#complete and utter despair about it all. i feel like such a freak for telling everyone to be safe and be careful all the time but this world

[pepprs]

i know i need to shut up abt it esp bc i don’t know for sure if i actually got exposed to covid but like. it’s just so fucking frustrating and terrifying. not just in the case of covid but with other things too like driving. you can take every precaution to keep yourself and the people around you safe but all it takes is one selfish careless asshole who can negate that in a heartbeat and ruin your life or maybe even end it in some circumstances. lol

[multiplefandomsblog]

Nagito, Kokichi and Gundham with a s/o who wears a mask

Desc; S/o is insecure of a large scar on her eye, so they cover it with a prosthetic mask. But someone snatches it off their face. >:(

Btw!!! If you have insecurities about past scars, remember that Nagito, Gundham and Kokichi will always love you no matter what! As well as the other characters from danganronpa >:3 remember to love yourself and all your scars, because you are truly beautiful! And you can’t say otherwise! ùwú

Warnings; tw; insults based off looks/scars, cussing, threatening, very very few sexual comments(there’s like 1)

Nagito

You were walking around the beach with Nagito, hand in hand. You two conversed about random topics, though Nagito mostly talked about hope obviously. As you two talked, you didn’t notice a certain pig-tailed girl make her way towards you. The both of you being too entranced by the other.

As you turned your head to see Hiyoko charging towards you, you were too slow to avoid her gremlin-like hands, Hiyoko was able to snatch your mask off. Your eyes widened in shock at the feeling of your mask being removed, but before you could even feel the air hit your face, Nagito acted quickly. 

He hastily brought you into a hug, gently pressing your face against his shoulder, shielding your scar from view. Personally, Nagito adored your scar, for he loved every part of you.

Despite all his countless compliments and sentiments, he knew how insecure you still were. So he did what he needed to do, for your sake. Feeling a warmth engulf your heart, you teared up at Nagito’s actions. You truly appreciated him.

You stood there in Nagito’s embrace, the embarrassment finally hitting you like a brick shortly after. Oh how you were glad Nagito was there. Nagito curled his arm protectively around your body, “Not cool, Hiyoko-san. What a terrible act of despair.” He shook his head and sighed from disappointment,

“Well it’s okay, your talent isn’t completely wasted. Because you can become a wonderful sacrifice for the other ultimates! Don’t you think?” Nagito spoke with sickly sweet tone, his words becoming louder and more crazed with time. He looked directly into Hiyoko’s panic-stricken irises with his swirled ones as he grinned.

“W-what are you saying? If you’re threatening m-me, I’ll tell the others!” Nagito nodded his head with an inappropriately cheerful smile, “Go ahead! Tell them what you did!” Nagito giggled maniacally, successfully scaring her away. She made a sound of frustration before skittering away like a cockroach. 

Hearing Hiyoko’s footsteps fade away, you slowly relaxed into Nagito’s protective embrace. Nagito slowly calmed down from his previous state as well, relieved that the rat was gone.

He didn’t let go of you until he realized what he was doing, “M-my hope! I’m so sorry, I know you probably didn’t want to hug trash like me-” He tried pulling away but you shoved his body back towards you. “... Thank you.” He let out a small squeak before hesitantly hugging you back. 

He brought his hands up to cup your face, seeing your face properly without your mask. Your eyes widened as you struggled to hide your face from his gaze. But before you could move away he kissed your scar multiple times, leaving you in a daze.

Your face got redder with every kiss he gave you, eventually he stopped right before your lips. “I love every single part of you, especially your scars, so don’t hide them from me.” And he leaned in.

Kokichi

You and Kokichi were playing hide & seek in the school—of course—after an abundant amount of pleading on Kokichi’s side. As soon as you heard Kokichi holler out a, “Ten!”

You started sprinting to the other side of the school; You see, you take hide & seek games very seriously. Well, you decided you’d take hide & seek games seriously ever since Kokichi said that, and I quote, “If you lose, you have to show me your face!”

Why did you take the bet, you ask? Because Kokichi also said, “But if I lose, I’ll wear a maid dress for a week!” And you needed to see him in that dress. So you ran like hell, on your way to the lockers in one of the classrooms. As you ran down the hall, you accidentally bumped into Miu. 

“Hey! Watch it, you piss stained deformed pig!” She yelled out, taking a step back, you looked at her with confusion and anger. “Bitch, excuse-” You cut yourself off as you felt her snatch your mask off your face. “W-what the hell!?”

You yelped as you stumbled back and covered your face with your hand, “Why w-would you do that?” You stuttered out, the vulnerability of your mask off hitting you like a truck. You looked to the ground, not being able to make eye contact with your assaulter, suddenly feeling anxious.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m sure everyone has wanted to see that gross face beneath your mask! I’d be doing them a favour!” She threw her head back, hysterically laughing at you.

You wanted so bad to knock her off her high horse, but she was still holding on to your mask. Since you’ve become overly comfortable with your mask, you weren’t able to function properly without it.

So all you could utter out was a meek, “J-just give it back.” Because of your focus on your mask, you completely forgot about the hide & seek game. Thus, forgetting that Kokichi was probably trying to find you right now.

“Whaaaaaat~? Iruma-san got to see your face before me? S/o-chaaaaaan, that’s not fair.” You shot your head up, making eye contact with a pair of familiar purple eyes. Before quickly looking back down, too ashamed to reveal your face.

Miu’s eyes darted around the room to find the source of the noise, but she couldn't find where it came from. Then, Miu suddenly tensed up, feeling Kokichi’s tight grip on her shoulder.

“Hey, hey, why don’t I rip out your eyeballs so we can say you never saw anything?” Kokichi dug his fingers into her shoulder, eerily grinning up at her. Miu winced and tried to get away from him. Seeing this, Kokichi giggled, “Nishishi!” before leaning beside her ear, “...You have 5 seconds, whore.”

Kokichi’s grin grew impossibly larger, looking as if the edges of his mouth had been split. A lewd cry came out from Miu’s mouth before she freed herself from the boy’s grip. You both watched as she ran down the hall, clutching her groin. Did... did she get aroused from that?

You looked back down and watched Kokichi’s shoes as they slowly approached you. “Hmmm, my turn! My turn!” Kokichi gripped both your wrists, pulling them away from your face. Flinching away from his gaze, you expected him to make a disgusted face or push you away but instead he said,

“Oh c’mon, you don't even look that bad! Maaaaan, I thought you’d look scary. But instead you just look perfectly fuckable! Bummer.” Kokichi huffed out defeatedly, pretending not to notice your face that was becoming redder and redder with every second. “You can’t say things l-like that so e-easily!”

Kokichi smirked at your flustered state, before putting on an innocent facade, “Hey, why are you so nervous, huh? Is it because you like me?” You perked your head up slightly from his guess in panic, oh shit he knows. “Well? Answer the question, dummy!” He playfully leaned in closer to get a reaction out of you.

He tilted his head underneath yours, trying to get you to make eye contact with him. Not being able to avoid his gaze, you shyly looked at him. He grinned when he saw your eyes lock with his, content that you finally looked at him. You flushed underneath his stare, “Ohhh I see.” He exaggerated,

“So you are in love with me.” Before you could refute, Kokichi pecked you quickly on your lips, disallowing you from saying anything else. “W-wha?” Kokichi cackled to himself before running away, “Nishishi! Start counting, S/o-Chan~!” 

Gundham

 You were in the rocket punch market with Gundham, searching the aisles for freeze dried strawberries. You and Gundham wanted to get his hamsters a treat so they can, ‘rise and become the rulers of the island!‘ as the great prince of darkness said.

You looked through the candy aisle, searching for the dried fruit. While skimming your hand through the various plastic packages, you accidentally brushed your hand against Gundham’s. You both pulled away and flushed from the contact. 

You hid your blushing face in your mask, whilst he hid his in his scarf. You both apologized profusely to each other, “S-sorry! I wasn’t watching my hand and-” “S/o, you must’t apologize! It was me who was at fault.” You two kept bickering back and forth, before ultimately reaching a common ground. ‘It was the package’s fault.’ Hiyoko rolled her eyes at your disgustingly adorable ‘argument’.

You two went back to searching for the treat, stealing small glances from each other. God, you guys acted like an oblivious awkward teen couple. Hiyoko watched your dumbasses act like idiots and got sick of it, she just wanted her goddamn gummy bears.

She groaned before barging into your aisle, “You guys are so annoying! Ugh, can’t you and freak-face just go already?” You winced at the insult, feeling that deep pit of insecurity all over again. 

Hiyoko went up to you and smacked your mask off, “For fuck’s sake, why do you even like this nerd? They’re so ugly!” You scrambled to your knees to pick your mask back up. But before you could, she stepped on it.

You whimpered at the broken material, letting your hair cover your face like a curtain. You slowly stood up with one hand on your face, about to leave as Hiyoko said but Gundham quickly grabbed your wrist. 

He faced Hiyoko with a threatening aura surrounding him, “Puto vos esse molestissimos, vacca stulta.” Hiyoko looked at Gundham with scared confusion, “The fuck? A-are you cursing me?” Gundham looked at Hiyoko dead in the eyes before taking another breath, 

“Faciem durum cacantis habes, futue te ipsum!” Hiyoko slowly backed away, feeling chills run up her spine. “I just wanted some damn gummy bears!” Hiyoko wailed before turning on her heels and out the doors. 

Gundham turned to you, checking if you were okay. But instead, you stepped away from him. You didn’t want him to see your scar, you didn’t want him to think you were ugly. “Wait- I- My mask-” You choked up, feeling a panic attack bubble up from your chest.

Gundham looked at you with concern, it pained him to see you in such distress. Grabbing your shoulders, he spoke to you with a strong, confident voice, “S/o. You are the darkest light in my life, I adore every part of you. Your battle scars, your charisma, you. I love you.”

He moved your hair away from your face, and lightly kissed your scar. “Your scar proves how incredible you are, it proves you’ve fought the demons in hell! And that just makes you even more perfect.”

You smiled when you heard him call you perfect, unsure of when someone last called you that. You continued to cry harder, but instead of in pain, you cried from the overwhelming love you had for this man. 

sorry for taking long! and thank you for requesting :)

[yandere-society]

Scream

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: It’s been a year since your mother was slaughtered, with no leads pointing to any possible suspects. It’s been an up-hill battle for you to accept what happened— especially with no answers or closure— and the citizens of your hometown have been sleeping with one eye open ever since. But now, the mystery killer has decided to make an anniversary visit, and is making it known that they not only have a dire love for infamous horror films... but they also have their targets set on you and all of your closest friends.

Word count: 8k

Headline: Small Town Woodsbroro Is Waking Up Screaming Once Again!

Warnings: dark themes; Gore; Smut; Crackhead humor (only because I promised my bff I’d give her an honorable death scene); Foul language; Jungkook is psychotic; Graphic depictions of him killing your mom/friends; we’re also going to pretend that it’s outrageously easy to get away with murder; dont fact check me on anything you read here; rough sex; mask kink. 

Admin: @tatertotthethot​

Baley was high as a fucking kite.

 So high, that she didn’t care about it being 1am as she blasted the Cha-Cha slide at full volume. 

  So high, that she was completely disregarding her lactose intolerance whilst making herself a triple layered, sharp cheddar grilled cheese that was bound to have her ass blasting right back off by 3am. 

  So, outrageously stoned, that she was totally unaware of the masked killer standing just outside the glass doors in her kitchen, watching her every move.. With her beat up, hogtied boyfriend laying out next to him. 

  “Now it’s time to fawnky! To the right now—“ 

  She crab walked along with the instructions, spatula in hand. 

  “To the left!”

  “Take it back now, y’all.” 

  Ghostface grimaced beneath his mask, eyes stalking the stoned woman with disdain. She was  the epitome of “crackhead energy” and it pissed him off how much she resembles you. It only makes sense, being as you two have been best friends since kindergarten— probably soulmates in a past life— but it is within that fact that Ghostface has grown to absolutely fucking loath her. 

  She’s too much like you. She keeps up with your humor and probably has more of your heart than he, himself, has earned a place in yet. He knows good and well that if it ever came down to you having to pick between him and her, you’ll pick her. 

  That simply will not do. That’s exactly why he is about to rid you of that option— or, as he sees it, the dilemma. 

He growled and  swung at the air, wishing he could just bust in and end her already.

  “How could you be in love with that creature?” He hissed at Taehyung, the built-in voice box beneath his mask altering it enough to remain anonymous. The question was quite hypocritical, being as he was in love with a girl that most would consider Baley’s second-half, but only you were an exception to being so.. abnormal.

  “Mmmph—“ Taehyung drearily gurgled out from beneath the strip of tape over his mouth, tears breaching his eyes as he watched Baley’s precious, uncoordinated ass do the “Charlie brown”. It looked more like a fucked up gallop.

  “What is the sex like, dude?” Ghostface ripped the duck tape off Taehyung’s split lips. “That’s a serious question.”

 “Boo bear..” was all Taehyung could muster up, more scared for her than himself.

  Ghostface gagged and slapped the tape right back on with a little too much force, having to take a second to regain his composure before pressing the call button on Taehyung’s phone. The Spotify music thankfully cut off as her phone rang out from the counter.

  Baley was only upset for a split before she spotted the name on her phone screen, and was quick to answer it with a sickening amount of glee.

  “Angel muffin!” She cooed. Gross

  “Hi, boo bear..” Ghostface flipped his middle finger up at Taehyung before clutching his Bowie knife back down to his side. 

  “Oh my God, What was that? You sound like Corpse, mixed with the bear from Five Nights At Freddy’s.” 

  “The bears name is Freddy, dumbass.” 

  Baley neck rolled back in offense.

  “Are you trying to get pegged or prolapsed? Might wanna remember who the fuck you’re talking to, the next time you call this cellular.” She snapped, hanging the phone up with a viscous pout. She still somehow managed to pick back up on the beat and cha-cha’d real smooth as she took the pot off the eye and turned the stove off, visibly upset.

  Ghostface stood there for a moment, processing what she just said, before turning towards Taehyung. 

“She claps your cheeks?” 

  Taehyung glared back at the screaming-ghost mask, bracing himself when a gloved hand reached out to once again rip the ductape off his lips. 

  “It’s not sus!” He immediately defended. “I have a gspot up there for a reason. I am not ashamed to use it.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about that!” The killer snapped out. “why would you let that.. unstable individual insert something into your rectum—“ 

  “You’ve got a whole lotta nerve calling somebody else unstable,” Taehyung deadpanned, and with that, his mouth was once again resealed shut. 

  He called Baley’s phone again, just as she was about to take a bite of the sandwhich that she’ll, unfortunately, never get to eat. 

  “What, fucker?” She scorned.

  “I can see you.” 

  “Oh, yeah?” She sarcastically spat. “Then what am I doing?” 

  She clenched her buttcheeks in and hunched her back out, her body resembling a question mark, before vigorously gyrating her body- mostly just her spine. Jungkook knows from the various tiktoks you’ve shown him that he was witnessing the inverted-twerk. 

  “Hm? Tell me, fuckboy. What am I doing?”

  ”Something a fucking cockroach does after I spray Raid on it. How the fuck do you clench your buttcheeks like that?” 

  Baley halted in mid thrust, surprised but not exactly fearful (yet) as she whizzed around to face the sliding glass doors that led into her back yard. It was pitch black outside, and all she could see was her own reflection starring back at her. She was also too high to care about the fact that she had the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and the strings pulled all the way out, which  only exposed the center of her face in a squished circle. 

  “I use my glutes. You know that. Why haven’t you come in?” She asked, not superstitious but a lil-stitious. 

  “This isn’t Taehyung.”

  “Okay, Isn’t Taehyung. Why haven’t you come in?” 

  “Because I want you to come out here.” The killer responded, grinning at the visible unease finally creeping into the girls stance.

  “Okay, babe— I hate to be a bummer here, but considering that today is the one-year anniversary of Ms. (L/N)’s murder, this isn’t very Cash Money of you. Can you please just come in and.. stop?”

  He let out a chuckle, a dark one. 

  “Boo bear?”

  “What, Isn’t Taehyung?”

  “Turn on the outside lights.“

Ghostface put the speaker on the phone and sat it on the ground as he crouched over Taehyung, pulling him to sit up straight. He watched as Baley apprehensively padded over to the light switch by the door. He could practically feel her heart beating in-sync with Taehyung’s racing one as he placed the knife to his neck, smiling beneath his disguise.

  The lights flickered on, and she screamed, terror finally bringing the seriousness out in the situation. 

  “HANG UP OR MOVE A MUSCLE AND HE DIES!” The killer roared, knowing she was still too high for her survival instincts to kick in. Any sober, sane individual would’ve probably caught on to the fact that they were gonna die no matter what she did. What was just making it easier for himself, knowing her dumbass was gonna comply.

  “W-What do you want me to do?” 

  See?

  “Be a good girl, and come here.” 

  “Quit trying to seduce me, you sick son of a bitch. My boyfriend’s literally right there!” She croaked out, voice shrill with exasperation. 

  The killer plunged the knife into Taehyung’s arm, making him jolt to life with a pain-filled howl. Baley began sobbing out, apologizing profusely. 

  “Your boyfriends going to get gutted like a fish if I have to repeat myself. Drop the phone and come here.” Ghostface seethed, wrenching the knife back out on the last word.

   Baley reluctantly— and stupidly—  did as told. She let the phone fall from her hand, then jumped out of her skin as the Bluetooth reconnected in the house and started playing WAP. She tried not to sing along despite the situation as she padded over, shaky hands rising to cover her mouth.

“N-Now what?” She asked. 

  “I just figured your last words should be said face-to-face. Is there anything you two would like to say to each other?” He asked, that being the only generosity he’d be willing to spare as he ripped the tape away from Tae’s mouth, one last time. 

Baley dropped to her knees, so much despair in her eyes. So many things she wanted to say. She recollected herself and caught her breath in just enough time to utter final goodbye: “I-I-I said certified freak..” 

  Tae’s eyes closed as a single tear escaped, nodding his head in understanding. “Seven days a week...” 

  “GAH!” The killer roared out, wrenching  Taehyung’s head back to slice his throat before shoving him away and lunging  at Baley. 

  She landed on her back with him on top, and he wasted no time as he began slashing her apart, in any way he possibly could. He let all the pent up rage and annoyance he felt towards her, out on her body. It was worse than the brutality he inflicted on to your mother this time last year. He’d only stabbed her a total of 19 times— one for every year she failed you as a mother. With Baley, he didn’t stop tearing into her until WAP ended. And damn, did it feel good. He finally felt like he’d purged his soul clean.

  This may all seem reckless, but Jungkook was actually just lucky. In order to mask his true motive behind all this, he had to find another one to cover it with. It was simply convenient that Baley’s father is the town mayor, and after a little digging, he made the grand discovery that he was also having a secret affair with (Y/N)’s mother. In fact, the mayor had several mistresses throughout the town. 

  Jungk—er, Ghostface.. chopped off one of Baley’s fingers and slid the glass door shut, writing the same words on it that he wrote on your mother’s bathroom mirror.

  CHEATING PIG!!

  Yes. When he did this last year, the police had to dissect through your mother’s long line of past sexual partners, and had to track down the father you never met for an interview. No leads came about, because it was all time wasted, anyways. Now, with this new addition, the mayor will not only have to set the scandals ablaze again by having to publicly confess his infidelity to the town and police, but they’ll have to lead on another pointless investigation for every woman he’s cheated with— over a dozen of them. They’ll have to also charge him with withholding crucial information from the investigation as well, but what’s so fucking comical about it all is that.. NONE of it has anything to do with any of this. It’ll just be another cold case with no leads. 

  And maybe, just MAYBE you’ll be smart enough to ditch this place and come with him. That’s all he wanted. You have nothing left and nothing to come back to now, and as long as you give in to him and leave, there won’t have to be anymore lives taken. You could start a new life and never experience another hell like the one he’s creating here. If only you’d say yes.

  “May you both continue to clap each other’s cheeks in the deepest depths of hell,” he told the mauled corpses as he walked off, so happy to have Baley gone that he almost wanted to skip to his car. 

  Now, he will go home and clap your cheeks to complete the cycle.

  —

“Damnit, bitch, pick up,” you huffed in frustration as Baley’s FaceTime continued to roll over, telling you that she’s unavailable. You thought you could power through today with your newly adapted ability to suppress shit, but it was hard when you’re left alone to reminisce. You just couldn’t shake the fact that the date on today’s calendar marked the same day that your heart, soul, and peace of mind was so horribly torn apart. 

  It didn’t help that you also missed your mother terribly. She wasn’t always the best, but she still loved you, and you loved her. Oh, God. Mom—

No. No. Don’t think about her.

You tried calling Baley one more time and couldn’t fight off the tremble in your hands, nor the tears at your water ducts as it rung through till the end. Damnit. 

  You couldn’t be angry. She doesn’t owe you the company— especially since you two have already been FaceTiming all day. But she was good at distractions, always able to drag you out of your shell of deprecation with her chaotic sense of humor. She is one of the only two people you have in your life that are capable of doing such, but you knew you’d get scolded if you blew up the others phone. Jungkook hates being hounded and rushed, having already told you that he’ll be there any minute. But he’s taking way too fucking long it seems, and you just hate sitting here, waiting.

  You can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. The feeling first crept up on you this time last year and never left. You felt so venerable to the cruel world when you’re alone, especially since the maniac is still out there.

  You still resent the police department  for practically giving up on your mother’s case after 9 months. “Cheating pig” was the only lead they got and yet, it pointed them no where. She wasn’t in a relationship. She didn’t even like relationships. And still, they deemed it a randomized attack— no leads, no motives. Nothing. Just a local woman stabbed in the chest 19 times while taking a shower. Like some Psycho remake. No signs of forced entry. No evidence of sexual assault. Just a very passionate, yet unexplainable massacre with a useless message left behind. 

  It doesn’t make sense. And even though you wish to never have the attacker come back, you can feel it in your bones that they will wish to clarify it one day. 

  “Fuck it.” You breathed out, heart slamming against your chest and paranoia gnawing at your insides as you quickly scrolled to Jungkook contact. But then, just as your thumb twitched to press the call button, your door bell rung and you sprung up to your feet, making a mad dash to the door. You checked the peep hole first, just knowing it was gonna be him, but was disappointed when it wasn’t. That still didn’t keep a rush of relief from washing over you when you did see who it really was, though. You forced a welcoming smile on to your face as you unlocked all 7 bolts from the door, and opened it to greet Namjoon and Hobi with a hug. 

  They were cops, currently in their uniforms, also old friends from highschool. They’ve been looking out for you ever since last year, always making sure you knew you were safe beneath their watch. They use to take turns guarding your house until they were told to stop, but you were extremely happy to see them both here at the same time tonight.

  “Everything okay?” Hobi asked, having noticed the shake in your limbs during the brief embrace. He leaned back and observed the tension in your eyes, even though you were hoping to hide it. 

  “Yes, just— today,” was all you could say, and didn’t have to clarify for them to understand. 

