem to acknowledge either of them. I lifted up a bit to let him take my jeans off properly. once he got to my ankles, he moved off to the foot of the bed, to my shoes and untied them, taking them off and finished removing my jeans.

Something about it all seemed very…husband.

He climbed back on the bed and crawled on top of me. Sitting on my thighs as he slid his hands up from my stomach to my jacket.

“I didn’t know you played sports.” He frowned a bit.

“I don’t. It’s my dad’s.” He tilted his head slightly with a slight smile and pushed the jacket off my shoulders.

I propped myself on my elbows, letting it slide off more. He climbed off to me and went to the dresser. He pulled out an oversized yellow hoodie and got back on the bed. I pulled my jacket off completely and took off my shirt. He handed me the hoodie.

I had no idea why I was so comfortable. I even slipped my hands under the hoodie to take off my bra and handed it to him! He put my bra in the same drawer he got the hoodie from, not even reacting to it.

“Jin hyung will be in here to force-feed you in a little bit.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

I sighed, Jin would. Tae grabbed a throw blanket off the bedpost and threw it over my legs. Tae came close again, his hand squeezing my thigh. He gave me a quick kiss on the nose and seemed to giggle when heat flooded my face.

“Hobi hyung has been dying to see you too, I’ll see you later night, Girlfriend.” His smiled and made his way out.

Tae calling me ‘Girlfriend’ always seemed like he was joking and teasing, but maybe all this time he really wasn’t.

Oh god, I agreed to him rubbing my tits yesterday.

I put my face in my hands (sweater paws) as my face was on fire at this point. I peeked out to look at the clock on the dresser between the two beds. It was 7am. I was surprised I didn’t need to pee. The door flew open, making me jump.

Jin came in, bowl with a spoon in it in his hand a small foldable table under his arm. He beamed at me.

“Glad to see you’re awake now! ” He set the bowl down on the dresser by the door and set the table up in front of the bed.

He set the bowl down on the table as he sat on the bed. The bowl looked like it was full of yogurt, granola, and several different fruits. Blueberries, strawberries, kiwis, bananas, grapes, peach, pomegranate, cherries, apple and what looked like a drizzle of honey over the whole thing.

“Do I have to force you to eat or will you be good for me?” His words made the heat in my face return.

I tried to hide my face with one of my hands, “I’ll be good,” I mumbled.

“Good girl” He smirked, looking at my face, more heat to my face.

Was he testing me?? Jin never looked at me like that before. Then again neither did Tae.

I moved to the edge of the bed and began eating. Jin brushed my hair out my face, gaze similar to the one Tae gave me. He was going to make me choke on my granola-fruit-honey-yogurt if he kept that up.

Stay in your lane, Kim Seokjin.

I began to pay more attention to my yogurt until I felt Jin’s hand move over a squeeze my thigh. He scooted closer to me.

“F/n? You look adorable in that hoodie.” He chuckled.

Why was his voice suddenly more deep??

He took a cherry out my bowl and popped it between his perfect lips. I quickly snapped my eyes back to the bowl. His hands wandered to the throw blanket.

“May I?” He asked in a whisper.

I only nodded. Jin pulled the blanket back. He frowned, tracing a bruise on my folded legs. He stood up, slid the table away and got on his knees in front of me. He lifted my left leg. While not breaking eye contact Jin slowly leaned down and kissed the bruise he was tracing.

He broke eye contact and he looked for another bruise and kissed that one, then another. I covered my face with my hands, the heat coming off my face could warm the whole room. He didn’t stop until he kissed the last bruise on my thigh. He pushed my legs open and put himself between them so he was face to face with me.

“Have I ever told you how everyone stares when you walk into a room?” He whispered.

I shook my head, fully shy now. He chuckled at my shyness and pulled my hands from my face. He ghosted his lips over mine.

“I think Taehyung and Hoseok get jealous when everyone stares. I know I do. Yet, I feel so proud at the same time. ”

“Why proud?” My voice was small.

“Because you’re ours and no one else's. Of course, you’d be perfect if you caught my attention.” I feel like he tried to sound like he was joking on the last part.

Yet I felt like the first part had a darker undertone.

He put his hands up to cup my face. So close. I felt his lips touch mine softly. The kiss was soft and slow, soon my hands were sliding up his chest, to his neck then finally into his hair. Jin slid one of his hands down to the side of my thigh and pulled me closer.

Tae filled me with comfort and assurance, warmth and understanding. Jin was this sweet blush. I felt taken care of. Jin was a different comfort I couldn’t explain.

He pulled away, a smile on his face.

“Finish your breakfast and rest more okay? I’ll have Hoseok bring you lunch.” Jin stated cheerfully, like he didn’t just get me the shyest I’ve ever felt in my life.

He stood up, moving away from me and pulling the blanket on my lap. He slid the table back into place and bent down to give me a kiss on my forehead.

“Eat up, N/n.” Once again I was left in the room.

“What the actual fuck is happening?” I asked myself breathlessly.

I stretched and smelled something heavenly. I looked over at the bed across from me and Hobi was casually playing a game on his phone, nothing out of the ordinary. As soon as I sat up he turned to me, brightest smile on his face.

“You’re up now!” I’ve never seen someone so excited to see me before.

Hobi got up and got a plate off the dresser and set it in front of me. He sat next to me.

“Who do I praise because this looks magical!” It was Tonkatsu or a version of it.

Tonkatsu was basically a breaded and fried pork cutlet that was usually served with rice and its own sauce with different variations depending on where you got it.

Hobi beamed, “I made it!”

“It looks amazing, Hobi! Seriously. I tried to make it once, but the breading stuck to the pan, considering all the oil I put. I’m usually a good cook so it really surprised me at the time.” I talked like an excited child.

I suddenly realized how much closer Hobi was sitting next to me.

Oh no, I refuse to be blushing and shy this time.

I quickly decided to have the upper hand.

“Hobi?” I asked, my voice softer than usual.

“Yes, N/n?” He answered, not seeming to notice.

I looked over at him, he was actually checking me out, which made me feel more confident for what I was about to do.

I smirked as I crawled on to his lap, facing him.

“So, Hobi, what were you planning to once I woke up?” I tested, feeling a sense of pride wash over me as he had a surprised look on his face.

I slid my hands up his chest to his shoulders, waiting for an answer. Hobi put his hands on my thighs, closed his eyes and leaned forward, once our lips connected I felt a surge of passion, a surge of dominance.

I moved my hands from his shoulders to his hair and tugged his head back. He let out a gasp that allowed me to deepen the now rough kiss. Hobi’s hands slid up to my hips. I playfully slid my tongue into his mouth for a reaction and was more than pleased to hear a groan from him. His hands immediately groped my ass, pulling me closer.

The kiss made me feel raw passion. It was like fire igniting my body, begging for me to go farther.

Hobi turned and picked me up off his lap to lie me down on the bed. He pulled away, smirk on his face as his hand slid up from my hip, up my hoodie. He lifted my hoodie to expose my stomach and more bruises. He ended up doing exactly when Jin did. Kissing each bruise.

I swore I felt his tongue brush against a few. He came back up to kiss my lips and fit himself between my legs. He pulled back a little bit, beautiful smile on his face. His smile made my heart face and my chest feel warm.

“You should eat before Jin, Tae, and Seongmi kill me.” He chuckled.

I smiled.

“So can I ask what’s going on with you, Jin and Tae?” I pressed.

He only kept his smile, as he got off of me and the bed.

“We’ll be here in a bit to eat dinner, you should rest after you eat. Jin says that sleep will help with all the stress.” He waved off my question, giving me a quick kiss on my lips.

“See you in awhile!” He waved as he closed the door behind him.

Once dinner time came Tae and Hobi pulled in a small coffee table as Jin and Seongmi brought in food and drinks. I attempted to help but was told to just sit down. Once we began eating we heard a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Tae called, mouth a little full.

The door opened slowly and Jimin stepped into the room.

“Can I eat here?” He asked in a small tone, like he was a little afraid.

I frowned at his uncomfortableness and scooted more towards Tae to make room for Jimin between Seongmi and I.

“Be our guest.” I smiled, patting the empty spot.

Jimin smiled and closed the door, quickly taking the spot I offered. I looked over to Tae to ask him something but saw the look of warning he was giving Jimin. Thankfully Jimin was talking to Seongmi and didn’t notice. I playfully hit Tae.

“Why the look?” I hissed at him.

