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thefamilyeldritchabomination · 1 year

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Chapter Thirteen: The Greatest Show on Earth/Ad Astra Pt. 2

It had been a full day since Envy, Freddy, and Dolly had moved into the Armstrong Estate while the other homunculi took care of disposing of the mummified murder victims in the walls. Freddy looked annoyed at the events, most certainly because of rumors of beard vermin that got spread throughout the workplace by Envy. Freddy lounged on the bed as Dolly sat on the floor with Dorian, playing with the toy train. Dolly had come to Freddy’s room, both to talk to him and to let Dorian get some playtime in with his favorite toy train. It was clear the train had become well loved as the original red paint had started to wear into a gold like exterior after many handling. An expression grew on Freddy’s face that would be best described as having bitten into a spoiled lemon as Dolly happily dropped a rather huge bomb on him.

“So you’re telling me that Envy, ENVY is that hot friend of yours with the smoldering eyes?” Freddy asked with a lot of doubt in the tone of his voice.

“Freddy we don’t discuss other people’s appearances like that and what exactly is wrong with how Envy looks now?” Dolly clearly wasn’t thrilled with how Freddy was speaking about Envy.

“Let’s see, they look like a starved reptile that found a gross looking wig and then took fashion advice from a perverted coroner. All I’m saying is Envy has shapeshifting powers, they could’ve made themself look a lot more attractive than that. I know I would’ve.” Freddy said in a rather snobbish tone. “That was a very unkind thing to say about someone, Envy looks perfectly fine the way they are and they’re happy about their looks. I know that you’re angry at Envy about us having to stay at the Armstrong Estate, but you really shouldn’t attack someone’s looks.” Dolly softly scolded as she got up from her spot on the floor where Dolly was playing with Dorian. “Dolly, I think you’re missing a very important detail for WHY I’m angry at the horrid little lizard person. They caused everyone in my workplace to think I’m infested with vermin in my face fur..MY BEARD! See what you have me doing now!?” Freddy motioned at the basket of beard care supplies and known vermin repellents settled nicely on the nightstand.

“I’ll give you that, Envy shouldn’t have spread a rather cruel rumor about your face fur like that. However, it doesn’t mean you get to be nasty right back at them. Anyways, I need to head back to my room for the evening with Dorian, tomorrow we’ll be getting a little outdoor time to enjoy that botanical garden.” Dolly carefully got Dorian into the backpack with a warm smile on her face, looking forward to the garden. “Okay, fair, botanical gardens are a treat, that’s the one thing I do like.” Freddy admitted, the true downside to being raised in a frozen landscape was the lack of gardens to look at.

“Alright, then get a goodnight sleep, Freddy. I’m also going to ask you to be kind to Major Armstrong and his family, they’re incredibly lovely people.” Dolly added as she left Freddy’s room after the chat leaving Freddy to make smothered gerbil sounds after being told that last part.

Dolly, ignoring the odd rodent-like sound coming out of her human family member, quietly exited Freddy's room and started making her trip back to her assigned bedroom with Dorian. There was a pause for a brief moment when Dolly came up to Envy’s door. Envy had been locked up in their room for the past eight hours and wasn’t sure what they’ve been up to. Sure, Envy was annoyed by not being allowed to hunt down Pride along with not being part of the corpse disposal, but this was a bit much. Dolly debated for a moment if she should knock on the door, but, as her hand reached to knock, the door started to open. Envy stood there looking like a mess in their Library Nerd disguise as if they hadn’t rested in a while. Envy had for the past eight hours read that Journal and they were still trying to understand what they had read. Slowly, Envy’s eyes locked into Dolly after noticing she was right in front of them, Dolly giving Envy a rather concerned look at their disheveled appearance.

“Envy, let’s get you something to eat, you were in your room for a very long time.” Dolly softly said as she motioned for Envy to follow.

“I’m not very hungry, just, I need to see Face Fur to ask something.” Envy responded, their tone making Dolly nervous.

“Are you sure? Freddy is still rather upset with you over the face fur vermin story you’ve spread.” Dolly slightly tilted her head to the side at Envy’s sudden need to ask Freddy something.

“Face Fur can get over it, he’s a grown ass amalgamated flesh construct. Just, I’ll be alright so you should just go to your room for the night. I’ll talk to you later Dolly.” Envy mumbled a bit, distracted as they finally got a good look at Dolly’s shadow.

Briskly, Envy marched right past Dolly to go to Freddy’s room after getting that confirmation from what they’ve read in that damned journal. Confused by the reaction, Dolly resumed her journey back to her room to focus on the nightly routine. It wasn’t a surprise that Dolly felt concerned for Envy upon seeing how they were acting or behaving as she went into the bedroom. Meanwhile as Freddy was getting ready to curl up in bed, Envy drop kicked the door open before coming inside. Sloppily, Envy placed the door back in position before turning their attention towards Freddy. Freddy, who was about to say something crass, kept silent when they finally saw Envy’s expression. It wasn’t an expression he had seen the rude asshole wear before as Freddy straightened up when the journal plopped on the bed. Freddy looked at the book in confusion as Envy went for their preferred form to have this chat.

“Dolly isn’t a homunculus, is she?” Envy asked as they got to the page they needed in that journal.

“What finally gave it away, dumbass?” Freddy snarked as he paid attention to the journal.

“Don’t get smart with me and tell me what exactly Dolly is.” Envy demanded as they didn’t have time to deal with a ‘misbehaved’ Freddy. “Truth be told, I have no idea what Dolly is, but, neither does Dolly for that matter. I supposed that’s why Dolly didn’t protest being called a homunculus, it gave her an identity to associate with.” Freddy shifted a bit as his demeanor changed upon hearing that particular question being asked. “What? You explain what you’re talking about right now Face Fur.” Envy started to calm a little as they got back to the page they were at, though confused at what came out of Freddy’s mouth. “Look, I’ll make it simple for you to understand. Imagine that you were raised by a different species that had a limited time span and you had an unlimited one compared to them. Imagine being very young and growing up having no idea what you could possibly be until one day some other species came along with a similar unlimited span of time. Suddenly, you’re given a name of a species that sounds very similar to what you could be. Wouldn’t you latch onto that possible identity too if you were in that scenario?” Freddy was glaring down at Envy for their reaction after being given a watered down explanation.

“I guess I would’ve latched onto that too if that was the case..” Envy finally admitted, surprising Freddy for a change.

“Okay so you do have basic empathy, that’s good to know. Now, what’s with the book?” Freddy said as Envy gave Freddy an annoyed glare at that remark.

“Since you were so kind to ask, this is a journal I snatched from the museum. Apparently, this overpriced junk gave a lot of insight on where Dolly came from.” Envy motioned to the page for Freddy to look at.

“If this is a trick, I’m going to toss you down to the sewers.” Freddy warned as he checked the page himself.

“Try and I’ll be sure to infect you with rabies personally from the sewer rats down there. Now look at the stupid book and keep your trap shut.” Envy hissed as they got ready to read along with the face furred Freddy who looked pissed at the rabies threat.

The pages’ edge looked wrapped from the tight grip Envy was using before as the two began to read the book. Dotted along the pages were pictures of woven or illustrated depictions of the Philosopher’s journey through the phantom island. The background depicted strange alien creatures while others were fully humanoid save for one key detail, their shadows reflected the opposite of what their form was showing. To Freddy, this was the real deal evidence to where Dolly came from, not just the shadows deal, but the fact some of the creatures in the background resembled the species Dolly was though far taller with both ears fully erect. So far in the journal, nothing had popped out as concerning to Freddy just yet, until they reached the castle segment of the entry. Freddy raised an eyebrow to the weird unicorn horn-like spiral towers as Envy got a little tense when the entry finally started with a specific person. The person depicted was an extremely tall man of handsome features clad in revealing clothes of twilight colors who perched upon a thorny throne. The members of that court had taken seats close by the monstrously tall man with a smirk that read ‘time to manipulate some humans’.

“So basically this is the hotter version of you?” Freddy remarked which earned him a bit of a slap from said Envy.

“No, I’m way better than that clown, though, I am stealing that outfit idea for my next preferred form.” Envy growled, though they did like the outfit a lot.

“True, that outfit is really nice looking…wait you rotate your preferred form?” Freddy admitted as he rubbed his cheek from the slap.

“Well yeah, it gets boring being in the same form the whole time, so I switch it up every five decades or so. Now with that out of the way, can we get back to the book?” Envy gave a very impatient glance at Freddy, annoyed with this interruption.

With a slight grump from Freddy, likely jealous that Envy can change their looks every few decades unlike him, Freddy resumed looking over Envy for the book. From the looks of the journal, their head, this Summer Dusk, had to ‘save’ their island from falling apart and that was why they were there. Freddy felt this slime-like sensation drip down from his spine upon seeing what this Summer Dusk proposed as according to the journal: ‘Only the power of true love will save the island, so I’ve come to find a spouse.’ The winning ‘spouse’ would be gifted immortality by the Summer Dusk, it was an ability that all eleven rulers of the island solely had. All it took was drinking a single drop of blood from them to ascend into this blissful state of undying. It was shortly thereafter that the Summer Dusk essentially took the group hostage to ‘visit’ the island for a few days before selecting a spouse by locking them up in his castle. For days the group was trapped in the castle, being whispered honeyed words by the Summer Dusk, but were inspected like cattle for a slaughter. Finally, on the last day of captivity, one of the members of the exploration team was selected as the future ‘spouse’. As the remaining group was led out of the castle and back to their ship, screams could be heard in the background. Freddy stopped at that part, not wanting to read anymore as this was beginning to scare Freddy what the implications meant right there. “We can’t tell Dolly about this just yet, this would upset her so much…” Freddy muttered as he looked at Envy.

“The blood granting immortality part, her birthplace is dying, or that she’s from a royal line of lying assholes?” Envy asked, for once not being condescending towards Freddy.

“All three, though, I don’t understand. If Dolly was royalty where she came from, why didn’t they make the effort to find her?” Freddy slowly covered his own mouth as he went into thinking about this too hard. “My guess, they didn’t know. The royals here don’t even resemble each other at all like a royal family would and Dolly did mention she was born from a pod. However, like you said, I don’t understand why they didn’t go searching for her either.” Envy started closing the book for the time being.

“I’d have to read a bit more then, but, this is going to be devastating to tell Dolly about.” Freddy admitted as he is now interested in reading this journal.

“No kidding, I’ve done a lot of bad things, but I don’t think I can bring myself to tell her that.” Envy casually said understating just how bad they’ve been in reality.

“Ignoring the casual hypocrisy for now, I’m glad that you and I are at least on the same level when it comes to Dolly’s wellbeing.” Freddy said in an offhanded fashion as he laid claim to the journal to read the rest for himself.

“Ignoring the fact that you can turn off your idiocy button, I’m glad we had this talk.” Envy retorted as they got up from the bed and shifted into their library nerd disguise.

Leaving Freddy to open mouth gap like a fish gasping for water, Envy left after rearranging the door properly. The torture of humans for their own means to an end wasn’t anything new to Envy, in fact they did enjoy the psychological horror that the journal told. No, the thing that upset Envy was what could happen to Dolly if Dante knew about that blood properties. It would’ve been easier for Envy to have tossed Dolly to Dante had she been human, but now, there was a conflict of pseudo morals. Dolly wasn’t a human nor a homunculus, but she was alone in this just like Envy was all so long ago. Envy stopped in the massive hallway, looking downward at the floor as they delved deeply into thought. Envy, to a degree, had cared about their fellow homunculi except for Pride, Pride was too human for their liking. This was the first time that Envy had cared about someone that wasn’t a homunculus or made from alchemy like Dorian was. The conclusion Envy came to by the end of the heavy thought, Dolly was a homunculus no matter what to them and they would make sure Dolly was referred to as such.

#Fullmetal Alchemist #FMA 03 #Writing #Fan Fiction #FMA Fan Fiction #The Wayfarer #Envy The Jealous #Envy #OCs #Homunculus #Homunculi

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moonlit-han · 4 years

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the perfect cup of coffee ↠ lee minho

genre: fluff, office au word count: 2k warnings: none, unless you really don’t like coffee? request: no (for junhuisflower, who wrote the initial idea for this fic) a/n: i am reposting this fic because the first time i posted it, on June 13, 2020, it didn’t show up in the general tags. so, i hope you all enjoy it this second time around!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

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In his impeccably neat and well-fitting suit, Lee Minho walked into the office where he held the position of Manager in Chief. This was not his official title, but one that he had chosen for himself; after all, he did manage just about everything and everyone, when it came down to it.

In reality, Minho was the Assistant to the Administrative Director of the company and was, in theory, meant to delegate the more menial tasks to others. However, this never occurred because Minho did not trust others to do work he knew he could do better. Over that which was not in his job description and, therefore, the responsibility of others, Minho still attempted to exert control. Thus, he was the Manager in Chief. Everything in Minho’s world had to perfect, or as perfect as Minho could contrive.

As he arrived at the office and reached for the company suite’s door, automatically passing something that was not there from one hand to the other, Minho stopped. He’d forgotten his coffee. How had he forgotten his coffee? This was practically unheard of, since he made his coffee at home and brought it to work with him. He did not fully trust coffee made by others.

Coffee was one of the many things that Minho insisted on being perfect. While he cared that his clothes were appropriately smart for the workplace and he prided himself on his small but wonderfully efficient car, he could manage for a time without them being in perfect condition. But, he absolutely had to have perfect coffee. In terms of non-essential costs, Minho spent the most on his cats (plenty of little treats, baubles, and warm places to sleep) and his coffee (fair trade, organic coffee made with care and attention). He was forever trying new ways of brewing coffee, and considered himself a bit of a connoisseur. Oftentimes, he’d even add some cardamom to the coffee as it brewed for a little extra spice and sweetness. Having such wonderfully delicious coffee was the high point of Minho’s day, a way he coped with the monotony of work.

So, when he arrived at the office and had no coffee, Minho was incensed. Sighing and grumbling to himself, he pushed through the door and made his way to his desk. He had back-to-back-to-back meetings and was responsible for leading one of them; so, he needed the caffeine to get through his day. His schedule was so busy that he couldn’t go back out to buy coffee, and couldn’t go back home to make himself a proper cup. Damn. It was against his every rule for coffee consumption to drink that which had not been made by him and to his particular specifications. Well, there was nothing to do now but go into the office’s lounge and drink the fluid that might just pass for coffee.

Minho’s coworkers looked up as they saw him move toward the lounge. Was he really going to drink coffee here? they whispered among themselves. They remained quiet as he passed, not wanting to disturb him in case his lack of coffee unleashed a hitherto unseen wrath (or wraith, even).

As he pushed open the door of the lounge, Minho made a noise of disgust as he took in the smell: a ground-in kind of odor from years of low quality coffee that had seeped into the wood and cushions of the lounge’s chairs and sofa. But today, there was a sweetness floating over the sourness of the smell of old, bad coffee. Perhaps someone had simply brought coffee from the outside world into the room and the dregs still lingered in a cup in the recycling.

Resigning himself to drinking the coffee—Maybe if he gulped down the horrid stuff, he could just get it over with?—Minho took down one of the mugs kept in the cabinet above the coffee maker. As he poured the dark liquid into the cup, a richly sweet and nutty smell met his nose.

Wait, what?

This was the communal coffee pot in the employee lounge of his office. Good coffee pouring out of that pot shouldn’t be possible. Surely his senses were fooling him and the taste would be just as weak and grimy as it had been the one other time he’d made the mistake of trying it.

Gingerly, he stirred a little cream into the mug. Squeezing his eyes shut as if to ward off the assuredly inherent shitty-ness of the coffee, Minho hesitantly raised the mug to his lips and sipped.

His eyes flew open in surprise. This was some of the best coffee he’d ever tasted. Minho took another sip, savoring the taste of the brew. He was stunned, absolutely stunned. He had to find out who had made this wonderful coffee. It was imperative to his proper functioning, since this coffee would now be a regular feature of his daydreams.

During each of his meetings that day, Minho took a minute at the end to ask if anyone knew who’d made the coffee that day. No one knew. With each shake of someone’s head and each “No” he heard, Minho became increasingly more frustrated. How could no one know who’d made the coffee?

The next day, he asked around the office again, but still, no one knew. On the third day, Minho decided to stop asking his coworkers for fear of seeming obsessed, despite the fact that he really was obsessed with the question of who had made that coffee.

Several weeks passed with Minho occasionally checking, with the utmost secrecy, the contents of the office’s communal coffee pot. It was uniformly horrible. But after a full month of furtive coffee sampling, Minho’s work paid off.

It was a Friday morning and he’d ambled into the break room to just spend some time away from the (non-existent) noise of the office. He was surprised to find someone already there … making coffee.

“Hello, Mr. Lee,” she said brightly. “How are you this morning?”

Minho stared at the young woman as she continued making the coffee. So, this is our new hire, he thought, noting the grace with which she moved.

“Mr. Lee?” she prompted.

Minho shook himself. “I’m sorry,” he searched his memory for her name, “Ms. L/N, isn’t it? I’m well, thank you. I hope you’re having a stress-free morning.” Minho leaned against the wall by the counter where Y/N methodically measured tablespoon after tablespoon of rich, dark coffee into the coffee maker. He noticed that it had been cleaned, too. “Do you make coffee here often, Ms. L/N?”

Damn it, that sounded like the worst pick-up line ever, Minho chided himself.

Y/N laughed softly. “Not really, since I’ve only been here a month, Mr. Lee. Would you like a cup when I’m done making this?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks,” Minho said, still in a bit of a daze. Huh, did she make that delicious coffee, then?

“Is it alright if I add some cardamom? I think it gives the coffee a deep, interesting flavor,” Y/N said before she closed the lid of the appliance.

Minho thought he’d died and gone to heaven in that moment; all he could do was nod. Y/N produced a small container of cardamom—she said she’d ground it that morning—and added a bit to the ground coffee. Minho watched as Y/N finished preparing the coffee, thinking to himself. Then, they sat in surprisingly easy silence as the smell of brewing coffee began to suffuse the room, filling Minho’s world. Leaning back in a chair, Y/N had a blissful look on her face at the aroma.

The coffee maker made a gurgling noise as it shut off, and Y/N rose to her feet. She withdrew two mugs from the cabinet, then went to her bag and produced a thermos and a jar of honey. Minho looked on as Y/N poured out the coffee, then measured out honey into one mug.

“Would you like some?” she asked, proffering the honey.

“Definitely,” Minho said, excitedly. “I rarely meet anyone else who puts honey in their coffee.” He smiled, dropping his earlier formal manner.

“Really? It’s the best. You know,” Y/N continued, spooning honey into his mug, “I’ve never met anyone else—other than a Turkish friend, at least—who puts cardamom in their coffee.”

“I had it when I was traveling and fell in love,” Minho said, then cleared his throat self-consciously. How was he talking with her this easily? “And, Ms. L/N, you’re welcome to call me Minho. You are, after all, the Assistant to the Artistic Director here, so our positions are equal.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, my name is Y/N.” She grinned and opened the metal canister, which Minho saw was full of cream. “Do you want to put yours in? I know people are particular about cream in drinks.”

Taking the thermos, Minho thanked Y/N and noticed that his heartbeat was pounding a little louder than he expected. Then again, perhaps not so unexpectedly as he was about to drink what he knew would be delicious coffee. He poured in just enough cream to turn the coffee the color of dark amber, then brought the mug to his lips.

“Enjoy!” Y/N said, smiling brightly as she took back her thermos and stowed it and the other containers in her bag.

Minho took a sip, and almost dropped the mug in surprise. It was just like the coffee he had tasted several weeks ago, and, really, even better. He savored the coffee, taking sip after sip as Y/N looked on.

“Is it good?” Y/N asked hesitantly, not drinking from her own mug yet.

“It’s delicious, Y/N, it really is,” Minho sighed, feeling as if he were drinking ambrosia. “Did you happen to make coffee for the office a few weeks ago?”

Surprise overtook pride on Y/N’s face as she chirped, “Yeah, I did! Did you have some then?”

“I’ve been trying to find who’d made that coffee ever since,” Minho said, smiling at how odd that must sound. “I just really like coffee, and yours was incredible.”

Y/N blushed furiously and tried to hide her face by taking a sip from her own mug. “Thanks, Minho” she murmured. “I’m glad you liked it!”

