#this anime fucked me up harder than my own suicide attempt

[iddybiddysquish]

Fate - Chapter 5

Masterlist

Plot Description: What would happen if someone with Dissociative Identity Disorder (multiple personalities; writer has DID themselves) got a god of death as another personality? Follows the plot of the anime and manga mixed including dialogue directly from the anime where appropriate. Character x cast of death note

Very minor self insert/OC that I've made into a vague reader insert that involves the reader being concerningly intertwined with Kira and his happenings against their will and seemingly against fate.

Fandom: Death Note

Gender: Female

Warnings: Dark and triggering content regarding death, suicide, mental illness and mentions of rape (character history - no rape in the story). Making out is described. Will add more as I progress the story.

Notes:

Feedback is welcomed and I hope you have a good time reading!

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- December 25 -

“Merry fucking Christmas…” I glared up at my ceiling, any Christmas spirit I had left being far too small to hide my true misery.

Once again, there were nightmares. And, once again, I woke up panicked and crying. And, once again-

“I am alone.” I sighed, my face softening as I looked to my right, massaging the area slightly, almost as though I expected to feel something I couldn’t see.

After a moment or two my hand dropped and ceased moving, my gaze returning to the ceiling. After blowing some air, I finally convinced myself to get up and ready for my psych eval by the psychiatrist today. 

‘Today of all days is difficult…’ I noted as I stripped off and began to sort out my bandages, ‘Christmas was something I could finally celebrate in a way I had always wanted to, with him…’

I quickly wiped away stray tears aggressively, not in the mood to deal with my own shit right now.

‘Now he’s gone and with it he took any semblance of celebratory spirit I ever had, which, really, wasn’t great to begin with, though the absence of it hitting even harder than it would have before, given he gave me more celebratory spirit from when I met him.’ I gave a sad, airly laugh as I began to get dressed, ‘He never even celebrated holidays as he grew up, so lord knows how he made me more inclined to celebrate the holidays myself…’

Pushing the thoughts aside, I attempted to motivate myself by eating my favourite breakfast whilst packing my bag for the trip. It’s not often I need to alter it, since it’s mostly just the basics like my purse, headphones and notebook. However, after asking google what the weather is like, I decided to add in an umbrella; the only one I could find, sadly, was a plain dark red one with a fabric cover.

‘Man where the fuck did I put the sakura one mama got me?’ I pouted, ‘I should try and get another one of those; the hard plastic cover stops the rain from dripping in my bag… Maybe online?’

After noting that idea down, I put it to the back of my mind and put on my coat and scarf before leaving. Almost immediately, after locking my door and putting my keys away, I texted Mono to say I was leaving, just to keep him informed. From there I made my way to the bus stop and jogged under the bus shelter as the rain started, with a huff as I sat down. 

I didn’t have to wait long before the bus came. 

‘Thank god for reliable public transport.’ I praised as I stepped onto the bus, my bus pass already ready, ‘I suppose that’s a pretty big positive about living in a big city.’

Getting the all clear, I thanked the driver and made my way to my seat. Plopping down, I took a deep breath before putting my headphones on and playing some music, eyes darting from the window to the doors each time we stopped, small but noticeable levels of anxiety raising its head.

‘To be honest, I was anxious before even getting to the bus stop…’ I confessed, ‘The psychiatrist has much more power over me and my choice than the psychologist.’ I bit my lip, ‘Unlike my psychologist, my psychiatrist can end my life by playing with my medications or sectioning me against my will; the psychologist doesn’t have that power without a psych consult, which is conducted by a psychiatrist.’

When the bus arrived, I took a deep breath as I got off and pushed those negative thoughts aside before falling back on rationalising against them when that didn’t work.

‘They don’t have that power, exactly. They can’t just remove the medication without a lawsuit and they can’t just put me in a ward. The amount of paperwork, time and approval required makes it difficult for people to be sectioned against their will; I need to remember this.’ 

And with that, I strode into the correct hospital entrance and alerted the receptionist of my presence. After being marked as arrived, I took my seat and waited for the psychiatrist to come and collect me. 

‘I’m five minutes early.’ I puffed some air as I deflated, ‘With his schedule, that means I need to add that to, about, fifteen minutes before he’ll come and collect me. After all, he always overruns with patients and, as a result, is always late…’

Unsurprisingly, I was correct in assuming he was late, though it was more like twenty five minutes than the twenty I had originally calculated. But, regardless, I said nothing, only batting away his apologies as he gave them, before following him and taking a seat in the room he had led me to. 

We had an hour and he had had a fair run down from my psychologist, but regardless he asked the usual important questions and any others he deemed necessary for me surrounding the situation. One of those obviously included asking what actually happened and, as a result, what am I struggling with, though of course he was much more compassionate his words were put in a far more gentle manner. It felt good to talk to someone who could give more immediate results and who was far more focused on what can be done about it, rather than how I feel about it. But then again, that’s why therapy is much harder than psychiatry, for me, at least; expressing and accepting how you feel is far harder than simply taking a pill and shrugging it off to the back of your mind. That’s why people tend to respond best to treatment that harnesses both, albeit, only really those who are ready for the therapy they need. 

I hardly felt the hour as it ticked away, being too embroiled in the task at hand. So when the psychiatrist jumped at the time, noting we had gone over half an hour already, I, too, was shocked. 

“I suppose, getting to the point, as it were,” he begun, earning a nod from me for him to continue, “I think we should up your duloxetine from 60mg to 120mg as we know it works well for your anxiety and post traumatic stress disorder.” he liked his lips as he noted down his conclusions, before adding, “It’s is known to work well for acute stress disorder, of which there is no doubt that you’re experiencing,” I nodded as he looked up, “but it’s also known to help nightmares, so we’ll try that before considering any new medication, especially given the amount you are already on…” he noted, a deep frown evident as he clearly looked over my medication list, “I mean you’re on some very serious stuff here and we want quality, not quantity, I suppose you could say.” I chuckled, nodding in agreement.

“No, yes. Definitely.” I agreed, “That sounds like a good idea.” I nodded, “I can only hope this to be temporary, so adding in another medication sounds slightly…” I itched my cheek as I searched for the word, “counterintuitive?” he nodded.

“Yes. And given how you responded to SSRIs, we’d be looking at another SNRI and-” he sighed, shaking his head before giving a kind smile, “Over complicating things, I think.” I nodded.

“I’m assuming the others are fine as are?” he nodded, back on track.

“Yes, I see no reason to up or reduce any of them for the moment. However I do want to see you again in, say, a month’s time just to see how well you’re doing with the duloxetine.” I nodded, though he added, “And, as per usual, if there are any issues, call us. You know your body and your medications so, if you have to lower it for whatever reason, you naturally are free to do so, but please get an appointment so we can try and figure out where to go from there, okay?” I immediately nodded.

“Same for quetiapine, aripiprazole, olanzapine and lorazepam, yeah?” I begged, earning a sharp nod.

“Exactly. Take the lorazepam as needed - no more than 5mg, though if you feel you need it most days, which should go down after increasing the duloxetine, I would recommend staying on 2.5mg.” he noted, hand motions being used to emphasis his points, “If the other three need upped or downed, you have the power to change the dosage and request that amount from the GP, on repeat. I’ll make sure to clarify that in my next letter, just in case.” I gave a slight sigh of relief, nodding.

“Thanks. You know how finicky they can be.” he chuckled at this, nodding in agreement with a knowing look.

“The mere concept of a psychiatrist allowing a patient some reign over their medications can leave GPs uncomfortable, given they then have to provide that medication.” she shrugged, arms out with an unsure expression, “Maybe it's a lawsuit thing, I don’t know, but it makes them uncomfortable.” I nodded.

“Don’t. As soon as they hear just quetiapine they look visibly concerned-” I paused, “But then again I suspect that was because I was seventeen, more than anything…” he nodded.

“Yes we don’t like to put young people on these medications.” he sighed, “If I’m honest, I’m very concerned about you being on these medications.” I felt my gut twist and a lump in my throat form, “Really it’s not proper. However, I’m hesitant to change anything given how well it has been working for you up till now, and, again, to play with your medications given what you’ve gone through would be very poor timing.” he sighed, shaking his head. I, too, sighed, but nodded.

“I will certainly agree with that. But, honestly, I just want to feel how I did before Harold and everything he did.” I noted, the mention of his name gaining all of his attention, given how much I avoid mentioning my late partner, “And these medications did the trick.” I shrugged, “I genuinely have hope for the duloxetine to fix this… blip. When you take away the ferocity of the nightmares, nothing really has changed.” I revealed, making the doctor frown.

“What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean, I’ve always had PTSD and I’ve always had nightmares, intrusive thoughts and anxiety.” I shrugged one shoulder, only dropping it after I finished speaking, “Medication-wise, I’m exactly the same, but just a bit more anxious. Ultimately, I can only get over this in the end with therapy; the medication is just to help me along the way, even if I die before the journey ends, say, in old age.” the doctor frowned in thought at this before slowly nodding.

“I see what you mean…” he rubbed his chin, clearly in thought. However, after a few moments, he put his paper and pen down and lent over so his hands were on his knees, “Like I said, I’m not going to entertain playing around with your medications for a while, so there’s no need to worry about that. We need to stabilize you as much as we can and, then, once you’ve been stable for a while, we’ll consider trying to wean you off - which has always, and will always be the end goal, for patients on these atypical antipsychotics.” I nodded.

“And if it doesn’t work, I can always go back up, no harm no foul.” I gave a relaxed exhale, “That seems fair to me.” he smiled, nodding. I couldn’t help but add, “Thanks for understanding.” I sighed, “I’ve been threatened with removal  and changes so much it scares me, the idea of coming off of them, knowing the state I was in that made me require them in the first place.” he nodded.

“That’s completely understandable. What you experienced is, at best, traumatising. Lacking control and being incapable of trusting anyone is a terrifying experience.” he noted, “I mean you’ve been diagnosed with bipolar I, Bipolar II, cyclothymia, mixed depression, some kind of paraphrenia-like condition, schizophreniform, schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, psychotic disorders, delusion disorder, a multitude of anxiety disorders, including panic disorder, as well as dissociative identity disorder and mixed dissociative disorder and an array of personality disorders.” he sighed, “Thats ignoring stress disorders and specifiers.” he leaned forward, “If I may be frank?” I resisted the urge to raise a brow and simply nodded for him to continue. He did.

“I have only seen you to make sure your medications are working, to assess you for post traumatic stress disorder, and now acute stress disorder, but I have seen others that are symptomatic. Even without reading your files or having spoken to you, for you to have one of these labels, nevermind comorbidly,” he shook his head, “Its certain that you have undoubtedly undergone considerable hardships.” I gave a silent sigh as I looked down, nodding as I did.

He was completely correct, of course. 

‘Ignoring the conditions themselves, the ballache I went through to get both diagnosed and medicated was in of itself able to give me PTSD alone.’ I bit my lip, ‘I wasn’t medicated for bipolar, psychosis or anxiety for eight and nine years. Wasn’t stable from either for another three.’ I looked down at the floor, ‘Didn’t get any actual diagnoses until we moved to Canada, a year ago. Couldn’t get the doctors to prescribe the meds we thought I needed, so we had to get them prescribed from India using Harold's father’s friends, of whom were all qualified doctors. None of this takes into account the physical disabilities of which I’ve also suffered.’ I gave another sigh, ‘And that leads us to today, and how I got the medication combination I am on today… It’s madness, and I knew that, but I also knew that it would work, and it has.’

The doctor and I wrapped things up pretty soon after, him looking a bit guilty for the delay caused to his next patient. However, we left on cheerier grounds than that last moment of honesty, and he came to see me out, reminding me that I’d get a letter regarding the next appointment, which was fine with me. 

However, as soon as I had finished putting my scarf and coat on, he motioned me over and spoke slightly low.

“I almost forgot.” he noted sheepishly. Being as curious as I was, he had gripped my attention easily. I gave an airy laugh and motioned for him to continue.

“Have you given a statement to the police about your… experience?” he begged. I blinked, shaking my head immediately before mentioning the hospital visit and how no police were there. Of course, he nodded in understanding, before insisting, “I don’t often recommend this,” he insisted before urging, “however I think it’s possible you could find it beneficial. Given that book you’re keeping on it, and if you feel up to it, then sharing your experience could possibly make you feel as though your progressing and give you some form of closure in knowing something is being done about it - and it would be a progression.” he stressed, “But you should only do it if you feel ready, okay? And I wouldn’t recommend going alone nor would I recommend going immediately, but it might be worth a thought.” I bit my lip, staring at the floor for a moment as I contemplated his words, giving a small nod as I did.

“I’ll certainly consider it.” came out of my mouth, eventually, before giving a bright smile, “I’ll let you know next time how it goes, if I’m up to it.” the doc gave an almost proud smile before gently patting me on the shoulder and wishing me goodbye. 

After the pleasantries were over, and I had left a fair distance away from the ward, my pace slowed significantly, until I had eventually paused. Remembering where I was, I quickly went to the side and leaned against the wall to stay out of the way of busy members of the public and staff.

As I watched people going about their lives, I continued to contemplate the doctor’s words, seriously.

‘He’s not wrong.’ I conceded, ‘It certainly would be a notable step in the right direction. But isn’t it time sensitive?’ I worried, ‘I’d need to be prepared to give in the statement soon, regardless of his warning, if it's to be of any help. I don’t want to be the reason they couldn’t make a conclusion on the hijacking, especially if it involved an FBI agent, for whatever reason…’ I shook my head, a strong look on my face as I rose up and began my strides towards the bus, ‘I don’t have to give a report now - or even ever - if I’m not ready! After all, I can’t help the case if I’m mute or passed out from anxiety.’ I reassured myself, ‘But even going to the station just to get used to it is a step in the right direction, right?’

And with that I had direction. 

Of course, as soon as I got outside I started to look up the bus I needed to get, along with the route - and, of course, I informed Mono I was gonna be back late. As I did, I pouted when I noticed the little droplets falling onto my phone, and immediately began to jog towards the protection of the bus shelter, when I noticed I was closeby.

As I figured out the route, the bus I needed to take pulled up and I jumped, only noticing it when the doors swung open. Taking a deep breath to calm my shocked heart, I gave a bright smile and entered the bus before showing my bus pass and then taking my usual seat.

My eyes kept darting between google maps and the windows as I kept my beady eyes out for anything that could look remotely like a police station. So when my phone said I needed to get off the bus, I frowned as I took in the buildings around me, none of which sticking out from one another much. 

Of course, I still exited the bus and made my way across the street as I diligently followed google maps, this time with my trusty umbrella as the rain began to fall harder. However, when I reached the location, I paused before the bright, modern exterior with a surprised look, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape.

‘I suppose I shouldn’t be too shocked.’ I recalled, ‘The only police station I had ever seen before was the one in Milton Keynes, and that building was old as hell, much like that entire section of MK…’

I was about to make my way into the building, however, when I bumped into someone as I spaced out. Out of instinct I immediately apologised profusely, however the middle aged man brushed it away as he, too, began to apologise. I shook my head.

“It was my fault.” I finalised before noting he was armed and, therefore, a policeman himself, “I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, officer.” the man raised a brow at the term before giving a warm chuckle whilst shaking his head, displaying his disagreement, though his lack of words showed that he was agreeing to disagree. After a moment, when we turned away from one another and I was about to enter the building again, I heard him sigh and mumble.

“Damn it’s raining…” I paused before the door before taking a look at my umbrella that I was part way through closing. Looking at the man again, and then back to my umbrella, I shrugged.

‘He needs it more than I do.’ I figured, ‘I have a decent hood and need to buy another umbrella, anyway.’

I cleared my throat, attempting to get his attention, before holding out my umbrella. The man looked back at me, shocked, before looking down at the umbrella before looking back at me with a frown. Before he could say anything, I cut in.

“Here. You can have my umbrella.” I chimed, handing it to the man, who continued to be surprised. When he tried to protest I chuckled, adding, “I’ll be here for a while, so you might as well take it and get some use out of it. I have a hood and the bus stop is only over there.” I motioned with the extended umbrella, which he followed with a heavy frown. Though he said nothing, he also didn’t take the umbrella. After a moment or two I walked closer and put it in his hand for him before stepping back and giving a smile when he tried to give it back. After a few moments, I noticed his tired eyes relax into a soft smile as he accepted my gift.

“Thank you.” he noted aloud, “That’s very kind.” I blinked, somewhat surprised by his warm appreciation. It was enough to make me forget where I was and, for a moment, I felt a nice feeling that wasn’t overshadowed by anxiety or fear as soon as it came.

Quickly I nodded back before waving goodbye and facing back towards the police station once he began to make his way towards his own destination.

Suddenly the pressure of what entering this police station meant to me and my recovery began to crush me, that nice feeling gone within a snap.

‘Well… Third time’s the charm, I guess?’ I begged, biting my lips.