Tae shrugged, pretending not to know and resumed eating. Jimin tapped me.

“Yeah?” I answered turning to him, small smile on my face.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Letting me in. It looked like Hobi and Jin were against it and Taehyung was going to pounce if I came too close.”

“That’s exactly how Jungkook looked at me the first day you guys were here actually.” Jimin’s eyes widened.

“That’s terrifying.”

“I think it was because you looked afraid.” I smiled.

“Jikook is real.” I said under my breath and turned back to my meal like nothing happened, leaving Jimin with a bright blush on his face.

Tae and Hobi started laughing at my comment. Too hard I may add.

“Aw c’mon you guys, leave Jimin alone,” Seongmi complained.

“It’s not that funny!” Jin interjected.

“Sorry, Jimin. I didn’t know they’d suddenly turn into hyenas. ” I apologized.

Jimin gave me a shy smile.

Since when is he shy around me? He was either quiet or challenging me. Even when he was quiet he would give me the death glare. They only vulnerability he’s shown me is when he was trying to kill me. I was confused, but ignored it and continued eating. I made sure to praise Seongmi, Jin, and Jimin who all cooked.

“Jimin only helped, mixing pots, taking things out the fridge and cabinets, not really cooking anything,” Jin informed.

“It still deserves praise, Jin. I didn’t do anything so I’m praising and thanking those who did.”

“Yeah, Jin! F/n’s just being kind!” Seongmi agreed with me.

“Were you jealous that F/n praised someone other than you for food, Jin Hyung?” Tae teased.

“She liked my Donkkaseu that I made her for lunch,” Hobi added.

“You made her lunch!? You said she was asleep all this time!” Jin suddenly shouted.

“Wow, Hobi Hyung, you lied to Jin Hyung.” Tae instigated, continuing to eat.

Hobi looked like he wanted to hit Tae with a chair. And just like that Hobi and Jin began to bicker. I sighed.

“Jimin are you still alive?” I suddenly heard a voice ask from Jimin’s pocket.

“The fuck was that?” I asked Jimin.

“Jason downloaded a walkie-talkie app on all our phones so we can talk to each other without internet or cell service. You just heard Yoongi hyung.” Tae explained before Jimin could.

Jimin pulled out his phone.

“I’m fine, Hyung.” Jimin responded.

“...Are Jin and Hoseok fighting?” Suga sounded like he was smiling.

“HOW HARD IS IT TO BREAD AND FRY PORK CUTLET!?” Jin shouted with passion.

“IT’S BETTER THAN FRUIT AND YOGURT!” Hobi clapped back.

“I liked them both, will you stop fighting now?” I asked chuckling.

Tae wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me closer for some reason. I wasn’t sure why he was doing this, but I decided to test a theory.

“So, Seongmi, what were you doing before...well, before I kidnapped you?” I asked, leaning one arm on the table.

“I was actually working for your company. I uh, I’m an animator myself.” She looked at her lap, shy.

“Really? Any that I’ve heard of?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“No, I was just an assistant, it was supposed to help with the experience.” I frowned.

“Did it help?”

She shook her head again.

“Why not?” I was actually curious now.

“Some of the animators didn’t want to teach me anything or I just made coffee and supply run.”

“Those fuckers. You’re not their coffee mule. You’re an animator like them! Ugh, when I get to work I-”

“No! It’s fine its ju-”

“It’s not fine, Seongmi. I want nothing but kindness in my company, we don’t treat someone different whether they are a professional animator or an amateur, if you have a passion for it, they should respect you. If they won’t help you, I’ll ask my mom to.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Really?? You promise!?” She was bouncing up and down.

“You have my word.” I smiled at her adorable reaction.

Seongmi jumped up and held out her arms for a hug. I stood up and hugged her.

“I’ll help you out, you’ll do great.” I promised.

“This is probably what your mom felt when your father helped her out.” Seongmi giggled.

The whole room went quiet.

“You’re mom always talked about your dad. You’re a lot like him. Maybe you’ll get a wife like your mom.” She smiled.

I felt my face heat up.

“I-uh-Wife? I mean, I dunno, I’m pretty average and I’m not even sure of my sexu-”

“You should marry an animator! I know a ton of guys AND girls who have the hots for you!” She teased.

My face heated up more.

“Your mom says you love kids, so you getting married and adopting kids will be a breeze!” Seongmi was not stopping.

“Seongmi, be a little realistic, F/n hasn’t had that special someone yet.” Jin said quickly, almost like he was trying to dismiss what Seongmi was saying.

“Aw, Jin, don’t be ridiculous! Look at her, she’s wife material.” Seongmi started fixing my hoodie’s strings.

I laughed, “I’m in an oversized hoodie and my underwear, Seongmi, you make it seem like I’m in a beautiful gown.”

“You look good either way! Any girl would be lucky to have you, F/n.” Seongmi smiled, resting her hands on my shoulders.

“Seongmi, she likes gu-” She interrupted Hobi.

“I mean, you already know how to treat a woman.” She added with a wink.

She looked down then back up. I looked down. My arms were still wrapped around her waist and we were so close that my stomach was touching hers.

I jumped back and ended up tripping over Tae’s knee and fell on the bed.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize we were that close!” I apologized quickly.

Seongmi giggled.

“You really are adorable, F/n. It’s fine for us to be that close, we’re both girls after all.” She teased.

Just a second ago she was cute Seongmi who was shy and quiet. Now she looked like she would take me in front of everyone just for the fun of it.

I covered my face from embarrassment and shook my head.

After dinner, everyone talked and chatted for awhile. Around bedtime, everyone left but Tae.

He started pulling the blanket back on the bed.

“Jin hyung wanted to have your big bed to himself tonight, so it’s just us. ” He smiled.

“Huh? Am I taking Jin’s bed?” I asked, walking to the opposite bed.

“No, you’re sleeping in mine. With me. Come on! Let’s go to sleep!” Tae said, exited as he got under the covers and patted the space beside him.

I hesitated. He frowned.

“F/n~ Come cuddle!” Tae whined.

This was a trap I was sure of it. It took pure witchcraft to make my heartstrings tug from whining like that. This was pure magic if I’ve ever seen it.

I crawled into the covers and turned off the lamp, as soon as I turned to my side Tae attached himself to my back, wrapping himself around me.

After a few moments of silence, I felt something soft and wet on my neck with a slight ‘pop’ noise. My eyes flew open.

Did he just kiss my neck!??

It happened again. And again. As soon as he pecked a particular spot on my neck, I let out a small squeak. He let out a breathless giggle, trying to be quiet. I tried to squirm away but Tae tightened his hold and kissed my cheek.

“When we get out of here, I want to take you everywhere with us,” He whispered.

Before I could shut down that thought he continued.

“You mean a lot to us. To Jin. To Hobi. I’m sure Jimin’s warming up to you... I want you always be around. We care about you. Promise me, when we leave here, you’ll still try to keep in contact?”

His voice was like honey and I was so relaxed. I cared about them too. About him, about Jin, about Hobi. There was no way I’d just let them leave without them knowing that I did care.

“I promise, Tae.” He hummed in approval and snuggled close.

“Promise you’ll always be around.”

“Promise.” I yawned, my eyes feeling heavy.

( Previous Chapter ) - ( Next Chapter )

#bts poly au #bts yandere au #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #kim taehyung x reader #kim seokjin x reader #jung hoseok x reader #park jimin x reader #bts angst

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gabrielxreader · 7 years ago

Text

Hellish Angel

Request: Hi! I love your blog! Would you be able to a demon!reader one? Where she and Gabe flirt but she thinks she's not good enough for him because she's a demon

A/N: I don’t think this is exactly what the requester had in mind, but I think I still followed the request pretty well so I hope it’s still liked. :)

Author: Holly

Warnings: Some mild language, a little bit of canon-typical violence

Characters: Y/N, Gabriel, Sam, Dean

Word Count: 4,095

Y/N = Your Name

You weren’t really the “typical” demon. Sometimes it was okay, sometimes it was annoying. Most of the time, the hunters you helped out pissed you off, but at least you liked that they felt empathy. The Winchesters in particularly were the least upsetting, since they’d learned not to stab you in the chest whenever you happened to come to them. The first few meetings had been kind of rough.

“Maybe it was a ghoul,” Sam suggested while you lazed around, crashed on Dean’s bed just to piss off the older one. You tossed some popcorn up and snapped your jaw around it when it came back down to your mouth, delighting in the soft crunch.