Minho couldn’t help but smile softly at how cute Y/N looked when he complimented her coffee. Her dimples even came out when she smiled.

How is she that pretty? Minho groaned to himself. Shit. Well, what do I have to lose?

“Y/N,” Minho said tentatively, and Y/N looked up, her cheeks still pink. “So, there’s this coffee shop I love to go to and they have all sorts of unusual blends—it’s really quite lovely. Forgive me for being so forward, but may I take you there? I’m sure you’d enjoy it!” He rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. “But only if you’d like, and it doesn’t have to be anything more than two coworkers getting coffee together. I don’t mean to sound like I’m asking you out or anything,” Minho rambled, then stopped, knowing he’d probably said too much already.

“I’d love to!” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe we will be two friends getting coffee … or maybe something else?”

Minho’s eyes went wide in amazement as he made a little noise that could be taken as a question or a plea for clarification.

Y/N shrugged as she picked up her bag and went over to the door. “You’ll have to wait and see,” she said and winked, leaving Minho to stand in the office lounge, staring at the door.

Still unable to process his luck—was that it?—Minho took another sip of coffee. It was just as delicious as Y/N was sweet. This was going to be quite interesting indeed.

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eltheatheawakened · 3 years

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Purpose - Part I

TW: suicide attempt, depression, explicit language, hospital (psychiatric), emotional abuse

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I attempted suicide in February of 2021. Several factors that had accumulated over time, paired with several stressors that were all happening at the same time, led to my horrid mental state at the time. Let me talk about that.

For starters, I hated my job. To clarify, I loved what I did. I worked as a one-to-one staff with youth in residential foster care. My job duties included, but were not limited to, being a pretend chef, a makeshift secretary, a make-believe nurse, an underpaid, unqualified therapist, and a true, loyal friend... with therapeutic boundaries, of course.

What I didn't love, or, loathed, actually, was the workplace culture. A client singing during group and won't stop? Timeout room. A client who keeps burping, whether they say "excuse me" or not? Timeout room. A Timeout room, by the way, is a square room, usually padded, that was intended to isolate clients who were a danger to themselves or others. The Timeout rooms were, without question, over-utilized.

Speaking of clients being a danger to themselves or others, that was a more common occurrence than I would like to admit. I have been bitten, spat on, punched, scratched, kicked, and called vulgar names more times than I can count. The punching and scratching and all that, that wasn't the bad part. The bad part was seeing someone you have formed a therapeutic bond with trample on all the progress you've made together. It was easy to lose faith in the client and even easier to lose faith in society at large and all the people in the client's life, both in and out of that facility, who had, undoubtedly, failed them.

The worst part for me was not dealing with the clients; it was dealing with the other staff. One time, a client punched me. Another staff knew this and let that client watch TV. It was like co-parenting with a moron, only, and as unfortunate as it is, there were several of them. In case this isn't obvious based on what I've said so far, I tended to fall into the minority with the other staff. My goal was always to be firm, fair, and polite, all in as equal parts as I could achieve. Granted, I was a pushover, but, at the end of the day, I had the clients' best interests at heart. I feel like the other staff and my superiors, at large, were either too firm, unfair, or outright impolite. I lost morale very quickly.

I tried applying to other jobs. There were no jobs that paid enough that would call me back after I put in applications. With each day working there, I dealt with more broken relationships, more poor staffing issues, and no mobility within the company to boot. I was growing more and more hopeless.

Then, there was the relationship with my ex-boyfriend. For the purposes of this blog, I will refer to him as "Fred" from this point on. So, Fred and I had been arguing a lot from October of 2020 up until we broke up in January. We argued about anything and everything... that pertained to me. Fred would question why the apartment was always in shambles. Fred would always ask me why I laid in bed all day on my days off. Fred would demand that I would a logic book, of his choosing, because, according to Fred, I was so damn irrational, when he knew full well I barely had the energy to finish my sentences half the time. Fred would demand I paint or draw, without asking nicely and considering, for even two seconds, that I would have gladly done those things, had I been shown some compassion and understanding. Fred would call me a stupid bitch. Fred called me lazy. Fred demanded I see a different psychiatrist and therapist, which messed me up even worse. And that's Fred.

So, after the breakup in Janaury, we agreed to remain roommates. The two of us could not afford to live on our own with our income. With hospital bills and co-pays out the ass, I could barely afford living with him on my income as it was.

As the days drew nearer to my suicide attempt, Fred became meaner. I think Fred resented me, honestly. See, I almost broke up with him in October. I had a game plan of moving out of the apartment and moving in with my older cousin, who lived four hours away. Fred knew this. Fred never acted remotely sane since then, but I digress.

The day of my suicide attempt, Fred invited a girl he was talking to into our apartment. I told Fred I didn't want her there the day before that, but Fred said it was his apartment too, and he could have anyone he wanted over. Depressed, I didn't have the energy to spend arguing with him. I figured I'd get over it or whatever normal people without depression did. I had been depressed for so long, I literally forgot what a normal response to that type of situation would be.

Anyway, she came over. I said hello, then goodbye, then made my way to the art supply store to pick up my online order. A woman cut me off in traffic, and I snapped. I was balling at the wheel. I just froze there in the middle of traffic while cars honked at me. I finally made my left turn and got back to the apartment all in one piece.

I was hoping to God she'd be gone. But there she was. Sitting on MY couch with MY ex-boyfriend, petting MY cat. I almost flipped my shit, y'all. I pulled off my shoes and placed them next to hers. God, I was even jealous of this strange woman's shoes. I was gonna lose it.

I went into the bedroom and cried as quietly as I could, all the while complaining to one of my cousins over text how awful the situation was. I complained about Fred to a lot of people that day. Everyone told me to leave, except his mom, who proceeded to tell me I needed to be an adult. I flew mad and cussed her out over text, and that was the end of that (or so I thought).

The girl left. Once Fred was sure she was gone, he bolted into the bedroom.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He demanded.

I decided to play innocent, like a small child being scolded by a parent. "What are you talking about?" I asked sweetly, as I wiped a tear from my eye.

"We could hear you!" he said. "God, you are so rude and selfish!"

I started crying again. This time, I was wailing so hard, I was practically screaming.

Fred grabbed me by the arm and led me to the TV. We watched Avatar: The Last Airbender. My mood was starting to improve. An episode ended, and he stepped onto the balcony for a smoke break.

My mom had been texting me during Avatar. I had to hide it from Fred. My mom was saying that I need to leave Fred, and she was pleading with me to come back home.

Fred returned inside and sat in front of his desk.

"I thought we were going to--"

"What the fuck did you say to my mom?"

Tired of Fred's attitude, I replied, "I spoke my peace. 'Good' me is gone."

Fred pretended to be concerned. "What, but why?"

"Because 'Good' me takes people's shit. I'm fucking tired of being treated like a pile of shit by a bunch of shit-faced people who don't even give a shit about me."

Fred's facade had worn off. Fred said, "You are so irrational. Do you know how fucking stupid you sound?"

I had had it. Between my career woes, turbulence with Fred, and my mom begging me to leave my career, my apartment, and Fred behind, and Fred's mom being a little snitch... speaking of Fred's mom, she had also threatened to have Fred sue me for my half of the rent if I left back in January. It was all too much.

I stopped crying. I didn't scream. As I walked toward my pill bottles, I felt like I was walking on air.

"What are you doing?" Fred demanded.

I ignored him, and I smirked as I opened my bottle of Depakote.

"What. Are. You.--"

I stuck three pills in my mouth and slowly reached for my cup of water.

Fred rushed to me at lightening speed and pinched my cheeks together with his right hand. He raised his left hand below my lips, and barked, "Spit it out!"

"Nu," my then fish-like lips muttered.

He started reaching in my mouth. Before he was able to get more than his pointer finger in, I spat the pills out in his hand. He placed the pills in the bottle and demanded I go to the hospital. I talked him out of taking me. I gave him some nonsense about how the hospital has never helped me and that there was no use going, since I had been discharged just five days prior.

Fred held my hand for a while. We sat in silence on the couch, just holding hands. I started crying again.

"Please," I mumbled. "Please let me kill myself. I hate it here. I'll write the suicide note and everything, that way no one accuses you of killing me."

He sighed. "I can't let you kill yourself. I would feel guilty the rest of my life if I did that."

I don't really remember what was said after that. He fell asleep on the couch, and I ended up going to sleep in the bedroom. I woke up just in time for my virtual intensive outpatient session. I told the therapist what had transpired over the weekend, and she said I needed to be assessed. So, I had Fred drive me to the hospital, I was assessed, and I was admitted as an inpatient... again.

#purpose #blogger #mentally ill #mental health #this is depressing

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thewritewolf · 4 years

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Eating Habits Chapter 17: Continuing On

Things aren’t quite as bad as our heroes thought they would be, but something else has picked up the slack when it comes to gnawing at Adrien’s peace of mind.

We’re close to the end of Eating Habits - three more chapters to go over the next ten days! :D

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

The other shoe didn’t drop in exactly the way that Adrien was expecting.

Despite his worst fears, his life didn’t return to that tumultuous few months following the unmasking of Hawkmoth. The news outlet that had reported on Marinette and Adrien had been little more than a tabloid that got picked up for a hot minute. Besides a few inquisitive phone calls from rather polite journalists, nothing much came of it.

Marinette hung up and sighed as she sat down at the kitchen table. “Where were all these well mannered reporters the first time? It would’ve saved us a heck of a lot of heartache if they had been there before.”

“Some of them were,” Tikki said from her spot on the table. “But polite whispers usually get drowned out in horrid shouting.”

“True.” Adrien put an omelette on a plate and set it in front of Marinette. She took a deep breath and sighed happily. “I’m super glad that I don’t have to sit in the apartment all day just to avoid getting ambushed.”

Marinette frowned. “I feel like there is a ‘but’ in there somewhere…”

“I’m sure you can find it if you keep feeling around,” Adrien joked. After a flicker of a smile passed over her face, her frown deepened.

“That settles it, then. You start with the lewd jokes when you’re trying to distract yourself. What’s got you so worked up, if it isn’t the news?”

Before he could stop himself, his eyes glanced treacherously towards the basket on the top of the fridge. Her eyes followed before understanding dawned.

“Ah.” She said into the cavernous silence that followed, a hundred conversations hanging in the emptiness. “Those. Do you think he saw the news? And that’s why he’s gotten so… prolific?”

Adrien laughed, but it was an empty noise. Prolific, as if it were him making designs just like the old days. Designing, rather than sending Adrien multiple letters a day, hammering away at his hard-earned and tenuous peace of mind. Every time he saw that particular type of envelope, that flowing cursive handwriting, his heart pounded in his chest and his breathing became haggard. It had gotten to the point where Marinette had banned him from getting the mail, but even with her filtering out most of them, his curiosity was building.

What did his former father want? Did he have something to say about his and Marinette’s relationship? Was he finally turning over a new leaf? Did seeing how they had moved on without him make him pull his head out of his ass for the first time since mom died? Well, her first death, that is. Adrien knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but… hope was something Adrien had always found hard to give up.

Which is why it was getting ever more tempting to give in and open one of those letters. Just one.

He was startled from his thoughts when a pair of slender arms wrapped around his chest from behind. Somehow, Marinette had snuck up behind him. He gladly took her hands in his as she spoke.

“You won’t find the answers you want to see in those letters, kitty. I promise. It’s just going to lead to more pain.” She sighed sadly. “But you know that already, don’t you?”

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

The sweltering summer days gave way to the cool summer nights - a perfect time to patrol. Maybe not in the full body suits, but Marinette was just glad that they were much more breathable than they looked. Swinging across Paris felt great and she hated going without doing it for too long.

Of course, the exertion brought with it a heat all its own. Which is why Ladybug and Rena Rouge could be found high up near the top of the Eiffel Tower tonight, where the winds whipped and they could escape the warmth of the city for a little while. As a nice bonus, it also kept them far away from listening ears and prying eyes. A perfect place to chat.

“The internship is going great,” Marinette said as a way to break the quiet.

Rena tilted her head to the side curiously, a look of confusion flickering across her face for a heartbeat. After a few moments, she smiled. “I’m glad to hear it, girl. It’s gotta be keeping you busy if you haven’t had time to talk about it. I was getting scared you were having an awful time over there.”

“Oh no no no, it’s been great!” Marinette began to warm up to the conversation .”I mean, yeah, they’ve really been keeping me active, but I actually enjoy that. After all these years, being idle just sorta feels… wrong, you know?”

“I get ya, girl.” Rena smiled as she leaned her head back, staring up at the inky black skies. “After that juggling act you pulled back in high school, it’s no wonder you keep putting more and more stuff on your plate. It must all be super easy compared to that.”

“It’s easier than fighting a super villain a day for years, yeah. But it’s challenging in a different way. I can’t just summon a lucky charm in the workplace to get just what I need to fix things.”

“Now that’s just quitter talk,” Rena replied. They both giggled. “But seriously, if anyone can figure out the solution to something, it’s you. Your mind always worked on a whole different plane than the rest of us.”

“Thanks,” Marinette said with a small smile. “Although the biggest problems they have me solve is the fastest way to get my designer what they need - whether that’s a second look at their latest piece, a roll of fabric, or just a coffee depends on the day.”

Rena scrunched her nose. “Doesn’t seem that glamorous.”

“Maybe,” Marinette conceded. “But being a gopher is exactly how I ended up being such good friends with Uncle Jagged, remember? A little hard work pays off in the end.”

Humming in agreement, Rena let the conversation end there. At least for a few minutes before she disturbed the quiet with a question.

“You know, you avoided the elephant in the room pretty well. But it’s not like I don’t know about it already. Even if I wasn’t a journalist, it was all over the news for a hot second.”

“I just…” Marinette sighed and started again. “You didn’t see how he just folded in on himself when the news first broke. He was just so scared and broken.”

“Damn,” Rena said simply. “Is he feeling any better? I tried to scare off the worst of the lot to keep them off your backs.”

“That was you? Thank you so much!” Marinette hugged her friend and pulled away to groan. “He would be back to his usual self, I think… if it weren’t for his father sending letters daily now.”

Rena sucked in a sharp breath. “That bastard doesn’t know when to give in, does he?” She growled. “What does he want, anyway?”

Marinette shrugged. “I don’t know. We haven’t opened any of the letters.”

“You can’t hide from it forever. We both know how that man works. All the determination of his son without any of the compassion or self-examination.”

“Adrien did his confrontation already. I don’t think another is going to do anything but hurt him, especially since Gabe has had a lot more time to think about how he’s going to tear into Adrien.”

“I know. But I also know that you are the one who took him down in the first place, so I know you’ll find a way to stop him again.” Rena squeezed her hand and Marinette smiled at her.

“Thanks.” Marinette’s smile faded as she turned to look at the city. “I just hope I can figure something out soon. I’m worried for Adrien. And with his twentieth birthday coming up…”

“You think Gabe might have something up his sleeve?”

“I don’t know how he could, but he always was full of horrible surprises.” Marinette sighed and stood, stretching her legs. “Come on, let’s finish patrol.”

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

A couple weeks after the news had first broken and Adrien found himself back in the spotlight - however briefly - he now found himself with his head in Marinette’s lap. Her fingers worked their way through his hair as he poured his heart out to her. It wasn’t an unusual scene, but it had certainly been happening more frequently.

During a lull in his venting, she said, “You’ve got a lot going on in here, kitty.” Her fingers traced a circle around one of his temples.

“I guess you could say that,” Adrien said as he rolled onto his back to look up at her.

“And you know I’m more than happy to help you however I can.”

“But…?”

“This might be more than I can help you with. You might need to consider some professional help.”

Adrien grumbled. “Everybody seems to think so too. You. Nino. Alya.”

“Then it must be a good idea, huh? If the people who love you most are all saying the same thing?”

Adrien thought about the pain in his chest and for the first time since Nino had first brought it up, he really gave it some thought. It might take him a while to build up the courage, but… he wanted to start healing. And maybe he had gotten as far as he could get on his own. Maybe it was time to find professional help.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrienette #Rena Rouge #Ladybug #ml fanfiction #my writing #Eating Habits #The Lucky One series

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victoria-hyde · 4 years

Text

A Horror of The Spirit

"A horror of the spirit that cannot be exceeded at the hour of birth or death."

-Robert Louis Stevenson

Pre-Valkyrie. This is the story of Skulduggery's first partner.

Detective Robert Warlow squinted, his eyes straining against the merciless sun's attacks. He supposed it was all part of the desert day. Robert was really beginning to regret wearing his smart vermillion vest. Small crimson clouds danced around his feet, ruining his perfectly good shoes. A slight crunch was heard with each apprehensive footstep. He was supposed to meet up with his assigned mentor; Skulduggery Pleasant. He was told that Skulduggery was not allowed to interfere with his actions -no matter what-, only guide him. This was a sort of test, to see if he had what it takes to become a proper Sanctuary detective. The same rules stopped him from using magic, as well as a binding bracelet, so he relied solely on his ken. In theory he was able to solve this case and deal with the details like a professional, but he was faintly aware that the cold indifference that was present during study would not come easily upon seeing an expired body. Robert disregarded his emotions and fear, as he objectively approached the vehicle. He was curious about this case. After all, he knew that it is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it. He gazed inside and faltered. The sight that greeted him was a horror of the spirit that cannot be exceeded at the hour of birth or death. The insensate, emerald eyes gazed into his soul, glazed over and full of an extreme foreign panic. Limp limbs yielded to gravity, gently resting next to an inflated chest as if their owner was merely asleep, though Robert knew that was not the case. However, it was the smell that did it for him. It was a cold and heavy scent, smelling of rotting meat with a few drops of cheap perfume. It was pungent mixed with sickening sweetness. It crept up his nostrils making him feel as if he had swallowed acid. He could taste it. He could taste the cadaver. It appeared the corpse was just as repulsed due to the slightly pink foam dripping from his mouth. Robert ran away from the car trying not to gag, tears of shock and disgust involuntarily streaming down his face. Even then the smell still lingered, not quite going away. It was caught in his nose, on his tongue, at the back of his throat. Suddenly the background noise flooded back in with the blaring noise of the police sirens, snapping him back to reality. He took a deep breath to calm his farrago of thoughts and ate one of the mints to disperse the horrid taste in his mouth. Robert desperately began to distract himself by analysing what he had just seen and comparing it with his prior knowledge of Varian's file. He recalled Rose's panicked eyes, his bloated chest and the salmon froth leaking from his lips. He was so focused, that he didn't notice the cloaked man approaching him.

"Vile, isn't it," the clinical voice of the sanctuary official stated. Warlow jolted in surprise and quickly read the man's name tag: Skulduggery Pleasant. "I take it you're my newly assigned partner?" Pleasant's pause was scanty and his tone indifferent, only allowing time for Robert to nod before he continued. "I have been charged with informing you of the details of this investigation. The victim's name was Varian Rose. He recently received a large inheritance from his late father; roughly $50 000 000. We are currently uncertain of how he perished since I'm not allowed to try and solve the case-"

Robert cut him off, "He was drowned. You can tell by the foam coming out of his mouth from the water in the lungs, his lungs expanded to try and hold more air therefore swelling his chest, and the look of panic in his eyes, signalling he was aware he was being murdered."

Skulduggery seemed to glare at the detective. "Impressive deduction, but I would greatly appreciate if you could take the liberty to refrain from interrupting me with your monotonous discourse," he floridly reprimanded Warlow, quite clearly unimpressed with his behaviour. "Now, if you will allow me to continue, I can inform you of our suspicions," he paused and gave the detective a testing head tilt. "The other amateur detectives believe his sister, Avia Rose, drowned him to claim the inheritance. If you'll wait here, I can fetch the objects the others found from my car, so you can inspect them." This time, Skulduggery didn't even await an answer as he promptly found and handed over the objects in clear plastic bags. Pleasant waited impatiently, irregularly tapping his foot, as Robert studied the contents of the bag. The bags contained a book on alchemy, matches, a pen, car keys and a driver's licence. Warlow looked up.

"You're wrong," he said. "Avia did not kill Varian."

"Excuse me? I'm not allowed to solve the case. The other people being tested are wrong. Not me." he offendedly corrected, but even his offense lacked emotion. Detective Warlow saw now that Skulduggery Pleasant was about as emotional as a bagpipe. Robert rolled his eyes.

