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imaginesfordifferentfandoms · 3 years

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It's Going To Be You

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Prompt - I knew I did from that first moment we met. It was…not love at first sight exactly, but - familiarity. Like: oh, hello, it’s you. It’s going to be you.

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Spencer Reid knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that you were something else, he could tell from one glance that you would change his life. No words needed to be exchanged for the man to be completely and utterly taken by you. He watched as you walked through the door, though your head was held high, shoulders pushed back giving the impression of complete confidence, he saw the way you fiddled with the strap of your bag with one hand. When he looked at your other hand he could see your forefinger picking at your thumb, clearly a nervous habit. He watched as you looked around the room, watched as Rossi made his way over to you, guiding you over to Hotch’s office with a smile.

“Down, pretty boy.” Derek grinned as Spencer startled, his head snapping around to face Derek just as you entered Hotch’s office. “I’ve never seen that look on your face and you don’t even know her name.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spencer replied, cringing at how unconvincing he sounded.

He turned away from Derek and tried to focus on his paperwork but he could stop his eyes from straying over to the closed office door every few minutes much to Derek and Rossi’s amusement.

“Who is she anyway?” Derek asked.

“She’s lucky number ten,” Rossi told them, smothering a smile as Spencer looked over, “who knew finding another agent would be so difficult.”

“Wait,” another voice interrupted, “there’s a new person here? Is she nice? Why is that always my first question?” The group laughed as Penelope quizzed Rossi.

“Listen, I know as much as you people.” He said and before anyone else could speak Penelope was being handed a folder causing them all to groan.

“Agent Hotchner?” You asked as you were granted access to the office.

Hotch stood as you walked in, moving around his desk to hold a hand out to you.

“Yes and you’re Y/F/N Y/L/N, I presume?” He asked, smiling slightly at you as you nodded, still fiddling with your bag. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, please have a seat.”

“Thank you sir.” You smiled, taking a seat in the offered chair watching as he made his way back behind his desk.

“Your supervisor spoke very highly of you when I spoke with him, your success rate is impressive.” Hotch praised, glancing down at the file in front of him. “Your latest case seemed rather difficult, are you sure you’re ready to be back in the field again?”

“I passed all my psychiatric exams, I was cleared to return.” You told him stiffly.

“I’m aware of your results, I just want to be sure you’re ready. Infiltrating yourself into the life of Douglas Miller couldn’t have been an easy feat.” Hotch watched as a look of satisfaction took over your face.

“I’m ready, sir.” You told him, relaxing slightly. “It was a tough case, I’ll be the first to admit that seeing what I saw had an impact but I can do this.”

Hotch smiled at you before closing the folder.

“I believe you,” he said, “I think you’ll be a valuable addition to this team.”

The words were what you were hoping to hear, you’d wanted a job with the BAU for longer than you could remember but you paused. Surely it wasn’t that easy, right?

“Wait? That’s it?” You asked.

“That’s it.” Hotch confirmed, fighting back a smile at your expression.

“But- but I’ve been here less than five minutes.” You countered back, there were so many emotions going on within you that you felt slightly overwhelmed.

“Y/N, ever since your name was put forward I looked into your work and I was impressed. Your skills at undercover work are far above what I’ve seen in a long time, that alone would be an incredibly useful assest to the team but on top of that your ability to connect and empathise with unsubs, fast thinking and your profiling skills- trust me, you deserve this job and I have complete faith in you.” Hotch’s words had left you speechless, you had no clue how to respond but thankfully you didn’t have to as the door was pushed open and both you and Hotch turned to look at the brightly dressed woman in the doorway.

“I’m sorry to interrupt sir but we have a case.” The woman said and Hotch stood gesturing for you to follow.

“You have a to go bag?” He asked as you both walked out the door.

“Yes sir.” You nodded, still baffled by how well things had gone.

“Good, welcome to the team Y/L/N.”

“Everyone, this is SSA Y/F/N Y/L/N. I’m sure proper introductions can be made later.” Hotch said as the two of you entered the room before gesturing to Garcia that she could begin.

“Ok, yes, so, we have five bodies so far found in Wyoming. The first two bodies were hidden amongst some trees close to firehole bay. The ME presumes that the time of death was mostly likely a week ago but we should have full confirmation when you arrive. The victims, who we haven’t been able to identify yet, but I am working on it, were stripped completely and the wounds, that are in your files because I so do not need to see that, show heavy signs of torture. ” Garcia informed you all.

“The next body was a single male, again stripped and tortured and the ME says this death is most likely four to five days old. This body was found a few miles away from Basin Bay Point campsite.”

“Wait a second,” somebody interrupted, causing you to turn your head. There sat a man, younger than the rest of the team, he was…how you had missed him you didn’t know but now you felt like you couldn’t look away. “If I’m not mistaken those places are roughly twenty miles from each other at walking distance.”

“And driving distance?” An older man asked.

“I don’t think there is a way to drive to Basin Bay Point, especially not to where the body was left.” The younger man replied, looking down at the folder he was given with a frown.

“I’ll have a map ready for you on the plane.” Penelope assured him before continuing. “Now, the next two bodies were the most recent, ME says they were killed a day or two ago and these victims we have been able to identify as Taylor Gomez and her boyfriend Jack Gaskarth.” Penelope said as she brought their pictures up. “They were never reported missing because they had told friends and family they were going camping, which checks out because their bodies were found three miles away from Lewis Lake campground. They show the same wounds as the other vics.” Garcia explained.

You grimaced as you looked down at the tablet Hotch had passed you as you saw a young man and woman, naked with slices all across their bodies, as well as deep bruising to the neck.

“What was the CoD, Garcia?” The younger man spoke up again.

“ME still needs to run a full examination but her best bet is that it was asphyxiation.” She told him with a frown.

“That makes sense, there isn’t a lot of blood or scabbing which suggests they were done post mortem.”

“So what,” you spoke up, pausing for a moment when everyone turned to you, “the unsub blitz attacks the victims and kills them before torturing them? What’s the point in that?”

“It could be a number of things actually. Perhaps it’s not about the kills for him but more to do with the fascination of the human body, we’ve seen it before where curiosity leads to this kind of attack. It could also be that he has to kill, he has a compulsion to kill and once he’s given into that compulsion he gets to fulfil other urges. If I had to guess I’d say the victims are victims of opportunity-” The younger man rambled, his hands gesturing in front of him as he spoke causing you to smile.

“Because there is no set pattern, he crosses race and gender lines and there’s no secondary location.” You cut off the other man who looked at you with a grin.

“Exactly, the area is so isolated that he can get away with quick and easy killings but because it doesn’t seem like there’s a secondary location yet we have to presume that the torture is a means to satisfy himself when he can’t hold his victims hostage.”

“It’s a long flight and this unsub doesn’t appear to be slowing down. Wheels up in fifteen.” Hotch said as he stood up, everyone was quick to follow until it was just you and the guy you had spoken to left.

“Hi.” He said, causing you to turn around with a smile.

“Hi.”

“I’m Spencer, Spencer Reid.” He introduced himself.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, nice to meet you.” You replied, reaching out your hand to shake his, your eyebrows pulling together slightly as he shook his head.

“Sorry, I don’t um,” He said, causing you to drop your hand and nod understandingly, “it’s nothing against you, just…germs.” He trailed off, berating himself in his head.

“No problem.” You smiled again, god that smile. Spencer felt his heart race.

“Congratulations on joining the team.” He praised as the two of you walked out of the round table room.

“Thank you, I’ve wanted this for so long.” He watched as the smile fell from your face before you shook your head slightly.

“Is everything ok?” He asked, understanding the nerves. He couldn’t help but glance down, almost smiling as he saw you picking at your thumb.

“Yeah, I’m just, what if I mess up?” You couldn’t help but ask. After wanting this job for as long as you had, all the hard nights and long days spent training you were finally here and you’d be damned if you screwed everything up.

“You won’t, Hotch wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you were good enough, trust me. I think you’ll be amazing.” He told you, flushing slightly at his own words and the soft smile that replaced the frown on your face.

“Thank you Spencer.” You replied softly and before he could respond the rest of the team was calling for the two of you to head to the air strip.

On the plane you were properly introduced to everyone as you took a seat next to Spencer, sitting opposite Hotch and Rossi. On the table in front of you Spencer had both a map of the US and a smaller map of Wyoming. You watched his fingers trace invisible lines as his eyebrows knitted together.

You were trying not to stare, really you were, but there was just something about the man that made you want to get to know him.

Thankfully before anyone noticed your eyes glancing at Spencer every few moments, the man himself spoke.

“Guys, if you map out where the five victims were found,” Spencer began, circling three places on the map as he did, “it looks like the victims might have been hiking the continental divide trail.”

“Pretty boy, isn’t that trail like thousands of miles long?” Morgan asked, watching as Spencer nodded, pushing the little map of Wyoming out of the way for a moment and drawing a line down the map of the US.

“This is the continental divide trail, it’s 3,300 miles long and it’s actually quite difficult to hike. These people had to have been exceptionally fit and healthy which further backs up the theory that these were blitz attacks. You can go days without seeing other people when hiking the trail and most hikers have to give up because of lack of supplies or needing urgent medical care from injuries and illnesses they attract. A part of the Wyoming part of the trail includes a 120 mile stretch of desert with water sources few and far between.” Spencer rambled and you couldn’t help the soft smile, though you did try to hide it behind your hand, glancing away from Rossi when you locked eyes with him and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“So we have a serial killer and 3,300 miles of potential hunting grounds?” JJ asked.

“So far he seems to be focusing on Wyoming, which narrows the geographic profile down to…’ Spencer paused as he pulled the Wyoming map closer to him, “550 miles.”

“I hope you all brought your hiking boots.” Rossi said as groans filled the jet.

“Hello my crime fighters.” Garcia’s voice sounded through the speakers. “Hotch, the families of the latest two victims are at the station waiting for you.”

“Thank you Garcia,” Hotch replied before turning to the team. “JJ, I want you to come with me to the station and help interview the families. We also need to get ahead of the media on this before they start glorifying the unsub. Reid, since the geographic profile is mostly established, I want you to take Y/L/N and head to the latest crime scene. Dave and Morgan, the two of you head to the second crime scene.”

You and Spencer both shared a look at the news you were travelling to a crime scene that couldn’t be driven too. Whilst you managed to pass the FBI’s training and fitness tests you weren’t exactly athletically inclined and seeing from the look Spencer was giving you neither was he.

Judging from the chuckles that filled the plane the others had come to the same conclusion that you and Spencer were not going to recover from this trip.

You had driven as close to the crime scene as you could get, which was thankfully closer than the one Morgan and Rossi had to go to. It was still a hell of a hike to get to where the unsub had dumped the bodies.

“Ok, ok,” Spencer panted, cheeks flushed from the heat. “Let’s take a break.”

“Please.” You were quick to agree and the two of you sat down heavily on a fallen tree trunk. You had all been warned that you needed supplies, even for a short hike. So you had both been sent out with backpacks filled with water bottles and food. There were other supplies like maps, compasses and first aid kits that you were hoping you wouldn’t have to use. Thankfully you had been paired with the man with the eidetic memory because you couldn’t read a map to save your life.

After the two of you gulped down some water and caught your breath Spencer spoke up.

“Why the BAU?” He asked suddenly, causing you to look up in confusion.

“Sorry?” You replied.

“You said you had wanted to join the BAU for a long time, why?” He asked again, not pushing you when you paused.

It wasn’t a secret what had happened to your family, Spencer could easily find the information out if he wanted to but you wanted to be the one to tell him. It wasn’t a story you liked sharing with people but something about Spencer made you feel…safe.

“When I was a kid there was a serial killer but he was in the next state over and we were from a small town so nobody thought to worry and after a while things went quiet so everyone just assumed he stopped, you know? Anyway, one day I went to my friend’s house, it was summer and I was always out with my friends. I was there for a few hours but I was always home in time for dinner except for this day, I ended up losing track of time and headed home an hour late. When I got home, my momma was there in the kitchen. She was covered in blood and I just screamed. The rest of my family didn’t make it either. When the police came they said the markings were the same as the victims from the next state over.” You told him, not pausing for breath as you rushed through the story. You watched as his expression fell, his sympathy written on his face.

“I’m so sorry.” He told you and you could hear the sincerity in his tone. You gave him a small smile before continuing.

“I could just never understand why. The thing that kept me up at night was that question: why? Why them? Why did he come here? Why wasn’t I home? Why did I deserve to live? I started researching and somehow came across an article about the BAU, from there I knew I wanted to work there.”

“Most people wouldn’t be able to come back from something like that, especially at such a young age.” Spencer said, causing you to glance over at him. “They’d be so proud of you.”

You couldn’t help but let out what sounded like a chuckle and a sob at those words, causing Spencer’s eyes to widen in fear he had upset you further but then you smile brightly and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“I like to think so.” You said softly. “You ready to continue?” You asked, chuckling as he groaned before standing up.

“I hate Hotch.” Was the grumbled response and the laugh he received in return made every sore bone and the aching feet worth it.

“We know that this unsub is a physically fit white male in his mid to late thirties.” Hotch began.

“Looking at the geographical pattern it’s safe to assume that he too is hiking the Continental Divide Trail in search of victims who are isolated from the rest of civilization. He also has no problems taking down two victims.” Spencer continued.

“The period in between kills is lessening so we should expect to find another body soon, have as many officers as possible on the rest of the trail.” You picked up.

“Considering the last kill was two days ago, the average person could walk up to 30 miles a day on normal terrain but we have to consider that the terrain out there is harsh so lets say he walks 20 miles a day that gives up a 40 mile radius he could be in. He is guaranteed to stay on the continental divide trail so stop every male you see.” Spencer told the LEO’s and after some more information was shared everyone headed off in different directions, the BAU members heading into the room they had been given to work in.

“Y/N,” Hotch said, causing everyone to look over at you.

“Yes sir?” You asked, looking up from your laptop.

“You’re probably the most skilled undercover agent in this room,” He said, causing your cheeks to flush and Spencer couldn’t help but smile. “I know this isn’t exactly the type of case you’d usually be assigned but perhaps if we send you out there we have a better chance of catching him. This man is impulsive, if he sees you he won’t be able to control himself.” Hotch explained, ignoring the questioning looks he was getting from most of the team.

You, however, relaxed, thankful that you hadn’t done something wrong. Undercover work was easy, you were comfortable with it, you knew you were good at it. Obviously you weren’t as confident at this part of the job yet, how could you be on your first case, but undercover work? That was your area of expertise.

“Of course sir.” You agreed easily before remembering how fun the small hike to the last crime scene was…your body would not thank you for signing up for a much longer hike.

“Hotch, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Morgan spoke up causing you to frown. Sure they didn’t know you yet but surely your record spoke for itself. “No offence to you,” he said quickly as he turned to you, “it’s just-“

But before he could finish Hotch cut him off, “I have full faith in Y/L/N’s abilities.”

You couldn’t help feeling a swell of pride at Hotch’s words, a man who you looked up to, a man who barely knew you but was trusting you with so much already. You locked eyes with Spencer who smiled at you reassuringly.

“I’m not doubting the kid’s abilities,” Morgan continued, missing the way you rolled your eyes at being called a kid. “I’m just saying maybe don’t send her in on her own on her first case.”

“I’ll go with her.” Spencer spoke up before Hotch could argue back.

Your eyes widened at Spencer’s offer, he did just as well as you did on your first outing and now he was offering to put himself through hours more of that for what?

“Are you ok with that, Y/N?” Hotch asked you.

You didn’t even hesitate to nod, more than happy for the opportunity to spend time with Spencer Reid.

“We’ll be close by the whole time,” Hotch told you as he passed you your backpack filled with supplies, “the second we hear something, we’ll be there.” He assured you and you couldn’t help but smile at his concern.

“I’ll be fine, sir. This is actually the part of the job I’m good at.” You laughed, watching as his lip twitched upwards.

“You’ve been a great help in coming up with a profile too.” He assured you and before you could say anything the rest of the team was flooding in.

The plan for you and Spencer to hike up to a specific spot that Spencer had managed to pinpoint the unsub at and set up camp there. From there you would wait and hope for the unsub to appear. The man was impulsive and his need to kill would be overwhelming by now. The two of you were wired up so that if the unsub appeared the rest of the team could step in and help with the arrest.

You and Spencer were dropped off half an hour away from your campsite just so that if the unsub was around he wouldn’t suspect anything.

The walk was mostly silent, both you and Spencer focusing on not breaking an ankle on the uneven terrain when Spencer finally spoke up.

“Morgan didn’t mean anything insulting.” He told you, causing you to pause before shrugging your shoulders and continuing. When you stayed silent Spencer continued, “he’s just protective but sometimes he isn’t really good at showing it and it comes across…”

“It comes across like he thinks I can’t do my job despite this being my forte.” You finished with a huff before sighing. “I’m sorry, I just…you can’t imagine how many times a male colleague has said I can’t do something and then a supervisor has agreed, you don’t understand how hard I have to fight to be given assignments and not have somebody constantly berating me.” You ranted.

“People look at me like I’m a child. When I first joined the BAU nobody would take me seriously, without Gideon I don’t know what would have happened.” Spencer told you quietly, causing you to frown.

“So you can understand why it’s so frustrating that someone who doesn’t know me didn’t even want to give me a chance.” You replied, causing him to nod sadly. ‘I know he probably didn’t mean anything but…”

“You’ve heard that your entire career.” Spencer finished.

“Hotch was the first person to give me a chance without any hesitation.” You told him softly, watching as he smiled at that. “This should be close enough.” You said as you looked around, the place looked similar to the image Spencer had shown the team.

“Please tell me you know how to put a tent up.” You said, watching as his face twisted.

“I know the theory?” The way his response sounded like a question made you smile as you pulled poles and material out of a bag. The two of you staring down at the mess with matching expressions of confusion.

“Now would be a really good time for the unsub to attack.” He muttered, causing you to laugh loudly. Spencer couldn’t help but grin over at you, your cheeks flushing as you caught the expression.

It took longer than either you or Spencer were willing to admit to put the tent up, despite the fact that it wouldn’t get used, you had to make it look like the pair of you were really camping. There was a lot of grumbling, many curse words and a cut or two.

There was also a lot of laughter coming from the comms in your ears causing both you and Spencer to roll your eyes.

Once the tent was up, Spencer lay a blanket down outside of it and sat down, gesturing for you to do the same. Miraculously the two of you got a fire started and as the sun set and the night time air chilled you were thankful for it.

“I don’t camp but I guess I can see the appeal.” Spencer told you as he titled his head back to look up at the stars. You glanced up too, the sky wasn’t totally black yet, more of an inky blue colour and you could see every star on the cloudless night.

It was beautiful and yet you still found your gaze falling back on Spencer.

“Yeah, me too.” You replied softly, your voice quiet so as not to break the peacefulness around you.

Somehow the two of you ended up laying down and looking up at the sky, you had a smile on your face that refused to move as Spencer’s hushed voice told you facts about stars.

“I’m glad you’re on the team.” Spencer whispered after a long pause of silence. It took you a moment to register his words before you turned your head, coming face to face with the man.

“Me too.” You whispered back, meaning the words with your entire being.

Just as Spencer went to say something you heard a rustle in the bushes and locked eyes with Spencer who nodded.

The two of you waited, not waiting to disrupt the operation if it just turned out to be an animal, but as you pushed yourself up on your elbow and discreetly looked around you saw a faint outline of a man. He was hidden behind a tree but he was watching the two of you.

“The hike up here was exactly what we needed.” You told Spencer and through the comms you heard the team moving out.

“You’re right.” He played along, smiling up at you from his reclined position.

Before you knew what was happening Spencer had his gun out and the unsub grabbed you, placing you in front of him as a human shield. If someone asked you, you would never have been able to recall the events that led to you having a knife held to your neck.

You saw the panicked look in Spencer’s eyes but you couldn’t hear his thoughts, they were overwhelming. Thoughts of Maeve passed through his mind as he pleaded with anyone who would listen to let you be ok, he couldn’t lose you too. Hell, he’d only known you a few days and yet he knew you were special, he knew he had to have you in his life. If you died now…

“Just let her go.” Spencer said, keeping his gun trained on the man.

“I let her go, you ship me off to death row.” The man responded, his face close to your face, too close. The smell of his breath had you grimacing.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Spencer responded, not even thinking. He just needed to get you away.

“Spenc, what you doing kid?” He heard Morgan through his ear piece but he just shook his head before shooting you a reassuring smile, trying not to focus on the tears in your eyes or the blood on your neck.

“I’m listenin’.” The unsub replied after a moment of silence, gesturing for Spencer to continue.

“Let her go,” He said, lowering his gun, “I won’t arrest you. You can get a head start before anyone else gets here. Just let her go.” Spencer pleaded.

It was a tense few seconds in which Spencer never took his eyes off you, he hated to see that scared look in your eyes, the fear in them made Spencer ache.

“Let her go.” Spencer said once more and he let out a sigh of relief as you were pushed into his arms.

Just as the unsub ran to leave, you twisted around in Spencer’s arms and drew your own gun, shooting the unsub in the leg. The rest of the team ran in just as the man fell to the ground.

Spencer turned you around so that you were facing him, his hands on your shoulders.

“Are you ok?” He asked, Morgan and Hotch walking over whilst Rossi and JJ dealt with the man.

You didn’t respond with words, instead you wrapped your arms around Spencer. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his own around you, holding you close as you let the tears slid down your face.

You pulled away abruptly, rubbing your eyes as you did.

“Sorry, you don’t like to be touched and here I am-“ You said but Spencer just cut you off.

“It’s fine, really.” He assured you before his attention turned to your neck. The knife hadn’t pierced the skin too badly, there was a small bit of blood where the knife had nicked you when the unsub pressed a bit too hard.

“Are you ok?” He asked again, fingers on your jaw so that he could tilt your face and get a better look.

“Spencer, I’m fine.” You assured him but that didn’t stop him from getting you medical attention the moment you were back in the town.

Spencer watched as you squirmed away from the nurse seeing to you with a soft smile.

There was something about you that made him feel so free, like he could be himself and the thought of losing you…he didn’t want to think about it again.

“You like her.” Derek said as he came to stand next to the younger man.

“That’s ridiculous, I’ve known her for a few days.” Spencer shot back but he knew his friend was right.

“If she’s the right girl, a few days is all you need.” Was Derek’s reply before he walked away, leaving Spencer looking at you with a thoughtful look on his face.

The plane ride home was uneventful.

You took the seat next to Spencer again and watched him pull a book out. You couldn’t help but glance down at it, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion as you didn’t recognise the language.

“It’s Russian.” He told you quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone as they settled in for a long flight.

“You read Russian?” You asked just as quietly, watching as he smiled bashfully and shrugged before nodding. You glanced down at the pages again before letting out a small yawn. “Can you read to me?” You asked him, smiling as he nodded again.

“Of course,” He said and with that it wasn’t long before you fell asleep to the soothing sound of Spencer Reid.

“Ask her, man.” Morgan said as both he and Spencer watched you leave the office after finishing your paperwork. Spencer too was done and Morgan assured him he’d make sure Hotch received it.

There was only a brief moment of hesitation before Spencer snatched his satchel up and ran to the elevators, getting there just before they shut on you.

“Hey.” He greeted as he stepped in.

“Hi.” You smiled, brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

“I was wondering, I mean if you wanted to, of course you don’t have to, I was only suggesting but I’d really like it if you would,” Spencer rambled before cutting himself out with a groaning causing you to giggle.

“Are you asking me out?” You asked, cheeks flushing as you asked.

“I’m trying to,” he told you, “but I’m not very good at this.”

“Just ask.” You told him softly.

“Would you like to go out with me?” He asked after taking a deep and calming breath.

“I’d love to.” You grinned, thankful that the man had made a move. You wouldn’t have risked asking him on the chance that you were reading him wrong and he didn’t like you but thankfully he had taken it into his own hands.

“Good. Great. That, that’s great.” He repeated, a soft grin spreading across his face causing you to giggle as the doors opened.

The two of you walked out together and there was a moment of awkward silence before Spencer dipped his head down to kiss your cheek, making your blush even more prominent.

You looked so pretty when you blushed, Spencer thought.

“I’ll call you.” He promised.

“I hope so.” You replied before heading towards your car, when you turned around you saw Spencer still stood by the doors with a smile still on his face. You giggled to yourself but couldn’t stop smiling yourself if you tried.

Spencer Reid was something else and you couldn’t wait to learn everything about that wonderful man.

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yandere-sins · 3 years

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The Exception

My friend let me try playing Hades on her switch and well... I kinda liked it. Namely, I liked all the characters, so my brain went like “what if they were yandere” and I had an idea for this story that I threw together this morning before working on the Fox Wedding (: The latter isn’t done yet, but this sure is, so who knows, mayhaps some of you will enjoy it! Just tried to answer the question how we could get Thanatos to whisk us away.

Characters: Yandere!Thanatos x Reader Warnings: Yandere, Blood, War, Wounds/Impaling, Major Character Death (???) or well dying, I read into greek history for almost an hour but if I gotten something wrong then so be it

Thanatos had seen enough of the world to know that he didn't want to stay on the surface forever.

The current battle spreading before him was a mere reason to sigh deeply as he watched bodies fall left and right, their souls soon leaving to a better, or perhaps worse, place. It was mandatory he stayed, but Thanatos was well aware of which side was winning and which was losing. It was his duty and his work to know these things, even though it didn't make the fighting any less futile in his eyes.