As I tentatively stepped into the building, I realised how unreal it all felt, a feeling that didn’t decline despite the amount of people who were both visibly armed and in uniform confirming that this was, in fact, the police station, had I had any doubt after interacting with the nice man outside. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I began to space out and panic. 

‘It’s okay! I’m not doing it right now, yeah?!’ I breathed, feeling tears starting to attempt an escape, ‘Just breathe, yeah? Remember to use diaphragmatic breathing and counting…’ I gulped, fanning myself and removing my scarf violently as I began to visibly panic.

Looking around, quickly, I noticed a large seating area that was unoccupied and made my way towards there whilst chanting in my head to breathe and try to relax. Once I had sat, I dumped my scarf and bag on the chair and leant back against the wall and closed my eyes as I took deep, controlled breaths and began to count in my head.

‘One…’ I breathed out.

‘Two…’ I breathed in.

‘Three…’ I breathed out. From there I found my mind go blank and as I let out a breath I-

“Hey!” I squealed, jumping in my seat as my eyes shot open, almost headbutting the man who had startled me with both his touch and sudden loudness. Immediately he held his hands out and apologised profusely as I calmed my breathing, though this time for a different reason, with my hand to my chest.

“I didn’t mean to scare you!” he swore, “Are you okay?” I let out an airy breath and nodded slowly.

“Y-yes!” I sighed, slowly falling back into my regular state, even enough to give a small smile, “I was just getting my bearings, you know?” the man looked visibly confused, which made me frown, “What is it?” I begged quietly. The man blinked before rubbing the back of his head, sheepishly.

“I didn’t mean to come across as judging.” I frowned, still unsure what he was talking about, though as he continued to bable, I quickly got my answer, “It’s just, the guard said you had been sitting in the same position for two hours straight and-” my eyes snapped wide open in shock at that, so much so I zoned out, again, though this time from his words.

‘Fuck. Even the aripiprazole isn’t stopping my catatonic dissociation…’ I panicked, ‘Could it need upped…?’ 

“...you okay?” I blinked, his question just about registering in my panicked brain as I snapped my eyes back to his figure, actually taking him, along with my surroundings, in.

‘I’m still in the police station.’ I figured, ‘Well, as far as things go, there are definitely worse places for this to have happened…’

“Y-yeah!” I stuttered, shaking my head as I attempted to regain control of myself and my surroundings, “I’m fine!” I stated, rising quickly, “I, just, um…” I chuckled, “I guess I just zoned out for a bit there, huh?” I begged with a sheepish smile as I rubbed the back of my neck. Realising I hadn’t actually apologised, I began to stammer, “Sorry about that and worrying you, uh…”

“Matsuda!” he gave a bold grin before his face fell as he, too, began to stammer, “And it’s not a problem, miss-!”

“Ai.” I interjected with a bright smile, “Nice to meet you, Matsuda-san.” I gave a small bow before adding, “Thanks for checking in on me as I really need to get home.” I gave a sheepish grin, earning a blush and a laugh from the man, who nodded profusely before, waving out to the doors and allowing me past him.

“Yes, right!” he babbled, “I guess I’ll see you whenever.” he finished with a closed-eyed smile, which I naturally returned, nodding.

“Quite!” I chimed, “Bye, Matsuda-san.”

“Yes!” he took a breath, before adding, lowly, “Goodbye, Ai-san.”

And with that I whisked myself away from the station and ran for the bus I very much almost missed and got hit by. As soon as I sat down I gave a heavy exhale as I checked over my phone, seeing missed calls and many texts from Mono, asking where I was and why I hadn’t contacted him.

‘Fuck.’ I cursed, ‘We were supposed to study half an hour ago.’ I groaned, only to curse more as I noticed the time, ‘Let’s hope when I get back he won’t lynch me…!’

It’s somewhat unfortunate that the police station was out of the way instead of on the way from the university back to my flat, but I shrugged it off as half an hour to get over what just happened and to prepare a good alibi for Mono. However, despite that being what I needed to do, I couldn’t stop thinking about the incident at the police station.

‘I was there for two hours without noticing.’ I grumbled, ‘It’s been a while since I had it that bad. I really must be stressed…’ It was then I paused and began to think about what I was going to do. 

‘I wasn’t going there to actually give in a statement - yet, anyway.’ I frowned, ‘And the doc said it might help.’ I shook my head, realising, ‘But ignoring that, surely all I’m doing is directly documenting myself as being present on that bus.

‘That might not be a bad thing. But there’s something weird that happened on that bus that I cannot put my finger on.’ I confessed, biting the skin on my thumb violently as I blindly gazed out the window, ‘And I know Kira can get names and appearance of his victims, at least - things that aren’t always available on the internet without some form of corruption, whether that be from a leak or hacking or something.

‘For all I know, Kira could be a corrupt cop!’ I bit my lip, causing it to bleed as I heard my stop being called out. After taking a deep breath, I grabbed my stuff and rushed out of the bus, thanking the driver, before preparing my keys.

‘I shouldn’t give away anything about myself. Kira probably doesn’t even know I exist, but I can’t risk anything should I ever gain anything of value about him.'

As I began to open my door, I noted the lights were on, and sighed with relief when my gaze met a concerned Mono’s. I immediately gave an apologetic smile.

“Sorry I got held up at university so I ended up visiting the police station much later and it was out of the way.”

‘There is a chance the police didn’t make a note of my name or other contact details on that bus, given they didn’t come to get a report from me. And if that’s the case, I’d rather keep it that way, just in case.’

“You worried me.” he was all he said as he immediately swamped me in a hug, which I returned whilst kicking the door closed. Him being much taller, my head rested on his chest, my glasses fogging and moving out of place slightly as I gave into his tight hold. Still, I didn’t relax as I found myself still frowning in thought.

‘But it wouldn’t hurt to make sure it isn’t there, again, just in case…’ as we parted I quickly gave a small smile before asking if he was still up for some work, which he grinned at.

“Sure thing!” he chimed. I nodded, my facadé dropping when he turned around, slowly following after him as I continued to think. 

‘But how? I’m not sure.’ I chewed my cheek, but gave a small, triumphed smile as I got my books ready and took a seat in the living room as Mono prepared his things, ‘But as long as there’s no picture of me in that report, which there wouldn’t be, Kira wouldn’t be able to connect my real name to me.

‘Should anything happen, I just have to keep up this alias… and hide any visible evidence that I was on that bus.’ I nodded to myself.

“So Korean or Chinese?” I blinked, giving a small smile as I made my choice.

“How about Swedish, instead?” Mono shrugged and nodded.

“Sure, why not?” We shared a cheery smile.

‘Kira, after all, could be anyone, so I need to, just in case…’

#death note #death note x reader #death note x you #death note x y/n #death note x female reader #light x reader #light yagami #light yagami x reader #l lawliet x reader #l lawliet #l lawliet x you #l lawliet x y/n #light yagami x you #light yagami x y/n #matsuda x reader #l x reader #l x y/n #l x you #light x you #light x y/n #death note oc #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic ideas #fanfiction ideas #misa misa #misa amane #misa x reader #misa x you #death note x oc

[graysongraysoff]

Fandom asks:

Jjk

Bsd

Batman

Cowboy beeboop

Stor wor

fandom ask meme!

(i have since been informed that jill would like me to do all evens for these so *CRACKS KNUCKLES*

jujutsu kaisen

2. which character do you look the most like?

uhhh, i guess probably maki?? girls with dark hair and glasses supremacy.

4. what is your favorite CANON ship?

satosugu yuta/rika :,)

6. when you first think of the fandom, what image comes to mind?

8. why did you join the fandom?

honestly i had just been watching a lot of anime over quarantine because one of my other friends had also been watching a lot of anime over quarantine, and i started with anime from when i was like in high school/college that i had wanted to check out but never did and then one day i was like "okay maybe i should watch like at least one current anime" and i picked jjk on a full whim and now it has quite literally taken over my life.

10. what song do you associate with a ship?

no i didn't make an entire 100-song playlist that is kinda jokey-jokey but also kinda serious full of songs i associate with a ship

the song "montage" by bares is a big satosugu song for me.

12. favorite hc for a ship, character, etc.

that megumi has been calling gojo "gojo-sensei" since he was six years old.

bungo stray dogs

2. which character do you look the most like?

hmmm probably like. ango???

4. what is your favorite CANON ship?

are there any?? canon ships in this??? if there are i must not be all that into them lol.

6. when you first think of the fandom, what image comes to mind?

i know i can't believe it's not canon either

8. why did you join the fandom?

because i have a bachelor's degree in english language and literature and i wanted to see f. scott fitzgerald with superpowers so fucking bad. (and for the record, i was not disappointed.)

10. what song do you associate with a ship?

again, there's no way jill and i made a whole playlist about this...

but "this is love" by air traffic controller is soukoku all the way down.

12. favorite hc for a ship, character, etc.

*clears throat and quotes my own fic*

When Dazai and Chuuya were kids in the Port Mafia there were only two times when certain acts of vulnerability were tacitly allowed between them: the week following one of Dazai’s suicide attempts and the week following a use of Corruption. They would patch each other up with neither a “please” nor a “thank you,” and while verbal jabs were still fair game they’d blunt the edges before hurling them. They’d each fall asleep wrapped in the other’s wiry limbs behind locks not even Mori could have cracked, and when the week was over they’d fall back into their old routines as if nothing had changed.

i understand that this is woobification i have terrible taste i will not improve that is a promise

batman

2. which character do you look the most like?

man idk. i'm just gonna go with helena bertinelli since we're both italian, lol.

4. what is your favorite CANON ship?

dickbabs!

6. when you first think of the fandom, what image comes to mind?

8. why did you join the fandom?

because i watched batman: the animated series as a toddler and imprinted on dick grayson.

10. what song do you associate with a ship?

"help me out" by maroon 5 and julia michaels is my dickbabs song.

12. favorite hc for a ship, character, etc.

dick grayson is a short king and all of his siblings are taller than him.

cowboy beepbeep

2. which character do you look the most like?

these just keep getting harder lol. i am not very well represented in the media i consume.

you know what? spike. fuck it.

4. what is your favorite CANON ship?

spike/julia oh my god

6. when you first think of the fandom, what image comes to mind?

answered!

8. why did you join the fandom?

answered!

10. what song do you associate with a ship?

you know what i don't actually have one of these right off the dome. a lot of soukoku songs could easily apply to spike/vicious but i won't cheat, lol.

honestly?? "just another girl" by the killers is a spike/julia mood.

12. favorite hc for a ship, character, etc.

answered!

stor wor

2. which character do you look the most like?

i have been told that i have the same "coloring" as jyn erso, whatever that means. this was in comparison to rey, as in "your coloring is more like jyn's than like rey's." they're both brunette white bitches though so idk. YOU decide, lol.

4. what is your favorite CANON ship?

*MEGAPHONE FEEDBACK* HAN/LEIA

6. when you first think of the fandom, what image comes to mind?

frankly,

8. why did you join the fandom?

i watched the phantom menace with my cousins while we were on a beach trip with my mom's side of the family and i decided that qui-gon jinn was my dad.

10. what song do you associate with a ship?

another one that i don't have a ready-made answer for! let us think.

this is an inside joke with me and jill but fuck it: "two birds" by regina spektor fits obikin better than That Other Ship People Keep Using It For

12. favorite hc for a ship, character, etc.

i truly cannot think of a single star wars headcanon i have........... any real estate star wars hcs may have taken up in my head has been replaced with star wars memes.....................

OH WAIT I KNOW it's that obi-wan can't sit like a normal person

#PHEW THAT WAS A LOT THANK YOU BESTIE #antique romantic #jujutsu kaisen #bsd #dc #cowboy bebop #sw

[a-hidden-weeb-an-open-queer]

Me: Oh look at this super cute and sweet anime girl :) I love her

10 minutes farther into the episode: I am emotionally traumatized and scarred. I now have trust issues and can no longer use technology.

#wonder egg priority #frill #this anime fucked me up harder than my own suicide attempt #lets just say: dont watch unless youre emotionally healthy #and reptiles are my favorite animals :(((

[morganaspendragonss]

holly, for sad angst prompts: “ do you know how hard it was to let you go? ”

tarlos, maybe one of them has to rush into danger? >.>

crack and crumble, it's all too much

so...not exactly what you asked for. i hope you like it anyway my love 💚

@911lonestarangstweek day 3 - j is for...jump

thanks to @noxsoulmate for the beta

title from humpty by mitski

ao3 | 2k | suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression, canon divergence, hurt tk, worried carlos, hopeful ending

TK used to be afraid of heights.

No, not heights.

Falling.

As a kid, he was terrified of falling, even if it was only off the playground equipment in the local park. He’d have no problem climbing up; the issue came when he got to the top, when he would freeze up as he stared down the two metre drop to the sawdust ground. The other kids would get annoyed, pushing at him until he almost, almost, fell—but then, at the last second, when TK was tilting on the edge, his dad would be there to catch him, lifting him up before he ever had a chance to fall.

His dad was always there, never failing to scoop him up in his arms, never failing to save him.

Until he did.

And, oh, how TK fell.

He learned to love the rush of it, that swooping sensation in his stomach as he took just enough pills to push him off the edge into oblivion. It was...beautiful.

TK didn’t know what he was ever afraid of.

And then, he fell too far. And he learned.

Heights haven’t bothered him for years now—no more than the healthy amount, anyway. He’s even managed to find some kind of pleasure in them, in the feeling of his feet leaving solid ground, always with the knowledge that he’ll touch down safely soon enough.

The team call him crazy for enjoying it, but TK has so little happiness in life these days. He’ll take whatever he can get, artificial and temporary though it may be.

He wishes he was feeling something now. He’d give anything to not be feeling the overwhelming empty that’s slowly been consuming him for months—even fear would do at this point.

But he’s staring down a drop that will kill him if he lets it, and he feels nothing.

Idly, he wonders what brought him here. Nothing had happened tonight—or, nothing out of the ordinary—but, somehow, he’d known. Known that it was time; that tonight was the night.

That, if he didn’t do it now, he never would, and he can’t just keep existing like this.

So.

A rooftop. An unknown fall. And a choice.

Fight or flight; stay or go. Legs swinging over the ledge, TK’s hands tighten on the edge of the roof, and he doesn’t know if it’s to push himself over or hold himself back.

(and, does it even count as jumping if he just...lets it happen? if he just leans a little too far forward and lets gravity do the rest? tk thinks it probably shouldn’t, but that’s what they'll call it anyway when they find his broken body splayed on the concrete below.

he jumped, they’ll say, which is wrong because that implies that tk was an active participant in all of this. really, he’s just too tired to try anymore, and if his body is going to slip off the edge of a building, then who’s tk to stop it?

but it’s semantics, nothing more. it’s not like he’s going to be around to correct them anyway, and maybe it’s better for them to think he chose this. that he wanted this, instead of just not wanting to exist. maybe)

Either way, he’s a coward. The only difference is that, if he jumps, he’ll be a dead one and everyone will know it; if he stays, he’ll be a living one, and holding the shame of it all inside him.

He already knows which idea he prefers.

TK has lived with his own cowardice for too long already—ever since he got shot, it’s been festering in him, growing and twisting with each passing day.

It’s jumping every time a car backfires or a damn plate shatters.

It’s telling Carlos that, if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll never contact TK again.

It’s putting on his firefighter’s uniform day after day after day, despite how ill it now seems to fit.

TK hasn’t been brave a day in his life, and he knows that it’s time to put an end to it.

His hands, still resting on the edge of the roof, press into the brick a little harder, and his body inches forward. He’s barely holding on now; shifting so his grip, latched onto the roof side of the ledge, is the only thing keeping him up here.

And— There it is.

The swooping in his gut that used to scare him, and now thrills him.

TK closes his eyes, taking a moment to bask in it. After all, it’s going to be the last thing he ever feels.

Except he takes too long.

Suddenly, the ground beneath him is lit up with flashing blue and red, and when TK opens his eyes, he can just about make out the numbers 126 on the responding fire engine. It makes him recoil, sliding back to relative safety on the ledge as panic flares up in his chest.

Nonononononononononono—

It’s not supposed to be like this.

They’re not—fuck.

And TK really must be a coward, because the knowledge that his family is waiting at the bottom for him to come down—whether that’s by the fast way or the slow one—brings all his forgotten fears roaring back.

Do they even know? Do they know it’s him who’s sitting on the edge of life and death? TK can’t figure out which one would be worse—not knowing and finding out when his body breaks in front of them, or knowing and watching him fall anyway.

Working it out is a lost cause, he figures. Maybe they’re equally as bad, but he shouldn’t care. He can’t, if he’s going to do this, and he was so sure that he was, but that was before the 126 showed up, before—

“TK?”

The universe must have it out for him, because TK knows that voice. He doesn’t turn, just sighs and slumps dejectedly, wearily replying, “Hey Carlos.”