“Not a ghoul,” Dean denied, giving one of your feet (which were hanging off the side of the bed) a rough shove to the side. The popcorn missed your mouth that time and you just let it lay in his sheets. Served him right. “No signs of them anywhere. Tell you what, though, that place was soaked with sulfur.”

“Yeah, yeah, blame the demons just because we’re warped and evil.” You complained and sat up. “Couldn’t’ve been demons. I couldn’t even get in.” Sam and Dean had gotten to investigate the crime scene without you, despite having asked for your backup, because there was a barrier keeping you from even getting inside.

A rush of power made you shudder. Demons were attuned to angels because they were everything that you weren’t, but you’d never felt like this before. Castiel wasn’t that strong, and he certainly didn’t intimidate you with his tree-hugging, human-friendly attitudes.

“Anti-demon warding, sugarplum. Keeps the naughty ones from having too much fun where they shouldn’t be going.”

You stood up from the bed and turned around to look towards the hotel door. Without it opening, an angel had found its way in. You narrowed your eyes – green canvas jacket, dirty-cuffed jeans, soft-looking blond hair and amber eyes. You didn’t let the vessel trick you, though. You looked pretty good yourself, when you were just counting the humanoid body you used to get around in. The sense of grace pouring out of the angel wasn’t painful, but it was alarming. That much grace had the ability to smite you into the floor in less than a second, and your survival sense told you to get the hell out.

“Well, there’s your extra backup, boys.” You put the popcorn down on the nightstand between the twin-sized beds. “There’s no need for me here any longer.”

You were just about to teleport yourself away before the angel snapped his fingers. Dean put up a hand quickly, flinching on impulse. “We don’t need any of the theatrics this time, short stack,” he warned.

“It’s no biggie. C’mon, boys!” The angel grinned at them, wide and confident, and sly enough to remind you of a serpent. “You know me.”

“That’s why we don’t want the theatrics,” Sam muttered.

He sauntered closer. You tried again to teleport, but found your feet still in the same place they’d been seconds ago. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the angel could identify you as a demon just by looking at you – the real you, the one living inside the vessel of a long-gone human girl.

“And who’s this naughty little thing?” He just about purred.

“Gabriel, stop it,” Sam objected, closing his laptop and scowling at you both. “Y/N, that’s Gabriel, the archangel.” You tensed at the title and the archangel definitely noticed – his smirk widened and he tilted his head cockily.

Dean rebelliously glared at the angel, the entity that embodied the polar opposite of you. “Arch-douche, more like.”

“So we have another demon pal now?” Gabriel crossed his arms, feigning amusement to cover up what you suspected was suspicion. “I say, why not? It went great the first time, didn’t it, Sambo?”

You recoiled at the mere reference to Ruby. “Oh, please,” you spat, disgusted. “I’m not that insane mega-bitch. Letting out an archangel to play? Teaching a hunter a better way to kill us? I may be a demon, but at least I’m sane.” To bother Dean and try not to seem so intimidated, you looked at the older brother and winked. “Relatively speaking, at least.”

Gabriel observed you critically for a second, then announced, “Anyone who Dean-o fantasizes about stabbing is a pal of mine. Until they try to take my strawberry syrup, in which case, they die.” The glint in his eyes was handsome and attractive in the way that you liked shiny jewelry, but you knew better than to take it at face value.

So you didn’t. “I wouldn’t want to cross an archangel. Like I said.” You tapped your head. “Sane.”

So… about your sanity? You clearly didn’t have it, because a few months later, your best friends were a hunter who used to kill demons (like you) and drink their blood and an archangel who could literally smite you into complete and utter nothingness without breaking a sweat. You reviewed your priorities a few times over the year and this was the time when you realized that you, like everyone else in the crazily messed up world of fighting the supernatural, must’ve lost your mind at some point. It just didn’t matter very much, though, because it didn’t stop you from hanging out with who you liked.

Gabriel had become someone whom you shared popcorn with. And candy, when he snapped it up, but usually you had popcorn with extra melted butter on top. You had a little saucer cup of melted butter, like seafood restaurants served with lobster platters, and you kept dipping your popcorn into it. It was a lot of butter, and you probably would’ve stopped by now if it didn’t bother Sam so much. He looked disgusted.

“What about a witch?” Sam suggested. Dean sent him a dirty glower for even suggesting his least favorite opponents.

“Nah,” you answered before putting another piece of popcorn in your mouth. “I’d have sensed if there were another demon around to power witchcraft.”

Gabriel took the bowl of popcorn away from between the two of you and put it on the other side of his lap. “But I would’ve sensed it first,” he established, taking a piece of popcorn and aiming for Dean’s head.

“How could you sense anything when you’re so busy being smothered in your own ego?” You retorted, teleporting swiftly to his other side to steal the popcorn back. If he really wanted you not to have it, you knew you wouldn’t, but you still felt like your victory had a little bit of meaning to it.

“Shtriga, then. Something that doesn’t rely on a demon to get its magic power?” Dean chucked a TV remote at Gabriel, who just caught it before it hit his head and handed it to you. You flipped the channel to something more interesting than that stupid, stupid hospital drama Dean liked. The hunter turned the TV off with the controls at the bottom and continued his thought. “Is there a record of this happening before in this state?”

“Not that I’ve found in the public records or on the Internet,” Sam reported, “Except for something seventy miles away, forty years ago, that doesn’t even match the MO.” He sulked.

“Ugh, you two are slow.” Gabriel complained, wrinkling his nose. “How long have you been in this fleabag roach trap? Three days? Four?”

“Four,” you confirmed, sticking your tongue out at Dean.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve been staying here, too.” Gabriel gave you a look and shifted over as if staying in the hotel had transferred its filth to you.

“Oh, please, I’d rather spend the night in a Chicago bus station.”

Gabriel snickered. Dean crossed his arms. “Hey, Thing One and Thing Two, can you stop being so high-and-mighty? We can’t teleport, jerkfaces.”

You and Gabriel shared a look with each other and shook your heads. “We can’t stop,” you answered, and Gabriel elaborated with plenty of snark that your feet were glued to your figurative pedestals… kind of like his and Sam’s had been in the Japanese gameshow. Both of you snickered and exchanged a fist-bump.

Fight scenes always look so much cooler on TV than they actually are in person. In reality, they move too quickly to follow along with what everyone’s doing. In TV, the audience sees a shot of one character throwing a punch, and the other dodging a kick, and it’s assumed that they’re happening at the same time. In the real world, things don’t move that slowly, and you can’t figure out, Sam’s over here and he needs help, but also I need to be right here and move my arm in this way to avoid being stabbed in the face.

Being a demon definitely had some advantages, though, and in a big fight like the one you were in, you enjoyed using them. A nest of vampires had started terrorizing a small, rural town that didn’t have enough police to figure out what to do, much less actually take them on, so that was where you, the Winchesters, and Gabriel came in. The angel said he was just bored, but you weren’t sure he wasn’t trying to make sure Dean and Sam didn’t die. He’d promised Castiel they’d be fine, and although Gabriel could easily resurrect them or heal any serious injuries, he’d have to deal with his brother’s disapproving stares if anything got that far.

You turned around on your heel, slammed the toe of your boot into a vamp’s shin, and grabbed his wrist over your head to push his arm away from you. The knife went to the side and the vampire twisted, turning and falling, and you lifted your knee up to slam him in the chest on his way down. You barely turned around before you raised a hand furiously, and another vampire went flying telekinetically into a wall, crashed through the sheetrock, and fell into the room on the other side.

The one you’d kicked and kneed was already getting up again. You rolled your sleeves up and flipped around the big hunting knife you had gracefully confiscated.

The fight was only a couple of more minutes, and you ended up taking out twice as many vampires as the human hunters had. It may have helped that you were able to use your powers to keep them held in one place while you picked them off. After you stopped hearing growling from the overgrown mutts, you dropped the knife and wiped your hands off on your jeans.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled from somewhere else in the house. It was a very old property, and in some places the floor was caving, but it was also a large property and the vampires had managed to split your group up.

Sam’s response let Dean relax. “I’m good!”

Neither of them asked about you or Gabriel. You turned back to the archangel, who had been idly standing by the doorway and watching with boredom. The first several times he had done this, you’d been irritated. Then you’d realized that he was an archangel, and if he joined the fight, then everyone else would be a moot point. Sam and Dean felt useful when they killed the monsters, so Gabriel let them, just like a parent would let their kids do something so they’d feel accomplished, even though an adult could’ve done it much faster.