"You see this pen here?" he questioned, pointing at the sleek pen in the plastic bag. Skulduggery wearily nodded and the detective pushed the bag into Pleasant's grasp. "The other students missed the obvious. The name on the pen says 'Artemis Pendragon'. That is the name of Varian's ex. They were engaged before she dumped him. Therefore, Artemis murdered Varian Rose. Now, there's her work address on the pen, would you do me the courtesy of accompanying me to the arrest?"

"I am legally obligated to come with you."

Detective Robert Warlow waited in the reception of Artemis's workplace, Detective Pleasant and various armed sanctuary officials positioned at different intervals throughout the room. He took a moment to relish the cool feel of the smooth desk against his back. Earlier that day, they had notified everyone on this level to evacuate for their own safety. All they had to do now was await Ms Pendragon's arrival. The door was suddenly opened, and the gravelly crunch of guns being readied snapped at the air, said weapons immediately being pointed at the woman who had just entered. She looked to be in her late twenties, with piercing grey eyes and glinting brown hair. She had an evil face, smoothed by hypocrisy; but her manners were rumoured to be excellent. She exactly matched the image of a Pendragon. Skulduggery approached Artemis and promptly handcuffed her.

"Miss Artemis Pendragon, you are under arrest for the murder of Mr Varian Rose. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do may be used against you in court," Pleasant monologued with the routine weariness of children greeting a teacher; lacking passion.

"Wow, what a genius. How could you have ever figured it out?" Artemis smirked, extremely sarcastically, her Australian accent prominent.

"That was a rather silly thing to say," Warlow observed. "You just confessed."

"Who are you supposed to be anyway? I've heard of Captain Jack Marrow over there but didn't know he provided babysitting services." she spat out, having recovered her bearings.

"I am Detective Warlow. Tell you what, I'll answer your questions if you answer mine," he announced before eagerly leaning forwards, obviously not picking up on her sarcasm. "Why did you do it? Did you really think that it would bring you joy?"

"The secret to a happiness is a small ego," at this, she gave a smug glance towards Skulduggery. "And a big wallet. Good books help, too. But that's not really a secret, is it?"

"Don't avoid the question. Why did you drown Varian Rose?" interrogated Robert. His curiosity was eating him inside out, like bone-termites.

Artemis's expression darkened; her countenance grim. "He destroyed my books."

"Is that it? You really killed someone because they merely destroyed your books?"

This comment sent Artemis into a maniacal laughing fit. She pretended to wipe away a tear of laughter before rolling her eyes at the junior detective. "Oh sure. I killed someone just because they destroyed my books. Please, that was one time."

"What?" Warlow blurted, worried.

"No, no. I have other reasons that I'm not going to share."

"Why not?"

"I'm hoping the curiosity will kill you, just like it killed the cat."

"Actually," Skulduggery interjected. "The original phrase was, 'Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.'"

"Well, the cat died again since there was still some curiosity left in it." She shrugged. "It was a slow acting disease."

Detective Warlow's countenance began to look a little unimpressed. "What are you hoping to achieve with all this banter?" he asked. "Sure, it's scintillating but it isn't going to stop you getting arrested."

Something in Artemis's eye twinkled that made it evident she knew something they did not. "There's no chance that I was perhaps," a metallic chink sounded from behind her and Robert took a step back as her hands reached up and unsheathed her swords. "stalling you." The armed sanctuary officials tried to open fire at her, but nothing came out of their guns. By the time they checked their ammunition, realized Artemis had emptied it with air manipulation and spotted their bullets on the floor, it was too late. In fact, it all happened so fast that Robert barely saw it. A flash of silver, a few sickening damp crunches and the wall had a new coat of paint. Warlow tried to move away from her but slipped in the rapidly growing puddles of blood. He felt the warm, sticky liquid seep into his clothes as his face connected with the floor. He was suddenly gasping for breath as Artemis's foot found a place on his ribs. Where was Skulduggery? Why wasn't he helping? He turned his head away, not wanting to see the sword's slow-motion descent. This was a mistake. He came face to face with a lifeless and blood pooled into his mouth. He suddenly felt a cool sharpness dig into his throat with a final sickly crunch. Detective Robert Warlow spent what felt like an eternity choking on his own blood and agony before everything began to fade and go cold...

Artemis turned away from the corpse of that amateur detective and faced the infamous Skeleton Detective. He hadn't moved an inch, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. She grinned at him.

"So, what? Are you going to try and arrest me too Albert Spinestein? Are you going to tattle on me Vincent Van Bone?" she teased.

The way Skulduggery held himself indicated he was extremely unimpressed. He then replied, his voice devoid of any human emotion; the definition of deadpan, "I am not allowed to interfere with the testing under any circumstances." She waltzed over and pat the top of his head.

"Good skeleton." And on that remark, she left the building. Skulduggery sighed and left the office to inform the sanctuary that everyone was killed.

Detective Rachel Pidgely was overflowing with excitement. She was approaching the crime scene for her case. If she solved it and apprehended the murderer -if there was a murderer, she didn't know-, then she would become a real Sanctuary detective! A tall man cloaked in beige was waiting for her outside the doors to the crime scene.

"Hello! I'm Rachel," she gushed. "Who are you!?"

The man barely shifted. "My name is irrelevant. Once you pass through these doors you will meet your partner and guide for the testing. After they have explained the situation to you, you can then begin to solve the murder of Robert Warlow."

I packed so many quotes and Easter eggs into this it isn't funny. Can you find all the quotes and Easter eggs?

#skulduggery pleasant #fanfiction #Victoria writes #some strange time loop conspiracy AU #If someone knows what this is please tell me #I used the glass scientists named mashups?#the glass scientists #tgs #strange crossover #an awful lot of OC's that don't belong to me

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raphpanda21 · 5 years

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Ain’t running from myself no more I’m ready to face it all

Last Time

Hades sighed sagging into his chair as he let himself get lost in the pleasure of his cigar. Glancing back at the earlier text he made up his mind to leave it alone. If he didn’t hear back from her he would just speak to her directly on Monday. He was supposed to be keeping his distance not loosing sleep over her while another woman was lying in his bed. What was wrong with him ?! Putting out his cigar he locked his screen once more before heading back to the bedroom to settle back in bed with the Minthe. Still sleep would not come quickly to the weary King because the mind and heart were not creatures so easily swayed even if the will was weak.

Sunday seemed to go by in the blink of an eye for Persephone. By the end of the day her cabinets were fully stocked and the loft looked like a tropical paradise with the assortment of houseplants she had bought. With the large floor to ceiling windows she couldn’t help but be a reminded a bit of the greenhouse her mother had made for her. She quickly tried to dispel that thought. This place wasn’t her prison it was her sanctuary. Thoughts back on a positive track Persephone soon retired for the evening to be well rested and ready to face Monday and whatever challenges it had in store for her.

The next morning Persephone was up with the sun. She had thankfully thought to check her email after her shower and saw the note about needing to bring mortal realm clothing with her to begin her intern training. Triple checking she had not forgotten anything she finally was satisfied and made her way downstairs to her waiting ride. The Bellyhands had insisted she could no longer travel via subway and for her safety they would instead be driving her to and from work and school. For extra security the car pulled into the underground parking garage coming to a stop right in front of the elevators. Thanking the driver Persephone quickly got out and was making her way to the elevator when a flash of red out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Glancing towards it her eyes saw Minthe been assisted out of a familiar car by none other than Hades himself. Feeling someone’s gaze on him Hades turned to see who it was a their eyes locking instantly.

Persephone was surprised. Why would Minthe be riding with Hades ? That hardly seemed appropriate. Hades was pleased to see Persephone but found himself in a sticky situation. He wanted to hurry and catch up to her but he was certain Minthe would not approve. Minthe seeing he was distracted followed his line of sight and glowered at seeing the pinkie. She would put a stop to that very quickly. Slipping in front of Hades she beganto straighten his tie and collar causing his focus to quickly turn back to her. Seeing her chance and taking it she quickly tugged on Hades’ tie causing his face to fall lower and allowing her to capture his lips in a lingering kiss. Persephone’s eyes widen as she witnessed this display. She quickly turned away pressing the elevator call button not noticing Hades own wide eyed look as she stepped into the elevator. When she turned around as the doors were closing she saw Minthe playfully wiping at the lipstick smear she had left at the corner of Hades’ lips. To say Persephone was relieved when the doors shut completely was an understatement. She felt something she couldn’t quite identify seeing them together. Was it disappointment? She pondered in silence as the elevator made its slow climb. It seemed Minthe was much more than a nymph he associated with. What a horrid liar perhaps Artemis was right and he really wasn’t any different from his brothers. She was roused from these thoughts as the elevator chimed announcing her floors arrival.

Stepping out of the elevator she was quickly spotted by Hermes who was in front of her in a flash.

Hermes: Good morning! Made it here safe and sound I see!

Persephone couldn’t help the smile that grew seeing her childhood friend decked in a garb much closer to her memories of him.

Persephone: Yes no difficulties whatsoever. I see you are already changed and ready. I brought my clothes like Hecate suggested.

She looks around not seeing the last member of their party in sight.

Persephone: Am I early or is Thanatos running late?

Hermes forced a smile laughing nervously

Hermes: Nope you are on time. Thanatos got called into a meeting this morning so we are supposed to just get started without him.

Persephone frowned hearing that he would be absent but it couldn’t be helped.

Persephone: Oh? Well, I guess we better get to work then. I just need to get changed.

Hermes: Sure thing, take as much time as you need and I will meet you on the other side.

Persephone nodded disappearing into the women’s changing room to get ready to face whatever challenges the day might bring. A sort of nervous excitement began to grow inside her. Above all else Persephone wanted to succeed and prove to herself and others that she was more than a stupid village girl.

Thanatos was facing challenges of his own. As Hecate promised a meeting with the boss had been on his calendar first thing. Deciding it was better to take his medicine and get it over with he had arrived early. Finding Minthe’s desk unoccupied and Hades office dark it seemed he had come a tad too early. Sadly he wasn’t alone for too long as Hecate appeared smiling like the cat who had eaten not one but several canneries.

Hecate: Not only on time but early? My dear Thanatos have you become a masochist?

Thanatos snorted softly moving to follow her as she lets herself into Hades office.

Thanatos: You wish. I am an innocent victim just as she is so I have no reason to fear this meeting.

Hecate raised a brow at this as she looked back before turning her attention back to prepping the Espresso machine in Hades office.

Hecate: My, my you are confident today. Innocent you say? Have you ever truly been innocent I wonder?

Thanatos eyes narrow at Hecate. He heard her accusation loud and clear.

Thanatos: I think you play the game far better than I ever have or ever will so I will let you be the judge.

Hecate laughed softly pressing the brew button as the machine beeped its readiness.

Hecate: Touché. Care for a cup?

Thanatos: I will pass. Will this take long I do have a job to get too. The dead wait for no one.

Hecate rolled her eyes at his dramatic response and was about to comment back when the sound of Hades coming in was heard from the lobby. Both glanced that way and were shocked at seeing Minthe give Hades a kiss that could hardly be considered chaste before pushing him away with a wink and strutting out of sight presumably to her desk.

Turning to go into his office Hades rubbed at the lipstick he was certain stained his lips once more only to freeze at the two set of eyes he found peering at him from his open office door. Damn it! Trying to put on a cool air of indifference he walked into his office pulling the door closed behind him.

Hades: Glad to see you made it here on time Thanatos.

Thanatos: I was actually early but Hecate has been here in your stead.

Hades hmmed and moved to the Espresso machine making himself a cup before sitting at his desk motioning to the chair placed in front of it.

Hades: Have a seat.

Thanatos reluctantly settled into the chair bracing himself for whatever Hades might throw his way. Hecate perched herself on the counter beside the espresso machine silently watching a Cheshire smile ever present.

Hades: So I assume we don’t need to hash over why you are here before me today. What I would like to clarify is what your relationship is exactly with our newest intern.

Thanatos: Why? You of all people should know that those trash rags are full of garbage.

Hades eye twitched as Thanatos seemed to be avoiding answering the question.

Hades: I am asking because as you should know relationships between coworkers are discouraged. Especially in such a situation where one party might be in a position of superiority over the other.

Thanatos sighed shaking his head before looking at Hades with not even remotely vieled annoyance.

Thanatos: You can’t be serious? You are going to seriously lecture me about appropriate workplace relationships when you are banging your secretary?

Hecate choked on the sip of espresso she had been taking and Hades looked like he had been slapped.

Hades: What!? My relationship is not the one in question here.

Thanatos rolled his eyes hearing this and sighed.

Thanatos: That seems a tad hypocritical but sure fine. What do you want from me?

Hades anger grew with Thanatos’ obvious attitude. He had not anticipated the comment about Minthe. It seemed he needed to use a firmer hand.

Hades: Are you taking a tone with me? Persephone is an innocent goddess that no thanks to you has once more been drug through the muck of these tabloids. She is naive and doesn’t need someone like you getting her involved in questionable activities.

Thanatos eyes narrowed a red tinge coming to the edges at Hades words.

Thanatos: Someone like me? Are we back to that now? That gods like me are somehow lesser than you the victors? You maybe King here but death makes equals of everyone or is that a fact your have forgotten?

Hades anger flared to new peaks. He quickly stood his fists balled against the desk

Hades: You are older than me and have no business courting someone as young as her.

Thanatos stoods as well hands slamming on the desk.

Thanatos: Who I do or don’t court is no business of my employer.

Hecate clears her throat drawing the attention of both incensed males.

Hecate: He isn’t technically wrong. There is nothing in the corporate policies about divulging romantic partners. Currently the only topic corporate policy covers is the discouragement of inter office relationship and you sort of ruined your argument against that by your PTA display earlier.

Thanatos leaned back removing his hands from the desk and facing Hades at his full height. His still red tinged eyes locked with Hades.

Thanatos: If you had taken her home the night of that party neither of us would be in this mess in the first place. What were your intentions exactly ?

Hades gaze hardened to a straight murderous glare the loud sound of a cracking glass echoed through the room as crack suddenly appeared in the corner of the glass window behind him.

Hades: Do you dare imply that I had illicit intentions?

Thanatos glanced at the crack and then back at the livid Hades

Thanatos: You might be a late bloomer but it wouldn’t surprise me if you and your brothers are cut from the same cloth.

Hades: You are treading on very thin ice Thanatos.

Thanatos laughed but it was a bitter mocking sound.

Thanatos: I don’t have to tread I can fly. You won’t scare me this time Hades. I won’t betray her trust in me.

Hades felt absolutely rabid inside. How dare Thanatos question his motives. How dare he be the one to have her trust! He had tried to help her before but it seemed he had not done enough and Thanatos had stepped in to pick up the slack. Still he did not like the tone he was daring to take and he needed to be reminded he was playing with fire.

Hades: I am not asking you to betray her but I will not tolerate insubordination from my employees.

Thanatos fought the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious threat Did Hades honestly think he needed this job to survive? Sure he enjoyed it but he wouldn’t be homeless without it. He had been toiling at this job long before Hades had arrived. Someone had to collect the coins from the dead before Hades.

Hecate clapped her hands as she hopped down from her perch on the counter.

Hecate: I think the point has been made and we have arrived at a stalemate. Thanatos going forward try to be more careful and aware of the consequences of your actions.

Thanatos: Sure thing. Being in the tabloids has never been an aspiration of mine.

Hades: See that you don’t make a habit of it going forward. I have a duty to see to Kore’s safety and wellbeing while she is here in my relam. Do not become an obstacle to this duty.

Thanatos: It is in this realm where she faces the least amount of risk. I will excuse myself though.

Giving a mockery of a half bow he sees himself out leaving a confused Hecate and extremely annoyed Hades.

Hecate: What do you suppose he meant by that last bit?

Hades takes a deep calming breath combing his hand through his hair.

Hades: I do not know or care. I will speak with Kore myself and see if she is truly is as well as his attitude would seem to infer.

Persephone had just finished assisting Hermes in guiding the newest soul arrivals to processing when Thanatos arrived. To her surprise she noticed a tinge of red to his eyes that she knew all to well meant he was angry. Before she could question if all was well Hermes spoke up.

Hermes: Thanatos! Good morning! Still employed I take it ? My what red eyes you have! Who pissed in your porridge this morning?

Thanatos rolled his eyes seeming to have little patience for Hermes teasing at the moment.

Thanatos: I won’t be bullied by anyone for asinine reasons. Let’s just leave it at that and focus on work.

Hermes lips formed a distinct oooh of understanding and he nodded his assent.

Hermes: Well cool as long as you are still here. I have shown Persephone the ropes with regards to initial processing but I need to take a break for nature. Can you show her how we set about doing investigations on shades in limbo. I will join back up in a bit!

In typical Hermes fashion he didn’t wait for an answer and was gone before Thanatos could truly process his request. Sighing in defeat he took a deep breath before turning back to Persephone the red of his eyes now fading to the faintest hint of pink at the edges.

Thanatos: Seems like it is just me and you Princess. Guess we better get to it.

He turned to lead the way but stopped as he felt his robes suddenly tugged on. He looked back at her a brow raised in question

Persephone: Are you really okay?

Thanatos couldn’t help the small smile that came to his lips seeing the genuine concern and worry. She was adorable when she was worried. Like Eros had said a living cinnamon roll.

Thanatos: I am fine. I just got a tad hot under the collar. I promise I will tell you if I am ever not okay.

Persephone eyed him with obvious skepticism before inspriation struck and she released his robes and held up her pinkie to him.

Persephone: If you are going to promise you need to do it right.

Thanatos found it hard to hold back his laughter but seeing the seriousness of her face he choked it back and turned fully extending his own pinkie locking it with hers.

Thanatos: A promise linked between us. I expect you to fess up when you aren’t okay too.

Persephone smiled shaking their joined hands.

Persephone: That’s a deal. So where do we get started on these investigations.

Thanatos chuckled breaking his pinkie free of hers and pulled out a scroll from his robes.

Thanatos: We start at the end and work our way back of course.

Unfurling the scroll a list of about 10 names were displayed.

Thanatos: Oh good, we should get through the first step with a list this short easily before lunch. Come along as I said we have to start at the end and work our way back.

Persephone fell into step beside Thanatos brows furrowed with frustration.

Persephone: So by end you mean what exactly? Remember intern earth goddess here I am lost.

Thanatos tsked at her playfully.

Thanatos: Criticizing the professor will earn you demerits my pretty pupil. The end of course is the funeral or wake. You can learn a lot about a person when you listen in to the conversations of the attendees. Usually Hermes and I can find several threads to follow that makes searching through a person’s life scroll a lot less tedious.

Persephone: So do we take on human disguises or are we just eavesdropping without being seen?

Thanatos: It varies from case to case. Why? You do have the ability to take on a mortal guise right?

Persephone rubbed the back of her head looking a tad embarrassed.

Persephone: I have only tried once when I was young and mother got very angry with me so I might be a bit rusty.

Thanatos raised a brow in surprise. With the male gods in the upper echelons of power shape shifting came as easily as sneezing. He knew it wasn’t a skill only gifted to males though. Hera was well known for using her talents to expose others but mainly Zeus. So what reason could Demeter have to discourage the skill set in her daughter. He had never personally had the pleasure of meeting Persephone’s mother but he was starting to think he had been lucky for avoiding her. Arriving at the gate to the mortal realm he handed the scroll to Persephone and took the clipboard from the guard signing his and Persephone’s name along with the check out time.

Thanatos: I am sure your guise will be fine if it is needed. Ready for the long walk to the surface?

Persephone glanced past the gate seeing a small speck of daylight far in the distance and the winding stone steps to get there. She couldn’t help but sigh. She hated stairs. Still not wanting to seem like a whiner she put on her best smile and strode ahead past the slowly parting gates.

Persephone: Stairs are hardly walking but I think I can handle it. An old man like you though might have to take it easy.

Thanatos laughed all traces of pink now thankfully absent from his gaze Persephone noticed.

Thanatos: Respect your elders or I will fly to the exit and leave you here.

Persephone: You wouldn’t dare!

Thanatos lengthened his stride to pass her letting his wings smack her in the face once more reminiscent of their very first meeting.

Thanatos: It is becoming increasingly hard to live up to your grandiose expectations so I just might.

Their combined laughter and jabs echoed the entire way up to the entrance. Things were even louder on their return trip back for lunch as Hermes was telling a long winded tail he had heard about a goat farmer that had fallen into bad graces with Aphrodite. Signing back in they all quickly went to the changing rooms to redresss and head to lunch.