  “That’s why we’re here. We got permission to guard your house tonight,” Namjoon explained, eyes drifting over your shoulder and into your house. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes, but Jungkook should be here any minute now. He had to go to South Korea for a week for his fathers birthday and just flew back in tonight, but apparently there’s been some huge wreck on the main highway and everyone has been stuck.”

  That bit of information was actually true. However, Jungkook was lucky enough to have just miss it.. because he’s the one that actually caused it. It was honestly dumb-luck as to how he did it, but kind of amazing when given details.

  He was in the express lane, him and the car behind him hitting 80mph. He recognized the car as the one that was parked beside his back at the airport, because he had stopped and took a moment to judge the driver for how worn down and raggedy the tires were. One bad pot hole or nail in the road would strip that sucker straight from the rim. 

  And that’s exactly what inspired him as he recognized the car, an idea sparking that could soon serve as an alibi in the future. He already had a hand out the window, smoking a cigarette. He still has those iron steak-nails he used at his construction sight. They’re 5 inches in length, subtle enough to casually drop out of a car window along with the cigarette. If they hit just right... 

  He gave it a try, honestly thinking it wasn’t going to work.

  But holy fucking hell, did it.  Not even a second after he dropped it, did the car suddenly swerve out as it’s tires screeched and sparks flew. Rubber scattered out amongst the road as the car continued to spin out, getting struck by a the car in all 6 lanes of traffic, ultimately causing a huge pile up in just under 10 seconds. It was the most destruction he’s ever witnessed and it happened so fucking fast he almost ran himself off the road just watching from the rear view mirror.

  “NO FUCKING WAY!” Jungkook had squawked out as his head rapidly whipped back and forth to witness the massive mess he just created behind him. He was smiling like the maniac he is, undoubtably impressed with himself. He did it so lazily, too. But it only pumped him up even more for what he needed to do- the whole reason he even thought to do that. He only wanted something major enough to buy himself maybe an hour’s worth of time, so that when/if he gets interrogated in the future, they can check the traffic reports for a registered wreck to fit his alibi. But considering that he just shut the whole damn highway down, it’ll not only register but definitely make tonight’s news. 

  “Ah, yeah. We heard about that. 36 cars piled up. Can’t believe nobody was killed.” Namjoon said.

  “How the fuck did that even happen?” You wondered, baffled.

  “Some dickhead was going 80 an hour on an old tire and it wiped out after hitting a nail on the road. Thankfully, he only has a broken nose and whip flash, but with all the cars that got totaled— I don’t even want to know how much the cost of damage would be. But it caused 5 miles worth of traffic back-up.” 

  “Mm..” you grimaced, shaking your head. “Well.. would you guys like some dinner? Maybe some Coffee?”

  “Ah, thanks, but there’s no need. We’ve got all the energy drinks and McDonald’s we need. You just chill out for the night, we’re right out here if you need anything,” Hobi assured, making you genuinely smile for the first time in the past two days. 

 But that was just before a familiar car pulled up that had your mood skyrocketing.

  “FINALLY!” You broke out, sprinting down the steps and over the driver side of it right as the man of the hour stepped out. He welcomed you with open arms and easily lifted your feet up of the ground.

  He looked just as good as he smelt. You’ve missed him more than words could describe in this past week— and Jungkook knew it. Of course, he had offered to take you with him so that you could finally meet his parents. But as predicted, you declined, saying that it’d be too much to meet his mother when the anniversary of your own’s death was approaching. 

  You continued to squeeze your arms around his neck for the next several seconds, and it wasn’t until he heard you sniffling and felt your shoulders shake that he realized you were crying. He couldn’t help but like that type of reaction. He was hoping the distance would torment you, maybe teach your ass a lesson.

  “Don’t cry,” he rumbled in your ear as he pressed you hard against his lower half,  making sure to up the intimacy of the embrace as he felt the eyes of the onlookers in the yard. 

He waited for a second before peering over at the officers, who were awkwardly standing beside their cars. He gave a wave, pretending as if he were sheepish about them having to witness this. 

  “How’s it goin, guys?” 

  “Fine, fine,” Hobi responded. “Don’t mind us. We’re just here to watch out for you guys.”

  “I appreciate that. Really.” He said in his best acting voice, even flashing a dimpled grin that gave off nothing but innocence as the two got into a patrol car, nodding to him in welcome. It actually makes things more convenient for him. They’ll be able to backup his whereabouts later on.

  He pondered this while returning his attention to you, coaxing you out of your emotional outburst.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just been so hard not having you here. Fuck, I’m so glad you’re back.” You breathed in and sighed out, and he could tell by the end of the last sentence that you were more-so talking to yourself, clinging to him one last time just to greedily soak in the physical presence of his body. He felt something ache in his heart, as well as his jeans. 

  “Well, I’m here now. Maybe next time, you’ll just go with me,” he lightly chided, hand coming up to pet your head as he kissed the top of it. 

  “Yeah.. I started regretting it after the first hour you left.” You whispered out, meeting his lips. You kissed each other a couple times, probably more than necessary. But it calmed you down and made you feel steady again. “Come on, I made you something to eat.” 

  He got his duffel bag out from the back seat and slung it over his shoulder before taking your hand,  following you inside. It boosted his ego knowing that the two men watching from the tinted windows of the car were secretly jealous of him. They had a thing for you. Almost every straight guy in highschool did. That’s why he never minded what you wore, and was more than happy to let you flaunt yourself to their eyes. He liked teasing others, knowing they’ll never have such a prize as you.

  Once inside, you were quick to relock your bolts. You were very strict about that now, taking extra precautions to prevent a potential attack. It kind of humored him knowing that it was him, a resident inside this very home itself, that those locks were meant to keep out. You’re literally locking yourself in with the killer.

  “Damn, you cleaned the hell out of this place.” He ogled, not only taking in the immaculacy but smelling the pinesol and bleach amongst the floors and counter tops. All the laundry was folded, not a speck of dust in sight. You even cleaned the grout amongst the kitchen flooring, it seemed. Nothing looked out of place. 

   “I had to do something to keep from wigging out,” you shrugged, walking over to start the microwave for him to heat up his dinner plate. He left his duffel bag by the door and grabbed himself a beer before sitting at the table, noticing it’s prestigious shine. 

  “Did you polish it?”

  “Yeah...” you said as you scratched the back of your neck, somehow embarrassed. 

  “It’s looks amazing in here, kitten. Really. I know you did it to cope but still, you did a damn good job.” He praised, feeling a little bad. He knows this took a lot of work, and it sucks that you opted to do all this just to keep the anxiety of his absence away.

  “Thank you,” you sighed, taking his plate out and sitting in down in front him, then handing him some utensils. 

“Where’s your plate?”

  “I already ate, silly. I’ll munch with you, though.” You began making yourself a salad as he began to eat, complimenting you on how good it was. He doesn’t know that you’ve been awake for two days straight, and that you’re still battling off an anxiety attack. You were expecting it to vanish now that he’s here, but the sleep deprivation was getting to you. 

  So, you decided to reminisce on better memories. The old days; back when you first met him.

  It was senior year of highschool, and he was the new transfer student from South Korea. He was the punk-emo guy that stood out amongst the crowd. All black clothing, more band shirts than anything. He had that messy mop-hair going on, and approximately 6 piercings on each ear, along with a studded labret to boot. 

  From day one, he was the most attractive guy you’ve ever laid eyes on.  Much to his exterior trope, he was anti-social and didn’t seem friendly at all. The only time you personally heard him speak for the first few months of school was when he’d answer the teacher for roll call. 

You only had one class together, chemistry. He’d always sit at the back of the classroom, and you’d remember the giddiness you’d feel just before walking into class and making eye contact with him, even for just a split second. You heart always skipped a beat and would threaten to seize up whenever Baley would lean over and tell you that he was looking at you again. Of course, that would be all the interaction you could get, being as you refused to engage any further. But life seemed to play out like a Wattpad fic back then. 

  Around the middle of first semester, your teacher was fed up with all the chatter amongst friends, so she decided to assign seats. Jungkook’s was still at his designated one, but you had to sit directly in front of him so that Taehyung could sit closer up, next to Baley. It’s also thanks to that class that the two of them fell for each other. It was also the same day she issued a partner-assignment that had to be done with the peer behind you. 

 You remembered having to play it cool, turning your desk and chair around to face him head-on for the first time ever. You anticipated that he’d still be sporting that ice-cold, disinterested glare, but he actually seemed pleased. He wasn’t actually smiling but he had a friendly glint in his eyes, like he welcomed you.

  “Hello,” he started off, naturally confident in himself.

  “Howdy,” you responded, immediately hating yourself. You’ve never uttered such a word in your life and you don’t know why the fuck you decided that that was the perfect moment to try it out. 

  He only snorted back at you, though, amusement swirling in his colorless eyes. You were intimidated by that as well. They were jett black. No distinction between his pupils and his irises. Just solid, black orbs boring into you.

  You then continued to battle with basic communication.  

“So, uhm.. wh—..” 

English, motherfucker! Do you speak it?!

“What parts do you wanna do?” You rushed out.

  “I’ll get the information together and answer the questions, as long as you create the PowerPoint and present it to the class,” he said without missing a beat, as if he’d already decided on that for the both of you. 

  “What criteria, though?” You asked, still waiting on that part. 

  “All of it...” He reiterated in a “duh” tone. 

  “That’s not fair to you, though...” you continued. 

  He arched an impressively sharp brow. “How?” 

  “You’re literally doing all the hard work.”

He shrugged, and you tried not to drool when you saw all his rings and the veins on his hands and fingers as he took his phone out. “I learned this shit back when I was freshman in South Korea. We’re way ahead of y’all there.” 

  “Oh.. well.. I can at least do the images and label them.” 

  Stop starring at his fingers.

  “Mm,” he hummed with a lack of conviction, still looking at his phone. “No offense, but no.”

  “Uhm.. okay..” you frowned in dejection, not sure how to respond to that. 

  “I said no offense,” he grinned up at you apologetically. “I just know you’re bad with visualizations.” 

  “What? I have an A in here. How do you even know that?”

  “The teacher got onto you for messing up the labels on the last test. You got all the functions right but failed to match them to their description.” He said without any hesitation, and you were just as stunned as you were embarrassed. But he didn’t seem to be insulting you, and even reassured you of it. “Again, no offense. I just think it’s best for the both of us if I do it.” 

  “Okay. Cool,” You agreed, deciding to let him have it. Your face still burned, though. 

  “You still have an important role, don’t worry. Presentation is worth 40%, so you’re still gonna have to put in work and present it accordingly.” 

  “I can do that.” You nodded, suddenly feeling like you were sitting before a full grown man rather than a teenage boy. You couldn’t help but ask: “How old are you?” 

  “19,” he mused, as if he knew what you were thinking. He didn’t even ask you why you asked, and instead returned his attention back to his phone screen. “You?”

  “18,” you muttered, your eyes reconnecting to his hands like magnets.

    You really wanted to compliment them but decided against it, being as you were no longer as confident with this situation. Sure, he deserves to know how beautiful his hands are but you’re weren’t going to be the one to say it. You were expecting a cheeky personality at most, just because it fits the mischievous bad boy bullshit you read about in teen fiction, but you were instead met with a blunt and mature persona that made you intimidated in a way that you’ve never experienced before. He almost seemed.. authoritative to you. 

  “I see you like my rings.” He smirked, eyes not even looking back up at you. You had spaced out whilst tracing the path of his veins again, and immediately cut your eyes down to your own phone, feigning innocence.

  “Whatchu mean?”

  “Everyone like my hands, for some reason. I see you’re no different.” 

  “I ain’t even looking at your hands. Maybe you’re just too conceded,” you shot back, leg nervously pouncing as he lifted his head up to peer at you. 

  “Really?” He sarcastically challenged, making your insides stir. He sat up straight and pulled his hands back under his desk. “So the gold rings didn’t even catch your eye?” 

  “Your rings are silver.” You said without even thinking, then straight up face-palmed when you caught yourself.

  “Thought so.” He openly grinned, and the little notion caused butterflies to erupt in your tummy. He pulled his phone back out and still wore that playful grin of his as you bashfully held his gaze. “Now, if you think you can manage to tell the truth, what’s your phone number?” 

    It’s amazing looking back at those memories, because you’re now starting to think that maybe Jungkook just knew back then that you two were going to hit it off. He’s always seemed so sure of himself when it came to you, always knew what the next move was gonna be and never once sent mixed signals or struggled to express how he felt towards you. He’s the most straightforward person you know, so much that it’s almost unnatural at times. If he was ever bluffing about anything outside of being playful, you’ve never been able to call it. 

  But damn, are you madly in love with him. You guess his ability to always remain focused and blunt is perfect for a person like you. He keeps you moving... well, for the most part. He wants you to move back to South Korea with him, and although you know you’ll eventually give in, you’ve been trying to hold off on it for as long as you can. 

 It won’t be as easy for you as it was for him. Jungkook was already fluent in English when he came here, thanks to his mother’s bilingualism. He hardly even had an accent from how well adjusted he was to your language. You, however, don’t know a bit of Korean. For you to go there, it would impair you in almost every single way. You won’t be able to go anywhere without him. You won’t be able to read directions or road signs. You won’t be able to go out and eat or order off the menu if there isn’t any pictures. You won’t be able to work. You’ll have to adapt to a whole new culture and way of communication, just to properly function outside of your home without him at your side. 

  Which, brings along another point, you’ll be without any friends. You don’t want to live in a world where you can’t go out with Taehyung and Baley whenever you wanted. You’ll be lonely as hell and home sick, he’ll be your only source of humanly contact until you learn.

  You’ve told yourself that if the two of you remain stable for one more year, then you’ll go. You are ready for a change, but if you could just get one more year of preparation, you’ll be ready to go. You’ll take that leap of faith with him. 

  “What is it, kitten?” He finally asked, the prolonged silence getting to him.

  “Nothing,” you lied, but didn’t want to divulge. “How was your trip?” 

  “Nice, but I was bummed out the whole time.” He shot you a look that made you pout in apology, but continued. “I talked all about you to them, showed them pictures. Almost fucked up and showed my cousin your vagina.” 

  You choked on your salad, which made him laugh. “I told you to put those in your hidden folder.”

  “There’s so many, I just haven’t taken the time to pick them all out. It’s okay though, they only saw your face. They all think very beautiful— especially my mom.”

  Your smile grew at that, “Yeah?” 

  “Yeah. So does my grandmother and my aunts. They were passing my phone around more than the dishes.” He snorted to himself, “They were even more surprised to see how much I smiled in our selfies. Which... I should warn you, when you do finally see my parents house, don’t be surprised when you spot our photo booth pictures framed in the hall. My mom went feral when she saw how much of a simp I was being in those.” 

  “She printed those out?!” You almost cried.

  “Yes, she did. She printed each one individually and framed them side-by-side.” 

  “Aw, Kookie. I should’ve just went. I’m so sorry.” You pouted, guilt causing your heart to sink.

“You weren’t ready, angel. They understood,” He assured you, leaning forward to take your hand in his. You suddenly wanted to cry again. 

  “But I promise to go next time. Or whenever you wanna take me. I swear, I’ll go.” You said in determination, and was a little thrown off by his reaction.

  His face went blank for a moment c like his brain needed a second to buffer. 

  “You will?” He inquired, that being the first time you’ve actually agreed or expressed any type of want. “Why now?”

  “Because it sounds like they really want to meet me, too? What’s wrong?” 

  “Nothing. That’s great. I just figured you wouldn’t be moved by that. You really wanna go now?”

  “Yeah. Your family sounds so nice.” 

  “Was that what kept you from coming?” He interrogated, and it’s clear that he genuinely had no faith in you ever entertaining the idea.. which was a little disheartening. You’ve never said you’d never want to go, you’ve always kept a window open for later. You not sure why he’s so surprised. 

  “No, not necessarily. I wasn’t ready to meet them but if they’re that excited to meet me, then.. of course it’ll make me want to meet them, too. And get a little taste of South Korea.” 

  “Alright, I’ll plan a trip,” he had to say with forced enthusiasm, which you bought as you kissed his lips. Inwardly, though, he was screaming. If all it fucking took was a little conviction by saying his family was nice, just to make you consider.. them maybe he wouldn’t have had to do what he just did. 

  Whatever. Extra insurance. He had to tell himself, and decided to retrain his thoughts back on you as he remembered something.

  “I have a special surprise for you.” 

  “Yeah?” 

  “Mhm,” he stood up and walked over to his duffel, fishing around before pulling something out. “Close your eyes.”

 You did as told, and waited about 10 seconds. 

“Open.”

You almost shit yourself upon hearing the voice, then came closer to shitting yourself when you took in the familiar Ghostface mask that you seen in the movie Scream.

  “WHUZZZUUHHH!” He drawled out while doing the cowabunga fingers, and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

  “Where the hell did you get that?”

  “Halloween store. I got it in Korea.”

   That was a lie. He’s had two of these masks for over two years, both of which he got from Party City here in America. He bought one to kill your mother in— the same one he just wore to kill your friends in— and the other one was meant for what he wanted to do now. He wanted to fuck you with it on. He’s not sure why, but why not? You might  discover you have a mask kink. 

  “What the fuck is up with the voice?” 

  “Sexy, ain’t it?” He animatronically purred out, and it wasn’t until he fully stepped forward and began undoing his belt that you realized he was already shirtless. 

  Your eyes grew wide as you landed back in your chair, unable to decipher if this was a joke or not. You soon realized it wasn’t as he was now popping his button loose and unzipping his pants— his hardening dick print becoming more prominent. 

  “You’re not fucking me with that mask on,” you blurted out, sticking your foot out to stop him from advancing any closer.

  “I’m fucking you with this mask on,” he argued, grabbing your ankle. “Consider it pay back for the time you refused to give me head unless I let you wear your Burger King crown.” 

  “No, Darth Vader.” You tried pulling your leg back but soon wound up almost getting drug out of your chair and onto the floor. Your unease soon turned into giggles and screams as wound up besting your play fight, his mask only coming off long enough to go down on you at the kitchen table. 

  And that’s what set the night off. You went from getting your pussy eaten at the dinner table to getting your throat wrecked on the living room couch. Then you were forced to watch yourself get rammed up against your body mirror in the bedroom, and now you’re bent up like a pretzel amongst your bed.

  “Ah— GAH!” You grunted in struggle, finding it hard to cuss like you wanted being as a hand was firmly constricting your air supply. You watched the masked man above you as he heatedly fucked into you, his chain dangling above your face. Your ankles helplessly swayed around his shoulders with each brutal slap of his pelvis. Your face still stung from the actual slaps of his palms, causing you to flinch any time his hands moved. You noticed done time throughout all this that he was hellbent on making you look at that damn mask. You weren’t complaining, though. Just more-so concerned about how hot it must be under there. 

  But then he slowed down for a moment, trying not to cum again as he lowered his face to yours, and finally decided it was time it come off, being as you were ready for a kiss.

  “T-Take that damn mask off—“ 

  Wrong move.

  He growled and ripped your hand away as you tried removing it yourself, and you were stunned by how much aggressive he became— more aggressive than he was already being, as if truly lashing out. He man-handled you, flipping you over and plunging back into you with way too much force. You yelped at the intrusion but could do nothing else as he pinned your hands behind your back, picking his speed right back up. He kept your hands locked in place with a single one of his own before clapping the other around your mouth, darkly chuckling at the fright on your face. 

  “I meant it when I said it’s staying on,” he rasped, pushing into you so deep that veins protruded from your neck in strain. 

  He couldn’t explain it— or maybe he could. But he felt extremely powerful when he wore this mask. It took him all of two rounds to finally admit to himself that it turned him on, knowing you were getting off to the very same face that your loved ones last looked at in sheer terror. He didn’t realize up until then that he somehow considered Ghostface as a different alternative to himself, one he was growing to like a little too much. It even made his dick more sensitive to the feel of you, making you seem tighter. And warmer. And sluttier.

  He’s sure he began speaking Latin somewhere in the midst, but it wasn’t until he saw tears surfacing in your eyes that it dawned on him that his hand had somehow traveled up to cover your nose, as well as your mouth. A moment of panic shot through him when he dropped it and allowed you to breathe, thinking you were gonna make him stop. But much to his pleasant surprise, you only coughed out and mewled, head collapsing on the pillow as you pushed against him, a silent demand keep going. So he did. He made sure to keep the punishing pace up and running. Your body violently jolted with each slam, ass bone aching at the brutal impact. Each thrust was felt like a punch to your cervix and someway or another, you were okay with it. 

 Little did he know, it was actually because you didn’t want any type of deja vu happening. He fucked you in all the ways you liked the night before you found out that your mother was slaughtered inside your childhood home. You didn’t want tonight to be anything like it. So you let him hurt you. 

  If only you knew history was going to repeat itself, no matter what the two of you did.

  It didn’t take but a few more strokes before he lost his ability to hold off, and emptied himself inside for the third time since he’s arrived back. 

  Once he did that, the blinds were illuminated in a dim grey, hinting at a sunrise. After a quick shower and clean up, the two of laid there, the mask finally gone. 

  “What are you thinking, baby?” Jungkook wondered, starring up at the ceiling. You haven’t said much of anything since that last bit. “Did I hurt you? Scare you?” 

  “No. I could take it.” You said, and it sounded genuine. But he still wanted to know what was on your mind. “I just don’t know what the hell I would do if I didn’t have you. You’re the only person I know that’s never even accidentally done wrong by me. You’ve been nothing but good.” 

  A void clouded his mind, emotional absence taking place of everything else. It’s a defense mechanism that he’s certain only comes up to block out any sense of guilt or remorse. He kept his gaze up at the ceiling, even as he felt you crane your neck back to look up at him. 

  “I love you, Kookie. Thank you for being here.” 

  “I love you too, baby,” he said numbly, those words being true... but his next words were not. “I could never imagine myself doing anything to hurt you.” 

  Being as he wasn’t planning on looking down, you crawled up for a moment just to kiss him, unbothered by the distant stare in his gaze. You then laid back down and got comfortable, readying yourself for a good days sleep.

  “I think it’s finally time I start seeking happiness again, instead of contentment.” 

  That’s when it hit him. You didn’t notice how his heart cleaned beneath your head, nor was there any way you could feel the tension in his gut. He can’t say he feels full remorseful for what he did, because that would require him sympathizing for the innocent lives he’s taken away, with no rational reason. He simply didn’t feel anything for them. He was only concerned your pain, especially knowing it was unnecessary now. His trip to Korea was enough to motivate you to move on and consider a change of scenery. You didn’t need any fear to drive you out, you just needed time. God only knows how far of a set back this will be now. The fact that you’re laying here, currently thinking that life will only go up from here, when he knows damn good and well it’ll be in shambles again before the day ends.. 

  He really needs to work on his impulses. Maybe homocide shouldn’t always be the first option he leans towards. It was just more fun that way.

  But moments like this weren’t fun at all. He remembers how grueling it was last year, waking up with you at the sound of the doorbell going off. He remembers the grim look on the sheriffs face as he told them that they found your mother, dead. It was his arms that had to pick you up off the floor as you crumbled down and screamed, his ears that rung as he held you, not knowing how to console you. For the last year, it’s been his shoulder you’ve cried on, his company keeping you sane, his reassurance telling you that everything was going to be okay.... When it was his hands that caused every single bit of grieve all along.. and was about to cause even more.