You raised an arm to point before you said anything. “Behind-!”

The vampire lunging for the blond’s throat was halted when Gabriel gave you a knowing smirk. He snapped his fingers and the vampire seized. Its eyes glowed golden and orange, like it was burning from the inside out, and the remains crumbled to dust on the floor.

Not even you could do something like that. You’d known he was powerful, but… damn. This was the first time you’d seen him exercise that, and the destruction he’d caused without so much as blinking had you vanishing from the hunting party before anyone saw the shiver that went up your back. Now you fully understood what it meant when you called him an archangel.

Knowing what Gabriel was had always been on the back of your mind, but having it shoved in your face the way Gabe had once shoved a banana cream pie in Dean’s was like getting doused in very, very cold holy water. Every time you saw the Winchesters and Gabriel after that became more stressful.

One day, you were touching up your vessel’s lipstick (there’s no harm in enjoying looking pretty) but then Gabriel teased you about how you were already plenty noticeable already. You knew he hadn’t been trying to make a mean comment because Gabriel was many things but subtle wasn’t one of them. That didn’t stop you from suddenly, uncomfortably realizing that Gabriel didn’t just see your vessel – he saw the real you, too. The one inhabiting the vessel, the twisted, demonic “soul” inside.

You stopped and put your lipstick away slowly. You didn’t like the idea that Gabriel saw what you really were. It was easier with humans. Sam and Dean couldn’t see how ugly and warped you had become at Hell’s hands. They just saw the body you had picked up for a ride. No matter how you manipulated that body, with clothes or bright red lipstick or heels you could literally kill with, Gabriel was always going to see the twisted blackness within you.

It was hard to feel confident, knowing what you knew and feeling about yourself the way that you did. You couldn’t respond to his teasing. You couldn’t reply seriously, because that would give way too much information, and you couldn’t reply in jest, because it wasn’t something you could take lightly.

You’d been flirting with the archangel regularly, but now you were speechless; not because he’d won, but because you finally realized you had no business doing it, and you threw in the towel.

The Winchesters were aggravating, especially Dean. Where Sam could accept being wrong, Dean would scarcely admit to fault, or to blame, or to being incorrect – and he still had yet to apologize for stabbing you (twice). The last thing you ever wanted to do was play into Dean’s insufferable ego. You would never live it down. And you didn’t want to validate his poor manners – even Crowley had better manners than Dean, for Hell’s sake. You were ninety percent sure Lucifer had had better manners than Dean (when he wasn’t snapping his fingers and making people explode, at least).

The point was that you were never going to tell Dean that he had been just a little bit right when he’d said that going in alone was a bad idea, and that maybe you should’ve sat this one out. You’d thought he was just being his normal cocky self and liked the idea of getting rid of you for a while, but he had a point, you reflected, while you were pinned to the wall by your vessel’s throat and what felt like a brick wall of angelic Grace. Angels would hesitate to kill the Winchesters, but they would love the chance to kill a demon and they wouldn’t think twice.

It was kind of pathetic. You could survive Team Free Will for months on end, but not this stupid little cherub with a baby face and a literal child’s body. Even you thought that was skeevy. If it were a demon, fine. Demons are awful, blah, blah, blah. Angels, though, get consent first, and manipulating a kid into throwing their life away went against everything angels wanted humans to think about them, and that was a particular kind of disgusting.

The little Hispanic girl (twelve at most) raised the hand that wasn’t trying to crush your larynx. “It’s been a long time since I got to do this,” she rasped, and maybe some of Dean’s gallows humor was actually rubbing off on you, because such a grave sentence coming from such a non-imposing little brat almost made you laugh.

The force of Grace that had been holding you in place was suddenly lifted. You cherished the look of shock and sudden fear on the angel’s face in the split second it took you to disappear from under their hand and transport yourself halfway across the room, well out of throat-grabbing distance. The powerless angel looked up as the lights flickered and blew, sparks raining down on both of you.

While the angel looked terrified by the much stronger power flooding the building, you were somewhat comforted. You recognized it, and you knew you were safe with it. The other angel being so horribly undermined suggested something different where she was concerned.

The little angel’s eyes widened as she looked back at you, and then over your shoulder. You stepped aside to make a clear path between her and Gabriel, and the archangel stepped forward like a lion on the prowl. You were kind of smug.

“What did you do?” He demanded, sounding contemptuous and furious in that calm, quiet way that could make even a god shake in their boots. “Heal her mother if she gave her consent? Feed into the protective angel bullcrap?” Gabriel sneered and flicked his hand. The angel opened her mouth and raised a hand to her chest, struggling to breathe. You watched with interest, knowing that an archangel’s rage was something very few beings would ever live to tell about.

The angel fell to her knees and the hem of the girl’s cutesy sundress got dirty. Her eyes glowed a bright, bright, pale blue that made you flinch and move further back. You hadn’t known angels could be exorcised out of their vessels, but that was what seemed to be happening. To protect yourself from the Grace, you shielded your eyes, but despite the bright flash that followed as the angel was banished up to Heaven, you never felt an explosion of heat or holy power. Gabriel protecting you, you figured.

“What about the kid?” You asked when the light had faded and the child laid limply on the ground. Crossing your arms, you tried not to acknowledge that you’d developed what seemed to be a moral compass since you started running with the Winchesters. “Did it kill her?”

Gabriel stared down at the girl for a second, then shook his head. “She’ll be fine. I’ll take her home.”

After another moment of silence, you rubbed your neck and realized you owed him some gratitude. You’d been bacon for a few minutes there. You were a strong demon, but angels were just stronger. There was a reason they were fearsome. “Thank you.”

“Ah, well.” Gabriel held up a hand and gamely snapped his fingers. The body of the child disappeared and you guessed that when she woke up, she’d be in her bed at home, or maybe in a hospital with memory loss if he didn’t feel like tampering with the parents’ heads. “Next time someone tries to exorcise my girlfriend, they won’t get so lucky.”

Girlfriend? You took a quick, startled look around, but you were still the only one there. An archangel had just called you his girlfriend. That had to be wrong, on so many levels. Even at Gabriel’s worst, he was still an archangel, delivering justice with the full might of heavenly wrath. You were just a demon. A sick, twisted soul, who died in the Great War and let yourself be corrupted by monsters in the hundred years since.

You couldn’t be the girlfriend of an archangel. You were hardly a suitable girlfriend for anyone. Your feelings hurt and your head spinning, you were out of there before you even made the choice to leave. It was always primal with demons, or so Dean said – everything about fight or flight, personal gain, bloodlust. Well, for you, your best option was flight.

You should’ve known that there wasn’t really anywhere for you to hide, not if he really wanted to find you. It seemed like he did. He gave you about an hour to yourself and then, bam, he was up in your space, invading the quiet privacy of a peaceful cabin you’d found in the Colorado mountains. It was just so… unlike Hell. Regardless of where demons came from, Hell was hell, and there’s a reason demons are always trying to escape.

Gabriel stood behind your reclining chair while you stared at the fire burning in the hearth. The flames crackled and it reminded you of the kind of violent power that demons had. That you had. Angels were more like water. They could be incredibly destructive, but water also allowed for life in a way that fire didn’t. Just like fire and water, you were very, very aware that getting too close to the angel could hurt you, and maybe even extinguish you completely. Just because your soul was a repulsive husk of a human’s didn’t mean that you didn’t want to protect yourself. You shrank back at the idea of losing everything.

“I take it that was a breakup,” he eventually said, his voice cool and composed. “Suppose it’s better than getting a drink thrown in my face.”

“We weren’t together,” you mumbled, looking down at your hands. You liked your vessel’s hands. They were a good way of avoiding looking at people when you didn’t want to.

“I thought we had something. Was I wrong?”

You almost wanted to nod, but you had felt it. You had felt the potential. There was potential to have something, to become something good, but it was scary, and it was wrong, and things that were scary didn’t usually last very long. Especially not in the world of monsters and hunters.

“We couldn’t,” you responsibly tried to reason. The voice that came out of your mouth was quiet and soft-spoken, barely recognizable to you as your own. “We would never last. We’re not even the same species.” You snorted. If you were baring all, then hey, go big or go home. “Nowhere near the same league.”