Letting his gaze wander over the battlefield, he watched the red splatters on the ground, heard the crushing sounds of iron against iron and the cacophony of fearful and devastating screams. He still couldn't believe Zagreus would want to come to such a place. A place where there was futile fighting and too much light, but perhaps, it was a world that fit the Prince of the Underworld, as he was the same, even if Thanatos only recognized this fact bitterly.

Finally, the battle was closing in on its end, just like the hundreds of people that found their death because of it. The ones who weren't dead yet slowly but surely started to hesitate and retreat. Even as the personification of death, Thanatos reckoned that a pointless death was scary, even though so many humans chose it over desertion. Their death was inevitable, preordained by Thanatos sisters. Still, he had seen many hold on to the last sparks of hope that they could escape Thanatos' grasp.

And then, on the other side of the coin, were those that practically would have offered their life to Hades and fought to the end.

You weren't an exception. Yes, your quest and pride were your downfall, and by the gleam in your eyes Thanatos could tell you knew. You knew and recognized that you'd die. However, as if you were spiting him personally, you still continued to fight ahead of everyone else, gaining questioning glances from your comrades and contempt from your enemies, which you pulled to the ground one after another and sending them to hell.

Many before you had this overzealous compulsion to make that best out of their inevitable demise. Thanatos would admit that yes, most had a good reason for it, like saving their family or fighting for their own life. Others simply lucked out on the gift of pride and ignorance, forcing themselves and occasionally many more lives with them into the deep, dark pits of death.

What was your reason? Thanatos wondered.

He still had time before he needed to take action, he could allow himself a short - minuscule, really - different thought than his upcoming work, and you presented yourself so nicely to him as the incarnation of death waited for the end of today's battle. It wasn't often that he had the leisure to let his thoughts wander, so Thanatos intended to use these few seconds, which would fall under the radar, to still his curiosity.

By the looks of it, you weren't an inexperienced fighter. Or perhaps, you were just a farmer judging by your muscles. Surely, you seemed enthusiastic about your task, so were you fighting for something more significant than the glory of your country? Family? A loved one? Thanatos couldn't help but be curious about what your drive was, as he had seen so many reasons, yet they were all the same. Perhaps, yours was new?

Even so, you were graceful as you swung your sword around. What did he know about footwork, but at least, yours seemed to pay off as you weren't dead yet. When one of your foes managed to smack off your helmet, Thanatos believed that was it, but alas, you regained your strength, charging at the very same attacker.

In a way, fighting was like an elaborate play. The only difference was that neither of the parties knew the other one's move. The person reacting better was the winner. He couldn't find joy in watching wars, but even Thanatos had to admit that it was a joy watching you. Even if you lacked the enthusiasm as the heroic shades that lingered below, like Theseus, had, you fought a fight worth mentioning in the books as well.

Every move you made, Thanatos could see the calculations in your eyes, that keen shine reflecting in them. The sun seemed to break through the clouds just to reach out to you, making your armor sparkle in its rays. Yes, you were a formidable human, and Thanatos caught himself thinking that it was a shame you were fighting even if you looked so beautifully while doing it.

Taking another deep breath, he could see the swirls in the air left by it. While the winter wasn't affecting him, no matter how little clothes he wore, Thanatos felt a second of pitiful understanding for everyone who had to fight in those conditions. Undoubtedly, the cold armors, freezing hands and weapons, and frozen ground were another nemesis for every soldier out here. Even if their bodies stayed warm from adrenaline and running, it certainly was another reason many of your human bodies gave out quicker, merely submitting to their fate. It was fair enough for Thanatos. It meant his work was over faster, and judging by you being circled and the other soldiers at your side beginning to see the end coming towards them with long spears and sharp swords, it was all over soon.

You had fought bravely, that much he could give you. Perhaps you had impressed him enough to put in an unusual good word for you with Hypnos, who'd pass it on to Hades himself, granting you a shot on being put into Elysium. But your fate had long been decided, and as you fell to the ground, the battlefield erupted in victorious screams, announcing your time of death.

And also, his start of work.

As the winners retreated one after one, happy whenever they found a friend that survived too, Thanatos passed by them and onto the battlefield instead. Unseen by the human eye, he began his duty of reaping, one soul after the other, as mangled and frustrated over their death as they were, following his orders as he shushed them away. Usually, some pleaded and bargained with him for another shot of life, but even if Thanatos had wanted, there was no way for him to help them. But that day, everyone seemed awfully aware that there was no negotiating nor mercy waiting for them as they looked at his figure, frightened and frustrated. A pointless battle, with meaningless deaths, brought forth the self-pity in them, but this wasn't the first battle Thanatos tended to, so he felt nothing akin to that. It also wasn't his duty to take care of the souls gathered here, as it was Hermes' job to lead to them.

He had something very different on his agenda. You.

It was unfortunate for both of you, but when he reached you, you had yet to breathe your last breath. One eye slowly and in pain, opened, the other one damaged from the blow to the head you had received. However, as you looked at him, serene clarity laid in your gaze, and you recognized him, mayhaps by the giant scythe he carried around. Your stare was clear and less afraid than he expected you to be when acknowledging him, but you closed your eyes as a cough overcame you, hot, red blood dripping down your lips.

"Guess that's it," you croaked, and Thanatos could only stare. Conversing… wasn't his strong suit, and there wasn't exactly a reason to talk to you.

"Are you going to kill me?" you continued, undeterred by his silence, and Thanatos weighed his actions. "No, of course not," he eventually spoke, shaking his head slowly, the hood on his head shifting along to his movement.

"Ouch, that's cruel. You'll just wait until I die like this?"

Your words were nothing he hadn't heard before, and he didn't feel offended by them. However, he didn't expect your lips to briefly curl into a smile, adding a jesting notion to what you said. Even that wasn't new, but… it struck a chord inside the usual stoic bringer of death. "I can't end your suffering," Thanatos explained, hoping you'd simply know about the unspoken rule that he couldn't harm you.

"I think, I get it," you heaved, feeling worse by the minute. "You are just making sure I know I am supposed to die here."

That assumption wasn't wrong, even though there had been more playing into his service than just that. Too many kept trying to escape their fate, and sort of, Thanatos was just checking and cleaning up what would be left. You still had some time before your organs would fail and finally take you to the grave, different from the other souls that were already leaving for their new home.

"No, you will die here," he retorted firmly.

"I could," you chuckled, followed by another painful cough.

"Don't test me, Mortal."

In between deep breaths, you allowed yourself a short laugh. Just like him, you were probably aware that there was nothing worse that could happen to your situation, so his threat was just a way he hoped to shut you up with. In silence, he watched over you, until eventually, your eye opened up again. This time your gaze was searching for him - or something really - but your sight had already begun to cloud. No matter how proud and achieved you are in life, in the face of death, everyone looked the same.

"I think I did a good job. You know, fighting. Thought that if I already had to do it, I might as well give it my damn best."

More coughing. Thanatos watched the puddle of blood around you grow by the second. The spear inside your body must have been stirring up your insides the more you talked. Thanatos had expected something like this, you, young as you still were, had been led by the belief that doing your best could make up for the fact that you'd die. "But in the end, it was worth nothing, right? We lost after all."

Thanatos could only stare as he wondered what you expected him to say. He came here, knowing your life would end here, so really, the hope you had put into yourself didn't have the same disappointment to him now as it did to you. And yet, as he listened to you, seeing your body battered up with cuts and bruises, for the first time in centuries, he felt something akin to pity for you, and you specifically.

"Why did you fight then?" he asked, perhaps against your expectations.

"Why? Because they told us too. The King ordered us to fight this battle, and only he could have known how many soldiers our opponent would bring."

"You could have run." Thanatos tried to stay as detached from you as possible, though it didn't quite work, your words taking their influence on him. "Can you?" you retorted before letting out a long sigh. Death was near, literally as well as figuratively.

"Can you run from your duties? You don't have to do this either, do you?"

"I do--"

"Really?"

There was no immediate response this time, your question justified, despite your little mortal soul undoubtedly never understanding the burdens on the shoulders of Gods. The world would stop if they all decided to not continue their work and fulfill their duties and expectations. If Thanatos stopped, no one would die anymore, and but the suffering of everything would never disappear too.

"Dying sucks," you whispered, turning your head away.

"I reckon," he muttered indifferently. Not like he could talk about it from experience. It must be painful, dreadful, and, depending on the circumstances, frustrating too. Right now, though he couldn't imagine the extent, you must have felt so hopeless and so, so scared. There wasn't much other reason for your banter.

"Thanatos… I always thought it was a pretty name, even if everyone feared it." Regaining his attention after finding himself momentarily lost in thoughts, he looked down at you again, watching as your eyelid closed slowly. "Say what you want, but you can't blame them for fearing death, and alas, me."

"Perhaps if they talked to you, they wouldn't be so afraid."

"Meaning you don't feel so afraid anymore?"

A smile danced over your lips once more, a truly unusual sight for a soul so close to their end, and especially after talking to him. Hypnos often teased Thanatos with being too formal and dutiful to be amusing, and Hades beware, comforting. Though he didn't care for his twin's words, yours did make him feel... happy.

"Let's go then," you whispered, and Thanatos kneeled down, his hand falling to your wrist, listening to your pulse. Even with the feeling of your heart still desperately pumping blood through your body, only to lose it through your wounds, you didn't utter another word afterwards. You undoubtedly were dying, but perhaps, for now, you were merely unconscious as your lungs didn't stop reaching for air, and your heart used all your strength to function.

Once more, the sun broke through the clouds, shining down right at you two, bringing Thanatos into the predicament of being blinded as it reflected off your armor. Perhaps he understood it now. Understood how unfair it was that someone like you, innocent and kind, was doomed to die out here. How awful his job on this day was, forcing him to take you to Tartarus and put you before the judgment of the god residing there.

So what if... he didn't.

He couldn't heal your wounds, nor make you feel better. But what he could do is battle the fate, earn the scorn of many, but at least, even if he took out the spear from your bloody body, you'd live. You'd live to tell your tale, and who knew, even he could apply some bandages, so maybe you'd recover some.

It was a risk, and one Thanatos did not like taking, nor found pleasure in executing. But you couldn't refuse to come to this battle, whereas he, perhaps, after all these years, could refuse to do his job once. For your sake, and unbeknownst to him at that time, for his own even more.

His scythe disappeared in favor of Thanatos grabbing for the dreadful spear. Never before had he experience the kind of sound a wound could make from so close, and by the gods, he hoped he never would again. It was just your luck that you were unconscious, or the pain would have perhaps killed you faster than your wounds.

Leaning down, he scooped you up, his hand sullied with your blood and the dirt on the ground. The snow wasn't cold when he touched it, but your body was warm in his arms and still alive. Your threat of fade wasn't cut yet, and he wouldn't do it. With you in his arms, he stepped back, looking into your sleeping face before he retreated from the battlefield with a quiet, "Let's go."

No, the surface wasn't a place Thanatos liked to linger. It was too loud, too wrong, and too bright. But to see your smile, lively and happy, one more time, he didn't need to stay above ground. Where you were going, it was dark and, at times, lonely if you weren't a being born there. But you'd also be safe and alive for as long as you wished to.

And Thanatos would be with you, even if everyone would turn against him and his decision, for all eternity if he must.

#thanatos #thanatos hades #yandere thanatos #yandere!thanatos #hades #hades the game #yandere hades #yandere!hades #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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missskzbiased · 3 years

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I Hate That I’m Afraid to Love You (17)

Genre: Romance, Friendship, Angst, Hurt /Confort , Suggestive, Fluff, College Au, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Au, REALLY Slow burn, Love Square (?)

Pairing: Hyunjin X Fem!Reader X Han X OC

WC: ~ 7,5,K

[Previous] [Chap] [Next]

Masterlist

Warnings (general*): Language, Mentions of (Physical abuse, Death/ Loss of Loved One, Child Abandonment/Neglect, Divorce, Toxic Parents, Cancer, Mental disorder, Anxiety Attack, Alcohol, Food), Suggestiveness

Notes: It’s Hyunjin’s Pov. I got to finish chapter 18 today. Probably gonna try to write some of 19 later. I’m posting earlier just because I’m really tired and I’m afraid I might be too sleepy later LOL

Updates: Tuesdays

////

HYUNJIN’S POV

You were being ridiculous.

You crossed your legs, sighing as you stared at both cups in your hands in wonder. Why would you be sitting on a bench on a Monday morning with two cups of coffee ─ well, actually one cup of black coffee and one of iced Americano ─ if not to wait for someone? It was so painfully obvious that for a second you thought about throwing them away in the trash and acting as if you weren’t a… You didn’t even know how you should be calling yourself now.

You scowled, getting up from the bench and heading to the closest trash bin, settled in assuming your usual fuckboy façade to try to approach Y/N. Why would you act differently now? It wasn’t like you loved her or something… Maybe you were a little bit infatuated by the fact that she could listen and understand you better than anyone else –

See? That kind of awfully awful thought… You should be ashamed.

You kinda were.

“Hey” Yeah… Of course, she would see and talk to you at the exact same moment you were about to throw coffee away for absolutely no reason. You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes to recompose yourself before turning around with a smug smile.

“Hey” You offered back in a husky tone.

“Did you scratch your throat or something?” She asked in confusion, frowning as she stared at your neck “You sound… I don’t know… Kinda different?” She said unsurely, hands trailing to her own throat and massaging it mindlessly.

Great… Exactly the reaction you wanted.

“Oh, no!” You cleared your throat, massaging it as well “I bought these drinks and I drank yours by mistake” You explained, handing her the cup. She narrowed her eyes at you, studying you closely before reaching for it.

“Thanks…” She said warily “What’s the occasion?” She asked, tilting her head, eyes wandering around your face before she sipped the coffee, humming in appreciation “This is really good!” She raised her brows in surprise, shifting her gaze to the cup.

“Well, I stopped by a café to buy some for me on my way here, and… Well, I remembered you have an exam today, right?” You smiled at her, knowing far too well that what you just said was bullshit “I thought you could use some real coffee today” You shrugged.

“I don’t have an exam today…” She frowned, holding the cup with both hands as she thought about it.

You fought back a smile, watching as she scrunched her nose and tried to figure out what was going on; lips slightly projected forward in something close to a pout but not quite. The way she held the cup with both hands made her look smaller than usual, and for some reason, you found it incredibly endearing. There was something soft spreading in your chest, some kind of warmth that made you want to wrap her in your arms and squeeze her but you ignored it.

Y/N wasn’t the cute little type… She would hit you for sure if you tried to do anything similar to this. You were yet to understand how she didn’t just kill you after the fake kiss at the stairs… You were lucky as fuck. She raised her eyes to you in question, making you gulp down. You had those eyes so close to yours… That nose brushing against yours… Those lips…

“You don’t? I must have heard it wrong then” You lied, sipping your drink mindlessly. Or at least, you hoped she thought all of it was natural and unplanned “Well, you like coffee anyway…” You shrugged, glancing at her as you walked together towards the stairs “Consider it a friendship treat” She hummed, nodding in mock acknowledgment.

“Why does it sound like a poor excuse to buy me something?” She laughed, nudging your side “It’s awesome to have two rich friends to pay for my stuff” She joked, taking another gulp of her coffee “I guess this one is pretty good because it doesn’t even feel like grumpy o’clock anymore” You laughed at this, smirking at her.

“Maybe it’s not the coffee but my company” You said suggestively, wiggling your brows at her, making her chuckle, “Or it could be the sugar” You said playfully, grinning when she took the bait.

“Not really, those from the stands are usually really sweet… This one is actually way more bitter than I’m used to” She admitted “But it’s g—“ You didn’t even let her finish.

“Oh? So you’re saying you prefer sweet things?” You could tell she knew you were about to make some silly input just by the way she arched her brow in expectation “If you want some more sugar, I can be your Sugar Daddy, you know?” You joked, fighting back your laughter as she grimaced at you, huffing.

“Really?” She couldn’t help but chuckle “That must have been the worst pick up line you have said in your whole life” She pointed out, grimace dissolving into a playful expression “You’re too young to be my sugar daddy, though” She reminded you, shaking her head in amusement.

“I can be your honey, then” You chortled when she choked on her coffee, pushing your shoulder lightly as she looked at you astonished.

“Oh my God… You’re a compulsive flirter, what the hell!” She whined, wiping her mouth “How can you come and show your face when you’re like this?!” She asked dumbfounded, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Did you look at my face? There is nothing to be ashamed of here” You joked, and she grimaced again in mocking disgust “Come on! You love me just like this” You said in a singsong “You said so yourself” You reminded her, making her snort.

“I do love you just like this” She agreed, offering you a small smile that made your heart flutter for a second “The amount of self-esteem oozing out of your ass is going to be my thesis’ theme, so I have to love it” You rolled your eyes when her small smile dissolved into a mocking one “I may even get a prize… I don’t think someone ever saw something as big as this” She joked, making you snort.

You opened your mouth to retort her but she beat you to it.

“Please… No comments about your dick and your hook-ups” She pleaded, furrowing her brows at you in disgust.

“Hey, I wasn’t going to say something like this!” You protested, even though it did cross your mind “I was going to smoothly change the subject to the book I couldn’t finish reading because I had to save Han’s ass that day” You threw her your best condescending smile, getting a knowing mumble as an answer.

“ I see… So you want the juicy gossip” She mocked, making you roll your eyes “I have the book back if that’s what you want… But the coffee and that not so smooth change of the subject make me think that you want to know more” She smirked.

“Not really” You shrugged, though you really wanted to know, “I just want the book back so I can finally finish it” You lied, and she nodded, clearly not buying your words “I mean it” You tried to emphasize your fake intentions but she just rolled her eyes.

“What do you wanna know?” She asked bluntly, stopping to rummage through her bag before handing you the book “We’re okay now… He needs more time and I’m okay with it” She summarized, zipping her bag close “Everything is fine and I’m late for my classes” She chuckled, hoisting the bag over her shoulder.

“So… He talked to you like an actual human being?” You sneered, and she threw you a look before sighing.

“Yes… He made a good point, to be honest” She giggled, remembering something from their conversation “He was afraid to talk to me about needing more time because he knew I’d go and try to convince him otherwise” She seemed to find it funny “Anyway… He has a lot to deal with right now, and I can wait for him to act normal again” She shrugged.

“I see…” You pursed your lips, patting the book’s cover distractedly “And what about Paris? She told me she kinda confessed to him…” You cleared your throat, trying to change the subject again.

She narrowed her eyes at you, suspicious of your question.

////

The book was good but that wasn’t the only reason for you to be here.

You looked around the library, trying to find an inner excuse to be here apart from returning the book to Y/N, but finding nothing interesting enough. You leaned on the counter, waiting for her to show up as you mindlessly flipped through the pages, clearing your throat to see if you could catch her attention on the back. As much as you felt ridiculous doing things like this, there you were acting like a needy crushing boy…

What goes around comes around.

Would you even imagine that one day you would be trying to catch someone’s attention instead of simply having it on your own terms? No. You wouldn’t. You could just return the book to her tomorrow ─ when you would see her in class anyway ─ but you choose to come to the library on a Thursday afternoon just to do it… Someone should be stopping you from being… A Han or something.

Ugh.

“Oh!” She blurted when she came back to the counter, looking at you with curious eyes “What are you doing here?” She asked interested, suddenly frowning and seeming to think deeply “Shouldn’t you wait like… I don’t know some weeks to break up yet?” She seemed genuinely confused by your presence, and you found it too amusing.

“Can’t I come here to visit a friend?” You teased, arching your brow as you failed to fight back your smile.

“I mean- Well, yeah…” She floundered, clearing her throat “It’s kinda unexpected” She admitted, chuckling “Not even Chan comes to visit me in here and he actually likes to read” She joked, and you leaned on her way, resting your chin on your palm as you smirked at her.

“Well, maybe you should pick me instead” You suggested, looking into her eyes with your best alluring look but the girl seemed to be built to ignore all your charms.

“You wish” She snorted “At least, Chan doesn’t jokingly flirt with me all the time!” She rolled her eyes, bumping your nose playfully before organizing some books on a desk behind her.

“Neither do I” You said sincerely but she laughed dismissively.

Well, you weren’t jokingly flirting with her… She was just too dense.

“Anyway!” You shrugged off, placing the book on the counter with a thud “I’m here to give it back to you” You smiled at her as she glanced over her shoulders “I’ve finished it and I hate to admit it but you were right… It’s really good” And you weren’t just saying it.

“Oh? Better than your drama?” She taunted, grinning mischievously.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself” You grimaced at her, making her giggle “But I was wondering… Do you have any more indications? I may have liked it enough to read some more…” You muttered, and she smiled knowingly at you.

“I always have some good indications!” She chirped “I knew you would like it! We have a section here that is filled with books that might be of your liking… Do you want to check them out?” She asked excitedly, and you had to fight back the urge to coo at her.

She was too cute for her own good.

“Well… Why not?” You shrugged as if you weren’t interested at all “I can help you out with those” You gestured to the books pile behind her “And then you can show me this section… Maybe I’ll find something I like” She smiled at you, picking up the books and placing them on the counter for you to have access to them.

“Sounds great!” She said, studying you from head to toes “And kinda suspicious too…” She narrowed her eyes, a grin plastering on her face “First you buy me coffee and then you help me out with my work? Spill the beans” She said teasingly, and you looked at her with unimpressed eyes.

“If Chan was the one doing it… Would you find it suspicious?” You asked, arching your brow at her “You’ve been saying I’m too flirty and all that… But I’m beginning to think that you like to think I’m flirting with you, Y/N” You smiled condescendingly at her, tilting your head in a silent mockery.

“I didn’t say you were flirting with me now” She pointed out, grimacing at you judgingly “I said you were being suspicious” She reiterated “Maybe you’re the one who likes to think I want you to flirt with me, Hyunjin” She sneered, making you scoff as you looked away.

She was a too attentive piece of shit…

How could she be so perfect?

For Lord’s sake… You were wasted.

////

You were lucky enough to not be soaked to the bones.

You walked into the classroom, fingers running through your wet hair in a slow-motion that wasn’t really intended but also not completely unplanned. You didn’t mean to make it an event but what could you do? You knew what people wanted to see. You stopped in front of the board, fixing your hair as you looked at Y/N, licking the drop of water that reached the corner of your lips.

You lifted your chin just a little bit, half-lidded eyes fixing on your friends as you stretch your neck, letting the drops slid down your throat to your covered collarbone. You could hear some gasps around, and the quiet admiration fueled your ego as you shook your head to get rid of some of the water in it. You licked your lips, biting them before making your way to your seat.

You felt Y/N’s eyes on you, lighting up your smugness.

“Morning” You smirked, tilting your head as you threw her a look, eyebrows millimetrically positioned to give off the confident and sexy vibe you were aiming for “How are you today, ladies?” You asked jokingly, taking off your coat.

“Cold” Y/N answered mindlessly, studying you from head to toes.

You chuckled at her ─ making sure your voice sounded husky enough to enhance your attempt to look desirable ─ dusting off your shirt that was half-way opened. You noticed how she fixed her gaze on your bare chest for a second, though you couldn’t really tell what was going through her mind, and you smirked at her as she did. You opened your mouth, ready to tease her about it. The ‘Like what you see?’ almost slipping from your lips.

“Aren’t you feeling cold like this?” She asked in utter confusion “It’s freezing outside…” She added, tilting her head and looking at you as if you had three heads “Didn’t you see it was going to rain today? Do you need a coat? I can ask Chan to pick up something in my room” She offered, and you had to fight all your instincts not to scowl at her.

I can ask Chan to pick up something in my room… Tsk.

Unbelievable.

You glared at Paris as she snorted, looking at you filled with amusement. You grimaced, pretending to laugh along with her before sulking and sitting down. She pinched her nose’s bridge, trying to concentrate enough to not laugh straight to your face. You were surrounded by great friends… You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief as you buttoned up your shirt.

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” Paris asked playfully “Can’t you see that he’s too hot to be cold?” She mocked you, giving you a teasing look that quickly turned out in a pained one as you stepped on her foot.

“I don’t think that’s how it works” Y/N chuckled, resting her cheek on her palm and leaning forward on her seat to look at both of you.

“Don’t you think he’s hot enough for heating up the room?” She continued her teasing, and you had to breathe deeply not to slap the back of her head.

“You guys are so funny… Ha!Ha!Ha!” You rolled your eyes, huffing.

////

You should thank God for not being a spy.

You couldn’t really say you were doing a good job at hiding your newfound feelings ─ though feelings might be too strong of a word ─ from your friends. It was more than obvious that Chan would find suspicious the fact that you just fucking snapped your head to the mere mention of her name on the phone. So right now ─ as you sat on the couch, back straightened unnaturally ─, his eyes seemed to shoot a hole in your head to search for something in your soul.

“What?” You spat annoyed, trying to cover up for your slip-up with some fed-up manners that were bound to make him go away if you were lucky.

You weren’t.

“What?” He repeated fascinated “I’m the one who should be asking it” He chortled “You almost broke your neck just to pry into my call” He pointed out, brow arching up in suspicion. You pretended not to notice his narrowed eyes and musing; humming before he finally asked it “Hyunjin… Are you into Y/N?” the amusement under his tone was heavy enough to hit you like a brick.

“Please… What is there to like about her?” You scoffed, but Chan didn’t buy it at all. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his back on the counter as he studied you with attentive eyes. You cleared your throat, averting your eyes from him before connecting them again.

“Well… You tell me” He sneered “I wasn’t the one who got hard because she was on my lap” He reminded you; the teasing mixing with contempt as he huffed “I also wasn’t the one who spent weeks fucking random chicks trying to get the idea of fucking her out of my system” You paled at this, the cold sweat getting to your palms.