“Hey,” Carlos says after a beat, voice quiet like he’s talking to a spooked animal. There’s a scared waver to it that betrays his mask of professionalism, and TK almost can’t handle the guilt it brings. “We’re pretty high up, huh?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act all nice and innocent. You know why I’m here.”

“Actually, I don’t.” There’s no hint of accusation in Carlos’s voice, but he has dropped the soothing tone, which is something. “Maybe you could fill me in? I promise I won’t say anything—I’m just here to listen.”

TK knows what this is, too. It’s not that he’s been here before, exactly, but he’s been in similar enough positions to recognise the talk for what it is. But… The thing is, he kind of doesn’t care. He wants to talk; for some reason, he wants to tell Carlos everything that’s been piling up and up for months, and has now led him to this roof.

“I’m not moving,” he says first, in case Carlos gets any ideas about what this means.

“That’s okay.”

It’s not, but TK doesn’t bother calling him out. He drums his fingers on the ledge, staring vacantly at the drop, keeping his silence for a few minutes. It surprises him when Carlos keeps his promise, and the quiet is almost peaceful now.

“Remember I told you about my relapse? It was—It wasn’t just a relapse. I overdosed after I proposed to my boyfriend and instead found out that he was cheating on me,” he says eventually. “I should have died that night, but my dad saved me and made me move down here with him. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t fight him; I was too tired to care. It was like I told you—everything was grey and I just… I guess it never got better.

“I mean, there were moments, sure. But then I got shot and everything just fell off the rails for me. I’ve been going through the motions for months now and it’s not getting better and I’m sick of trying. It’ll be better for everyone if I’m gone, including you and including me.”

“Why’s that?” Carlos asks, the question almost startling TK.

“For me?” he starts, huffing a breathy laugh. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I barely want to get out of bed, so this is a definite improvement. My dad won’t have to keep cleaning up my messes, the team won’t have to deal with—with me. Everyone will be better off.”

“What about me?”

TK stiffens, almost turning this time. “What are you talking about?”

“I won’t be better off without you,” Carlos says, ignoring TK’s answering scoff. “I’m serious. I… After the solar storm, do you know how hard it was to let you go? It killed me, but I did it because I thought that was what you needed.

“I don’t know if you thought you needed it too, or if it was just you trying to push me away, but that doesn’t matter now, alright? There are people who love you, TK, and we all just want to help you.” He pauses and TK hears him sigh shakily. “Letting you go was damn near impossible for me the first time, but none of us want to try doing it for good. You’re wrong about us, okay? You dad, the team...me—we won’t be better off without you.”

TK squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head as tears spring up in his eyes. Guilt twists uncomfortably in his gut and his head is a mess, his mind at war to work out what he wants.

“You’ve probably seen that the 126 are here,” Carlos continues. “Your dad and a couple of the team are waiting on the stairs to get you down, and if you come back with us, we’ll do whatever it takes to get you help, in whatever way you need. Please, TK. Come down.”

TK shudders, squeezing the roof again as his body wracks with sobs. He feels sick when he considers the drop, considers the fall, and it’s like his fear, newly revived, is now anchoring him to the roof. He knows what will happen if he lets himself fall, and he doesn’t want to die like this.

Not now. Not yet.

Slowly, he nods, and Carlos must understand as TK hears him talk quietly into his radio. The next few minutes are a blur, tears slipping freely down his cheeks as more people—his family—join him and Carlos on the roof.

“TK,” his dad’s voice says, steady despite everything, “I’m going to come to you now with the rescue harness, alright? Don’t worry, it’s just me, I swear.”

He hears one set of feet slowly come across towards him, and then feels the presence of a body at his back as his dad kneels behind and to the side of him.

“Hang in there,” he says softly. “I’m just going to slip the rescue harness around you.”

A wave of nausea washes over TK at the thought of being touched, and he shakes his head. “No, please, don’t.”

“I have to, TK,” his dad says. “I’ll be careful and it’ll just be for a second, then you’ll be safe. I’ve got you, son.”

TK swallows once, twice. He learned a long time ago not to trust those words, especially not when they came from his dad, but this time—this time—he wants so badly to believe. He takes a few deep breaths, then nods, squeezing his eyes shut as the harness is secured around his body.

“Good, that’s good. Now we’re just gonna scooch back a little ways and we’ll be home free.”

TK closes his eyes as they inch their way further onto solid ground, keeping going until they must be at least five feet from the edge and his dad pulls him into a crushing hug.

“We’ve got you, kid,” he’s whispering in TK’s ear. “We’ve got you.”

TK blinks through blurred vision, gaze going from his dad’s worried face, to Paul and Marjan standing a few feet away, and then to Carlos, a small, sad smile on his lips as he looks down at him.

And, just this once, TK decides to believe.

#911lsangstweek #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #owen strand #lone star #911ls #tw suicide attempt #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing

[marvelsimp]

The New Kid: Dream or Reality

Ch. 8

The New Kid Masterlist

My Masterlist

Genre: ANGST,

Pairing: Peter & Lesbian!reader, Avengers & Reader, (eventual Wanda x Reader it’s a slow burn), Steve x Bucky,

Warnings: swearing, SUICIDE, attempted suicide, self-loathing,

MEGA WARNING: This chapter has depictions of suicide, the scene in which this takes place will be in italics and also a row aesthetics before and after! But there will still be mentions of suicide throughout this chapter and descriptions of attempted suicide. There is also a summary at the end of this episode so that those who can’t read this chapter can read that instead.

Description: Reader has a nightmare.

Reader’s Powers: Healer, telepath, and empath.

Word Count: 1,235

***********************************************

“Mom, I’ll be home soon don’t worry.” You stepped out of the car that had just arrived at your best friend’s house. “I just need to get this homework to Ava.” You hung up and started to walk to the front door. You pushed the front door open and made your way upstairs to her room.

“Ava, I got your homework,” you said, opening her door. You looked up, expected her to be in her bed. She wasn’t. You froze, your hand raised to cover your now agape mouth.

Her body was dangling down from the ceiling. She was lifeless and limp. Her face was relaxed but her eyes… they were still open. They stared at you looking deep within your soul judging you for not being there for her, for not saving her from herself.

“No. No. No.” Your frozen body came back to life. You rushed to stand on the bed and to get her down. “Help!” you screamed hoping someone would hear you. You struggled against her weight but eventually got her free causing her body to slam to the ground.

You knelt to the ground and pulled her into your arms. “Ava.” You shook her, hoping that maybe she would wake up. “AVA, PLEASE,” you cried. Her neck was red and purple, obviously broken. She’s dead. You wept and pulled her close. “Please, God. Please! Save her.” You paused looking at her now lifeless, cold form trying to understand it all. “Ava, please. I was... I was gonna tell you.” You gently moved her face to look at you. You stared into her hauntingly blank eyes. “Please come back to me.” You wept making it hard for you to breathe. “I wa-was gonna tell you and I was going to ask you to formal.” You sobbed and cried holding onto her. You put her forehead to yours. “Please come back to me. Please. I love you.” She’s dead. You failed. You couldn’t save her. That was your job, to keep her safe. You let out a long cry.

***********************************************

“Y/n, you gotta wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” A calm, deep voice reassured you. “Y/n/n.”

You sat up quickly. You can’t breathe. “Where is she?” You threw your bedding off and stood up. You have to find Ava. “Where’s Ava?!” You turned to the Brunette man on your bed.

“Shh, Y/n, calm down. Who’s Ava?” He asked with his brows furrowed. Worry. He stood up cautiously and had his arms out like he was in front of a rabid animal that was seconds away from devouring him whole.

You had a realization in that moment. Your brain finally woke up. Oh, god no. You collapsed to the floor in sobs. Ava’s dead. She killed herself four years ago, during the blip. When you weren’t there when you left her.

He joined you there, he pulled you into him. “Shh, doll. You’re ok, you're safe.” A cold, metal hand, held your head in his chest while the flesh arm wrapped around you in a hug. Worry.

You gasped for air. Trying to calm yourself but you struggled. “She’s gone,” you wept.

“Ava?” he breathed out.

You nodded.

“Was she what your nightmare was about?”

You cried harder.

“Okay, doll. Let’s just sit here.”

You were both on the bed now. You were under the covers, tucked into his side with his arm wrapped around you.

“When I first woke up, after the blip. I was standing in an empty lot,” you started, your voice was shaky and raspier than usual. “Turns out my school closed during those five years and I was the only one from it that blipped.” A chuckle escaped your lips. “I had to walk home, it took hours. Once I was caught up on what happened. I tried to find her. It took a few weeks, but I contacted her mom and…”

Bucky held you tighter. Guilt.

“She told me th-that um A-ava had…” another sob escaped you and you turned fully into the man.

Both of his arms were wrapped around you, his right hand was rubbing your arm in reassurance.

“…killed herself,” your voice broke through your whisper. But you both heard it and you finally understood. Your mind had finally caught back up to reality. You would never be able to tell her that you’re in love with her. Your world is destroyed. Peter had put a band-aid on a bullet wound so here you are mourning her at last. She’s gone and you’ll never get to see her again. “Friends helped at first but they were all so much older now and had moved on, moved on from me, from her. Some kept up with me but they all drifted away eventually. I was so numb after that. I didn’t even cry until months later, not until I figured Peter out.”

You paused and sat up for this next part. “Everything was so overwhelming and I just… I didn’t know what to do so I umm.” You pulled away from Bucky and stared at the floor. Your whole body was shaking. Why were you telling him this? Why him? Why now? You felt disgusted and ashamed for what you did. You regret it, you so regret it but at that point, it seemed so logical. It felt so easy and so hard at the same time. You fought it off for weeks, but your mind had finally won you over and told you that you’d never be okay again. But you wanna know what the worst part of it is? You still want to sometimes. “I tried to um I tried to...” Why are you telling him? Don’t tell him. He’ll be disgusted by you.

Bucky had his hand on yours. You could feel his sadness radiating off him. You let out a sob. “Y/n, I’m here.”

You nodded, you couldn’t stand to look at him. “I remember waiting for so long. I um looked back at my arms and they were healed.” A laugh escaped your lips. That probably isn’t the right reaction. “I tried again, I basically tore them apart but they just healed. I was so fucking angry so fucking infuriated that I gave up completely. I spent my time lying in bed doing nothing. I just stared at the wall, dreaming of seeing her again, refusing to believe that she was gone. But also hating myself for not being able to be with her. One night I was scrolling through Instagram, hoping to have a shred of happiness and there he was, Peter. With his and Ned’s dorky grins so pleased with themselves. So pleased that they built the Death Star.” You let out a laugh. Was it genuine? You didn’t know but what you did know was that tears were streaming down your face. “He helped a lot. He was a good distraction but I’ve never actually mourned her. Not completely at least. I’ve cried for her a few times but I’ve been so caught up in wanting to love her that I couldn’t accept that she’s gone.”

Sadness. He looked like you had just torn his whole world apart. “Grief is hard. It’s terrible but it’s something you have to go through. Y/n, I am SO sorry. Now, what do you need me to do?”

Summary: Y/n has a nightmare about her best friend, Ava, who Y/n was in love with. Bucky wakes Y/n up from her nightmare and Y/n tells Bucky about Ava’s suicide during the five years of the blip and her own attempted suicide where she discovered her healing abilities.

Next Chapter

Dream or Reality: DELETED SCENE

Taglist

@wandas-love

#the new kid #wanda x reader #reader insert #avengers x reader #bucky #avengers

[samanthadalton]

Star crossed lovers (au)

pairings: poppy x mc (bea) 

warnings: throughout this fic (there will be a bunch of parts to it) there will be mentions of substance abuse, homophobia, sexual abuse, violence, NSFW, mentions of abandonment, depression and death including suicide 

reader discretion is advised

(this chapter is more about setting up the basis of the story so is more context than anything else, part 2 will be more interesting I swear 😭, also it’s like 4am so if there’s any gramatical mistakes I’ll fix it later) 

taglist: @somewillwin @save-me-the-last-dance @baexpoppy @cloud9in @simpforpoppy @ognenniyvolk (I’m pretty sure this is my tag list if you wanna be added or taken off for future chapters just ask 😊) 

word count: 3.6k 

Part 1: The introduction

As the sun began to set, the houses along the street began to bask in its warm glow. The neighbourhood is quiet, like always, excluding the occasional car engine rumbling through the roads until they disappear into the distance and once again the silence is deafening. This neighbourhood was your typical suburban type, their structures stood tall and bold. Looking from an aerial point of view, one could argue that it’s almost like the houses have been copied and pasted along the street, they almost look perfect. One theory is that they were purposely made to look like they're perfect because they don’t want anyone to find out their secrets. It’s harder to catch a true glimpse when everything looks flawless.

If you compare the northside and the southside of Greensburg, it makes it seem like they’re living in two different worlds and maybe they are. The polarisation between the rich and the poor only becomes bigger, demonstrated by the high socio-economic backgrounds of those who lived in the north who go to the best schools, have the best jobs and sometimes own more than one house. Compared to those in a low socio economic background in the south, who usually have to work two jobs just to feel some sort of financial stability in their lives or have no choice but to indulge in illegal jobs just so they can feel some sort of power and superiority and have money of course. Only a few in the south are able to lead a straight and narrow life and successfully do it without having to engage in the culture of illegal activities. 

Bea Hughes, a girl who lives in Greensburg is someone who managed to immerse herself in both worlds. She used to be part of the upper class lifestyle but after life fucked her and her family over at the tender age of 8 years old, she was pulled into another world, one that she quickly had to acquaint herself with, because in the south, survival matters. The luxuries she once knew as a kid had disappeared and she constantly lived in a fight or flight situation. Now as her senior year of high school looms ahead, she finds herself still living in a similar situation, but instead of dealing with gangs or her addict of a mother, she had to deal with stuck up rich kids in Greensburg’s most prestigious school, Belvoire, which may have been her toughest obstacle of all. Against all odds, Bea managed to earn a scholarship at this private school when she was 15, and in order to keep her place, she has to maintain a 4.0 GPA, join at least one extra curricular activity and immerse herself into the culture of the school (whatever that meant). 

Even though life managed to be shitty most of the time, there was one constant, one thing that made life worth living, one thing that made her the happiest…

“Crap”, the brunette clung onto the branch of the tree trying to regain her footing after narrowly avoiding her death (or more likely a trip to the hospital). After recovering from her mild slip, she rapped on the window beside her and a few seconds later the window slides open and as she enters the room she trips up on her own feet landing face down on the floor. 

“Real smooth”

Bea chuckles at the snark comment as she looks up and as the sunlight shines through the window, it highlights all the features of the other girl. She was shorter than Bea (although not in this moment since Bea was practically laying on the floor), her facial features were sharp and her strawberry blonde hair fell perfectly around her shoulders. Her plush pink lips were curled up in a small smile as she offered a hand to the girl to help her up. 

“I totally meant to do that” Bea takes her hand and lifts herself off the floor, and after she quickly dusts herself off and grabs the blonde’s wrist pulling her towards her while her other hand settles on her waist. “So how much time do we have?”

The petite girl wounds her arms around the taller girl’s neck and slightly tip toes to whisper, “my dad has dinner with a bunch of investors so he’s not going to be back until midnight”. A huge smile appears on her face as she leans back slightly taking in the appraising look of the brunette. 

“Perfect”. 

Bea moves in to kiss the blonde, passion already igniting as their tongues tangle in a fight for dominance until Bea suddenly pulls away, foreheads touching, eyes blazing with desire as she whispers against the other girl’s lips, “I missed you Pops”. 

The other girl rolls her eyes and unwinds her arms from Bea’s neck, slightly pushing her back and while maintaining eye contact she walks backwards towards the bed and sits on the edge, “shuttup, you literally saw me yesterday” her tone attempting to come across as catty but instead comes out in a more playful manner. 

Bea raises an eyebrow as she saunters to where the girl is sitting and places two fingers under the girl’s chin lifting her face until their eyes meet, “so? I’m suddenly not allowed to miss my girlfriend?” She leans in, her lips ghosts around the blonde’s lips. 

“You talk too much, come on we’re wasting daylight” the blonde grabs Bea’s shirt and pulls her down onto the bed with her as they tussle in the sheets, lips crashing against one another reigniting the same passion from the kiss before. 

“Poppy..” Bea all but moans when Poppy places wet kisses along her jawline and begins biting at her neck. Not wanting her to have all the fun, Bea suddenly flips Poppy over pressing her deeper into the mattress as she ravenously kisses her, as if Poppy is the only one who can satiate her desire, and honestly speaking? She probably is. 

“No more foreplay, I want you now” Poppy breathlessly says, breaking the heated kiss. Bea sits up to straddle Poppy, intertwining both hands with hers and places it above the blonde’s head and grinds on her hips earning a low groan from Poppy. 

“Ask and you shall receive my queen”

In response, Poppy rolls her eyes and her tongue darts out of her mouth, teasingly moving against her own soft lips and as Bea leans in for another kiss her slender fingers move lightly above Poppy’s inner thigh, touching everywhere except where Poppy wanted her the most. After a few pleads from the blonde, Bea finally indulges her desires and they moved in perfect syncopation. 