  So, he did the only thing he could do in that moment. He held you and mentally apologized, hoping that there was some way to telepathically tell you that you mean more to him than life itself, and that’s he’s so sorry for letting it drive him crazy at times. He’s still clinging to the original intention that you’ll say fuck it and flee with him, but he regrets going about it so recklessly. 

  You were fast asleep now, snoring even. He only hoped the discovery of the bodies would hold off long enough for you to get some much needed sleep. But it seems the universe was done working in his favor. 

  Those same, familiar knocks sounded off at the door, and he immediately ordered you to stay put as it woke you up.

  “Probably just them checking up. Go back to sleep.” He whispered, assertively pushing your head back down and pulling on some sweats before going to the door. 

  It was the sheriff, same look on his face as last year.

  “Sir?” Jungkook frowned, posing cluelessly. 

  The sheriff looked ghostly pale, like he was nauseated and on the verge of tears. Jungkook knew why but he had to act like it was a throw off. 

  “Sir..?” He repeated.

  “Y’all’s friends.. Baley and Taehyung were found this morning.” 

  He had to stall and blink, as if he wasn’t catching on to the implications. The sheriff reluctantly continued.

“Baley was found, dead on arrival. Looks like the killer has returned.” 

  “Wh-What?” Jungkook stuttered, acting like he was bewildered. The sheriff’s next words, however, would spark a more genuine reaction.

“And Taehyung was found unconscious, but still alive.”

  Jungkook’s veins ran colder than ever before, all mimicked emotions becoming sincere in that moment.

  “Someone attempted to cut his throat, but aimed too high and cut his under jaw instead.” 

Jungkook could only stare at the sheriff, probably just as pale in the face now. 

“He’s in critical condition. Doctors don’t know if he’ll make it just yet, but there’s a fighting chance that he might.”

[samdyke]

top 5 scenes/episodes/arcs that deserved horriblebreakdownnatural go!

OKAY MICKEY I DID THINK ABT THIS A LOT and these are Not in any particular order but i have thoughts SO (below the cut bc its long)

1. sometime in s2 (after having met max for sure like seeing his powers be used for something violent & learning he also has psychokinetic abilities) sam shouldve had a full meltdown about his powers this is a PRIVATE MELTDOWN he goes to the woods or smth in the middle of the night and just loses it. full screaming at the sky “what the FUCK is HAPPENING TO ME” yes his psychic abilities would act up during this display and he would cause like. a crop circle or knock over trees and that would freak him out even more so hes like crying and trying to calm down because he’s terrified of what will happen if he Doesnt calm himself down. there’s a lot of choking down tears here because he just wants to be fucking normal, he tried so hard, and he has no idea what the hell is inside of him. he slips back into the motel before sunrise and dean never finds out about this one. like this post was Correct

2. okay this is SIMILAR but not the same hear me out. PRE swan song, as in the night between dean agreeing that sam can say yes and try to fling himself into the pit and it actually happening, sam shouldve been able to fully lose it. because holy fuck???? what the goddamn fuck is this? this breakdown potentially all happens at bobby’s house once again alone - he goes out to the scrapyard and looks up at the sky and prays to god to help him, asks why this is happening to him, why god wont do anything. please. please. there is, of course, no answer. this is sam’s last night as sam, and if things go well he’ll spend the rest of eternity locked in hell with lucifer; i think he’s entitled to a little screaming and crying and desperation

3. i gotta say like. fitz was right on the money with a post soul-fixed sam dean having a complete and utter meltdown like this. its just like......sam couldnt process for so long and dean was absolutely repressing everything for the year he lived with lisa and ben and to truthfully recognize what sam went through and everything.....horriblebreakdownatural MUST include both of them having a very late night hazy crying fit because once DEAN starts crying about how he never shouldve done it he shouldve said yes to michael or found another way sammy oh god you were so good im ao sorry you did it but i shouldve protected you i shouldve protected you then sam would also cry i think. they need this. its catharsis

4. i personally think dean should have had a breakdown after learning that mary was a hunter. not then and there in the past because goddamn no time (hah), but there’s no fucking way he would’ve been able to cope with thee mother mary, angelic perfect figment of comfort and home, the pure martyr for whom his entire life was ruined, was actually. a killer. a hunter. and she hated it. i think maybe he would be telling sam about it and it would hit suddenly and he would just feel sick, this is the kind of breakdown where you’re throwing up bile and you cant catch your breath and maybe youre crying?? but thats not the point its the absolute crushing weight and sickness when you learn that someyhing in your life has irrevocably changed in the worst way

5. cry harder repression boy: i want that tearful horrible painful breakdown from dean that we were all waiting for after despair. when he processes what cas said? and what that MEANS? oh i wanted the full breakdown here. this isnt something he can drink away because cas is fucking DEAD and cas loved him, he’s deaf Because he loved dean, like. i think that it would be jack asking where cas was that would actually seal this particular breakdown deal and dean would have to flee to go privately lose his shit which is of course not that private. think a prayer like purgatory 2.0 but 20x more desperate, which turns into threatening chuck because rage is the natural companion to grief

honorable mentions: sam after expelling gadreel (this would be horrible. imagining sam sobbing about killing kevin is genuinely making me ill), dean after leaving cas in purgatory (a prayer that turns to desperate painful screaming at the sky which sam hears but they never talk about), dean after getting cas BACK from purgatory (to cas), sam learning that he’s lucifer’s true vessel, at some point i think dean or sam shouldve had a car meltdown (u know screaming at the top of your lungs while barelling down the highway, crying, lots of obscenities).....theres def more but these simply came to mind. feel free to share w me your epic horriblebreakdownatural moment suggestions

[imjustwritingg]

your love lifts me up (when i’m down, down, down)

Hi friends! That season finale was absolutely insane and I am still not over it, but here’s a continuation of it because Hailey deserves better and because I love Upstead and hate Hank Voight. The title is from the song "Helium" by SIA. Enjoy and let me know what you think! 

Read on AO3 and FFNet!

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your love lifts me up like helium

your love lifts me up when I'm down, down, down

when I've hit the ground

you’re all I need

‘cause your love lifts me up like helium

“I’m serious. Let’s get married.”

His immediate thought is complete and utter happiness as the words tumble from her lips and a smile quirks at the corner of his mouth, his eyes staring into hers with such love and affection.

His second thought is concern. Because as much as he may want to spend the rest of his life with the woman standing in front of him, she stands there with teary eyes and a familiar look on her face that reminds him of not too long ago that had him reassuring her he wasn’t going anywhere.

“What happened Hailey?” He finds himself asking.

“What do you mean?”

“You came in here seeming not like yourself and you just said we should get married. Not that I’m opposed to that with you, but it’s a little out of left field for you. You seem scared about something and it’s kinda freaking me out a little so just tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on. I just - I just want you. I - I don’t wanna wait.”

He takes a fraction of a step toward her, squeezing her arms gently and looking at her with the same soft expression he always has for her. “Hailey, I would marry you tomorrow, right now, if that’s what I thought you really wanted, but there’s something that you’re not telling me. I can see it in your eyes. It’s all over your face. And normally I’d let it go and give you your space to figure out whatever it is that you need to figure out, but I’m really worried here so just tell me.”

She shakes her head, somehow able to hold back the tears she has in her eyes as she stares back at him. If she were being honest, she wasn’t expecting him to say yes, that they’d suddenly be engaged or running off to City Hall the next morning for some shotgun courtroom ceremony.

The way he looks at her tells her as much, that he won’t let it go, and she can’t blame him considering the bomb she just dropped on him, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been so deep inside her thoughts and reeling from the events of the day and the night. The thought of losing him snuck into her head far too quickly and sent her into a panic and she just blurted it out.

Maybe she should have thought this through a bit more before proposing to him on a whim in the middle of her living room. She’d surprised even herself as the words fell from her lips. The idea of marriage should terrify her given the fact that the only example of it she has is her parents. But the idea of marrying him, her partner, her best friend - it sends an undeniably wonderful ache through her, like she needs it. She needs him. She’s never needed anyone in her entire life. Not her parents or friends or ex-boyfriends and past lovers. But she needs him.

“I don’t know why I said it,” she breathes out then. “I just, I saw you standing there and I thought about Kim and everything that’s happened and I - I don’t know.“

“I think that’s only part of it,” he says quietly, carefully. “Tell me why else.”

She knows exactly why else. What else. Who else. And it sends another ache rushing through her, but this one goes straight to her stomach and she swallows back the feeling of needing to gag that rises at the back of her throat.

“Can we go see Kim first?” She asks suddenly.

“Hailey - “

“Please? Let’s go to the hospital and see how she’s doing, and then we can come back here and we’ll talk. I promise.”

She says it in one breath, hurried and eyes pleading. She just needs more time. Time with him before she tells him everything that happened. Before she loses the one thing that means everything to her.

“Okay,” he sighs before jutting his chin to the bathroom behind her. “You wanna take a shower and change first or just head over?”

Hailey nods, taking a step back. “Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll be quick.”

She pulls herself away from him and heads into her bedroom, his eyes following her with more worry than before as she closes the door behind her.

She takes a deep breath as she stands in the middle of her bedroom, trying to calm her too fast beating heart until her eyes land on a basket of laundry on the floor by the dresser. Her clothes, his clothes, mixed together. And then her eyes scour the rest of the room. A pair of his boots sitting on the floor beneath the window. One of his watches and a phone charger on the nightstand at the side of the bed. His side of the bed.

She shakes her head at the sight of all these things, his things, and pulls off her jacket. She tosses it to the bed before making her way into the bathroom and closes the door that leads out to the living room.

When she turns back around it’s only a few seconds before her heart seizes again as she glances to the sink. His toothbrush in the holder beside hers. A bottle of his cologne on the other side of the faucet, one of her favorite smells that is so distinctly him. She turns her head to the shower stall at the bottles of products that don’t belong to her.

He’s made himself at home in her space, engraved his presence in the place she had once kept so private and guarded. A space that had quickly become theirs.

She feels the tears burning in the corners of her eyes again and her bottom lip begins to tremble as she realizes this may be it. This may be the last time she sees their lives so intimately twined together and it breaks something inside of her. Cracks her open so quickly and makes the pool of tears spill over and fall down her face.

She wipes under her eyes with one hand and covers her mouth with the other, muffling the painful sob that falls out as she becomes overwhelmed with frustration and despair over the fact that she knows she won’t come back from this. Losing Jay. Losing them. She is sure he’s going to hate her. He’s going to become so disgusted with her, he’s going to leave when she tells him and she knows she can’t not tell him.

The only thing she can do is bask in denial and hold off the heartache that she’s sure will come for a few more hours. She can pretend that everything is fine, that she hasn’t crossed a line she can’t come back from despite being pulled across it involuntarily by her Sergeant. They can still be them for just a little while longer.

She turns on her heel and leaves the bathroom, wiping under her eyes again and grabbing her jacket from the bed before pulling open the door of her bedroom. Jay looks up at her from the couch, his phone in hand, and raises an eyebrow at her and the clothes she hasn’t changed out of yet.

“Let’s just go to the hospital now,” Hailey says, slipping her arms through the sleeves of her jacket again.

“You sure?”

She nods and forces a smile, stepping toward him and reaching a hand down to him.

“Okay,” Jay says with a shrug, taking her offered hand into his and standing from the couch.

They leave her apartment and make their way out to his truck, it not being lost on him the way her hand trembles in his or how she doesn’t let go until they separate to get into the cab. When they buckle themselves in, she reaches for his hand again over the console between them.

He wants to believe it’s just because of the events of the last few days. The case and Kim and the very real possibility that tonight could have gone a lot differently if he and Kevin hadn’t found their friend and colleague when they did.

He’s not that naive though. He knows something else happened. Something big enough to scare her into bringing up marriage even though he’s definitely not against it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had the thought of spending the rest of his life with her. He thinks about it often, but he knows there is something she’s keeping from him that she can’t find the words for right now so he won’t push her.

She said they’d talk later and he knows she needs more time to wrap her head around whatever it is that’s going on. He just holds onto her hand tightly and drives, glancing over at her every few minutes to see her staring out the window and lost in her own head.

When they get to Med and he throws the truck into park, she lets go of his hand only long enough for them to get out of the cab and for her to meet him at the hood. Her fingers twine with his once again and she holds on tightly to him.

Jay has passed the point of concern now as they enter the hospital through sliding glass doors, but Hailey still doesn’t let go of him, only holding on tighter as they walk down the corridors of the hospital. They ride the elevator in silence, huddled into a corner as it fills with staff and visitors, and Hailey lifts her other hand to place it on his arm just below his elbow. He can’t help leaning down and kissing the top of her head, pressing his lips to her hairline in a silent reminder of assurance to let her know he’s still with her.

They step off the elevator when the doors slide open a few moments later, hands still intertwined between them and Hailey’s hand holding his arm as they walk down the hallway together. When the pair rounds a corner they spot Kevin leaning against a nurse’s station, one hand tucked into the front of his vest and the other holding his phone up to his ear.

“How is she?” Hailey asks quietly as her and Jay approach him.

Kevin looks between them, his eyes glancing between their joined hands and their faces, and a soft knowing smile peeks out over his own. Because despite the horrors and the unknowns that surround them, at least there is some bit of happiness to hold onto.

“Hold up a sec bro,” Kevin says into the phone, holding it over his shoulder and then looking between the couple again. “She’s still in surgery, but they said she’s fighting, still holding on.”

“She’s been through a lot, but she’ll pull through this too. I know it,” Jay says and Hailey nods at his side in silent agreement.

“Y’all staying for a bit?” Kevin asks them.

“Yeah,” Hailey tells him. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Kevin nods and gestures to his phone. “I’m gonna head to Kim’s place. Take over for Ruze and watch Makayla so he can come down.”

“Sounds good man,” Jay says, lifting his free hand and clapping Kevin on the shoulder.

The officer gives Jay and Hailey one last look before he steps away, walking down the hall and lifting his phone back to his ear. They hear his quiet words of “I’m on my way to you” as he rounds the corner and then he’s gone.

Jay glances over at Hailey, her hold on him unwavering and the worry inside him growing heavier by the second, but he won’t bring it up here. He leads her to a small alcove of chairs and takes a seat, Hailey sitting down beside him, and he brings their joined hands to his lap and places his free hand over top of them. She leans her head against his shoulder, breathing out a quiet sigh that is quickly followed by a dragged out yawn.

He glances at her face to see her blinking slowly, fighting off exhaustion and whatever else is going through her head that he doesn’t yet know about, an unmistakable look of sadness etched across her face. He could tell she was crying when she came out of her bedroom earlier and all he wants is to ask her what is going on, but he knows he can’t do that in some hospital waiting room. They’re here for Kim. Anything and everything else can wait.

He leans down and kisses the top of her head again, hovering over her hair as he pulls back slowly, and whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispers back from beside him, squeezing his hand and his arm and not letting go.

Time moves slowly from there and Adam arrives almost forty minutes later, tears in his eyes and a disheveled mess of hair. He spots them quickly through the glass window of the alcove and walks toward them.

“Hey, any news?” He asks in a rush.

Jay shakes his head. “Before Kev left he said she was still in surgery, but we haven’t heard anything else yet.”

Adam nods slowly, pacing in a circle a few times before he finally takes a seat in the empty chair next to Hailey. He glances over at the half asleep blonde, smiling softly at the way she’s curled against her partner and clutching him with her hands.

“Is this a new development or - ?” Adam asks quietly, looking to Jay and nodding down to Hailey.

Jay smiles softly as he shakes his head and it makes Adam smile wider despite his own despair. “Well good for you guys then. It’s about damn time, man.”

“Yeah,” Jay mumbles softly, squeezing Hailey’s hand when she squeezes his fingers in her sleepy state.

Another twenty minutes pass in silence between the three until a nurse enters the alcove, a friendly look on her face.

“Are you here for the officer that was brought in? Kim Burgess?”

The two men nod and Hailey comes out of her sleepy haze at the sound of their friend’s name, looking up as the nurse smiles softly at them.

“She’s out of surgery. She’s stable right now, but still in critical condition. They’re transporting her to the ICU. Me or another nurse will come find you when you can see her.”

The nurse is gone as quickly as she appeared and they all breathe out a sigh of relief, Adam leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his head lowering in front of him. They can tell by the way his shoulders heave that he’s crying as he holds his hands over his face, sniffling quietly beside them.

Hailey pulls her hand from Jay’s arm and places it on Adam’s shoulder, squeezing gently and then the dam breaks. All the worry and the anger and the not knowing where Kim was or if she was even still alive leaving the officer’s body through every sob that rips through him.

“Sounds like she’s gonna be okay,” Hailey whispers, giving his shoulder another squeeze and running her hand across his back.

He lets it all out in the safe space between him and his friends, and then lifts his head, pulling at the neckline of his shirt to wipe at his face. He stands a moment later, wiping at his face again and sniffling back his tears, and turns to face Hailey and Jay.

“Thank you,” Adam says quietly through teary eyes as he looks at Jay. “For finding her, for getting her here as fast as you did, for all of it.”

Jay nods and then Adam looks at Hailey. “And thank you for making me go home. For pulling me back from the ledge. You were right.”

Hailey smiles softly at him, nodding slowly and knowingly, as Adam breathes out another deep sigh of relief.

“I’m gonna call the others, Kev and Trudy and Voight. Let them know,” Adam tells them and Jay doesn’t miss the way Hailey flinches beside him at the mention of their Sergeant’s name.

He glances at her for a moment, but she doesn’t look at him, refusing to meet his eyes, so he looks back at Adam and gives a short nod. “You good man?”

“I will be. She’s out of surgery, still hanging on. That’s all that matters now,” Adam tells them. “It’s late. You guys go home and get some sleep. Kev’s with Makayla. I’m not leaving here anytime soon.”

“You sure man?” Jay asks, feeling Hailey stiffen beside him.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll keep you guys updated.”

“When she wakes up, tell her we love her,” Hailey says quietly as her and Jay stand to their feet.

Adam assures them that he will with a small smile and a slow nod, and then they say their goodbyes. Hailey and Jay head out of the hospital, her hand never leaving his despite the way her body froze just moments ago and she holds onto him for near dear life in the same manner as when they first left her apartment.

When they arrive back at her place after another silent drive, Hailey kicks off her boots by the door and pulls off her jacket, tossing it over the back of the armchair as Jay does the same. She pulls her hair from its ponytail and tosses the hair tie on a side table, and when she turns to face him with tearful eyes he shakes his head at her.

Jay steps toward her slowly and looks directly at her, his eyes soft as always, but full of concern maybe more so than ever before. “What did he do Hailey?”

She lets out a deep breath and runs a hand through her hair. She knew she had given herself away in that damn alcove. Hearing Voight’s name had sent a chill through her as soon as she’d heard it and she just reacted. Out of instinct or fear or anger, she can’t be sure. She steps away from Jay and moves to the couch. She sits down and folds her legs up under her, resting her arms across her lap.

“He found Roy,” Hailey spills out through trembling lips. “He found him and he - “

She stops, shaking her head and keeping her eyes down at her hands as she picks at her nails, needing something else to focus on as she lays it all out.

Jay walks to the couch and sits down beside her, sitting sideways and facing her. He reaches an arm out toward her and rests a hand over her knee. “Hailey, what happened?”

“He gave me and Adam the locations for the knock and talks that were legit. He took the red flags. Adam had to take care of Makayla so I drove him to Kim’s apartment and went after Voight,” she speaks through a croaky voice as she looks up at him, having to force herself to do so despite the tears that pool in the corners of her eyes and blur her vision. “He - he was beating him. H-he had him cuffed. We had words and fought, I pushed him back. I convinced him to bring Roy in, that we found Kim and it was the right thing to do.”

Jay stares back at her, blood boiling and his heart pounding. He already knows how the story ends. The hand that doesn’t rest on Hailey’s knee shakes and he has to force himself not to ball it up in a fist out of anger for their Sergeant. He doesn’t wanna scare Hailey, so he squeezes her knee again gently instead.

“What happened after that?” He asks carefully.

“Voight went to uncuff him and Roy reached for his gun. He was gonna sh-shoot him and I just - it was a good shoot. It was a good shoot, but no one knew we were there. No one knew Voight was there. He went off book and didn’t call it in. He wouldn’t let me call it in.”

“Where’s Voight now?”

“I don’t know. He told me to leave. To go home and I just - I came here. I - I don’t - “ she’s shaking her head, tears falling from her eyes and her heart pounding in her chest, hands shaking.

“Hey, this isn’t on you,” Jay tells her immediately.

Hailey shakes her head again as she looks back at him. “I shot him. I killed him.”

“You did that because he was reaching for a gun. It’s completely justified.”

“But I was trying to be better! I was trying to be good!” She cries out. “Like you. I wanted to be better. I wanted to do it the right way.”

It’s him who shakes his head then, reaching for her shaking hands and holding them tightly between his, their knees touching as Hailey sniffles back more tears, but they just keep pouring out from her.

“You did it the right way, Hailey. You did all of it right.”

“I’m scared Jay,” she whispers, it’s so quiet he barely even hears her. “What if something happens? What if this comes back on me? I don’t wanna pull you into this. I don’t want you caught up in it. You’re too good.”

He’s shaking his head again as he tugs on her hands and pulls her toward him. He leans back and lies down on the couch, bringing her down on top of him and wraps his arms around her. One hand moves along her back and the other cradles her head against his chest. Her entire body shakes against his, sobs racking through her small frame as she cries out against him and grips his shirt tightly in her fists.

“I’m sorry,” she cries out, her words muffled against his chest as her tears soak through the fabric of his shirt, but he just tightens his hold on her and shushes her.

“It’s not your fault. We’ll figure it out. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere,” he promises with hushed words and soft touches. “You hear me? You’re not in this alone. I’m not going anywhere.”

He holds her and reassures her until her sobs grow quiet and she hiccups through her tears as she lies on top of him, cradled between his legs and his arms. Their tight grips on one another don’t loosen as they lie on the couch, just holding onto each other.

As time passes and her cries die down, he can’t be sure if she’s just keeping quiet out of fear or panic, or if she’s cried herself to sleep. He runs a hand over the back of her head, his fingers weaving through her soft blonde hair. When he tilts his head to kiss her on the forehead, he notices her open eyes, red and puffy from the assault of tears and she blinks slowly as if she’s afraid to sleep.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head again.

He pushes himself up with one arm into a sitting position as he keeps the other around Hailey and she clings to him, almost too scared to let him go.

“I promise you, I’m not leaving,” he tells her again, his tone gentle, but firm as he brings a hand to the side of her face to look her in the eyes.

The sight he’s met with as he looks at her crushes him. Her teary eyes, blotchy face and trembling lips. He feels tears of his own form in his eyes at the way she sits all, but in his lap, looking completely deflated, unsure, just broken down and nothing like herself.

“Come on,” Jay coaxes softly.