“I wasn’t trying to –” He interrupted you with a scoff.

“With all due respect… I have known you for years, Hyunjin” He rolled his eyes “You have never once fucked so many girls in a short amount of time like this… And just after you had a boner like a bloody teenager?” He snickered, grimacing at you knowingly “It sounds like someone was trying to prove something to themselves and failed” He tilted his head, challenging you to say otherwise.

“To be fair, I didn’t fail…” You muttered grumpily “It was all good until she talked with me…” You were fully aware that you weren’t making any sense, grumbling like a kid that had just been separated from their toy.

“Care to enlighten me?” He smirked.

Yes, I do! Fuck off…

This is none of your business!

What do you have to do with it? Are you her boyfriend?

“There isn’t much to tell…” You answered instead, shrugging at him “I realized that we have more in common than I thought… And it felt good to be listened to and have someone who understands me…” You cleared your throat “I was pretty much convinced that it was just a thirsty episode after…” You hummed, trying to search for a good word “That week…” You trailed off.

“So you actually fucked her out of your mind” He chuckled, finding it funny the way you tried to be polite about it now.

“Yeah…” You agreed embarrassed “And then she started to go after Han and it got me really mad because… Well, you know” You rolled your eyes “She was trying to make it all better and he was treating her like shit and…” You glanced at him uncertain but as his smirk dissolved into a serious expression, you knew he had understood it “Yeah” You concluded warily.

“It doesn’t answer my question” He pointed out, and you sighed.

Would he be less attentive someday?

“So I kinda pretended to kiss her to throw him off…” You mumbled, and you never saw Chan straightening his back so fast before “But I had my thumb over her lips!” You blurted, eyes widening as he uncrossed his arms.

“You did what?!” He sounded more surprised than mad, brows arched in utter disbelief “And it didn’t cross your mind to tell me this?!” He chortled “Didn’t she punch you or something? She definitely can take you down in a blink of an eye” He mused, looking for any bruises on you.

“She didn’t” You admitted, still finding it strange “I guess I was too hurt and she saw right through me… She knew that there was something wrong and she wanted to listen to me… So we talked it through and…” You played with your hands, glancing at Chan in expectation “Well, I don’t know what else to say” You shrugged.

“Just say you like her” He suggested, chuckling at you.

And that was exactly the thought you were trying to avoid all this time.

What was it to like someone? You had asked yourself thousands of times already. Was it about what you wanted them to see in you? Was it about what you wanted from them? Was it about how you felt when you were with them? Was it about the understanding between each other? Was it about wanting to be with them?

You wanted her to see you as the best one out there.

Although you found this urge silly and embarrassing, you kept acting like a fool every single time you were around her. You thought that trying to make someone like you, acting differently around them, and trying to convince them that you were the best version of yourself… It was definitely liking.

The problem was that as much as you wanted her to notice you and see you under a whole new light, you knew that there was no need to hide anything… She knew the deepest and darkest parts of you and didn’t run away. So, yeah! Maybe you were putting too much effort ─ even if you weren’t planning to do so ─ into impressing her but you knew that it didn’t matter in the end.

She liked you just the way you were.

For you, liking someone meant to be obsessed with things that shouldn’t matter at all. You didn’t expect her to do anything special… You didn’t expect her to say sweet things to you, or take care of you, or run her fingers through your hair… Well, you kinda wanted it but it didn’t really matter. As long as you had her smiling and sharing things with you… As long as she could tease you and laugh with you when you guys stumbled over each other around the campus…

You didn’t want her to go out of her way for you.

You wanted to be on her way.

You couldn’t remember a time when you felt genuinely happy with a girl… You could remember being smug as you walked around with them as if they were your new trophy. You could remember being playful and teasing and thirsty… Well, you could definitely remember being thirsty a lot of times. Yet, you couldn’t remember feeling so… At home? You didn’t even know if you could actually say something like that.

It was like she could understand all of you and still welcome you at the end of her day. It was like she could set you on fire and give you some kind of light and warmth that you didn’t feel for ages. It was like being with her was an adventure and still, you didn’t fear anything when you were beside her.

It was humiliating to feel like this.

And you probably were a hell of a masochist because you loved it.

You had to be stupid to think that all that had come from a simple talk on a Friday afternoon. You knew it was much more than that. It came from years of being disgusted with each other… Hiding and searching for the greatest weakness you could find. It came from being vulnerable enough to open up and redeem yourselves… It came from accepting each other… It came from listening, sharing, teasing, healing…

You scoffed, nodding at Chan as you met his eyes.

“Yeah… Maybe I like her” You agreed, lowering your gaze to the floor.

The problem was that Friday didn’t show you how you liked her… It showed you every single thing you were trying to ignore until now. It showed you how much you have gone through and how much both of you were connected to some extent.

It showed you that liking wasn’t quite the word you were looking for.

////

The first step was to acknowledge your feelings.

Bullshit.

The first step should be you burying your feet into Chan and Paris’ heads so they could stop being so painfully obvious about all of it. Was it just in your head or were they actually working together to humiliate you right now? Maybe they were just too excited… To be fair, you couldn’t understand what was going on inside their heads anymore.

It wasn’t like knowing your friend’s favorite dish was a crime, right?

Apparently, to the two holy detectives that watched every single step of yours, it was the worst of the crimes; worthy of knowing looks and teasing kicks. What a great way to live your life. You deadpanned as you looked at them, arching your brows to see Paris giggling as she retreated her leg and Chan smirking in your way. You let a hint of disgust show on your face as you wandered your eyes between both of them, wondering why ordering Y/N’s favorite dish should be an event now.

So what that you wanted to please her?

“Isn’t that like your favorite dish, Y/N?” Paris decided to play innocent. The way you had to hold back to not kick her under the table ─ just like she had been doing with you every two minutes ─ was worthy of mention on Guinness Books.

“Won’t you go to the kitchen to cook it?” Chan arched his brow playfully, and you closed your eyes to breathe deeply, trying to stay composed. You opened your eyes to stare at him, lips quivering as you held back a grimace and laughed it off sarcastically.

Of course, Y/N laughed about it as well.

So maybe on Saturday ─ when you finally acknowledge your feelings to Chan after he invited her over for lunch ─ you had let it all go to your head and tried to pretend you were a good cooker… But did he need to expose you like that? What a great friend you had! You kinda expected Chan to tease you about your feelings but you also thought it would be something more… Private, to say the least.

So, I made it for you… You had said to her and as soon as those words came out of your mouth, Chan chortled, almost choking on his food, throwing you an amused look.

You meant made the order, right? He laughed, and Y/N giggled along with him, pushing your shoulder.

“Fucking hilarious” You snickered, scrunching your nose “You should drop Med school and try to be a comedian or something… You’re so talented” You added, utterly done with them.

“You make it too easy” Y/N mocked you, grinning as she rested her cheeks on her hands, leaning on the table “No, but seriously now!” She said, grinning dissolving to an attentive frown “Even though roasting Hyunjin is one of my favorites hobbies” You scoffed, rolling your eyes “Paris and I actually wanted to invite you guys to a party” You frowned at her conclusion, tilting your head, intrigued.

“A party?” You decided to make sure, suspicious of it.

“Yeah” Paris intervened, smiling at you “Minho got into a team!” She said excitedly, and you couldn’t help but snort, grimacing at her as if she had just told you the best joke ever.

“So what? We don’t even talk to him” You pointed out, getting a nod from Chan, who also seemed curious about their suggestion “I mean… Congratulations to him! But why would I go to a party because of this?” You questioned, narrowing your eyes at Paris.

“Well… Han—“ You chortled, poking your cheek with your tongue.

“Really?” You sneered “So Han suddenly have the time and the urge to speak to you again?” You rolled your eyes “Unbelievable…” You darted your eyes at both of them, frowning “And both of you are going to go?” You gestured between them, arching your brow.

“And hopefully you and Chan!” Paris chirped, trying to keep the mood at the table “Come on… He was having a hard time figuring everything out and finally, something worked for him!” She pleaded, offering you big doe eyes that didn’t make you flinch a bit “Come on, Hyunjin! Do it for the team!” She forced a smile, and you sighed, shoulders dropping as you did.

“What in the hell makes you think that we would agree to go to his party?” You asked tiredly “You know far too well that I don’t like him… He hates me, he punched me, he hurt Y/N… I don’t have a single reason to talk to him” You enumerated, pulling one finger at a time as you did.

“He’s our friend, Hyunjin” Y/N reminded you “We’ll keep talking and walking with him and if you both keep hating on each other it’ll make everything awkward” You scowled at her “Just saying!” She shrugged “You don’t need to come but Paris and I really want you and Chan to get along with him at some point” You tried to hold her gaze but ended up averting your eyes anyway, tsking.

“Well… I don’t have anything against him” Chan shrugged “I don’t need to go to a party to hang out with him… I hung out with Paris wanting to choke her every once in a while for all this time!” He added, chuckling as she tried to slap his arm.

“Will it hurt you to go to a party, Chan?” Y/N nagged, rolling her eyes and getting a chortle out of all of you “I’m counting on your Daddy vibes to keep Hyunjin under your wing and prevent them from fighting” She pouted, trying to convince him.

Ridiculous and yet cute… What the hell.

“I don’t even go to parties to have fun… Why would I ever go to babysit them?” He grimaced, arching his brow “Moreover… Pouting doesn’t work with me, Sweety” He smirked, patting her hand over the table “You’ll have to try a little bit harder” He sneered, and she kicked him under the table, smiling obnoxiously at him.

“Was that hard enough?” She taunted.

“What about a deal?” Paris interrupted, trying to negotiate “If we convince one of you to go by the end of the day, then both of you will come with us” She smirked, throwing you a smug look that made you scoff, tilting your head.

“Deal” You shook her hand.

There was no way that Chan would agree to go.

////

So you had a party on Saturday.

“How the hell did you convince him?” You whined, looking at Paris in a devasted way as you sauntered through the campus, trying to find a bench to sit down. She chuckled, nudging you and taking a look at your face before grinning mischievously, shrugging her shoulders.

“I have my ways…” She answered mysteriously, making you roll your eyes.

“You’re working together to play matchmaker, aren’t you?” She stuck her lower lip out, tilting her head in a mocking way that said ‘who knows?’ and making you shake your head in disbelief “You’re sly as hell” You whined, getting a chortle from her.

“Come on! You clearly need it!” She insisted “You’re being way too obvious, Hyunjin! Paying attention to her likings? Buying her coffee? Ordering food and pretending to cook it?” She snorted, grimacing at you playfully “Trying to seduce her with a half-opened shirt?” She broke into a fit of giggles, probably picturing the humiliating scene.

“Look, I wasn’t thinking straight at the time” You scowled at her, pouting as you thought about it “If it really was that obvious, she would have said something by now” You pointed out, and Paris snickered, giving you a thumb up in mockery.

“Yeah! Because Han was so subtle and she totally figured him out” She sneered, and you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree. In fact, Y/N was blind to any kind of romantic feelings. You could come with a bouquet and a love letter… She would still find a way to see it as a great gesture of friendship.

You were too naïve for your own good.

“It’ll be so cute to see the two of you dating!” She chirped, eyes twinkling as she clasped her hands together, finally sitting down on a bench. She looked straight at you, waiting for you to say something, but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer her at first.

Dating? Who said anything about dating? You didn’t want to date her… You frowned as you looked at Paris, unsure of what to say to her as you cleared your throat, wondering how you should put it. Yes, you might be in love with her but… Dating? You snorted. A relationship demanded too much from you… Were you ready to attach to someone like this?

You didn’t think so.

“What is it?” She narrowed her eyes at you, suspicious of your behavior “Why do you look like…” She studied you from head to toes before settling her gaze on your face “…This?” She floundered her hand around, gesturing at you with a disgusted frown.

“What do you mean?” You tried to play dumb, sitting down beside her.

“You know far too well what I’m talking about” She accused, eyes narrowing once again “Hyunjin, by any means are you thinking about playing with Y/N as you do to the other girls?” She asked cautiously, searching for any sign on your eyes that confirmed her assumption.

“Never” You reassured her, hand going to squeeze her knee “It’s just… I mean, I don’t think I’m ready to go all in, you know? Yeah, I like her and all this… She’s my dear friend and I may or may not be in…” You gulped down, eyes darting at her as you cleared your throat “…to her” You finished, afraid to speak your real feelings out loud.

“In…To her?” She snorted, looking away for a second before throwing you a look “You’re in love with her, that’s what you are” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief “You never did anything like this before, Hyunjin… You’re the type of guy who has people throwing themselves at your feet” She acknowledges, and you shrugged smugly, a playful smirk playing on your lips “Tell me one time you tried so hard to get someone’s attention” She requested, crossing her arms and leaning back on the bench in a silent challenge.

Romantically?

Not even once.

“Exactly” She grimaced, looking at you as if she could read your mind “If you don’t want to date her, why are you trying so damn hard? What is your point?” She asked skeptically, tilting her head as you opened your mouth to answer her.

Just to close it again in wonder.

She was right… Why were you trying to impress her so much if you had no intentions of actually getting into a relationship or something? It was more than obvious that Y/N wouldn’t be the kind to hook up with you and then just go with it… As far as you could tell, she had no experience in love. None. At all. There was no way she was going to just go with the flow and… And what? What were you expecting from all this?

“Hey, Hyunjin” The husky voice got you out of your thoughts, making you realize that someone was standing right in front of you. Not only someone. You remembered her from… Maybe a month ago? You couldn’t even remember last time you got laid “I haven’t heard from you for a while…” She continued; tone still sexy enough to turn your smug façade on “New catch?” She asked, studying Paris for a second, a subtle smirk on her lips.

“We’re just friends” Paris voiced your thoughts before you could, jolting her leg for you to let go of her knee. The girl chuckled, tilting her head as she seemed to eat Paris with her eyes, licking her lips before averting her eyes to you.

“Yeah… I’ve been his friend a couple of times too” She joked, winking at you “If you guys are up to more friends…” She let her sentence hang in the air, shifting her gaze in a suggestive way that made you flustered. Good Lord… She was asking Paris to join your… Oh my God.

“No need!” You blurted out, getting up abruptly “I mean- Do you want to be her friend?” You looked at Paris startled at the thought, getting furrowed brows that answered you right away “We don’t need any more friends, thank you!” You rushed to say, getting a blank stare before she averted her eyes to Paris, landing them on her for a few seconds.

“I see…” She hummed, smiling at both of you mysteriously before throwing a few glances over her shoulder as she walked away.

For some reason, it didn’t settle too well on your stomach.

////

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you smirked at Paris.

“I’m telling you!” She insisted, leaning forwards to slap Minho softly on the knee “The girl just came out of nowhere and suggested a threesome with me!” She laughed, leaning back on the chair as Minho huffed in disbelief.

“There’s no way” He looked at you in awe “I’ve heard your reputation but… I mean- Where can I sign in?” He joked, arching his brows playfully as he chuckled. He crossed his arms, letting his body relax on the chair as he looked at you in amusement, tilting his head as he seemed to ponder something.

It turned out that Minho wasn’t as unbearable as you thought.

“You’re not really my type” You fought back a smile as he scowled, nagging at you as he gestured mindlessly for you to get off of his tail “I guess you have to be born with a pretty face like me” You joked, and he groaned in answer, throwing his head back.

“Is that what you need to get girls now? Have an obnoxious attitude like this?” He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief as he connected his gaze to you again, trying to hide his smile “You’re not really my type either, baby boy” He scorned, grimacing at you sarcastically.

“Who said he gets all the girls?” Paris teased, looking at you with grinning eyes that twinkled devilishly “A little bird told me that Hyunjin has a crush on someone and I haven’t seen him getting laid recently” You glared at her; lips quivering as you tried to hold back your frown.

“Wait” Y/N slowly raised her eyes from her beer, snapping them at you in surprise “You’re crushing on someone and everybody knows except me?” You paled, clearing your throat as you stared blankly at her, trying to think of an answer.

That’s how blind you are…

It’s not my fault you have such busybody friends!

Yep! Because that’s you.

“Aren’t you too interested in my love life?” You asked instead, trying to maintain a smug façade as you smirked at her, arching your eyebrow questioningly. She narrowed her eyes at you, seeing right through your attempt to change the subject. You hated when she did that… Yet, it was kinda endearing to know that she could figure you out like this.

“I won’t even begin to talk about how you’re always meddling in my life” She raised her hand as if to tell you to stop with your bullshit “You’re a fuckboy and you’re not getting laid! How can I not be curious about this?” She scoffed, making you chortle.

“I see… So you’re interested in my sex life” You corrected yourself, and she rolled her eyes “You can’t just live your sex life through me, sweetheart” You teased, pouting at her as she glared at you, clearly done with your teasing “You should have your own experiences… Actually having some sex instead of trying to stick your nose into my business” You chuckled as she huffed, poking her cheek with her tongue.

“Who said I didn’t?” She arched her brow in a challenge.

“What?” You asked, tilting your head in confusion as she gulped down her beer.

“Who said I didn’t get laid?” She repeated, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at you “I may not be like you but I had a share of affairs as well” She shrugged nonchalantly, and you could swear your jaw was on the ground by now.

“You’re not a virgin?!” You blurted out in utter surprise hand snapping to your mouth as soon as the question slipped from your lips “Sorry! I didn’t mean to ask that” You rushed to say but she just snorted.

“I always thought you were a virgin” Minho added anyway, sounding surprised as he frowned at you “You’re always working and eating hot dog… When the hell did you have the time to bang?” He asked in wonder, tilting his head “I can’t be the only one who’s not getting some here” He nagged, making you chortle.

“You guys are too naïve” Paris chuckled “Y/N was clearly the cool mysterious kid that had a bunch of people over her feet!” She reasoned, gesturing to Y/N to make her point “It’s obvious that she got laid at some point of her life! Just look at her” She stated matter-of-factly, giving you all a know-it-all look.

“Not really” Y/N chortled “I just got laid because I ended up hooking up with Chan—“ You could have choked to death right at that moment but as soon as you opened your mouth to gasp, Chan’s voice reached your ears, startling you to the point that your choking died on your throat.

“Hey, Sweety!” He called, interrupting her “Can you come over here?” He gestured for her to get closer, and she frowned at him, suspicious of his behavior “I wanna talk to you” He added, making her sigh in surrender.

You watched her making the way to Chan, attentive eyes glued on his figure as you tried to process what she had just said. So Chan and Y/N hooked up in the past? And they had sex?! You were kinda suspicious of them lately… You wouldn’t lie. The sheets all messed up in the morning? His comment on how she was like a beast? The way he inquired you about your feelings on that night? The way he held to the bulge incident? The way he spent over a week at her place?

They had to have something going on…

You clicked your tongue as you thought about it, furrowing your brows as she finally got to his side, being guided ─ and you didn’t fail to notice his hand on the small of her back ─ to somewhere more private. The thing that didn’t make any sense was that Chan was actually trying to help you out to get your feelings out of your chest… Why would he do that if he liked her? But again… Who said anything about liking? They could be just banging.

“Wow” Minho said as soon as she left, looking at you and Paris “So the rumors are true? They’re together?” He arched his brows in awe. As soon as he arched his, you frowned yours, confused by his question. What rumors?

“What are you talking about?” Paris asked, as lost as you.

“Haven’t you guys heard about it? I’ve heard Chan has been visiting her at the library and there are even some rumors talking about how he spent the night at her dorm” He explained, trying to find any signs on both of you that confirmed those rumors “Chan is quite popular, so I guess people just tend to pay attention to it… He also called her sweety right now, didn’t he?” You scoffed, poking your cheek.

“People talk too much” You reassured him “There is no way they’re dating… One of them would tell us” You looked into Minho’s eyes, shrugging “Never heard them fucking either” You added, shifting your gaze to Paris, looking for something that gave them away “So I guess those are just rumors…” You chuckled, trying to act nonchalantly.

You weren’t so sure yourself though.

////

Obviously I had to forget something LOL

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teentitwns · 3 years

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soooo, as you know i wrote some bbrae fanfictions and, this one, especifically, called “all you had to do was stay” (yes, taylor swift’s song) was published in 2017 but i deleted after sometime because im little lazy and the history always seems easily in my mind.

anyway! i decided to rewrite this fanfiction and the first chapter is already posted on the brazilian website that i use (spirit fanfics), so why not put in here too?

please, remember that im brazilian and my english is a little broken - sorry for the mistakes you’ll find on the text.

well, thats it. im really nervous right now and insecure. i hope you like it and, maybe, i can post the fanfiction on ao3 or another website.

_______________

The protective dome around Raven was totally useless and, like her friends, she knew it.

She was there, standing in the middle of the contraption built by Cyborg, with all her vital signs being recorded on the computers that occupied a large part of the room, beeping together with the devices that showed her brain waves.

Everything had been perfectly assembled and positioned so that she had the best protection that anyone could have in the face of what was about to happen, but all those technological tools made her feel like a laboratory rat, studied in vain to discover that in the end the experience had gone wrong again.

She sighed loudly and propped her elbows on her knees, resting her face in one hand; she no longer cared about floating.

She felt physically and mentally drained to use her powers in something as unnecessary as floating, and she didn't need to be inches from the ground at that moment.

In fact, it was better to have contact with the earth, with the concrete floor. At least she would be sure that she was still alive, that the world was fine and whole.

Raven let out a loud snort and huffed impatiently, her eyes roaming the room until they found the door, waiting, miraculously, for one of the other Titans to enter. She had been inside that dome for hours and she couldn't take it anymore - loneliness was good when chosen willingly, not out of obligation.

To her despair, in addition to the blatant private prison that was happening there, the kidnapping, or anything else of that level, the situation made terrible flashbacks go through her head, making her remember Slade, the brand of Scath , the end of the world and, consequently, Trigon.

Why did everything have to be so similar? It seemed that karma was acting exactly the same as it had on her sixteenth birthday, creating a tedious and scary looping. She never considered herself a fan of automatic repetitions anyway.

Unconsciously, she took her left hand into the pocket of her midnight blue cloak in hopes of finding a specific object inside it, but this time, she had no lucky coin to cling to and consider as an amulet. She was alone, forgotten, practically left to die, just as she should have been two years ago, on the fateful day when Trigon’s Prophecy almost came true.

The empath, a “witch” as many called her, allowed herself to laugh with mockery. She hated feeling sorry for her own tragic life, but she couldn't escape the pitiful thoughts she was having. She probably didn't think differently from what her friends had in mind - she was just a poor girl, victim of circumstances, who was not to blame for being the fruit of the forbidden, unhealthy relationship between a human and an interdimensional demon. She was not to blame for being “Daddy's darling”, the one chosen to bring him to Earth for the second time, since she was a poorly raised daughter and prevented him the first time.

Now, at eighteen, she wouldn't be as lucky as she was at sixteen.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos… Azarath Metrion Zinthos…”, she closed her eyes and started to meditate, with nothing else to do. “Azarath Metrion Zinthos…”

“Raven!"

She opened her eyes with a start, facing Beast Boy. Awkwardly, he spread his hands on the thick glass of the dome, breathing heavily.

“Great.", She thought. “Of all the people that Robin could send, he chose the most restless."

" What are you doing here?", she asked.

“Dude, isn't it obvious? We’re doing it wrong! ”, Beast Boy waved his hands compulsively. “I mean, it's your father! There is no one better to stop him than you!”

“If I leave here it will be easier to get to Earth."

“I really don't want to be pessimistic, but he's already here, mama."

“Beast Boy..."

“It worked last time, didn't it? What good will it do you to be stuck in that dome? The world will end anyway!”

“Weren't you the one who was upbeat until two seconds ago?"

“I still am!"

“Does Robin know you're here?"

“…yes."

“I don’t believe that."

“Of course I told him,", the shapeshifter scratched the back of his head, causing his newly acquired muscles to start filling his uniform to appear. “I just don't know if he paid attention.”, He gave a nervous smile.

“It doesn't count as a warning."

“Have you never been told that what counts is the intention?"

Raven rolled her eyes and uncrossed her legs, standing up. She walked over to where Beast Boy was, touching the dome with her fingertips. He smiled broadly, running to the nearest computer and typing in the code that would free her.

When the dome barriers disappeared, Raven adjusted the hood on her head, thinking about the possibilities that surrounded her. Beast Boy was right, after all. Trigon was already on Earth, like the first time, and she would not be of much help if she were trapped, safe and sound, while her friends killed themselves to save the world.

“I knew you'd be up for it!" He celebrated, approaching her.

“It wasn't your worst idea."

“I'm smart, you underestimate me too much."

“I must have my reasons for that, right?

“Taking into account my discussions about tofu being the best food in the world can’t be considered as a reason.”

“No?”

“We all have our childish moments.”

“And you have your adult moments.”, she said.

“Nothing for having released you, I’m at your service.

“Where are they?”

“Downtown.”

“Excellent.”

“Raven”, Beast Boy called her when she started to leave. “Are you ready to go?”

“You don’t?”

“It's just… You have nothing to bring you luck.”

“I don't believe in luck.”, she lied, ignoring the thought that she had been wishing for a lucky charm a few minutes ago.

“Why not?”

“I make my own luck.”

“But it's always good to have help, isn't it?”

“Come on, Beast Boy.”

He shook his head negatively and approached her, holding her arm firmly and preventing her from getting away. The difference in height between them remained almost nil, with Raven looking a little taller from a distance because of the hood.

She frowned and looked at him without understanding, trying to pull her arm out of his grip, uncomfortable with the position they were in.

“It's just…”, Beast Boy started to speak. “I shouldn't be here and I know it. You are always so focused and correct that you even embarrass me for acting that way, but, last time, you had the coin I gave you and we won.