….. 

After a while, Bea and Poppy collapse into each other’s arms, exhausted but satisfied recovering from their physically demanding rendezvous. Bea lays on her back with one arm behind her head and one arm wrapped around the petite girl who fit perfectly in her larger frame. Poppy relaxes her head on Bea’s chest, feeling lulled by her heartbeat which brings her a sense of calm and security. Bea softly kisses her forehead and looks down at the girl, entranced by her beauty, enrapturing the way her breaths are slightly longer and deeper than usual, the way her hair falls around her face and how her fingers subconsciously ghost around Bea’s stomach drawing lazy shapes. 

Poppy Min Sinclair, a 5’2 blonde beauty who is Bea’s entire world. Everything about her screams perfection in Bea’s eyes. She’s a straight A student, captain of the cheerleading team, and likes to spend time volunteering at her local animal shelter and is secretly an amazing artist. Though her family was one of the richest families in Greensburg, Poppy wasn’t your average highschool rich girl. Though she would often go on regular shopping sprees and refuse to wear anything that wasn’t designer (unless it was Bea’s clothes), she never treated Bea any differently than how others would. She was a bright girl, who was loving, friendly, fierce when she needed to be and extremely loyal. When it was just her and Bea she could show her true self, not pretend to be someone she’s not or play a certain role, she could just simply be Poppy instead of Poppy Min Sinclair. Poppy often felt the gravity that came with her name, especially since that’s all her father pressured her to be, a Min Sinclair. 

Hayden Min Sinclair, Poppy’s father, owned an entire empire of companies, differentiating from technology based businesses to architecture and finance. To say he was a businessman was putting it lightly, he was almost like a god or at least someone who was highly worshipped by business moguls. He built up his family’s name and within a decade he was a force to be reckoned with. Hayden Min Sinclair worked his ass off to lift his companies off the ground because as a person of colour he knew he would have to work 10x harder to get what he wanted. All he ever wants is life for his daughter to be easy, the irony is, that he’s one of the main reasons why it’s so hard. 

He’s a man of honour and pride and has never expected anything less from his daughter, hoping she would keep the dignity attached to the Min Sinclair name and bring it to new heights. So his traditionalist and conservative views means that he’s expecting Poppy to marry a man, who’s also an aristocrat, in which Bea is 0 for 2 for Poppy’s father’s expectations. Hence, Bea and Poppy have to keep their relationship a secret, a way to protect both Poppy and her future but also Bea from Mr Min Sinclair’s wrath. Reputation means everything to the Min Sinclairs and to Mr Min Sinclair specifically, especially after Poppy’s mother passed away when Poppy was 10 after an unfortunate incident of a drunken hit and run which left Poppy permanently broken from the loss of her mother but had all the socialites gossiping about the tragedy for months. To this day Poppy and her father still mourn her loss and Poppy often turns to Bea for comfort, for her companionship could provide the means of making her forget the empty presence of her mother that was left behind. 

They’d known each other since they were 7, when Bea used to live in the very same neighbourhood after the Min Sinclair’s moved into the neighbourhood, and they spent almost every waking hour together, attached by the hip. They were the best of friends and almost nothing could get in their way. Emphasis on the ‘almost’. 

When Bea’s father left Bea’s mother, Isabella when Bea was 8 and her sister Aria was 2, after finding out that Aria wasn’t his child as a result of a one night stand Isabella had, Bea’s family struggled to afford to live in the neighborhood especially since Bea’s father was the breadwinner of the house and their main source of income. After a series of bad decisions resulting in Bea’s mother losing her job as a banker, the 3 girls were forced to move to the south of Greensburg since it was the only thing they could afford. 

Bea and Poppy were still inseparable at this point, either Bea would take 2 buses to go to Poppy’s house or Poppy would call the family’s driver so she could go over the Bea’s. The breaking point for their friendship was the day when Bea’s mother once took the girls to the park when they were 11 and after she had gotten so intoxicated to the point she threw up in front of all the children, and Poppy’s father prohibited Poppy from seeing Bea again. 

“That girl and her family will bring shame to our family’s name, imagine what your mother would say” Poppy can still hear her father’s words ringing in her head from time to time, but everytime she looks at Bea, all her expectations would disappear and she would just simply be happy.

They began dating when they were 14, after Poppy had managed to scrounge up all her courage to kiss Bea on valentine’s day, after the two girls had snuck away to a diner to hang out like they would usually do. Poppy looked as if she was going to pass out from embarrassment when Bea didn’t reciprocate the kiss at first, however in Bea’s defence she was more startled than anything else. When Poppy was about to apologise Bea moved in and gave Poppy a sweet and chaste kiss on the lips and from then they decided they would be together. Bea couldn’t believe her luck when she was able to call Poppy hers, she felt like she didn’t have much to offer Poppy as she had yet to have earned the scholarship to Belvoire, the same school that Poppy had been attending. As well as coming from a troubled family life she didn’t want to implicate Poppy in any way but staying away from her had proven to be too difficult. 

The consequences of their forbidden love was much harder on her than it was on Poppy, still nevertheless she would do anything for Poppy, which was proven time and time again when they have to act like strangers at school. In spite of that, the stolen glances, the stolen moments, the stolen kisses, it made it all worth it. 

“Are you ready for school tomorrow” Poppy’s soft voice vibrated against Bea’s chest. 

Bea lets out a soft chuckle, “What do you think Pops? I’m the school’s lonely girl”

Bea’s reputation at Belvoire could not be worse, in a school filled with entitled brats, it was difficult for her to make any friends considering her economic background. She also couldn’t rely on Poppy and her popularity since she couldn’t be within any vicinity of the girl she loves. Bea and Poppy’s friends had a history of not getting along, and since Poppy couldn’t allow the true nature of her relationship with Bea to come to light, Bea had to deal with all sorts of harassment and bullying from them. Bea often had to remind herself that she was only a target because with money comes a lot of entitlement, especially from snobby teenagers. Moreover, the consequences of her mother’s actions also didn’t help Bea as the stories followed her everywhere, causing all sorts of rumours to spread like wildfire. 

Poppy lifted her head slightly to look into Bea’s eyes, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant it’s the last year of highschool, that means one last chance for us to win nationals and for you to come on top for volleyball.”

As mentioned beforehand, the extra curricular Bea chose to partake in was volleyball, not only did being part of a winning sports team look good on a college application, it also helped Bea with releasing her pent up anger and dominating her competition. Her favourite thing in particular was the smaller group of cheerleaders, including Poppy, who were at every game after Poppy made a compelling argument to the principle about the importance of raising school spirit in all sport related inquiries. Bea would often steal a glimpse at Poppy, who always came up with extra dance moves and cheers, sending secret messages that she was rooting for her girlfriend. 

“One more year of highschool, do you know what that means Pops?” Bea smiled devilishly at Poppy who returned the smile and leaned her face in, lips ghosting around Bea’s. 

“Why don’t you remind me?”

Bea grabbed the blonde’s waist and stole a quick kiss, “One more year means that next year we’ll both be in New York, and we can finally be together for real”. 

“I can’t wait to live off campus with you, we should start looking at places now so we can get ahead and find a good place sin-” Bea cuts her off with a kiss while Poppy smiles, “I hate when you interrupt me with kisses”

“No you don’t”

“You’re right I don’t, but you better not slack this year Bea Hughes otherwise I’ll beat your ass if you don’t get into Columbia”

“I would never, I’m literally a better student than you babe. I would say you shouldn’t slack either but we all know daddy’s going to help you get into NYU.”

Poppy playfully slaps Bea on the arm who just laughs, “hey, no way in hell am I going to use the Min Sinclair name like that, when” (she made sure to put extra emphasis as she spoke) “I get into NYU it will be because of how amazing and talented I am” 

“Not to mention damn right gorgeous and smart and incredibly flexible”

Poppy moves to straddle Bea, hands on either side of her head and she leans in, “hmm, you think the admission office will be looking at those particular things?” her tone teasing and inviting. 

Bea attempts to move her head up only for Poppy to quickly place her perfectly manicured hand around her neck and push her down, Bea’s eyes flash as her voice pulsates with desire, “well I’ll definitely be looking, for educational reasons of course”

Poppy breaks out into a wide grin as the girls share a passionate kiss, tongues tangled together as they fight for dominance, Bea tries to envelop Poppy’s entire mouth with her kiss but Poppy’s unrelenting perseverance pushes through as she tightens the grip around Bea’s neck, pushing her deeper into the mattress. Bea succumbs to Poppy’s kisses and allows the blonde’s tongue to explore the inside of her mouth, getting lost in the wave of pleasure that emanates from Poppy’s lips. 

After a few more kisses, Bea looks at the digital clock sitting on top of Poppy’s dresser, “damn it’s getting late I should go”

“Wha- it’s barely 10 o’clock”, Poppy pouts as her eyebrows furrow slightly. 

“I know” Bea places a hand on Poppy’s face gently brushing against her cheekbone, “but you need your 8 hours of sleep and I gotta make sure everything is ready for Aria tomorrow”. 

Poppy sighs defeatedly as she knows how important Bea’s half sister is to her, she’s practically an older sister to Aria and is also incredibly protective of her too. “Well tell Aria I said hi”

Bea moves to stand and Poppy grabs her hand, “wait, you didn’t tell me, how’s your mom?”

Bea nonchalantly shrugged and gazed at the floor, “same old, same old, she drinks herself into oblivion not giving a shit about the rest of us” 

Poppy rubbed comforting circles on Bea’s hand, “don’t worry Bea one day it will get better” 

Bea lets out a humourless laugh, “I’ve been saying that for almost 10 years”

She stalks over to the window and lets half of her body hang out ready to reach out to the tree, Poppy moves over and gives Bea one last lingering kiss, “You know you can use the front door, my dad’s not here”

“Yeah I know but it’s always so awkward when I run into Rita at this time because she knows that I’m screwing you”, Bea smiles while Poppy raises an eyebrow

“Screwing me?”

“Sorry I meant making love to you” she gives Poppy a quick kiss 

“Much better, and anyways Rita doesn’t care, she’s been rooting for us this entire time”

“It’s okay, don’t worry P, I’ve been climbing in and out of these windows and over that gate for years, how else do you think I got these muscles”, she flexes her toned arms while Poppy runs a hand over them, “I love you”

“I love you too”, Poppy watches as Bea moves out of the window, gripping the tree and making her descent, “wait” she shouts down, “where did you leave your bike?”

Bea smiles up at her, “I parked it a couple of blocks away from here it’s fine, I’ll text you when I get home” she blows a kiss to Poppy and begins making her way over the gate and into the street which shone bright from the lampposts. Poppy sighs and closes her window and begins getting ready for bed until a knock at her door catches her attention. Rita, her nanny and keeper enters the room and looks at Poppy with a knowing glance, ‘Bea didn’t want to stay for dinner?’ 

Poppy laughs slightly and shakes her head, “no she had to get home to make sure her sister is okay”

Rita leaves a plate with a few cucumber and cheese sandwiches on the dresser, “don’t stay up too late Miss Min Sinclair,” and with that she gives a little wave and leaves the room closing the door behind her. After eating half of her sandwich and going through her extensive nighttime routine, she receives a text from Bea

💖 B

Just got home now 

Love you and goodnight my love

Poppy smiles at her phone and then sets her phone on her dresser, not before putting it on charge, and drifts off to sleep. 

Bea on the other hand was wide awake. When she safely parked her motorbike near her house and texted Poppy as she entered the house. She looked up from her phone into the dark room to see the tv quietly playing while her mother was passed out on the couch with a half drunk bottle of vodka on the table. She moved towards the couch covering her mom with a blanket and then went into her bedroom to check on her sister who was soundly sleeping in her bed. Bea headed into the kitchen took some cold pizza from the fridge and did some last minutes checks to make sure both her and her sister were equipped and ready for school tomorrow. She settled in her bed, her mind racing with thoughts about school and how challenging the first day back will be. 

read part 2: 

#playchoices #queen b #poppy x mc #poppy min sinclair

[and-it-freezes-me]

How To Make Mistakes

Summary: The ‘prologue’ to Accidents Happen, and should be read after reading the main series! AKA How Remus ended up being kicked out of his house for his brother’s crimes.

Content warnings: Hoo, boy, where do I begin? Very bad parenting, mentions of attempted suicide, references to self harm, nightmares, blood, character death (no main characters), claustrophobia, some injury detail, chemical burn (not detailed), animal death, car crash, fire, non-verbal character, accidental almost-murder, fighting, minor internalised acephobia, drug and alcohol use and misuse, some drunkenness, sensory overload, panic attacks, I believe that’s everything

Word count: 24,086 (yes, this got much longer than planned)

Remus couldn’t remember a time in his life before the nightmares. He assumed there must have been one - people don’t tend to be born with terror already flooding their veins and monsters lurking behind their closed eyelids. Besides, according to his parents the screaming had only really started when he had been six or seven.

By the time he was eight, he had been sleeping so poorly for such a long time that he had all but given up on anything that took extra effort.

They had dance classes together, him and Roman, since they were four - and he had really enjoyed them. Of course, he had preferred the faster, slightly more jumpy (for want of a better word) dances, where Roman had adored anything slow and stately, but they had still gone together. It had just been one of the things they did.

Then Remus had started waking up in the night and being unable to fall asleep again, terrified of the shadows that lurked in every corner and jumped every time a car drove past their house. His near constant exhaustion had carried over into his dancing, making him miss steps or stumble landings. Roman refused to move up a class without Remus, even though he was more than good enough, but he allowed Remus to hold him back for nearly three months.

He would have stayed in a class that was too easy for him for even longer, but Remus managed to get himself barred from ever returning to the dance studio. It had been a particularly bad night, and he had begged to stay home that morning. He hadn’t been allowed, of course: this was something he had chosen to do, a commitment he had made (when he was four! Before he was able to read the fucking fine print on these things!), he couldn’t just go when it suited him or not. He had made it all the way through the warm-up, all the way through the first few drills… In the first run-through of the performance piece they were focusing on that term, he had stumbled, and managed to trip into the girl next to him, and almost the entire class had gone down like a row of so many pastel coloured dominoes.

The teacher had taken pity on him, or perhaps been too pissed off to want to consider teaching him; the end result was the same, and he allowed him to sit out for the rest of the class. It had been as they were all filing out of the room to meet their parents that the girl he had knocked over earlier, now clinging to Roman’s arm, hadn’t bothered to lower her voice. He couldn’t remember exactly what it was she had said - he had been seven, and running on fumes - but it had been something about how Roman shouldn’t let his stupid, smelly brother hold him back, and Remus had snapped.

Their teacher had been on them as soon as she had started screaming, which had been almost immediately. He hadn’t even hurt her that badly: he’d bitten her arm, maybe, but not hard enough to draw blood, and her perfectly coiled bun was no longer so perfectly coiled or a bun, but he had still been asked not to return.

That was alright with him. Everything was a little easier when he didn’t have to put in the energy required to remember steps and stupid French words.

When they had been younger, he used to fight Roman over who got to choose the games they played, both at home and when they were with Virgil, who they had first met in preschool and tried to have a tug of war over. Now, it was easier to just let Roman dictate what they did, whether they drew or played board games or went exploring in the woods or enacted scenes from shows or books or out of Roman’s imagination. Roman would probably win anyway - this way, they cut out the needless half hour of arguing that frequently brought Virgil nearly to tears. It was easier this way.

Despite the fact that his teachers were constantly asking him why he couldn’t apply himself a little more, why he couldn’t work a little harder, why he couldn’t do what his brother so clearly could, Remus didn’t get properly labelled as a troublemaker until their class zoo trip at the start of third grade.

Even he wasn’t sure how he had managed to slip away from his Virgil, his trip buddy and usually so perceptive, three teachers, and the two guides taking them around the place, or how he had managed to get through not one but three doors marked ‘Authorised Personnel ONLY’ without detection. What he did remember was somebody in a hazmat suit yelling very loudly at him, startling him enough that he dropped the egg he had so carefully lifted out from under a large yellow heat lamp and had been cradling to his chest. It had smashed to pieces at his feet, covering his trainers in an opaque, slimy something that he could still smell in his nightmares sometimes, and there had been a few seconds of silence before a second person arrived, saw what had happened, and started yelling as well.

Remus had turned and tried to run away, and managed to knock over a shelf of what had turned out to be tanks containing various specimens of snakes being raised as part of a conservation program.

The zoo had asked him not to come back, and his parents had stopped his allowance for a year (which was fair enough, he supposed, given that they had had to pay for the damages).

After that, it was as though somebody had stuck a sign reading ‘Watch this kid’ to his back.

His grades had slipped further.