He stands from the couch and pulls Hailey up to her feet, keeping an arm around her shoulders. She still clings to him, her arms snaking around his waist as he leads them toward the bedroom and he switches off the lights of the living room along the way. He brings her to the bed and sits her down, the look of nothing on her face gutting him. She’s completely shut down now. He helps her undress, stripping her down to just a t-shirt and underwear, and then tucks her into her side of the bed.

He dresses down quickly to just his boxers before rounding to the other side and crawling in beside her. She reaches for him within seconds, attaching her body to his and holding on tightly and relentlessly and he just holds her, shushing her again and kissing her hair, praying for sleep to come to her quickly so she can finally rest.

It’s late as Jay lies in bed still awake, unable to settle his racing mind. Hailey sleeps beside him, breathing softly and snoring lightly from all of the crying and emotions of the last few hours, but even in her restful state she still doesn’t let go of him.

He can’t sleep. Can’t stop thinking about what she had told him, what their Sergeant had done, and it makes his heart beat faster and the anger boil hotter as he glances down at Hailey. She doesn’t deserve this.

He peels her hands from his body slowly and carefully so he doesn’t wake her, and slips out of the bed. He pulls on his jeans and grabs a t-shirt, and then walks out of the bedroom. He heads for the kitchen and grabs a notepad and pen from the island to scrawl out a quick note for Hailey. He knows the chances of her waking up are high and he knows the thoughts she’ll have if she wakes up in bed alone with him nowhere to be found.

He creeps back into the bedroom and places the note on his pillow, then checks to make sure Hailey is still asleep before he walks out to the living room. He pulls on his jacket and his boots, grabs his phone and keys, and then he sneaks out of the apartment.

It’s three in the morning, but he doesn’t care as he rings the doorbell and takes a step back. He stuffs his shaking hands into the pockets of his jacket and stays planted on his feet where he stands, afraid if he takes the tiniest step forward he might start swinging the second the door opens and that’s a mess that neither he nor Hailey can afford to handle right now.

When the door opens, his Sergeant doesn’t seem too surprised to see him standing on his front porch, even at the late hour.

“What are you doing here Jay?” Voight asks gruffly.

Jay stares back at him for a single moment and then says, “If this comes back on Hailey, in any way, I’ll bury you.”

His voice is completely calm, neutral, but there’s a layer of ice in his words that even he doesn’t think he’s ever used before with anyone let alone his boss.

Voight tenses his jaw, staring back at the man in front of him and very quietly, he says, “It won’t.”

Jay shakes his head, shuffling on his feet. “You don’t know that, Hank. You don’t know that! Look at what happened with Erin. With Al. When Ruzek got arrested. Everyone who gets close to you, who tries to help you, they take the fall. Not you. And I’ll be damned if I let that happen to Hailey. You’re not gonna drag her down with you.”

His voice comes out cold, uncharacteristically menacing, and the look on his Sergeant’s face tells him his words have stuck and they have hurt and he’s a little proud of himself for it.

Jay throws another glare at the older man in front of him, shakes his head in disgust at him, and then turns around and walks back to his truck.

By the time he gets back to Hailey’s apartment, his hands have finally stopped shaking and his heartbeat has slowed. He creeps inside and closes the door behind him as softly as he can before turning the lock and taking off his boots and his jacket. He pulls his t-shirt over his head as he moves to the bedroom and slides off his jeans before he slips back into his side of the bed again.

Hailey reaches for him immediately, snuggling into his side and he wraps his arms around her as she drops her head to his shoulder. She breathes deeply against him and he can tell she’s awake.

“You saw my note?”

She nods against him as she moves an arm across his stomach and squeezes his side. “Where’d you go?”

“I had to do something,” he says cryptically and she squeezes his side again. “He’s not gonna pull you down with him.”

“Please tell me you didn’t hit him,” she says quietly, half-joking and worried.

“Not yet,” he tells her. “I just had some words for him.”

She doesn’t say anything, just tilts her head up at him and kisses his neck just under his jawline. He tightens his arms around her shoulder and her waist, and rests his chin over her head.

“It’s gonna be okay, Hailey. Whatever happens, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” he tells her again. Hoping his words will stick so she can fall back to sleep easily enough.

She reaches for his hand at her waist, weaves their fingers together and squeezes, then whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he tells her, dropping a kiss to her hair as she snuggles closer against him and lets out a deep breath against him.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” she admits a moment later amongst the silence. “I think that’s why I said what I said. The whole marriage thing.”

“You’re never gonna lose me, Hailey,” he says, breathing in and out against her hair. “That won’t ever happen.”

“I said it out of panic at first, but - but I do want it. I want that with you. I want everything with you,” she tells him and he squeezes her against him that much closer, smiling at her even though she can’t see it.

“I want everything with you too,” he says. “Except let me do the proposal okay? I’ll make it some big gesture with lots of planning and I’ll be a nervous wreck the entire time hoping you’ll say yes.”

She shakes her head against him. “I’d say yes over takeout on the couch. I’d say yes right now.”

“As tempting as that is at the moment, it’ll still be a surprise. And it’ll be a happy one. One you won’t see coming.”

She lifts her head and stares at him, smiling a tiny grin at him in the darkness of her bedroom despite her aching body and worried thoughts, through dried tears and a blotchy face, and then she leans up as he leans down. Their lips meet in the middle, pressing against one another softly, slowly, surely.

It’s an unspoken promise that is made in the safe space of her bedroom. Their bedroom. Their home. A promise of a future together filled with a proposal and a wedding and babies and everything in between. It’s a promise of a lifetime together.

[dangermousie]

CFC Chapter 54

“A crashing car?” Ahahahaha I see you, Meatbun. But it was indeed an utter pileup!

I know I commented on this passage in its various iterations eight billion times already but I still have more to say. And it’s that XQC taking so long to realize that even though HY is young, his emotions and feelings are as genuine and strong as those of anyone older is so realistic - people do tend to think that especially with regard to children - think of a reaction of an adult to a three year old crying over ice cream they dropped. It’s all amused even if not meanly so. Because to an adult with vastly more experience, this is not a big deal. But what that forgets is that whether it’s ridiculous to someone else or not, to the person at issue that is a real feeling, AND that of course a person can only feel through the lens of their experience - what else is there? Emotions aren’t any less valid because they are informed by lesser or different experience.

Honestly, to me so far this is one of the driving messages of the novel - everyone is in their own world of issues and pain and none of these characters can truly look through the lens of another person and it would be so much better if they did. To XQC, for so long, He Yu’s strong feelings (and we know so many of these feelings are awful - despair, and self-loathing, and loneliness) never quite felt real and therefore never quite felt fully valid. And by the time it wasn’t the case, it was too late.

But the same is true for He Yu - he is so concentrated on his own grievances and his own pain, he cannot perceive others’ different issues. In He Yu’s mind, he’s the winner and always champion of Misery Olympics and while he’s had a horrible time of it, that doesn’t mean other people didn’t either just in different ways. Whether because of his condition, his issues or just his age, HY is not empathetic in the least.

And think about it - XQC does not have a horrible illness. He does not have unfeeling parents. But he had to watch his beloved parents brutally murdered in front of his eyes at 13 (!!!!) and then had to raise a 5 year old by himself. Is it worse or better than HY’s trauma? That’s a matter of opinion but what there is no question about is that is a different type of trauma and a different type of scar. Or think about the patient in the asylum whose name I am too lazy to look up - her life is such a theater of horrors that to me, it makes the combined issues of HY and XQC seem small, though once again that’s subjective. Nobody wins when people start this sort of competition.

My heart breaks for XQC but also - I am sorry - if/when HY x XQC hook up again (how? I have no idea! But that is one of the joys of Meatbun - I both have no idea how/where it’s going and utterly trust her), please have He Yu read up and learn things because Good God. You should not be in major pain the morning after unless you are into pain and XQC clearly is not!

The other thing is the bit about XQC forcing himself to walk in his usual ramrod-straight manner is the moment I went utterly gone for him. I mean, I liked him and found him interesting before. But this is the thing that flipped that invisible switch for me and I went rabid and irrational and now I am Team XQC and I don’t care what he wants and does from now on, he should have it. It’s so small but so real. My mother and her mother were both big on straight posture. And one of the reasons they gave was when you walk with good posture - you look confident but also it makes you feel confident and stronger. And I’ve actually found it to be true - when you throw your shoulders back and straighten your neck and hold your head up, it does not just give others a signal, it gives a signal to your own brain. So to see XQC insist on doing it, despite being emotionally and physically shattered - because of his pride refusing to give up, because he’s so unbending, but also this being some sort of instinctive armor, just hits straight through the heart.

OK, I laughed at HY as a fucking machine. But also, this is another point in the whole “everyone has issues” narrative and HY’s life could be worse. HY, with all his other issues, can pay an insane amount, an amount that XQC could not pay in a million years, so easily. It’s not even a blip to him. Hell, the fact that he forgot to pay speaks to that - I can see forgetting to pay a friend a couple of bucks back right away because it’s not much money. HY forgets because it does not loom in his mind. And this rich lifestyle is instinctive, is ingrained in him. I think he’d find it hard to be poor.

THAT is what he’s thinking about? Priorities are...

The sole good thing that came out of this insanity is that XQC is getting in touch with his emotions, even if those emotions are (rightly) rage. He’s too closed off from them normally.

The fact that you slept with a man should be secondary to the fact that you drugged and raped him, but here we are...

To me, this sums up He Yu as a moral wasteland. To still, when sober and past his fit and not under influence of wine, to still feel excitement over his revenge and to somehow twist it that it’s XQC’s fault for being raped by He Yu is !!!!!!!!!

(I suppose if I were charitable, I’d assume that the disquiet is small stirrings of almost dead conscience and his “he deserved it” is an attempt to justify the unjustifiable to himself, but I honestly don’t want to think so because I am so angry at him. Not until I see some more evidence. I don’t feel like being indulgent with He Yu since he’s indulgent with himself enough for two.)

1. The fact that you can tell from the picture XQC got taken by a man (I am gonna defer to Meatbun’s expertise here) definitely points to the fact that the pictures are going to be used for something bad later - because if it’s just oh XQC had sex, so what, he’s single what’s the big deal. But like this it becomes a different matter. No idea if it will be used for HY or XQC or both, and by whom (money is on Duan and co, but after the way HY went off, I would never say HY himself won’t use it badly somehow) but knowing Meatbun, it will go for maximum damage.

2. Ruthless? Perhaps. Unfeeling? Hmmmm. I am not He Yu’s biggest fan atm but that’s a wonderfully misleading adjective here. He does still seem to be in shock. And fixating.

3. The whole “hahahaha XQC is a hypocrite when he was all ‘I am not interested in sex’“ is - I am not sure if HY is just short-circuiting (fine) or using a rapist justification/rolling in a sea of toxic toxicity (not fine) because I am sorry, that’s totally like “he/she had a reaction, can’t be rape” writ large. Yeah, sure he had a reaction - you poured drugs down his throat. That has nothing to do with his default preferences or his actual state. THE FUCK?!

Anyway, we end on the whole “u mad bro?” bit and you know what strikes me? HY was all “I am done, we are done, my revenge is complete I don’t care” but here he is, still desperately seeking and craving reaction and interaction from XQC.

I remain utterly puzzled as to how these two will ever be a couple except for a couple being defined as “two mutually homicidal people.” Leaving aside everything else, I am willing to accept HY is in the closet - clearly whatever his orientation is, it includes men. But I do not get that sense from XQC at all. When he’s not drugged, he’s barely interested in sex with anyone and I do not get the sense he’s in the closet either. Chances of anyone, let alone He Yu, who is both a man and someone who raped him to humiliate him, being able to entice him into sexual encounters voluntarily is about the chance of me going to visit Mars. Meatbun loves doing insane things so I can’t wait.

PS I know people use the term psychopath all the time casually but ummm, I think He Yu may actually be one? When he has his father (!!!) on speakerphone, calmly carrying a conversation with the man as he’s raping his father’s friend in the club as he talks (!!!!!) that is...in RL I’d be “team lock him up for life, there is something so basic broken in him that it can’t be fixed.” Like - the hell? The ability to put things on different shelves so much is not in the same country as sane (it makes me think of 2ha and TXJ banging CWN being the curtain while performing court business but TXJ was bona fide clinically insane and also this is worse because this is his actual freaking father omg.) Of course, only time will tell whether it’s evidence of him being irreparably incapable of normalcy in terms of living in the world/interacting with others or it was an extreme psychotic (in casual parlance not medical one) break because most people are capable of truly horrific stuff if certain levers are pushed and his default is saner. It’s the question, isn’t it? Whether He Yu’s factory default setting is the monster of the previous chapters or the kid who’d cut his wrists so as not to hurt others.

Anyway, this novel is a terrifying roller coaster ride and I love having strong emotions.

[fecktrecool]

I was admitted to hospital recently with a diagnosis of "bipolar mixed episode with comorbid PTSD exacerbation" and I spent a lot of time around two people who had BPD, went to group therapy with them etc

What really struck me was how similar our symptoms were.

My PTSD makes me dissociate. Most of the time I know who I am, but when I have a few bad days of nightmares and flashbacks, it completely shatters my sense of self. I feel like I am completely detached from "me". I no longer know who I am. I barely recognise myself in the mirror. I no longer feel comfortable in my own body, or feel comfortable being "me".

I don't normally "split"... most of the time, I don't idealise people or things, and then devalue them.

Except when my PTSD flares up.

Then, the paranoia sets in, and I think everyone is out to get me, I think my housemates are talking about me behind my back, I think my mum secretly never loved me...

Most of the time, my mood episodes from my bipolar are predictable. They follow a predictable, biological pattern. I get depressed in the winter due to the long nights. I get hypomanic during the spring and summer because of all the sunlight.

When my PTSD flares up, my moods can change within hours. Or seconds. I can go from being OK, to being full of rage, to utter despair, and back again, all within a few hours

Everything about my PTSD is so similar to BPD. It's almost as if PTSD is "episodic" BPD, or BPD that comes and goes... I don't know how to describe it. In fact I'm pretty sure that BPD and PTSD overlap so much that mental health professionals can't reliably distinguish between them, especially complex PTSD. If I had gone to a different psychiatrist with my symptoms, there's a strong likelihood they could have labelled me with BPD instead of PTSD.

Where am I going with this?

Well, I noticed something very distinctive when I was in hospital. The doctors and nurses treated me with compassion. They said the PTSD wasn't my fault, they said they were sorry for what I've been through, sorry it made me feel this way. They were kind and gentle to me, and they expressed empathy about my bipolar as well

But both of the girls who had BPD were treated with suspicion and contempt. Their symptoms were pretty much identical to mine, but when they cried or freaked out, they were "being manipulative", whereas I was "distressed". There was no compassion for them. They didn't choose their illness any more than I did, and as I said, our symptoms were practically identical.

It really made me think about how diagnostic labels can come to define people... BPD, PTSD, even bipolar, they all overlap so much in terms of symptoms, to the point that even experienced medical professionals struggle to tell them apart. But whichever label you are given can significantly impact on your treatment and how society views you

[sourstiless]

im tired of people saying adrien only falls in love with marinette because she’s ladybug. that’s shallow as fuck and also just not true ?? also tired of seeing people think marinette only likes adrien because he’s a model, and that he’s pretty, because that’s also shallow and untrue.

i’m going to put this under a cut just because it’s longer than i thought it was gonna be. tldr at the end.

he cares so much for marinette, and the only reason he doesn’t realize why she likes him is because she isn’t being forward with her feelings. his love language is words of affirmation. he believes that if you love someone, it’s important to tell them that you do. hence in the puppeteer episode:

ladybug: if i mean so much to you how is it so easy for you to say these nice things to me? even in the worst situations. the really important things are the hardest to say, aren’t they?

chat noir: it’s precisely when something is important that it’s important to say, no matter what.

words of affirmation being adrien’s primary love language probably stems from being raised in a neglectful household. while emilie is assumed to be more loving and caring, we can gather from context clues that gabriel has always been somewhat distant and absent. adrien alludes to this when he says his father gave him the same gift for 3 years and his mother only died a year ago. he never really got that verbal love and appreciation form his dad, and that’s all he really longs for, so he gives that to the people he loves as a result.

on the other hand, marinette’s love languages are acts of service and receiving gifts. she primarily feels like the best way to express your love is by doing things for others, and gift giving. we see this through the massive amount of presents she has ready for adrien, as well as how she freaks out about getting something for her dad for his birthday. because of this mix up in love languages, the way they express their love for each other doesn’t come off as love to each respective character.

adrien doesn’t believe he loves marinette, or has a hard time admitting he likes her in that way, because he doesn’t believe she could possibly like him. he makes it clear in the puppeteer 2 that he believes it’s most important to tell someone you love and appreciate them, and marinette can hardly utter a full sentence around him. because she fumbles her words and has a hard time communicating how she feels, paired with the fact that he doesn’t understand most social cues, he doesn’t believe she likes him, and therefore convinces himself he does not like her that way.

however, this can be easily debunked by scenes throughout the show. he tells her that she’s their “everyday ladybug”. remember, ladybug is supposedly the person he is completely in love with. he compares his very good friend marinette, to the lady he loves. when marinette is forced to sit in the back of the classroom, he looks at her with such admiration and love, and willingly goes to sit in the back to be next to her. on the other hand, he completely avoids lila.

while on the topic of lila, when she lies to get into his house and nathalie and gorilla are reprimanded for it, he’s upset. he tells lila he’ll still help her, but not if she hurts the people he loves. then the episode “ladybug” comes around and she hurts marinette, and he’s not just upset, he’s angry. adrien is very easy going and willing to be friends with people because he wants to see the best in them. it takes a lot for him to end his friendships, as seen with chloe, and he threatens his friendship with lila because of what she did to marinette. these scenes accompanied by all of the scenes where he just looks at her like he’s completely head over heels (i.e. the shanghai special, the new york special, the dance in despair bear, trouble maker when he watches the show for marinette, etc.). he just doesn’t realize his feelings because he doesn’t think marinette could possibly like him, and he’s afraid of losing what he already has if he confesses and she rejects him.

on this opposite side with marinette, her love languages, as stated before, are acts of service and receiving gifts. marinette doesn’t like adrien because he’s rich, or because he’s a pretty face. in fact she hates him when they first meet. it isn’t until he offers her his umbrella in the rain, that she begins to develop feelings for him.

her primary way to show people that she loves them is by giving them gifts, not by telling them. and because of this, there is often times confusion between her and adrien. they aren’t shallow, they’re just confused because they are unable to navigate their feelings in a productive way.

we know marinette doesn’t take words of affirmation “seriously” because of what she said in the puppeteer 2(the dialogue i already put earlier in the post). so while adrien is constantly reassuring her with his words, she doesn’t understand that that is the way he expresses his love and takes it with a grain of salt. when she’s ladybug, she doesn’t think that chat is being serious about his feelings because she has trouble verbally expressing her love. that results in her believing that people who don’t have trouble putting their love into words aren’t actually in love. she believes that the most important things are the hardest to say, so if it’s easy to say them then it’s not important.

tl;dr adrien and marinette do love each other (both as civilians and heroes) but because they don’t understand each other’s love languages, they’re confused about their status to one another.

[need-a-fugue]

Trustworthy (Chapter 4)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Violence, language

Okay, yeah, sure, fine, you and Santi might not have been 100% honest about what you were planning in the jungle.

In fairness, neither of you ever actually said that this recon mission was at the behest of the CNP or Colombian military or any other government entity. You may have hinted at it. You may have neglected to correct the guys when they assumed. But you never actually told them that anyone had requested the raid on Lorea’s house.

What you had said was that there was a good chance this could turn into… something more. Something that might end up in a hefty pay day for all of you. You just never told the group of men that you and Garcia were actually banking on it.

You didn’t love the idea of lying to a bunch of strangers whom – if they agreed to everything – would end up holding your very life in their hands. Frankly, just the thought of doing so felt… sleezy. Especially considering that these men were Santi’s trusted friends. His brothers. But Santiago insisted that it needed to be played this way – They’ll never go for it if we tell them what we’re really up to. But I promise you, bonita, once they’re here, once they see… they’ll be all in.

He clearly knew his team because after just that single two-hour recce, a couple rounds of beers at a local bar, and a rather stirring, pointed speech, they were, in fact, all in.

And why not, really? The only one of them who had anything to lose – a family beyond those seen at the occasional holiday, wedding, or funeral – was Tom. And he’d been struggling so badly lately with impending alimony and child support and two kids’ worth of college tuitions – eight years minimum – that the money alone did all of their convincing for them.

It was illegal, yes. It was, as the captain said, “downright criminal.” But it wasn’t wrong. And as long as everything went according to plan, no one would know anything about any of it.

In the end, the world would be down at least one piece-of-shit, megalomaniacal drug lord murderer.

Some of the struggling people of Leticia – because you and Santi had promised each other and Yovanna that you’d drop a good chunk of the money into the hands of local charities – would have better lives.

Tom’s girls could go to college without having to worry about paying off student loans until they die.

Will could finally get rid of his old junker and buy a nice car – maybe not the Ferrari Ben was angling for, but a nice car all the same – to get him back and forth across the country for all those rousing speeches he insisted he would not stop giving.

Benny could invest in better training, at better gyms with better equipment… and real trainers. Or, hell, he could give all that shit up and quit getting his ass handed to him by kids ten years his junior, all in the hopes of capturing what was almost always one hell of a disappointing purse.

And Frankie? Well, Frankie wasn’t sure what he’d do with his share. But it sure would be nice to not have to worry so damn much. To not have to scramble to make the house payment every month. To not have to beg that dick who owns the local airfield to let him take on a few jobs just so he could settle into a cockpit for a bit. To maybe have the time – and funds – to take a woman on a date every now and then… not that he had a clue who that woman might be.

And you and Santi? Well, after years of accomplishing nothingin the fight against Lorea – the fight against the drug trade that had ruined and taken so many lives around the world – you two could finally say that you’d actually made a difference. Even if you couldn’t quite say it aloud for everyone to hear.

000

By the time you get to the compound early Sunday morning, rain’s already been falling for hours. The area’s nearly flooded, so your off-road path is basically a sprawling swampland. You barely slept, your hip is aching like crazy from an old injury, and the minute you step out of the SUV you damn near squeal like a stuck pig as you suddenly sink up to your calf in thick, sucking mud.

“Shit,” Frankie mutters under his breath – under a breathless laugh, you’re pretty sure – as he hops out and wraps a steadying arm around your waist. “Let me help,” he says, the words so soft, you can barely hear them over the unyielding pounding of the rain.

You try to balance, holding onto the door, one foot just barely sinking into the soft earth as Frankie leans down to pry the other from what feels like an utterly engulfing quicksand. He struggles, still holding you around the waist while his left hand works to grip your leg, your boot, your ankle… whatever he can wrap his fingers around. But it’s no use. The op has yet to even begin and already you’re stuck. In the disgusting mud. Deep in the endless jungle. With no hope of ever getting out.

You let out a painfully dramatic, completely despairing sigh and glance up only to see Benny laughing. Really laughing… not even trying to hide his utter, unabashed amusement at your awful predicament. You shoot him as threatening a glare as you can muster. But it only makes him laugh harder.

“Go get into position,” Tom orders, slapping him on the shoulder and shaking his head – once again in a seemingly all-too-practiced dadway – before he bends down to help Frankie out.