As they arrived at the company canteen Persephone was stuck trying to decide between having a gyro or salad. On one hand the salad was of course the healthy choice but on the other hand the gyro’s looked delicious.

Hecate: Chose the gyro. They are to die for.

Jumping at the sudden unexpected voice she turned to be greeted with Hecate’s one of a kind smile.

Persephone: Hecate! It’s so good to see you. Are you here for lunch too?

Hecate nodded grabbing two plates of Gyros placing one on Persephone’s tray and one on her own.

Hecate: You have to eat to live. Care to join me for lunch today?

Persephone glanced at Hermes and Thanatos seeing them already settled at a table. They probably wouldn’t mind. She had to leave after lunch anyhow to get to her afternoon classes.

Persephone: Sure! That would be nice. I may have to cut it a little short though. I have to get to school this afternoon.

Part 2 here

https://raphpanda21.tumblr.com/post/184469974250/aint-running-from-myself-no-more-im-ready-to

#greekgods #inspired #loreolympus #lore olympus #drabble #thanatos #persephone #hermes #hades #hecate

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justfangstvdto · 6 years

Text

Open Coffin | Chapter 18: “Walking the Razor´s Edge”

Pairing: Kol x SalvatoreSister!Reader

Chapter Summary: With the new, yet old threat upon them, Kol and the reader plotted a dangerous and outright ludicrous plan to gain the upper hand. But as it happens with most plans, there are always variables that can´t be precalculated.

Warnings: whole bunch of angst, tinges of fluff, fighting, weapons, moderate cliffhanger, typical tvd violence, canon divergence

Word count: 3897

Tags & Author Note at the bottom. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

Open Coffin Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

Fear.

A great motivator or the worst enemy. Like love or desperation, it makes you do questionable things. Some precalculated others impulsive and reckless, either way

It's safe to say you, as well as Kol, got wrapped in fear´s tight grasps, the realization slapping you in the face, that the moments you will create today might be your last. That is if the rumours of the white oak stake are true.

You spend the night, plotting and scheming, trying to foresee every possible outcome and strategy. What it boiled down to is a plan with help from the unlikeliest allies; Kol´s family.

Mae also offered her help, including every sparable Crow member.

But there is one simple question remaining; is your plan good enough?

Your fingers tip on the steering wheel, the underside of your daylight ring bumping against the porous leather. The car keys are still in the ignition, dangling with the motions as you bring the car to a hold in front of the Grill.

The wind is utterly still and the sun shines high in the sky with not a single cloud in the sky. But as it is with weather like this, there's a storm already lurking to drown out the sunshine. Just a change of temperature and the pendulum would swing the other way.

Funny how the weather reflects your current situation, as if who or whatever is in charge is holding up a big bright warning sign.

Yesterday, everything seemed so clear and it felt like things might be okay for once. And now,...you´re back where you started. Another enemy to outsmart, another fight to endure, another war to win. And you wonder if your relationship with Kol would remain the same if the wars were over. If there wouldn't be enemies to outsmart and fights to win, would you be the same?

“Y/N.” Kol´s voice doesn't quite reach you in your tunnel vision “Darling, stop.”

The touch of his hand pulls you back to reality and you´re met with a worried, but outworldly kind

“I´m sorry, I- “ You take a breath “We´re walking on the razor's edge her with all of this and I can't help but-”

“But to wish things were different,” Kol says, sharing the same feelings.

“Yeah. Is it so I just want to floor this car and get the hell out of doge.”

“Perhaps we should.” Kol shrugs. He knows that the apple pie life vision his mother orchestrated won't be reality any time soon, if at all, but he wants nothing more than to give you a moment to breathe. Because you seem desperate for a moment of utter serenity. And so is he himself, preferably as far away from the family that has nothing but forsaken him time and time again.

But for now, there's no escaping any of it.

“What about your siblings? If even one of them… “ You can't even finish the sentence, so horrid the thought “I can't take that chance. I can't lose you again.”

“You won't lose me.” Kol says, much more confident that he feels “This will not be the end of us.”

“But- “

“It won't.” He shakes his head.

“How do you know? It wouldn't be the first time fate screwed us over. Actually, I can roll out a list if you want.”

“A plan orchestrated by your brilliant mind accompanied by my wickedness can't possibly fail. Besides, if you´re half as determined like you were the first time I saw you, we have nothing to fear. “

“The first time you saw me I was scared shitless by your reputation. Little ordinary me against the infamous Kol Mikaelson. I was anything but determined.”

“You´re anything but ordinary, you´re a miracle. But that is not what I meant.” The confused look on your face raises the edges of his mouth into a smile “I saw you arrive in New Orleans with Mae. I didn't know who she was, but I knew at the first glance that you'll be trouble. I couldn't have been more accurate”

“Hey! I´m not that bad.” You extend your arm tp give him a slight push.

“You are. You have me wrapped around your fingers” He intervenes his fingers with yours, and brings it to his lips to press a gentle kiss on them.

“Don't tell me you're complaining.”

He shakes his head “I would never.”

“Good.” You smile at him and all the worry seems to be drowned out, like the short moment of silence when you´re passing under a bridge when it rains.

But this moment is as fleeting as the cover of the bridge. This time, however, it´s the clocktower in the distance, turning to another new hour.

“I guess it's now or never, right?” You sigh.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

The Grill is deserted, just like you wished it to be. Matt wasn't keen on leaving his workplace to you when you called him mere hours before opening, but the prospect of innocent people being harmed or killed if anyone tries to attack would be exceptionally worse.

“Have I mentioned how much I dread this town? We could be on the other side of the earth by now. Maybe at a beach somewhere with toes in the sand, or high up a mountain yelling profanities in the wind…..wouldn't that be nice?”

He laughs “And we will do just that.”

“If we survive dealing with the evil queen and her devil son.”

We...a word so simple and comforting yet so terrifying and skin-crawling at once. Kol must admit that he would never be tired of hearing it.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” You go on “Trusting him I mean?”

No. “For now it has to be.”

The door swings open, your entire being tensing up as you anticipate an incoming threat.

As it turns out you're not far off classifying the creature stepping in as exactly that.

“Speak of the devil and the devil will come,” Klaus announces himself.

Oh, how he loves an entrance.

“Nik, you made it!” Kol calls with a fake smile on his lips.

His excitement almost sounds believable. Almost.

Klaus looks around the empty chairs and booths, much to his displeasure. He wouldn't have had anything against a little bloodshed.

“And here I thought you two know how to have fun. What a pity.” He says

Having Klaus with you most likely is the worst part of your plan, but he's the one with the most targets on his back. You have to do whatever you can to protect him as well.

“We do, but we don't want to trouble any bystanders with your presence,” Kol replies, barely capable of standing his brother's company.

Klaus, on the other hand, laughs, taking Kol´s obvious truth of how he feels, as a joke. Or at least he's pretending to take it as that. With Klaus, you never know his true intentions - one thing you despise most about him.

“You´re an awfully good mood considering your mother wants to kill you.”

“Some might be scared in the face of death, me, I revel in it.”

Liar.

You saw the surprise in his eyes when you told him about his mother's plans yesterday, at the ball. He's scared shitless and you can't help but feel the slightest bit amused.

“So are we gonna day drink, or what?” You hop off the barstool on and walk behind the fully stocked bar. Numbing alcohol might not be the most genius idea when you're expecting a fight, but what else is there to do? Besides, enduring Klaus presence only works well while not being sober.

Kol changes seats, switching from the far left to the middle to get as much space between you and Klaus. He's not taking any chances.

“So I'm guessing, bourbon, bourbon and for me...bourbon?” You point your finger two both of them and yourself, sliding glasses over the sleek surface, filling them up generously.

The vibrating of your phone alerts you, and you look at it, reading the text message while returning to your seat “It's Mae.” You tell your original companions “She still searching for the spell to unlink you, but she might be able to locate the remaining white oak.”

“You and Maeyra friends...now there's a revelation I did not see coming.” Klaus smiles, tracing his finger on the edge of his glass “People quake only with the sound of her name, never in my dreams would I guessed you, oh so dutiful Y/N, could be one of her Crows.”

Crows, the bringers of death...You haven't heard that name in years.

“What can I say, I'm full of surprises.” You shrug “But as good as it was, I´m not part of her group anymore, thanks to you.”

In truth, there was more to it than that, but Kol´s daggering on Christmas 1914 was certainly the turning point.

“What about you, brother?” Kol weighs in, turning the tables on Klaus for once “She seemed to hate you as much as everyone else in this pathetic town. What did you do?”

“Now why would you assume I am to blame?”

“Oh, I don´t know, a thousand years of experience?”

If looks could kill, Klaus would´have been buried, dug up and killed once more for good measure

“That's not quite the accurate number, now is it? I remember there were several ... dark years.” Klaus says, the triumphing smile on his face sickening.

Kol knuckles are white with the force his fingers dig into the fabric of his pants, restraining himself from running the plan with his rage.

You grasp his hand holding it under the extended bar surface, and he calms, slowly but surely letting go of the tension.

“How about you don't evade the question and just answer it for once. What did you do?” You weigh in.

In all the time you spend with Mae and her people, she rarely talked about anything regarding herself. There were only a few times where she talked about her past. At that time you didn't mind, you didn't really care either, but considering how she glared at him, you are more than curious

“Well, Maeyra was...difficult to control. I as former King of the Quarter and she the Queen of the Underground did not find common ground.”

Those two King and Queen of two kingdoms. Sounds like a horrifying combination.

“And I assume you took something from her like you always do regain said control?” You ask, knowing Klaus´ ways to well for comfort. Observing him all those years finally pays out it seems.

“I am afraid so. I took away what she held most dear.” Klaus says, his smile fading for but a second. If you don't know him better, you could think it was regret that overshadowed him. But it's Klaus. There is not a single remorseful bone in his body.

“And what would that be?” Kol digs deeper.

There hasn't been much Mae held dear, except her principles and her people. And one other precious part she lost. Her powers.

“You turned her.” You conclude “And with that, you took away her powers.”

No wonder she couldn't look him in the eye. How could she? He took away her identity, drowning it in blood.

“Yet another victim stuck in your path of destruction, does it ever end?” Kol glares at him, disgusted by his brother actions. Kol´switch affinity makes the matter much worse.

“I presume you'll never know, will you, brother?” His voice is even, but there is no mistaking the deadly intent in it.

You have de-escalated the situation before it gets out of hand.

“Let's not bring up the past. We´re here to celebrate our newly found peace, aren't we?” You say, the word peace sickening in Klaus presence “How about we kill time with a good ol´ fashioned round of pool?”

“Now that's an idea I fully support,” Klaus says, quickly emptying his glass before jumping off the barstool.

Someone seems suspiciously excited.

A few rounds of pool later…

The air in the room completely shifted once you´ve played your fourth round. The tension has fallen to a bare minimum and there were even a few laughs and jokes exchanged.

If someone would've told you, you and Kol would play pool with Klaus you'd probably punch them in the face. And then punch them again for good measure.

Luckily it's all just playing pretend.

Or is it?

Amidst the game, Klaus receives a text message, and he excuses himself for a few moments.

“Is it just me or was too good to be true?” You ask Kol as you join him on the other side of the pool table “ He's scheming again, isn't he?”

“Most likely.”

Kol can't help but wonder who is on the other end of that text message. Is it his mother? Would Klaus stoop so low as to make a deal to spare his own life?

“I guess we need another bottle then. I´m gonna go and look for the good stuff in the basement. This one is starting to burn a hole in my stomach” You press a peck on his lips “Be right back”

Kol leans on his hand holding the cue, looking at the current alignment of balls on the pool table. One, in particular, sparks his attention. He moves the 8 ball away from the next shot he has his eyes on, giving himself more room to win.

“I was hoping to get you alone,” Damon says, the door swinging closed behind him.

“Stealing lines now, are we?” Kol says “ And here I thought you learned your lesson.

“Yeah, I've never been the best student.” Damon shrugs.

“Very well then.” Kol breaks the cue in half “I think I have to teach you some manners.”

The sound of breaking furniture reaches through the open basement door, your heart dropping to your knees. Panic fills your veins, as you ascend the stairs speeding into the main room almost dripping over a bloody cue.

Kol lands a hard punch on Damon´s jaw, right as you step in, the bones cracking in impact.

All around, narrow gashes cut into the wood floor as though it is soft as flesh. The air crackles with tension, electrified with the polarising emotions in the room.

You´re frozen in place, not knowing If you should add to the tension or eliminate it. One strategy turns into two, doubles into 4 and still, you´re not moving.

The door swings open and Alaric comes in, armed to the teeth with various weapons including first and foremost a sawed-off shotgun presumably filled with wooden bullets.

Damon that bastard brought backup.

“Y/N, go!” Kol yells as he twists Damon´s hand away from his neck. The last thing he wants is you to get hurt because if his unfortunate relationship with his family.

Damon seizes Kol´s distraction and lands a punch himself and you shift your weight on the balls of your feet, ready to lunge at them.

“I don't think so” The clicking of Alaric's loaded gun interrupts your momentum “Don't move.”

The cold metal presses into your backside, but you don´t evade your eyes. You keep them locked on Kol who kicks Damon into a nearby table with his foot. He would be dead already if Kol could bring himself to kill him. But he can´t. He knows that you would never forgive him, even though you´re not on the best terms with your brothers.

While Damon groans in pain, Kol looks back, your eyes locking.

You share a nod, the silent communication enough to convey your strategy.

It's nothing you haven't done before.

You turn around and grab Alaric's gun at the barrel, pushing it upwards to collide with Alaric´s nose. He stumbles back and blood begins to spill from his nostrils.

Alaric might be a skilled hunter, but he lacks supernatural speed.

“I don't want to hurt you. You should leave.” You tell him, hoping that for once he would choose his life over his hunter duties.

“Are you alright?” You ask Kol looking over your shoulders briefly, the scene of Damon unconscious on the floor.

“Your brother is relentless,” Kol says, moderately impressed

“I know. He's like a cockroach sometimes.”

You turn our attention back to Alaric that groaning on the ground. Never turn your back on a hunter - the 101 of vampire survival.

But there´s another addition to that rule; never turn your back on a Salvatore either.

Kol's scream of agony feels like someone´s scraping your insides with sharp, hot nails. You turn around, just to witness the dagger's tip pierce his heart. He falls to his knees.

“1 point for cockroach,” Damon says and gives the dagger another push.

Kol´s legs give out and he falls to his knees, the whisper of your name on his lips as he loses consciousness.

“NO!”

Devastation overcomes your whole being as the same words keep repeating in your mind; It's all your fault, it's all your fault, it's all your fault…

If he wouldn't have been distracted Damon would already be unconscious with a broken neck. You did this to him.

Failure

A range of emotion fills your being; guilt, devastation, failure - but with them another, revving emotion arises like a lifeboat amidst the ocean;

Anger.

And anger build out of fear is the most deadly forms of it all.

Not even the piercing pain of one of Alaric´s wooden projectiles, barely missing your heart nor the feeling of your knees touching the blood dripped floor distract you from the reviving qualities anger brings.

Your skin feels as if layered with a filter, red-hot burning, tipping the scale

Alaric's boots bend the floor behind you, the tips pressing into your backside.

There's only one strategy remaining: steering the boat against the current. Or to simplify it; to go balls to the wall.

“Game over,” Alaric says, his voice slightly muffled as he wipes his bleeding nose with his sleeve.

Your sinister laugh bounches of the walls, the volume surprising yourself.

“Oh, really?”

Ignoring the piercing pain you slide your foot over the floor, colliding with Alaric's feet: He loses his balance, and he falls backwards, his head colliding with the floor. You rip the stake out of your chest with as much care as you can, the groan falling from your lips sounding more like a growl. You throw the stake to the side, the sound of it bouncing on the floor before it rolls away fills the empty room.

You crawl over to Alaric who's lying flat on his back, still heaving for air. You get a hold of the hem of his shirt, yanking him in your direction and you trap his head between your thighs, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Alaric struggles to free himself, his balled fist slamming on the floor as the air drains out of him. He struggles, shifts - even scratches but to no avail.

If you were a mere human, it would take about 60 seconds for them to squeeze another person´s air out of his lungs, luckily due to your semi-immortality, I takes much less before Alaric passes out due to lack of oxygen.

You release him and jump to your feet without any struggle.

Now to deal with your backstabbing brother.

“Damon!!” You growl, blood from your pierced intestine spilling from your mouth.

Fury colours your vision red as you growl his name, your voice echoing in the empty room. You pick up Alaric´s gun filled with wooden bullets on your way out, your gaze not wavering from your target.

Target….that's all he is at this point.

Damon looks back and your eyes meet. Yours seem darker and scarier in the distance, and he turns around, hurrying to get Kol out of the open door into the alleyway. When he looks back a second time he's met with Klaus hands around his neck, the skin already greying from the joined effect of the dagger.

“I should've killed you months ago,” Klaus growls, ready to rip him apart if need be.

“Get your hands off him.” You say, your voice dangerously calm as you walk out into the darkening alley “He's mine.”

Klaus brows shoot up in surprise. He might have underestimated you after all. He lets go of Damon's neck and drugs out of the line of fire. His hands wrap around the dagger in Kols heart in an instant, pulling it out.

How ironic to see Klaus retract a dagger for once.

You close the distance between you and Damon with a few fast steps until he´s pressed against the brick wall, the barrel of the gun resting against his heart.

Klaus watches the scene unfold, observing how far you would go with the upper hand you´ve been dealt.

“You're not gonna shoot me.” Damon shakes his head.

“Oh, you vastly underestimate my character.”

In the shadowed alleyway only you can see the look in his eyes as he looks down at the barrel. he's terrified.

Good.

A/N: Damn. Someone needs to take chill pill, amirite? Not that I didn´t enjoy writing anger fueled action scenes :D But what did you think? Any form of feedback/constructive criticism is as always welcome.

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#kol x reader #tvd imagine #tvd #the vampire diaries #kol mikaelson fanfic #open coffin

81 notes · View notes

randomnessunicorn-imagine · 6 years

Note

I just found out how much of an asshole one of my coworkers is. S/o heard about the Sanses has this one asshole coworker who's being mean to him, the next day that coworkers come back at work, all wet, dirty, stinky, and totally pissed, apparently lots of bad things happens to coworker when they are on the way to workplace as if someone put pranks on them. The monster comes home and tell s/o about it, s/o replied:"Oh really?" before s/o continue minding their business, obviously in a good mood.

{ So… it’s like S/O does not care about Sans’ feelings?! I have understood this…}

💦 Sansy 💦

This world is hard and he has deceived himself until now.He thought the life on the surface could be easier but maybe he was wrong. He lost himself in mere hopes and dreams (it’s something strange for him because he is usually wary).Maybe his brother’s enthusiasm has affected Sans because Papyrus was so happy to discover every part of the surface and Sans has forgotten that humans are still humans and they can be true assholes when they want.His co-worker is a racist and an insolent because he hates monsters and he always insults Sans without a reason. In that place, there are so many people who hate monsters but some of them just ignore Sans but they never do a thing to help him. He feels so alone. He has never cared about others’ opinions but he is sick and tired of these jerks. He just wants to live a calm life with you and anything else. He also hoped you could cheer him up after this shitty day but you just say “really”? and Sans is perplexed but he does not say anything. He ignores you and he tries to ignore his feelings as he has always done.

💢 Reddy 💢

Ouch, he hates working and it’s the thing he hates the most because he does not want to have people around. They stress him because everyone is an asshole (as if he was an angel, he’s the king of assholes).Sans is not the kind of person who takes bullshit and he always answers when someone insults him. If they insult him, he insults them, too. It’s a war and they are not going to win. He does not care if they are his boss or superior, he sends them to hell anyway and he hopes they will burn as they deserve. He could even use violence or hit them whit one of his bones’ attacks. Yes, he’s not innocent and he actually likes kicking their fat assess.When he comes back home, he just does not want to talk with anybody but you ask him what’s wrong because he seems furious. He is furious!He does not like talking about his problems especially if you don’t care. Your reaction is so indifferent and you just say “really?” as if you are surprised. Then he goes to his room slamming the door. He does not want to have anybody around.