In the summer when he was nine, Roman started sneaking out in the mornings and spending the day doing who-knows-what, while Remus was left at home with the mountain of chores he had managed to accumulate for various misdeeds, some of which had been genuine accidents, some of which had been things that he just couldn’t help, like the row of Cs on his report card at the end of the year. He hadn’t minded so much at first, but it had gotten awfully lonely after a while. Virgil had been on some sort of summer camp, and Remus didn’t really have any other friends. Enough of the people at school were wary of him now, thanks to the occasional scuffle and the snake story, and the way he zoned out of conversations sometimes to just stare blankly at them.

One night, after having been woken by his usual nightmares and having calmed himself down enough to be comfortable getting out of bed and wandering around (nobody came when he screamed in the night anymore. They hadn’t in over two years. When the nightmares had first started - or when he had first started being aware of them, anyway - he had gotten up and slipped into his parents bed, managing to sleep the rest of the night away. But as the weeks passed and he was still doing it, still waking them up at stupid hours of the morning to lie beside them, they had put their collective foot down, warts and all. He was seven, a big boy now, he shouldn’t need to be lying with them to be able to sleep. Roman didn’t need to. The first few times, they had been kind about it. Then, less so), Remus had settled himself down outside Roman’s bedroom door to wait for morning.

Roman had practically tripped over him when he had come barrelling out of his room to go wherever it was he went all day. Catching himself on the opposite wall, he had frowned down at Remus before reaching out a hand. “What’re you doing, Rem?”

“I was-” Remus swallowed. “I was wondering if you’d wait for me. You don’t have to help with the chores, I just… I’d like to spend the day with you. Haven’t seen much of you lately, you know? Where’s my Ro-ro?” It was true. With Remus’ increased detentions and Roman’s increased extra curriculars, and their differing interests, they weren’t hanging out as much as they used to.

Roman had looked at him with no expression at all for a moment, and then he had grinned. “No, no, I’ll help with the chores. Just… Not just yet, yeah?”

Remus had nodded slowly, slightly confused. “I’m supposed to get them done before doing anything else, though.”

“It’ll be fine - just one game? Quickly?” Roman had glanced around, then grinned. “How about we play hide and seek? One game, you find me, I’ll find you, and then we do the chores. Then we can go mess around in the woods.”

This time Remus’ nod was enthusiastic. Turning to the wall, he began to count.

Roman hid behind the bathroom door, and Remus found him in only a few minutes. Remus tried to think of the best hiding place he could, and ended up climbing under the sink - it would take Roman ages to find him there! He’d look upstairs first, and then he’d have to look downstairs, so Remus would definitely win. Curling up into a ball, he let the door close behind him, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He didn’t own a phone yet, and his watch was broken after an incident in the quarry in the woods, so Remus didn’t know how long it was before it occurred to him that Roman might not be looking for him.

Pushing that thought away, he shifted to get more comfortable. The U-bend of the sink had been digging into his back. Of course Roman was looking for him. They’d have to get the chores done quickly if they wanted much time in the woods, but they could manage that.

But Roman never came, and eventually Remus grew bored of waiting for him. Stretching his legs out, he pushed against the cupboard door with his bare feet… And it didn’t open.

He pushed at it again.

Still nothing.

That was when he remembered that all of the kitchen cupboards had funny little latches on them, to stop younger versions of Roman and Remus (mostly Remus) from going through the cupboards after an incident involving the entire kitchen and a lot of washing up liquid.

That was when the space started closing around him.

Remus had no idea where his parents had been that day. Maybe they had both been working, and were comfortable letting their nine-year-old sons run around on their own: their town was quiet, and Roman at least was responsible. Maybe none of Remus’ screams, so loud at night, had actually left his chest. Either way, it was past six in the evening when his father finally opened the kitchen cupboard to find a tearstained, soiled, trembling child sitting in a slippery mess of washing up liquid and detergent and laundry softener, the U-bend of the sink broken from his earlier thrashing.

When Remus had tried to speak, to thank Hyun-ki for freeing him, to say it was his fault (strange, how his first thought was to protect Roman), to try to explain what had actually happened (Roman needed to be at least told off for not shouting to say that the game was over!), only a low whine had emanated from his throat. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make words come out. His father had hugged him briefly, wrinkled his nose at the smell, and then sent Remus off to shower while he started cleaning up.

And then he was clean, and dry, and warm and safe in the biggest jumper he owned despite the heat of the day, and his parents were quizzing him on why the hell he had thought it sensible to climb into the kitchen cupboard, he could have been seriously hurt, he’d broken the sink and that was going to need a real plumber to repair, what was he thinking? Had he tripped and fallen in? (That question was a trap, and they all knew it). Words were still raw against his throat and unwilling to come out, and he didn’t really want to get his brother in trouble - it wasn’t Roman’s fault he had locked himself in, after all… So when they asked him if he had been planning on jumping out for a joke, he had nodded brusquely. It was easier than trying to come up with a story that made him look good but didn’t get Roman in trouble.

It was easier to take the additional chores for breaking the sink than to complain that it wasn’t fair.

The incident that had lost him his pocket money for good a year later had only half been an accident.

It had been getting more and more obvious, over the past few months, that his parents were favouring Roman. There was a chance that Roman didn’t realise exactly what was going on, but he definitely knew something was happening. He almost never invited Remus to do anything with him anymore, and once or twice Remus was fairly certain that he had blamed a dropped plate or wrongly pruned plant on him. He didn’t really mind. His parents didn’t bother adding extra chores to the ones he already had to do, so it wasn’t as though he was really suffering from it. It hurt a little, that their parents never seemed particularly interested in what he had to say.

There used to be a vase on the table in the living room. It had been made by their mother’s great grandmother, and had stood on that table for as long as Remus had been alive. They were frequently reminded not to play too close to it.

He hadn’t meant to drop it.

Remus had just wanted to move it. He was going to hide it in a cupboard, and then hide behind the door himself (he couldn’t go in cupboards or under beds anymore), and wait to see which his parents missed first. All he was trying to do was prove to himself that he was more important to them than some old vase. It was a simple test, one that didn’t need doing. He was their son, after all, even if he did have his… Quirks. 

But the vase had been heavier than he had expected, and he had tripped whilst carrying it to its hiding place, landing on top of it and crushing it into dozens of knife-like shards. If the sound of the vase shattering hadn’t been enough to bring his mother running, his howl of pain as broken china sliced through his shirt certainly was, and she stared at the pattern of shards, Remus right in the centre, for several long seconds before starting to shout.

Then he had sat up, and they both stared at his torso, which was becoming bloodier by the second. There was already a not insignificant stain on the carpet, and all over some of the vase fragments. That was when Dae’s training kicked in, and Remus found himself in hospital and being stitched back together a surprisingly short time later.

It wasn’t until the following day, when he was no longer woozy from blood loss, that he was treated to another Remus-curse-of-the-walking-disaster lecture. When they were finished - they had come to sit on the end of his bed to talk to him - they both stood to leave. Then his father turned back to him. “Why did you break it, anyway? It meant everything to Dae…” As though he had done it on purpose.

Remus didn’t know why he said it, but the words dropped from his lips before he had even thought them through. “I always hated that ugly thing.”

Maybe he said it because they were expecting something callous from him, something else they could use to weigh him down while Roman soared far above him in their eyes. Maybe it was because it was easier than trying to explain that it felt as though they just didn’t care about him anymore.

Yeah, that was it. It was because it was easy.

And so the pattern continued. Remus made a mistake and was shown no mercy, while Roman was given everything he ever wanted.

Somewhere deep down, Remus knew that it wasn’t Roman he hated. It was the way their parents almost never addressed him anymore unless it was to tell him off, for skipping school, for getting in another scuffle, for ripping his clothes, for staying out too late. It was the way they were constantly comparing the two of them, constantly pitting them against one another and then punishing Remus for coming out second when the deck was so clearly stacked against him.

When he was thirteen, he started drinking to try to stop screaming at night. It was one of the reasons his parents resented him so much - it had been implied often enough. What teenager screams through the night, every night? He couldn’t help it, but it wasn’t as though they seemed to care about that. He snuck into parties he was years too young for whenever he could (Remy always seemed to know when and where parties would be, even if he wasn’t invited to them, and Remus had taken to listening in on his conversations while he was with Virgil. Roman almost never spent time with their friend anymore), and if his parents noticed, they didn’t say a thing.

They didn’t say a thing when the screaming stopped. They didn’t seem to notice when Remus started getting sick from it, when he was a hundred, a thousand times more fidgety or sleepy during the day. It was though they didn’t care at all.

Sometimes, he would be lucky enough to snag a few bottles of whatever from somewhere, which meant that he didn’t have to go out. It was one of these nights that Roman snuck into his room, an almost unheard of occurrence these days, and sat on the end of his bed. Remus was already tipsy, but his brother didn’t seem to notice. It seemed like all Roman wanted was for somebody to sit and nod as he chatted aimlessly about school, about his classmates, about the theater parts he was going for. His most recent crush had taken one of the supporting roles in the play, and Remus was treated to a half-hour lecture on how his hair positively gleamed under the stage lights.

“... I mean it, Rem, he’s gorgeous. He’s the year above us, I think, first year of highschool - you know this year the highschool’s taking part, it’s amazing that I got such a large role, there are so many people…” Roman trailed off dreamily, and Remus’ head bobbed slowly. Then his twin looked at him, leaned forward and poked his nose, which he wrinkled in response. “What about you, Rem?”

“What about me… What?” Remus had to admit, he hadn’t quite been following the conversation.

“A crush!” Roman exclaimed, leaning forward to shake Remus’ shoulders enthusiastically. “Do you have anyone you like?”

“Uh… Of course,” Remus lied, because… Well, it would look stupid if he said no.

Roman practically started bouncing on the bed. “Who? Do I know them?”

Oh. Fuck. Now he actually had to think of somebody, and fast, because Roman had stopped bouncing and was looking at him as though he could see right through him. Remus was not about to get caught lying about having a crush on somebody, for fuck’s sake. “Remy,” he blurted, and Roman looked stunned.

“Remy? Virgil’s brother? Remy Spince? Why?” Remus would have been mildly offended on Remy’s behalf had his brain been processing fast enough.

“Uh… Well, he’s… Cool. Very cool. An’ he’s nice to me, so…”

Roman chuckled. “Ahh. I see, Rem. Older guys, huh? With the jacket and the glasses? I see, I see…”

Blurting a random name had been so, so easy. Was this all it took to get Roman to like him again? Pretend to be attracted to somebody unobtainable? He could do that.

One week later, Roman spilled wax all over the floor and blamed him for it. Remus, in a fit of fondness for his brother (and also because he didn’t want Roman to have to suffer their parents’ disappointment), got up in the night to set fire to the curtains, just to make it look as though it really had been his fault.

Smoke coiled through his nightmares for weeks after that.

A month later, he regretted it, because Roman had gone and stuck his tongue down Remy’s throat at a party.

It wasn’t even as though Remus particularly liked Remy - not in the way he had told Roman he did, anyway - but it still hurt. As far as Roman knew, Remus had feelings (ick) for his friend’s elder brother, and he had gone and kissed him anyway. It had been partially betrayal (but mostly alcohol poisoning) that had had him throwing up in the host’s swimming pool.

And then autumn came, and school started, and Virgil didn’t come back. Remus visited him - of course he did, how could he not? He visited, and he visited, and he visited, first at the hospital during in the week Virgil had had to stay there while they made sure that the bottle of pain meds he had swallowed weren’t going to have any additional effects on him, and then at his home, sometimes skipping school to see him during the two weeks he spent at home.

Then they had gotten into an argument. It had been Remus’ fault, of course. And really, it was only Remus arguing, too. He had made some idle comment about how Roman was probably doing a far better job of cheering Virgil up than he was - they had been looking through a medical journal for rare and gross conditions, something that Remus found thrilling and Virgil found mildly unsettling but not enough so to make them stop - and Virgil’s face had shut down completely.

“Virge? Vee, dude, what’s up? Are you okay?” Virgil had nodded once, jaw tight and eyes not meeting Remus’, and it occurred to him that Virgil might be having another anxiety attack. They had been getting worse all year, but they had been more frequent than ever since he had tried to kill himself. “Hey. You’re safe, dude. Do you want to do the breathing thing? It’s just like stabbing someone, look, in, two, three, four, hold - that’s twisting the knife - two -”

“Not an attack,” Virgil interrupted, although he had pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay. What’s wrong?”

Virgil tried to stare him down, but that was a mistake. Remus had mastered the art of not blinking - it came from nights on end just staring into the corners of his room. (Virgil’s death was something that haunted his dreams now. He hadn’t seen him, hadn’t been the one to find his body - that had been Remy - but he could imagine, and once he had imagined, he couldn’t stop imagining). Finally, the taller boy sighed and shrugged. “Roman hasn’t visited,” he mumbled.

“WHAT?” Virgil flinched; Remus hadn’t meant to shout. “Sorry - what do you mean, he hasn’t- He’s your friend!”

“Hasn’t texted, either,” Virgil whispered, and Remus wanted to hug him until he felt his ribs crack. “I don’t think we’re friends anymore…”

“You are fucking kidding me! He -” Instead of hugging Virgil - because when could Remus ever do anything right? - he had started shouting. “That son of a bitch! He fucking -”

“Remus, don’t…”

“I’m going to kill him! How fucking dare he, I’m going to - I’m going to rip his guts from his body, I’m - I’m going to tear him into tiny, tiny pieces and -” He proceeded to get more creative, his sudden rage at his twin fueling his rant in spite of Virgil’s pleas that he calm down. Red, the same red that Roman wore when he needed extra luck, had filled his vision to the point that he didn’t see the fresh tears that started spilling down Virgil’s cheeks.

That had been when Virgil’s father had slipped into the room. He was a tall, skinny man, just as pale as his sons and with their same dark hair, and misery dripped from him in long, thick shadows and trailed behind him like a cloak. It looked as though he had been crying, too, although that wasn’t unusual. Although he had tried to keep it together for his sons, the loss of his wife at the start of the summer had taken a huge toll on him (Remus could be observant and emotionally sympathetic when he was trying), and Virgil’s suicide attempt hadn’t been easy on any of them. He looked at Remus for a long second. “I think…” Remus almost had to lean in to hear his words. “I would prefer it if that kind of language… I think you should leave, son.”

And just like that, he was barred from visiting his friend’s home. He still saw Virgil, of course, but it was harder - especially when Mr Spince had phoned his parents to say that Virgil had had one of his worst ever panic attacks after Remus had yelled at him.

He didn’t bother trying to explain what had really happened - he knew Mr Spince was just trying to protect Virgil, and that Virgil had just been trying to protect his friend, but he doubted that the elder would like to see him again after finding him making increasingly disturbing death threats in front of his son. It was easier just to allow another person to label him as dangerous and disturbed, and to meet with Virgil away from his home. 

He didn’t speak to Roman for a very long time after that.

Patton… Patton had been a mistake, although one of the worst ones he had made in a long time.

It had been a bad week for him, to start with. Remus was fourteen. He had been feeling constantly sick for the past three days, and he just knew it was the alcohol, but he had yet to find anything as effective for silencing him at night. He hadn’t been getting much rest, either, and had just left a particularly painful calculus lesson taught by a teacher that seemed to delight in comparing him to his perfect twin.

He was walking to lunch when he became dimly aware that somebody had mentioned his name just behind him in the corridor. Slowing his pace, he had tilted his head to listen better, and then wished he hadn’t.

“Remus Wang… Similar to Roman?”

“Yes, like Roman. Well, no, not really like Roman, that’s his twin.” It was Patton, and a voice that he didn’t recognise. He refused to turn to see who it was.

“I was not aware that Roman Wang had a twin. He has certainly never mentioned him in our tutoring sessions.” Remus smiled faintly at the stiff, formal speech - it was deep, calm, and would have been nice to listen to, had whoever it was been talking about anything else.

“Ah, yeah. He doesn’t talk about him. Remus is kinda…” Patton hesitated, and Remus took a slow breath through his nose. “Kinda the black sheep of the family, if you know what I mean.”

“I do not. The Wangs are Korean, not black, and all human. Remus does not look anything like an ovis aries.”

Remus had to suppress a snort of laughter at that. Patton, on the other hand, sighed and dropped his voice. “He’s the… Troublemaker. I heard from somebody that he’s even been picked up by the cops once or twice. Ditches school. Crashes parties. Picks fights. There’s various graffiti in the bathrooms suggesting he has a… Somewhat illegal job.”

“Oh - are you referring to the numerous grammatically incorrect scrawls implying that somebody named Wang is a prostitute? Those did not entirely make sense when I applied them to Roman, but I did not know whether there was another Wang here…”

Personally, Remus found those scrawls hilarious - but hearing himself discussed like this was anything but. He shouldn’t have slowed down to listen in.