Finally, finally, the two men manage to free you. Shockingly, your boot leaves the earth as well, though you can feel the muck inside squelching beneath your instep and in between your toes. Your lip curls in disgust as you haphazardly wipe the boot – bottom, sides, and top – on the wheel well, a bit of mud getting squeezed out near your ankle as you do so. “I’m gonna get jungle rot,” you mutter bitterly as you continue to smear grime along the body of the SUV.

Tom swats your leg away. “Just be sure you don’t give away your location with all the squishing,” he says with a hint of a smile. Then, patting Frankie on the back, he finishes with a much more stern, “Let’s do this,” and takes off to find his position, face and shoulders both set as he easily drops into soldier mode.

“I’m still not sure if I like that guy,” you begin as you and Frankie head for the high ground, “or really freaking hate him.”

He bites out a quick laugh, turns to show off that too-damn-perfect smile, and replies with an easygoing, “Yup.”

Once you make it out of your drop-in point, everything else seems to be smooth sailing. The worst part is just waiting, especially with the rain. Waiting for Garcia’s informant to drop off the van. Waiting for the guards to leave for church, the family not so quickly following suit. Waiting for the guys to move in – Frankie shooting a quick wink alongside, “Watch my six,” as he heads out to join them. Waiting for the all-clear from Benny before you can finally enter the house yourself.

The house. Lorea’s house.

You’d been waiting for this for too damn long. Years of hunting the man had led to these last few months of building out this very plan with Santiago… and then to the last week of recon and final plans with these soldiers whom you barely even know. For all of the initial mistrust heaped upon you by them – and you honestly don’t blame them for any of it – the truth is, they know they have each other to depend on. You’re the odd man out here. You’re the one who should be questioning them… their dedication to this mission. Their loyalty to Santi, and by extension, to you. Their desire to end Lorea’s reign of terror.

You’re in this to take that man out. And if just one of these guys decides that’s not going to happen – for whatever reason – you’re shit out of luck. You should trust them only as far as you can throw them, which would be… not very far. But as you catch sight of Ben standing inside the front door, eagerly waving you in, and as you see the trail of blood leading into the kitchen, a voice over the coms calmly declaring, we had to shoot one of the guards in the leg, something inside of you shifts and settles and all of the worries about who may or may not be trustworthy simply flit away to nothing.

But other concerns quickly rise to take their place.

Watching the highly trained special ops team move about you – each man light-footed and fluid, so quiet that their breathing is nearly inaudible, even as one of them leans over your shoulder from his position behind – is nerve wracking enough to make your legs begin to tremble. You knew what you were getting into here. You knew that this would be dangerous, that it would require a certain level of skill and technique and training. But it isn’t until you actually see these men – these elite soldiers – in action that you realize how woefully inept and unprepared you are in comparison.

Self-doubt begins to seep from the cracks now forming in your carefully crafted façade. Uncertainty, insecurity, fear starts to build up and rise within you, burning like bile creeping up the back of your throat. By the time you and Santiago finish the second sweep of the downstairs and begin climbing the steps to the second-story landing, your entire body is vibrating with regretful apprehension.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you hear as you approach the study upstairs. It’s the room where your informant took the picture of the stacks of cash after her delivery, the holding area where all of Lorea’s blood money sat, just waiting to be counted. But when you enter, there’s no money to be found, just pissed-off-looking soldiers surrounded by the empty bags they had planned to fill with cash.

“Your girl burned us,” Frankie mutters blankly, eyes full of regret and annoyance as he leans heavily against one wall. His dark gaze collides with yours for just a fraction of a moment before he shakes his head and breathes out, “We gotta get outta here.”

Your brow crinkles in confusion, all of the insecurity bubbling through your body suddenly settling and getting replaced by a sort of righteous indignation. “Whoa, wait,” you spit out, sidestepping Santi and rushing to the center of the room. “We’re not leaving. We’re not done here.”

Will gives you an almost disappointed look and blankly mutters, “Nothing here, sweetheart,” before dropping heavily into a chair in the corner.

You shake your head, a pointed certainty to your words as you level him with a heated stare and say, “Lorea’s here. He’s always here. He does not leave.”

Tom scoffs. “Yeah, well, he left today,” he says, tone full of spite. “And he took the money with him.”

You spin to face him, “No,” pouring from your lips in a firm and unyielding tenor. “He’s here. And so is the money.”

“We did a full sweep,” Will breathes out.

“So we’ll do another,” Santiago chimes in, suddenly at your back.

You look around at all the forlorn faces and roll your eyes, realizing all at once that, for all their training in war, these men don’t have a freaking clue about the kinds of things you deal with in your job. They’re used to encountering soldiers – enemy combatants, trained mercenaries, militias… people who’s purpose is to fight. That’s not what Lorea is. That’s not what he does. He didn’t move deep into the jungle to fight, to wage war, to build an army. He came here to hide.

“You guys are fucking idiots,” you declare with a huff. “I once spent two hours tearing apart a houseboat before finding the guy we were after squatting in a hidden cutout near the bilge. A few years ago, we found fifty thousand dollars under a false bottom in a hot tub while serving a search warrant. Another raid ended with us tearing apart a kid’s tree house that had cash hidden under the floorboards. You think because Lorea isn’t sitting here behind his desk, counting his millions like fucking Scrooge McDuck that they’re not here? That he’s not here?”

“Didn’t McDuck swim in his money?” Benny inquires from behind, the question earning quick huff of a laugh from his brother.

You feel Santi step away from your side. “She’s right,” he says, his eyes dancing around the room, looking for… something. They land on a mostly empty can of paint, and he smiles, sniffing quickly at the air. “Fresh paint.”

Tom’s eyes widen and tick towards the wall to his left as his lips split and out pours what you had all along seen as being an obvious truth. “The house is the safe.”

000

When it rains, it pours. You’d been the one to say that, to inanely mutter the adage through the coms with a huff as Benny took off back inside the house – the safe – while you sat in the now heavily weighted van, so full of money that the suspension sags to the point of extremeconcern.

The guards are coming back, the sound of their SUV’s engine just barely chugging atop the steady beating of the downpour that had engulfed you all for the past few hours. They’re coming back, and everyone but you is still inside.

Call it greed. Call it vindictiveness. Call it whatever the fuck you want. But you all had agreed to get as much plata out of that house as possible, to fill the cars to the freaking brim with as much of that motherfucker’s money – his lifeblood, his love, his everything – before setting fire to the whole damn thing. You’d been in this business long enough to know that bringing down one cartel merely opens up a door for others to grow. But still, the idea of watching Lorea’s empire burn makes you wet in a way the torrential rain beating on the roof on the van never could.

You toss a glance back, over you shoulder at the mound of duffel bags, a child’s suitcase thrown into the pile as well, all filled to bursting with cash. It’s pretty unbelievable. Incredible. You’d never been the type to really worry about money, no more so than the average guy. But damn if being surrounded by millions of dollars doesn’t make you a little lightheaded. And the fact that it’s Lorea’s money?

Despite Santi’s little bullshit pep talk the other night about how all of you deserve this – for serving your country and fighting for what’s right… blah, blah, blah – you honestly don’t feel like you deserve this money any more than anyone else. But Lorea sure as shit doesn’t deserve it. And you trust yourself – and each of these men by your side – to put it to far better use than he ever would.

You can’t see the guards, can’t see the SUV carrying them from your vantage point in the van. But Benny had told you to stay put, he’d get the others and he wanted you ready to drive as soon as they came out. Still, you know now that the first car must’ve arrived at the compound because – aside from the steady pounding of the rain and the wild pulse of your heartbeat echoing in your ears – everything is suddenly silent. No more hum of an engine. No choppy callouts over the radio as Ben seeks out the guys. Everything is silent and still. Until… pop-pop, short and sudden, muffled by the thick walls of the house.

Over the coms you hear – in a calm, controlled tone – Two down in the entryway. Another sharp pop, followed by a voice you’ve come to easily recognize. That’s three.

There’s something in the way their words are uttered, something in the utterly placid tenor of each of their voices. Something also to the sparse shots – so unlike the rapid, automatic gunfire you’re used to being thrown into amid scared and untrained local police and inexperienced, foolhardy kids hired as cheap labor by the cartels. There’s something about the way they all rush suddenly into your line of sight – fast but calm, controlled – as they pour out of the house, a few racing past to find the guards’ SUV, the sounds of their footfalls and quick breaths nearly drowning out the whir of the engine as you turn the ignition. There’s something about it all that leaves you feeling – despite the fact that things did not go as planned and you can see that all-too-recognizable, pissed-off scowl tugging at Santiago’s features as he flies past your window – calm as well. Safe, even.

Frankie climbs quickly into the passenger side of the van just as you fire up the engine, Will slowly pulling himself into the seat behind him. “Shit,” you mutter, eyes widening as you take in the grimace on the man’s face, the blood on his hands and shirt. “What the hell happened?”

“S’fine,” he tells you, punctuating the statement with a nod, a directive to look forward. “Let’s move.”

You put the van in gear and hit the gas, maneuvering steadily through the compound and towards the front entrance. “Did you get shot?” you inquire again, your voice showing less concern and more simple curiosity.

“Yeah,” he groans, a thick breath hitching as you hit a particularly big bump in the road. “Your friend Lorea popped out of his little hidey hole and got me. Guess you called that.”

You whip around to face him, eyes now like damn saucers. “You got him?”

Frankie grabs your arm and gives a little tug to get you turn back towards the front, only speaking, answering for Will, once you do so, once you settle a still-wild stare on the path ahead, “Yeah. Pope took him out. He’s dead.”

You say nothing for a long moment, letting those words seat inside of you. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. How long have you wanted to hear those words? How long have you been gunning for that son of a bitch, waiting for someone to take him out… hoping that someone might be you? Santi doing it is the next best thing, you figure.

A sudden explosion lights up in front of you as you approach the gate and Benny blows past it, and past the van, angrily muttering to himself all the while. “He looks pissed,” you comment blithely, looking to Frankie for something akin to permission before flooring it and ramming through the gate like you’re just itching to do.

He gives a staunch nod forward. “Can’t blame him,” he says, capping it off with a softer, rather encouraging, “Go for it.”

You hit the gas, glancing in the rearview mirror and asking, “The others are in the SUV?” as the guards’ car pulls up behind you and waits for Ben to jump in.

Frankie nods – “Yeah.” – and his eyes suddenly tick your way, narrowing a bit as they rove your body before coming to rest on your hands as they tightly grip the wheel.

“What?” you ask, feeling his stare burn into you.

Will laughs from behind – a swift, stilted thing that tells you just how much pain he’s actually in – and lets out an amused, “Fish always drives.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, voice dripping with put-on sincerity as you continue down the unpaved road. “Do you want me to pull over?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no hiding the plainly obvious pout tugging at his lips when he looks over at you and mutters, “Just watch where you’re going.”

The first half or so of the long drive up to the airfield is spent in tense silence. You don’t fight it, don’t force any sort of conversation, don’t inquire about what exactly happened in that house. You can tell that these men need a long-ass moment to come down from everything. Hell, your own adrenaline still has your pulse thrumming endlessly through your ears. And you’d been safely ensconced inside this van for most of the action. It’s not like you had to fight your way out of there. It’s not like you got shot.

Your eyes bounce up to the rearview mirror, finding Will curled into himself in the backseat. “How you doing, Ironhead?” you ask, purposefully infusing the ridiculous name with a mocking intonation.

He looks up and catches your gleaming eyes in the mirror, notes your slight smirk, and gruffly replies, “Well, I’m not dead yet.”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Frankie supplies from your right. He spins around to give his friend a quick once over. “He’s fine.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous,” you challenge, raising a brow. “Didn’t see you coming out of there with a new hole in your body.”

“Didn’t realize you were so focused on my body,” he returns with a bit of a lilt.

Will groans loudly from the back. “Don’t start flirting up there,” he practically orders before the no-argument tone slips into something softer, almost jovial. “I’m suffering enough back here as is.”

“You’re fine,” Frankie shoots back, turning bodily in his seat and craning his head towards his friend. “You act like you’ve never been shot before.”

“I’m retired,” he replies. “Think I forgot how much this sucks.”

You nod, almost to yourself, emitting a simple, assenting, “Yeah.”

Frankie leans back, still remaining sideways in the seat, his stare now wholly on you. You glance over and see his brow scrunch in… is it concern? Or merely curiosity? “You’ve been shot?” he asks, an odd edge to his voice.

Again, you nod. “I have. Didn’t care for it.”

“See, Fish,” Will mumbles from the back as he slips further down the seat in an effort to find some semblance of comfort. “Maybe you’ve been so busy flying around rich businessmen in the private sector that you’ve also forgotten how shitty this is.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he mutters with a frown.

Will cocks his head at you – not that you can see it, eyes remaining trained on the road lest you get another watch where you’re goingevil stare from the man by your side. “What happened to you, sweetheart?”

You snort out a short laugh, glancing quickly at Frankie and saying softly – and more than a little bit condescendingly – “He likes to call me sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man in the back sighs out, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Guess I’m just a run-of-the-mill chauvinist.”

You shrug. “I never said anything about you being run-of-the-mill.” And from your right, you hear a soft snicker. A gentle smile spreads across your face and your hands loosen their death grip on the steering wheel just a bit as you feel the air filling the van begin to lighten, tension seeming to slowly spill away. After a lingering – but not at all wrought – moment, you shift a bit in your seat and say, “Went on a raid just outside of Tijuana. My first down in Mexico. And I took a bullet in the hip.”

“Shit,” Will intones. “Hell of a bienvenido.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, suddenly all-too conscious of the old ache in your joint that’s been plaguing you all day. “But on the plus side, I’m now always the first to know when it’s about to rain.”

Both men laugh. You laugh – despite the pain in your hip and the worry about the guy in back… and your terribly distracting infatuation with the wide smile now painted on Frankie’s face. You all sit in the van – on your way to flee the country after committing a terrible crime – and laugh about the fact that, despite each of you being a little bit broken, none of you are dead yet.

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx

[kpopmakesmequestionmylifechoices]

Kingdom Round 3, pt. 2: How to discourage idols and kill versatility in K-pop - a guide by "experts".

As in my last post I'll talk about my thoughts on the performances, but mostly I'll question the freaking ranking because wth those experts should really reveal themselves at this point (I'm salty). Anyways, let's get into it.

1. A small "disappointment" and two big surprises.

ATEEZ: Oh guys the beginning made me emotional because it reminded me hardcore of Block B Very Good hahaha. Generally I must say, ATEEZ rearrangements are always good. It just sounded very ATEEZ-ish, and that's cool. I personally prefer the original Rhythm Ta over the rearrangement tho. About the performance, I don't have any criticism I think. I personally found that rope scene a bit strange tho, and overall I just wasn't impressed by that stage. Possibly because nothing can top the Symphony Nr.9 for me hahaha.

BTOB: First of all, SKZ X BTOB interactions are peak comedy I loved this so much. Minhyuk fangirling on SKZ back door stage is me tho. And "Kingdom is 15+ right?" Oh man I love those dudes.

About the concept, totally loved it because it was super fun to watch. I was worried beforehand because I couldn't imagine anyone pulling off SKZ' powerful rap. They didn't tho. They did it their own way and I was surprised. The meaning change to a more uh...mature sorta concept was also quite interesting. The moment Eunkwang knocked and opened the door: chefkiss. Those lyrics? Rude but chefkiss. I in general really liked the rearrangement, but in the end it lost its power a bit. Maybe also because I have the original Back Door burned into my brain and the ending just rocks af. But honestly, my brain also was fried by THIS:

[*my edit/gif - I made a full gifset in that style now]

Stray Kids: I must say, I was a bit scared before because anyone having to do a BTOB cover must have absolutely stable vocals. This was the stage I was most concerned about when I heard about the song choices. Without a reason. Because SKZ absolutely killed it. Sure, I.N didn't hit that note as it was planned but let me tell you, it didn't affect my enjoyment of this stage at all. The stage setting? Fantastic. Changbin's rap sounded as if he's in utter pain and despair, Felix added to that with his hyper low tone part which was ABSOLUTELY cool. This was just great, full of feels, and I have NO criticism, bye.

Recap: When thinking about the past 6 performances, I feel that ATEEZ and iKON did the best job with making the others' song their own. In my eyes, SF9 and TBZ both stayed in their comfort zone with their song choices, while BTOB and SKZ took on the extreme challenge to pick songs that are basically the opposite of what they usually do. As I Iove versatility and surprises, SKZ and BTOB have a special place in my heart with those two stages.

Hence, my personal ranking looks as follows:

1. BTOB & SKZ (tied): For me those were the biggest surprises and caused the biggest enjoyment and entertainment for me. If I HAD TO choose a first place, I'd pick BTOB - because Back Door is one of my FAVOURITE songs of all time, and solely evaluating the songs, I heavily prefer Back Door over I'll be your man. Anyways, with that ranking, SKZ jumped from my personal lowest rank in the first round to my personal highest rank.

2. SF9: After seeing SF9's stage last week, I was sure that I'll have them as #1 in today's post. I loved everything about the performance (besides the weird gun dance sry), and I especially loved how they stepped up their game without making the perfomance too huge and too overwhelming. Nevertheless, due to the fact they stayed pretty close to their usual style, I'll rank them 2nd because I was more impressed by the others' style change.

3. iKON / ATEEZ: The performances were good, but to me personally they were absolutely not memorable. It's a matter of taste after all.

4. TBZ: I know, I again rank them last. And again, no I don't hate them. I simply neither am touched by their stages, nor do I understand their plots. So I once again rank them last. I don't find their performances bad tho, because as all groups, they're doing an amazing job. The stages are simply not my cup of tea.

2. Oh you prove that you're a versatile artist? That must be punished!

↑ That's how I imagine the experts' thoughts. Expert ranking was as follows: ATEEZ / TBZ / iKON / SF9 / BTOB / SKZ.

Okay I must say. Which freaking expert would place SKZ last??? I'm not biased in the slightest, if I'm biased then for SF9 and BTOB, but bruh. SKZ last? That's like, ridiculous. Considering the immense challenge SKZ had from switching from their usual style to freaking I'll be your man?

I don't know man, I can't take this ranking seriously. I really wish we'd know what the criteria is...It's a mystery to me how this could happen. Those boys get punished for stepping out of their comfort zone and doing an amazing job? Literally same story with BTOB. Both groups completely stepped outta their comfort zone and that's what they got for it...Well done, experts, well done. This is how you destroy versatility in K-pop, but sure, go on.

Honestly at this point I hope stays and melodies work together to catapult both groups up in the ranking because this is just utter nonsense...

3. Ya all groups, why don't you support your exchange partners :')))))))

↑ This is me hysterically laughing and crying at the same time at the fact that they don't vote for each other. Groups' ranking was as follows: ATEEZ / SF9 / BTOB / iKON / SKZ / TBZ.

Honestly my only explanation for this result is that the groups don't vote for those people they see as their biggest opponents? It's weird man. I personally for example don't understand why the groups which exchange songs don't vote for each other? None of the performances was bad, and I think it's low-key a matter of respect to give the group you exchanged songs with one of your votes? Because after all they tried their best to present your song in a presentable way even tho it's not their own? Idk man. I don't like this weird feeling of "hostility". But might only be my own feeling idk hahahahaha.

Honestly I wish we'd get to see the groups' evaluation and reasoning behind their choices...

That was it from my side this week...As always, thanks for reading! As for next episode, I'm super excited to see proper interactions and them finally having fun...ouf and after all those years Minhyuk going back to vault jumping I'm hyped hahahah. And now I'll go rewatch SKZ and BTOB lol.

[asphyxiateher]

Only Monsters Come Out at Night *Chapter 6*

Chapter 6: How Do I Live Without the Ones I Love? Summary: Veronica wants Desdemona to come to her senses and escape Castle Dimitrescu with her. The problem is...Desdemona doesn’t want to. A/N: Character death. Graphic descriptions of violence. I  tried to link my previous chapters and I’m having issues sjfodsogsdkg I’ll edit when I get a chance to lol

              Desdemona was slowly losing her mind the longer she tried to stay alive in Castle Dimitrescu. Alcina’s daughters were more than what she could handle but she did what she could to stay on their good side. Her methods were unusual to say the least, but she managed to live another day because of her strategizing. Bela was the eldest daughter, so her needs came first when she required Desdemona’s attention. Cassandra was the middle child, and she had her own insecurities that made her a little high maintenance, but Desdemona didn’t mind that at all. Daniela was…well, she was certainly rambunctious enough to keep the surviving Hawthorne twin on her toes. Desdemona had managed to prevent another poor maiden from being struck by a blunt object by immediately interfering and pulling Bela to the side to calm her down with a kiss. They stayed in each other’s warm embrace for quite a while, giving the maiden time to excuse herself and run off elsewhere. The distraction was effective, and Desdemona could have pulled away the moment she knew the other woman was safe, but she didn’t. Bela hummed happily against her lips and Desdemona reveled in the feeling of being wanted so of course she was reluctant to break the spell between her and Bela. That’s what was starting to feel unusual for Desdemona. The more time she spent with each of the sisters, the less she hated it. They were evil, filthy creatures and yet she could not get enough of them.

Cassandra made her forget that she was a sadistic monster that enjoyed tormenting the people around her for giggles. Desdemona decided to watch some of her movies with Cassandra on her laptop, and she made the mistake of playing Chicago, her all-time favorite musical. As soon as ‘Cell Block Tango’ came on, Cassandra became so infatuated with the song and the scene itself, she asked Desdemona to replay it several times until she memorized the lyrics. It was fascinating to observe the vampire attempt to recreate the dances she had just seen so she laughed at the utter absurdity of it all. Cassandra suddenly stopped dancing and glared at Desdemona. “What are you laughing at?” She asks, now completely uncertain of herself as she nervously plays with her hair.

“Nothing, I swear. You just look so happy, it’s kind of cute.” Desdemona replies, her mouth snapping shut the moment she realized what she had just told the other woman.

She’s blushing now, unsure of why she had just told her captor that she thought she was cute. Cassandra’s scowl slowly turns into a knowing smirk, and she places her hands on her hips as she stares down at Desdemona with hungry eyes. Desdemona gulps. Was she about to be gutted alive or were they about to engage in what Cassandra calls physical play? She didn’t have a chance to rethink what she could have done differently in that moment as Cassandra throws herself on top of Desdemona, her hands clawing at her clothes and cupping the most intimate parts of her body. While Cassandra respected her boundaries when it came to wanting more, Desdemona did not come out of that room unscathed.

The hickeys and bruises did not bother any of the sisters much as they knew they had to share their favorite little pet between all of them. Daniela enjoyed marking Desdemona as much as the other two did but she was convinced her love bites meant more to her human pet because their “love” was true and eternal. Desdemona dared not contradict her in fear of her throat being slit but she played along with it. Eventually, Daniela would grow bored of her, would she not? It was hard to say especially when she wanted to snuggle with Desdemona almost every night and wanted her to read one of her books aloud. Desdemona would read to Daniela and the red-haired vampire would listen patiently, her fingers tracing senseless patterns along her plaything’s arms.