💦 Blueberry 💦

This day has been very stressing for the little skeleton.He is never angry and he tries to see the bright side of everything but his co-worker crossed the line and he has told terrible things about Sans.It’s weeks that asshole torments him only because he is small. They call Sans brat, kid, little skull or infant and all the other colleagues laugh about him. It’s awful!He has all the patience of the world but it’s enough. He has never been so hated before because he is used to have wonderful people around him. Everyone loves him so he cannot believe in this world there is someone who cannot stand him… Yes, we cannot be liked by everyone but they should ignore Sans if they don’t like him. Sans is very frustrated and he wants to find a new job.He is full of talents and skills and it won’t be hard for him finding a job where he will be appreciated as he deserves. They don’t deserve him!When he comes home, you ask him why he is so sad and he does not cry but his voice is so low. He hopes you could listen and understand him but you only say “really?” as if this is not important. As if you don’t want to listen to his complains. He just goes to sleep and the next day he quits his horrid job.

💢 Blackberry 💢

Anybody has the right to criticize him because he is the greatest and they are little shits!Sans has already beaten his stupid co-worker. He has cut their tongue and forced them to swallow it and then Sans has tortured them until they said “sorry” but Sans has not understood a thing since they have not their tongue anymore. They have learnt their lesson and the next time they will think twice before telling bullshit about the magnificent and fearsome Sans.All his colleagues have been quite for the rest of the day and Sans enjoyed the silence of the working place. Nobody is going to break his balls any longer because everyone is scared of him.When he comes back at home, you can notice a satisfied grin on his face and it’s the same grin he has when he comes back from hunting so you understand something is wrong. He tells you about his day with all the details of his torture. He explains to you how he has cut their tongue and how they have screamed for mercy. Actually, you have not said anything after it and you go to the bedroom, throwing up your entire lunch.

#ask #hamsterandtrianglenose #undertale #underswap #underfell #fellswap #undertale headcanons #undertale scenarios #undertale imagines #underswap sans #undertale sans #underfell sans #fellswap sans #sans #x reader

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megabadbunny · 6 years

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Minuet, Part V

She wonders if it’s midnight, yet, if her carriage will poof back into a pumpkin and her gown return to rags.

(Certainly no prince will come calling after her, not after the way she behaved tonight.)

***

(ten/rose angsty post-gitf au/fixit; this part (and all parts on ff.net) is sfw (minor exception for brief language); be warned that the next chapter has teh smuts <3)

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Minuet, Part V

Beneath a canopy of ever-brightening lightning dancing across the sky, dazzling white slicing through a canvas of sapphire-blues and bruise-purples and ominous reds, the afternoon slowly slides into the evening. Certainly, Rose is sure things happen during this time; she’s equally sure she has no idea what they are, and she doesn’t care.

(Uruud shows her to her room. It’s fine. It’s a room. It’s got a bed. Before Rose has a chance to poke around anymore than that, Mickey stops by with an invitation—We’re off to do some investigating, fancy a ride-along?—and that look on his face, all nervousness and uncertainty mixed with apprehensive hope, just cements in Rose’s mind how very bad everything is, if the Doctor can’t even be arsed to come in here himself like he normally would. Rose begs off in favor of a nap, and ignores the worry that plays across Mickey’s face after. But it wasn’t entirely a lie, because blessedly, the bed has got a canopy to block out the light-show blaring through the glass ceiling above, and the temptation to smother her woes in an ocean of silky bedclothes and feather-stuffed pillows is indeed quite strong. But Rose just sits on the bed instead, arms crossed and toes tapping and eyes staring at nothing in particular while her brain replays the last twelve hours like some kind of horrid sitcom on syndication, playing over and over and over and over.)

Right on schedule, the first ritual begins—or rather, the first “ritual”, as Rose thinks of it, considering that even if it’s presented like a Therran Communion, it seems a lot more like a threadbare excuse for the guests at the Temple to pull on fancy clothes and get blind-stinking drunk. Normally, the whole thing might delight Rose, the chance to doll up and immerse herself completely in the local culture, taste a range of fine alien libations and make new friends and maybe even flirt a little, but now it just seems sort of pointless and silly, a bunch of children playing at being adults with their fancy-dress and their fermented Britvic.

(Uruud brings a gown for Rose to wear to dinner. Rationally, she recognizes that it’s quite an elegant thing, all slim-fitted bodice and voluminous skirts and Prussian blue velvety-softness; less rationally, after Mickey pops back by her room with news of his and the Doctor’s escapades—Can’t find that High Chauncery bloke anywhere, none of the Votaries know where he’s got off to, what do you think of that?—Rose wonders how the fabric would hold up if she tore it to straps and fashioned herself an escape rope, climbing out the window and deserting this stupid fancy place and its even stupider guests like a princess absconding from her tower. Planet-consuming lightning storms can’t be all that dangerous, right?)

Dinner takes place, at some point, somewhere. A grand hall, probably, but Rose is three swallows deep into her third (or fourth?) glass of so-called “ritual wine” and things are starting to get just the littlest bit blurry around the edges. Mostly she notices that the hall is packed full of people, and it’s loud, and there’s food, and a whole host of traditions accompanying it all. Each food item is laden with symbolic meaning, and eaten only after a session of chant-and-repeat, the entire dining hall buzzing with the rhythmic hum of people reciting scripture, lifting their faces toward the lightning scrawling overhead. Rose moves her lips along with everyone else, if only not to disrespect Uruud and the other Votaries, and after, she dutifully places the food into her mouth and chews and swallows, because it’s there, and she should, regardless of the protests of the seized-up beartrap that seems to have replaced her stomach. Probably some of the food she eats is tasty, and some of it isn’t. She doesn’t notice one way or the other.

(Uruud is kind enough to help Rose with her hair and makeup, styling both after the latest high Therran fashions, all gently sculptural curls and dew-glittering glaze painted on her skin. The whole process is so mirror-reminiscent of her time in France that Rose can’t decide whether to laugh or cry; in an effort to convince herself that she has, in fact, been rescued by the Doctor, and is not still somehow trapped millennia in the past surrounded by strangers and unknown customs and unspoken rules, she asks Uruud any and every question she can think of, and absorbs herself in their replies. She inquires about their choice to become a Votary (they were Called) and if they’ve got any family (two parents, three siblings) and the meaning of the ornamental dots on each Therran’s face (one dot for every Allstorm they’ve survived, according to tradition hearkening back to the ancient times, and with a smile, Uruud places a gem beneath Rose’s lower lip, gifting her with a temporary honorary badge of her own). Rose encourages them to speak until the words flow as freely as the wine outside, and privately takes comfort in the paint they brush over her skin. When they’re done, Rose’s collarbone sparkles as if covered with a necklace, her glitters as if topped with a tiara, and her back could almost sport a pair of wings glinting in the flashing light. It feels like a shield, a second skin, a mask, one that doesn’t slip even when Rose reunites with Mickey and the Doctor in the dining hall and the latter barely manages to spare her a glance.)

Downing the rest of her fourth (possibly fifth) glass of wine, Rose tries not to stare at Mickey and the Doctor, but it’s sort of difficult considering that they’re seated directly across from her. They both look quite sharp in their suits, tailored to perfection by talented Votaries, Rose assumes. (Distinctly tuxlike, their suits are; Rose wonders if they requested them specifically or if tuxes are just some sort of universal standard, somehow.) Between that and the Doctor’s customary chattiness, it isn’t long before most of the occupants of their table start leaning in to hear more from this fascinating couple, this charming Doctor fellow and his pretty-boy husband Mickey.

(Unfortunately, Rose suspects there’s nothing Uruud can do to help her with that particular mess.)

“And how did you two get together?” asks a friendly cat-person, ears swiveled forward in interest.

“He stole my girlfriend,” Mickey deadpans.

Clapping him on the back, the Doctor laughs. “Aww, what a sense of humor my beloved has!” he chuckles. “We did meet through Rose, actually—yes, that’s her right there, across the table, hullo Rose—but there was no romance involved. At least, not at first,” he adds with a wink sent Mickey’s way, and Rose struggles not to roll her eyes, or throw up, or both. “That’s all he meant. Isn’t that right, Honey Bear?”

“Sure is, Fudge Nugget.”

“See, Rose and I met through her workplace. You know how it goes, she’s closing up shop, you’re scheduled to do demolition on said shop, you run into each other on the lift in a classic meeting-your-future-husband’s-best-mate-meetcute. Instant friendship! Wouldn’t you say, Pootsy-Pie?”

“Whatever you say, Pudgy McGee.”

“Let’s just say Rose found me very charming, once upon a time,” the Doctor continues, “and Mickey here, feeling jealous that someone was encroaching on the territory of his best mate—that’s Rose, hullo again, Rose—well, he decided that he should find out what all this cattywhumpus was about, meet this Doctor bloke that Rose couldn’t stop raving over. And the rest, as they say, is history. Wouldn’t you agree, my little Muffin Top?”

“You got it, Sugar Tits.”

Rose watches as the Doctor chokes on his wine and Mickey pats him on the back perhaps just a little more enthusiastically than the situation warrants. The Doctor shoots him a teeth-gritted grin afterward and Mickey just smiles the universe’s most beatific serene smile. And that, for whatever reason, inspires Rose with a funny little thought.

“My dear Doctor,” she says sweetly, indulging in a delicate sip of her wine, “that’s all very good and well, but you must realize that isn’t actually what our friend here was asking. She wants to know about how the two of you became a couple.”

Rose locks eyes with him over the table, affecting a friendly smile. “She wants to know how the two of you fell in love.”

It’s doubtful that anyone else at the table registers the shadow that flickers over the Doctor’s face; it’s gone as soon as it appears, and the Doctor answers with barely a hitch.

“Well, I think I’ve hogged the spotlight long enough,” he says to Mickey. “Why don’t you tell them, my love?”

Mickey’s glee can barely restrain itself, oozing out the seams as he grins like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, no, my pet,” he says, planting his elbows on the table and his chin in both hands, watching the Doctor with adoring eyes, “I insist that you tell them. You do it so wonderfully, after all.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” replies the Doctor, his voice only a little strained as everyone aww’s around them, and Rose bites her lip to keep from laughing.

“So, that part of the story is—here we come to a part that’s—well, it’s a little difficult to know where to start, is all,” the Doctor says, tugging nervously on one ear. “It just feels like we’ve been in love for so long, you see, that it’s all sort of rolled together into one giant…love mass. Sort of like, y’know. The Thing or something.”

“Oh, stop that,” Rose laughs. “He’s just being shy,” she tells the rest of the table. “He doesn’t want any of you to know about all the late-night chats the two of us had together, with him just gushing on and on about how wonderful Mickey was, how handsome he is, how lucky the Doctor is to have him, all that.”

“Ah, that might be just the slightest smidge of an exaggeration—”

“No, no, go on,” Mickey says, his grin widening until his face might split from it. “Tell everyone how wonderful I am!”

“He’d wax poetical for hours about the beauty of Mickey’s eyes,” Rose says when the Doctor doesn’t reply.

“Can’t blame him, they’re quite nice,” Mickey adds.

“He’d talk about how safe and warm he felt in Mickey’s arms.”

“Front-row tickets to the gunshow, right here.”

“But by far, I think his very favorite thing about Mickey has always been his intellect,” Rose continues, choking down her laughter as the Doctor’s mouth purses thinner and thinner. “In fact, I used to stay up late reassuring him that, no, Mickey wasn’t too smart for him—”

“Aww, babe,” says Mickey, looping an arm around the Doctor’s shoulders.

“—but he just insisted that no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be Mickey’s intellectual equal,” Rose says, disguising her snickers as a cough. “In fact, after their first kiss, the Doctor called me straightaway to tell me—”

“His hands,” the Doctor blurts out, and everyone at the table turns back to him.

“Sorry?” asks the cat-person from earlier.

The Doctor doesn’t spare a glance for her; his eyes are locked squarely on Rose.

“Just—they’re nice hands,” the Doctor says, with a shrug. “Good for holding. That’s what it’s really all about, isn’t it? A hand to hold. Wouldn’t you say, Rose?”

She doesn’t reply; she’s too busy watching his fingers as they entwine with Mickey’s hand on his shoulder, and once again, the table lights up with the sounds of an audience enraptured, the cat-person pressing her paw to her chest at the cuteness of it all. The conversation starts again, picking up where it left off, but it’s all just white noise to Rose’s ears now as she watches Mickey and the Doctor resituate themselves to clasp their hands together atop the table, practically beneath Rose’s nose. The Doctor even finishes his dinner one-handed to accommodate the whole thing, eating and drinking with his left hand like he does it all the time, and it might all be terribly funny if his thumb wasn’t absentmindedly stroking over Mickey’s knuckle, the way it does with Rose.

The way it used to do.

Something about the mindless meaninglessness of the gesture sets klaxons blaring in Rose’s head, screaming at her for her stupidity, for ever thinking anything the Doctor did anything meaningful, for ever thinking she was anything more than a joke to him, just a joke, a joke, a worthless stupid joke and nothing he says ever means anything and you’re an idiot for ever thinking it did and the words ricochet around her skull over and over until she drowns it out with another glass of wine.

“Good stuff, isn’t it?” the Doctor asks cheerfully, and a second later, Rose realizes he’s talking to her. “Therran wine is quite lovely—when you’re not choking on it, anyway.”

The other occupants at the table laugh politely, nodding along.

“Just a tad potent, though,” the Doctor adds. “A few glasses is really all anyone needs. Everything in moderation, hm?”

He looks at Rose meaningfully, eyes darting to the glass in her hand. She wonders if he’s been keeping track of her intake this whole time, if he’s trying to say, in that stupid precious roundabout way of his, that she’s had enough, maybe more than. Probably the Doctor is right, but then again, probably if he thinks she should stop, then probably he should just come out and say it. She’s bloody well sick of all this dancing around.

With a serene smile of her own, Rose pours herself another glass. “Cheers to moderation,” she says, tilting the glass in a toast before she downs its contents in one gulp.

“Cheers!” shouts Mickey and everyone else along the table, following suit with their glasses clinking and wine-draining after, but the Doctor doesn’t drink, doesn’t cheer, doesn’t tear his eyes away from Rose. She forces herself to hold his gaze, wills her face to turn to stone so nothing can show through. If he can do it whenever he wants, then so can she.

“Well, aren’t we having a lovely time?” purrs a soft voice behind Rose, and she turns to see the scarlet-dressed woman from earlier, now swathed in a crimson gown so gorgeous it makes Rose’s eyes water. “Whatever is happening over here, it’s far more fascinating than the events transpiring at my table.”

“Ah, then you should join us!” declares the Doctor. “Not at the table, though. We were just leaving.”

The woman piques an immaculate eyebrow in interest. “Oh?” she says. “Leaving for where?”

“Yeah,” Mickey says, confused, and Rose’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Leaving for where?”

“Not entirely sure yet, but I thought we might nose about a bit,” explains the Doctor, standing up from the table. “Get the lay of the land, go for the inside scoop, poke our beaks in where they aren’t wanted, so to speak. See what we can learn about this Allstorm business and why it’s suddenly taking place over the course of a month instead of a handful of days. The Votaries don’t seem to know anything, the computers are functionally worthless, and for the life of me I can’t seem to find any trace of the High Chauncery anywhere.”

Nodding, the woman frowns. “He has not been seen for many years now, it’s true,” she says slowly.

“Exactly. For all intents and purposes, he’s vanished, along with anyone else who might have a clue about what’s going on. It’s all just a little bit funny, don’t you think?”

In her peripheral vision, Rose sees Mickey trying to catch her eye—he’s alarmed at the Doctor’s sudden candor with this stranger, she knows. But Rose doesn’t share his gaze, or his worries. She knows exactly what the Doctor is doing, or what it feels like he’s doing, anyway, and she’s too busy sensing every ounce of the acid boiling up in her throat to weigh Mickey’s concerns.

“Oh, my,” the woman is saying now. “A conspiracy theory. How intriguing!”

“It is, at that. Would you care to join us?”

As if she can sense the daggers that Rose is glaring at the Doctor—or if she can see them, which, she probably can, Rose is fairly certain she’s being none-too-subtle at the moment—the woman glances between the two of them, hesitating. “I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“Excellent,” Rose interjects, only wobbling a little bit as she stands up from the table. “We’ll just see you around, then—”

“Oh, nonsense, it’s no intrusion, none at all,” interrupts the Doctor, circling round the table so he can extend an elbow to the woman. “Shall we?”

Once again, the woman looks back at Rose (what, is she asking permission? Is she gloating?) before accepting the Doctor’s offer, threading her arm through his with a gracious “I think we shall.”

Without waiting for Rose (or even his supposed husband, for that matter), the Doctor takes off, arm-in-arm with the strange woman. Rose watches them as they stride away, her hands balling into fists. Nonplussed, Mickey turns around just long enough to offer Rose a confused shrug before he jogs after the Doctor and his newfound friend, or the latest thing that captured his five-second attention span, or whatever this woman is.

Sighing darkly, Rose swipes a bottle of wine off a passing tray and starts drinking.

Naami, as the woman introduces herself, soon proves herself to be quite charming (not two minutes after they’ve left the dining hall, and already Mickey and the Doctor are more relaxed than they’ve been all day) as well as delicately humorous (as evidenced by Mickey and the Doctor’s smiles and laughter, and not in that polite why you do with strangers at a party) not to mention annoyingly diplomatic (as proven by her continual attempts to rope Rose into the conversation, no matter how noncommittal Rose’s responding hums and grunts become). She’s also devastatingly insightful, if the Doctor’s eager conversation with her regarding Therran politics and society are anything to go by. In short, Naami turns out to be the sort of person that’s difficult to hate—which, of course, only makes you want to hate them all the more.

“So, Rose,” says Naami conversationally—as if the four of them aren’t creeping quietly through the Temple archives, as if the Doctor didn’t break them in with the sonic so he could hack into the information network, as if they aren’t all constantly swiveling at every tiny noise and every flash of light up above because what if it’s a guard this time?—“Far be it from me to eavesdrop, but even from my table, I heard quite a bit about your companions this evening, and very little of you. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

She shoots Rose a winning smile, perfect teeth framed by ideal sweetheart-shaped lips, and it lights up something somewhere in the dimming recesses of Rose’s alcohol-warmed brain. It occurs to her that this woman, this upper-class, gold-gilded, well-mannered prat, can probably smell an Estate girl from a hundred miles away, just like half the shrews at the French court before Reinette set them all to rights, or a shark scenting blood on the water. Any other day, Rose’s hackles might rise at the thought, but now, she just chuckles under her breath, swaying ever-so-slightly on her feet. What has she got to be ashamed of, what has she got to hide? It isn’t like she can make this woman’s opinion of her any worse, nor, at this point, would she even care if she did.

“Pretty general question. Why don’t you be more specific?” Rose asks, swigging from her bottle.

“All right. Where did you grow up?”

“A nice, big ol’ trash-heap in the middle of nowhere,” Rose replies brightly.

Mickey clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “Oh, come on, Rose. The Estate’s not that bad.”

“Sure it’s not, if you don’t mind a surplus of graffiti and crime and overflowing trash bins,” Rose shoots back. “Next question?”

The briefest flash of uncertainty flickers across Naami’s features before she tries again, her smile sliding back into place like it never left. “What inspired you to go traveling with Mickey and the Doctor?”

“Eh, you know how it is. Girl like me, you’ve got three options: the bloke who hits you, the bloke who cheats on you, or the bloke who promises you adventure and then up and changes his personality on you, dragging you around like so much baggage from star to star,” Rose counts off, steadfastly ignoring whether or not the Doctor reacts to any of the words streaming out of her mouth. “So I figure, hey, at least with the last option, I’m out of the house. Next?”

“Erm, very well, then,” says Naami, brow knitted in concern before she opts for what surely must seem like safe territory. “What about your friends, your significant other, your family? Tell me about them.”

“Sure thing,” Rose replies, downing another gulp of wine. “Which one would you like to hear about first—my single, lonely, unemployed mum, or my dead dad?”

“Jesus, Rose,” Mickey breathes, as Naami’s eyes widen with shock. Rose absolutely expects her to form that perfect mouth into the shape of a pout, her big beautiful eyes brimming with false tears as sublime and round as the most luxurious of pearls while she gently pats Rose’s hand, trying to hide her cringe as her delicate princess-skin comes into contact with such a low commoner, all while she murmurs some retch-worthy patronizing claptrap about Oh, you poor thing, you poor wretched little thing, no wonder these generous two men took such pity on you, no wonder you’re all alone.