Gabriel moved forward and stood beside your chair. He looked down at you. “This is because you’re a demon?” His tone was indignant and exasperated, and that was the last thing you had expected. You looked up quickly to his irritated face. “I’d kinda noticed. The fact that you’re hellspawn doesn’t matter to me, obviously, you stupid idiot.”

Huffily, you narrowed your eyes. “Oh, thanks. I feel so much better now that I’ve been insulted.” Your sarcasm dripped from your words thickly.

“What’s the point in judging by angel or demon, anyway?” He continued, starting to rant impatiently. “Half the angels have forgotten that we’re supposed to be the good guys and just kill whenever they feel like. There are demons now who are more trustworthy than angels. You’re a better person than hundreds of my brothers and sisters! Times change, people change, the status quo always changes, even in Heaven, and you want to act like everything is still in black and white? Haven’t you learned anything from this apocalypse?”

Interrupting him took courage when he was this upset, but you did it anyway and trusted that if he actually cared about you, you would be safe. “I’m better than angels?” You asked skeptically, snorting. You found that extremely difficult to believe, what with how horrific you knew you must look beneath your vessel.

Gabriel’s spiel was broken. He put one of his hands over yours on the arm of the couch and got on his knees, looking up to you intensely. “You’re not any lesser because of what you are. You didn’t do this to yourself. It was done to you. You don’t let it define you. You may be hellish, but you’re a hellish angel to me, and I mean that in the way the humans use it, not in the way that we know it to be.”

#hollykasakabe #holly kasakabe #admin holly #holly #oneshot #hellish angel #gabriel #Gabriel x reader #gabrielxreader #reader #reader insert #demon #romance #comfort #reader is a demon

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foodlegend · 6 years ago

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KFC DOUBLE DOWN

You don’t know how long I’ve waited. You don’t know how long the orange chicken cloud has loomed. Have I lusted after it? For a time I did. I first saw it on the menu in KFC in New York six years ago. I *regrettably* passed up my first sighting opting for something “normal” and then chased the memory at every American KFC thereafter – no sign of it. Had I dreamt it? Was it a prototype? Manager’s special? Oh to have kissed your chicken lips. Darling, I’ll wait for you. Fast-forward six years and the Double Down finally pokes its arse out in the UK. KFC piped it onto the domestic stage for the first time last year. After all those years I didn’t so much lust after it as limp away. It Follows. How did it find me? How do I pass on the curse? The cloud cascades its orange glow. Pulsing. Our eventual face-to-face felt so inevitable that all joy was lacking. Vigour? A vial at best. I mostly couldn’t face it because there’s no KFC within walking distance of my commute and tbh I didn’t fancy “sitting in” and doing it in public. This is a curtains closed scenario and would involve getting a bus specifically to go to KFC, putting it in my backpack and returning home to unwrap. Effort much? Gains little. As such the debut appearance of the Double Down in the UK passed me by.

Recently the Double Down returned for a six week run. She’s baaaaack! “Oh, boy” I groaned. Thought I’d got away with it but no – there’s that cloud again, parked outside my window. Right, this time reluctantly it is obviously happening. Eat your fears. It would have to take something special mind. Like Deliveroo suddenly (after 2+ years) declaring itself operational in my suburb? Something exactly like that! And I couldn’t come into this transaction of sound mind nor body – oh no - I would have to be on the ropes, in the sneeping clutches of a hangover entrenched in sofa. And thus I made it so. The scene was set. I ordered it, like Jesus, on the last day of the promotional offer. The prices on my KFC Deliveroo menu seemed somewhat plumped. Talking £7+ for a regular Double Down meal. Is that cricket? Probably not. Might as well opt for an £8+ Double Down “box meal” with a piece of chicken then. Here lies the jip. KFC state that their fries don’t travel well (they don’t start well either, honey. Worst. Fries. Ever.) and so they do NOT include them as a given in your meal situation – you have to exchange one of your virtual “side” tokens to unlock them from the Crystal Maze. Da fuck. That means with my box meal I had to cash in one of my two side coins on fries (the other on gravy, natch) and reader, that felt like throwing coleslaw out of the pram. You think you’d pay less for that deduction but I paid more for the privilege…doiiii! I wanted fries, gravy AND coleslaw! Wah! But was I about to pay £1.19 more for the coleslaw that should have graced my palm as part of the traditional two-side promise? No, I was not. There wasn’t an option to large my meal either, hmm, curious. So that’s a regular box meal, £8 something. No fries, fair amount of bollocks. But needs musto and I have no gusto. When the meal arrives it isn’t with a trad KFC cup of coke…it’s with a can of Pepsi. A smeddly can of Pepsi. I think they even put a +18p surcharge on choosing Pepsi as an option (no Coke option before you ask and believe me…I know). Where the FCK do they get off? My house evidently. Oh well, so far so absolutely rinsing me at every possible juncture. Well, at least I can hang my hat on the nailed-on certainty that the Double Down will look nothing like it does on the bus adverts. This is going to be shit. This is going to be two shits in a bag that have slid apart and there will be cheese everywhere and it will be small and I’ll have to fish it out like a mug and I’ll hold it up and look at it and said “£8”.

My sights were set so low that the travel-ravaged presentation of the Double Down was actually a distance better than what I was expecting. I was able to de-bag it and perform constructive surgery, the cheese that was left in the bag however was generous and a mite jarring. “That’s a lot of cheese”, I said to myself on my own in my flat in my head. I just picked it up, groomed it, placed it down and looked at it. That’s it. That’s the cloud that’s been looming this past six years. And I’m about to eat it.

I should point out for those unfamiliar with what the Double Down actually is. It’s a chicken burger with chicken burgers in place of the bread. So two chicken fillets with cheese, bacon and barbecue sauce between them. Some say KFC are marketing less as more and wow, buy our new burger – there isn’t any bread. That’s kind of not true though because there are two burgers and you only usually get one. You do get less bread (aka none) but you do get more burger (100% more). I get it though – they’re doing something. These are the notes that I made on my phone after eating it. “I wanted to go at it with a knife and fork. The top to tail. Weird.” I’ll start off with it doesn’t make sense. It just feels like two burgers on top of each other – which it entirely is. Imagine eating two hot dogs on top of each other without any bun. Hmm, you’re right – that would be pretty cool. Ok, imagine a mattress on a mattress with a duvet in the middle. That’s just making me think of a ham sandwich. Ok, imagine a chicken fillet burger on top of a chicken fillet burger. That’s what it’s like! I felt like the pieces of chicken were facing the wrong way – they were top to tail. Like the note above said. The fat end smooshed against the thin end. Should have been fat end against fat end. Feel like…not explaining good. You know how you get a two slices of bread and you face them the right way up so you have a sandwich with mirrored bread ends? Fat ends? Bread ends? You know what I mean. It makes you feel like David Hasselhoff eating THAT cheeseburger. If you’re not on the floor then you should be. I felt somewhat like a wreck and it really enhanced that low. It’s like a bear walking into a restaurant kitchen, bopping the chef out of the way and pawing two burgers together into its stupid bear mouth. It felt stupid and unnatural eating it. Just putting hands on it. The sensation was like eating two chicken fillets upon each other. It felt messy and unrefined. It was heavy going too, it felt solid and a chore. The bacon “filling” was meagre and undetectable. The cheese was the grout that bound. It stayed together in the piece but after a while I just felt weird eating it with hands and took to it with cutlery. It wasn’t wholly unenjoyable. In fact, I’d said it was quite enjoyable taste-wise but the ritual was more strange and uncomfortable. I really like KFC chicken for my sins so the gift of two generous fillets – despite their formation – was something that I almost didn’t want to end. When it was over I was essentially glad it was and having eaten that orange cloud, it is something that I would not order again. However… Said box meal was advertised as coming with a single piece of original KFC chicken. In reality the box held two unwarranted hot wings and NO piece of original KFC chicken. After I eated it I got back on my couch (am I painting too true a scene?) and messaged Deliveroo. The advertised meal I ordered with the intended one-piece sidecar had a higher cost value than the IRL delivery with two wings of lesser value (menu price 99p). In truth, I wasn’t arsed. I didn’t need that piece but thought I’d give it a punt as other factions of the experience had fallen short with the great fries side swindle and can of Pepsi shocker. I’m not a complainer. I’ve eaten a skip of disappointing takeaway fodder and I’ve never been tempted to write a snide user review. But today I thought I’d give it a bash.