“I don’t know where it is.”, Raven lied, lowering her head to hide the blush on her cheeks. Some of her emotions were manifested in Nevermore, reminding her of the small passion she held for him. Passion, that, that she was sure that she would never be reciprocated. He was not a philanderer, he had never dated anyone after Terra, but he was not unaware of love affairs like her. She had a little more experience, even though she was also small. “We can't keep others waiting.”

“I can't let you go without an amulet.”

“There is no such thing as luck, Beast Boy! How many times have I told you that we need to run after what we want?”

“Many.”

“And none of them fixed on your brain?”

“Apparently no.”

“I should have imagined.”

“Why can't you give me a credit?”

“You are acting like a child who believes in Santa Claus.”

“And you're being cruel to me.”, he complained. “I thought you stopped that a while ago.”

“I stopped. Are we going to battle or not?”, Raven asked impatiently. “The world is about to end!”

“I know!”

“Then let me go!”

“I can't let you leave here without an amulet!”

“So give me this shit!”

Raven's words echoed around the room, and Beast Boy smirked, as if he had been waiting for this ever since they started arguing.

Such nonsense fights and quick discussions were not new to them, who were used to being awkward a few times a day, always for stupid reasons. However, that time, the shapeshifter had a purpose and, knowing that Raven would play the game, he put his idea into practice, which ended up working very well, thank you.

Raven shook her head and shrugged, silently asking if he wouldn't give her anything. She was waiting for a frog charm or other coin, but all she received was a warm kiss on the mouth, which made her blow up the nearest computer monitor.

The touch of Beast Boy's lips on his made her close her eyes instantly, her body and mind embracing the fact that she wanted that kiss - she had even been waiting for him for a long time, having fantasized the moment several times in the stillness of his. room.

On the other hand, Beast Boy didn't explode at all, but he felt his whole body vibrating. Her cheeks were as flushed as Raven’s, and it had taken him a long time to have the courage to kiss her.

The kiss could not be considered "worthy of a movie" because the two were too tense to give themselves up completely. They did not know where to put their hands and neither should they do it; A light in their heads blinked incessantly, reminding them that the world was ending while they were kissing, and billions of people were at risk.

It could be considered an ordinary kiss, but for Raven and Beast Boy, it meant much more than that.

They separate after a few seconds, unable to exchange a direct look. Beast Boy cleared his throat and Raven clung more tightly to her cloak, almost disappearing inside it.

“Raven”, Beast Boy smiled, making her look him in the eye quickly. Without breaking eye contact, he simply stuck a five-cent coin in her hand. Like old times. “Good luck.”

—————————————-

ok, i had no idea that the text would lose the diagramming!!! i wrote this on my iphone notes, sorryyyy

#teentitwns #bbrae #bbrae fanfiction #raven #beast boy #fanfiction

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spectrumed · 3 years

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1. piano

The brain is a musical instrument. How it sounds all depends on who is playing it. The keys, the strings, the tubes, the circuits, none of them make noise on their own. Some may argue (some very aggressively) that every instrument has one exact way that it should be played. That there is one correct way to play the piano, and then there’s several incorrect (deviant!) ways to play the piano. But a classically trained pianist will not play the piano in quite the same way as a self-taught jazz pianist will play the piano. Sure, the latter does employ some stylings unique to them. They have an idiosyncratic way of playing that makes their sound highly notable, possibly even sought after. While the former, the classically trained musician, they’ve been taught to minimise many of those quirky individual traits that could, potentially, distract from the classical compositions that they will be playing. In jazz, music is carried by unique characters and a strong sense of individualism. In classical, music is carried by tradition, norm, and history.

It should not be understood that the classically trained musician plays without soul or passion. While we, in the western world, have become more and more infatuated with the idea of the self-made artist, the amateur who makes their way to success and stardom solely through will, and quite often a manic compulsion to create, there is no wrong way to play an instrument. However you make it work, whatever sounds you are able to produce, you are playing that instrument. You are channeling your inner essence into the music you are performing, no matter what genre you belong to. No-one plays their instrument the exact same way, for certain, but everyone is playing with what they’ve got.

How do you think? You’re used to being asked “what do you think?” But how do you think? Do you see pictures in your head? Do you experience an inner monologue? Are you riddled with anxiety? Have you ever hallucinated? Do you think that you think good, or do you think that you think bad? If we return to our metaphor of the brain as a musical instrument, what sort of music do you think you’d play? Sure, there’s the classical world, and the jazz world, but of course, that’s hardly the music most people will listen to nowadays. Do you think in pop songs? Or do you think in big heavy metal epics? Or maybe what you are is a maniac for dance music. You may find like-minded friends who like the same kind of music as you do. I think that there is a correlation between what music we like and how we perceive the world. Does listening to a certain song send you back? Does a certain tune evoke memories that you may have thought were long since gone? I know that there are some folks out there who say that they do not care much for music, and while I don’t doubt that they absolutely do feel that way, I can personally not imagine where I’d be without my trusty set of headphones and my phone loaded up with a wide library of music I like. It seems to me that music is primal. Almost as if only by understanding music, can one come to understand consciousness. To nab a song title from Jethro Tull (the band, not the agriculturalist,) life is a long song.

But I do admit that I come from a biased perspective. Music means much to me. I’m no musician, but I think that partly stems from a desire to not see “how the sausage is made.” I’d like to be able to listen to a composition without feeling compelled to analyse it, or to study it. I’d rather eat the sausage without having to wonder what bits of the animals this meat came from. Is that the taste of a spleen or a testicle? There are plenty of other things in life to dissect and tear apart just to examine. Perhaps what I wish is to maintain an arcane approach to music. Perhaps I am too enamoured by the idea of the musician as a mystic able to tap into an elevated state of being, some spiritual realm divorced from our own. That look on the guitarist’s face when they successfully manages to convey just the right emotional tone perfectly with that solo. The frisson you feel when the song reaches its climax. That thing we call the sublime. To explain it, well, it simply feels like you are making something splendid mundane. It seems to rob it of its power. Or… Well, maybe that’s not it all. Maybe all I want is just a moment or two when I can relax and avoid thinking about things. For a moment, I’d just like to forget that I’m a person.

The world is so loud. Really, I can guarantee you that if you didn’t have those natural mental filters that we all have, you’d go insane. Every little sound. Every little bit of stimuli. It would all overwhelm you. It would burrow deep into your consciousness, and it would refuse to leave. Ever tried to fall asleep while hearing the dripping water from a leaky tap? Drip, drip, drip. Know how impossible that feels? Well, imagine if you had that feeling always, imagine if all noise felt that visceral and in-your-face. Lucky you’ve got those filters. Turns out, not everyone has them. I don’t. It fucking sucks.

Music is lovely, because music is organised. It has structure. You can listen to a song, remember it, and then follow along as you’re listening to it a second time. Music follows a pattern. There is a logic to patterns. But the everyday noises that surround us do not follow a pattern. Let me tell you, birds are infuriating animals. Sure, their individual little songs can be nice to listen to, but when all the birds of the forest come together, they don’t perform as an orchestra. No, they’re all just doing their own solo piece, completely oblivious to the sounds going on around them. I’m thinking that nature could have done well with a conductor. Someone competent to create order. To make it all just that bit more peaceful. I don’t have those filters others take for granted. I can’t ignore sounds. And that makes the world feel so loud.

It is neat to imagine the human brain as a musical instrument. You can imagine that seasoned player, that old session stalwart who’s played on all the most famous pop hits throughout the decades, and you want to imagine them playing with grace and finesse and showcasing all the amazing sounds that the instrument can produce. But the brain isn’t really some marvel of biological engineering. It’s not intelligently designed. It’s actually just a piece of meat hiding underneath layers of bone, skin, and hair. It’s a complex bit of meat, admittedly. It’s hard to understand exactly how the brain does work. But if you were to open up a person’s cranium, rather than feeling awe, you’d most likely feel grossed out. This thing that we’re supposed to think of as a miraculous product of millennia of evolutionary progress, it looks… Well, it looks awfully pinkish, and wrinkly, and frankly unpleasant.

We’re all mortal beings, made from squishy flesh and blood, scraped together from all that was available at the time. Sure, we may dream and fantasise about one day achieving those heights we aspire towards, to become that perfect superman, whose cognitive abilities put them on par with the mythological titans of the past. But really, we’re all just trying to do our best with what we’ve got. You may not be able to play the finest of Mozart’s many symphonies, the instrument that you’ve been given just simply isn’t up to snuff. Even if all you can play is Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, that shouldn’t weigh on your value as a human being. And besides, that’s still Mozart you’re playing.

I will undoubtedly get back to discussing music in later instalments of this blog. It is truly a major part of my world, and without the joys I associate with it, I would be in a far worse place. But I think that, ultimately, what I wish to arrive at, is the fact that our sensory perceptions have a significant impact on how we piece together our sense of self. While it may be an unnerving thought to consider, what would happen to our understanding of ourselves if we one day were to lose one of our major senses? I am sure that many people could go without their sense of smell. Humans have long since abandoned smell as a dominant sense. To a dog, on the other hand, to lose its sense of smell would be devastating. It would lose part of what it means to be a dog. For humans, we enjoy the scent of freshly baked bread, the whiff of somebody’s perfume, or the bouquet of some pricey bottle of wine. But that’s nothing to what dogs get out of their sense of smell. To a dog, its sense of smell is its world. Is a dog even a dog if it can’t sniff around? Do you think dogs ever take their sense of smell for granted?

I do not think that humans are what we eat, but I suspect that we may be what we perceive. Our consciousness does not exist independently of the world that surrounds it, but rather, it is formed by the outside stimuli it receives on a constant basis. The fury of noises, lights, smells, all kinds of impressions, it shapes you. It is what our memories are built on. I am not at all certain that there exists anything more to the mind beyond that. I doubt that we’ve got some immutable soul hidden underneath it all. Humans are the collection of thoughts and ideas that we’ve attached ourselves to throughout our lives, and naturally, if you’re neurodivergent, that process is going to happen differently to most. At times those differences will be large enough that it can create real conflicts with those others around you. Effectively, to be neurodivergent is to suffer constantly from culture shocks. To me, it is natural to loathe the cacophony of birds in the summer. Their screams feel like piercing needles embedding themselves into my skin. But I try telling that to others, and I’ve yet to find anybody who agrees with me.

So, am I just wrong? Am I mistaken? Am I a freak? Why can’t I just be like everybody else? Why must I be such a buzzkill? I can’t even enjoy birdsong, I really must be a pain to be around. How did it come about that I just can’t be normal? Normal. I want to be normal. It is and it will likely always be grossly underrated to just be normal. Normal people don’t know how good they have it. They’re just too normal to be able to perceive it. When you’ve never been without it, you don’t know what it is to miss it. Normalcy. Having a normal brain. Having others see you as a normal person. Only if you didn’t have it, would you know how great it is. Do you sometimes wonder if dogs know how much they’d miss their sense of smell if they ever were to lose it?

Then again, there is no such thing as normal, is there? If you were to take the world’s most average person, then that person would be abnormal. To be a person is to be unique. We’re all special snowflakes. Aren’t we?

You may not play your instrument in a conventional manner, but who’s to say what manner counts as conventional? It’s all just so arbitrary. Who’s to say you can’t play an acoustic guitar as a drum? Who’s to say you can’t treat your piano as a percussion instrument? Smack your cello with a flute, if you’d like. Isn’t it just delightful when you see a unique performer who is able to play their instrument in a way you could never before have conceived it being played? The novelty of it all. The absolute joy of being exposed to something different. Of seeing something that can barely be believed. You love things that are unusual, and you think people who are different should delight in being different. Surely, it is better than being normal and boring?

But is it all that bad to be boring? And you may love what’s different, but when it comes down to it, despite your positive inclination, you still perceive it as being the other. It is not you. It is not mainstream, it is underground. Secluded. Deviant. Those who truly do struggle to fit in with society, to be just like everybody else, they are constantly faced with these little reminders that they just don’t belong. They are humans (at least they think they are humans,) but they’re not like other humans they know. For as much as they get told that they should embrace their quirky nature as simply being who they are, it is hard to know what it is like to be not normal, when all you’ve ever been is normal. Sure, for a performance or two, it’s fun. It’s fun to get the attention, to be seen as having something others don’t have. But then, at the end of the day, all you want is to be able to fall asleep, without the birdsong outside your window keeping you awake.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

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cupcakemolotov · 3 years

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Twisted Intentions: Chapter Two

@accidental-rambler let us not go back and check how long this chapter has been coming, yeah? But I think its finally finished? Probably. We are ending it here, at least.

Everyone please be checking the tags on this one. It is a fairly more darker take than I usually do, these two crazy murder fiends, and there is smut. The first scene below has some murder to it, but nothing smutty. You can find both chapters on A03: Chapter One, Chapter Two.

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Regency; Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon; Possessive Klaus Mikaelson; Vampire Caroline; F/F Smut; M/F smut; Non-Klaroline Smut (referenced); Referenced Threesome F/F/M; Canon-Typical Violence; Not Canon Compliant; Dark Caroline Forbes; Past-Prostitution; Klaroline End Game; no non-con; Suggested Sexual Coercion; Vampire Klaus Mikaelson; Hybrid Klaus Mikaelson; Compulsion; Murder; Dark; Violence; Smut; Orgasm Delay/Denial; Oral Sex; Sex; Murder Kink; Biting; Blood Kink; Mutual Masturbation

The pub was quiet so early in the evening, dust lingering the corners the same as the plague lingered on the street. It was not a place she would have willingly visited, but some summons could not be ignored. Casually, she ran her fingers over her lips to make sure she’d cleaned up any of the blood that might have lingered.

Today was her third day as a vampire, and tonight had been her first solo deliberate kill. Her sire had taught her how to compel a man, the taste of a rabbiting pulse against her tongue, the fastest way to a heart with her fingers, and she had taken well to the hunt. Caroline felt no shame in learning to enjoy what she had become, to embrace the choice that she had been given, that she had made.

Some monsters, after all, were not nearly so kind as to show their devil’s bargains with fangs and eyes, though she had learned to recognize them all the same. But while the life of a whore had taught her many things, this new existence had been illuminating. Caroline had learned to avoid the sun, begun to learn the language of the night outside of the stained sheets of her old bedroom, and not once had she gone hungry. Here in the midst of the plague, blood was as easy to steal as the streets made dying, and for the first time in her seventeen years, she felt strong. Powerful. The predator instead of prey, and it was a heady feeling after years of being powerless.

But dangerous. She could not forget the dangers of this new life. Dangerous that she had not yet fully come to recognize. While her sire was indulgent of his newest creations, she was not such a fool to take his pretty did not hide a terrible sort of lethal practicality. Those dimples masked a violence she had caught lingering in his eyes, and every instinct she had warned her that there was more to him than he wanted her to know. He was deliberately mysterious, and while he’d offered so few expectations for their behavior, showing them how best to indulge their sins, and Caroline wondered why.

Compulsion was no idle tool, and though it had opened the world to so many whims, greed was a risk she was not willing to indulge in. Not yet. Humans might easily be bent to her will, but she would do well to remember the lessons she’d learned and been taught in her handful of years. Avarice could leave her the fattened calf for others as easily she could take from those less wise. She was not the only creation her sire had made, and from his offhand comments, age seemed to make a difference in strength.

Better then, to teach herself control, to master every instinct and then indulge only when she controlled every aspect of the experience. She had no intention of letting the gift she had been given control her, not when she’d vowed never again would she have a master except herself.

Never again.

Though she would have to be careful.

Glancing towards the back of the room, she pursed her lips at the trio of men who unknowingly awaited her presence at a table. Caroline recognized two of them from her lessons, though her sire had not introduced her to them. She had not asked to know them, not when she understood how they watched her. Lustful, but stupid.

They thought themselves clever, and the new monster that lived in her bone and marrow that she knew in the back of her throat as hunger, did not approve of their ilk. They’d smelled weak. Eager. It wasn’t her place to judge her sire’s choices, but she’d been certain he’d picked up on her disapproval.

Chosen to be amused rather than offended.

Tonight, the blood that stained their clothing, the scent of sex and death that lingered on their skin did nothing endure her to them. Mixing those pleasures when you had so little control told her that her original assessment had been correct. Wrinkling her nose, Caroline wondered if leaving would be a mark against her.

She was not given the chance to find out.

Awareness and warning prickled down her spine, and Caroline turned to find her sire watching her from the doorway. His lips curled at the edges, a hint of dimple catching in one cheek, and he strode forward to meet her. “Good evening, love. I must say, your new life suits you.”

His eyes dropped from her face to skim her figure, the dimple deepening. Caroline gave the endearment little meaning, he dolled out charm too easily for it to be sincere. But even knowing some of his truth, the impact of him was unavoidable. Her sire was a feast for her eyes and the monster she had become did not find the violence of him unbecoming.

However, the compliment was sincere, so she allowed a smile to touch her lips. Her new dress was well made, but not so expensive to draw attention, but it was pretty and hers. It had been a very long time since she owned her own clothes.

“Thank you.”

His gaze swept back to her face as he approached and offered her his arm. She took it, because she would not be accused of not having manners, and he sighed, head angling as if letting her into his confidence. She took no stock in that either.

“It is a pity that the same cannot be said for the rest.”

Klaus, Caroline had learned, was as mercurial with his violence as he was with his mercy. He’d plucked her from the street as easily as he’d left others to die, had shown her the fastest way to a man’s heart with dimples and bloody clothes. Tonight, there was something in his voice, a hint of roughness that did not bode well for any of them and she had no intention of being a target for that rage.

“They seem to lack some... subtlety,” she agreed.

His smile shifted to a sort of dangerous amusement. “Let’s find out just how little they have exhibited, shall we?”

Very aware that this was not her choice, Caroline merely hummed in agreement and let him escort her to the table. Violence did not frighten her, but something about the way he moved, the pleasant tilt of his lips, was unnerving.

“Hello, lads. It seems that you have enjoyed yourselves.”

They went still in front of her, a court very aware of its king’s displeasure, for all that he was smiling. Lifting Caroline’s hand from his arm, he brushed her knuckles lightly with his lips. “Do make yourself comfortable, sweetheart.”

In the next heartbeat, he’d twisted and was suddenly holding a twitching heart in his left hand. Caroline paused from where she’d gathered her skirts to settle, her heart a thump in her throat at the ease, the speed of his strike. But it wasn’t exactly fear that danced beneath her skin, though wariness had her watching him carefully. Settling the heart casually on the table, he motioned for her to sit on the empty seat.

She sat.

Reaching into his pocket, Klaus removed a handkerchief and meticulously began to clean his hand. “It really is so much easier to deal with baby vampires when the sire bond exists, but I suppose you can’t win them all.” His smile widened at the sudden, sharp stink of fear. “I am a benevolent ruler, but there are some lines that will not be tolerated being crossed. Leaving bodies where they can be found by anyone, even during a plague, will not be allowed. Is that understood?”

Next to them, the body finally toppled to the floor, as if it had finally understood it was dead. Caroline stared at the heartless vampire, considered how quickly his life had been snuffed out, and she arranged her skirts to avoid the growing puddle of blood while wondering why she was here. She had not been so careless with her teeth or metaphorical cock.

Across from her, the remaining vampires stammered their understanding, but when her eyes returned to her sire’s face, it was to find him watching her. There was something about his expression, the set of his jaw, that left her very certain that this mess was much as a message for her as for them, and she worked through the whys. The point of this little warning. This show.

She had no care for these men, and she was certain, neither did her sire. Even with this warning, it was likely the remaining two vampires would be dead within the week. Klaus had never struck her as anything but calculating, even in his whims, and it dawned on her that perhaps that was his point.

Her sire wanted her to see just how easily he would snuff the life from his creations, should it be necessary. Should they make it necessary... Vampires were monsters, but they were hidden, tucked carefully between the shadows of the nights and humanity’s soft dreams of safety.

But if they did, he might offer a quick, clean death. That message was for these men. Her message was tangled in the quickness of the death, the way he had offered her his arm before leading her to this little slaughter. He might find her amusing, might be indulgent of her opinions, but she could not count on that indulgence to save her.

Caroline tipped her in silent acknowledgement of his message. Betrayal, she knew without it being said, would have far more dire consequences.

Link: A03

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic #darker than usual #please mind the tags #thank you!

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bubonickitten · 3 years

Link

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: The process(es) of resigning from a terrible, no good, very bad assistant position.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 22: discussions of eye-gouging/eye horror (not graphic); brief mentions of spiders/arachnophobia; anxiety/panic symptoms; lots of dissociation/dpdr; Peter Lukas being a manipulative shit; Lonely-typical content (including fear of abandonment & some abysmal self-esteem on Martin’s part); allusions to police violence & Hunt-related themes (re: Daisy’s past actions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 22: Resignation

Georgie paces in a slow circle, alternating between biting her nails and picking at her bottom lip – entirely immersed in her own thoughts, judging from the faraway look in her eyes. Jon hasn’t seen her this overwrought since the last depressive episode he witnessed. Just watching her is enough to make his chest tighten with vicarious unrest.

Wary of contributing to a vicious feedback loop between the two of them with his own customary pacing and handwringing, he forces himself to keep his knees locked and hands at his sides. Still, he can’t help rubbing his fingertips together and rocking minutely on the balls of his feet.

“Why don’t we sit?” Jon finally interjects, wincing when it comes out more curtly than he intended – more like a command than a suggestion, but luckily without any accompanying static.

Be mindful, he silently chides himself: being on edge like this only makes him more susceptible to accidental compulsion.

“What if something goes wrong?” Georgie whispers. Jon doubts she even heard him beneath her nervous refrain. “What if –”

“Georgie?” Jon tries again. No response. He steps into her path and places a hand on her shoulder. “Georgie.”

“What?” Georgie raises her head, but she isn’t looking at him so much as she’s looking through him.

“I think you should sit down?”

“What?” Georgie says again, sounding utterly lost. Her eyes are darting around the room now, as if she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

How the tables have turned, Jon thinks grimly.

“Come on,” he says, taking her hand and guiding her to the nearest chair. She offers no resistance, trailing behind him like a flagging balloon. When he presses on her shoulder to coax her into a sitting position, she goes easily. Keeping hold of her hand, he drags another chair closer to her and takes a seat.

Okay. Now what?

Jon jiggles his leg as he wracks his brain for the right thing to say. She deserves more than handholding and awkward silence, but soothing words have never come naturally to him.

“Do you, ah… do you want to talk about it?” Jon cringes at his faltering delivery. “I’m sorry, I’m – I’m still not very good at this,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh – then immediately shuts his eyes, kicking himself. Why are his attempts to relate to others always so clumsy and – and weirdly self-centered? “I mean –”

“I’m scared,” Georgie blurts out.

“You… what?” Jon tilts his head. “But I thought – you don’t feel –”

“Fear?” Her clipped, brittle laugh dies in her throat. “No, I don’t. And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?”

Jon strokes the back of her hand with one thumb, but remains silent. She always elaborates on her own time, given some space to order her thoughts.

“I don’t feel… terror,” she says slowly. “After I had my… encounter, I did a lot of research on how the brain works. Trying to understand what was happening to me, you know?”

Jon nods. He’s intimately familiar with that urge. As a child, he went through a spider phase, as his grandmother called it, obsessively seeking out any information he could on them, hoping even then that he could conquer his fear if only he could see the world through a detached, academic lens. There were plenty of academic odes to the spider to be found; no shortage of enamored arachnologists waxing poetic about the wonders of evolution and the vital role that arachnids play in their particular ecological niches.

Unfortunately, a phobia – especially one arising from acute trauma – tends to be resistant to reason and reality. His obsession only ever yielded heart palpitations and lucid nightmares. Despite that failure, he never stopped clinging to that idea that if only he could know everything there was to know about a thing, he could finally scrape together some semblance of control over his fear.

In many ways, that fixation is exactly what drew him to the Magnus Institute.

Unless the Spider really was pulling the strings all along, he thinks, and then: No, we are not going there.

“As far as I can tell,” Georgie continues, “my sympathetic nervous system still functions. I can still experience all the physiological aspects of sympathetic arousal – and fear is only one possible trigger for those sorts of responses. What’s missing is my capacity to interpret those responses through the lens of fear. To emotionally process or identify them as fear.

“I can still experience anxiety, to an extent – or something close to it. But mostly in the context of worrying about others, being scared for them. I mean, I can feel apprehensive about the possibility of experiencing pain or loss or failure myself, I have a stake in my continued existence, I can recognize danger, but sometimes it feels… I don’t know – mechanical, almost? There’s just always the feeling of something missing. Something important. And there are times when I feel that void more acutely.”

“Like now.”

“Yeah.” Georgie looks away, chewing her lip in silence.

“I’m listening,” Jon coaxes, sensing that there’s more she’s holding back.

“It’s just… hard to feel like a full person sometimes, you know?” Georgie says helplessly. “I worry sometimes that it – I don’t know, does a disservice, I guess, to the people I care about? Like no matter how much I love someone, it isn’t… complete? Or – genuine, in the right way? It’s – hard to find words that actually describe it. There are times when it feels like I’ve lost something vital that made me human, that made me me, and it’s… difficult to reconcile who I was – who I could have been – with who I am now.”

“That I understand,” Jon says softly.

“I know.” Jon wishes he was less familiar with the sad smile she gives him just then. “It’s just… I remember a time when I would have been terrified of all this. Not just worried, or upset about someone I care about being hurt, or devastated by the prospect of losing someone I love. Terrified. And knowing what I should be feeling – what I would have felt at some point – is… it’s unnerving. There’s a void there that shouldn’t be there. It’s like… having part of you gouged out and left hollow. An absence that’s so present it’s almost visceral.” She frowns. “Does that make any sense?”