“That would be him. You can see why Roman doesn’t really talk about him, right?” Remus had never heard Patton sounding so cruel before. “Roman resents him, I think. He’s always taking the spotlight away - that’s just what Ro said, I don’t really know. If they weren’t identical, you’d never think they were related. Roman is - well, Roman, and Remus is pretty much a criminal already, it’s not like Roman needs him around, so-”

“Patton,” said the owner of the other voice, who Remus had turned around to see was a tall, dark-skinned guy with thick-rimmed glasses and a tie, “you are being unusually cruel toward this-”

Of course, the fact that Remus had turned around when Patton had called him a criminal meant that his fist had collided with Patton’s jaw shortly after the new student had said his name. The rest of his sentence had continued coming out of his mouth despite the fact that Patton was stumbling backward, hand to his face (which Remus knew was going to bruise up terribly but couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty). A red haze had descended over Remus’ vision.

“I really do not think that violence-”

“Remus! I - I didn’t-”

“Can it, Specs. Patton, do you want to finish that sentence with or without your buckteeth?”

There was already a loose horseshoe of students around them, all staring at Patton - nobody was standing behind him. It was as though they didn’t want to be in Remus’ way.

“I - no, Remus, I was just-”

The snarl of rage that left Remus then was probably the thing that got him in the most trouble. That, and the fact that he dived at Patton fists first, catching him in the face once more. Patton’s head jerked back, and his body followed - and then Remus realised why there were no students behind him.

It was because they were at the top of a flight of stairs.

Patton didn’t just fall down the stairs. He tumbled, short curls over knee-length skirt; he practically bounced off the wall at the bottom with a sickening crunch, stumbled, and then slipped down the second flight as well.

And then Patton was lying two floors below them, limbs at the wrong angles, blood spreading out like a halo around his golden head and dripping from his nose. His blue eyes were still open - and he was blinking, as though he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened.

That image, of him standing at the top of the stairs while white noise roared in his ears, of Patton lying at the bottom like a broken doll, was one that never left him.

The crunch when he had hit the wall had Remus bolting awake within minutes of falling asleep for the next month, no matter how much he had drunk, or what he had tried to knock himself out with.

He had been suspended for nearly a month. It would have been longer had Patton not been informed that he was going to make a full recovery despite the severe concussion, the four snapped ribs, the complex fracture in his left arm, and the broken leg.

At first, when a teacher dragged him into an office and locked him in, Remus hadn’t been able to say a word. There were no words he could say.

Later, when they had been grilling him - the head teacher, three senior members of staff, his parents, and a police officer - he had barely been able to string a sentence together. Finally, the principal had gotten to her feet, had slammed her hands down on the desk in front of him, and almost yelled: “We have two dozen eyewitnesses, Wang! Staying silent isn’t going to help your case at all. Tell us what happened. Explain to us. Say something!” He had looked around, wishing that somebody would come to his defense, but nobody did. “Did you push Patton Grace down the stairs?”

That was when a smirk had spread across his face. He hadn’t wanted it there. It sickened him. He didn’t know why he said it. “Fuck yes I did.”

And then Remus started laughing. He couldn’t stop, no matter how much his parents yelled at him, how disgusted his teachers looked. He could barely even stop to breathe. He laughed as they settled his suspension, he laughed as his parents literally dragged him out of school - he was laughing too hard to walk straight, the sound being dragged from him as though by giant, steel hands with hooked fingers, shredding the inside of his throat - and he laughed as the police officer informed him that they would be keeping an eye on him. He laughed all the way home.

Remus laughed until he threw up, and then he laughed until he cried, and then he couldn’t stop crying either. He had cried until he had blacked out.

Then he had woken up, screaming harder than ever.

He was grounded, of course, but when had that stopped him doing anything?

Remus started walking through the woods instead of even trying to sleep. He walked until he couldn’t walk any further, and then he lay down on the floor and slept for as long as he could, and then he went home. He considered running away, but knew he wouldn’t get anywhere. He’d be arrested, or murdered, or something.

It was around then that he actually started using the razor he had stolen a few months before the incident. It wasn’t that he wanted to die. It wasn’t even that he wanted to see the blood that oozed from his arms.

Actually, he didn’t know why he did it.

He just knew that it was easy.

The first time Janus found him in the woods, Remus had managed to twist his ankle in the darkness and had fallen down a slope. He had gone through what had turned out to be a fence made of barbed wire and landed in a ditch, and hadn’t bothered trying to get up again. He wasn’t entirely sure he could move, actually. So he lay there, bleeding and bruised, and allowed himself to fall asleep. Maybe a rabid dog would find him and eat him. That would certainly solve a lot of problems for people.

And then Janus was untangling the metal claws from around his torso, was helping him out of the ditch despite the fact that he knew Janus knew every bad thing that everybody said about him, was letting him lean on him without acting as though Remus was going to maul him.

He took him into the largest house Remus had ever been invited inside (he may have broken in to one or two for reasons he could not remember), led him to an upstairs bathroom, and then sat him on the side of a truly massive bathtub to smear antiseptic all over him before wrapping him in an astonishing amount of bandages. Remus was dimly aware that Janus was speaking to him for pretty much the entire time, but he had no idea what the words were. All he could really understand was the tone, which was… Kind. Janus wasn’t shouting at him. Janus wasn’t being disdainful or cruel - at least, not in tone. Janus was talking to him as though he were a spooked, injured creature… And Remus started crying again. That was the first time he cried in front of Janus Sinclaire.

Janus lent him a spare change of clothes for him to get home. They were too long and too tight, but Remus accepted them anyway. He didn’t thank him, even though he knew he should. He did try to, but Remus found that he couldn’t speak again. All that came out when he tried was a hum that would have embarrassed him if he had been lucid enough to care.

Then Janus had walked him home.

The second time he came across Janus in the woods, it had been his birthday. March 17th. Remus was fifteen. When he had gotten downstairs that morning, there had been a small pile of presents in Roman’s place on the kitchen table, and nothing in his. He had cut a large, messy slice from the gorgeous chocolate cake that read ‘Happy 15th Birthday, Roman!’ and taken it into the woods. It was his birthday too, after all. He at least deserved the part that read ‘15th’.

He had been walking blindly, not really caring where he was going, when he heard the sound of screaming. With nothing better to do, Remus hurried in that direction. If it was a serial killer, maybe he’d see something gorey and cool. Or maybe he’d get murdered. It didn’t matter either way.

It was not a serial killer. Instead, Janus Sinclaire was standing at the edge of the abandoned quarry, screaming wordlessly into it. Frowning, Remus shoved the last of his cake into his mouth and chewed fiercely at it, then started moving forward. A twig snapped.

Janus must have heard it, because he span around, shoulders hunching defensively. They stared at one another for a long, long moment before Remus wiped his chocolatey fingers on his shirt and moved to stand next to Janus. He nodded once, as though screaming into a large hole in the ground was a perfectly normal thing to be doing at eight in the morning, and started yelling as well.

After a moment, Janus joined in once more.

They were friends after that.

They only met in the woods at first. Remus had no desire to drag Janus’ reputation through the mud by letting them be seen together, and Janus seemed happy enough as long as they were spending time together.

Some time in late May that year, they were sitting on a rock beside a small stream together. It was early in the morning - early enough that they had watched the sun rise together, both of them cradling coffee poured from a flask that Janus had brought on his early morning walk. They hadn’t been talking, preferring to sit and watch the ripples of tiny fish in the water in front of them, when Janus had leaned forward and plucked a leaf from Remus’ hair.

“There’s a lot of them in here. Did you roll down a bank to get here?” He pulled another one out, and the morning sun made his skin and eyes briefly glow.

Remus had no idea why somebody made of literal sunlight wanted to be his friend. “Nah, I slept here. Parents didn’t let me in last night.”

Janus frowned. His fingers were carding through Remus’ hair now, tugging at autumn’s pine needles and knots alike. “That’s not fair.”

“Eh. Happens often enough. An’ I was drunk last night, as well as past curfew. No biggie.”

Janus’ fingers caught, and Remus hissed out a curse of pain. “Sorry! Sorry… Rem, if that happens again, will you…”

“When.”

“Hm?”

“When it happens again.”

“Right.” Janus did not look pleased. “When it happens again. Call me, or send me a message, okay? You can stay at mine. What if you got hurt out here, and I wasn’t there to help? I’d rather not find you dead in the quarry because you slipped in the dark…”

Remus made a choked noise, then nodded rapidly.

It was weird, having somebody care about him like that.

Actually sending Janus the text wasn’t easy, but sneaking through his bedroom window was. Changing into the oversized hoodie and sweatpants Janus offered him was easy, and slipping into bed beside him was easy too. When he was jerked awake by his friend shaking him and instructed to hide under the bed, Remus did so. Letting his friend lie to his parents about the screaming, that was easy too.

Somehow, even apologising to Janus, explaining about his nightmares, and offering to leave was easy.

Melting into the hug that Janus wrapped him in and falling back asleep beside his friend, though? That was the easiest thing of all.

-

Life actually got a little better after that, even though Remus’ new attempts to find something to stop himself from screaming at night were having a broadly varied range of horrible side-effects on him. The only other downside was Virgil: Virgil was no longer as friendly as he had been before. It took Remus a while to figure out why. They had been friends, been good friends, even though Roman had stopped talking to Virgil altogether by the time he had gotten back to school, even though he wasn’t welcome at Virgil’s house anymore.

Eventually, he had expressed his concerns to Janus. Well, Janus had caught on to the fact that Remus had been extra twitchy for the last few days, and had finally sat him down on a fallen log and poked his shoulder with one long, graceful finger.

“Spit it out, arms.” The nickname had been earned when Janus realised exactly how long it had been since anybody had hugged Remus, and Remus had responded far too enthusiastically. Janus had said it was like hugging an octopus.

Remus spat the gum he had been chewing into his palm and offered it to Janus, who wrinkled his nose.

“Not the gum. What’s eating you, Remus?”

“About six mosquitos, far as I can tell. Why the sudden interest? Developed a taste for human blood and don’t want to share?” Remus put his chewing gum back into his mouth and leaned back over the log, forming a bridge with his body.

Janus sat down beside him. “Just because you dragged me out here to distract me from intense amount of extra work I have to do -”

“Have to do?”

“Am being encouraged to do,” Janus amended, smiling faintly. He prodded Remus’ stomach gently. “Just because you’re trying to distract me doesn’t mean we can’t talk about you, too. What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid.” Remus sat up and rubbed the bark from his bare forearms. He only wore short sleeves around Janus.

“It’s bothering you, so it’s not stupid.” Leaning down, his friend picked up a small stone and tossed into a small pool that had formed between the roots of a tree in front of them. There was a small splash.

Remus sighed. “Virgil’s been avoiding me. No biggie. Told you it was stupid.”

Janus hummed quietly, digging around at his feet for another stone. When he straightened up, he handed Remus a worm before throwing the second pebble into the puddle. Another splash. Remus watched the worm twist on his palm. The way its pale pink, ribbed body moved always fascinated, and there was something bizarrely soothing about the slightly slimy feeling of it against his skin.

“Do you think it might be because you pushed his boyfriend down two flights of stairs?” There was no judgement in Janus’ voice.

Remus wasn’t entirely sure where to begin pulling that statement apart. His first instinct was to go on the defensive; his second was to claim that he was fully aware of the fact, and that it had been purposeful. He ignored both of those. Janus deserved better from him. He took a slow, deep breath.

“Virgil… Has a boyfriend?”

“Interesting thing to focus on,” Janus commented. He added a second worm and a small beetle to Remus’ now cupped hands. “But yes, Virgil is dating Patton. They’re together a lot at school.” Patton had returned to school in a wheelchair about two weeks after he had fallen. Remus had stayed as far away from him as he could.

He mumbled something.

“Didn’t catch that, Rem. Do you want an earwig? I always forget if you like them or not.”

Remus held out his hands for the earwig. “You know, earwigs were named for the belief that they would crawl in through people’s ears whilst they slept and lay eggs there, or else start eating their brains. It’s funny. These little dudes have no interest in your brain. They like eating rotten wood, that’s why you found one by this tree… I didn’t mean to push Patton, you know?”

Janus had been nodding along, clearly about to make some snide comment - possibly about some people needing to be concerned because they had brains made of rotting wood - but he paused when Remus said that. His face didn’t change. Remus was glad that Janus never seemed to mind his sudden jumps in conversation. “I… Had assumed that you didn’t mean to hurt him,” he said finally, and Remus smiled faintly.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did think it had been on purpose, you know. I did own up to it, a bunch of people said they saw…”

Another earthworm in his hands. The earwig had crawled up his sleeve, but Remus didn’t mind. “Okay,” Janus said slowly, “do you want to tell me what did happen? The hysterical laughter as you left the school probably didn’t help your case.”

Remus groaned. “I know… It wouldn’t stop, I was trying… Not the millipede, thanks. If that goes up my sleeve and I bring it home by mistake, my dad’ll be pissed.”

“Not the millipede,” Janus agreed, returning it to the ground at his feet.

They were quiet for a time, but it was a nice quiet. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that felt as though Janus were trying to crack his skull into pieces to pick at his brains with his long fingers. “I… I did want to hurt him. But not… Not that badly.” Janus stayed quiet, and Remus found that he couldn’t look at him. Instead, he addressed the four worms, earwig, and two beetles that were in various positions on his arms. “He was showing that new kid around, the one that talks like a dictionary? Not that I’m complaining, he was nice to listen to -”

“Logan uses they-them, Rem.”

“Right. They were nice to listen to. But then they started talking about me - the two of them, not just Logan - and Patton said some… Stuff.” He shifted. “Saw red. Went to punch him. I guess I just… Wanted to hurt him a bit. I didn’t know we were by the staircase. It was an… Accident.”

They were quiet again. Remus waited for Janus to stand up and walk off, to say that he knew that it had been a mistake to drag him out of that ditch on the first morning. Instead, he leaned sideways and rested his head on Remus’ shoulder, his hair tickling Remus’ cheek.

“I’m sorry, Rem.” He murmured, and Remus felt his heart stop, and then overflow. Carefully, he put his handful of creepy-crawlies down on the log beside him so that he could wrap his arms around Janus.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know. I’m still sorry it happened like it did.”

Remus hesitated. “You still don’t think I’m a monster? I coulda killed him, and I just… Laughed.”

“I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure that’s a trauma response, Rem. Doesn’t make you a bad person…”

It was very, very nice, being told that he wasn’t a bad person.

There had been an evening, about a month and a half after he had first spent the night at Janus’, that Janus had actually seen him pull the small box of assorted stolen tablets out of his pocket and shake a blue one and a green-and-orange one onto his palm. Janus had only been able to see because Remus had found that this combination of drugs made him really dizzy almost immediately, and if he didn’t take them whilst he was literally in bed he was liable to bump into things and collapse in the middle of the floor.

There he was, sitting on the edge of Janus’ bed, about to toss the brightly coloured somethings (and Remus genuinely had no idea what they were, only that they made him horribly dizzy and took all the flavour out of his food but meant that he didn’t scream when his nightmares took him over) into his mouth, when Janus’ arm looped over his shoulder and he closed his fingers around Remus’. “What’re these, Rem?”

Lying to Janus was not easy. It was actually very, very difficult, because Remus knew that Janus actually cared about him. He cleared his throat. “Don’t know.” A burning sort of silence followed, and he hurried to clarify. “They stop me screaming.”

Janus nodded slowly, then frowned. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Shoplifted ‘em. Didn’t check the labels other than to make sure they weren’t caffeinated or poisonous.”

“That’s illegal. And you know most drugs are poisonous if you take them without knowing what they are, right?”

Remus groaned and tried to tug his hand out of Janus’ grip. “So? Not like anyone’ll miss me if I do end up dead. And in the meantime, these stop me bothering people and have fewer side effects than mixing the green’n’orange with the red oval ones. Can I take these and go to sleep now?”

“I’d miss you.” Janus’ voice was almost tremulous, and Remus glanced over his shoulder to see that his friend’s eyes had gone wide and glittery. Was he crying? Fuck.

“Jan, I’m not gonna die. I was joking, I…”

“Didn’t sound like you were joking.” The scared note was gone from Janus’ voice, and now he sounded almost angry. Remus swallowed. “Sounded to me like you’re mixing stolen drugs that you have no idea what they’ll do to you. And that you don’t give a shit if you end up in a coma or dead because you’re trying to make up your own nightmare cure. Are you about to look me in the eye and tell me that any of that is a lie?”

Remus swallowed again, harder this time, and tried to think of something to say.

“Didn’t think so. Rem, why don’t you just… See a doctor, or something? Instead of stealing shit and poisoning yourself with it?”

And now Remus chuckled. “Jan… I’m fine. I’ve been doing this for nearly two years, ‘n I’m not dead yet. And stuff’s better at home when I’m not waking everyone up every night.”

Janus did not look remotely reassured. “Didn’t your parents take you to see someone? If you were screaming every night?”