WHAT! I’m not even hungry and it’s coming again. The orange cloud is back! Risen like a phoenix! I thought I’d deflated it. It lives inside of me now, no? No! It’s coming again! Well, this is unexpected. Take two.

“Yes”

The same Deliveroo driver delivers me my second meal. This is roughly an hour later at this point. I knew it was the same guy because I was following him on the app. The cloud catcher. Would he say anything to me? Don’t know what like. Fat bastard? Cheeky bastard? Just “bastard”? What would I say? Just laugh? Shout up to the kids “don’t worry it’s here”? Go down to answer the door in a disguise? If only there was someone here who wasn’t me…to answer the door, to share the wealth. All that crossed my mind but to be honest I was on orange cloud 9. I wasn’t that bothered at all. I didn’t say anything, just hello and thanks. No letting on, no explanation, just DING DING ROUND TWO FIGHT. It was funny second time around because the single piece of original KFC chicken was so small that it might as well have been a wing. I reckon they picked that one out especially for me. I slowly went at it. I was relishing the second can of Pepsi because I was parched. I should note that I had no plans of leaving the house this day and the cupboard was bare so this second meal was something of a long-term blessing. Just pick at it I thought and leave the Double Down in the bag until later on and we’ll see how it weathers. You knew it would fade fast. I’ll just have a bit of it now and save the rest until later. Tasted not unlike the first time. I wouldn’t say either was a standout. The presentation was much the same – not irreparable Tokyo Drift, colossal cheese slick. At one point, after eating the one piece and the fries and having nibbled at the Double Down pt.2 I thought that’s me for now. I’ll just set myself down on the sofa and come back to it in a few hours…which I did for a few minutes and then thought, nah I’ll just eat it all now and be full all day and then go to bed. Which I did.

I will say that the Double Down has cool graphics. Look at that logo. Black and red reaaaaal nice. Would wear on t-shirt inside house. The next day, after the original Double Down was retracted from the UK menus KFC introduced the Zinger Double Down. THE NEXT DAY. Orange spicy cloud. Rare Pokemon.

Despite my doubling down on the Double Down the day previous, it half danced across my mind to just order the Zinger Double Down but that was the cloud inside me talking. I’ve since passed the cloud and have no desire to Double Down. The Zinger Double Down limited appearance ended – without my intervention - on 12th August 2018.

The birds are singing, the sky is blue, and there isn’t an orange cloud in the sky

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libulanns · 5 years ago

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Y’all mind if I .... write about some traumatic moments throughout my life in excessive detail 👀 I’ve never written about this before. I just want to get it out. I won’t post about it again and might delete later. I’m tagging this ptsd.

At age 3, I would get up at night and leave the house, wandering the neighborhood alone. My parents would not notice and come looking for me until morning. At age 4, I would be sat in front of a television in a dark room all day. I was totally alone until my Dad got home from work or sister got off of school. At age 5, my mother would abandon my sister and I in public places. Random strangers would find us and start a search party to return us back to her. My Mom would take me with her to my Dad’s friends’ houses while he worked. I would hear them loudly having sex. Mom constantly told me we were running out of money and going to end up on the streets. I started obsessing over the way my clothes felt on my body and what foods were okay to eat. My parents thought I was being a brat. Believe it or not, I had my first panic attack over ketchup being on some food I was given to eat. I began having intrusive thoughts & nightmares of my parents throwing me out of a moving vehicle for some reason lol. At age 6, I watched my mother threaten to slit her wrists and kill herself. She chased my sister and I around the house. My sister tried to throw her pills away because they were making our Mom crazy. My mom responded by throwing a glass vase the size of my sister at her. She shut the door in time not to be hit and wrote a sign to hold out of our bedroom window begging people passing by to save her. I was scared so I left the house and wandered the neighborhood by myself again. At age 7, my parents separated. My Mom took me from my Dad. I watched my aunt slit her wrists. I was constantly exposed to my Mom, Aunt, and Uncles high on marijuana, a cocktail of pills, and drunk. They are all angry drunks. I watched my Uncle put all of my sister’s barbies on the grill outside and melt them. My Mom told me about everything that went wrong in her marriage to my Dad. My Aunts and Uncles lined my cousins, sister, and I up to beat us with the belt one by one. We never had enough to eat because they spent all their money on drugs, alcohol, and gambling. We mostly ate ramen noodles. My sister constantly told me I was worthless (projecting her feelings onto me). I stopped talking to kids at school. I’d start having weeks at a time where I barely said a word and nobody noticed. I wished I was dead. At age 8, I constantly missed school because my mother would be too tired to take me and the school bus didn’t come to my neighborhood. I lived in a one bedroom, roach-infested apartment that was not wired properly (if you touched the stove and fridge at the same time, you’d get electrocuted). Five people lived there at once. I slept on the floor and was terrified of roaches crawling all over me at night. My mom would leave me alone for weeks at a time without telling me where she was going or when she’d come back. She tried to get me to live with her boyfriend eventually; half of the house did not have electricity. The bathroom in the room they had me sleep in was infested with mosquitos. There was no running water and my Mom bathed me with a bucket from the hose outside. Roaches would crawl on me at night there, too. They had a fight and she tried to leave but he locked us in the house. She told me she was terrified he was going to hurt us and worked out a plan for me to jump over the outside gate, run to someone, and ask them to call the police. She started driving me around the city while she was drunk. We came so close to hitting cars and causing huge accidents. I screamed bloody murder. I rolled the window down and screamed for somebody to help me. I thought I was going to die. At age 12, I missed almost the entirety of seventh grade because I was too afraid to leave my baby brother home alone. My Mom constantly left for days at a time without contacting me. We constantly ran out of food. I watched my Aunt destroy things and threaten to kill herself. I watched my Uncle beat my cousin black and blue. My Mom let me go on a diet to lose weight, because I was overweight from eating garbage all the time. I ended up having a kidney stone. My Mom was afraid of the cost of the ambulance, so she accused me of exaggerating and faking my pain for hours before my Uncle finally called one. The doctors did not give me any pain medicine for hours because they assumed I was pregnant. The kidney stone was 2 cm shy of needing to be surgically removed. My Mom got drunk and told me she was going to send me away, threw all of my things in a suitcase, and chased me outside. I was terrified and wanted to get away from her. She chased me all the way down the street to the park but she left when she saw other people were watching. At age 13, I lived with my Dad. His wife emotionally abused me. She shamed me for my period, and constantly told me I stunk because I did not want to wear tampons and wore pads instead. She told me I was fat, ugly, creepy, and that I would die alone. She’d put things in the food she knew I was disgusted by so I wouldn’t have anything to eat. I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen to cook other things. She blamed me for the mess her sons made; I had to clean after both she and them. When I gave up and started staying in my room all day, she tried to force me to stay outside. They talked to me about their sex life in detail. I heard them loudly having sex frequently. I said I was disgusted by sex. They told me I would want sex one day soon. My Dad tried to forcibly put me on the birth control pill because he said he knew I would have sex soon. I begged my grandfather to tell him not to do it. His wife would get me drunk because she thought it was funny. I watched them scream and throw things at each other. My Dad would promise me he knew what she was doing to me and that he’d leave her soon, and then the next day, tell me he never said that. They separated. I started having nightly panic attacks. I told my grandparents what was happening and they said they couldn’t be sure it was really happening because they didn’t live with me. My step grandmother told me my Mom abandoned me. I started having memory problems. I couldn’t stand being touched or people being too close to me anymore. I began having intrusive thoughts about people poisoning me so I stopped eating and drinking anything anyone else made. At age 15, my Dad would leave the house for weeks at a time and not tell me where he was. I’d have no way of contacting him. He did not buy me school supplies or clothes. He screamed at me whenever I asked. He called me a bitch all the time. He’d constantly be drunk, high, or both. He sold all the furniture in my room one by one to buy weed and fake urine. I had my first panic attack at school. I cut off all of my friends. I couldn’t talk to people anymore. At age 16, I went back with my Mom. Her husband was a predator. He’d stand outside my bedroom window at night, watch me through the window in the bathroom, make sexually charged comments at me, and masturbate to porn in the bathroom. He did the same to my sister. He took the locks off of our bedroom doors, and broke them so they couldn’t close all the way. I started sleeping with a knife under my pillow. I started having worsening panic attacks at school. I stopped going to school. I stopped sleeping. I started obsessively locking the doors at night. He started taking my little brother in the bedroom with him and locking the door. I was terrified. I told my Mom and she said I just didn’t want her to be happy. My memory problems got worse; I could no longer remember entire years of my life. We never had anything to eat. I lost a lot of weight and got a vitamin deficiency. I frequently missed school because I obsessed over the way my clothes felt. I would take every single item of clothing I owned and throw it all on the floor and get into a fit of rage every morning before I gave up and put on my pajamas and got back in bed. I suddenly became totally irrationally mortified of roaches; every time I saw one, I would just scream until I went numb with pure terror. And then I somehow also became irrationally terrified of planes crashing into my house. At age 17, I started therapy. My therapist diagnosed me with OCD and PTSD. She didn’t have the training to do ERPT with me so she just did talk therapy with me as though I had anxiety. It didn’t help much. I told her about what my Mom’s husband was doing to us and she told me it wasn’t normal. I told my Dad and he insisted I move back with him again. I was too afraid to stay in the same house with his wife again. She played nice and pretended nothing ever happened. My Dad said overtime, he had accepted that everything was his fault and she never did anything wrong. I had an ovarian cyst rupture and they refused to take me to the hospital. They told me it was just a “bad period” and gave me ginger snaps and xanax. I moved in with my grandparents. I still had intrusive thoughts of my family member who was driving the car just stopping and telling me to get out in a random place. It was something i actively feared every time I got in a car with someone. At age 18, my compulsive checking behaviors were extreme and preventing me from doing much of anything. I couldn’t even read without doing it anymore. I was having three to four panic attacks per day. I had extreme insomnia. I kept trying to get help at the doctors. They gave me zoloft, which gave me suicide ideation. I confided in my Aunt and grandfather these thoughts. They screamed in my face, told me they hated me, that I was a worthless coward, and called the police on me. I was terrified and ran away from them. The police followed me. My step grandmother would get drunk and throw things at me. She would slam things around me and not speak to me for weeks. My Aunt did exactly the same thing. Every single person in my family mocked me for trying to talk about my mental problems with them. They constantly reminded me that they were doing me a favor by letting me live with them and if I was unhappy I could get the fuck out. I was constantly afraid they would kick me out. I stopped telling them anything that wasn’t mindless praise and constant pleasantries because I didn’t want them to have any reason to kick me out. My dad invited me over to his house one day and I got flashbacks. I had a panic attack and left. I stopped talking to him too. I gained weight. I start obsessively checking my rearview mirror when driving because I was terrified I was going to hit a pedestrian. At age 19, I got into a relationship. He pressured me sexually, constantly. He constantly ignored me to talk to other people and do other things. He never put down his phone when we were together. He pressured me to bend to his whim on my most cherished beliefs. Everything was an argument/debate. He shamed me for criticizing anything he did. He gaslit me constantly. I started remembering many things I had forgotten. My panic attacks were far less frequent over time, but I noticed I wasn’t interested in doing anything anymore. I frequently found myself sitting and staring at the wall for hours. I started randomly sobbing violently and uncontrollably whenever I got in my car. I missed an important meeting at school because I was obsessing over my clothes and couldn’t leave the house again. I stopped cooking for my family because I was afraid I was going to poison them or make them sick due to improper cooking. At age 21, my one Aunt who called the police on me apologized for it. She said she never should have done that. It was the first time any of the adults in my family had ever apologized to me for anything. I found out my boyfriend had been cheating on me for our entire relationship; he has dozens of accounts on secret social medias and dating sites and was actively speaking to other women and his ex all those times he ignored me. My sister was almost beaten by her partner at the time I found out. I was away from her and overwhelmed with fear that she would die. I still have frequent bouts of heavy sobbing that don’t seem to be related to anything. I have insomnia. I have flashbacks and panic attacks triggered by weird sensory things. I don’t have a relationship with my parents, grandparents, aunts, or uncles. I have no real life friends. I don’t speak to others often. I frequently self-isolate. I can feel fine one moment and the next I’m nonverbal and bawling my eyes out. I’m still terrified of roaches and I literally scream and duck onto the floor when planes fly too close overhead. I’m going to be 22 soon. I’m not sure who I am outside of my trauma. I’m trying to stay positive. I’m writing this as I’m struggling with more insomnia. I don’t know who I am and most days feel joyless but you know what. I’m alive. I’m still here. I don’t have to be a victim anymore because I can fight back now. I’m not helpless anymore. I’m not dependent anymore. I will protect myself. This is what I tell myself. It makes me feel a little better. None of my symptoms have lessened at all but part of me feels better somehow. I know I need more therapy but don’t have any way of getting that atm.