Rose nearly jumps out of her skin when Naami gently grasps her shoulder instead. “My gods, I’m so sorry,” Naami says quietly, and—and is Rose imagining things, or does she look like she actually means it? “Was it—was it very recent?”

Taken aback, Rose stammers, searching for words, but Naami just shakes herself. “Oh, of course, I’m so sorry, my dear; of course you don’t want to talk about such things with a stranger,” she says. “I only thought to ask because you seemed unusually out-of-sorts for someone attending the Allstorm celebration, and stupid me, I’m nosy even on the best of days and that just makes it even more of a problem with the attraction to emotionally unavailable people—but you didn’t ask about all that, I’m sorry, I’m babbling!”

She takes Rose’s free hand in both of hers, and she looks so sincere, so bleeding earnest, that Rose can’t help but believe her. “Please forgive my impudence,” Naami says, “and please accept my condolences for you and your mother. What a dreadful thing to happen. I’m really so sorry, darling.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Naami,” the Doctor pipes up, typing away at a computer terminal and frowning when he doesn’t like what he sees. “It happened a long time ago.”

“Yeah,” Rose replies, her voice shaking. “Why be upset about that when there are so many more current things to be angry about?”

The clickety-clack of the Doctor’s fingers over the keyboard grows a little louder, his fingers tapping the keys just a little harder. “Or perhaps you could retire for the night, stop drinking for five entire minutes.”

“Oi, now, am I gonna have to separate you two?” Mickey jokes feebly, but Rose ignores him.

“Why, what’s wrong, Doctor?” she asks. “Am I embarrassing you?”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” is the quiet reply.

Shame floods through Rose, leaving her lightheaded. Distantly, she hears Mickey snapping at the Doctor, hears the anger in his voice as he leaps to her defense, but she can’t hear his actual words over the sound of her blood rushing in her ears; she can only feel the hot anger of them, and the cool nothingness of the Doctor’s nonexistent reply. Rose’s cheeks burn and her stomach churns and she feels like she might be sick.

“Actually, I could do with a bit of a rest myself,” Naami tells Rose, her well-manicured hands fidgeting nervously. “Would you like company on your walk back, Rose?”

“No, ta,” says Rose tiredly, avoiding looking Naami in the eye; it’s exhausting to be so wrong about so many things all in one day, and she’s not quite ready to admit to herself that Naami may actually be a decent person, that maybe she lashed out at her without reason. Just another thing to make her want to curl up into herself like a pillbug until she dries out on the front porch, nothing but a hollow little husk left behind. “Don’t worry. He’s all yours.”

She leaves before anyone can stop her, skirts gathered in one hand, wine bottle in the other. Before too long, she finds her room again and slips out of her shoes, leaving them behind her as she walks, like the world’s most pathetic drunken Cinderella. She wonders if it’s midnight, yet, if her carriage will poof back into a pumpkin and her gown return to rags.

(Certainly no prince will come calling after her, not after the way she behaved tonight.)

Climbing into bed with her illicit treasure, Rose drinks until her eyes won’t stay open any longer.

***

Next Part

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botanistlester · 7 years

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Sweet Pea (10/34)

Summary: A nickname that goes bitter in your mouth. Cries for help that no one listens to. Gentle hands that make you quake on the ground you’re standing on. When Phil first met Nico, he thought he was a gift from the heavens. But behind the mask lies something daunting, something unnerving, that Phil never foresaw. Through his journey, he finds solace in Dan, the regular at his workplace, who seems to be the only one who sees through Nico’s mask to the darkness underneath. Warnings: Abusive relationship, violence A/N: Hello friends! Thanks for coming back for another chapter of Sweet Pea! I’ve been pressured into hosting a meetup for this fic called Knock Out Nico, so if you want to participate, you can look at that here lmao. The song at the beginning is called Little Do You Know by Alex & Sierra. Thank you to @littlelionsloves and @snowbunnylester for betaing this for me (: Previous | Masterlist

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Chapter Ten

Little do you know how I’m breaking as you fall asleep. Little do you know I’m still haunted by the memories.

It’d been a few days since Phil had gone to Nico’s mum’s house, and Phil couldn’t seem to gain any of his energy back. He was a bit lethargic, as if walking through a dream, and he found it a bit hard to smile as easily as he usually did.

He was just a tad sad, in all honesty. He felt as though he’d completely ruined everything with Nico’s mum. Nico even seemed like he was still mad at him. He was ignoring his texts more often than usual, but when Phil was the one not answering him, he got a bit irritated. He snapped at Phil more often, and when they spent time together, they would be sitting in complete silence, a movie on in the background, and Nico’s phone glued to his hand.

Phil was terrified. He was terrified that he’d messed it up completely, that Nico wanted to leave him. They hardly talked anymore unless they were kissing or having sex. Sure, there were a few good moments where things were good, almost like how they were when they first started dating, but then, in the blink of an eye, everything would change and Nico would become a brick wall that Phil didn’t know how to touch.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to be with Nico because he loved him with all of his heart. He would do anything for him, would probably kill so he could be with him, because Nico was the only thing that made Phil feel like he was truly worth anything. Without Nico, Phil was nothing. He was just a pretty face that people liked to look at but didn’t want to be with. If he didn’t have Nico, he knew that he would be unhappy for the rest of his life.

Of course, there was Dan too. But while Dan was someone that made Phil laugh, a constant that Phil knew he could always count on, he wasn’t Nico. Still, whenever Nico wasn’t texting him, Dan was, and that meant the world to Phil. Whenever Nico wasn’t over at Phil’s flat, it was Dan who was over, just like he was over now.

The only complaint Phil had about Dan was that he was too intuitive and in-tune to other people’s emotions. Because he was an actor, he could always tell when someone was wearing a mask and pretending to be okay even if they weren’t. It was instances like this that made Phil majorly regret inviting Dan over to his flat, especially when Dan stared at him with a contemplative expression on his face, one that made Phil’s stomach sink into the ground. When Dan opened his mouth, Phil resisted the urge to bolt out of the room.

“Alright, what’s wrong, Phil?” Dan asked. His question was completely unjustified. They had literally just been listening to music on Phil’s record player, the sound of Muse filling the room with a lovely melody. Phil had been quiet, laying on the couch with his eyes half-closed, just basking in the aura. They’d been like that for about an hour before Dan had finally spoken, his first words something such as this.

Phil even had the audacity to be surprised. How could Dan see right through him? How did he know him so well after only a few months of friendship? It was something Phil wasn’t used to. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Phil answered quietly. He stared at the ceiling, squinting his eyes until he could see little stars swimming across his vision.

Dan sighed and Phil could hear him shuffle a little bit from where he was leaning against the couch on the floor. He didn’t look to see how Dan had moved. “Don’t lie to me, Phil. I can tell that something’s wrong.” When Phil still didn’t answer, Dan spoke in a lighter, more persuasive tone. “You just seem a bit sad now, is all I’m saying. I’m just concerned and I want to help in any way I can.”

Phil pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes shut. The stars were still dancing across his vision. “I don’t think you can,” Phil told him.

“Problems in paradise?” Dan guessed.

Phil shrugged as best as he could while laying down. It probably just made him look a bit twitchy, but he didn’t care. The background music was now just pointless white noise in his ears, irritating him. He suddenly wished for silence. He wished he could just be alone. “Something like that.”

“Wanna share with daddy what’s been going on?”

Phil choked, spluttered, his eyes shooting open wide. He sat up on his elbow and glared down at Dan, who was pretty much cackling on the floor. “The fuck?!” Phil exclaimed, taking the pillow from behind his head and whacking Dan in the face. “I never want to hear you call yourself daddy ever again, alright? Last I heard, you were my friend, not my parent.”

Dan snorted, shaking his head. “That’s not what my shirt says!” he protested, gesturing to his shirt. He was wearing his horrid World’s Best Daddy shirt again and Phil couldn’t help himself from whacking him in the face once more.

“Blocked and unfriended,” Phil told him sternly, laying back against the couch cushions. His eyes found a little black smudge on the ceiling, a shocking contrast against the white. Right at that moment, he related to the little black smudge. He, too, was a source of darkness amidst the light, lost and with no source of safety as far as he could see.

He picked up his phone and checked his messages.

Nothing. No new messages. None from his mum, none from Chandler, and certainly none from Nico. But as he stared at the now-black screen, it lit up once more with a new text, although not from the person who he most wanted to speak to.

Charlie - 8:53pm

Shalom philly! How do ya?

Phil texted back a quick hello and nothing else, not really feeling up for a full conversation. Which ended up being a bit controversial because as soon as he set down his phone, he was opening his mouth to talk.

“I think I messed things up with Nico,” Phil finally admitted, his voice so quiet that he wasn’t even sure if Dan could hear him. Maybe he didn’t want Dan to hear him, anyways. Maybe that was for the best.

Unlucky for him, Dan heard him and even responded to him. Phil wanted to curse himself for even opening his stupidly big mouth. “Why do you think that?”

Maybe because he ignores me half of the time? Phil thought bitterly, but he didn’t say that out loud. Instead, he tried to sugar coat it, spilling the beans about everything that he did completely wrong at Nico’s mum’s house. “I messed up when I visited his mum’s place,” Phil muttered. “Everything went wrong so fast that it nearly gave me whiplash. One moment, we were cuddling in the cab and the next, Nico was informing me that his mum had a cat. A cat. My allergies were acting up the entire rest of the day!”

Dan chuckled and Phil didn’t have to look at him to know that he was probably raising his eyebrows at him. “A cat? Is that all, or is there more to this story?”

“There’s more,” Phil sighed, slightly disappointed in himself for giving up so easily to Dan’s persuasion. “The cat thing happened first. I was actually pretty upset about her owning a cat, but at that point I couldn’t back out. So we went in and I just kinda assumed Nico would introduce me as his boyfriend. Well, he didn’t. I was just his friend apparently.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head in frustration, running a hand through his slightly sweaty fringe.

“Imagine that! Friends! As if we don’t say ‘I love you’ and have sex all the time.” Dan made a gagging noise and Phil kicked him lightly to shut him up. He’d wanted to know, so he had to deal with all of the grimy details. “So then Nico started ignoring me for literally no reason at all. All I was doing was chatting with his brother, Ezra. After Ezra gave me the house tour, he wanted me to go swimming with him, but Nico really didn’t want me to. Eventually I got pulled into the pool and Nico ended up just walking away. When I found him, he refused to speak with me. For the entire night. He didn’t speak with me until we got home!”

“Erm,” Dan started, and Phil hushed him because he wasn’t finished. Dan quieted down like a good boy and Phil was able to continue his rant.

“After dinner, Yvette pulled me into the kitchen and started spouting some bullshit about how I can’t let him ruin me and about how I deserved the best. What kind of mother says that about her own son?! Besides, Nico is wonderful to me so she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” He went on and on, telling the story as it happened. He told Dan about how when Nico and Phil got back home, Nico told Phil that swimming made him a slut and how he told Phil that he didn’t date sluts. He told Dan about how he had started crying and apologising, which was then followed by a quick exchange of endearments followed by slow sex. He mentioned how Nico had been ignoring him recently and how he was constantly fearing that Nico was going to break up with him now. He didn’t leave out any details, the story spilling out before he could even think to stop it.

The only thing he didn’t mention, was why Nico’s mum had said what she said, unwilling to divulge Nico’s history to another without his permission. It wasn’t Phil’s story to tell.

When he did finally stop talking, Dan had gone quiet. It was such a contrast to the rushed tone of voice Phil had been using only moments before that it set him on edge. What was Dan thinking? Was he thinking of how terrible Phil was? Perhaps how Phil shouldn’t have gone swimming since Nico didn’t want him to? Or maybe about how much of a slut Phil was? He didn’t want to cry anymore, so he gritted his teeth and glared at the splotch of paint on the ceiling again.

“Phil…” Dan said after a moment, and Phil tensed, bracing himself for the disappointment that Dan was no doubt going to be showing him. Dan turned around so he was facing the couch, and Phil felt Dan take one of his hands in his own. “Don’t take this the wrong way, okay? But I’m really concerned about you. Based on what I’ve seen and what you’ve told me, I think you need to be a bit careful.”

“What do you mean?” Phil deadpanned. There was a sick feeling in his gut and he could already tell that he didn’t want to hear any of this. It was like Nico’s mum all over again, like Dan somehow knew about Nico’s father and thought he was going to hit Phil too.

Dan squeezed his hand softly and it would have been nice if Phil wasn’t so tense at the moment. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to relax no matter what he did. “Nico just seems kind of… off, I guess?” Dan said. Phil gave him an unimpressed look because Dan was going to have to do a lot better than that if he wanted to express to Phil what his concerns were. “Isn’t the stuff he’s doing a bit, like, abusive?”

Phil snorted and burrowed himself into the couch, shaking his head. “Abusive? Seriously? God,

Dan, it’s not like he hits me or anything.”

“Not all abuse is physical,” Dan said quietly. Phil couldn’t tell whether he sounded a bit put out or not, so he decided to just ignore the tone and focus on the words. Words that were wrong.

“No way. Nico is great to me. He’s not… not like that.” Even the thought of that word made him feel nauseous. How could anyone think that Nico was abusive when he made Phil the happiest man in existence? It was just ridiculous, and yet Phil found his stomach churning with the need to throw up. “What even made you come up with something like that? Why would you even suggest something like that?”

Dan shrugged, frowning. His eyebrows were furrowed and it wasn’t a great look on him. Phil wanted to tell him to stop, but he didn’t know how to get the words out. “Just think about it. He manipulated you to the point where you were terrified to disobey him, he was hiding your relationship from his mum, and then he withheld affection when you went against his wishes. Those are all pretty big red flags.” Dan paused, searching Phil’s face for any sign of discomfort. When he saw how Phil was pretty much freaking out, his eyes went soft and he rubbed his thumb against the back of Phil’s hand. Phil wanted to tear his hand away, but he couldn’t seem to move in the slightest. “Look, I’m not saying that Nico is abusive in any way. But I just want to make sure that you’re staying safe and that you’re not with someone who has the potential to destroy you.”

“He’s not like that,” Phil said again, more firmly this time.

Even so, his head was spinning, and a migraine was beginning to eat at his brain. His whole body was screaming at him to run and never look back, but he tried to tell himself that Dan didn’t mean it in the way that he was coming across, but was just concerned instead. Phil should have never told Dan what had happened that weekend.

“Okay,” Dan said gently. “Okay. I believe you.”

He didn’t ask any other questions, didn’t grill Phil for details, and Phil was thankful for that. The inquiry was still in the back of his mind though, even when Dan started playing the piano for him, the soft tune making Phil’s ears sing and the tension flow out of his body. He closed his eyes and let himself get lost in it, because Dan was so good that he made Phil able to forget about almost everything.

Except this, apparently.

When Dan went to bed that evening and Phil was tucked comfortably under a blanket on the couch, Phil found himself clicking open a new tab on his laptop. For once, he didn’t think when he typed out a single word, hands shaking over the keyboard.

Abuse.

There were 523,000,000 results and the first one was the definition of the word. Phil skipped over that and clicked on the first link, which was labeled Types of Abuse. Physical abuse was the first thing that popped up, which was expected. There were other tabs on the page labeled Emotional/Verbal Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Financial Abuse, and so on, and Phil took a deep breath.

He began by skimming the physical abuse tab. He wasn’t too worried about it because Nico didn’t hit him or anything, but his brain was still foggy and his stomach was still churning when he read the description.

Physical abuse is any intentional and unwanted contact with you or something close to your body. Sometimes abusive behavior does not cause pain or even leave a bruise, but it’s still unhealthy.

Of course there was the obvious. Punching, scratching, throwing, pushing. Using a knife, gun, or other weapon. Grabbing the face, preventing from leaving, grabbing clothing. Nothing too terrible that screamed at Phil that he was being abused.

The next tab was emotional abuse, the description making Phil much more uncomfortable. He shuffled uncomfortably on the couch, adjusting the blanket, his eyes skimming the words but not really processing it until he reread it a few times.

Emotional abuse includes non-physical behaviors such as threats, insults, constant monitoring or “checking in,” excessive texting, humiliation, intimidation, isolation or stalking.

From just the description, Phil was already shaking his head. Just because Nico texted him all the time definitely didn’t mean that he was abusive. That bit was just plain ridiculous. Nico just wanted to talk to him all the time and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. He continued reading, squinting his eyes against the brightness of his laptop as if that would help him feel slightly more protected from what he was going to see.

Calling you names and putting you down. Preventing you from seeing or talking with friends and family. Telling you what to do and wear. Damaging your property when they’re angry. Accusing you of cheating and often being jealous of your outside relationships. Using gaslighting techniques to confuse or manipulate you.

Phil felt as though he couldn’t breathe. There was too much, too many things that jumped out at him, and he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t really want to. He took some breaths through his nose and let it out through his mouth to try and calm himself down. It didn’t really help, but it was better than nothing.

Nico wasn’t abusive. He wasn’t. Phil had no doubts about that fact. Just because Nico sometimes called him a whore or accused him of cheating didn’t mean anything. Besides, Nico was just dealing with some of his own demons. He was trying to get over what had happened with his dad and accidentally took it out on Phil sometimes. Phil didn’t blame him for that, and he definitely wasn’t going to leave him when Nico was dealing with his own shit. Phil just didn’t have the heart to do that, and he didn’t want to leave Nico anyway.

Phil loved him.

There was a little bit underneath the bullet points that talked about how emotional abuse was still abuse and how it could cause emotional pain and scarring, and could even make the victim feel worthless or like they weren’t good enough.

Phil slammed the laptop shut and threw it on the floor. It landed with a dull thump, but Phil ignored it. Now, without the light from the computer, Phil was washed in darkness, but he didn’t care. He stared at the wall, his heart pounding, his head spinning.

Nico wasn’t abusive. Dan was wrong. He was wrong.

So why was Phil suddenly questioning everything he thought he knew?

Chapter Eleven

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #botanistfics #botanistlester #fanfic #fanfiction #phanfictioncatalogue #phan angst #phan chaptered #phan happyending #writing #gay #sp #sweet pea

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forbiddenmercy-blog · 7 years

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Mercykill Week

Day 1: Beginnings.

The soft click of heels echoed through out the hallways of Overwatch as a young and wide eyed blonde made her way around the facility, trying to memorize the foreign place that would now be her new home. Why was it possible to feel nervous and excitement at the same time? Feeling both at once could be so overwhelming and exhausting. Confusing emotions aside, she couldn’t help but look at her surroundings with pure amazement; it was still hard to believe that she was offered a position for Overwatch. Her a young woman that was only in her twenties. Sure her research in nanotechnology was impressive (that was an understatement) but this still felt unreal to her. It was hard to contain her eagerness when Commander Morrison offered her the job.

How could she not be overjoyed? She would finally be able to make a difference in the world like she had always planned, her research would be able to help this outstanding organization and the poor victims that were caught in the crossfire of battles. As much as the woman despised violence there was a bigger picture to look at and she would make damn sure to be there to help the ones who had fallen, it was in her blood to fix what was broken. This was her chance to make things right from the past war that ripped everything away from her. Memories of gunfire and screams were still fresh, she could almost smell the horrid stench of burning flesh and iron as people bled out on the streets. The icy feeling of terror still ran down her spine thinking of the last moments she had with her parents before everything went black. No child-scratch that, no person should ever have to feel that sorrow, that great of a loss. Angie would try and make sure that no one would ever have to feel the way she did on that day.

Angela navigated the base with her belongings and a stack of folders in her hands, barely being able to see over them. Eyes big and full of excitement, she drank in all the detail she could, looking like a kid in a candy store. ‘Okay dial it down, Ziegler. Don’t make yourself look like an idiot on the first day’ she thought to herself as a couple of glances and quirked brows of curiosity were directed toward her from others as they passed by the new addition to the team. The blonde barely took notice since she was having a hard time finding her lab. This place felt like a maze, one could easily get lost if they weren’t familiar with it. The young doctor’s arms were growing tired as she wandered the building aimlessly, not having any luck finding her destination; cursing herself for denying the tour that Morrison had offered her. The woman was too independent for her own good sometimes. It was only a matter of time before the woman would be given a lecture about teamwork and how she was apart of a group now; there were no more one man jobs. This would truly be a blessing and a curse for Ziegler.