“Nah. It’s no biggie, I’ve been like this for as long as I can remember. It’s normal, Jan. Can you let me take my poisons now? You have an English quiz tomorrow, you need sleep… And you don’t need me waking you up, either.” Remus tried to tug his hand away again. This time, Janus’ fingers slipped into his palm, and then the small tablets were gone. Remus lunged for them.

“Nope. No. Nope, you’re not having these back.” Janus actually got out of bed, and Remus followed him over to the window.

“Jan, give them back. Let’s just go to bed and forget about this, okay? It’s no big deal.”

Janus opened the window, and Remus almost jumped at him. “You know something, Remus?”

“No. Close the window.”

“You say that a lot. It’s no big deal. No biggie. You said about your parents refusing to let you come home if you stayed out past curfew. You said it about everybody thinking you were a monster. You said it about your arms, and if that isn’t a big fucking deal, I don’t know what is.” Remus automatically folded his arms across his chest to hide them, and Janus gave him a look. “So I think that no big deal is actually code for this is the biggest deal ever and I am not okay right now. Am I right?”

Remus didn’t want to nod, but he didn’t exactly want to lie to Janus. In his hesitation, Janus cocked his arm back and then snapped his wrist forward, and the pills went soaring out of the window. Remus let out a snarl of frustration.

“Rem…”

“What the fuck do you want me to do, Jan? I can’t just give up! And it’s not like I can see somebody about it. What kind of loser gets nightmares every night for his whole life? They’ll lock me away, or drug me into oblivion.”

“Like you’re already trying to do?” Remus tried to ignore the sympathy in Janus’ voice that said he knew exactly where Remus’ worries came from. “You know, nobody’s going to think you’re -”

“Mad? Dangerous? Haven’t you heard, Jan? I tried to kill Patton Grace. I tried to burn down a house with my family inside. They’ll lock me up and throw away the fucking key if I try to tell somebody about the nightmares.” He was already leaning down to pull the bottle from his hoodie to replace the tablets that Janus had just thrown away.

“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”

Remus shook his head once.

Then Janus was on top of him, wrapping his arms around his torso and squeezing, and Remus hesitated for the barest moment before hugging back. He hadn’t realised he was trembling until exactly that moment. “Okay. Okay, Rem, okay. I won’t. But you gotta promise you’re gonna be safer, yeah? I can’t lose you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Remus grumbled, trying to hide the fact that a lump had swollen in his throat. “‘Safer’?”

“It means, quit using shit if you don’t know what it is. And don’t mix’n’match, you idiot.”

Remus groaned and pressed his face into Janus’ shoulder. “Fine. Any recommendations? Or are you just talking out of your arse and hoping something sensible occurs to me? I warned you already, sensible isn’t my best feature…”

“Yeah, I got a recommendation.” Remus had a feeling that his surprise at Janus’ words rippled through his entire body, because his friend chuckled darkly and tugged him back toward the bed. “As much as I hate the idea of helping you drug yourself, I’d prefer I helped you do it safely than not. Have you tried Xanax?”

Remus snorted. “That’s prescription.” He sat down on the corner of the mattress and looked up at Janus in the dim light cast by the small bedside light, and discovered that he wouldn’t be surprised if his friend came out with flawless plans to rob every bank in a hundred mile radius. There was something sly and cunning in the set of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes.

“My mother has it for work stress. I’ll grab some for you. If it doesn’t work, we can try something else, but we’re going to do it-”

“I am going to do it safely,” Remus groaned, “I get it.”

“We. I’m not entirely sure I trust you on this to just let you handle it…”

It worked better than anything else he had tried, and it didn’t make him sick, or dizzy, or always exhausted, or bizarrely miserable, or make him piss blood or get nosebleeds.

When Remus’ family was out, he would invite Janus over to his place, and they would curl up on his bed and watch movies on Roman’s laptop (Roman’s password, ‘Prince Roman’, was not only easy to guess, but also written on a post-it note stuck on his keyboard). Sometimes they’d explode popcorn in the microwave.

When Janus’ family was out, Janus would invite him over, and they would make cakes or buns in the kitchen, a volcano in the bathroom, a fire in a wastepaper basket in the living room on which they roasted marshmallows and tried to scare one another with ghost stories.

When Janus turned sixteen, Remus took him on a two-in-the-morning caving expedition in the forest, where they almost got chased through the woods by what Janus swore was a bear but Remus was certain had had six legs and eight eyes and teeth running down its spine.

He was very keen to go back to see what it was, but Janus decided that they probably shouldn’t bother it, whatever it was. (“A cryptid at the least,” Remus commented.) (“A bear, you fool”).

Janus’ birthday brought a new concern before them, though: his parents had suddenly started talking to him about the future.

“It’s not like they used to,” Janus confided one evening, a few weeks after his birthday. “It used to be this thing that was… Well, far away. It wasn’t so important, the important thing was doing well now.”

“Yeah?” Remus looked up from the chunk of wood he was trying to turn into something resembling the bear-monster they had fought. (“We ran away from it, Remus.”) “What’s changed?”

“Dad keeps trying to get me to look at syllabuses for different degrees… Do I want to do psychology? Sociology? Behavioral studies? Economics? Maths? I think he’s secretly hoping I’ll become a financial advisor like him…” Remus made a retching sound, then accidentally sent the bear-monster’s ear spinning away from him through the clearing.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. My mother isn’t doing that - yet - but she keeps giving me the prospectuses for different colleges. Says that she knows I’ll work hard and be successful wherever I go, and that I should pick somewhere I care about to aim for…” There was something in Janus’ tone that made Remus put down the knife and branch that was now going to become a fish-monster rather than a bear-monster, and reached over to nudge his shoulder.

“You don’t sound on board with that.”

Janus shrugged. “They have a point, I guess. If I don’t start making the right choices now, who knows where I’ll end up in a few years? This is the sort of stuff I need to look into.”

Remus frowned. “There’s no harm in taking a year off while you sort things out. You don’t even have to go to college, you know.”

“You don’t understand, Remus. Your parents don’t give a shit what you do - mine do. Besides, I… I want to go to college.”

“Rude, but fair enough.” He stood up and stretched, spine popping, and then scuffed his feet. “And, are you sure? Because you sound like you’re just saying that because they want you to.”

“No, I do. I just… I want it to be my choice, you know?”

“Sure,” agreed Remus, who didn’t have any inclination to go to college and knew for a fact that it would disappoint his parents. So what? He would be eighteen by then. “You want to go on your terms.”

“Exactly. I want to be able to do the research without them breathing over my shoulder, or… Or telling me that this course is for wusses, or that course will end in a degree that professionals are just going to laugh at, or…” He groaned and jerked a hand through his hair, which had been cut short about a week before. It was obvious that Janus had been less than happy about the change, and kept forgetting that he no longer had hair hanging down the back of his neck. “It would be nice if they didn’t expect me to be perfect all the time, you know? I’m a teenager. I’m allowed to make mistakes from time to time.”

Remus squeezed Janus’ shoulder sympathetically. “They must be being really pushy about it, if it’s bad enough for you to complain…”

Janus made a frustrated sound, then nodded. “I’m… It’s like every time I take a breath, they wait for me to exhale gold dust. It’s suffocating, you know?”

Personally, no, Remus did not. But now that Janus vocalised it, he had a feeling that Roman must feel like this at least some of the time. “Is there anything I can do?”

The next time they met up, Janus brought the large stack of shiny prospectuses with him, and they poured over them for hours together, a notebook in front of Janus for him to take notes on anything that looked particularly promising or should be further researched. Remus made stupid comments about the students pictured in the brochures and the quotes from the faculty every time it looked as though the sheer number of things to choose from was becoming overwhelming, and poked and prodded Janus every time he started saying things that sounded as though he were quoting his parents (Janus had a specific voice he used for quotes).

Over several long afternoons, they cut the pile of universities and courses down to only three or four, and then Remus had to watch Janus going to visit the places with his parents.

Watching Janus drive away and return overflowing with enthusiasm for these places that Remus would likely never see struck him with a strange melancholy, and eventually Janus seemed to cotton on to the fact that he was retreating into himself whenever Janus tried to bring the subject up.

“You know you could come with me, right?” They were in Janus’ room, Remus lying on the floor and painting his nails to look as though they were covered in blood, Janus on the bed, flipping through a book on applying for law courses.

Remus looked up briefly, then snorted and returned to adding globs of red varnish to his cuticles. “Even if I had any desire to go to college, Jan, I couldn’t. I’m not smart enough for a scholarship, I don’t have much cash, and my parents aren’t going to pay for me.”

“You are smart, Rem.”

He snorted again, and Janus made a distressed noise. “Okay, fine, I’m smart. But I haven’t worked hard enough for that to show at all, so it amounts to the same thing.”

“I could kidnap you. Make you live under my bed for the duration of the school year - you could pretend to be a ghost and haunt my roommate or something.” Janus turned a page, but from where Remus was lying it looked as though he had only done it to have something to do with his hands.

“So what you’re saying is that you couldn’t last a year without me to help?” Remus rolled onto his back and started flapping his left hand in an attempt to dry the paint. “I’m touched. Nice to know you’re willing to be so vulnerable around me, Jan.”

Janus flipped him off without looking up, then sighed. “I just… I’ll miss you, obviously. And I don’t like the idea of you being here without me.”

“Managed just fine without you,” Remus replied defensively - although he was more flattered than offended.

Janus just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Fine, I’m a mess. But it’s two years away, Jan - don’t worry about it so much. You’ll give yourself a stroke.”

“That’s not how strokes work. And I do worry about it. I worry about you a lot, Remus…”

Remus groaned quietly and sat up. “Janus.” Janus nodded to show that he was listening. “No, Janus, look at me.” Nothing. “Janus…”

Finally, Janus lifted his grey eyes from the paper before him and met Remus’ gaze.

“Do you really think there’s anything keeping me here if you’re gone?” Remus had allowed all of the bravado to drop from his voice, and he knew that Janus could hear how vulnerable he was allowing himself to be. “I’ll find a job or something, the same place you end up. I’ll be there for you when you need me.” He allowed his face to crack into a smile again. “I know you couldn’t really last a year without me, don’t worry.”

Janus threw the brochure at him, but he was laughing. They both were.

Then Remus turned sixteen, and a number of things happened, mostly bad.

About a month after his birthday, Janus texted him at four in the morning with three words.

<Virgil’s place. Now.>

<Sent 03:57>

Remus should have been asleep. On most nights, he would have been. But the clouds that had been rolling over their town for the past few days had finally burst into the most spectacular thunderstorm he had seen in a long time, and Remus was awake. He was watching the sky, first and foremost, watching it be rent in two with searing near-purple light that left lines across the insides of his eyelids when he closed them. He was trying to figure out a way to be hit by lightning without actually dying, because that sounded honestly thrilling. And because Janus had put his foot down and said that he wasn’t allowed to just go and get struck with a billion volts of raw electricity because it would probably kill him. The last reason for him being awake was not one liked admitting, even to himself: he was staying awake in case Roman needed him. His twin was terrified of lightning storms and although Remus could never quite figure out why, he didn’t want to leave Roman alone if he woke up to the storm.

Remus was fully aware that he was disgustingly soft for his brother, despite how much of a jerk he was.

Then Janus’ text came through, and suddenly Roman didn’t matter so much. Remus was climbing out of the bathroom window within seconds, wearing only a pair of shorts and a sweater that were soaked through almost immediately.

At a sprint, it took him less than fifteen minutes to reach Virgil’s home, although he could barely see when he arrived. The woods were not meant to be navigated at top speed in a storm in the middle of the night, and it was some sort of miracle that he hadn’t tripped over a root and broken his ankle (and now was really not the time to see bone poking through his skin, as cool as that may be in different circumstances).

All the lights were on.

Muddy, soaking wet, covered in leaves and twigs and scratches from brambles and not caring in the slightest, Remus barreled toward the back door and hammered on it. Virgil’s dad could call his parents later: this was an emergency.

The door swung open with no resistance at all, and Remus swallowed hard. Dread was pooling in his stomach.

Remy was in the kitchen, along with a pink-haired guy that Remus didn’t recognise, and so much grief that Remus could feel it trying to force itself down his throat, to drag him down into its depths. If Remy was like this, the worst had to have happened, right? It was just like in his nightmares. Remus could feel his hands trembling, and it wasn’t the chill of being wet to the bone making them shake.

“Where-”

The guy Remus didn’t know had an arm around Remy, and he had never seen Virgil’s brother look smaller, curled up against him. They were practically on the same chair. Remy looked up with bloodshot eyes, then jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Upstairs.”

It was easy to find Virgil after that. Remus just had to follow the sound of crying, audible even over the way his heart was pounding in his ears. He didn’t care how mad Mr Spince would be at the trail of mud and foliage he was leaving in his wake.

When he saw that Virgil wasn’t dead, didn’t even seem injured, Remus almost put his fist through the wall out of sheer relief. Then the rest of the scene in Virgil’s room came rushing in, and he didn’t feel so happy anymore.

Janus and Patton were already there. Janus was sitting on the end of the bed, squeezing Virgil’s calf gently. Patton was with Virgil at the head of the bed, rubbing his back, looking as though he were about to burst into tears as well. Virgil himself was the source of the crying, curled up into a tight ball as sobs tore through him. His hoodie was draped over his shoulders, presumably by Patton (who had looked up when Remus had entered, paled briefly, and then turned his attention back to Virgil).

Remus had pretty much figured out what had happened even before Janus turned to him and murmured, “Car crash. The rain, wasn’t anyone’s fault…”

Mr Spince wasn’t going to tell Remus off for tracking mud up his stairs and into his son’s room. He wasn’t going to be telling anybody off for anything.

When he climbed onto the bed and slotted himself between Virgil and the wall, on the other side of Patton, who flinched briefly, nobody complained that he was damp and filthy and getting mud and blood onto Virgil’s duvet. It wasn’t all that comfortable, but it wasn’t really a night for being comfortable.

They stayed with Virgil all night. At some point, he and Patton fell asleep, and Janus joined them soon after. Remus didn’t sleep, one arm holding Virgil as close as he could, the other squeezing Janus’ fingers gently.

The funeral was small, with only a handful of guests, mostly middle-aged men and women in business-wear who Remus assumed had worked with Virgil’s dad. They stared openly when they saw Remus, who hadn’t been able to find anything suitable to wear and ended up showing up in a pair of tight black jeans (the least ripped pair he owned) and a black t-shirt (one that actually went right the way down to his waist) under a long-sleeved mesh shirt. Neither Virgil nor Remy had batted an eyelid. Both had hugged him tightly.

He and Janus had spent a lot of time with Virgil over the coming weeks. It got to the point that although Patton wasn’t entirely happy talking to him, he no longer flinched when he came near him.

The second thing that happened when he was sixteen surprised him, and actually in a positive way: his parents had gotten Roman driving lessons for his birthday, and in a fit of generosity had actually done the same for him. Maybe things were going to be better this year.

He should have known it wouldn’t last, of course.

Remus had been on his best behaviour, hoping that maybe he could wring some form of affection from his usually distant parents, hating himself for wanting so desperately to finally gain some form of approval from them.

Roman had had no such concerns - but he didn’t need to, did he? Whenever it looked as though their parents might turn against him, he could just shuffle their disappointment sideways onto Remus; that was exactly what had happened.

When their father had marched him outside to look at the dented, reeking mess that had been his car before Roman had gotten his hands on it, and demanded to know why Remus had thought taking it out was a good idea, Remus hadn’t answered immediately. Instead he had looked up at Roman’s bedroom window (“It’s no good being angry with your brother, he did the right in telling us,”) and found that his twin was staring down at him, his eyes wide. He looked scared.

Remus still should have defended himself. Instead, he just shrugged, swallowed down the fury that was building in his chest, and went back to his room. No more driving lessons for him.

By that night, his anger at Roman had cooled and hardened into fury at their parents, for pitting them against one another like this. He took the easiest, pettiest revenge he could think of, slipping out of his bedroom window with a letter opener and dragging it along the side of their mother’s car.

He had been caught, of course. His parents weren’t about to let him get away with trashing both cars in the space of two days. When Dae found him out there, crouched by the passenger side door and already having left several long, deep scratches in the baby-blue paintwork, he had genuinely thought that she might hit him. She didn’t. Hitting one of her sons would be a bigger mark of shame for her than merely resenting the child’s very existence, and they both knew it.

Remus almost wished she would hit him. At least then he could have some sort of victory, bitter though it would be.

About three months after his birthday, Janus actually called him.

They never called one another, partially because Remus hated the way he could hear his voice echoing down the phone line with a passion that made him want to claw his own ears from his skull, and partially because it was harder to have frequent secret phone calls. (Remus maintained that their friendship being discovered would be very, very bad for Janus’ reputation. Janus hated it, but agreed that his parents would not be at all impressed). It was thanks to this fact that Remus knew something had to be wrong even before he had swiped his finger over to answer.

“Hey, Jan. What’s up?”

Remus was met with silence, and then a noise very close to a stifled sob, and felt his hackles rise.