#ptsd #its a gemini moon so its time to grossly overshare #me and my sister and cousins were grossly disgustingly neglected our whole entire lives

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iamanasymptote · 7 years ago

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He said he loved me. Why would he lie?

I can’t fall asleep on public transportation. I’m terribly scared of tunnels. I can’t ride school buses. I don’t fall asleep around people. I can’t. I stopped being able to when I was thirteen. I stopped trusting people when I was fourteen. I stopped being the person I was and started being the scared little child that I still keep tucked away inside of me. He told me he loved me. Why would he lie? I wasn’t attractive, I wasn’t suave, I wasn’t outgoing. I was quiet and shy and a bit of a stereotypical nerd. I was trying to be normal. I was trying to blend in. But my accent always gave me away. My voice betrayed me. My stutters became cute, and the words I’d never say became my daily vocabulary because they told me I couldn’t say anything else. No one cared about what I had to say, just about how I said it. I had these words I wanted to say... But they caught as people called out requests for what they wanted me to say. Words words words. Shoved down my throat and thrown back up. I had to spit them out for others. My mind became so much less than my own. He told me he loved me. Why would he lie? I was popular and smart. I was top of the class and I was American. I was irresistible. He told me he. Loved. Me. WHY would HE lie? It was perfect. I thought I had finally found someone who cared about the voice I had. I thought I had finally found someone who wouldn’t shove words down my throat. I thought I had finally found someone who knew who I was really. HE TOLD ME he loved me. Why WOULD he lie? A bus trip. It was kinda late. It was kinda dark. I was tired. I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to be in the perfect position. I didn’t mean to drag his thoughts somewhere dark. I didn’t mean to be the perfect. Little. SLUT. Because obviously it’s my fault. Obviously, I was just begging him to relieve his urges with my unconscious body. Obviously if I didn’t want it I could’ve sat somewhere else. OBVIOUSLY IF I REALLY LOVED HIM I WOULD LET HIM DO WHATEVER HE WANTED TO ME. So I did. He wanted me to stop talking to my friends. So I did. He told me to let him touch me. So I did. He told me to go sit in the corner of the library. So I did. He told me not to eat lunch because I was getting fat. So I did. He told me he LOVED ME. Why would he LIE? He would stay up late telling me that he wanted to kill himself and I’d cry on my bathroom floor telling him all the reasons why he shouldn’t. I had stopped knowing how to live without him telling me what I needed to. I couldn’t let him die. I couldn’t let him kill himself. But every morning he wouldn’t show up to school. His “parents” would text me saying he was dead and I’d go to the bathroom and sob. I’d sit on the floor and hurt myself because he was dead and it. was. my. fault. He’d show up later and he’d laugh at how I believed him. He’d laugh at how much I cared. He’d laugh and laugh. And I would laugh along. Because. he told me he loved me. whywouldhelie? I attempted to kill myself the week before I left him. I was begging for attention from anyone. I was trying to let them know what kind of hell I was permanently stuck in. I told a couple of guys that I liked them in the way of a shy broken fourteen year old. And they laughed at me and made me the running joke. I tried to kill myself but I couldn’t quite stay under the water long enough, I couldn’t quite force myself up on the highway bridge, I couldn’t quite dig the knife down far enough, I couldn’t quite force down the small mountain of pills I had poured all over the counter. I tried to kill myself, but I couldn’t quite do it. He told me he loved me. Why would he lie?

#trigger warning #suicide #self harm #abuse #rape #true story #I'm so sorry #I can't get you out of my head #I remember what it was like to be normal #and I'm just... not there anymore #i'm so so sorry #I hurt

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anestiefel · 5 years ago

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Barcelona: 10 tips for staying safe when visiting

‘There are very few aspects of Barcelona that I dislike. I love the beaches, especially in the summertime when the water is as warm as a heated pool. I adore the architecture from Gothic to Gaudi, which reaches back to Roman times and still dazzles me after many years living here. It’s also a pleasure to walk down the streets and hear a jumble of languages representing numerous cultures.