“In my future I had a Flesh Avatar reach into my chest and wrench out two of my ribs, so… yes, actually.”

Georgie blinks several times, then laughs breathlessly. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Jon returns a cautious smile, but the levity evaporates after a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that you don’t have to have access to the full spectrum of human emotion in order to count as human. And I don’t think any of this makes your concern for others any less heartfelt, or – or comforting. You might not be the same person you were before you were marked, but that doesn’t make you any lesser as a person.”

“You should try applying that metric to yourself sometime,” she replies, not unkindly.

“It’s –”

“Don’t say it’s different,” she cuts in. “Just… keep it in mind, okay?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try.” Georgie nods, but says nothing. Jon grips her hand a little tighter. “Listen, I – I know you’re worried for Melanie, but I think it’s going to be alright? I can’t predict the future –well, I have knowledge of one possible future, but that’s because I lived it. I don’t have any precognitive abilities, or anything like that. But… it turned out okay last time.”

Until I jump-started an apocalypse –

Jon reins in the thought before it can gain momentum. Georgie doesn’t need his brooding right now.

“Melanie is a fighter,” he says instead, offering a tentative smile. “And she has you.”

Georgie shakes her head. “I can’t believe you came out of the apocalypse sappier than you were when you went in.”

“Side effect of traversing a post-apocalyptic wasteland with a hopeless romantic, I think.” That gets another little chuckle out of Georgie. “I mean it, though. I think Melanie will be okay, especially with you looking out for her. Not to mention, the Admiral is a perpetual serotonin generator.”

“You really miss him, huh?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve pet a cat, Georgie?” Jon practically whines, playfully dramatic. It manages to keep the amused smile on Georgie’s face, he’s pleased to note.

“Maybe I should bring him by sometime.”

“Absolutely not. This place doesn’t deserve him.” Georgie snorts. Although Jon is reluctant to ruin the temporary shift in mood, this is as good a time as any to broach a subject he’s been dreading. “Also, I, ah… I don’t want you to feel obligated to continue visiting here.”

“What?” Georgie says, eyes narrowed.

“If you have to take a step back,” Jon says carefully, “I’ll understand.”

“I mean, I might not be able to come by as often as I have been, especially while Melanie is still recovering, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be around at all.” Georgie’s frown deepens. “I’m not about to cut you out of my life, Jon.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to. But – no, listen,” Jon insists, seeing Georgie about to protest. “What I’m trying to say is – I know Melanie wants to put as much distance between herself and the Institute as possible. If it turns out that you staying involved in all of this is too close to home, then… well, I don’t want her to feel like she’s still trapped in the Institute’s orbit, is all.”

Or mine, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to be a reason for Melanie to feel unsafe. In the past, he has been – and that’s not who he wants to be.

These days, Melanie has come to view him more as a fellow captive than a complicit enemy. Lingering resentment still sparks to life from time to time; she still struggles with her anger, and once or twice, she’s had to leave a room for fear of that rage boiling over. Overall, though, she no longer directs the majority of her ire towards him. When they do butt heads, it hasn’t gone much further than bickering – and even that feels comforting in its familiarity and mundanity. Almost companionable, in its own way.

Most significantly, ever since their talk, Melanie hasn’t once likened him to Jonah Magnus. Jon doesn’t know if that’s because it’s no longer an automatic association at the forefront of her mind, or because she’s consciously watching her words around him, actively taking care to avoid tripping that perpetual trigger. Either way, Jon is grateful.

But Jon also knows that he’s inseparable from the Institute. Despite his intentions, and regardless of whether or to what degree the others hold him personally responsible, the fact remains: he’s embroiled in something unspeakably evil, and that poses a danger to anyone who stands too close to him.

Georgie doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking the time to seriously consider his words. He’s always appreciated that about her, as uneasy as these moments of silent suspense can make him.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” she says eventually, “once she’s recovered enough to have that discussion. I don’t know how she’ll feel about staying in direct contact herself, especially at first, but… I doubt she expects me to cut you off. And I imagine she’ll still want to know how everyone is doing, even if she doesn’t want the details.” She glances up to meet his eyes. “Anyway, regardless of how often I visit in person, I’m still going to be checking in with you, so answer your damn phone, will you?”

“I do answer my phone,” he says defensively. “I just… forget to answer texts sometimes. And I don’t get service in the tunnels –”

“Well, come up for air and cell service from time to time.” She wrinkles her nose. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can tolerate being down here for hours on end –”

Jon startles slightly as the trapdoor creaks open above their heads. Georgie stands as Melanie makes her way down the ladder, hurrying over to fold her into her arms. Basira follows behind, closing the trapdoor behind her as she goes.

“Mission successful, I take it?” Jon says quietly as Basira approaches him, giving Georgie and Melanie a moment to themselves.

“Uneventful,” Basira says with a shrug. “A few sidelong glances, but otherwise, none of the library staff even acknowledged us. Definitely didn’t seem keen on asking why we were rummaging in the repair supplies.”

“They probably didn’t want to know.”

“Yeah.” A small, rueful smile crosses her face. “Some of them used to talk to me, you know. Nothing personal – we weren’t close – but… when I returned a book, they’d ask what I thought of it, give me recommendations, that sort of thing. Now, though…”

These days she prefers to wait until everyone has gone home for the day before visiting the library, Jon Knows. He also Knows that the library staff are well aware that she’s the one pilfering research materials in the dead of night – and that they have no plans on confronting her about it. She never leaves a mess, after all, and always returns items to their proper places once she’s finished with them, which is more than can be said for many of the students who make use of the library’s resources.

“You know, I don’t think any of them have looked me in the eye for months.” There’s a distinct note of regret in Basira’s voice. “They just watch me out of the corners of their eyes when they think I’m not looking. I don’t know if that’s because they’re afraid of Lukas disappearing them for fraternizing, or because everyone is leery of the Archives these days, or because I’ve just become less approachable. Maybe all three. Suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

Jon knows the feeling well. Before he can answer, though, Melanie clears her throat. Jon looks over to see her facing his direction, one hand clasping Georgie’s tight enough to blanch her knuckles.

“This is it, then,” Basira says solemnly.

“Yeah.” Melanie closes her eyes and breathes a long, shaky exhale. “It’s time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me there?” Georgie asks.

Melanie shakes her head. “I don’t want you to see that.”

“But –”

“She won’t be alone,” Basira says. “I’ll be right outside the room.”

Melanie faces Georgie fully, taking her other hand as well. “The plan hasn’t changed. Basira will call 999. I’ll make it quick, and – once it’s done, Basira will come in and sit with me until the ambulance gets here.”

“I have a general idea of what the response time should be like,” Basira adds, looking at Georgie. “If we time it right, Melanie will have medical assistance within minutes. I can come get you when the paramedics get here, if you want to ride in the ambulance.”

Georgie nods and tightens her grip on Melanie’s hands. “Is that okay?”

“Only if you want,” Melanie says haltingly. “But – maybe try to avoid looking too close, if my eyes are uncovered? It’s just – it probably won’t be pretty.” A stressed laugh claws its way out of her throat. “Potential trauma fodder, you know? I don’t want to worry about you remembering me like that every time you see me, even after I’ve healed.”

“Okay,” Georgie replies softly.

“It shouldn’t take long. Just – wait here with Jon until then, okay?” Georgie nods again, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Speaking of which –” Melanie glances at Jon, as if just now remembering his presence. Startled by the sudden direct eye contact, he reflexively straightens his spine and stands at attention. “I guess this is goodbye, huh? For a while, anyway.”

“I, uh. I suppose it is.”

“Right. So, um… good luck, I guess?”

No disclaimers or ill will tacked on this time, Jon notes privately.

“You too.” He forces a smile, but he suspects that it comes off as awkward rather than reassuring.

“Try not to die.”

“Yes, ‘not dying’ is relatively close to the top of my to-do list.”

“If I come to find out that you’ve gotten yourself killed and broken the eldritch employment contract binding us all to this place after I’ve gone and gouged my eyes out, I’m going to be livid.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jon says wryly.

“Seriously, though.” Melanie’s smirk melts away, taken over by a somber, quiet sort of intensity. “Either beat Elias at his own game, or get the fuck away from this place the instant you find an out. Whichever comes first. Preferably without any of the self-sacrificial bullshit.”

Fractious as its delivery is, the demand is oddly touching, coming from Melanie.

“I, uh… I’ll do my best?”

“You’d better.” Melanie nods – a curt but cordial dismissal – and turns her attention back to Georgie. “Hey,” she says, her voice going measurably softer, releasing one of Georgie’s hands to reach up and cup her face. Her watery smile belies her mental state: resolve warring with trepidation. “Look at me?”

For a long minute, she studies Georgie’s face, clearly enraptured. Jon forcefully tears his gaze away from the intimacy of the moment.

“Okay.” Melanie takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “I’m ready. I’ll see you soon, okay? Or – well, I won’t see you, but – you’ll see me, and I’ll…” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, whatever – you know what I mean.”

Georgie lets out a tearful chuckle, and Melanie relaxes marginally.

“I’m sure about this,” she says. “I promise. This is what I want – a life with you, away from all of this. And if this is the price I have to pay, then… I’m okay with that. Really, I am.” She stands on tiptoe to give Georgie a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie says, leaning down for a return kiss, smiling weakly against Melanie’s lips. “See you soon.”

When Martin first heard the bustle outside his door – coworkers venturing outside their solitary offices to trade whispered questions and eager gossip as word of paramedics in the archives made its way upstairs – his stomach gave a little lurch: a combination of horror and wonder. He hadn’t expected Melanie to change her mind – he knows how determined she can be once she’s settled on a course of action; how desperate she was to extricate herself from Elias’ – Jonah’s – schemes. Still, though, faced with the reality of it, he found himself in awe of her nerve.

That was yesterday. Martin didn’t get much work done, preoccupied as he was. He isn’t having an easier time of it today: his attention keeps slipping away to linger in remembrances of sterile hospital rooms and muted hallways, thoughts drowned out by the ghosts of sirens and beeping machinery.

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

Martin jolts in his seat, heart leaping into his throat. It only takes an instant longer for his alarm to mutate into aggravation.

“Peter!” Martin spins around to glower at the man. “How many times do I have to–”

Peter flaps a dismissive hand. “To be honest, Martin, the drop in temperature tends to tip most people off. The only reason you continue to be surprised by my arrival is because you’ve become acclimated to the Forsaken.”

The revelation is slow to sink in, a stark chill blooming in Martin’s chest and snaking its roots outwards. Only now that it’s been brought to his attention can he feel the nip in the air.

“Here I was certain you were becoming estranged from our patron, but it seems I needn’t have worried.” Peter’s smile is laced with malice. “Or should I?”

Martin says nothing, eyes wide and stinging from the now-conspicuous cold. Peter sighs, folds his hands behind his back, and begins a meandering back-and-forth pace.

“Our success is dependent on your voluntary isolation, Martin.”

“Yeah.” The word turns to fog as it touches the air, and Martin finds himself transfixed by the sight. “You’ve said.”

“It seems you need a reminder.”

The condescension dripping from the words is enough to drag Martin back into the present moment. Heat rises in his cheeks, contrasting with the temperature in the room and making the chill that much more noticeable.

“You still haven’t told me your plan,” he snaps. “You keep expecting me to just – go along with whatever you’re scheming, no questions asked.”

“You ask many questions, Martin –”

“Yeah, and you never answer them! You’re so – so bloody cryptic about all of this.”

“Martin, Martin,” Peter says, placating in the most patronizing way possible. Martin bristles: he hates the way Peter says his name. “There’s no need to get so worked up –”

“If you want me to be a partner in – in whatever it is you’re planning, you can’t expect me to go on blind trust!”

“I’m still conducting my own research,” Peter says mildly. “I would rather not confuse you with extraneous details before I have all the kinks worked out.”

“I’m not an idiot –”

“Rest assured,” Peter interrupts, “if I was capable of stopping the Extinction alone, I would. Unfortunately, it will require someone touched by the Beholding.”

“Why?”

“Because it requires this place, and this place” – Peter’s lip curls in distaste – “is the Eye’s seat of power. The One Alone has no dominion here.” Martin crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You are the only one who can do this, Martin.”

“Why?” Martin repeats.

Judging from the muscle ticking in Peter’s jaw, his limited supply of patience for conversation is precipitously depleting.

“No, really,” Martin presses, “why me? I mean” – he spreads his arms out with a scornful chuckle – “look at me. I’m not exactly hero material, am I?”

“That really depends on you. I can’t force you to cooperate. It won’t even work unless you’re a willing participant.”

“And what makes you think that your plan is the only way? You – you keep going on about how it’s my choice. Well – what if I choose to work with the others? It can’t hurt to have more eyes on the problem –” Martin rolls his eyes at Peter’s unconcealed revulsion. “Yeah, I know. No one would ever accuse you of being a team player, obviously. But I can be the liaison; you don’t have to interact with anyone at all.” Would prefer you don’t interact with anyone at all, Martin thinks. “I mean, that’s already my role, isn’t it? Dealing with people so you don’t have to?”

“Martin,” Peter says, low and dangerous.

“I’ll do it off the clock, even. I’ll isolate myself in my office during the workday, or whatever” – Martin gives a flippant wave of his hand – “and continue researching the Extinction.” And practically running the whole damn place on an assistant’s salary, he grouses silently. “After hours I’ll pursue my own research with the others.”

“Part-time isolation will not suffice to equip you with the power you’ll need.” Peter presses his lips into a pale, rigid line. “Be reasonable. Are you really willing to risk an apocalypse, just because you can’t appreciate solitude?”

“If it starts to look like there’s no other option, I’ll reconsider.”

“And if the Extinction emerges while you’re wasting time searching for an alternative that doesn’t exist?”

“Based on the limited information you’ve given me, I don’t think the Extinction is going to just… emerge overnight. I’m still not even convinced it’s going to be worse than any other Fear. I mean, the Flesh is relatively new, isn’t it? And it didn’t… leave the fear economy in shambles, or whatever.”

“It isn’t about competition, Martin.” Peter releases a slow plume of fog through his nose before continuing, voice cool but simmering with pique just under the surface. “The Extinction is different from the other Powers. It is defined by widescale eradication. The other Powers may seek to change the world, but none of them strive for a world without us.”

“But what makes you so sure the Extinction would?”

Peter’s eyes narrow. Ignoring him, Martin runs his thumb along his bottom lip as he replays Jon’s impassioned conjectures on the matter: It thrives on the potentiality of a mass extinction event, not the fulfillment of one.

“What’s to say it wouldn’t be just fine with the world as it is, like the End?” Martin says, more confidently now. “People have been prophesying about the end of the world for – all of human history, probably. I doubt we’ll stop anytime soon. Maybe at its core the Extinction is just… the fear of an uncertain future. And a particular future doesn’t have to be realized in order to inspire fear, as long as the potential is always there. It’s about the suspense – the ‘what ifs’, the unknown, the – the lack of control in it all.” Martin laughs. “In a way, that’s… that’s what most fears boil down to, isn’t it?”

“The stakes are rather high to gamble on a thought experiment, don’t you think?” The temperature plunges a few more degrees as Peter speaks. “I think that the most important ‘what if’ you should concern yourself with is what if you’re wrong?”

“And what if I’m not?” Martin counters. “You act so authoritative, but aren’t you also just speculating? When I agreed to work with you, you told me you would provide me with evidence to support your theory. So far, I’m not convinced. You’re going to have to give me more to go on than just ‘trust me.’ I mean – if it’s between trusting you and – and trusting Jon, and the others? You can’t really be surprised if I choose them over you.”

“Oh, Martin,” Peter tuts, shaking his head with derisive, disingenuous pity. “Since when has the trust you’ve placed in others ever been reciprocated?”

“I trust him,” Martin says defiantly.

“But does he trust you?” Peter pauses for effect. “Of all the times you’ve allowed yourself to form attachments, has anyone even once genuinely returned those affections?”

Jon did.

Whatever expression Martin is wearing brings a sneer to Peter’s face. Martin clenches his teeth and ignores him.

Jon does, he corrects. Present tense. He said as much.

Martin still can’t fathom what Jon could possibly see in him, but Jon wouldn’t lie about something like that, right? He wouldn’t.

…would he?

No, he wouldn’t, Martin chides. You know he wouldn’t. Trust him.

“Sure,” Peter persists, “you may open yourself up to the potential for something more, but you know as well as I do that it won’t last. Is the inevitable loss really worth the risk?”

“I don’t know,” Martin says. He tries to ignore the slight quaver that insinuates itself into the declaration. “But if I never take the risk, I’ll never know, will I?”

“I think you already know the answer.” Peter’s pale eyes glitter with spite. “Remember what it felt like, languishing at the Archivist’s deathbed. Recall the state you were in when you first came to me.”

The words are incisive, sliding under Martin’s skin and lodging there like shrapnel. He can feel his confidence waver, the conviction he stood fast on only seconds ago splintering underneath him like thin ice.

“How many times do you think he can court death and survive? He all but died stopping the last apocalypse; he was willing to bury himself alive for a woman who tried to kill him. How do you think he’ll react if you tell him about any of this? You think he’ll listen to reason? Trust in your judgment?” Peter fixes Martin with a smug, hungry look. “Or will he throw himself in front of the first bullet he sees?”

He already knows about all of this, Martin reminds himself. Jon isn’t about to sacrifice himself on account of the Extinction. Moreover, he seems to be genuinely committed to working as a team rather than striking out on his own.

But he also sees himself as a cataclysm waiting to happen, says the nagging doubt skulking in the far corners of Martin’s mind. As much as Jon insists that he doesn’t want to die, he’s already lived through one apocalypse. Martin has no doubt that Jon would sacrifice himself to prevent another, if it came down to it.

Jon is a powder keg of fear and guilt, and there is no shortage of potential ignition sources waiting in the wings. It only takes one untimely spark to set an archive ablaze.

“I trust him,” Martin repeats to himself, but the statement is rendered feeble by the leaden, frozen knot unfurling in his chest.

“Can you really weather another round of grief?” Peter continues, triumphant. He knows he’s found a gap in Martin’s defenses; all he needs to do now is twist the knife. “You’ve already done your mourning, cut the infection off at the source. Let him back in, and you only open yourself up to more pain. Better a numbed scar than a wound that never heals, don’t you think?”

“No.” There’s something off about Martin’s voice – as if it doesn’t belong to him; as if it’s originating from outside of himself, faint and frail and faraway, smothered by the cold, empty fog clogging his lungs. “N-no, I…”

“Connection is a fleeting, fickle thing,” Peter persists. “It’s a lie people tell themselves. The truth is that we are all alone. In the end, all we have is ourselves. Think about it.”

Unthinkingly, Martin shrinks away as Peter steps closer.

“You asked for more evidence.” Peter slides a few statement folders onto the desk. “Take some time to yourself. Consider whether you’re willing to wager on the fate of the world.”

When Martin looks up, he is alone.

“It’s so loud,” Daisy mutters heatedly, stalking to and fro like a panther in a cage. She scratches furiously at her forearms as she goes, blunt fingernails leaving faint red stripes on pale skin.

“Daisy,” Jon says evenly, “I think maybe you should –”

“Itch I can’t scratch.” She pivots on her heel, retracing her short path in the opposite direction. “Feels like fire under my skin.”

“I don’t think clawing your skin off is going to help.”

Daisy barks a laugh. “With what claws?” She stops short and brandishes the backs of her trembling hands, fingers splayed to highlight nails gnawed to the quick, ragged cuticles stained rust-brown with dried blood. “Dull now.” Her eyes go unfocused, staring vaguely at her hands as if she doesn’t recognize them. “Too dull.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he means it.

It never gets easier to witness her like this, frenetic and fraying in the throes of the Hunt’s compulsion. These spells have a way of making her features look sharper, her mannerisms more animalistic. She’s all protruding bones and sallow skin, but that seeming frailty does nothing to tame the violence thrumming in her veins. If anything, that all-consuming hunger only makes her more fearsome.

Jon’s strict rations have given him an underfed, pinched look as well, but at least he has something. Not enough to put meat on his bones, so to speak, but enough to stave off starvation. Daisy, though…

When Jon takes a step forward, she rounds on him with teeth bared and a snarl in her throat. Jon flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re afraid of me.” Daisy exhales an exhausted rattle of a laugh, as if vindicated. “Good. You should be.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jon says. “I have an overactive startle reflex. Always have, really.”

“You’re lying.” Daisy breathes heavily through her nose, fists clenched at her sides now. “Admit it.”

Jon knows what she’s trying to do. She wants him to lash out, to bite back, to make her bleed. He’s uncomfortably familiar with that craving. It’s like looking into a mirror.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he reiterates.

“Liar,” Daisy hisses, fixing him with a baleful glare.

He’s seen her like this many times before, hunger-ravaged and swamped by bloodlust. She’ll doggedly bash herself against the nearest witness to her shame like a ship crashed against a jetty, driven forward again and again by cresting waves of guilt and self-loathing until she’s free-floating wreckage. Every time, it gets more and more difficult to gather up all the debris and repair the damage. Jon fears that one of these days, the storm will pass and there won’t be enough pieces left to put her back together.

“I’m not a knife you can cut yourself on, Daisy,” he says patiently.

Daisy looks positively mutinous, mouth opening and closing several times before erupting: “Why wouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

“I used to be,” Jon admits, leaning back against the tunnel wall to take some of the weight off his bad leg. “Before the Buried. I was terrified of you. Dreaded every moment I had to be alone with you. Thought it was only a matter of time before you finished the job.”

“It was,” she rasps out – and with that, her shoulders slump and her fists relax to hang limply at her sides, fingers jumping and twitching with the last dregs of her agitation.

“I know. But then you changed. You were different, after the Buried. As afraid of yourself as I used to be of you. As afraid of yourself as I was of myself.” He looks her in the eye as he speaks. “I looked at you and saw my own fear reflected back at me. There are so many things to be afraid of. You were – you are trying very hard not to be one of them.”

“If I’m afraid of me, you should be, too.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Jon asks, shaping each word carefully to keep the compulsion at bay.

She pauses, considering the question.

“No,” she says eventually. “Afraid for you, sometimes.”

“As I am for you.” Jon’s tentative smile fades after a moment. “I’ll admit, I do have… reflexive reactions, sometimes. There were a few incidents where I walked into the breakroom and you were holding a knife, and my fight-or-flight response kicked in before my conscious brain could catch up with reality.”

Daisy squeezes her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. When she opens her eyes, the look on her face isn’t pleading so much as it is resigned. She isn’t asking for forgiveness. Jon doubts she ever will.

It’s just one more thing they have in common.

“I know,” he says quietly. “To be clear, I don’t feel unsafe with you, as you are now. It’s just… flashbacks. They can be – unpredictable. And if I’m already feeling on edge, or – or not quite present, it doesn’t take much to set me off. But,” he adds, giving her a serious look, “I don’t want you walking on eggshells around me. That only puts me more on edge.”

“Fine. But will you tell me if I do something to scare you?”

“Yes.” She made the same request last time. “But I’ve never had to. You could always feel when I was afraid. From a few rooms away, even.”

“Yeah,” Daisy says with a choked laugh. “Your blood is – very loud sometimes.”

“And now?”

These episodes tend to be capricious. Sometimes, what seems to be the calm after the storm proves to be only a lull before a second wind. If the way she’s wobbling on her feet and favoring one leg is any indication, Jon suspects that the worst of the flare-up has passed for now, taking her adrenaline surge with it. Still, he waits for her confirmation. Daisy takes a minute to mull over the question, head cocked slightly to the side as if listening.

“Quieter,” she says.

With that, Jon lowers himself to the ground and sits with his back against the wall, beckoning her over to take a seat. She hesitates for a moment longer before following his lead, slumping down next to him with a labored sigh.

“Sorry for growling at you,” she says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Daisy tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You said I ended up going back to the Hunt last time.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“September. But – but that doesn’t mean it has to happen again,” he adds hurriedly when he sees her face fall in a mixture of anguish and resignation. “It was – sort of a perfect storm of extenuating circumstances. Like I said before, if you didn’t let the Hunt back in, you and Basira would likely have been killed. But I think you knew you wouldn’t be coming back from it. Before you changed, you made Basira promise to hunt you down and kill you.”

“And did she?”

“She lost track of you in the chaos. You gave chase after one of the Hunters. Once you killed her, the other Hunter started hunting you. For revenge.” Jon’s voice drops to a low murmur. “A few weeks later, the world ended.”

Which makes it sound far more passive than it actually was, but Jon isn’t in the mood for a scolding should he opt for an ‘I’ statement.

“And then what?”

“You were a full-fledged Hunter in a – a perpetual fear generator of a world,” Jon says grimly. “Do you really need to hear the details?”

“Tell me,” Daisy says. “Please.”

Jon understands the need, but recounting the apocalypse never gets any easier. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“When I opened the door and let all the Fears into this reality,” he begins, “the world was divvied up into thousands of different domains, each belonging to a different shade of terror. With few exceptions, most people were confined to one domain – usually whatever aligned with their deepest fears. Avatars and monsters were subject to the Ceaseless Watcher, but otherwise able to exercise control over the humans in the domains of their patrons. Most seemed to stake out territory and settle in one place – customizing their own little spheres of influence, creating playgrounds of their own making. But some got around. You were one of the ones that traveled.”

“What was –” Daisy grimaces. “Who was I hunting?”