Other days, Daniela liked to play rough and tossed Desdemona around like a rag doll when it was her turn to spend time with the pet. Daniela just wanted to assert her dominance with the human and to let her know that she was hers to love and play with. Desdemona endured painful slaps to her face and rear, bites to her breasts and deep scratches on her back only for Daniela to giggle at her handiwork and whisper in her ear how much she loved seeing the smaller girl covered in her markings. It ought to be too much to bear for Desdemona, but for some reason…it wasn’t enough. She kept going back for more every time so she must have learned to like it. Desdemona figured she must have been conditioned to enjoy it because no longer could she hear the rational voice in her head telling her to run away and push back but instead, she hears whispers that soothe her into submission. She is convinced she’s losing her mind and her best friend could easily verify that.

In fact, Veronica had not been herself either for quite some time, Desdemona noticed, and her behavior had been odd ever since she toured unseen parts of the mansion with Lady Dimitrescu. Her demeanor was subdued in a way she had never seen before, and she tried asking her friend about it but all she would get in return was a furious shaking of her head. There was no glimmer of hope in Veronica’s eyes anymore; instead, Desdemona found herself staring into a void of despair whenever she tried meeting her friend’s gaze. It was a little worrying for a while until one day, she recognized a familiar spark ignite in Veronica once more.

 Her friend was hot-headed and sometimes the littlest of things could set her off and today, of all days, Veronica reacted to the sight of Desdemona cozying up to Daniela in the library. Desdemona was not aware that her best friend was allowed to roam the premises freely but judging by the uniform her friend was presumably forced into, she was possibly tasked with cleaning the ground level while the other maids were sent upstairs. Veronica kept a neutral facial expression as she approached her best friend, but she swallowed hard at the sight of Daniela’s hand being held by Desdemona. She couldn’t help but clear her throat awkwardly as she stood in front of them snuggled up so comfortably on the couch.

“Dezzy, I need to have a word with you…in private, if you can grant me the time.” Veronica says stiffly, her nostrils flaring the longer she found herself staring at Desdemona. As for Desmond’s twin, she was in such a state that would imply she had just gotten intimate with the vampire with the smug grin on her face. Veronica noticed a new hickey on the nape of her best friend’s neck, and she had to clench her fists to keep herself grounded.

“Veronica! Yeah, I’ve been wondering where you went, I think we need to catch up. Will you excuse us, Daniela?” Desdemona responds, her cheeks reddening at the fact that she had been caught in a private moment with one of her mistresses.

 Daniela lazily glances up at her mother’s little plaything and grimaces at the sight of her.

“Don’t keep me waiting, love. You know I don’t like to be kept waiting.” Daniela says as she plants a sloppy kiss on the corner of Desdemona’s mouth. She casts a menacing look over to Veronica before she turns to walk away, giggling like a madwoman.

Desdemona exhales anxiously and gestures for Veronica to lead the way into the corridor. Veronica ignores the request and leads them to the nearest available window, staring outside and trying to make sense of what she could. The windows were frosted over, ice building up quickly and the view of the outside world was smothered by snow. Desdemona used to like the cold weather, but recently, she’s developed an aversion to freezing temperatures. She wanted to stay warm and snuggled up close with Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela. She could not admit it out loud, but she ached to be near any of them and there was a profound sense of longing whenever she was away too long. She is changing and she thinks Veronica has noticed.

“You know, it’s amazing how quickly you’ve forgotten that these freaks were responsible for Desmond’s death. Our mothers are out there trying to get a hold of us because we haven’t been keeping in touch like we’ve promised and now they’re thinking something horrible must have happened. News flash: your twin brother, my loving boyfriend, was disemboweled in front of us and you’re out here fucking the vampires that are torturing us! What the fuck, Desdemona?!” Veronica shouted, the calm and collected manner in how she usually carried herself in conversations quickly turning up a few notches.

Desdemona was taken aback, clearly not prepared to have this conversation with her best friend though she knew it wasn’t going to be easy regardless.

“V-Veronica, I haven’t seen you in three days since you Alcina took you and you want to talk about what I’ve resorted to doing for survival?” Desdemona asks, ignoring the way Veronica rolled her eyes at that.

“For survival or for your sick pleasure, Des? In the past few days since my unfortunate trip down to what I think is the portal to Hell, I’ve seen you and how you behave around these monsters. I’m worried for you; I think they’re changing you and I don’t like it. I understand being compliant out of fear, but you’ve been getting real goddamn cozy with them, like they’re all your lovers or whatever! I need you to tell me what is going on because from my perspective, it looks like you stopped giving a shit about survival and you are just giving yourself freely to them like some pathetic, spineless slut!” Veronica replies hotly, taking a step towards Desdemona, who doesn’t flinch. Daniela was still hovering around the library but she instantly appears next to a bookshelf to observe the conversation more carefully should the other human overstep her boundaries. She pulls out her sickle and grips it tightly in case she has to defend her lover from the loud-mouthed pet her mother enjoyed tormenting.

“You have some nerve, Veronica, you won’t even tell me what happened to you down there! You don’t think I’ve been traumatized by what I’ve experienced so far? I don’t know what’s fucking happening to me anymore! Everything you’re telling me to do, like find weaknesses and whatnot, it all makes sense to me but it’s not sinking in for whatever reason. I have this urge to run away but it goes away when I hear these voices in my head telling me not to leave the girls. I’m tethered to all of them, V, I don’t know how but there’s this fucking connection I have with each and every one of them and it’s like I’m in physical pain when I think about hurting or leaving them. I’m more whole as a person now then I ever was before because of them and I don’t know what that says about me.” Tears begin to stream down Desdemona’s face and Veronica somewhat relents.

She lets out a frustrated sigh and places a comforting hand on Desdemona’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before she speaks to her with a calm voice.

 “You want to talk about traumatic experiences, then let’s do it without downplaying each other’s experiences. I clearly don’t know what you’re going through, it sounds…difficult, and very hard to believe, but you’re obviously bothered by it. Do you want to know what I just went through to get the opportunity to speak to you outside of the dungeon? Another maid paid with her life to grant me this position. The countess dragged me to some dark, untouched part of the castle where we were confronted by this horrifying…slimy, blob creature that looked like a goddamn mutated fetus.” “You can hear its ungodly laughter as it approached us and from the elevator, Alcina pushed out the other maid that was with us and she locked the door behind her. I had to watch this ungodly science experiment eat another human being alive and Alcina made me watch every second of it. Every bone crunching sound it made and the unforgettable wailing from the poor maid haunts me when I try to fall asleep at night. If it weren’t for that maid, I doubt I’d be up here begging you to come to your senses. I need your help, Dezzy. Please understand how much I need you to see how badly we need to get the fuck out of here.” Veronica finishes as she pulls Desdemona into a hug. She’s weeping onto her shoulder now and all Desdemona could do was squeeze her tighter and hold her for longer. Even though Veronica had been ready to throw hands with Desdemona, it was almost always too easy to get her to calm down when she held her like this in her arms. Everything felt normal in that moment, like everything was as it should be but deep down, Desdemona knew that wasn’t true. Especially when Veronica sniffed and pulled out a journal, almost like it was a personal diary, and placed it in Desdemona’s hands.

“I think once you read the first few entries, you’ll be a little more comfortable with the idea of leaving this place once and for all, just you and me. I found this while I was snooping around in that horrible part of the castle and I just knew I had to show you. All we have to do is open a few windows and we can do away with lady Dimitrescu’s daughters. Once we get rid of them, we escape mama’s wrath and run back home where we belong.” Veronica tells Desdemona as she plants a kiss on her forehead. Desdemona did not have much of a chance to respond before Daniela spoke up for her. They hear maniacal laughter echoing from behind one of the bookshelves and it’s all it takes for Veronica’s sour mood to return.

“Get rid of me and my sisters? Oh you foul human, it’s so adorable that you think you can take on all of us, let alone me. I’ll let you off with a warning because my plaything is attached to you for whatever reason but touch her again, I’ll shove this sickle so far down your throat, you’ll be shitting steel. Now back off!” Daniela warns as she approaches Veronica, a move her friend was hoping would happen since they just so happened to be standing next to a window.

Guilt begins to settle in the pit of Desdemona’s stomach as a new conflict arose from within. She shouldn’t be conspiring against her mistresses for they loved and cared for her but then again, she should be siding with her best friend, someone she had known since she was eight years old. She didn’t know what to do, her worry beginning to initiate a full blown panic attack. “Why don’t you make me back off, you disgusting piece of rotten filth! If I’m going to go out, it’s going to be on my fucking terms and I’m not going down without a fight.” Veronica says as she shoves Desdemona behind her.

Daniela smirks, then raises her sickle in preparation for the fight to come. What comes next sends both Daniela and Desdemona into a panic. Veronica quickly twists around to fully open the window, a freezing cold blast of air hitting Daniela and impairing her almost immediately. The pained shriek she lets out could be felt throughout the castle, but Desdemona feels it tugging at her heart.

“I…don’t…do well…in the…cold! You can’t stop me…mother…will kill…you!” Daniela moans, dropping her weapon as she starts to solidify under the intense temperature change in the room.

The red-haired woman is wildly swinging her arms around and Desdemona can tell she’s slowing down. It’s only going to get worse, and Desdemona is torn.

Veronica rushes to pick up the bust of a famous historical figure off the nearest pedestal and slams it against Daniela’s head. She howls in pain and Desdemona has to hold back tears as she watches her best friend attempt to murder Alcina’s youngest. She’s frozen to the spot, painfully aware that Veronica is shouting at her and ordering her to help her but she hears dark whispers in her head again. “Daniela, what on Earth are you shouting about – wait, what are you doing to my daughter?! GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF HER AT ONCE!” Alcina’s voice booms through the library and it seems to pull Desdemona out of her reverie.

Alcina looks furious as she strides towards them from across the library, her claws beginning to form and from either side of her follow both of her daughters with terrified expressions on their faces as they watch their sister die from the harsh winter cold air. “Mother, what about Daniela? Is there anything we can do for her or is it too late!?” “Daniela, no, hold on just a little longer, we’re almost there!” Veronica glances over at Desdemona and tosses over Daniela’s sickle to her. “Come on, Des, it’s now or never, let’s send out the message that we should never have gotten fucked with. Let’s go!” She shouts as she encourages Desdemona to deliver the killing blow.

Desdemona is violently shaking as she observes Daniela’s form slowly start to freeze over and it isn’t until she sees the heart-breaking expression on the dying woman’s face that Desdemona decides what to do.

“I don’t…want…to die!” She screeches, the words vibrating in Desdemona’s skull.

The dark whispers tell her that she can still save Daniela’s life and that all would be forgiven should she do so. Her mistress loves her, and she needs her to love her back. Desdemona would have to forsake her old life in order to live out the rest of her days in Castle Dimitrescu but the only obstacle that was left remained alive: Veronica.

Her best friend since elementary school, Desdemona closes her eyes and fondly remembers the first time they met. Veronica brought her Spice Girl dolls to play with at recess but nobody wanted to play with her. Desdemona shyly approached her and asked if she could join in on the fun because she loved the Spice Girls too and Veronica welcomed her into her life. Ever since then, the girls became inseparable. From sleepovers to prom night to celebrating each other’s eighteenth birthdays by going to LGBT nightclubs, Veronica was like family to Desdemona. After this holiday trip, Desmond was going to propose to V and they were all going to move in together down in Colorado where Veronica’s mother lived and where V planned on continuing going to school.

Desdemona exhales and steadies her grip on the sickle as she walks towards the open window. She slams it shut, reluctantly turning to face Veronica who was just about to smash the bust against Daniela’s face again. Cassandra and Bela immediately rush over to Daniela and embrace their younger sibling, relief etched on Alcina’s face for a moment before she refocused her rage towards Veronica.

Desdemona couldn’t take it anymore, she knew she had to follow her heart and so she did. “Dezzy, what the fuck are you -hhhng!” Veronica begins, her jaw dropping as the heavy bust she’d been carrying fell to the floor.

The last thing Veronica’s beautiful dark brown eyes saw were a pair of cold, gray eyes staring at her with regret and soft pink lips mouthing “I’m so sorry, Veronica!” repeatedly. Desdemona pierced through the side of Veronica’s skull with Daniela’s sickle, her hands twisting and pushing until all life finally drained out of her best friend. The hardest part for Desdemona was watching the light leave those familiar pretty eyes and it was all because of her. When she yanked the sickle back out, V’s body dropped to the floor with a loud thud and a chunk of flesh remained on the edge of the weapon she had just used on her best friend. Desdemona felt bile rise in the back of her throat, so she turned and threw up, her hands still shaking after she was able to gather her strength to look up again.

Alcina’s claws retracted as the woman stared down at Veronica’s corpse before looking back at Daniela then over to Desdemona, who was now kneeling on the ground.

“You saved my daughter’s life. Words cannot express how grateful I am for your intervention. I understand this may be difficult for you, but you made the right choice. Thank you.” Alcina tells Desdemona, leaning over to place a comforting hand on her shoulder before retreating to where her daughters stood.

“She saved my life! I told you Desdemona loves me the most out of all of us! She truly cares for me!” Daniela croaks out, trying her best to wriggle free from her sisters’ hold on her but they were stubborn.

“Not bad for her first kill. I prefer a hot blood bath myself, but I’m seriously impressed. Oh crap, I think she’s going to freak out.” Cassandra says with a chuckle as they all watch Desdemona react to Veronica’s death with interest.

Desdemona was sobbing uncontrollably now, her body rocking back and forth as she tries to wipe off the blood on her hands. Her eyes flick over to the sickle with the chunk of brain on the end of it and back to Veronica’s lifeless body. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, V! I loved you more than anything!” She whispers to herself, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort. It wasn’t going to last long, however, as Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters surrounded Desdemona and Veronica’s corpse laying at their feet.

“Tonight we celebrate each and every one of you with a feast. This wasn’t how I wanted dinner to be served, but as you can see, Desdemona Hawthorne is eager to please. How can we refuse such a beautiful gift from our lovely newcomer? I say dig in, girls.” Alcina declares before she walks over to Desdemona’s kneeling form and forcefully sets her upright.

“Wait- wait, what do you mean dinner is served? What are you going to do to Veronica’s body?” Desdemona asked with desperation evident in her voice.

Alcina Dimitrescu simply smiled and held Desdemona close to her body, keeping her in place with a headlock so tight that if the younger girl tried to escape, Alcina could easily pull it right off. “Your corruption is not yet complete my dear. I am simply welcoming you to my family and you will become accustomed to how we do everything around here. My daughters love you and you will learn to love everything about them, including how they feast on the blood of the innocent. Now hush, girl, and be thankful you are not the corpse ready to be devoured.” Alcina whispers in her ear before she laughs at Desdemona’s feeble attempts to escape.

“No, oh for the love of God, please don’t make me watch! That’s m-my best friend, please don’t do this to me! I’d rather you kill me now, please, just don’t make me watch!” Desdemona pleads and screams but it does nothing, it only sweetens the air around the ravenous vampires who are about to tear into the corpse at their feet. Daniela growls when she uses her sickle to cut off Veronica’s tongue, Bela giggles as she begins to yank out Veronica’s piercings one by one and Cassandra has already begun working on tearing out her limbs. “Save me her mouth, I wish to savor the flavor of a pathetic nobody that dared to try and take away my precious Desdemona.” Daniela says as she throws her head back to laugh wildly along with Bela and Cassandra.

Desdemona’s screams and protests are ignored, Alcina forcing her eyes open as she’s forced to watch the three vampires consume her best friend. When Bela cuts into certain parts of her flesh, blood sprays out and lands on Desdemona’s face, causing the young girl to feel faint. She eventually can’t handle the horror of watching the girls tear apart Veronica and so she passes out in Lady Dimitrescu’s arms. The last thing she remembers hearing before the world fades to black is Cassandra chastising her mother for laughing and begs her to let Desdemona sleep in her arms instead.

[dramatic-squirrel]

Daminette December Day 1- Inspiration

Here is my first attempt at writing for Damianette December. For my own sake, I have chosen to be liberal with the themes but (at least to me) they still fit, so fight me.

@daminette-december2019-2020

Her mind was blank. Even though she saved Paris on a daily basis, could create a new stage outfit for Jagged in 3 days and babysit for Manon, she couldn’t solve this problem. It was her first Christmas with Damian and she was spending it in Gotham, yet she couldn’t figure what to give him.

“Tikki, what am I supposed to do!? I don’t have any ideas. I want it to be perfect but I don’t know what to give him.” The park was empty except for them, everyone else was inside avoiding the cold.

“You don’t have to be so nervous Marinette. Damian will love whatever you give him.” Tikki patted her in comfort through the purse she was always in.

“Yes, but I want it to be perfect. It’ll mean more if I put a lot of thought into it, it’s just that I can’t even think about what to get in the first place,” her pacing left a long trail of footprints in the snow. “I don’t want it to be generic, but his family is rich. He literally could get anything he wanted, what do you get someone who could just buy it themselves anyway?” At that point, the only thing she knew for certain was that she was going to handmake the gift.

She didn’t want to mess it up either. She really liked Damian. Unlike her, he was always composed and calm and even though he came off as rude to most people she knew that he really cared about those he let into his life. She saw how gentle he could be, especially to his pets, and she saw how his pets trusted and loved him. She knew that, despite the fact that he claimed his friends and family annoyed him, that he cared about them. She even bet that he would do everything he could to protect them.

Damian was amazing, and the one final thing she knew about him was that Damian wasn’t really used to affection. He brushed off Dick’s constant care towards him, even though Damian relied on Dick the most out of everyone in his family.

So she wanted to make something special for him, that would show that she also cared about him. But no idea’s were coming to mind.

“Why don’t you try walking around Gotham a bit, Marinette?” Tikki’s voice was reassuring. “You always come up with great ideas when you look at the environment around you. I’m sure if you looked around Gotham, where he lives, you’ll come up with something.”

A sigh left her in resignation. “You’re right Tikki,” she tried to be positive about it all. She still had time, and she always managed to solve her problems in a pinch. Her confidence restored itself as she left the park to go wander around the city he called home for the past six years.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Things were not going so well for Damian either, although he had to admit, he hadn’t seen a problem until Grayson had brought up the issue. 

“So, Babybird, want to tell me what you got Marinette for Christmas or am I going to have to guess on my own,” he barged into the room like he owned the place.

“What are you talking about, Grayson?” The complete confusion on his face clued Dick in to the fact that Damian was not in fact joking around. 

“You are aware that Christmas is coming up soon right?”

“Yes?”

“Okay,” the utter despair on Dick’s face as he realized what this all meant. “I’d have expected this when you first came here but, you do know that it is usual to give gifts to people on Christmas, right? Bruce has celebrated Christmas with you, I think you’ve even given Jon a gift. So, you know that your supposed to give a gift to Marinette right?”

For the first time in his life, Dick saw Damian look uncertain about something. “Well, I assumed since we’ve only known each other for a few months at this point, that we didn’t know each other well enough to present appropriate gifts to each other. After all, I doubt she knows all of my interests or what i might need, and I certainly don’t know that much about Marinette. In fact, I doubt that she is getting something for me in the first place.”

Dick could only shake his head in dismay as he placed a hand on Damian shoulder. “I can tell you, without a shred of doubt, that Marinette is preparing a gift for you. She’s the kind of person that gives everything her all, including her relationships. Lucky for you, there is still time to get her something, so do you have any ideas?”

Shocking him further, Dick saw another emotion on Damian’s face that he’d never seen before, panic. Damian had no idea what to do, he never really had to think about getting gifts for others. He never cared about anyone enough to have to deal with this but, Marinette was different. She was sweet and understanding and badass, she could handle her own against some of the Gotham Rogues with no problem. And when she smiled it was so bright that it rivalled Grayson’s, it was like an angel smiling in front of him. 

He never really cared before if people hated him but, Marinette was different. “What do I get her Grayson? I don’t know nearly enough about her to get her something she would like.”

“You know that she’s a fashion designer, you could give her something related to that.”

“That’s idiotic. I know nothing about what she would need or what would be the best present. She probably has most of the essentials and I have no clue what specific equipment or supplies would be most useful for her. Maybe I should do some research on Marinette to find out.”

“No no no. Wait a minute Damian. I’m here to stop you from doing stupid stuff like that. Before you invade her privacy and screw things up lets calm down and think this through a bit more.” He managed to stop Damian. “If you aren’t sure what she would like, or need, how about you make something for her. Marinette makes a lot of things by hand so she would know and appreciate the hard work you’d put into making a homemade gift.”

Damian nodded his head in understanding. “I am good enough at painting that I should be able to make something that she would like, but I still have to know what to paint. Thank you Grayson, I need to ponder over this for some time.”

He left the room without looking back at his brother. Grayson just committed to watching over his younger brother until he was sure that things were going to be all right.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few days before Christmas, Marinette and Damian met in a small hole-in-the-wall coffee shop that Tim recommended to Damian. Since Marinette had to go back to Paris soon to spend the holidays with her parents and helping out at the bakery. They decided to celebrate Christmas with each other a bit earlier.

They sat down and ordered their drinks, hot chocolate for her, and a cup of Assam tea for him. Their drinks arrived and before Damian could bring it up, Marinette spoke up first.

“So, I know we never really discussed this beforehand but, because it’s the holiday season, and I wanted to give you something nice, I got you a present. Of course, you might not like the gift and if you hate it I’d understand and I can get something else for you but, I hope you like it.” Her rambling cut off as she shoved the package she was carrying in his face.

The gift was long and rectangular. It was wrapped, in much to his secret embarrassment, in dark green wrapping paper with the Robin logo stamped all over it. Sometimes he wondered if Marinette actually knew his identity as Robin. He opened it up and stared in surprise at what she got him.

“I was having trouble deciding what to get you, when I was walking around Gotham and I saw a shop that sold old weapons, like swords and stuff,” she started to explain. “I remembered that you had this katana in your room that didn’t seem to have a sheath and I got inspired to make this for you.” 

The katana sheath she made was a dark green, so dark that, unless under bright light, it looked black. In a black paint, that was almost obscured by the dark green, she added a subtly design to the sheath, a chinese-style dragon. Near the top of the katana was the only bit of bright color to the whole design, a bat painted in gold. 

The words left his mouth before he could stop it, “A dragon bat,” he whispered. He couldn’t believe how well the sheath fit him. From his favorite color to the subtle design to the reference to Goliath that she didn’t even know about. “I love it Marinette. It’s the perfect gift. In fact, it makes me a bit nervous to give you my gift now but, it would be rude not to.” 

When Marinette saw the painting and what he had painted, she was confused for a moment before tears started falling down her face. “Is that… me?” she had to ask because she couldn’t believe it. 

When she started crying he freaked out for a moment and quickly explained. “Grayson recommended that I make something for you so I made this painting. I had to think for a while before I could figure out what to paint. Grayson suggested that I paint a portrait of you as I see you, so I felt inspired to make this. I apologize if your upset that I painted you without asking first, I assume that’s why your crying?” He wasn’t really sure.