“I know this is going to be a stupid question, but are you lost?” Angela jumped once she heard the soft and velvety voice. She was too absorbed in her own world that she didn’t notice the agent next to her. She quickly turned toward the source of the voice, her eyes slightly widening under her messy bangs. That soft voice did not fit the rugged man that stood before her. He towered over her but not in a menacing way, although she was sure that he could easily be intimidating if he wanted to be. He was about the same size as Morrison, with caramel skin and the most beautiful honey colored eyes she had ever seen, a couple of scars decorating his face along with a neatly trimmed dark goatee.

“That obvious, huh? I’m trying to find the lab, I am the new medic.” She spoke with a smile as she offered a hand to the stranger. He returned with a smile that could melt any heart, his handshake firm. Angela took a moment to quickly take a good look at him, trying to place what rank he could possibly be. He adorned a grey hoodie with a chest plate strapped to his torso, tight blue pants with combat boots, and a simple grey beanie. 'He must be a recruit, probably nothing higher’ she noted to herself. Both Commander Morrison and Captain Amari were dressed in trench coats, this man was dressed so…casually.

“Ah, so you are the Angela Ziegler that everyone has been talking about. I have to say that your work is very impressive, doc. Here, I’ll show you to your lab.” He offered as he took the giant stack of folders from her aching arms, not waiting for protest as he started to lead the way. The blonde couldn’t help the small blush that began to dust her pale cheeks. It was a common recurrence to receive compliments for the doctor but it still flustered her, she was always known for being modest. In all honesty she didn’t feel worthy for the praise that she received.

“Thank you sir, and yes that would be me. I was not aware that I was already well known around here.” The blonde observed with a small laugh, a small spike of nervousness stirring in the pit of her stomach. This all was starting to feel a bit overwhelming for the poor medic.

“Ah, you will learn that word gets around fast in this place. Bunch of gossipers I swear.” He snorted while shaking his head. “But don’t worry, mostly everyone is friendly.” The man was quick to add once he noticed her stiff aura, he remembered his first day on the job. Being a newbie was never an easy task.

“That’s not what I’ve heard. I’ve been warned about a certain commander.” The blonde interjected with a faint frown. “Apparently I am suppose to steer clear of him?” The man looked over to her with a perked brow, silently asking who this commander was. “I guess his name is Commander Reyes?” She questioned, letting out a small huff as she tried to keep up with his pace as rounded a corner. A small grin started to form on the man’s face as a glint of mischief made itself apparent in his golden eyes.

“Oh, Reyes? Yeah, that guy can be a real asshole. It would be best you avoid him if you can. He’s not very fond of newbies, doesn’t have the patience for them.” There was amusement in his voice as the young doctor’s eyes widened at his warning. Fear began to course through her body at the thought of running into this Reyes fellow. “Actually makes a lot of the new recruits cry, making them question if they were actually cut out for this type of work.” He continued with a small shrug. Angela was about to make a comment when the man stopped abruptly, almost causing her to crash into his backside. He turned around to face her, motioning to the side with his head. “We made it. This is your new workplace.” The doctor’s eyes sparkled with happiness as she looked through the window to her lab. She couldn’t wait to get settled in and start back up on her research. The blonde was snapped out of her thoughts as the man gently placed the files back into her hands.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Doc. I have to attend to my rounds now, I hope you settle in nicely. If you ever need anymore help navigating this place just let me know, I’ll never let anyone know that you asked for directions.” He teased before giving her small wave, turning on his heel to continue his path down the hall to his destination.

“Wait, Sir! I never caught your name!” She quickly called out to him as he made it half way down the hall. Angela scolded herself for being rude and not asking for his name in the beginning of their conversation. Something about the man made her mind fuzzy and it was hard to tell if that was a good thing or not. The man turned around with a shit eating grin, continuing to walk backwards as he gave a small shrug. Her ocean eyes widened when his response fell from his lips.

“Reyes.”

#mercykillweek #MercyKill #angela ziegler #gabriel reyes #reaper overwatch #Mercykill week #mercykillweek2017

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crimsonfox19 · 6 years

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January 1, 2018

I can’t believe it’s become the year 2018 already. While I wouldn’t say 2017 was a great year, a lot has happened and it felt as if it all went so quickly. Last year I worked at an electronics store called Best Buy up until May, and with that took some leaps of faith that even though they didn’t all pan out, I’m proud of myself for taking. In April, I turned 22 years old. In May I had my last day of work at Best Buy and then I got to go to my niece’s first communion. I, personally, am not Catholic, but it was still a nice moment spent with family. That has currently been the last time I’ve seen them. End of May I took my dad out to lunch for his birthday and he dropped me off at an Amtrak train station so I could see my best friend, Aubii, that I hadn’t seen in two years. That was an amazing week full of difficulties, and craziness combined. I got to attend her preschool class with her children and spent a day talking about Japan to them and running around and seeing my best friend in a professional environment. I also got to meet her fiancé, who is probably one of the sweetest and funniest human beings on this planet. I am so excited for them and the future they hold together. I got back to California early June and was traveling more. I ended up in Southern California to see my aunt and some friends before taking two separate trips to San Francisco to work on getting my student visa for Japan. Oh right, I forgot to mention. I got accepted to a language school in Tokyo, Japan, which is still crazy to think about. The first trip to San Francisco almost ended in a terrible car crash that could have had both my father and me fatally wounded, or maybe even killed, but by some miracle avoided us completely. Thankfully, everyone ended up fine in the situation. It truly was a blessing in disguise. The second trip to San Francisco was a Hell of a lot less entertaining, but now San Francisco holds a more sour taste in my mouth. I’m not eager to go there again anytime soon, but on the second trip I also got to see one of my other best friends @phantomandfoxflyer. I miss this girl so much, and everyday I wish us becoming roommates had worked out for the better, and yet, I feel like this all happened for a reason. I truly hope 2018 turns out amazing for her; she deserves it.

On June 28, 2017 I flew out of LAX and moved to Tokyo, Japan. I had a five hour layover in Seoul, South Korea. I won’t sugar coat it. My first month and a half of living in Japan was horrid. I absolutely resented myself for moving over here, and while I do believe it was a mix of culture shock and general frustration, I have become much more acclimated and I no longer avidly hate Japan. I am so, so, so grateful to have had the chance to move to Japan and live here, and although I plan to move back to the States this coming July, I will always look back on this time of my life fondly and with a more worldly perspective. I can hold at least a general conversation in Japanese now. I celebrated the day of the ocean 海の日 with two of my friends in Odaiba (お台場)! It was absolutely beautiful. I have gone to so many cafes, which I adore (and I certainly haven’t been to enough yet). I’ve gotten to eat decently authentic Japanese, Korean, and Chinese food and have made friends with Taiwanese, Swedish, Korean, and Chinese people. I have gotten to experience a butler cafe here in Japan called Swallowtail (執事喫茶) Butler’s Cafe. It was absolutely amazing, and while definitely not for everybody I truly enjoyed my time there and I cannot wait to go back. I also got to partake in a girl’s party (女子会) with some of my housemates which was surprisingly fun! I have visited Akihabara and eaten amazing fish and have fallen in love with katsudon (カツ丼), omurice (オムライス), and of course Japanese tonkotsu ramen (豚骨ラーメン). I got to see the Tokyo ballet perform Cinderella at the Opera Palace at the New National Theatre here which was incredible! I’ve grilled a handful of salmons with my friends for dinners, including Christmas dinner and enjoyed a beautiful buche de noel Christmas cake with my dear friend I’ve made from here. And to welcome in this New Year I got to spend it with them as well! We had a fish dinner, visited Meiji-jingu (明治時代), went to Golden Gai and met an amazing bartender who was hilarious and we spoke Japanese! Then we went to see another shrine nearby, before heading to Oji station (王子駅) and seeing the fox parade and going to pray at the local shrine around midnight. It was a wonderful way to welcome in the new year, and I’m truly keeping hopeful for it.

Although I’ve had some amazing times in Japan I can admit this is the most depressed I can remember being in my life. I have felt wholly unproductive in my day-to-day life and I haven’t really cared much about what has happened around me. I have recently realized that a lot of this year has helped me process and realize who I really am as a person. If I had been able to continue university I would have graduated with my Bachelor’s this year, but instead I’m learning, living, and breathing an entirely new culture. I’ve learned that Japan isn’t the place I had hoped to call home before coming here. I have learned what I need in an environment and in a mindset of people after moving to Japan. I have realized that I am much more of a feminist than I ever thought I was before. I have learned that through this all, I am me. And that’s okay. I have some plans for my future again, and we’ll see where it takes me. For now, I’m taking it slow. If I can make it happen I’m hoping to move up to Washington state to work and start taking some community college courses to finish up my Associates degree. I’m going to continue learning Japanese and will hopefully be able to use it in whatever kind of workplace I get situated in. I still adore Linguistics and I hope to get a Bachelor’s in that if possible, otherwise I might try to get a Bachelor’s in English, as I’ve come to learn how much I value reading, literature, essays, and language as a whole. I’d like to attend bartending school when I’m back in the States and start working as a said bartender. Or maybe I’ll get work as a funeral home director or secretary. All three sound interesting and possible to me.

So what does that make 2018 mean for me?

I plan to write something, anything every single day. I don’t care if it’s a journal-like entry such as this, working on something toward the couple of books that I’m currently working on, a poem, a RP, a drabble, an essay, literally anything! I just want to sit down everyday and write something. Short or long, just something with some sort of reflection or importance to me.

I plan to start loving myself more. I don’t want to care how I look as much compared to other people and enjoy how I look for me. I want to start eating more vegetables, although that might come more to fruition once I’m back in the states and they’re cheaper than here in Japan. I want not feel as guilty for the days I do lock myself in my room and see no one, but the convenient store employee, or a McDonald’s worker, and I just binge watch movies/YouTube videos, etc. It’s okay. But at the same time, I’m going to try not to do that as much as I have this last year.

I plan to take my mental health more seriously. I won’t say anything about my physical health, because I’m going to have to really beat that into my head and where I’m at right now, I don’t know if I have the gumption for that. But, I do plan to be more open and okay with what I feel emotionally and what’s going on with me mentally. If I’m upset it’s okay, if I’m happy and everyone thinks that’s stupid for whatever reason, that’s okay. It’s okay to be me, and that’s something I want to work on the most.

I plan to take what I like to do creatively more seriously. I still want it to be a hobby, but I want to start actively working on my hobbies. I want to get more into photography whether it’s with my DSLR, learning how to edit photos better, or with my smartphone and the various apps I have, to have more control over the pictures I can take. Whether it be learning how to sculpt, or starting to take piano seriously again. All of this I want to be actively working with again.

This should be enough for me to keep my mind on and to actively work towards, so we’ll see how it ends up in the end. I am not expecting people to really read this, as this is more for myself and my own personal reflection. There is more to be said, and a lot I have missed, but these are the highlights that have come to my mind immediately.

Here’s to a wonderful 2018!

#My own personal writing #2018 #The new year #new years resolution #reflection #personal #crimson thoughts

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ellawritesficssometimes · 7 years

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Just a Tat Too Much (FrUK One-Shot)

Summary: FrUK ONE-SHOT- Arthur runs a tattoo parlour, one that he's very proud of. If only he didn't have to be outshined by a flamboyant, over-the-top flower shop across the street. Don't even get him started on the insufferable git who runs said shop. (Punk! Arthur). Fic Exchange with browsofglory :)))

Word Count: 6214

Let me enlighten you with a tale of just how shitty and ironic my life is. My college years had brought me unprecedented wonders; I excelled as one as the top students in my business school. Unfortunately, this endeavor had also entailed the acquirement of a rival, Francis.

Francis was a stuck-up Frenchman who I could only handle in small doses before having to suppress the urge to throttle him. He was arrogant, nosy, and knew just how to get under my nerves. He was bright and lively in both appearance and personality, whereas I preferred to wear dark colors and drink bitter tea to match my cold, 'soulless' heart. We were like day and night, if you want to get figurative with the descriptions.

For some reason, Francis found our differences to be part of some bigger picture. A picture where we would someday be lovers. I humored Francis in our final year of college, teasing him on occasion, but never really taking him seriously. In all honesty, I thought that I would never see him again after we had graduated.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

I branched off to open and run a brand-new tattoo parlour of my own. All was swell and business was booming until a certain effeminate fiend from the past conveniently decided to open a flower and chocolates shop across the street from me. For those of you who are slow on the uptake, that effeminate fiend was none other than Francis. He followed me everywhere in college, so it was really quite foolish to have believed that he wouldn't have done the same in the workplace.

My shop looked utterly ridiculous next to his. Where my parlour was dark, gothic and, full of blacks and shades of crimson, Francis's shop was a hue of rosy reds and pinks, smiles, and sunshine. The folks leaving his shop would gawk at my parlour in horror – admittedly, this was one of the most amusing parts of the job – taking in the skulls, crosses, bones, and demon decorative designs as if they just seen the gates of hell.

Nothing felt better to me than watching 'ordinary' people get flustered over my shop and those who worked in it. So what if we had more piercings, scars, and ink on our bodies? I've often been mistaken for a demon or Satanist, as absurd as that may seem. Perhaps the pentagram designs on my arms didn't help with that impression, but what can I say?

I didn't give a rat's arse about what people thought of me. I owned my business, and I would conduct it however I pleased to. I didn't have to worry about 'being unemployable' because of my tattoos; my work life revolved around them. The only people to please were my customers; certainly not a snide Frenchman who thought that he could woo me over to the 'vibrant side of life'.

I had taken the early morning shift today, which meant that I wouldn't be dealing with too many customers. Most people came to the parlour at night, especially when they were drunk. Who was I to refuse service? Money was money, and even if the tattoo a customer had chosen was ghastly and horrid, as long as they signed the release forms, my workers would happily adorn them with their mid-life existential crisis tramp-stamp. We did offer tattoo removal services, after all. One drunken mistake could easily be rectified with a fat wad of cash!

Oh, don't give me that pissy look. Yes, yes, I recognize that I'm a complete asshole. Get over it, darling. It's a brutal world out there. A gentleman's got to survive somehow.

Currently, I was sprawled over the glass front counter, face cupped by both hands. I began to bite off the black nail polish from my nails, knowing that I had a long day ahead of me. I looked outside the window, spotting a little girl peering inside my shop. I shed her with a cryptic grin, revealing the fake pair of fangs that my co-worker Vlad had insisted that we all wear. Apparently, it added to the 'aesthetic' of the parlour.

The little girl licked her strawberry ice cream cone, green eyes wide with curiosity. Curiosity quickly became terror when she spotted me grinning at her. "Hullo, dear," I mouthed, running my tongue over my lips.

"Big bruder!" the little girl gasped, dropping her ice cream cone on the pavement, the ribbon in her hair flying behind her as she ran away in the opposite direction. "There's a mean monster who wants to eat me!"

I chuckled to myself. "Monster, huh?" I mused. "Well, that's certainly a new one."

Pleased with causing childhood traumatization so early in the day, I went back to lounging lazily on the front counter. Usually by now Francis would have visited to tease and/or flirt with me. Just what was he up to today? Oh well, can't say that I cared all that much.

BRING!

I looked up, expecting to see said Frenchman, only to scowl when I realized that it was my half-brother, Alfred. The oaf looked absolutely miserable. His wheat-blond hair was sticking up more than usual, his blue eyes puffy and wide with fear. He reminded me of a cornered animal who had nowhere to go…the defeated expression on his face was concerning.

He was wearing a Hawaiian print blouse that was tucked into a hideous pair of quesadilla print leggings. Yes, you heard me correctly, leggings. The guzzler hat that he wore on his head made me roll my eyes so far back that I was nearly blinded.

The twat had gotten black-out drunk again.

"Artie! Artie!" Alfred wailed, running towards me, figurative tail hanging between his legs. "I fucked up, man! So bad! So fucking bad!"

I jumped a little when Alfred slammed his massive hands on the counter.

"Get your filthy hands off the glass!" I snapped. "I just cleaned it this morning. And you know how I don't like talking to people until I've had at least three cups of tea in me!"

Alfred gave me an incredulous look. "Dude! I know you have no soul, but could you at least pretend to be concerned for your little brother?!"

"Oh?" I hummed, crossing my arms. "And why should I be concerned? What could you have possibly done that's bad enough for you to abandon your pride and come crawling to me for advice?"

Alfred whimpered, looking like a vulnerable five-year-old child. "Okay, first, screw you. Who shit in your morning bowl of blood of the unborn? And second, I got drunk…"

"Congratulations, twat-face," I scoffed. "I think the quesadilla-themed leggings already made that obvious enough. What are you trying to do? Protest Trump's wall by ignorantly perpetuating harmful stereotypes? Oh, and very funny."

Alfred sighed, still too intoxicated to come up with a clever rebuttal. "Look, you jackass," he scowled. "I really do need your help."

"Whatever happened to 'I'm fine, Arthur. Stop worrying. I'm not going to party in college. Stop sticking your pasty finger up my butthole?'" I smirked.

"Okay, Christ!" Alfred cussed. "Do you always have to be right?"

"I wouldn't have to be right all the time if you hadn't grown up to become such an insufferable moron," I retorted, only to falter when Alfred leveled me with an unamused glare. "All right, all right. I think you've suffered enough. What happened? What did your drunken arse decide to do last night?"

Alfred pushed himself off the counter, turning his back to me. He pulled down his pants before I even had the chance to say anything. "Just look," Alfred whined.

I covered my eyes, nearly knocking over my mug of tea. "Fucking hell, Alfred!" I snarled. "You could have at least warned me!"

Alfred stifled a sob. "Just look at it, will ya? You can lecture me later."

This job didn't pay me enough for what I was about to see, or rather un-see.

Through the spaces of my fingers, I peaked at Alfred's bum. There on his right cheek, was a palm sized tattoo of an eagle.

"Did you see it yet?" Alfred asked, no doubt on the verge of bawling his eyes out from the shame of his drunken mistake.

"Just one moment," I bit my lip, suppressing a snicker. I pulled out my phone, snapped a quick picture, and saved it to drive. "All right, I've seen enough." Hello, new Christmas cards…

Alfred pulled up his pants and turned around. It was a good thing that no people were outside to witness this potential, not to mention unwanted, flash. "So," he said, his voice jittery and nervous. "Can you fix it?"

"Fix what?" I asked, despite knowing exactly what he meant.

"You know," Alfred whispered. "Remove my tattoo…?"

"Do you have a spare three grand lying around?"

"Arthur!" Alfred shouted.

"Fine," I relented. "You can come in tomorrow at 8. Lukas will be working then. You might need several laser treatments though…"

"Why can't you do it?" Alfred blushed.

I shook my head in disbelief. "I've seen your bum enough times when I changed your diapers. You've really pushed it this morning."

Alfred sighed, bowing his head. "I wanted freedom for this country, not an invitation for guys and gals to grab my ass," he muttered.

"Please," I grinned, hoping to cheer up the poor sap. Being sad didn't suit him. "The only time your butt is ever free is when you've had an unhealthy dose of Chipotle."

Alfred laughed, only to have his stomach growl, and loudly at that.

I shook my head in disbelief, opening the cash register to pull out a twenty. "Go get yourself some breakfast," I scolded, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "Mum isn't going to be very happy if she finds out that you've been skipping out on your classes again."

Alfred's expression brightened considerably. "Does this mean you won't tell her about the tattoo?"

"Of course not! She already doesn't approve of this parlour. The last thing I need is for something to justify her prejudice."

Alfred skirted around the counter and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. "Thanks, Artie!" he exclaimed, bellowing into my ear loud enough to cause my piercings to rattle. "You're the best!"

"Sod off, and go brush your teeth!" I grunted, pushing Alfred's much taller and heavier person away. "I can still smell basic bimbo and tequila on your breath."

"HAHAHA!" Alfred cackled, blowing me a smug air kiss before opening the parlour's front door. "Nice one. And thanks a bunch. I'll remember this the next time you're looking for an excuse not to come to a family outing."

I smirked. "You know me so well."

Alfred said his goodbyes, slamming the door shut, despite how many times that I've told him not to do that.

With the parlour empty again, I took a relaxing lunch break, enjoying the silence save for the rock metal softly playing in the background.

The sound of voices outside the parlour a half hour later prompted me to eavesdrop – I looked down so that they wouldn't catch me staring. I had very little entertainment during the day. The only interaction I could count on was an infuriating visit from Francis. Uh, not that I wanted the frog to visit me…of course not!

I stand corrected. Francis's moronic friends often visited me too. Except usually they were with Francis, not alone like they were now.