“Well… in that place, no one got what they deserved, only what would hurt the most. And people are rarely afraid of just one thing. Most were magnets for multiple fears. The more nomadic Avatars and monsters would gravitate towards whatever individuals were most susceptible to their power, so to speak.” He bites his lip. There’s really no tactful way to phrase this next part. “In your case, you had a roster of specific targets that you were tracking. Former prey. Whether you were drawn to them because of their own fear of you, or because some part of you judged them to have ‘gotten away,’ so to speak… I’m not entirely certain. It may have been a bit of both.”

“I see,” Daisy murmurs. “Guess it makes sense that I would rank high among some people’s greatest fears.”

“Basira was tracking you when we ran into her. We were with her when we found you.”

“And was I… still me?”

“Yes and no,” Jon says hesitantly. “You were you, in a way, but only a small part of you. The Hunter. Everything else was buried too deep. Drowned. Even if I could have brought you back, it would have killed you. You – you didn’t even recognize me, or Martin. You recognized Basira – saw her as pack, wanted her to join you in the Hunt – but…”

“You were prey,” Daisy says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You never did manage to grow a self-preservation instinct, did you?” Daisy squints at him. “I went full monster on you, and you still want me to sit next to you now.”

“You had sharper teeth then,” Jon says drily. Daisy scoffs and nudges his shoulder with hers. She doesn’t draw back after making contact, and when Jon doesn’t pull away either, she leans into him.

“Basira kept her promise?” Daisy asks after a minute.

“Yes. She didn’t want to, but…” Jon swallows thickly, the memory of Basira’s heartbreak bringing to mind his own. “It wasn’t an easy decision.”

Daisy rubs at her chest with one hand, as if to soothe an ache. “It wasn’t fair for me to ask that of her, was it?”

“Maybe not,” Jon sighs. “It seems fair choices are hard to come by, for most of us.”

“I… I don’t want her to have to make that choice this time.”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s never going to stop, is it?” Daisy glances at him, allowing her head to rest lightly on his shoulder. “It’s only going to get worse.”

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say?

“Melanie got away,” Daisy says, a tinge of bargaining in her tone. “She managed to purge the Slaughter. And break away from the Eye.”

“Her situation was… different from ours. She wasn’t as far gone as we are. The Slaughter hadn’t fully claimed her, and the Eye never took her as an Avatar. But you’ve been living with the Hunt for most of your life; I signed myself over to the Beholding the moment I became the Archivist. We’ve become… attached to our patrons, dependent on them for survival. Symbiotic, in a twisted sort of way.”

“You really don’t think there’s a way back, then.”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ve seen it before, in my future, but – the world was different then. During the apocalypse, I was able to, uh… shift a person’s status from Watched to Watcher. I – I mean, technically everyone was Watched – the Eye had dominion over everything – but I could give someone control over one of the smaller domains. Create new Avatars, for lack of a better term.

“But turn a Watcher into solely the Watched, and they would typically unravel. I don’t know if that’s because the full focus of the Ceaseless Watcher’s gaze just happens to be lethal – particularly for Avatars aligned with other Powers – or if an Avatar is simply unable to survive being cut off from their patron regardless of the means of separation. I do Know that I wouldn’t have been able to survive being cut off from the Eye unscathed. I was… too much a part of the Eye in that reality. Not sure about now. For either of us.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying ‘no.’”

“I’m not saying no, I’m saying that I don’t know. Supposedly escaping the Buried was impossible, and here we are.”

“Apples and oranges,” Daisy says sullenly.

“Maybe. I think it’s all too complex for clear-cut categories. Even the hard-and-fast ‘rules’ are only as strong as our collective belief in them. Almost like our expectations shore them up. I’ve witnessed all of reality being rewritten – all physical laws and supposed universal constants reshaped to center the Eye.” He reaches one hand up to tug on the hair at the back of his neck. “After all I’ve Seen, it’s difficult to conceive of anything being categorically impossible. Between all the dream logic and reality bending, there’s plenty of space for firsts and exceptions to the rules.”

‘I don’t knows’ are where the hope lives, Martin said once. At the time, Jon teased him for being a hopeless romantic, but truthfully, Jon was just as hopelessly endeared by Martin’s belief in such things.

“Have you talked to Georgie yet today?” Daisy asks, apparently ready to change the subject.

“Oh, uh – yes. This morning.”

“And?”

“Melanie was out of surgery and stable, but she wasn’t awake yet. Georgie promised to call tonight with an update.” Assuming nothing major comes up before then, a worried voice in Jon’s head supplies. He shakes his head to jog the thought loose. “Speaking of Georgie… have you given any thought to her suggestion?”

“What,” Daisy says, drolly skeptical, “playing a video game?”

“I realize it’s… somewhat out of the box, but it might be worth a try. Like Georgie said, there are multiplayer games where you can, uh… hunt down other players.”

Daisy plucks absently at her collar, glowering at the opposite wall as if the bricks there committed a personal offense. “It’s not the same.”

“A simulation might not come close to a real hunt, no, but – you might still get something out of it? Maybe?” Daisy directs her scowl up at the ceiling. Jon only digs his heels in, undeterred. “There are even some that have a survival horror theme. An aesthetic that already puts players in the mindset to be frightened, you know?”

“People play those games for fun, Sims.” She finally looks at him, eyes narrowed. “It’s about thrills, not mortal fear.”

“Sometimes genuine fear can sneak through. Haven’t you ever been so creeped out by a horror story that it stayed with you after nightfall?”

“Not really?”

“O-oh. Well, some people have that experience.” Jon gives an awkward little cough. “Anyway, under the right circumstances, a game can get the adrenaline pumping as well as a chase can. A fight-or-flight response doesn’t necessarily require a real physical threat.”

Daisy raises her eyebrows, transparently cynical. “Do you really think the Hunt is going to be satisfied with jump scares and – and low-stakes adrenaline rushes filtered through a screen?”

“No,” Jon admits. “But it might take the edge off. Sort of like reading old statements does for me. Not enough to stop you starving, but maybe enough to distract from the hunger pangs. At least temporarily. If nothing else, you did say you need a new hobby, and it’s not like this place is overflowing with viable entertainment options.”

“I guess,” Daisy sighs. “I mean, it’s not like I’m paying rent. May as well squander my paycheck.”

“If that’s the case, you should see if that eBay listing for that vintage The Archers board game is still up,” Jon says drily. “Last I checked, it was £2 with no bidders.”

“Yeah, and £30 shipping.”

“Sounds like £32 well spent, if you ask me.”

Daisy snorts and bumps her shoulder against his. “You, Jonathan Sims, are an absolute menace.”

Adrift and thoroughly divorced from the concept of time, end of the workday passes Martin by without his notice. Once again, he wonders whether Peter deliberately assigned him an office with no external window, not only to put another wall between him and the rest of the world, but to make it easier for him to lose track of time.

For an interminable stretch of time he sits catatonic, mind peppered with sporadic sensory input: Dead-weight limbs, listless and foreign-feeling. The brush of fabric resting against bare skin, every point of weightless contact a violation. The distant ticking of clockwork, rote and irrevocable.

Stand up, comes the thought, detached and intrusive: an instruction he cannot parse; empty phonemes wafted into a vacant mind, abandoned there to echo and disperse until they lose all meaning. A fragment of a signal from brain to nerves to fingers presses numb fingertips to thumbs, a cautious test yielding no sensation but for the vague, spongey give of flesh.

Then the body ostensibly belonging to him is on its feet, the connection between floor and soles disturbingly incongruent with unreality. Walking now, every footfall jarring in its impact; every step stretched and blurred like a botched time-lapse photograph; every molasses-sluggish forward motion met with invisible resistance, like swimming against a sludgy current.

He does not remember how or when or under whose direction he arrives in the Archives, swaying at the threshold of the Head Archivist’s office. Empty and still. Silence so pervasive it’s almost tangible. Viscous and inexorable. Trapping him like a fly in honey. Drowning.

When next he becomes aware of his surroundings, he’s wavering at the bottom of a ladder. Walls curving up and over his head, a brickwork warren stretching on and out into the murk.

Standing in place. Hovering like an afterimage. Rootless and incorporeal. Searching for… staring at… calling to…

There: something real.

“Martin?” Jon’s breath fogs the air as he speaks, but the way he says the name… his voice seems to cradle the word, shielding it against the cold. He sits up straighter, keen gaze sweeping the area like a lighthouse beacon. “Martin, is that you?”

That’s me, Martin thinks, and then, wonderingly: He says your name like it’s something precious.

At that thought, Jon’s eyes land on him like a searchlight.

“There you are.” His soft smile immediately falters, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

He’s sat on the floor with his back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest, and Daisy pressed up against his side in a mirrored position, sharing a pair of corded earphones. Daisy is already thumbing at the screen of her phone, presumably pausing whatever it is they’re listening to, as Jon removes his earbud.

Martin opens his mouth to speak, but the air in his lungs has turned to viscid fog and the confused tangle of half-formed thoughts in his mind refuse to coalesce into actual words. Jon exchanges a glance with Daisy, who is already moving to stand. Martin wants to object – she doesn’t have to leave on his account; he can see that they’re busy; he’s fine; he’s just overreacting – but before he can cobble together a protest, she’s halfway to her feet, gripping the wall for support.

“I’m alright now,” Martin can hear her say.

“You’re sure?” Jon asks in a low murmur.

“Yeah.” She winces as she straightens her spine. “Knowing Basira, she’s still pouring over the same statements as she was this morning. She could do with an interruption.”

“Can you manage the ladder?”

Daisy stretches her leg out, testing her mobility. “Think so.”

They give each other another long look, a shared nod, and without another word, Daisy staggers her way to the exit and mounts the ladder.

As it does every time he witnesses these displays of unspoken understanding between them, an ugly pang of jealousy burns in Martin’s chest – some combination of envy, inadequacy, longing, and loneliness. Possessiveness, almost – and an instant later, the shame sets in.

But then the trapdoor closes, Jon looks Martin in the eye again, and the sincere, tender warmth sheltering there is enough to leave Martin reeling. It’s hard to comprehend anyone – let alone Jonathan Sims – looking at him like that; difficult to reconcile requited affection with a lifetime of fruitless want. Martin can’t shake the feeling that it will always be this way – and that his inability to trust in unconditional love is precisely what makes him so unlovable in the first place.

Jon clears his throat and pats the floor beside him. He’s seated on a blanket, Martin just now notices, folded over several times to cushion the hard ground.

He’d better not be napping down here, Martin thinks to himself.

“Martin,” Jon says, in that impossibly soft tone he’s taken to using around Martin these days, “I’d like you to come sit, if you’re amenable.”

It’s such a Jon way of phrasing the invitation, and the familiarity it engenders has Martin accepting without a conscious thought. He settles himself beside Jon, close but not touching. Those few inches of distance manage to be simultaneously loathsome and assuring. Martin lets his hand rest in that vacant space, fingers clenching around a fistful of blanket.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jon’s hand twitch, as if fighting back the urge to reach out and touch. Instead, he starts to rub the fabric of his trouser leg between his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you need right now?” Jon asks.

“I…” Martin pauses, unsettled by the sound of his own voice, grating and almost unfamiliar to his ears.

“Take your time.”

It takes a minute for Martin to wrap his mouth around more than one syllable.

“Nothing,” he says, the weight of the word nearly pinning his tongue in place.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Several more minutes pass before Martin is able to construct a full sentence.

“I’m just being stupid.” The words seem to echo faintly in the tunnel, despite how quietly he says them.

“What do you need?” Jon asks again.

“Nothing,” Martin repeats dully. He doesn’t need anything.

Jon doesn’t immediately respond. Martin can feel himself go rigid, anticipating… what – aggravation, impatience, disengagement? But Jon only runs a thumb along his jawline, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Okay,” he says eventually, “what do you want, then? What would – what would help you feel better right now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Martin says in a voice so feeble it’s nearly inaudible. He flexes his fingers uncertainly, chasing after any physical sensation at all, only to find them numb and deathlike. The helpless sigh that shudders out of him wants to be a whimper. “I just – didn’t – don’t – feel real. Feels like I’m not really here.”

“Hmm.” Jon looks at him – really looks at him, taking his time to study Martin’s face. “Well, I can confirm that you are here.”

“You… you can see me?” Martin asks meekly, pleadingly, dreading the answer.

“Yes.” Jon pauses. “And if you’re agonizing over being a bother, don’t, because you aren’t. I always like seeing you.”

He should trust Jon – he does trust Jon – but it’s still a constant struggle to drown out that Lonely part of him that insists that isolation is safer, more dependable, and far more habitable. Unthinkingly, Martin reaches over, hand trembling in the air above Jon’s, fingertips just barely ghosting across scarred skin.

“Would you like me to hold your hand…?” Jon ventures.

Martin’s fingers curve inward as he pulls back slightly. “I, um.”

“You can say no,” Jon reminds him.

“I… I want it, but I – I – I don’t know if I can handle it right now, and I –” Martin draws back entirely, flapping both hands in frustration, trying to relieve the pins-and-needles sensation prickling through his veins. “I hate this. I hate being like this.”

Martin grimaces at the outburst, but Jon doesn’t seem to be judging him. Instead, he’s looking off to the side, a crease between his eyebrows now, as if he’s working through a problem.

“No skin-to-skin contact,” he says to himself, and then he looks to Martin. “Pressure helps me sometimes, when I feel like I’m not real. You could… lean against me? If you want.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to,” Jon rushes to reassure him.

“It’s – not that I don’t want to. I guess I’m just…” Martin can feel himself flush with embarrassment. “It’s daft, but I’m worried that I’ll be – I don’t know, incorporeal, or something.”

“I distinctly recall you telling me that you’re not a ghost.”

It takes a few seconds for Jon’s deadpan humor to sink in. When it does, Martin nearly chokes on a surprised laugh.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was a ghost,” he says, cracking a smile. The tight, bitter-cold knot in his chest yields just a little, like ice disintegrating under a spring thaw.

“In my defense, I was quite distraught at the time.” Jon’s eyes wrinkle at the corners and Martin is struck by overwhelming fondness. He doesn’t pull away when Jon reaches out, open palm hovering just above his shoulder. “May I?”

Cautiously, Martin nods.

“Hmm.” Jon applies the lightest touch at first, watching Martin’s face carefully. He waits until Martin nods for him to continue before he presses down more firmly. Before long, Martin can feel the warmth of Jon’s hand through his jumper. That warmth carries over into Jon’s smile. “Feels solid to me.”

The confirmation comes as a relief, as foolish as that makes Martin feel. He braces himself and leans against Jon’s side, releasing his held breath when his body meets with tangible resistance. At first he worries that Jon, scrawny as he is, won’t be able to support the weight, but he doesn’t budge when Martin melts against him. After that, it’s a struggle for Martin to keep his eyes open.

Jon must notice, because he whispers, “You can rest. I’ll be here.”

Martin doesn’t even have the strength to nod, let alone the energy to argue. He allows the steady rise and fall of Jon’s chest to lull him into an almost meditative state, his mind still floating somewhere outside of himself, but now tethered to the ground.

Then the silence starts nipping at his heels.

“Too quiet,” he mumbles. “Talk to me?”

“What about?”

“Anything.”

“Did you know that highland cattle have a double coat?” Jon says after a minute of consideration. “It insulates them against the cold. The outer layer is long – the longest hair of any cattle breed, in fact – and oily, which helps ward off the rain. Underneath is softer, almost woolly hair.”

Once Jon gets started, those little scraps of trivia soon progress to a nearly encyclopedic lecture. It doesn’t take long for Martin to lose himself in the rich timbre of Jon’s voice as he goes on about various Scottish breeds of cattle. Although he doesn’t fall fully asleep, Martin manages to drift in and out of consciousness enough that he loses track of time once more. This time, though, it’s a comfortable daze: there’s someone to keep him from straying too far.

At some point, he unthinkingly seeks out Jon’s hand. Jon presses his thumb into the center of Martin’s palm, rubbing small circles there, coaxing Martin further into peaceful relaxation.

“Sorry for interrupting you and Daisy earlier,” Martin murmurs groggily into Jon’s shoulder.

“Oh, we were just listening to The Archers.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Martin asks, opening one eye to scrutinize Jon’s expression.

“Unfortunately not.”

“You like The Archers.”

“Good lord, no. Blame Daisy.”

“Daisy likes The Archers,” Martin says, even more dubiously, sitting up now to squint at Jon.

“There are stranger things.”

Martin snorts and nestles into Jon’s side again. “If you say so.”

“Feeling better now?” Martin reflexively snuggles closer. Jon laughs softly, a little puff of a breath that rustles Martin’s hair. “I’m not going to deny you cuddles if the answer is ‘yes,’ you know.”

“Cuddles,” Martin whispers, the word dissolving into a clipped giggle.

“What?” Jon tilts his head. There’s a puzzled scowl on his face, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he should take offense. It’s impossibly endearing.

“Cuddles,” Martin repeats, in a poor approximation of Jon’s voice this time. “Not a word I ever expected to hear from you.”

“Quiet, you,” Jon huffs, but he can’t disguise the way his indignant pout cracks into a smile under the weight of his own amusement. He almost seems to preen, as if pulling a laugh from Martin is a victory on which to pride himself. He reaches up with his free hand, pausing just above the top of Martin’s head. “May I?”

At Martin’s affirmative, Jon begins to comb his fingers through Martin’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. For the briefest of moments, some primal fragment of him recoils from the contact, instinctively unnerved by the vulnerability inherent to such closeness. Martin spurns that voice, breathes through its fit of angst and panic, and leans into the touch.

Little by little, step by step, he’s acclimating. He just wishes that it wasn’t such a process each and every time he lets his guard down like this.

“Bad day?” Jon asks once Martin settles.

“Something like that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Martin groans. “But I should.”

“Only if you want to.”

“No, you should know, I just…” Martin heaves a wearied sigh. “Peter’s back.”

Jon gasps like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. The hand stroking Martin’s hair abruptly stills; the other, still clasped in Martin’s, constricts like a death-grip.

“Did he hurt you?” The question is steeped in an artificial, fragile sort of calm, but Jon can’t quite mask the intensity buzzing just under the surface: fear, protectiveness, and desperation all intermingled and reinforced by that ominous inkling of power that, despite his intentions, lurks behind every word.

“He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Just… trying to get me to recommit to the Lonely.” Martin scoffs. “And of course he was trying to do it in a way that would make me feel like it was my idea. Get me to convince myself that it was what I wanted, rather than something he was pressuring me into.”

“Of all the Powers, the Lonely is one of the most insidious, I think,” Jon says quietly. “It seeks out victims who already have one foot in the Lonely, reinforces those fears, promises kinship – a paradoxical form of it, anyway – and then it just… waits. Spend enough time disconnected from the rest of the world, and it doesn’t take long to start telling yourself the lie that it’s for the best. That it’s what you are; that it’s all you’re meant to be.”

“And I fell for it,” Martin mutters.

“Anyone would, subjected to the right conditions.” Jon waits until he catches Martin’s eye before he continues. “It isn’t your fault. This is what the Fears do. It’s what they are. They find an opening, they sink their hooks in, and they pull you under. They don’t let go until either you drown or you learn to breathe fear. The only way out is for someone to throw you a lifeline, and even then, the odds aren’t great. And the Lonely in particular – one of the first things it does is make it difficult to even conceive of a lifeline. It’s hard to catch hold of one if you never think to look for it.”

“I thought you hated convoluted metaphors.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately the Powers That Be tend to elude any sort of straightforward, concrete discussion,” Jon grouses. “Just one more reason to begrudge them, really. My point is, the Lonely is an insufferable liar and so is Peter.”

“What do you know, they’re perfect for each other.” The remark succeeds in putting a lopsided smirk on Jon’s face, much to Martin’s delight. “Anyway, Peter said his plan won’t work unless I’m voluntarily Lonely.”

“He’s right, although his plan has nothing to do with the Extinction. He needs you to choose the Lonely because those were the terms of his bet with Jonah. He poaches you out from under the Eye – gets you to pledge yourself to the Forsaken – and he wins, with the Institute as a prize. He fails to convert you, he loses, and he does what Jonah wants, which is for me to be marked by the Lonely.”

Jon says that last part so nonchalantly. As if it’s a foregone conclusion; as if he’s become so accustomed to dehumanization that it doesn’t even give him pause. Martin grits his teeth, biting back a surge of anger on Jon’s behalf.

“Yeah, well,” he says tightly, “Peter bet on the wrong horse.”

A sharp intake of breath leaves Jon sounding strangled when he says, eyes wide and lips parted, “Oh?”

“I mean, he can’t just sic the Lonely on me like he would any other victim, right? That wouldn’t count as a win. He needs me to choose it. And I’m not going to do that.”

“Yeah?” The expression of unguarded, cautious hope dawning on Jon’s face makes him look years younger.

“Yeah,” Martin says, feeling increasingly emboldened. “The funny thing is, I don’t – I don’t think I ever chose loneliness. I never wanted it – that was just a lie I told myself, and the Lonely just – echoed it back to me. S-so Peter’s out of luck, because if there are other options, then the Lonely will always be involuntary. Because it’s not what I want.”

“You – you mean it?” Jon brightens, leaning forward.

Martin’s heart skips a beat and flutters hummingbird-quick against his ribs. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jon smile – not like this, that is, beaming and uninhibited and altogether breathtaking. Immediately, Martin decides that he wants more. It seems wrong for something so exhilarating to be so rare.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, and it doesn’t matter, because Jon is in his lap, and Jon is nuzzling into his shoulder, and Jon is here and solid and so, so alive in Martin’s arms, breathing warm and steady into his neck, smiling against his skin, hands scrabbling at his back to cling to his jumper. Martin’s fingers seek purchase of their own, and then something clicks.

“Jon,” he says, leaning back just far enough to confirm his suspicion, “is this mine?”

“Are you just now noticing?” Jon asks, devastatingly fond. “Martin, I’ve been wearing this jumper off and on for the last several weeks.”

“You have?” Martin all but squeaks, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “No. No, you –” Jon’s grin is widening, leaving Martin increasingly flustered. “I – I mean, yes, you have, obviously, I know that, but I – I – I –” Martin gulps, mortified, as Jon finally fails to contain his suppressed laughter. “Look, I didn’t recognize it until just now, alright?”

“Well,” Jon says, ducking his head to chuckle softly against Martin’s throat, “it’s mine now, and you can’t have it back.”

Which is fine with Martin, really, because he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t helplessly charmed by the newfound knowledge that not only is Jon an unrepentant clothes-thief, but apparently also an insatiable cuddler.

End Notes:

To address Martin’s concern: Jon does, in fact, nap in the tunnels sometimes. Listen, with Jurgen Leitner (derogatory) in absentia, there was an opening for the position of Beleaguered Tunnel-Haunting Hermit and Jon has all the necessary qualifications.

So anyways, who else thinks Peter’s bio on a dating app would probably just be that “every living creature on this earth dies alone” quote from Donnie Darko? I bet he thinks 'survival of the fittest' means 'every man for himself'. What an insufferable clown.

No Archive-speak in this chapter to cite.

I wanted to make a joke about a The Archers-themed Monopoly, so I asked duckduckgo if it was a thing. Sadly, it is not. There IS, however, a 1960s The Archers board game, and yes, there ARE eBay listings for it.

The first section of this chapter was written before eps 190-192 dropped. I think it still lines up well enough with what we saw of Melanie & Georgie’s characterization in these most recent episodes, with the qualifier that things have gone very differently in this AU compared with canon. (Also, I took some liberties wrt Georgie’s not-feeling-fear thing, obvi. Some of it matches with the most recent episodes, some of it not so much, but I decided to keep it anyways.)

Oh and I think I might have given myself cavities with the last section of this chapter. (I’m aro-spec; it’s hard to tell when I’m going over the top, but hopefully it’s fluffy without being overly cloying.)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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ricksroaches · 3 years

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Namjoon - Dysphoria ch. 3

pairing: Yoongi x Reader, OT7 x Reader (platonic)

Summary: As a last resort, Namjoon tells his strict, overbearing father something that isn’t exactly true. He ends up having to find a way to prove his bluff.

Notes: Namjoon is also a junior. Jungkook and Taehyung are sophomores, Jimin, Y/N, and Namjoon are juniors, and Hoseok and Yoongi are seniors. Jin has graduated but still hangs out w them.

word count: 5.4k

warnings: cursing, mentions of drug use, mentions of mental hospitalization

Prev chapter Next chapter

Perfection.

The Merriam Webster Dictionary defines perfection as: freedom from fault or defect.

Perfection was the standard held over Namjoon’s head since the day he could walk. His dad expected perfection. Not excellence, no. Excellence has the stain of room for error. Perfection was pure, unscathed by failure. Freedom from fault or defect. And he accepted nothing less. He was obsessive. His mom always said that’s where he got it from.

When Namjoon was 13, he stayed up all night binge watching Star Wars. He didn’t mean to, the time just flew by. What he forgot though, was an Algebra unit test he had that day. He snuck a cup of coffee from the pot and felt tip top, but by the time 5th hour came around, he was dying. You know that feeling when your in class dozing in and out and time kinda warps and every time you blink, 10 minutes have gone by? It’s also not easy to think about quadrilaterals and Euclidean triangle proofs while your at it.

He made a C. He never scored less than an A. Ever. He was sure his fate was sealed. The walk home alone had his palms sweating.

Namjoon remembered a lot of screaming that night. At him, his mom, his brother. No one was safe. Even long after they’d been sent to bed, he could hear their shouts, muffled by the walls. Sleep didn’t come to him that night either.