She shook her head. “No, no, it’s just, the painting is just so… I never knew you thought of me that way. It’s so touching, I’m actually really happy. Thank you so much Damian!” She pulled him into a hug, and although he tensed a bit, he soon hugged her back. 

Damian had chosen to paint Marinette from when they first met back in Paris. Except in the painting he had given her white angel wings and managed to make her look stunning. It was a painting that removed any doubts she may have had about his feelings her for, and it was a gift she was going to treasure for the rest of her life.

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 16

Wordcount: 4, 869 Rating: M for strong language, moderate sexual references, violence, and gore The reader is referred to as she/her. "God knows. Maybe you have a greater purpose to serve. Why else did he make you?" Chapter synopsis: And you never considered yourself trigger-happy. But the shots have been fired. They're dead before you can interrogate them. Allen is eager to convince you it was the right thing to do, but even he can't deny the horrors that will follow. The war rages on. Alfred stays ignorant for the meantime, and you revel in his bliss of it. You share one last peaceful night with him before the fearful unknown.

16 - Nothing breaks like a heart

The reader is referred to as she/her.

An ear-splitting bang echoed in the pool room. Blood and small chunks of flesh landed on the tiled floor in a splat. Tearing his hand away with a shaky gasp, he held the wrist and hunched over to writhe in agony. "Ergh... Fuck!" He spluttered, feeling a violent tremble seize his wounded hand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

He lifted his head to glare at you with the utmost betrayal. "What the hell did you do that for?!"

A sizely hole formed in his palm. The exposed flesh was still oozing out blood like a full sponge, dripping onto the ground in generous puddles. A whole section of his bone was missing. And you did it. You shot Alfred. You paled in horror for a few moments, but as he panted before you with tears streaming down his red and enflamed face, it became apparent that your guilt was unfounded.

"What I did that for? You aren't Alfred!" You exasperated, raising the gun shakily to point it between his fearful eyes. "You're a clone!"

A sour flavor was left in your mouth as you spat out the word. His origins were no mystery.

Nobody else could have been responsible or capable of such a heinous crime. To grow an abomination from whatever DNA was left in their lab. You only imagined them to be created for one purpose, and one purpose only. To torment, kill, and replace Alfred. As the thoughts raced through your head, you tightened your finger around the trigger—"Wait, wait! Don't shoot!" He begged, throwing his arms up.

"I know you're freaking out right now, but I have no idea what's going on either!"

Gritting your teeth at his excuse, you were determined to not let it get to you. But it was easier said than done. "Shut up! Don't think for a second you can fool me!" Despite the cutting conviction of your voice, you took on a terrified expression at the thought of shooting him. "I'm gonna do it. You're nothing but a freak of nature! And you'll never... Never..."

As you trailed off, you realized you indeed couldn't pull the trigger.

Not when the barrel was aimed at a face that looked just like Alfred's.

It was contorted with so much fear and despair, pleading silently for you to not hurt him. The fact that he was a spitting image of him made it even harder. How he moved, talked, acted—seeing it chipped away your resolve, leaving you all but paralyzed. The gun was left juddering furiously in your hands in light clacks, holding him hostage at the moment before death.

"Please. Please don't do it." He whispered, bringing his hands down to shield himself. "You gotta help me, (F/N). I don't know how, but I woke up in this body. That's... That's all that happened."

How painfully familiar it sounded.

I woke up in this body.

The similarities were so uncanny, it was cruel. Giving your head a quick shake, your lips quivered as you uttered this.

"You're lying. You're not real."

Creases formed between his brows. "I'm not lying! And I am real! I'll prove it to you, I swear! We went through so much shit together, like uh—" He pointed at you and laughed nervously as he sifted through the scanty archives of his memories. "—I kidnapped you. Ha! See? I know something! That's how we met! And you hated my guts at first."

You swallowed thickly as uncertainty slowly overwhelmed you. If he could remember that, he had to be real, right? No. You had to fend off the feeling. "That's not good enough!" Your finger stayed on the trigger, and the barrel, on him.

He tensed up as panic caught him in a chokehold. "Okay, okay! Well, er..." His heart was pounding harder and harder with every second he failed to say something. "... Oh! Remember the time I nearly got murdered by a cult leader? He had a whole kabuki mask get-up and everything—just like, like Professor Callaghan from Big Hero 6. You know that movie right?"

You sucked in a sharp breath. The title didn't ring any bells, but what he said had you second-guessing yourself. Was he not lying after all? Lowering the gun at that, your motion was slowed by slight hesitance. "... How... How do you know those things?" You asked faintly. "What are you?"

Before he could formulate an answer, footsteps thudded down the hall. Your thoughts came to a complete standstill.

Then, you heard a voice.

"(F/N)!" They shouted. Was it Allen? Your heart sank when you realized you couldn’t tell—it sounded too similar to Alfred. Or were you just imagining things? The sheer amount of panic was too incapacitating that you couldn't think.

So you did the unthinkable.

Raising the gun once more, you fired a shot into his abdomen.

The second you let the bullet fly, you regretted it.

Both your ears rang as the next few moments occurred in silence. And they would unfold in painstakingly slow motion. Dropping the gun to the ground in a soundless clatter, you watched him stumble back a few steps with his eyes popping out of his skull. Blood was spreading around the flaps of his kimono from a new hole in his chest. But the gore couldn't compare to his look of betrayal.

Of a heartbreak so deep, it destroyed you.

"Oh my God..." You raised both hands to your mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed on the ground in a bloody heap. "I just—I just killed—" Tears streamed relentlessly down to your chin as you stood frozen.

"(F/N)! I heard gunshots. What the fuck happened?!" Allen appeared in the doorway. His loud voice derailed your train of thoughts, forcing you to turn to the man. When you did, your heart clenched at the realization you made a mistake. It wasn't him. Alfred was never down the hall, and you panicked.

He never even had a chance to explain himself.

When Allen caught sight of the corpse by your feet, he dug his hands through his hair. Terror ran deep in his expression as he processed what he was seeing. "Shit, (F/N)." His nose scrunched up in shock. Never did he imagine the day would come where you would take someone's life. At least, not so soon.

But it arrived as an unwelcome surprise, unexpected and uninvited. "Did you kill that guy?"

You nodded profusely as a sob racked your body.

He scrambled over and shielded you from the grotesque scene. "Hey, hey, hey! Don’t feel bad! I’ve killed loads of people too, so welcome to the club!" The man rambled frantically, rubbing away your tears with his fingers. But who was he to tell you these things when he felt his own tears come?

"I’m sure he deserved it, and you were just protecting yourself, so don’t worry!" Allen forced a wide, manic smile.

His efforts to console you were in vain as you cried even harder. Pulling you into his chest, he rested his chin on your head that trembled to your coughs. "I'm so sorry..." Allen screwed his eyes shut and squeezed you tighter. "... I’m sorry I left you by yourself. This is my fault, not yours. It's my fault."

The string of apologies he spewed out was on your behalf, but he meant them with every fiber of his being. He had failed to protect the single most valuable thing to him.

And the blatant lie he forced you to accept was the last resort to preserve it. But it was time that stopped. "No, I killed him." You asserted shakily. He had nothing to do with this, and his eagerness to shoulder the blame only rubbed more salt into the wound. If you let him have his way, you would never live it down.

Without removing yourself from the hug, you pointed at the motionless body with your head turned away. "Look at him. I could never lie."

Allen lingered his gaze on you before obliging, albeit reluctantly. Nearing the corpse cautiously, he kicked its chest to roll it over. It revealed the dead man’s face in all its glory. Alfred’s face.

"..."

What the fuck.

When he thought he couldn’t be any more disgusted by the tyranny of technology, he was proved wrong yet again. This was clearly your father’s doing. And it was a declaration of war. But perhaps, it was just the continuation of the one that never ended.

Arthur was completely shit-faced downstairs. Slamming his beer mug down on the counter after he downed the whole thing, he gasped.

"Bwah! That hits the spot." His cheeks and ears were redder than a tomato, a stark contrast to his companion who was stone-cold sober.

Alfred raised a brow. "Sure looks like it. Dude, you gotta lay off the booze. You’re gonna regret it first thing tomorrow." Once he sighed that out, he rested his cheek on his hand. Then, he glowered at the hallway where you and Allen disappeared to.

"How long does it take to piss? They’ve been gone for ages. Twenty minutes? Thirty minutes? I don’t fucking know," The mechanic let out a low chuckle and slapped him on the back. The force made his torso bounce, much to his annoyance. "What’s your deal?"

The other hummed mischievously. "I was just thinking about what you said." Arthur squinted almost suggestively, causing Alfred to do the same, but only out of being appalled. "Maybe... Maybe they aren’t pissing. Since they’re gone for so long at the bathrooms at that—so maybe, urgh... They’re doing the nasty together." The Brit practically howled with laughter, having figured he was probably right.

It was a plausible assumption. As he humored the suggestion Alfred heated up more severely than his intoxicated friend. You having sex with Allen? His chest whirred and nostrils flared. He'd never been this enraged before, but behind the mask of anger was a deep hurt and toxic kind of jealousy.

"Shut up! You’re drunk and slurring your words. You have no idea what you’re talking about."

Arthur snorted. "Sorry to break it to you, brother. But the only time I’m this honest is when I’m drunk, so."

Alfred’s eyes went round. Without a moment’s hesitation, he shot out of his stool and made a beeline to the hall. Before he could make it far, he bumped right into the very subjects of his conversation. Much to his relief, they were in no state that indicated they did anything sexual by nature; you were in his arms and fast asleep. Not that he was happy about it. "Woah. She's out like a light."

"Yeah, so keep your voice down." The other grumbled, bouncing you lightly. "I think it's about time we head home. How drunk is he?"

The blonde blinked. He wasn't expecting him to catch on so quickly. "Off his ass. He's red as."

Allen clicked his tongue and brushed past him. "Called it." Alfred would have dismissed it as something he always did. But since he was carrying you, it made him feel like an extra. So when the man walked off, he followed with a scowl. "Can you get a cab? I'm gonna sit in the corner for a bit."

And sit in the corner he did, laying your body across his lap so you could rest. Alfred narrowed his eyes into a dark glare, lingering on the sight as the club music pounded away in his ears. And he told him to keep his voice down? "Yeah, I'll call you a damn cab."

You pretended to be asleep the whole ride back to Arthur's. It was easy with Allen's shoulder at a perfect height for your face to bury in. For half an hour, you were stuck in that position. There, you listened to the symphony of a trip home from the club: the automated voice of the taxi A.I and the drunken warbles of an intoxicated friend. Without seeing it, you could feel Alfred watching you for the whole duration of the ordeal.

Fortunately, you could escape any interaction with him as Allen carried you to the bathroom upon arriving.

"Oi, where are you taking her?"

The redhead kicked the door open. "What does it look like?"

"Shouldn't you wake her up, at least?"

"Yeah, yeah. Quit breathing down my neck, already."

"Dude—"

The door locked. Setting you down on your feet, you held onto his arms to regain your balance. Once you did, you glanced up at him with the utmost panic. "I can't face him." Digging two hands through your hair, you let out a shaky gasp—"Oh my god, I don't know what to do! I shot him, Allen. I fucking shot him! What's he gonna think of me when he finds out?"

He sighed and gripped your shoulders firmly. With his brows furrowed in a stern expression, he corrected you. "You didn't shoot him. You shot another version of him." Allen couldn't stress that enough. But there were many things he needed to shed a light on in this emergency bathroom meeting. "And it was kinda my fault that happened. If I was there, I woulda' shot him for you."

"That's not the point, here! And it's never gonna be your fault. It's mine, and mine alone. End of story." You swiped a hand across his face for emphasis. While he groaned in dismay, a brief pause followed as you regained your breath.

At least an hour had passed, but you still couldn't wrap your head around it.

"I can't believe I did that. I don't even know how I could! I panicked. I thought Alfred was coming down the hall, but—"

"—but it was me. Doll-" Allen exasperated, dragging out the pet name. "-you can't blame yourself for what you did. Shit happens. And who says what you did was wrong, huh? You probably just saved us all from a bloodbath. And you know that!" Rocking you gently back and forth to shake some sense into you, he leaned in to peer into your wide eyes staring into space.

"That's why you shot him. You did the right thing."

As he blurted that out, the memory replayed in your head again and again like a broken record. Intrusive thoughts were a bitch. And there was one particular detail of the event that you would never forget. "Was it the right thing to do, though?" You murmured, lowering your doubtful gaze to the tiled floor. The betrayal in his eyes was so genuine, you came to regret everything you've done.

"What if he was real like he said?"

You were asking some hard-hitting questions, that was for sure. Everything else was shrouded in a fog of uncertainty.

"Well, it wouldn't matter if he was real. Cuz' he's dead."

Allen's expression morphed into a dark glower.

"But if he was still alive, there'd be two of him, and not for long. They'd kill each other, for sure. I mean, if I found out there was a second-rate version of me farting around out there, I'd kill that poser for sport. Hunt him down like game." Lifting up your chin so you'd look at him, he flashed a grin.

"So don't feel bad. You killed him and saved Alfred the trouble."

Softening your gaze at that, you pulled him into another hug. Allen was always amazing at comforting you in the direst of situations.

"... Maybe you're right."

He chuckled and patted your back. "I'm always right."

But there was still one concern he could never address.

If your father made a clone of Alfred, a real and legitimate copy, there was no saying he could make another. Hell, you even expected him to. He could keep churning him out so long as he had his DNA. The only way to end this threat was quick to cross your mind, but you didn't want to think about it.

You would have to kill your father.

Allen figured. But today suffered enough bloodshed.

Before he left the bathroom for you to use, he held onto your cheek.

Flickering his striking scarlet eyes over your troubled expression, he caught you in a quiet gaze. You could easily translate the untold fondness he watched you with. We can still run away together.

He pulled away slowly, reluctantly. Then, the door closed behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts. It never crossed your mind the first time he brought it up earlier tonight, but you finally understood what he really meant by running away. Allen wanted to share his life with you. Heat flurried in your chest as you considered the idea.

Tears threatened to return once you realized how much you wanted to do it, just not with him. The desire was there, but it happened to be stronger for someone else.

Alfred had been waiting outside with his back against the wall, arms crossed with a frown. It only deepened when Allen walked out.

"What're you lookin' at?" The redhead mumbled.

"... Nothing. Just wondering why you two spend so much time in the bathroom together." Alfred pointed out, glancing down at the cigarette between his fingers. He would have been jumping for joy if it weren't for wanting to look serious. "What were you doing with her in the penthouse?"

The other felt a spell of irritation hit him. It was always jealousy with this one, wasn't it? But he couldn't be a hypocrite. "None a'ya business, bub." He hummed, slotting the cancer stick in between his teeth. A sly smirk widened his lips as he saw the blonde tense up. "You saw how tired she was. So don't even think about it."

Don't even think about it, he'd said. How come everything coming out of his mouth sounded like a euphemism for sex? Don't keep her up with stupid conversations would've sounded better. Alfred huffed and stormed back to the guest room. Or was it just his mind that was in the gutter? He blamed Arthur for even bringing it up.

Hanging his clothes on a chair, he curled up under the covers. His chest was whirring again, and the discomfort was akin to something you've gone through before. Separation anxiety. When you did show up ten minutes later, he rolled over to the door to watch your form. Hearing the fabric shuffle in your direction made your heart skip in panic.

He was awake.

"Arthur's puking his guts out, so if you hear coughing, it's him."

Hopefully, some light-hearted banter could keep you from acting up. But that was easier said than done.

The blanket lifted briefly so you could get under it. Once you got comfortable, he didn't hesitate to pull you in by the waist to spoon you. Ever since he saw you sleep in the club, and on Allen no less, he'd been dying to do this. "... I tried telling him." He murmured into your ear. "But I've slept through worse. You flop and roll a lot."

The feeling of his breath on your neck and the sound of his husky voice made your heart ache. Every night was spent like this, warm and snug in his arms, but tonight was different. Inside, you were still agonizing over what you had done to him, even if it wasn't exactly him. So to feel his chest rise against your back, then his legs rub against yours, you just couldn't take it—it was all too much.

Rolling over to him, you caught his neck in your arms and pulled it down for a tight squeeze. What you uttered next captured your deepest and most inexplicable desire. To truly be alone with him.

"I can't take it here anymore." You muttered furiously, hugging him around his neck to start crushing him.

He let out a shaky breath at the sudden pressure.

"Hey, hey, calm down. What's wrong?"

"I can't calm down. I need to talk to you. Alone." Sitting up at that, you pulled him along. It came especially easy as he stood up, eager to understand your spontaneity. "And in someplace that's not here. There's just... Too many people. Four is too many."

Alfred lit up, but his growing smile did his emotions no justice. He was ecstatic. Things were always simpler when it was just the two of you. Maybe you were finally getting sick of these cramped living conditions, the scrutiny. At least, he knew he was. So it was almost as if you read his mind. "Okaay. Are we going on a midnight adventure?" He piped.

But then again, you always seemed to be walking on the same wavelength as him.

He followed you around the room like a puppy as you collected some things—your jacket, then Alfred's phone to shoot Allen a text. We're off to the nearest no-tell motel to talk. We'll be back in the morning. Setting the device onto the desk, you threw him his belongings. His gun and trusty coil of tools. Catching them wordlessly, he shot you a quizzical look. "Well, aren't you mysterious? Where are we going?"

Little did he know, your decision to leave the house for the night had only so much to do with random selfish impulses. From the outside, it looked exactly like that. Up and going without a care in the world, without care for Allen, and becoming unreachable for the next several hours. But after what happened, you just needed time to recalibrate.

"Where we always used to go." You threw your jacket on. Dragging him out into the hall, he caught a brief glimpse of Arthur passed out over the toilet before he found himself in the garage.

Handing him his key, you opened the car door next to the driver's seat. "We have to be quick before Allen tries to stop us."

The said man was sitting on the roof when he heard the rumbling of the garage door. Immediately after the sound stopped, a car sped out of it with an aggressive vroom and disappeared into the night. Narrowing his eyes at the rear window, he stood up and tossed his cigarette over the edge. Where the hell were you going this late at night? And with Alfred, no less?

He could feel hot jealousy prick him all over again. But it was warped with a harrowing kind of sadness. No matter what he did or what he said, he couldn't seem to get in between you two. Allen sat back down and lit up another cigarette. Giving that a few puffs, he surrounded his head in a cloud of grey smoke. Maybe he did know you for too long.