"But I don't want to go in," Antonio whined. "He's rude, and I don't like him."

"Stop being such a little bitch, Toni," Gilbert deadpanned. "We're doing this for Franny. Sometimes you've got to take one for the squad. Even if it means dealing with a scary, grumpy old man hiding in a 20-something-year-old-body."

The hair on the back of my neck prickled.

Okay, ouch.

Us 'demons' had feelings too, believe it or not.

"Fine," Antonio pouted.

BRING!

Gilbert and Antonio strolled into the parlour, pathetically forcing grins on their faces.

Antonio's green eyes widened into saucers when he spotted the iron maiden prop lying on the wall to their right. His tanned cheeks flooded a faint pink as he nervously twirled the cross pendant wrapped around his neck. He was a very devoted Catholic.

Gilbert pulled up his sunglasses, nestling them in his chalk-white hair. "Arthur, mein sassy man. How goes business these days?" he asked, his crimson red eyes nervously flitting around the parlour.

"No business during the day, I'm afraid. Just nights," I mused. "Unless you two are interested in getting some tattoos?"

"Dios mio!" Antonio swore, jumping back like a spooked cat when he 'accidentally' poked and prodded at a mechanical skull prop. He hadn't been expecting it to shout: "The power of Satan tempts you!"

I pulled out a notebook, grabbed a pen, and crossed off a tally:

Antonio shits his pants for the 47th consecutive time upon touching that skull prop.

Poor bloke keeps forgetting about what it does.

While Antonio motioned the sign of the cross, Gilbert walked over to the front counter. "And what if we were interested in getting tattoos? What would you say to that?"

Gilbert leaned a friendly arm over the counter, causing me to pull back in disgust. I fancied my personal space, thank you very much. "I'd say you were lying," I answered, narrowing my eyes at the German in suspicion.

"On the contrary," Gilbert smirked. "I hardly have any brows as it is, being an albino and all. Perhaps I'm in need of something more…prominent…"

I caught Gilbert looking at my eyebrows. "Is that a crack at my eyebrows?" I leered, gritting my teeth.

"Nein, nein!" Gilbert waved his hands back and forth. "Your brows are glorious, truly," he winked.

I gave Gilbert a sour look; I didn't believe him at all.

Antonio yelped when Gilbert grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the counter. "Stick to the plan, and stop fucking around," Gilbert hissed through his teeth.

"You said we would get ice cream," Antonio whimpered, his mood reminding me of a puppy who had just been kicked in the stomach.

"Hmmph," I crossed my arms. These two were definitely up to something.

"So…" Gilbert drawled, his voice cracking awkwardly. "Those are some cool drawings you got there," he remarked, pointing behind the counter.

I glanced over my shoulder at the various drawings that were pinned up on a clothing line.

"Indeed," I hummed, winking at Antonio when I caught him childishly ogling at my gages. "Those are custom tattoos that clients draw up for us."

An awkward silence fell between the three of us.

Antonio's attention span was quick to fall elsewhere. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "That's a cool design!" He gestured towards a drawing of a crystalized rose.

Gilbert and Antonio exchanged suspicious glances.

Gilbert's cheeks spread into a shit-eating grin. "I never took you for a flower person?"

"I'm not," I huffed.

"But, you draw them on people? Surely you must like them?" Antonio asked.

"Ja, what's your favourite?" Gilbert chirped.

"I already told you, I'm not fond of flowers," I deadpanned.

Antonio pursed his lips. "How about chocolate? Your perfect idea of a date? Are you a top or bottom? Favourite sex pos-! Ay!"

Antonio yelped again when Gilbert elbowed him in the rib-cage. "Haven't you ever heard of being subtle?!" he spluttered.

"Oh, so that's what this is all about?" I rolled my eyes. "Well, you can tell that disgusting amphibian jerk friend of yours that if he truly wants to know the answers to those questions, then he can grow some balls and come here himself."

"So, you do like him!" Antonio exclaimed, beaming from cheek to cheek.

I picked up my favourite pen, which was styled as a decapitated finger. "I'm about two seconds away from shoving this down your happy-go-lucky throat," I warned. "Now, if you two imbeciles aren't here for tattoos, quit wasting my time and get the hell out!"

Antonio's eyes watered. "Okay," he sniffled.

Gilbert wrapped his arm around Antonio. "You monster!" he scolded. "You know how emotionally fragile he is. He doesn't like to be shouted at."

"Not my problem," I said, sticking up my nose.

"Lovi yells at me all the time," Antonio moped as Gilbert led him out of the parlour. "Why doesn't mi tomatito like me anymore? Am I not husband material?'"

Gilbert consolingly rubbed Antonio's arm. "Of course not. You're perfect husband material. Some people just don't appreciate how sweet and adorable you are."

I ignored Gilbert when he looked over his shoulder to glare at me.

When the front door shut, I drummed my nails against the counter, a devious smirk on my face.

I wonder what Francis would do next? After all, it was always good fun to make him flustered.

I had that pretty boy wrapped right around my finger.

…

I didn't have to wait long before Francis strolled into the parlour, his face smug with an infuriating smirk. He was wearing an open collar white blouse, loose denim capris, and his hair was kept in loose blond curls that fell to his shoulder. I felt a nerve in my temple twitch when I spotted the bouquet of roses that he had tucked under one of his hairy arms. He was like Gaston from Beauty in the Beast, save for the muscles, but was twice as grating and arrogant.

The heels of Francis's dress shoes clacked obnoxiously loud as he pranced over to the front counter. The smooth, purring tone of his voice did absolutely nothing for me. Nothing. "Would you like to explain to me why poor Antoine is sobbing? Or rather, explain to me what you did?"

My nostrils flared; the scent of Francis's rose perfume was suffocating. "He came here on his own free will. It's not my fault that he's a sensitive twit."

Francis rolled his eyes. "Oh, mon Dieu. That attitude is exactly why you're going to end up alone in life."

"The bouquet of flowers you're holding points otherwise," I huffed, lazily puffing out a few strands of fringe from my face.

Francis's expression lifted. "Does that mean you'll actually accept them this time?"

"Sure," I smirked, grabbing the bouquet of roses from him. "I'm always in need of something to burn. I can't have people finding out about the corpses we have stored in the back."

"Haha," Francis laughed dryly, placing on elbow on the counter. Shrewd blues eyes were met with an unforgiving forest of green. "Very funny. Let me guess, as soon as I leave, those will be going in the waste bin?"

"Hardly," I answered. "I forgot to get my mum something for Mother's Day. These should do just fine. Thanks, truly."

I was hoping that Francis would have given up and left by now.

But, oh no. No, no, no. Francis was just as stubborn as I was, remarkably.

Francis's eyes widened as we watched me tuck the bouquet in a cubby underneath the counter.

"You dyed your hair pink!" he blurted out.

I raised a heavy brow at him. "Why, thank you Captain Obvious. Oh, relax, it's just the tips."

"Wait!" I fumed. "Why am I telling you to relax?! It's my hair, I can do whatever the hell I want with it!"

I felt my face flush. Unfortunately, I wasn't wearing any concealer or foundation today.

Francis gasped, and in a blur of blond hair, he was suddenly behind the counter, looming over me. "Why?" he whimpered. "Why do you taint your natural beauty with these crude, unnatural colours?"

I grit my teeth. "I'll have you know that-! Oi! Geroff!"

Francis cupped my face with two warm hands, tilting it to the side as he shamelessly inspected me further. "Pink hair? Thick eyeliner? And is that a new brow piercing? Tsk! Tsk! And what is this?"

Francis used one hand to tug at the fish-net long sleeve shirt that I was wearing as a bottom layer.

I growled lowly under my breath when Francis let go of my face, instead opting to grab my right hand. "What am I, a bloody zoo animal?" I snapped. "Is it really that shocking that I have a different sense of style from you?"

Francis ignored me completely. "At least let me trim your nails. Hmmm. Or perhaps those unruly eyebrows of yours…"

"I'll h-have you know that I do in fact trim my eyebrows," I spluttered, feeling my face redden further. There was always something about Francis that caught me off guard and I hated it. I hated how warm his hands felt; how gentle his touch was; how he hummed softly under his breath when he was around me. He was a familiar face that intruded my personal space as if it were child's play.

But, for reasons inexplicable, I let him.

"All right, all right! That's enough groping out of you!" I huffed, shoving Francis's eager hands away from me.

Francis pouted, but gave me my space nonetheless by walking over to the other side of the counter, where he damn well belonged.

I sighed, knowing that he was expecting me to fill the gap in our conversation. Honestly, he could be such a child sometimes. "What did you come here for?"

Francis met my gaze, lips puckered in a stubborn grimace as he spoke. "You know why, Angleterre," he muttered. "I think we'd make a wonderful couple."

"That's why," he grinned, his expression suddenly becoming excited again. "I've come here to prove once and for all that I'm serious about you."

I bit my thumb, a nervous habit of mine. "Oh?" I asked, feeling as if I had just been winded. "And how are you going to do that?"

Damn him for making me feel this way. We've known each other for so long, and yet now he'd rendered me completely speechless. There was something about him today that was different, I could sense it. Behind the teasing look on his face, there was solid determination. And, to be perfectly honest, it frightened me terribly.

I didn't let many people this close into my life. Why Francis stuck around after all these years still boggled my mind. Being rude was a defensive mechanism. I hurt others before they could hurt me. Francis, however, was one of the few people who bit back with insults of his own. I never knew what to expect with this man. Perhaps that's why I was so afraid to let him in…

"I came here to get a tattoo!" Francis declared proudly.

I blinked several times, contemplating his words. Then, like the emotional porcupine that I was, I went on the offensive. I would call Francis out on his bluff. Surely, he didn't actually intend to get a tattoo…right?

"Oh God," I feigned shock. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Of course I am!" Francis chuckled, azure eyes burning holes into my own. "You're stubborn, and this is the only way to make you believe me."

"Fine," I relented, smirking as I bent down to grab a stack of freshly printed release forms. "What would you like? Do you have a drawing for me to imitate? Or perhaps, you'd like to pick a design from our catalogue?"

I licked my lips, waiting for Francis to cave. So far, he wasn't budging. I'd make sure to change that soon enough.

"How about I let you pick one for me?" Francis suggested, batting his lashes. "I'd like one on my forearm, just like you," he purred.

"I don't see how this is proving anything," I muttered. "Give me your arm."

Francis let me take his right arm. It took an immense effort on my part to keep my hands steady as I pushed up his sleeve.

"Pity," I remarked, running my fingers over the smooth skin of his forearm. "I can hardly imagine tainting such pearly white skin with permanent ink."

Francis wavered. "Well, as they say," he smiled weakly. "Lovers should be willing to dedicate their body and soul to their partner…"

"Did you just imply that I'm your partner?" I asked, biting the inside of my cheek. Bloody hell. The cringe was just too strong for me not to be embarrassed. How could he be so brash and open like this? If I wasn't so perturbed, I would have felt admiration for him…

"Surely, you'll have to go out with me after this, non?" Francis smiled, his eyes filled with strain.

I couldn't bear to look at him, otherwise my own bluff would be called out. Instead, I poked and prodded at his forearm with my nails, making sure to dig them in occasionally. "Those are some bold words," I smirked. "Perhaps we should match that with some even bolder tattoos. I know the perfect design for you!"

"Sign those forms, I just have to get the machine ready," I smiled, baring my fake fangs.

I plugged in the chord for the liner machine, the familiar hum of the monstrous contraption sounding like music to my ears. From the corner of my eye, I saw Francis fill out the release form, his entire body stiff and his face paler than milk.

Satisfied with his reaction, I turned around, determined to make him sissy out before it was too late. Francis was merely trying to impress me. I was going to make him crack. He cared too much about his appearance to willingly let something blemish his 'flawless' appearance. "Done already?" I asked.

Francis weakly nodded his head.

"Well then," I drawled. "Roll up your sleeve. I was thinking of giving you a skull and roses tattoo. Just like that one," I pointed to a drawing hung up on the wire behind me. "It's one of my favourites…"

"H-how wonderful! I'd love that!" Francis just about squeaked, his lips trembling. "It'll represent my 'dying' passion for you~"

Cheeky bastard.

We were both too prideful to give in to the other. At least, not yet anyway.

I grabbed Francis's arm again. "Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed. "Loosen up, will you?"

"D-desole," Francis apologized.

I shook Francis's rigid arm, but his tense muscles refused to uncoil themselves.

We both fell into a stubborn silence as I marked up his arm with a fine sharpie pen, sitting him down in a chair.

"You know," I mused. "It's not too late to change your mind."

"N-non!" Francis refused. "I want this…I want you…"

My face burned again. Thankfully, Francis was looking anywhere but me.

I grabbed the inking pen. "Last chance?" I taunted.

Silence.

I clicked a button, causing the pen to vibrate.

"I'm really doing it."

"O-Oui, I know."

"It's going to hurt…"

"Love demands pain sometimes…"

"Here it comes."

Francis swallowed heavily. "I can't wait."

I brought the vibrating pen closer and closer to his forearm, my eyes flickering towards Francis. The Frog was showing no signs of backing out. He had his eyes shut tight, his jaw clenched in nervous anticipation.

Damn it. This has gone too far.

I turned off the inking pen. "For fuck's sakes, Francis," I deadpanned, letting go of his arm. "Did you really think I'd force you into getting a tattoo that you didn't want? You bloody, stupid, stubborn bastard."

I despised how I had been the first one to give in.

Francis slowly opened his eyes, breathing for the first time in what must have been minutes. He muttered something in French, most likely a prayer of gratitude, before he fainted, his head lolling against the back of the chair.

"Fuck," I cursed.

I grabbed the bouquet of roses he had given me, sticking them under his nose. "Here Frenchie, Frenchie, Frenchie," I cooed. "Here's your daily fix of flamboyance and sunshine."

No response.

I quickly lost my patience.

"Come on you effeminate scoundrel, wake the fuck up already!"

I then took it upon myself to slap his cheek, scowling at the roughness of the stubble peppering his jawline.

Francis spluttered awake. "Q-quoi? What happened?!"

"You wanted to get a tattoo, I called out your bluff, and then you fainted," I muttered bitterly, crossing my arms.

Francis's cheeks became pink. "Oh," he murmured. "That sounds like something I would do."

Francis stood up, wobbling to the side.

I grabbed his arm, steadying him. For someone so thin, he sure did weigh a lot. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You need to sit down and wait until the dizzy spell passes. And lay off the wine and bread, will you? You're not going to stay thin forever," I grumbled.

Francis laughed, shrugging of my arm. "Silly Arthur, I'll be fine. My pride is what needs to be salvaged. Besides, wine and bread is good for the soul. I won't ever give up those luxuries, just like I won't ever give up on you."

I watched him in stunned silence as he staggered towards the front door. "I'll be back, Mr. Kirkland. You can count on it."

"You're never going to leave me alone, are you? Idiot."

Francis chuckled warmly, sending chills running up my spine. "Oui. Not once have you ever said that you didn't want me. It's only a matter of time before you realize that I'm the one you need."

"I-! Just wait a minute!"

BRING!

Francis left the parlour, leaving me speechless once again.

I cupped my flushed face, burying it in my hands. "Damn him. Fuck me," I cursed.

I paused, realizing the double meaning of what I had just said. "FUCK!"

…

Lukas came in a few hours later to take over my shift.

"Arthur?"

"Wot?!"

"Why is your face so red? Do you have a fever?"

"No, why do you ask? And what's that smug look on your face for?!"

Lukas sighed, an unreadable expression on his face. "Looks like that Frenchman finally got through to him," he muttered to himself.

"Wot was that?!"

"Nothing."

…

One week later…

I was beginning to grow worried. I hadn't seen Francis's ugly amphibian mug for close to a week now. Don't get me wrong; I enjoyed the quiet. But, I couldn't help but wonder: What if he did decide to give up on me? Had I really been that awful to him?

I couldn't explain it, but I felt empty. As a man of routine, I expected things to run according to schedule. So when they didn't, I felt…off.

As if the God's were testing me, seeing how long my patience would wane, a familiar face in an unfamiliar get-up walked into the parlour. My jaw dropped, and I burst out laughing.

Francis had 'gothed' up. His blond hair was replaced with a black wig, making his blue eyes appear to be sharper than before, despite the copious amounts of eyeliner and eyeshadow that covered his eyelids. His shallow, slender nose now had a ring embedded at the tip of it, with plenty of other lip piercings to complement it underneath. His face was much paler, so pale in fact that I suspected him of wearing face makeup. His lips were painted a matted black, tight and held in a firm 'stoic' grimace. For his outfit, he was wearing a graphic Metallica t-shirt, tight black skinny jeans, and matching combat boots.

"Dear lord!" I guffawed, wiping tears from my eyes. "Did you just come back from a ritual of sacrificing virgins?"

Francis's 'stoic' expression lifted, his painted lips curling into a predatory grin. "What, do you not like my outfit?"

"Of course not!" I wheezed, bending over to clutch my rib-cage. "You look bloody ridiculous."

Francis furrowed his brows. "I don't understand? I'm dressed just like you?"

And then he became angry.

"Mon dieu! You're impossible to please!" Francis snapped, raking his hand through his fake black locks. The piercings were also fake. "It took me several days to make myself look like…like this!"

I faltered. "No one asked you to do this for me."

"But I wanted to!" Francis threw his hands up into the air.

"Sorry to shit on your emo parade, but not everything can go your way, you know," I smirked.

"I dyed my hair for you!"

Oh bollocks.

My mouth parted open in shock. Francis's hair was the thing most dear to him. "Francis," I began, swallowing heavily. I was still stunned that he had taken things this far. And what for? To impress me? To win me over?

"Don't tell me that dye's permanent," I croaked, biting my lip. I felt downright awful.

Francis groaned, looking up at the ceiling. "Oui, it is."

I left the front counter, walking up to him. "You're such an idiot," I scoffed. "I don't even use real dye."

"You don't?" Francis asked.

"My Mum would disown me," I smiled weakly. "She's an uptight and traditional sort of person."

"Oh," Francis breathed, winded by his own shock. "I see…"

"Well fuck," I placed both hands on my hips. "What now? This is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

Francis finally met my gaze, hope sparking in his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really," I huffed, thoroughly embarrassed to be admitting something so personal. "Now can we get back to the part where I lecture you for being an idiot?"

"Oui," Francis bowed his head.

In response, I reached over and placed my hand over the back of his head, ruffling his hair lightly.

"You looked better before," I said gruffly. "If I can't spell it out to you, then I'll just be outright with it. You don't have to change anything about yourself to please me. I wouldn't have kept you around if I hadn't liked you. Likewise, you don't have to prove anything to me. The fact that you stayed all this time is enough proof in itself."

"Arthur...?" Francis looked up at me finally.

I sighed. "Fine. I'll go on a date with you. I've finally succumbed to the realization that I'll never truly get rid of you."

Francis squealed, surprising me when he pulled me into a hug. "Oh, mon petit hedgehog!" he cooed. "So you do have a heart~!"

I awkwardly patted Francis's back, blushing furiously. "Yes, yes. I think that's already been established. Now if you could please remove yourself from my torso and let me breathe, that'd be very much appreciated."

Francis pulled away, straightening his posture as he beamed down at me.

"I'll go pick up a packet of hair dye from the drugstore. It's painful looking at you like this," I muttered.

Francis cupped my cheek, batting his mascara coated lashes. "As a true French, I'll do anything for love. Eh, perhaps I did go a bit overboard with this look though…"

I leaned into Francis's touch, sighing contently.

As an Englishman who worshipped clever wordplay, I couldn't dream of missing out on this opportunity to make a good pun. "Just a tat too much," I mused. "Now c'mere, you. Let's rub off that lipstick of yours."

Francis and I exchanged smirks before he bent down and kissed me.

Although the smudge of his lipstick on my lips wouldn't last, his unconditional love had forever marked a place in my cold, bitter heart.

Tattoos weren't the only things that could be permanent, after all.

~The End

A/N: Make sure to check out browsofglory’s one-shot. They’re an amazing author :D You can find their one-shot here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12592784/1/Arthur-and-Francis-Go-to-Couple-s-Therapy

Thanks again. Have a great day/ night :D

#hetalia #Fruk #aph England #aph France #arthur Kirkland #francis bonnefoy #fanfiction #prompt exchange #ellawkward #browsofglory #one-shot #just a tat too much #Arthur and Francis Go to Couple's Therapy

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