Naturally, he grew to resent his dad, but then strive for his approval at the same time. All that stress festered into rage. The kind that would put the fear of God in anyone. It scared him, and he was smart enough to know he needed to do something about it. Every time he felt that twinge, that compulsive urge to bash someone’s head in, he’d do push-ups. 10 turned to 20, 20 turned to 50, 50 turned to 100.

By 14, he had developed a strict diet and workout schedule. His body fat dropped from 23% to 10%.

He joined the football team by his dads wishes as a freshman and quickly excelled. By sophomore year, he was not only the starting quarterback, but the team captain. His IQ and OCD allowed him to see patterns in the other team’s offense that others were too brain damaged to notice. He was basically the team’s strategist and often took the coach’s job of giving the rundown before games.

He loved to win. He loved the endless cheers and adoration they showered him with. None of that, however, could compare to the feeling of seeing his dad watching in the stands with a proud, contained smile. His dad’s approval wasn’t Namjoon’s driving force. It was the wrath that he’d do anything to be spared from.

Beads of sweat were blown from Namjoon’s forehead as he sprinted around the track surrounding the school football field. His heart hammered in his chest and his legs begged for rest, but he needed to make exactly 7 laps without stopping or he had to start all over again.

He could see the finish line inching closer in the distance and he pumped his legs even harder to go even faster until he sped over the thick white line. With a parting ‘fuck you,’ his muscles went slack and he collapsed into the grass. He couldn’t hear himself think over the all consuming sound of his heart thundering in his ears and him gasping for air.

Once his pulse slowed to a non frightening pace, he pulled the hem of his jersey up to wipe the sweat from his eyes. He laid his arm over his face to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun and let his body sink further into the grass.

He thought he fell asleep, because the light reaching through his eyelids faded, and he couldn’t feel the cancer waves beating down on his arm. Confused, he peeked under his arm-“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

Y/N was standing at his side staring down at him. He didn’t fall asleep, he was just laying in the long shadow she cast. “What the fuck what are you fucking Annabelle?!”

“I called your name like twice.”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Okay first of all,” she took the sucker she had out of her mouth and pointed it at him “watch it. Second of all, Jimin told me you needed a ride home, so I’m telling your ungrateful ass ahead of time.”

“Why aren’t you in class?” She put the sucker back in her cheek.

“Skip n trip.”

“You’re a dumbass. There’s no way they won’t notice your gone.”

“Joon this school’s budget is $300 and a handful of Chuck E. Cheese’s tokens. Those teachers could give a shit. Besides, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

“What did you take?”

“Shrooms.”

“What are you gonna do until I get out?”

“Dunno. I might rescue a cat from a tree, might steal the Constitution. You never know.”

“Okay well I need to shower before next period so,” Before he could finish she offered him her hand. He took it and she heaved him up a lot easier than he’d expected for a 5’4 druggie.

“Thanks. Now begone, demon.” With the small shove he gave her arm, she turned and meandered to the front of campus.

~~~

Namjoon’s stomach fluttered when his 7th period teacher started talking about what they were going to do tomorrow. A key sign of the end of class nearing. He watched the clock make its way around and around until finally, the bell rang.

He came down the brick front steps of the main hall, eyes sweeping for Y/N’s car. Nothing. With an annoyed huff, he made his way to the parking lot. “Why can’t you use the carpool like a human?”

He was nearing the back of the parking lot when the 1993 Corolla e100 came into view. Its dusty blue paint job and modifications courtesy of Yoongi and his father’s garage that he worked at. A pair of converse hung out the passenger window. When he got closer he saw Y/N laid across the front seat, plastic sunglasses balanced on her nose, hands folded behind her head.

He wrenched the door open making her feet flop to the seat hard enough to wake her with a choked snore. He swatted the bottom of her feet so she’d move. He sunk into the passenger seat and watched her hastily rub her eyes trying to wake up, glasses now perched in her hair. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why the hell were you asleep when you were supposed to pick me up.” She rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

“Sorry. Shroom come downs make me hella sleepy.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

“Nah, just hand me a Monster. I keep some in the pocket behind your seat.” He gave her a concerned look but reached around and pulled a lime green can from the pocket. She shifted the car in reverse and cut the turn to exit the parking lot, opening the can in her hand with her teeth in the process.

“I could’ve gotten that for you.”

“And not look badass? I think not.”

“That wasn’t badass.”

“Sure it wasn’t.”

~~~

Y/N wanted burritos and Namjoon was getting hungry so they stopped by La Michoacana, their favorite Mexican place, and ate them on the hood of her car.

By the time she pulled in his driveway, the sun was beginning to sink below the trees and buildings. He grabbed his backpack and sports bag from the trunk and walked around to her window, leaning his forearm on the edge and bending to be eye-level. “Thanks for the ride. My dad's home so don’t floor it out of here okay?”

“No problemo brochacho.” She gave him an OK sign before pulling her shades back down and driving off with two small growls of her engine.

His family was already having dinner when he came through the door. “Joon honey, is that you?”

“Yeah mom!” Who else would it be?

“Come eat dinner will you?”

“It’s fine I already ate-”

“Come sit with your family.” His neck hairs prickled at the sound of his dad's voice. He knew better than to keep him waiting. He dropped his bags by the coat rack and made his way to the dining room. He took his seat across from his older brother, Geongmin. “Care to tell us why you were late coming home?” His dad, at the head of the table, finally spoke.

“I was just getting something to eat with my friend who gave me a ride home.” His dad took in his answer before giving a dismissive nod and returning to his plate. Another wave of silence carried the table for another few minutes before his mom spoke up.

“So, Mrs Kwon told me today that her daughter Somin is still looking for someone. Why don’t you give her a call?”

“What? Mom, no. Why?”

“Aw come on sweetie it could be fun you never know. You need at least one highschool relationship before you graduate.”

The truth was, he’d actually had a few relationships in the past. He just never let them find out about it.

“Listen to your mother, she’s right. If you want to understand women enough to marry one, you better start learning now.”

“But…I just can’t.” His dad's gaze zeroed in on him.

“And why is that?” The words came out before he had time to rethink his idea.

“Because I already have a girlfriend.” His mom dropped her fork. Geongmin let out a snort and choked on his iced tea.

“What?” She placed a hand on her chest. His dad didn’t seem too mad. Yet. He set his silverware down neatly and folded his hands in front of his mouth.

“Who is it?” Oohhhhh shit. Now everyone was staring at him, waiting for an answer. Okay Namjoon, just say a female name. Any name, just say something.

“Y/N.” FUCK!

“Y/N? Y/N who?” His mom jumped in.

“L/N.” SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU IDIOT!

“Hmmm…. I've never heard of her.”

“You wouldn’t have.” He turned back to his dad who was still eyeing him. He could tell something wasn’t right, only making Namjoon’s thighs sweat more against the seat.

“I want to meet her.”

FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK! NAMJOON YOU STUPID ASS MOTHERFUCKER WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?

“Okay.”

Fuck a duck.

~~~

Y/N took a thoughtful hit of her joint. “So you're telling me…that I have to go to dinner with you…to meet your parents…because you said you had a girlfriend?”

“Yes.” The pair were sitting on the school roof during lunch. Her usual hiding spot.

“You know,” she blew out the wispy cloud, “for a genius, you’re really fuckin stupid.”

“Please Y/N they’re trying to get me to date this girl I used to go to preschool with. We hate each other!”

“Woah woah chill my guy. I never said I wouldn’t.” His eyes lit up and she held her joint above her head to avoid it being crushed by Namjoon’s hug.

“Thank you so much I mean it! I owe you big time.”

“All you have to do now is ask Yoongi.” She had to hold in her laugh when she felt his body stiffen, and ever so slightly take his hands off her.

“Oh…right.”

~~~

“Hey, Yoongs.” Y/N tapped one of the boots jutting out from underneath one of the various cars in the garage. The raven haired boy rolled out from under the car, laying on one of those rolly things. He looked up at her with streaks of motor oil and sweat on his face. His eyes lit up when he recognized the lame stance and shaggy hair that was his person.

“Hey, N/N.” In one swift motion, he was on his feet, wiping his hands on the red rag that was tucked in his waistband. He noticed Namjoon standing behind. “Sup. What are you guys doing here?”

“You see…about that.” Namjoon scratched the back of his neck.

“Come on Joon, spit it out.” She shoved him forward.

“Fuck’s wrong with him?” Yoongi pointed at him with his thumb.

“He has to ask you something.”

“Well on with it I have a job to do.”

“IneedtotakeY/NtodinnerwithmyparentscauseIsaidshewasmygirlfriendtogetoutofthemsettingmeupwithsomeone.” Namjoon squeezed his eyes shut and braced for his reaction.

“I don’t think that was a question, but okay.” His eyes popped open.

“Wait, really??”

“Yeah. If she’s willing to clean up your mess that’s all I care about.”

“I told you he’d say yes.” She bumped his arm with her elbow with a smirk. The wave of relief washed over him like jumping in a pool on a hot summer day.

“There are rules that come with that.”

“State your terms.”

“No touching below her waist, no pet names, no staring, and have her home before 10. You’re also allowed exactly one kiss if things get sticky.”

“Deal.”

“So when is it?” Yoongi listened to Namjoon explaining their plans while Y/N took his rag and started wiping the grease off his cheeks, nose, and forehead. Namjoon watched him sit still while she practically climbed all over him like a jungle gym. His patience with her was simply astounding.

By the time she finished and tucked the rag back in his waistband, Namjoon got a call. It only lasted a few seconds before he hung up. “That was my dad. I gotta get home.”

“Ight. That means me too. Bye Yoongs.” She spun around and followed Namjoon to the car.

“Ah, ah, ah.” She turned around. Yoongi held his hand up and made a ‘come here’ motion with his index finger.

“Oh shit!” She came bounding back and threw herself on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her chin and planted a kiss on her lips. He made eye contact with Namjoon over her shoulder and gestured around her figure clinging to his body, dramatically mouthing ‘mine.’ Namjoon chuckled and climbed in the passenger side and waited for the lovebirds to finish their visit.

~~~

Y/N had just stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel when there was a knock at her door. She padded to the door and opened it. “Jimin! You learned to use the door!”

He rolled his eyes and stepped in.

“I was told I’m needed for assistance.” She swung open her bedroom door and they entered.

“Yeah, I need your help picking an outfit that won’t get Namjoon killed.”

“Hmm. I see.” He put his finger to his lip and eyed her closet. “Are they religious?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Old school or progressive?”

“Pretty old school I think.”

“Underlying misogyny?”

“What? Fuc- Jimin I don’t know.” He simply eyed her hair, face, and body, nodding.

“Okay, I think I have an idea.”

“And what is thAH!” Her towel was ripped off and he began rifling through her drawers. “JIMIN!”

“Oh please, nothing I haven’t seen before. Let's see…” He tossed a plain bra and a pair of underwear over his shoulder to her.

“Something comfortable, since you won’t be getting lucky tonight.” He moved to her closet nonchalantly while she scrambled to clothe herself. He pulled out an armload of clothes and tossed them on the bed. It was funny how he seemed to know her closet better than she did.

After countless trial and error, he finally decided on an outfit. A white, one shoulder long sleeved bodysuit with a black velvet pencil skirt.

Next was hair. “Jesus what am I gonna do with all this?” He held locks of her curls in each hand. It ended up not being as big of a problem as he thought. A nice bun with a few curls hanging out suited the look well. It was messy, but not too messy, and made her look put together.

Last was makeup. He opted for nude shades on her lids, minimal foundation and contour and a soft peach lip gloss. “In case they’re secretly Amish, I don’t want them thinking you're some whore.” She chuckled, his light hearted nature broke through her nerves. He pulled her in front of the mirror and admired his work. “You look stunning.” She couldn’t help the bashful smile that she hid behind her hands. Suddenly he gasped. “SHOES!” He raced to the closet and looked through her meager collection. He settled on a pair of white block heels, the white strap across her toes complimenting their fresh white pedicure. She slipped them on and he repositioned her in front of the mirror. “Now,” he slid his hands down her arms and rested his chin on her shoulder, “you look perfect.”

Her phone buzzed on the bed, interrupting the sweet moment.

Joon🦒: I’m almost there.

“Okay he’s almost here, do I look like a good girlfriend?”

“The best.” With a smile and a peck on his cheek, she slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. She opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Hydroxyzine. Namjoon had asked her to refrain from being stoned at dinner, since she tended to say some crazy shit when she was. Granted, he didn’t say sober, just not fucked up. Shaking out three capsules, she eyed them before tossing them into her mouth.

Namjoon’s grey BMW M4 pulled into the driveway, it’s headlights pouring through the front kitchen window. Y/N and Jimin shot up in unison. He grabbed her by the shoulders and faced her. “I know you're probably freaking out right now, but just remember, you got this. There’s no way you can fuck up so bad they never want him to see you again.”

“Way to put that in my head.” He just smirked and opened the door for her.

“Go get ‘em tiger.” He landed a playful swat on her ass, sending her out the door for him to close behind her. No going back now. She made her way down the front steps and Namjoon got out wearing a matching charcoal grey suit and met her on the passenger side. He opened the door for her and held her hand for support until she was settled before shutting it gently. His car was spotless. Yoongi took great care of his car but even he had maybe a jacket laying in the backseat. It looked like he just rolled out of the dealership.

He climbed in the drivers side and pulled out of the driveway. “Was that Jimin?”

“Haha yeah. He helped me get ready.”

“How is he gonna get home if you don’t get back ‘til 10?”

“Hobi’s on his way to pick him up. Apparently they’re gonna drop and watch scary movies.”

“Hobi? Watching horror movies. You're kidding.”

“I've done it with him a few times, it’s quite entertaining.”

“I’m sure it is.”

~~~

It wasn’t a long drive to the restaurant they were meant to meet his parents at. It was a restaurant she’d never heard of, and probably would never be able to afford. He offered her his arm which she gladly took and they entered.

She was immediately hit with the smell of olive oil and fresh bread. Italian music floated over the light din of patrons dining on luxury dishes. Namjoon leaned down and whispered, “I didn’t think they’d pick such a nice place.” A hostess carrying an arm full of menus approached them.

“Mr. Kim?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Right this way please.” Y/N almost couldn’t keep up in her heels with the swift steps the hostess made. She remembered why she never wore them.

The woman led them past table after table, until they reached another smaller room, lit with candles and a crystal chandelier. It was quieter than the front, but still filled with the light chatter of diners sipping million dollar champagne. Okay, she knew Namjoon was wealthy, but this? God damn. She might as well be meeting the President.

They eventually stopped at a table with a couple already sitting. His parents. She put on her best face and gave a polite bow when they stood to greet her. “안녕하세요 당신을 만나서 매우 기쁘게 생각합니다” She looked back up to see them both frozen in surprise. His mom looked to Namjoon.

“You never told us she could speak Korean.”

“주금” Y/N held her index finger and thumb close together with a humble smile. This was good. She’s off to a good start. Once they exchanged pleasantries, they all sat down. A waitress came by for their drink orders. His parents ordered wine and they both ordered sparkling water.

“So, Y/N, how did you get to know our son?” His mom was the first to speak. She was clearly the more excited one. His dad looked like he was at an interrogation.

“We met at a pep rally sophomore year, and I noticed he kept visiting the art room where I worked after school, so when junior year came around I just risked it and asked him out.” His mom melted over the story she made up on the fly. God bless her wicked creativity. It wasn’t until he met his dad's eye that his smile tapered. Although it wasn't noticeable to anyone else, it was obvious to Namjoon. His dad wasn’t happy. Allowing himself to wait around to be asked out by a girl? Disgraceful.

Y/N basically lied about everything she was asked. Where she lived, who her parents were, plans for the future. Somehow the conversation shifted to religion.

“Are you religious, Y/N?” His dad asked. She definitely feared talking to him the most, given the few rants Namjoon went on in the past.

“I was raised Catholic, mass on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, the whole deal, but nowadays we hardly have time to go.”

“Were you confirmed?”

“No sir.”

“Why not?”

“We…” Her mind froze. She couldn’t get past the memories of that age. Cold metal bed frames and IVs, stringless hoodies and slip on shoes. “We moved and by the time we found a church to join, my parents were too busy with new work to take me to the classes. So it never really happened.”

“Aw, well that’s a shame.” His mom remarked. And the conversation moved on.

Y/N barely remembered the rest of dinner. Her mind still stuck in the padded rooms. Eventually, the last of dessert was finished and it was finally time to go. She briefly excused herself to use the restroom. She was feeling pretty good while she washed her hands. She said all the right things, they didn’t seem annoyed or too judgmental. She pushed the door open and nearly ran into Namjoon’s dad on the way to the mens’ room.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“No, it’s alright. Listen, I’ve actually been meaning to tell you something.”

“Okay?”

“You and my son seem to have a strong bond. I can tell he likes you a lot. But just between us, I know you lied to me.” Her heart dropped into her stomach. “I know you don’t live uptown, I know you don’t live with your parents. I know where you actually live.”

“W-what?” She was frozen in place as he stepped closer. “I understand you may be embarrassed of your financial standing and I’m proud of Namjoon for accepting you for who you are. But I’ll tell you one thing.” He leaned in her ear. “You will never be good enough for my son.” With that, he turned and vanished into the restroom.

All Y/N could do was plod back to the table where Namjoon and his mom were standing. “Joonie? Would it be okay if we went now? I’m starting to get cramps.”

“Oh no please. Namjoon, take the poor girl home.” Best. Excuse. Ever. Works every time.

Once they were inside the car, she let out the breath she’d been holding. Had she been holding it the entire time? It felt like it.

“Ohhhh shit.”

“Dear god what now.”

“Don’t look now but my parents are staring at us from inside. I don’t think my mom believes us.”

“Why?”

“She’s talking about how I wasn’t affectionate enough.”

“How do you know that?”

“I've seen countless of their conversations, I don’t need to hear to know what they’re talking about.”

“Nuclear option?”

“Going nuclear.” With that he leaned across the console and cupped her cheek, melding his lips to hers. It wasn’t as bad as she expected it to be. She thought it’d be rigid and awkward, but he had a way of making them feel comfortable. They parted and he shifted back into his seat.

“Did it work?”

“My mom is jumping up and down. I think it worked.”

He started up the car and pulled out onto the road to her apartment. “What you said about cramps, was that true?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t dare tell him the real reason. Knowing Namjoon she knew that would only turn out one way. He reached over and popped open the glove box in front of her. Inside were tampons, pads, makeup wipes, muscle relaxers, and more lined up in neat rows. She gladly took one of the pills. “How you don’t have a girlfriend yet I’ll never know.” Namjoon may be a compulsive hothead, but at least he knows how to treat a lady.

“Hey, N/N?”

“Yup.”

“Are you actually Catholic?”

“Yeah. All of it was true except for the moving part.”

“Did you, you know, believe in it? In God?”

“I mean it’s kinda like Santa. Your parents tell you he’s real and you’re too naïve to think for yourself so you believe. To answer your question, yes, I used to at least.”

“What happened?”

Hospital gowns, bed restraints, pills in little paper cups.

“….I pretty much lost faith in anything I couldn’t see the moment I was admitted to that place. Shit like that kinda breaks down your character.”

“Are there still times where you think you might still believe?”

“What are you, Jehovah's witness?”

“I’m just curious. You’re the last person I’d expect to be religious.”

“Rarely. I only turn to a higher power when I think there’s nothing left between me and death. When I’m so sure that my life is coming to an end that the only thing I can think to do is pray that heaven is real.”

“H-how many times has that happened?”

“Three times.”

“Oh.”

“Namjoon, promise me something. If one day you see me with my rosary, I need you to throw me in a mental ward and burn all of my religious shit. The whole box I keep in my closet. All of it.”