For eight years, he'd been a brotherly figure in your life. Now, he was afraid that was all he was ever going to be.

~~~

Parking the car in the courtyard after the most thrilling joyride, you pulled Alfred into the reception to book a room. Given his inhumane strength, your efforts to drag him down the hall were to no avail. Peering down at you with a warm smile, his face contorted with an amused look as you tugged at his arm as hard as you could. "Easy there, tiger. This is a motel, not a five-star hotel."

Between two walls littered with cracks was a dimly lit interior. Everything smelt like vomit, piss, and alcohol to boot, and yet, you were bounding beside him in excitement. "I know! But doesn't this feel nostalgic? We lived in these places for ages." You exasperated, scanning a keycard to unlock the door.

Alfred didn't think he was a sentimental person, but hearing you reminisce the past so fondly was enough to change his smile into a bittersweet one. "I guess." He couldn’t remember everything like you, but for now, he could pretend he did. "Motels are economic and discrete, so where was a better place to go?"

Once you both got inside, he felt your hand let go of his. For a moment, he felt just the smallest dash of loneliness—it was the emptiness of not feeling you somewhere where you should have been. Fortunately, it faded when you gleamed at him while you explored the room with child-like curiosity.

"I think I did a pretty good job at converting you." Alfred mused.

You flopped onto the bed to lie on your back. "Converting me to what?"

The mattress dipped to your right, so you rolled over to face him. "To a commoner. Or maybe something lower than that." He grinned devilishly. And for that comment, he would earn a strong shove on his chest. Despite nearly falling off the edge, he merely scooted back in. "I've never seen someone this happy staying in a dump like this."

"Don't give yourself too much credit. I just miss it." Pausing briefly at that, a small smile spread to your lips when you saw his, wide and as endearing as ever. If there was one thing you wanted to see before you died, it was this. Alfred's warm smile. As you lingered on the thought, you realized you were completely smitten with him.

But most importantly, at peace.

This was exactly why you even dragged him here in the first place. For some quality alone time, backtracking, and a good, long talk without interruptions. "I'd know all about dumps." You murmured, reaching out to play with a lock of his sandy blonde hair. "Zao and I tend to find our best friends in them."

He chuckled airily. "Is this me?"

"... Well, sure. But I was talking about Allen."

Things got dark pretty fast.

You both laughed it off. He didn't have great memories of motels, but laying here with you reminded him of what you said about them. A lot of good things happened in these tiny rooms, apparently. And they were what you two talked about until three AM in the morning, standing together out on the balcony. From here, the heart of the city could be seen, from the aerial roads of spinners in the distance to the endless hills of skyscrapers and blinking lights.

"I was thinking," Alfred murmured quietly, turning his head to you. The right side of his face reflected the glow of the city. But it couldn't quite compare to the hope that lit up his eyes, as subtle as it was. "Is everything finally over?"

You turned to him, gaze softened. For just tonight, you would let him bask in his ignorance. And yourself, in his hold. "Not yet." You whispered. The feeling of his hand on your waist was a feeling you could get used to. Reaching out to his other one on the railing, you guided it to your side so he could hold you properly.

Alfred squeezed you eagerly, pressing closer to your body.

Taking his face into your hands, you gave him one last gesture of untold affection. It was a culmination of raw emotion free from your own better judgment. A means to communicate without talking.

You pressed your forehead against his and closed your eyes.

At that very space in time, a singular thought occurred to both of you—I wish this moment would last forever.

"But we'll make it... Just like we always do."

|

What would you do if I killed you?

Nothing, because I'd be dead.

What if you survived? Or left behind a soul?

Then I'll come back and find you.

|

The club was still pounding away, much like the headache in his skull. Sucking in a sharp breath, he suffered the worst wake-up call in his short life—he was still bleeding, and in terrible pain. He shakily felt around his wound while hyperventilating on the ground. How he hadn't kicked the bucket yet was beyond him.

"Get your ass up already. I know you're not dead." A man growled in disdain, giving the body on the ground a light kick.

"Gh—!" He let out a pained gasp and clung onto the ground for dear life. It had been years since he felt this alive—ironically, it was when he was inches away from death.

His perpetrator had their dark eyes fixated on him like a stain on the floor. Their pupils were as red as the blood his victim bathed in. But they always had a strong stomach for gore. "What am I gonna say when the owner finds out I'm the reason you even got in here? You're bleeding into the pool." They murmured, raising his leg to keep tormenting the other like a new hobby.

With a few more kicks, the body rolled onto its back.

"Ugh... Fuck... How am I not dead?" He coughed in agony.

The other shrugged, flicking their ponytail over their shoulder. "God knows. Maybe you have a greater purpose to serve." As cryptic as that sounded, it was nothing but the truth. He had more to his life than dying in a nightclub. Dying could be a part of it, but this couldn't be the location to do it, nor could it be by your hand—the closest kin to his creator.

"Why else did he make you?"

[theteej]

on white performative anxiety on election night

Ok, here we go. I had decided that I would not watch the election results unfold last night because quite frankly--it was clear that it would be a close race, and just like with sports games it takes a particular type of narcissistic imagining to think that constant watching will change the impact of an event simply because you watch it.  Also, this isn't a sports game--it's people's lives.  So I ordered a pizza and worked through three unread X-Men collections (decent, by the way--especially the new take on Marauders).

By 8pm I was getting frequent texts, and despite putting my phone in another room, i heard the buzzing enough to get me off the couch. I logged onto social media to see a flood of white Democrats having a complete meltdown as if the election had been called.  And that same existential dread/despair cataclysmically reverberating across social media in New Zealand, South Africa, and Australia.  I was so confused.  What the actual fuck were people upset about?  He hadn't conceded. Most states hadn't been called.  The responses felt so much like being in high school or college where I'd studied for exams and felt reasonably prepared but then got overwhelmed in the psychic energy of performed anxiety/fear/studying that everyone did around finals.  Hell, in pre-covid times I had to limit my time on campus as a professor in the last week because the palpable miasma of fear/anxiety/performative freaking out was too much for me, even though I WAS JUST GRADING THE FINALS. Honestly, I was baffled.  Why were people like this?  They knew that Wisconsin and Michigan and Pennsylvania were not going to count their early voting polls first, and the in person would screw Republican.  WHY WERE THEY FREAKING OUT?

And then it slowly dawned on me.  They really had believed their own lies.  They thought there was going to be a magical, massive blue wave of repudiation of President Trump, after the xenophobia, the racism, the wanton cruelty, the vicious fascism.  They needed to believe that this moment would redeem them, this electoral moment would fix them.  And they were mourning, almost disproportionately, this sense of utter collapse.  They were treating the reality of the closeness of the election as somehow equivalent to the idea of a Trump re-election victory.  What the actual hell.

I started to see a lot of "I can't believe it's even this close" statuses.  I put down my pizza in annoyance and kept reading.  There were so many variations on the time-honoured "this is not who we are" canard so many people tell themselves about America. People were mourning, in real time, the lie they'd told themselves.  There was a fundamental believe that Trumpism, the vile populism and toxic mix of racism and other oppressive elements, was an "aberration" that could be corrected.  There was a willing disbelief that this was not part of the very core of this country, that 'America' as a concept is a bad place--one made entirely possible through enslavement and genocide and one that was absolutely fixable through a simple electoral action.  And it's wild, because that's never been the case.  Not now, not ever.  I remember in 2008, being overwhelmed by white people wanting to celebrate Obama with me, but I was also keenly aware of racism and the fact that my own state had just voted to take away same-sex marriage.  Dr. Jim Barrett, a professor in my graduate program at Illinois, stopped me, a new, black graduate student who he didn't know, and said, "isn't the election great?" and i said, "I'm from California, and I'm more worried also about how easily people can dismiss queer rights."  He paused for a second, and then said, "but we did it this time with Obama!"  Here was a full-grown man with a PhD in American history casually telling a black graduate student (WHOSE NAME HE DID NOT EVEN KNOW) how great it was to be able to absolve oneself of responsibility via an electoral process, and to imagine an America without self-criticism, just redemption.

And that's what was at the heart of this baffling pre-capitulation, one that exceeded even the easy stereotype of the always-losing Democrats.  BIDEN HADN'T EVEN LOST. He had (and as of now still) leads in electoral votes! But everyone was moaning, gnashing teeth, and grieving.  But what they were really grieving was their own innocence.  Their naïve assumption that they could be the heroes in a story, in a history of violence that was expressly built for them, even if they wanted to deny it.  Trumpism sells a fantasy of white revanchism, of recovery, and even those whites who imagine otherwise can't exorcise it via a ballot because the entire system of it is at its core, still violent and racist.  Y'all seriously wanted a parade, a movement repudiating this.  What America do you live in?  Did we not go through the same black summer?  Of course we didn't.  You saw this summer as a moment of profound alliance building and a recapturing of a mythical value of inclusion.  We saw it with surprise--oh white people either just realized that black lives are cheap, or they were sufficiently bothered/bored enough to perform about it.

So much of this is a navel-gazing performance of anxiety.  2016 was traumatizing for people who didn't want to think Trumpism was America, but it IS.  And it's done in your name.  

This morning, I saw even more of this.  A friend and colleague wrote a lengthy status about her anxiety about it all and hope that 'good' would prevail, and bemoaned the lack of a real wave of change.  A friend, family member, or colleague of theirs immediately commented with pro-Trump sloganeering.  And she did nothing.  She kept commenting.  This broke me for a second.  How could she not see what a joke all of this was? What she was?  Here she was bemoaning a lack of some sort of prelapsarian goodness, trying to make some sort of "we'll get through this message," and she couldn't even see what she was doing.  There was no acknowledgment, no censuring, no pushback, no RESPONSE to the Trump sloganeering, because she could not fathom the idea that this was connected to HER.  The disappointment she felt, that so many people expressed on social media? It was performative, it was a mourning one's inability to distance oneself from genocidal, suicidal logics of all of this populist turpitude.  She couldn't even denounce the very Trumpism on her own fucking wall, in response to her comment.  Of course there was no blue wave, of course there was no rebuking.  Why should there be?  There are no consequences.  Just white folk hoping civility will save them, with the same baffling surety as King Canute commanding the waves to cease lapping at the feet of his throne.  The whole event felt like a farce--people attempting to distance themselves from a violence done in their name by refusing to even pushback against he very violence that endangers millions of people, incarcerates children, kills with impunity.

I feel, once again, like I'm the one person who felt confident for an exam during finals week.  Everyone's freaking the fuck out, performing, demonstrating a goodness, trying to foolishly imagine the country as good.  I think back to March, when black voters in South Carolina made very clear what was going to happen.  White people were not coming to save them.  Electoral legerdemain was not going to happen, there was no last minute deus ex machina.  There was the brutal calculus that many people don't see the fascism as bad, and remain so insulated that they don't care if the brute returns, so much as the lesser peoples are put in their place.  Those black voters saw that their best chance was the utter uninspiring, safe, and milquetoast flavour of whiteness, Joe Biden.  And they were right.  We can push that one, perhaps.  Make changes.  But this was always going to be a bitter slog, and at most, a close thing.  America is a bad place. We cannot redeem it through performance, through simply voting.  We don't exorcise our structural violence with selfies and dashes of ink on sealed papers.

Now that we know this, we can actually push back against the attempted voter fraud that IS happening right now, and then hope that this mediocre blue man wins.  And then maybe y'all can join us in doing the hard, daily work that also involves critically acknowledging our own complicity, investment, and inclusion in a violent, illegitimate space.  We have to live in these contradictions, to push and transform it, and remember that there are no cheat codes here.  Just grinding work, and no cookies or congratulation.

Be fucking better, y'all.

[werevulvi]

Hi, could you tell me more about your autism and diagnosis and how you deal with it, how old you were diagnosed

I don't know a lot about my autism, tbh, as I never bothered to read up on it and I was never properly informed on it. But what I do know is that I learned slowly as a kid, learned to walk at age 3, was very clumsy (like medically abnormally clumsy physically, could barely run at all and couldn't climb, etc) required special treatment to learn how to eat as a toddler because I hated the sensory experience of solid food and chewing, I was incapable of understanding sarcasm, interpreted everything literally, I was stimming a lot, had monotone body language and speech, etc. I was very obviously "different" according to my parents already from around age 1 or 2, and required literally constant attention for the first 4 years of my life. Started daycare at age 4, in small groups.

Then as I started school at age 6, apparently the school nurse had told my parents that I'm probably autistic, so I consider that my "inofficial diagnosis" but they decided to ignore that and didn't tell me (until 10 years later.) I was bullied in school for being "the weird kid" by both classmates and teachers who thought I was a retard and annoying, basically, I guess. I was called a freak and weirdo a lot. But like I was proudly a weirdo, and resented normativity.

As I got up into ages 10-12 my depression and DID symptoms (alter) kinda took over and became more prominent than my autism symptoms, as I wasn't as physically clumsy anymore and started learning social cues. My mental health continued to decline over the next few years, until I sought out therapy on my own at age 16. It led me to doing my first few suicide attempts, which led me to ending up at a closed psychiatric ward.

While staying there for a few weeks, I got evaluated for autism (without knowing that's what I was tested for) as well as a few physical things, such as my hearing impairment and chronic headache. And those tests led to an official Asperger Syndrome diagnosis, when I was 16, by the very end of year 2005. I also got diagnosed with borderline psychosis and mild depression, and got pumped full of anti-depressants and anti-psychotic (neuroleptic) drugs. Then my mom finally told me that she basically always knew about my autism, and I was really pissed at her for not having told me before. I resented my autism diagnosis right from the start, and the older I got, the more I resented it. Never identified with it, only ever saw it as a huge burden.

Then throughout the rest of my teens, I went to a school for neurodivergent people (basically upper high school) but still flunked it. I was a complete and utter mess, and got little to no actual therapy. They just kept shoving me around from one psychiatric department to another, due to my comorbid issues, no one could help me, it seemed. Every once in a while I'd make another half assed suicide attempt to make them take me seriously, which only worked for a few months at a time. In total, I've made 19 suicide attemps over 12 years. Oh lord, psychiatry was so bad!

Adulthood came along and I got benefitted with sickness compensation, and got my first apartment at age 20. It didn't go great. I accidentally flooded it and had to move out, and didn't manage to keep it clean or anything while I lived there. I was barely functional and alcoholic, constantly self-harming, just to try to manage attending school. Despite getting help from caretakers offered by the state (?) weekly, I was really dysfunctional. I switched apartments several times, and kept flunking school while trying to live my miserable life, always hanging by a thread. Until I moved back to my parents at age 23. They had moved to a miserable island far away from all my friends. Got an apartment on that island close to my parents, but my issues continued being the same level of awful, up until about age 27.

What this has to do with my autism is that... uh, I basically understand it as that it impedes on my executive function really dramatically, and like although I can physically do pretty much anything, mentally I just somehow can't. Especially repeatedly, and often enough. Like I can't keep any routine for the life of me, not even simple shit like sleep cycle, eating habits, brushing my teeth, etc. Let alone school or a job, or even hobbies. Everything is infrequent and too seldom, if at all. So everything in my life keeps falling apart as I basically have no foundation to stand on, and I get sensory overload suuuuper easily. So like just going shopping/cleaning/laundry/hobbies/school/anything for half an hour can drain me significantly and make me incapable of managing doing anything else for the rest of that entire day. It's very hard for me to explain, but it's like I only ever have 3 spoons per day, but most things requitre 10+ spoons, so I go backwards on my energy resources a lot and end up having to rest for DAYS after just one hour's activity.

At age 27 I ditched the social service caretakers, as they were seriously depriving me of my privacy while being largely unhelpful, and I began to finally try to pull myself together. I still get a lot of help from my mom, with anything from paying my bills and grocery shopping, to driving me places and dealing with soul-sucking authorities for me. This takes off a lot of the burden and allows me to manage doing at least a few things on my own, like working out, cleaning (yay I manage keeping my apartment clean nowadays!), laundry, occasional shopping, art projects, online socialising, etc. I still go to therapy biweekly but it's still largely unhelpful. At least I managed to make them stop tossing me around between departments like a football though, and I'm still gonna try to get some proper trauma therapy, and maybe also look into that adhd group I was promised last year, if it'll ever resume again post-corona...

I've still never had a job in my life and still have incomplete grades. But I got permanent sickness compensation now, so that's neat. At least I don't have to worry financially. I'm also trying to get started with some "work training" stuff which is basically "pretend work" for people who can't work, just to have something to do. I'll most likely be granted acces to that. However, it seems irony is that most of those are located out in the middle of nowhere where no buses go, and I can't afford a fucking car or driver's licence because I can't work. Mom probably won't drive me several times a week for that. Fucking fantastic. Makes me almost wanna kill someone... argh! Those little things really piss me off.

Life is absolutely not going the way I want and I blame my autism for it, mostly. I am drowning in frustration, and my anger issues making me scream my lungs out in pure despair, shows that. I'm considered offically disabled due to my autism, and it just fucking sucks ass. How lonely, under-stimulated yet easily over-stimulated, bored, meaningless and unfulfilled my life is. There are far more severely autistic people out there who somehow manage to live far more functional lives, and I'm jealous of that. I dunno how to break free from this misery. It feels like the only thing I've ever managed to accomplish in life is transitioning genders, and making art that I don't wanna sell. I wanna have a "normal" job, a car and driver's licence, I wanna have cats and a social life, I want parties at night clubs again, I want hobbies outside of my home; hookups, friends and lovers; I want to be able to have a functional romantic life with someone I can marry and start a family with.

But is any of that ever gonna happen? I hope so, but it feels bleak. Because my autism feels like such a huge burden on my life, and a huge hindrence to my dreams and goals... like I'm over 30 already and still a disabled and having my mom living half my life for me, miserable mess and not given any useful therapy, I'm left to my own vices to figure out how to adult... Because of all that, I hate my autism and I wish there was a cure, I swear to fuck. So for your question, how I deal with it: not fantastically. Not sure if you wanted a relay of my entire life, but I hope that’s okay! Didn’t know how else to answer your questions.

[sweetmemories2606]

Be My Forever (MesCana Day)

Hey everyone! Here I bring you my second MesCana fic because today is officially their day! :)) 

I am dedicating it to the lovely Daphne (@tobethefairybest​), who created this amazing ship. 

While I know it is a rather unthought of pairing which most people are unfamiliar with, I hope that by reading this story and its sequel, Forget, you might fall in love with Mest and Cana's relationship just as I did. 

Here's the info: 

Title: Be My Forever

Summary: Mest was falling in love, but there was too much holding him back from telling her. It had only been a year since he had completed his mission and they were still adjusting to being in each other's life again. The timing wasn't right, but would it ever be? 

Timeline: Avatar/Alvarez Arcs

Warnings: This is pretty angsty and there is a funeral scene which might be too much. 

Happy reading! 

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

                              October X792

"Are you sure you're ready?" Cana asked, surprised and honestly a little worried. "I am," Mest replied, glancing at the letter in his hands. "It's time I tell everyone the truth." "I wonder how they will take it." She wondered, frowning. He lowered his head, a wistful look upon his face. "I hope they'll forgive me." "They'll understand," Cana reassured, putting a hand on his shoulder. He tensed, but tried not to let it show, putting on a smile instead. "Thank you. Having you by my side gives me the courage to finally come clean." She watched him for a moment, searching, also settling for a smile. "I'm glad. You know I'm always here for you."

                            ---------------------                              Nearly a year ago "I'm so sorry," Cana said, taking his hand. They were at the cemetery in ERA, where the Magic Council used to reside before they had all been murdered. After such a tragic event, the townspeople had organised a funeral which was taking place. Mest had returned to bury Lahar, who had been his closest friend and the person who had helped him get through the 7 years when Fairy Tail was gone. Mest hadn't yet fully comprehended that his friend was gone, but the memory of holding Lahar's body and begging him to wake was etched on his mind. Feeling Cana squeeze his hand, he tightened his grip. "Thank you," Glancing at her, he tried to convey how much he appreciated her coming with him. "For being here." She offered a sorrowful smile. "Of course." They had to silence once the ceremony began. It was long, exhausting and heartbreaking. Many people gave speeches about the deceased council members. Some expressed despair and sorrow, others anger and a few hope for a better future. Mest tried to encompass all these emotions. Being the only survivor, he spoke about the sacrifices that had been made, his anger at being unable to stop Jackal and how he hoped these deaths wouldn't be in vain. Once the funeral was over and most people had left, he decided to take a moment to say goodbye to Lahar. Cana gave him some space, but he could feel her presence nearby. It comforted him, knowing that even though he had lost so much, she was still there. Mest returned to her side after burying Lahar's broken glasses close to the grave. Somehow, once his eyes met hers, he burst into tears, falling to his knees. She held him against her chest and rubbed circles against his back, letting him cry all he needed. Between sobs, he thanked her and she gave one simple response. "You don't have to thank me. I'm always here for you."

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

The memory nearly brought tears to his eyes, but Mest composed himself. "Thank you." There was silence; awkward and uncomfortable. Cana quickly removed her hand, returning it to her side. He wasn't sure what this meant, but tried not to think about it. About to tell her they should start packing, but then she asked.  "Are you going to tell them everything?" "I have to," Mest replied, determined. "They need to know how serious the situation is." Cana nodded before letting out a sigh, concerned again. "And have you really not heard anything from Master?" He shook his head. "No. I'm honestly scared he's..." He couldn't finish the thought. "No," Cana denied it immediately. "I know he's still alive." He sighed deeply. "Let's hope so." Glancing at the letter again, he told her. "We should start packing if we want to make it to Magnolia in time." "Okay," She offered another small smile. "Should we leave for the station in 2 hours?" Mest nodded in agreement. "That's fine with me." Watching her turn around and walk back towards her bedroom, he sighed again. It was hard being so close to her without telling her how he felt, but he knew it was best. It had only been a year since he had completed his mission and they were still adjusting to being in each other's life again.

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

                               One year ago “Mest Gryder, your mission is complete.” He stared at Makarov in utter shock. Then his eyes caught the Fairy Tail mark which suddenly appeared on his shoulder. "What the hell is this?" He started freaking out. "Start talking!" Makarov explained things calmly. How Mest had always had this emblem because he had been a member of Fairy Tail. How his devotion to the guild had been so great that he'd been willing to erase his own memories and identity.   Mest didn't want to believe it at first, but suddenly the pieces started to come in. Flashback by flashback, he began to remember his life and the mission he had risked so much for. Makarov watched him quietly, a sympathetic look upon his face, letting the young man figure things out himself. Then his eyes wandered to someone behind Mest, making the latter turn around. She was standing closeby, eyes widened, clearly shocked. There was no doubt she had heard what they had said and for a moment Mest worried about what she would do. Then he remembered. His own eyes widened once memories of all the moments they had shared returned full force. They had been childhood friends just like Gray, Erza and Natsu. Always so close and always there for each other. Until Mest had left for his mission, breaking her heart. Recalling the moment he had left her, his own heart ached. "Cana...." She sniffled, seemingly fighting against tears. "Mest?" Makarov glanced between them with sadness. "I can only imagine how much you two must've missed each other. I'm sorry it had to be like this." "I..." Cana struggled with words. "You...We were..." "You remember?" Mest asked and she nodded, tears streaming down her face. He couldn't stop himself from crying too. It was finally over. At last he was home again with her.

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

Unfortunately, home had ceased to exist that same night. Fairy Tail was disbanded and Mest knew why, but still hated that he couldn't be reunited with his friends after so long. Each took a different path, some never to be seen again until a year later. Mest was completely lost at what to do, but Cana helped him. She let him stay at her apartment for a while and invited him to come along on her search for her father. They spent months travelling together, taking on jobs like they used to and getting to know each other. He told her everything about his life in the Council and during the seven years they were apart. She told him about reconnecting with her father before he had disappeared again. During that time, feelings developed. Mest wasn't sure exactly why, but he started seeing her in a different light. When they would joke about never being able to get rid of the other, he'd note that the mere thought of being apart from her again was heartbreaking. When she'd flirt with other men or reminisce about her brief fling with Bacchus from the Quatro Cerberus Guild, Mest would feel jealous. It had never happened before, but now it was too frequent to ignore. He reflected about their relationship and wondered if perhaps it could become something else. It was strange, having romantic thoughts about Cana. Even though he was aware that sometimes close friendships like theirs could be the foundation of a long-lasting romance, Mest had never considered it before. In fact, he had barely even considered romance before. During his time at Fairy Tail their friendship had been more than enough and while he was working for the Council, his job had taken sole focus. Only during those seven years had he considered a relationship after much persuasion from Lahar, but Mest had been so broken then. He still was. There were too many wounds that needed to be healed and traumas which held him back. He still needed to fully move on from the horrible events of the war against Tartaros and Lahar's death. Furthermore, there was also the fact he had no idea whether Cana felt the same. She never gave clear signals that her feelings had changed which could be frustrating at times. For the sake of their friendship, Mest decided not to tell her that he was falling in love. A decision which at times could be very hard to keep.

                            ---------------------                                 3 months ago "What do you think?" Cana glanced at him, curious. "It's a nice apartment." Mest took another look around the living room, which was decently sized. There was a red couch with a rectangular table in front, two orange chairs and a fireplace. "Quite cozy." "I agree." She nodded, smiling brightly. "I think it's the perfect place for us to settle for now." "And are you sure that you want to settle?" He questioned. Cana frowned for a moment and he guessed she was wondering if this was the right choice. It had been a few weeks since she had suggested that they search for a place to stay in Oak Town, which was closest from their latest camping site. "I don't know…" She bit her lip. "I want to keep searching for my father, but it's clear he doesn't want to be found." "Maybe it's best to wait until he contacts you," Mest suggested. She looked down sadly. "You mean 'if' he contacts me." Sensing her distress, he closed the distance between them, bringing her in for a tight hug. "He will. You just have give him more time." She sighed, letting her head rest against his chest. It felt so right to hold her like this. He couldn't stop his mind from wandering or his feelings from surfacing. "You always know what to say, don't you?" Cana looked up, eyes shiny with unshed tears. "That's not true," Mest disagreed, feeling his heartbeat speeding up once her hand gently touched his cheek. "It is." She smiled, but the tears started falling. "I'm so glad you're here with me." He was tempted to wipe them away, but restrained himself. "I'm happy to be here." Her arms tightened around his torso before her head returned to his chest. He felt his shirt becoming damp as she continued to cry. Mest held her close, letting her be, while attempting to calm his racing hard and suppress his emotions. A few minutes later, she pulled away, removing herself from his embrace and taking a step back. While wiping the remaining tears, she gave him a grateful look. "Thank you. For everything." He offered a genuine smile. "Of course." At that moment, he wanted to tell her the truth so badly. Then he remembered why he shouldn't. Instead, Mest decided to say something which was also true, but did not reveal his growing feelings. "I'm always here for you."

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

"Mest? Why are you still standing there?" Cana's voice broke him out of his thoughts. She stood by her bedroom door, staring at him in concern. Mest realised that he remained by the red couch. Putting Lucy's letter into his pocket, he apologised. "Sorry. I was just lost in thought." Cana watched him for a moment. "Are you okay?" He put on another tense, fake smile. "Yeah. I'm fine." Her expression conveyed disbelief. "Are you sure? Because if you want to talk..." "No." Mest disagreed a little too strongly. "I have to start packing." He left before she could press him any further and walked back to his room, knowing that if he had stayed the truth might slip out. It wasn't the right time. Or at least, that's what he told himself. It was his mantra and he held onto it every time he came close to telling her. Would it ever be, he wondered? Would he ever be ready to cross this line? Mest wasn't sure, but there was so much going on at the moment. The meeting with Fairy Tail, the situation with Makarov, the shaky alliance between Fiore and Alvarez which might soon break and lead to an devastating war. He shouldn't focus on his feelings when there was so much at stake and neither could he risk ruining their friendship when he needed her most. That was why, contrary to what he wanted, Mest decided to keep pretending for just a little longer.