And the food and wine? Don’t even get me started on how much I love it!

But no place is perfect. That’s just not how life works. There’s a difficult side to even the sweetest destination. We’ve talked about a few of the negative aspects of Barcelona before, but I believe that the most annoying aspect of Barcelona is the petty theft and occasionally more aggressive forms of robbery that take place.

However, don’t let these minor safety issues discourage you from visiting this wonderful city. Instead, keep safe with these Barcelona safety tips.

Barcelona safety tips to follow for your next vacation

By following these Barcelona safety tips, you can have a better chance of avoiding any risky situations.

1. Watch your luggage

I’ve never seen it happen, but I’ve heard of luggage thieves on the AEROBÚS, the bus that connects downtown Barcelona to the airport. You don’t necessarily need to sit with your bag between your legs, and in some cases that may be seen as impolite, especially if the bus is very full. The AEROBÚS has a luggage rack; you should store big bags there.

My advice is to sit as close to the luggage rack as possible so that you can keep an eye on your belongings. Of course, laptop bags, purses and cameras should all go in your lap, not on the rack.

Graffiti in Barcelona alerting tourists to stay alert. Photo: Mr. Thor

2. Keep purses close

Never place your purse on the floor in a public place. If you are in a restaurant, your purse should be on your lap, not strung across the back of your chair. I’ve seen multiple robberies where a purse was slung over a chair or placed in an empty chair. The thief comes by your table running, snatches the purse and keeps going. You are too flabbergasted to react, plus you have a mouthful of patatas bravas, making it difficult to sound the alarm. You may try to run after him, but he’s faster, knows shortcuts and is long gone in seconds.

I did see this exact scenario go down in an outdoor eatery once. The victim screamed and three men jumped up from a neighboring table to run after the thief, eventually catching him and returning the purse. She was lucky. You might not have three track stars lunching beside you.

3. Be alert when shopping

You should keep an eye on your purse in clothing shops, too. For example, if you take off your jacket and purse in order to try on something without going into the dressing room, you’ll want to make sure that your purse is nestled snugly between your feet, not left unattended on a chair or on the floor. Thieves lurk in shops looking for an opportunity to snag a bag.

4. Choose the right neighborhood

Some areas of the city are safer than others, especially at night. The safest zones are those with few tourists because crime follows the jet-lagged, unaccustomed traveler. The safest areas are L’Eixample and Gràcia. The least safe are El Raval and the Gothic Quarter.

This does not mean that you shouldn’t stay in El Raval or the Gothic Quarter. In fact, they are both vibrant hoods with some of the city’s top nightlife and restaurants. But if you choose to stay in these areas, you need to keep your wits about you or travel with friends.

Related: Is it safe to stay in the Gothic Quarter?

Avoid carrying around large amounts of cash in Barcelona. Photo: Images Money

5. Be careful with cash

It’s best to take money out of an ATM in the middle of the day when lots of people are about. Avoid withdrawing large sums at night from desolate ATMs when no one is around. Also, avoid carrying lots of cash. Instead, leave most of your euros in the safe in your hotel room, and carry only what you need for the day. You will want to have some cash on hand because not all shops and restaurants in Barcelona accept credit cards.

Keep your bag in front of you like this rider on the Metro. Photo: Mathieu Marquer

6. Be aware of pickpockets on the Metro

Unfortunately, many a trusting tourist gets robbed on the Metro. The worst scenario is a packed car when everyone is squished up against everyone else. It’s hard to know in this situation if the tug you feel is a thief opening your bag or just the guy next to you trying to breathe in the cramped space. Keep your purse in your hands or held against your body and keep your wallet in your front pocket. If it’s really crowded, keep your hand on it.

Be aware when getting on or off the Metro. One trick thieves like to play is to grab a bag and hop off, just as the doors snap shut. They have your bag and all of your credit cards on the outside of the Metro, and you’re stuck inside. By the time you get to the next stop and find a police officer, the thief has enjoyed lunch on your Visa.

Another thing to keep in mind about the Metro is where and when you ride it. Late at night avoid the fringe lines. You will be fine at night on all lines in the city center, and there are usually many other revelers around. However, it does get a little wild on Fridays and Saturdays after midnight. Expect teens and college kids sipping booze, smoking joints and cigarettes, and singing off-key in a joyful haze. Mind you, none of this is legal (apart from the singing), but that hasn’t stopped anyone.

Before you run into the water, make sure someone is looking after your belongings. Photo: Mihai

7. Bring a buddy to the beach

The beach is best with a buddy. If you go alone, you won’t have anyone to look after your stuff while you swim. On a crowded day at the beach, ask the closest trustworthy-looking person to keep an eye on your things while you go for a dip. While you are sitting on the sand observing the waves, musing about the previous night’s wild Metro ride, make sure your bag and belongings are in front of you. Visitors make the mistake of setting their bag to their back, which makes an easy invitation for purse-snatchers.

Related: Best affordable hotels near the beach in Barcelona

In addition, be wary of someone who comes up and starts making small talk. Your first reaction should be to locate your bag, camera, belongings, etc. Thieves often work in twos: One distracts you with small talk while the other makes off with your stuff. The thief will keep you occupied until his friend is safely away, and then he will say his goodbyes.

Be aware at night when walking around less populated streets in Barcelona. Photo: Fernando García

8. Stick to the well-lit streets at night

El Raval and the Gothic Quarter are both fun ‘hoods to spend a night out on the town. Bars, clubs, pubs and concert halls abound in both areas. However, El Raval can be dangerous for women alone, especially down side streets. I’ve known many women who have been harassed in El Raval, and quite a few others who have been robbed in the neighborhood. You are better off if you go out with a group of people, or at least with a friend. Stick to well-lit streets with lots of traffic.

In the Gothic Quarter the same rule about sticking to well-lit areas applies. Another consideration in the Gothic Quarter is just how confusing its winding lanes can be. It is easy to get lost in this ‘hood, particularly in the dark after a few glasses of wine. Be aware of your surroundings, look for street signs and keep an eye out for suspicious characters.

9. Carry a copy of your passport

Make a copy of your passport and carry the photocopy around with you. Leave your passport, one of your credit cards, and extra cash in the safe in your hotel room. Remember that in some stores, like FNAC, you will need your physical passport in order to make a purchase with a credit card — but this is the exception, not the rule.

10. Armed robbery is very unusual but can happen

Most crime in Barcelona is of the petty theft variety. Muggings are rare. Guns are not common in Spain, and being held up at gunpoint is not at all common. However, it would be incorrect to assume that violent robbery does not happen. A friend of mine, who lived in El Born, was robbed violently twice in the course of six months. Understandably, these incidents upset him so much that he moved away from El Born. (And, of course, I have other friends who live in El Born, and nothing has ever happened to them.)

The thing is, El Born is a touristy area. There are many hotels and holiday apartments scattered around the ‘hood, and robbers know this. Both of the times my friend was robbed, it was near his house on a side-street in El Born at night. The first time, a man with a broken bottle approached my friend and demanded his wallet. He gave him what he had and the thief disappeared.

The second time, my friend had just returned from a long road trip to France. He had his luggage all about him on the street and had set down his laptop bag to look for his keys. He was standing right in front of his apartment. The thief came over with a knife, took his laptop bag, and then ran off as my friend screamed. It’s hard to say why my friend was a target, but I think it is probably because he looked like he was an unsuspecting tourist arriving late to a vacation rental.

These stories are infrequent, but that does not mean that they can’t happen. I think if someone comes up to you with a broken-off bottle and a deranged look in their eyes, the best thing to do is fork over your money. After all, you stowed your back-up cash safely away in the safe in your hotel room.

Remember: Barcelona is not dangerous

Despite my friend’s grim story, it’s important to stress that Barcelona is not a dangerous place. Let me just state that again: Barcelona is NOT dangerous.

Rife with petty theft, perhaps. Rife with kidnappers and gun-wielding drug lords, no. Plus, there are always lots of people about in downtown Barcelona. Safety comes in numbers. I feel much safer in Barcelona at 2 a.m. than I would in my hometown of Portland, Oregon, at the same time.

To have a trip free of pickpocketing and harassment, pay attention to where you are and where your belongings are at all times. Be vigilant and, at the end of your trip, you’ll leave town with both beautiful memories… and all your credit cards in your wallet.

Your Barcelona safety tips?

Have a tip about how to stay safe in Barcelona? Share with us in the comments section below!

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