“I…I promise.”

~~~

The Beemer pulled into her driveway and he helped her out of the car, heels in hand. She took the shoes from him and he gave her a warm hug. “Thank you.”

“No problemo brochacho.” He mocked a scoff and pushed her away.

“Ruined it.” He circled around and climbed back into the driver's seat. Y/N made her way up the steps and turned around. She gave him a wave and he waved back from behind the windshield. With a chuckle, she went inside.

She was met by Yoongi and Taehyung sitting cross legged at her kitchen table. “And just where have you been all this time, young lady?”

“Yoongi, why is it here?” Tae sipped from the mug he carried daintily in one hand.

“Heard Yoongi whored you out. I tagged along to watch the drama.” She chuckled.

“There isn’t any. Go home Tae.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes you can. We were gonna hang out tomorrow anyway.” Yoongi fished his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to the fluffy haired pervert. “Leave even a scratch and I’ll skin you. Make sure you lock the garage cause if someone jacks it then I’m really gonna come for you.” Taehyung gave him an exaggerated salute and a boxy grin before he bounded out the door and to the car like Tigger. Yoongi shut the door behind him and spun to face her. “What’s wrong.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play that game with me, you know it never works.” She let out a long sigh and flopped onto the couch. The cushion dipped beside her when Yoongi sat down. She instinctively laid her head in his lap. He began plucking out the bobby pins holding her wild hair in place. “So how did it go?”

“It was fine at first. I pretty much had to lie about everything so they wouldn’t think I’m some gold digger.” He loosened the hair tie, finally setting her locks free. His fingers rubbed her scalp to ease the tension from the tight hairstyle.

“That’s obviously not the problem. You have no shame lying.” She giggled.

“It was pretty much fine halfway through, then for some reason they started asking if I was religious.” His veiny fingers mindlessly scratched her head, nearly sending her to sleep. “His dad asked if I went through confirmation, but it just reminded me of other stuff.”

“The hospital?”

“…yeah.”

“What about the other half?”

“I couldn’t really focus after that so I’m sure my conversation wasn’t the best.”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, I was pretty much in a different place after that.” He tucked a piece of hair that was hanging in her eyes behind her ear. “After dinner, I went to the bathroom and ran into his dad on the way out.” Yoongi stilled.

“Relax, he didn’t diddle me or anything.”

“What did he do?”

“He knew I lied about where I lived. Luckily he still believed we were actually together, cause then he told me that I would never be good enough for his son.” The head scratches halted all together. “It’s really not that big of a deal, it’s not like it matters. We’re not even dating.”

“Y/N look at me.” He met those e/c eyes and made sure he had her full attention. “You don’t actually believe that do you?”

“Believe what?”

“That you're not good enough.”

“I mean….no?”

“That didn’t sound very certain.” She turned her head back so her temple rested on his thigh.

“I mean I haven’t exactly been the gold standard in my lifetime.”

“You don’t have to be. Name someone you think is perfect. I’m talking not a single flaw inside or out.”

“….”

“So, why do you think you have to be?” She was quiet. He didn’t need her to answer, he just wanted to plant the thought in her mind. The softest sniffle could be heard. “Hey, come here.” He laid longways and guided her on top of him. She pressed her ear to his heart and he cupped the back of her head in his hand. He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You might not be good enough for him, but you're too good for me.”

“I think I can live with that.” He could feel the small smile grow against his chest.

After a half assed shower, Yoongi tucked them both in bed. Once again her head was on his chest. “Did you tell Joon?”

“No.”

“Good.

“Although we did get kinda deep on the way home.”

“Like what.”

“My religious awakenings.”

“Oh, you really went balls deep didn’t you?” Her head bobbed when he chuckled.

“Ha, yeah. Speaking of which, there’s something I forgot to mention earlier.”

“Oh boy.”

“When we were leaving, his parents were starting to get suspicious because the entire night he didn’t touch me once.”

“I don’t see the problem here.”

“So he had to kiss me in the car where they could see.”

“…”

“Hey you can’t get mad you said he could.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” He gently rolled her off him and he peeled the covers back. “Where are you going?”

“Hold on, I gotta piss.” She just laughed and watched him lumber out of the room in his t-shirt and boxers.

When he came back, she was sitting up with her knees hugged to her chest. “So what were you thinking about?”

“Was it good?”

“Was what good?”

“The kiss.” She thought for a second.

“I’m gonna be honest, it was unexpectedly pleasant, but you have nothing to worry about.” He came to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Why’s that?” She stood and bounced to the end of the mattress. She grabbed both his shoulders and looked down at him.

“Why would I cheat when I already have the best sex I’ve ever had?” He gave her a long, cool look.

“Until now.” He grabbed the backs of her knees and swept her onto her back with a surprised yelp. He crawled onto the mattress and attacked her with a barrage of kisses anywhere he could reach. It was going to be a long night.

#bts x reader #bts #bts fanfic #bts angst #namjoon #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 3 years

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Religious Trauma Syndrome: How Some Organized Religion Leads to Mental Health Problems

By Valerie Tarico

Marlene Winell interviewed March 25, 2013

At age sixteen I began what would be a four year struggle with bulimia. When the symptoms started, I turned in desperation to adults who knew more than I did about how to stop shameful behavior—my Bible study leader and a visiting youth minister. “If you ask anything in faith, believing,” they said. “It will be done.” I knew they were quoting [3] the Word of God. We prayed together, and I went home confident that God had heard my prayers. But my horrible compulsions didn’t go away. By the fall of my sophomore year in college, I was desperate and depressed enough that I made a suicide attempt. The problem wasn’t just the bulimia. I was convinced by then that I was a complete spiritual failure. My college counseling department had offered to get me real help (which they later did). But to my mind, at that point, such help couldn’t fix the core problem: I was a failure in the eyes of God. It would be years before I understood that my inability to heal bulimia through the mechanisms offered by biblical Christianity was not a function of my own spiritual deficiency but deficiencies in Evangelical religion itself.

Dr. Marlene Winell is a human development consultant in the San Francisco Area. She is also the daughter of Pentecostal missionaries. This combination has given her work an unusual focus. For the past twenty years she has counseled men and women in recovery from various forms of fundamentalist religion including the Assemblies of God denomination in which she was raised. Winell is the author of Leaving the Fold – A Guide for Former Fundamentalists and Others Leaving their Religion [4], written during her years of private practice in psychology. Over the years, Winell has provided assistance to clients whose religious experiences were even more damaging than mine. Some of them are people whose psychological symptoms weren’t just exacerbated by their religion, but actually caused by it.

Two years ago, Winell made waves by formally labeling what she calls “Religious Trauma Syndrome” (RTS) and beginning to write and speak on the subject for professional audiences. When the British Association of Behavioral and Cognitive Psychologists published a series of articles on the topic, members of a Christian counseling association protested what they called excessive attention to a “relatively niche topic.” One commenter said, “A religion, faith or book cannot be abuse but the people interpreting can make anything abusive.”

Is toxic religion simply misinterpretation? What is religious trauma? Why does Winell believe religious trauma merits its own diagnostic label?

Let’s start this interview with the basics. What exactly is religious trauma syndrome?

Winell: Religious trauma syndrome (RTS) is a set of symptoms and characteristics that tend to go together and which are related to harmful experiences with religion. They are the result of two things: immersion in a controlling religion and the secondary impact of leaving a religious group. The RTS label provides a name and description that affected people often recognize immediately. Many other people are surprised by the idea of RTS, because in our culture it is generally assumed that religion is benign or good for you. Just like telling kids about Santa Claus and letting them work out their beliefs later, people see no harm in teaching religion to children.

But in reality, religious teachings and practices sometimes cause serious mental health damage. The public is somewhat familiar with sexual and physical abuse in a religious context. As Journalist Janet Heimlich has documented in, Breaking Their Will, Bible-based religious groups that emphasize patriarchal authority in family structure and use harsh parenting methods can be destructive.

But the problem isn’t just physical and sexual abuse. Emotional and mental treatment in authoritarian religious groups also can be damaging because of 1) toxic teachings like eternal damnation or original sin 2) religious practices or mindset, such as punishment, black and white thinking, or sexual guilt, and 3) neglect that prevents a person from having the information or opportunities to develop normally.

Can you give me an example of RTS from your consulting practice?

Winell: I can give you many. One of the symptom clusters is around fear and anxiety. People indoctrinated into fundamentalist Christianity as small children sometimes have memories of being terrified by images of hell and apocalypse before their brains could begin to make sense of such ideas. Some survivors, who I prefer to call “reclaimers,” [8] have flashbacks, panic attacks, or nightmares in adulthood even when they intellectually no longer believe the theology. One client of mine, who during the day functioned well as a professional, struggled with intense fear many nights. She said,

“I was afraid I was going to hell. I was afraid I was doing something really wrong. I was completely out of control. I sometimes would wake up in the night and start screaming, thrashing my arms, trying to rid myself of what I was feeling. I’d walk around the house trying to think and calm myself down, in the middle of the night, trying to do some self-talk, but I felt like it was just something that – the fear and anxiety was taking over my life.” Or consider this comment, which refers to a film [9] used by evangelicals to warn about the horrors of the “end times” for nonbelievers.

“I was taken to see the film “A Thief In The Night”. WOW. I am in shock to learn that many other people suffered the same traumas I lived with because of this film. A few days or weeks after the film viewing, I came into the house and mom wasn’t there. I stood there screaming in terror. When I stopped screaming, I began making my plan: Who my Christian neighbors were, who’s house to break into to get money and food. I was 12 years old and was preparing for Armageddon alone.”

In addition to anxiety, RTS can include depression, cognitive difficulties, and problems with social functioning. In fundamentalist Christianity, the individual is considered depraved and in need of salvation. A core message is “You are bad and wrong and deserve to die.” (The wages of sin is death [10].) This gets taught to millions of children through organizations like Child Evangelism Fellowship [11] and there is a group organized [12] to oppose their incursion into public schools. I’ve had clients who remember being distraught when given a vivid bloody image of Jesus paying the ultimate price for their sins. Decades later they sit telling me that they can’t manage to find any self-worth.

“After twenty-seven years of trying to live a perfect life, I failed. . . I was ashamed of myself all day long. My mind battling with itself with no relief. . . I always believed everything that I was taught but I thought that I was not approved by God. I thought that basically I, too, would die at Armageddon.

“I’ve spent literally years injuring myself, cutting and burning my arms, taking overdoses and starving myself, to punish myself so that God doesn’t have to punish me. It’s taken me years to feel deserving of anything good.”

Born-again Christianity and devout Catholicism [13] tell people they are weak and dependent, calling on phrases like “lean not unto your own understanding [14]” or “trust and obey [11].” People who internalize these messages can suffer from learned helplessness. I’ll give you an example from a client who had little decision-making ability after living his entire life devoted to following the “will of God.” The words here don’t convey the depth of his despair.

“I have an awful time making decisions in general. Like I can’t, you know, wake up in the morning, “What am I going to do today?” Like I don’t even know where to start. You know all the things I thought I might be doing are gone and I’m not sure I should even try to have a career; essentially I babysit my four-year-old all day.”

Authoritarian religious groups are subcultures where conformity is required in order to belong. Thus if you dare to leave the religion, you risk losing your entire support system as well.

“I lost all my friends. I lost my close ties to family. Now I’m losing my country. I’ve lost so much because of this malignant religion and I am angry and sad to my very core. . . I have tried hard to make new friends, but I have failed miserably. . . I am very lonely.”

Leaving a religion, after total immersion, can cause a complete upheaval of a person’s construction of reality, including the self, other people, life, and the future. People unfamiliar with this situation, including therapists, have trouble appreciating the sheer terror it can create.

“My form of religion was very strongly entrenched and anchored deeply in my heart. It is hard to describe how fully my religion informed, infused, and influenced my entire worldview. My first steps out of fundamentalism were profoundly frightening and I had frequent thoughts of suicide. Now I’m way past that but I still haven’t quite found “my place in the universe.”

Even for a person who was not so entrenched, leaving one’s religion can be a stressful and significant transition.

Many people seem to walk away from their religion easily, without really looking back. What is different about the clientele you work with?

Winell: Religious groups that are highly controlling, teach fear about the world, and keep members sheltered and ill-equipped to function in society are harder to leave easily. The difficulty seems to be greater if the person was born and raised in the religion rather than joining as an adult convert. This is because they have no frame of reference – no other “self” or way of “being in the world.” A common personality type is a person who is deeply emotional and thoughtful and who tends to throw themselves wholeheartedly into their endeavors. “True believers” who then lose their faith feel more anger and depression and grief than those who simply went to church on Sunday.

Aren’t these just people who would be depressed, anxious, or obsessive anyways?

Winell: Not at all. If my observation is correct, these are people who are intense and involved and caring. They hang on to the religion longer than those who simply “walk away” because they try to make it work even when they have doubts. Sometimes this is out of fear, but often it is out of devotion. These are people for whom ethics, integrity and compassion matter a great deal. I find that when they get better and rebuild their lives, they are wonderfully creative and energetic about new things.

In your mind, how is RTS different from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?

Winell: RTS is a specific set of symptoms and characteristics that are connected with harmful religious experience, not just any trauma. This is crucial to understanding the condition and any kind of self-help or treatment. (More details about this can be found on my Journey Free [15] website and discussed in my talk [16] at the Texas Freethought Convention.)

Another difference is the social context, which is extremely different from other traumas or forms of abuse. When someone is recovering from domestic abuse, for example, other people understand and support the need to leave and recover. They don’t question it as a matter of interpretation, and they don’t send the person back for more. But this is exactly what happens to many former believers who seek counseling. If a provider doesn’t understand the source of the symptoms, he or she may send a client for pastoral counseling, or to AA, or even to another church. One reclaimer expressed her frustration this way:

“Include physically-abusive parents who quote “Spare the rod and spoil the child” as literally as you can imagine and you have one fucked-up soul: an unloved, rejected, traumatized toddler in the body of an adult. I’m simply a broken spirit in an empty shell. But wait...That’s not enough!? There’s also the expectation by everyone in society that we victims should celebrate this with our perpetrators every Christmas and Easter!!”

Just like disorders such as autism or bulimia, giving RTS a real name has important advantages. People who are suffering find that having a label for their experience helps them feel less alone and guilty. Some have written to me to express their relief:

“There’s actually a name for it! I was brainwashed from birth and wasted 25 years of my life serving Him! I’ve since been out of my religion for several years now, but I cannot shake the haunting fear of hell and feel absolutely doomed. I’m now socially inept, unemployable, and the only way I can have sex is to pay for it.”

Labeling RTS encourages professionals to study it more carefully, develop treatments, and offer training. Hopefully, we can even work on prevention.

What do you see as the difference between religion that causes trauma and religion that doesn’t?

Winell: Religion causes trauma when it is highly controlling and prevents people from thinking for themselves and trusting their own feelings. Groups that demand obedience and conformity produce fear, not love and growth. With constant judgment of self and others, people become alienated from themselves, each other, and the world. Religion in its worst forms causes separation.

Conversely, groups that connect people and promote self-knowledge and personal growth can be said to be healthy. The book, Healthy Religion [17], describes these traits. Such groups put high value on respecting differences, and members feel empowered as individuals. They provide social support, a place for events and rites of passage, exchange of ideas, inspiration, opportunities for service, and connection to social causes. They encourage spiritual practices that promote health like meditation or principles for living like the golden rule. More and more, non-theists are asking [18] how they can create similar spiritual communities without the supernaturalism. An atheist congregation [19] in London launched this year and has received over 200 inquiries from people wanting to replicate their model.

Some people say that terms like “recovery from religion” and “religious trauma syndrome” are just atheist attempts to pathologize religious belief.

Winell: Mental health professionals have enough to do without going out looking for new pathology. I never set out looking for a “niche topic,” and certainly not religious trauma syndrome. I originally wrote a paper for a conference of the American Psychological Association and thought that would be the end of it. Since then, I have tried to move on to other things several times, but this work has simply grown.

In my opinion, we are simply, as a culture, becoming aware of religious trauma. More and more people are leaving religion, as seen by polls [20] showing that the “religiously unaffiliated” have increased in the last five years from just over 15% to just under 20% of all U.S. adults. It’s no wonder the internet is exploding with websites for former believers from all religions, providing forums [21] for people to support each other. The huge population of people “leaving the fold” includes a subset at risk for RTS, and more people are talking about it and seeking help. For example, there are thousands of former Mormons [22], and I was asked to speak about RTS at an Exmormon Foundation conference. I facilitate an international support group online called Release and Reclaim [23] which has monthly conference calls. An organization called Recovery from Religion, [24] helps people start self-help meet-up groups

Saying that someone is trying to pathologize authoritarian religion is like saying someone pathologized eating disorders by naming them. Before that, they were healthy? No, before that we weren’t noticing. People were suffering, thought they were alone, and blamed themselves. Professionals had no awareness or training. This is the situation of RTS today. Authoritarian religion is already pathological, and leaving a high-control group can be traumatic. People are already suffering. They need to be recognized and helped. _______________________________

Statistics update:

Numbers of American ‘nones’ continues to rise

October 18, 2019

By David Crary – Associated Press

The portion of Americans with no religious affiliation is rising significantly, in tandem with a sharp drop in the percentage that identifies as Christians, according to new data from the Pew Research Center. …

Pew says all categories of the religiously unaffiliated population – often referred to as the “nones” grew in magnitude. Self-described atheists now account for 4% of U.S. adults, up from 2% in 2009; agnostics account for 5%, up from 3% a decade ago; and 17% of Americans now describe their religion as “nothing in particular,” up from 12% in 2009.

https://www.csmonitor.com/USA/Society/2019/1018/Numbers-of-American-nones-continues-to-rise

_______________________________

Marlene Winell interviewed by Valerie Tarico on recovering from religious trauma Uploaded on January 31, 2011

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIfABmbqSMA

24:12

On Moral Politics, a TV program with host Dr. Valerie Tarico, Marlene Winell describes the trauma that can result from harmful experiences with religious indoctrination. Dr. Winell explains that mental health issues are widespread and need to be understood just as we understand PTSD. There are steps to recovery, treatment modalities, and resources available as well. She now refers to this as RTS or Religious Trauma Syndrome. _______________________________

Links:   [3] https://www.biblestudyonjesuschrist.com/pog/ask1.htm  [4] https://marlenewinell.net/leaving-fold-former  [8] https://journeyfree.org/article/reclaimers/  [9] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Thief_in_the_Night_%28film%29  [10] https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+6%3A23&version=KJV  [11] https://valerietarico.com/2011/02/04/our-public-schools-their-mission-field/  [12] http://www.intrinsicdignity.com/  [13] https://www.maryjohnson.co/an-unquenchable-thirst/  [14] https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Proverbs+3%3A5-6&version=KJV [15] https://journeyfree.org/category/uncategorized/ [16] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrE4pMBlis  [17] https://www.amazon.com/Healthy-Religion-Psychological-Guide-Mature/dp/1425924166 [18] https://www.humanistchaplaincy.org/ [19] https://www.christianpost.com/news/london-atheist-church-model-looking-to-expand-worldwide-91516 [20] https://www.pewforum.org/2012/10/09/nones-on-the-rise/  [21] https://new.exchristian.net/  [22] https://www.exmormon.org/  [23] https://journeyfree.org/group-forum/ [24] https://www.recoveringfromreligion.org/

_____________________________________

Get God’s Self-Appointed Messengers Out of Your Head

Valerie Tarico Which buzz phrases from your past are stuck in your brain? “God’s messengers” were all real complicated people with biases, blind spots, favorite foods and morning breath. They were not gods and they are not you. So how can you get them out of your head or at least reduce them to muffled background noise?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ElfyYA420F0

#religious trauma syndrome #Marlene Winell #Valerie Tarico

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belpheroo · 4 years

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Title: Untitled Genre: Hurt/Comfort, short bit of fluff. Pairing: Mammon x MC Summary: In which Mammon gets in trouble, Lucifer makes a half-hearted declaration Mammon then takes way too seriously and MC is there to make it better. Notes: I just like taking an insecure Mammon and showering him with affirmations until he cries. - MC Includes some of my headcanons about pact bonds aka emotional walkie talkie and pact marks appearing in the same spot on both MC and the bros. There is a passing reference to my other fic Between the Flash and the Thunder in this one, but you don’t need to read it to know what is going on.

In Mammon’s defense, he had done nothing that he hadn’t done before, so why Lucifer was so angry over some missing dusty old statue was truly a mystery. Lucifer turned a blind eye so often to his petty thefts and insurmountable debts to highly shrewd yet beautiful witches, but for some reason today was different.

He could practically feel the heat radiating off Lucifer’s body, a faint scent of sulfur warning that he could, at any moment, transform. Mammon knew better than to talk back in these moments so instead he waited with his arms crossed over his chest, head ducked down as if he could make himself smaller and unnoticable.

“You gave those harpies a relic of immense value.” Lucifer said, voice teetering between even and ragged, “It was one of the components that protects and seals this House from outside intruders… evidently… we have far worse concerns within!”

His voice raised to a near shout at the end, but Lucifer restrained it back, eyes shut tightly as he composed himself. Mammon felt his pulse all the way to his fingertips, clenching the fabric of his sleeves tight in his fists, focusing on the solidness of the floor beneath him rather than the lightness that threatened to swarm through his head.

“… I-I’ll get it back.”

“No. You will not. I will retrieve it. You can not be trusted to any position of responsibility. In fact, I begin to think I made a mistake entrusting the well being of our human guest with such an irresponsible lout.”

Insults were nothing, Mammon felt the blow of words meant in teasing and in earnest all the time… but this was different. His eyes widened, a breath caught in his chest. He wheezed trying to form words of protest, but Lucifer simply threw up his hand, silencing him.

“These thefts will stop. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah…”

“I will think upon your status as protector. Until then, if you so much as step one centimeter out of line—“

“I got it, okay? …I got it. I’m sorry.” Mammon hurried to change his tone and must have appeared sufficiently abashed because Lucifer’s shoulders relaxed and he turned his eyes away from Mammon. That alone hurt worse than anything his brother had said.

“…okay. Good.”

As always, something softened in Lucifer’s features and Mammon could feel the regret mixed into his anger. It wasn’t like Lucifer enjoyed this shit and Mammon knew that… but thievery was a compulsion he wasn’t likely to kick for good anytime soon. Perks of being the Avatar of Greed.

“You can go back to class.” Lucifer said instead of what else was on his mind and Mammon did.

—

It was nearly impossible not to hide the sharpness in his breath as Mammon half gasped and half panted as he strode down the halls of RAD. Being away from the House was good, it got out from under the oppressive aura Lucifer gave off when he was angry… but in the back of his mind he kept hearing those words over and over.

…I made a mistake entrusting the well being of our human guest…

The thought of Lucifer taking her away from him made his stomach churn. He’d still see her, sure, but her concerns? Her needs and her wants? Those would fall to another brother. He’d be sidelined and unimportant, pushed aside. Would she make a pact with that brother? Who would it be? Asmo? Beel? Most likely Satan if Lucifer could stomach granting such a privilege to him. He was reliable, he was smart.

Mammon growled under his breath, pushing a hand roughly through his hair and tugging, trying to distract himself with the pain.

“Stupid, worthless idiot… shut the fuck up, stop thinkin’ bout it.”

It was no use. His thoughts were spiraling and his chest was prickling with tightness. His eyes stung and Mammon knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, he needed to get out of sight. He found an empty classroom just in time, forcing open the door and slamming it closed as he furiously began rubbing at his eyes with the back of his fist.

Why the hell was he so upset?! He didn’t give a shit about Lucifer being mad! Luci would posture and raise his voice and be rough and then by tomorrow he’d be apologetic … even if Mammon did probably deserve this scolding and worse for having stolen from Lucifer yet again.

But… but dammit just the thought of Lucifer giving her to someone else made him want to fuckin’ scream. He didn’t want them near her! She was his to protect! He was the one she should be comin’ to in the middle of the night, when she was scared of thunderstorms. He was the one who should be taking her around Devildom, the one she was glued to and brought her homework to when she needed “help”… even if they just played on Devilgram the whole time instead.

Mammon was so preoccupied with these thoughts he jolted when the classroom door opened and softly someone slipped in.

“… hey um— so. You like, okay?”

Her voice was quiet and strained, but he knew the human exchange student’s voice anymore. In confusion, Mammon turned and saw in the light that her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks blotchy… as if she had been crying. His entire demeanor shifted, brows snapping together as he stood up taller.

“Whose responsible for this, huh? Who messed with ya?”

“Uh? What? Dude. I’m not crying because I want to. It’s you!” She waved back and forth between them, indicating to something invisible.

“Ha…w-what? Me? The Great Mammon? Absolutely not, I would never be all weepy and pitiful and junk.”

She gave him a skeptical look, one well-groomed brow lifting and a smirk on her lips. She reached into the pocket of her RAD uniform and produced a handkerchief.

“Your nose is running.”

He swiped it with a scowl, balling it up and roughly scrubbing his face.

“It’s the pact. I can feel what you feel when you are close.”

Mammon grumbled some reply, but it was indecipherable behind the handkerchief.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No… man, this sucks. Just stupid really, but it’s gonna mess everything up.”

She nodded, not pointing out he had said “no” and then proceeded to begin talking about it. That was pretty typical Mammon behavior.

“I got in trouble.” He mumbled, looking away from her sheepishly, “…Lucifer said I ain’t responsible enough to be lookin’ after ya anymore. So… guess ya will have to get used to Satan or someone.”

The silence after he stopped speaking was deafening, but he felt something in his chest… a tiny twinge of anxiety similar to what he had felt before but… faded. Like someone speaking through a tin can on a string into his heart. Mammon risked a short sideways glance over to her and found she was standing rigid, fists clenched at her sides. Her glossy lips were pressed tight together, redness spreading from her cheeks down her throat like a lit fuse before she exploded.

“Lucifer can shove it, I’m not taking anyone else! He can’t make me.”

“W-well… I dunno, it might be better cause I ain’t exactly the most reliable kinda guy. Ya probably would be better off if you had someone else watchin’ out—“

“What? What? What are you saying? Like, I can’t hear you over Lucifer talking out your mouth!”

Not what he had expected, he’d give her that.

“Say sike like right now!!!” she demanded.

“Wha- wait?! Why are you mad at me!”

“Because I don’t hear you saying you told him no!” She said, crossing her arms tightly against her chest and huffing, “Because you are standing there talking bad about my best friend… I don’t want someone ‘more’ reliable or whatever. I rely on you just fine. You are…I…”

She struggled to get the words out, the redness in her face having little to do with anger now.

“Mammon, I want you. No one else. I don’t care whether they are better at the job or not, they will suck at it because they aren’t you!”

Relief was immediate, followed closely by sheer embarrassment as Mammon hid his face with her handkerchief, covering his nose and mouth and hoping she wouldn’t notice the flush creeping down his own neck now.

She took in a shaky breath, eyes going wide as her chest rose and fell a bit faster.

“Wow… wow, I can like totally feel that.” She said, voice hushed, “You’re so—“

“Shuddup!” Mammon groaned, tossing aside her handkerchief and dragging her close. With her face pressed into his chest, she couldn’t see his face anymore and honestly… Mammon couldn’t bare to let her see him, pact or no pact.

His embrace was crushing and no doubt not very comfortable, but she softened under his touch and gently her hands came up to soothe over his back.

It was too much. It was just too fuckin’ much.

“…you’re just so happy.” She murmured into his shirt and Mammon swore he could feel her smiling.

“What if I am?! W-what’s it to ya, huh? Human?”

She giggled, arms wrapping around him fully as she squeezed back as tightly as she could.

“You’re so weak… puny human arms. Nuthin’ compared to the Mammon.”

“Ohhh, can you pick me up!? That’d be fun!”

“N-no!”

“Oh, so you can’t? Got puny demon arms?”

Mammon wasn’t one to take a challenge laying down. Her feet lifted off the floor as he hoisted her up, wiggling and giggling with delight. She got her arms up between them so she could wrap them around his neck, hooking her legs behind his own.

“Whee! Much better.” She hummed, looking down at his very unamused face with a smile. She had succeeded in her goal of distracting him and Mammon knew it.

“...I ain’t got puny arms.”

“I know, Mammon.”

“You’re bein’ extra needy, human.”

It wasn’t true. He was the one who needed and needed and needed. Her affirmation, her affection… don’t look at anyone else. Don’t be with anyone else. Mammon was suddenly struck with the knowledge he’d give up every penny in his bank accounts if it meant no one else ever got to have her.

And he didn’t know what that meant, but he knew what she wanted it to mean right now.

“…I’ll tell Lucifer no.”

“Hmm? What was that?” She cooed, voice teasing and light.

“I said I’ll tell um no! I ain’t given ya up!”

She weighed next to nothing with his strength, but still he settled her unto the instructor’s desk, palms flat on either side of it’s smooth surface as he leaned in, caging her.

She kept her legs locked around him, but now she could put them around his waist. Her hands slid from his neck down his arms, coming to rest on his forearms where she kneaded and rubbed at the bare skin where his sleeves were rolled up.

Normally, this kind of position would have Mammon a stuttering mess, but there was something determined and direct in his eyes, as if he couldn’t focus on anything right now but making sure she knew he was in earnest when he said what he said.

“I’m not giving you up either.”

Simple words, and yet she could feel where they pierced into his heart, leaving him half joy and half agony. Why did it hurt him so much when she spoke kindly to him? Mammon craved the words, but something held him back.

“You aren’t stupid.” She whispered, gently lifting her hand and resting it on his neck, watching as the pact mark began to appear exactly on him where it was on her. Her thumb found it, pressing and rubbing in firm circles until she pulled a groan from Mammon’s throat and he tipped his head forward to bury his face against her neck.

She felt his lips brush her mark, a touch more than a kiss, but a kiss all the same.

“You’re my first guy… you’re my favorite guy. I like you best.”

She knew if she kept it up, she was going to make him fall apart… and part of her wanted to. Part of her thought it was exactly what he needed. Instead, she gently kissed the side of his head with a loud and pronounced “mu-wah”.

“C’mon! Let’s cut class.” She said, gently wiping Mammon’s cheeks with the back of her hand when he untangled himself from her. He sniffed once, refusing to meet her eyes and nodding vigorously as he got himself composed.

“Eh… Lucifer did say somethin’ bout not breakin’ anymore rules today.”

“I’ll tell him I was sick and needed company.”

“You ain’t sick!”

“I’ll tell him it was ‘girl troubles’. That one gets him so quiet you’d think I was the Avatar of Awkward Silences.”

Mammon laughed, rolling his eyes which were starting to look a bit less red and a bit more mischievous as he considered the possibilities of ditching. Taking the opportunity, she slid off the desk with a tiny flourish, spinning to fluff out her skirt before brushing it down resolutely.

“It’s decided! Two hellfire boba teas and chocolate newts are what the doctor ordered!”

She took his hand and he resisted only for a moment so he could relish the feel of her tugging him towards her and the sight of her pouting before she stamped her little booted foot on the floor.

“C’mooooon!”

“Alright, human. You’re buying."

#i am a two trick pony #i see obey me bro #i write hurt comfort #i write smut #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x mc #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #more like a ficlet #anyway it isnt very polished but someone might like it!#this was more of a writing exercise for me to play around with MC's speech mannerisms #and write some Mammon feels #im explorin' the boys psyche about being SHAT ON all the time #but lucifer isnt meant to be a bad guy here he is arguable got GOOD REASON to be mad #that mammon STEALS FROM HIS BROTHERS is a big yikes to me #but Lucifer will forgive him because it's Mammon

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