“Janus. Do I need to kill somebody?” Another sob. It sounded as though Janus was trying to calm down for long enough to say something, but was entirely unable. “I will, you know. If somebody hurt you, I’ll hurt them so much worse.” Okay, so maybe he wouldn’t kill them - Remus wasn’t keen on the idea of being a murderer - but he was more than happy to beat somebody into a pulp so fine that their teeth were the largest recognisable pieces if they hurt his best friend.

“N-No, don’t, don’t do that,” Janus finally managed, his voice cracking again on the last word. Remus slowly moved his sketchpad off of his lap and hid it under his bed. “It’s - It’s stupid, I…”

“Can you get to the log behind your house? I’ll meet you there if you can.” There was silence - well, not silence exactly, but nothing more than a few hiccups and sobs. “If you can’t, that’s okay. Tell me where you are, and I’ll be right there.”

Janus didn’t speak for such a long time that Remus was on the verge of calling Virgil to see if he knew anything (Virgil had an uncanny knack for knowing everything about everyone, or at least guessing very accurately) and then running a solo town-wide search starting from Janus’ house. “I… Yeah, I’ll… Meet you there, if th- that’s okay…”

That was all Remus needed to climb out of his window and dive barefoot into the forest behind the house. (He was still grounded, and his parents seemed to think that preventing him from keeping his shoes in his room would stop him from going out. Ridiculous. He could survive with torn-up feet for a few weeks). (And Janus had lent him a pair of old trainers as soon as he had found out; Remus kept them in a plastic bag under a rock just beyond the treeline). Janus’ house was about half an hour away from his if he were walking fast: Remus sprinted, only slightly less urgently than he had two months ago to get to Virgil’s house, and made it in twenty. Janus was already there, sitting against the fallen tree with his knees hugged tightly to his chest. He had stopped crying but looked as though he might start at any moment, and leaned against Remus the second he threw himself down beside him. Remus didn’t protest. If Janus needed to hug him when he was sweaty and could barely breathe, he could cope with that.

When Remus found that he was breathing more or less evenly again, he wrapped both arms around Janus’ torso and pulled him closer, resting his chin on the top of his head. Janus pressed his face into Remus’ chest. He didn’t really fit in Remus’ lap, being almost a head taller than him, but neither of them really cared. “Hey… You’re… I’m here, Jan, you can cry if you want… I don’t mind… Whatever you need…”

Gently, he lifted one hand to tug Janus’ chocolate coloured beanie from his head so he could start carding his fingers through his hair; Janus’ shoulders started shaking a second later. Remus made a soft crooning noise in the back of his throat, then started murmuring reassuring nonsense, very glad that nobody else was ever going to hear how soft he was letting himself be.

When Janus finally straightened up and took his hat back to wipe his eyes on, Remus squeezed his side gently. “Hey. Do you want to talk about it?”

Janus sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Remus didn’t see why he didn’t just use the shirt Remus was wearing, which now had a very large gross patch on it. “‘S stupid,” he muttered.

Remus held up a stern finger. “No. If I’m not allowed to call my problems stupid, Janus Sinclaire, you definitely aren’t. Got it?” Janus nodded. “You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not. That’s okay.”

“No, I…” Janus sniffed again, and rested his head against Remus’ shoulder.

Remus reached up to rub his fingers gently against Janus’ skull again.

“You remember Phillip Junior?” Remus did. There was no Phillip Senior to explain the name Janus had chosen for the old, stuffed boa constrictor toy, but Janus had admitted that he had only been four when he had named it. Phillip Junior lived on the bookshelf in Janus’ room - it was practically the only thing other than a picture on his bedside table that made the room look as though it really did belong to Janus.

Remus nodded, and Janus took in a long, shuddering breath.

“You’ll… You’ll laugh.”

“No, I won’t.”

Janus looked at him as though he wasn’t entirely sure that he believed him, then sighed. “He wasn’t on my sh-shelf when I got home, an’... I looked for him, I checked he hadn’t - y’know, fallen down the back or anything, an’ he still wasn’t…”

He sniffed again, and Remus ripped a strip from the bottom of his shirt (it had been falling apart anyway, ever since he had gotten caught on a splintered fence, and he had been planning on turning it into a crop top for ages anyway) and handed it over. Janus stared at it as though he had just handed him a live lizard rather than a sandwich (and Remus had actually experienced the expression for that reason, so he knew what he was talking about).

“What’s this for?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Blow your nose on it. Duh.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Janus snorted faintly, did as he was told, and then cleared his throat. It didn’t help much, given that he still sounded pretty choked up when he spoke again. “Um… I went ‘n’ asked my mother if she had seen P.J. ‘N’ she…” He sniffled again, but this time Remus didn’t take the pause as an opportunity to interrupt. “She said I’m too old for… For, y’know, stuffed animals. So she threw… She threw him out. The trash was collected earlier today - so he’s - he’s gone…”

His voice broke on the last word, and Remus sighed softly before pulling Janus closer to him. It wasn’t as though he needed his shirt to be clean for any particular reason, after all.

Remus wasn’t about to laugh at his friend for this. (Actually, he was a little offended that Janus thought he would be so insensitive, but this wasn’t really the time). He knew how stressed Janus was, how much pressure his parents kept balanced on top of him like the world’s most fucked up house of cards: it didn’t take something big for things to come crashing down. The destruction of a connection to a younger self, though - that felt fairly big.

There wasn’t much Remus could do just then, aside from offering Janus a place to let himself cry and listening to him talk.

When he got home later, though, he started looking at part-time jobs - in the city, of course, where nobody knew him - and eventually landed one lugging crates in the back of a supermarket. Three days a week, he’d get on the bus into the city rather than heading into school (he had been skipping a fair amount anyway, so it wasn’t as though anybody would miss him) and loaded boxes onto and off of the back of a delivery truck rather than struggling through algebra or calculus or history or whatever it was that everyone else was doing. He had had to lie about his age to get the job: they wouldn’t hire somebody that was meant to be in school whenever their shifts were scheduled regardless of whether he turned up or not.

Two months later, he found himself waiting outside Virgil’s house for a delivery box. He had asked Remy if he could put their place down as his delivery address, given that as far as his parents knew he had no money (he was technically still paying them back for the vase he had broken, as well as numerous other things, and didn’t get an allowance like Roman did) and any packages arriving for him would be regarded with immediate suspicion. Initially, he had only been going to order one animal (a snake, obviously) to replace Phillip Junior physically if not emotionally, but he had gotten carried away when the website had shown him a large, fluffy looking octopus as well.

For the first time in years, Remus had money, and friends that he wanted to spend it on - so he did.

Virgil had pretended not to be, but Remus could tell that he was thrilled by the large spider plushie that he handed him almost as soon as he had opened the box. He actually tried to play it cool.

“Oh, nice, Remus. That’s… Real sweet of you,” he had said, clearly trying to hide the way a grin was tugging at the corners of his mouth; Remus leaned in and hugged him anyway, and after a second Virgil returned the embrace tenfold.

To Janus he gave the snake, as planned, and also the octopus. Janus had taken one look and almost started crying, which Remus thought was a slightly over the top reaction but didn’t complain. The feeling of knowing that he had made his best friend so happy was so much more than worth it.

“Keep them under your bed,” he suggested, “that way your parents are less likely to find them.”

Janus hadn’t said anything for a few long moments - or if he had, Remus hadn’t been able to hear it because his face was pressed into the domed crown of the octopus. Then he had straightened up a little, arms still wrapped tightly around the stuffed animals, and smiled broadly at him. “Remus, you didn’t have to do this… You should be saving your money, not wasting it on me…”

“It’s not a waste - besides, I never do anything for you.” Remus punched Janus playfully on the shoulder, and Janus shook his head. Putting the toys down on his bed, he shoved Remus gently, and Remus pretended to stumble. It was only polite.

“You do, though! You’re always here when I need you, and…”

“Look, Jan, don’t make this into a big deal.” Remus was almost blushing now, shifting awkwardly. People never really complimented him like this, and it just felt… Wrong. Nice, but wrong. “You were upset, so I wanted to help fix that. I know they’re not PJ, but…”

Janus held up a hand. “They’re perfect.”

Remus beamed at him.

He hadn’t only bought the spider, the snake, and the octopus, although when he pulled the stuffed lion out of the box to inspect it, he wished he had. This, more than any of the others, had been an impulse purchase. He was being stupid, sentimental, wasting time on the pointless wish that things could be different and that they’d never had to grow up and grow apart - and knowing all of those things had not stopped him from adding the lion to his basket. It had reminded him of Roman, probably because lions were pretty much the only animal Roman would draw, the same way he would always draw an octopus and Virgil a small army of spiders. Remus didn’t know whether he was planning on giving the toy to his brother; the decision was pretty much made for him when he arrived home that evening with it stuffed into his backpack. Roman was talking on his phone and barely glanced up when Remus came in. In fact, he didn’t look at Remus at all, so it took him a few seconds to realise that Roman had ended the call and was talking at him.

“... Cast dinner tonight, probably be out late. You don’t mind if I take the emergency cash mum and dad left us, right? If they call, don’t tell them I’m out - didn’t technically ask permission - they won’t call, they only left this morning, but just in case… That’s all fine, right?”

Remus blinked at him, trying to process the words into something that made sense (Roman talked fast when he was in a rush), and Roman seemed to take that as assent because he scooped the small pile of emergency cash that had been left on the counter into his pocket.

“Have a good evening, Rem, see you later!”

Oh, wait, no. Remus had caught that. “Ro, wait, I was thinking -” Thinking what? That they could do something together? They never spent time together anymore. Roman didn’t even look at him as he brushed past him on his way out.

“Later, Remus! I’m going to be late!” He left without another word, and Remus stared at the closed door behind him.

Well. Well, that was okay. Roman didn’t really need his screw-up of a brother to mess things up for him, did he? It was probably best that he didn’t associate with Remus much. For all Remus knew, the next thing that Roman blamed him for would end up getting him arrested, and it would be better if Roman wasn’t known to be close to him at that point.

No, that wasn’t fair. Roman wasn’t going to do something stupid that would get one of them arrested. Roman would just make little mistakes and shift the blame onto him, because he wanted their parents to keep loving him. That was okay.

Roman probably wouldn’t be able to take it if the disappointment usually reserved for Remus came down on him. He wasn’t built the same way, hadn’t had time to build up a proper roof against the acidic deluge - it would destroy him, and Remus knew it. He was pretty sure that Roman knew it, too, although probably more as a subconscious thing.

So whilst he couldn’t really blame Roman for any of it - he was nine minutes older, it was his responsibility to take care of his younger brother - he didn’t exactly have to like it.

In short, he was keeping the lion for himself.

The fourth thing that happened in the space between Remus’ sixteenth birthday in March and Janus’ in November was possibly the worst of all of them - although that was just what Janus said. Privately, Remus was pretty certain that Virgil’s dad dying was worse, but he wasn’t about to go and argue who had it worse with the captain of the debate team.

It wasn’t as though Remus had even been hurt, not properly. A few busted knuckles were old hat by now, the scabs never really fading between fights. And whilst he had been getting into fewer scraps, it wasn’t as though he were actively trying to stop picking them. It was just easier, when he was still spending four days a week lugging boxes (he had picked up Saturdays now, too) and wasn’t around people that could really do with a knuckle sandwich all the time.

Unfortunately, the fact that he had been trying to show some self-restraint whenever he actually did turn up to school seemed to give the impression that he was now on the table for anybody looking to earn a little fear by poking at a known danger.

Remus hadn’t been paying attention, so it was his fault, really. It had been an unnaturally sleepless few nights - although the Xanax induced paralysis had held and it had been a long time since his nightmares had made themselves known to anybody else - and he was looking forward to getting out of school and disappearing into the woods for a few hours with Janus. They had found a small crate in the stream a few weeks ago, and upon opening it had discovered that it was full of now-soaked fireworks probably left over from some summer carnival or other. They had carefully dried them out, and now that it was autumn and the nights were rolling in earlier they were going to head out to the quarry and see how many would still work.

Remus had only half listened to his morning physics lesson, too focused on decorating the pages of his textbook with a climbing pattern of thorns to take in much about the duality of light or whatever it was they were supposed to be learning, and was looking forward to not having to worry about paying attention in his next class, which was art. His art teacher had more or less given up trying to stop him from depicting gruesome dissections now, and tended to let him get on with it.

He was just leaving the science block, already wondering where he would find some good references for intestines, when somebody charged past him, knocking him off balance. Remus growled a few choice curses under his breath at them, righting himself - and then something hit his shoulder, and he stumbled sideways. In the time it took for him to realise that he had been pushed, there was the sound of a door slamming, and then he was in darkness.

At first, he tried to be rational. Somebody had thought it was funny to push him into a cupboard - fine. That was fine. He could get out, find whichever brat had thought it was a good idea, and make them swallow their teeth. He could do that. Feeling around, he found that the cupboard he was in was full of shelves - and rather smaller than he had been expecting. That was okay, that was okay, there were shelves on his left and in front of him and behind him, so the door must be… There, to his right, in a gap between the shelves. He pushed it, more than ready to be out of the small, dark cupboard. 

It.

Didn’t.

Open.

No matter how hard he pushed it, no matter how hard he rattled the handle, the door stayed closed.

Okay, okay, that was fine, that was - he could just take a run-up and bust it down. It was fine. He’d be out in just a minute. Remus could hear his heart beating in his ears, his breathing much, much too loud in the quiet space - he needed to calm that down. What if he ran out of air in here? No, no, that wasn’t going to happen. He was fine.

He took a step backward, and his back collided with the shelf behind him. Stretching his hands forward, he could press them against the door - and was the door closer to the back wall than it had been before? Remus blinked hard, the black of his eyelids indistinguishable from the black of the storeroom, and slammed his fist against the door.

He missed. Something shattered, painfully loud, something damp splashed against his shirt, and then there was an awful, itching, burning feeling across his chest.

With a strangled cry, Remus lurched backward, and there was the sound of more things shattering as he crashed into the shelving.

The door was locked.

The door was locked, and the walls were closing in on him, and nobody was going to find him this time.

It was a Friday - if nobody found him, he could stay in here all weekend, the walls pressing against his chest - only he wouldn’t, would he? He’d use up all the air in the room long, long before anybody let him out.

He was going to die in here.

Between the crushing walls and the suffocating blackness and the way his ragged breathing was refusing to slow or even out, he was going to die.

Remus wished he could have blacked out.

He almost did, in a way: when he forced himself to think back to it, he knew that the rational part of his brain had checked out shortly after he had tried to punch the door and ended up slicing his hand open.

He was only half aware of the hours he spent huddled against the shelves, although they seemed like years upon endless years as he gasped for breath around horrid, wrenching sobs. His knees had given out, although he didn’t remember when, and everything hurt, there was no space, he couldn’t think or see or hear or speak or-

And then there was light, and somebody was gripping his shoulders, and it was too bright too much too loud and they just needed to get off, he didn’t know who this was but they were only going to hurt him more and he just needed them to-

That was when he remembered how to push, how to dive forward. That was when he remembered how to make a fist. That was when he remembered how to swing his arm back and snap it forward, again and again, and that was all he remembered until there were burning, painful, agonising hands around his arms again, and he was being dragged away from the person he had been on top of.

Logan’s glasses were broken, and their nose looked as though it probably was as well. There was blood all over their face, and they looked more than a little groggy as Patton helped them into a sitting position.

Remus just accepted the two weeks suspension he was handed. He couldn’t speak - how was he even supposed to begin to defend himself? He was still trembling, still breathing hard, unable to meet the headteacher’s eyes when she demanded he explain his behaviour. (He didn’t know why she bothered. She never listened to his side of a story). When she finally gave up and asked, frustrated and clearly rhetorically, if Remus just enjoyed destroying school property and hurting other students, he nodded. It was easy.

He needed easy just then.

Whether it was because his father thought he was too shaky to try running away (he was) or because he was just too disgusted to do so, he didn’t take Remus’ arm to drag him out, and Remus was grateful for that. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle any more physical contact just then.

And then he was in his room, where he was able to draw the curtains so that the October sunlight couldn’t hurt his eyes anymore, where he was able to huddle into a small ball on his bed and wrap his duvet around himself and just stare, blank and unseeing, at the octopus relief he had carved into his wardrobe door.

“Remus?”

Remus flinched and jerked backwards. Janus was right in front of him - he hadn’t seen him come in, hadn’t heard him approach, but now he was right there. How much time had passed?

Janus gave him a small, relieved smile. “There you are…” From the expression on his face, Remus guessed that he had been saying his name for several minutes.

He tried to ask him when he had arrived, but all that came out was a sound like a garden gate being ripped from its hinges.

“Hey, it’s okay… Can I touch you? Just nod or shake,” Janus added, clearly reading the frustration on Remus’ face.

Remus considered the question, trying to order his scattered thoughts, and then shook his head slowly. Janus didn’t seem annoyed.

“Can I sit?” Remus nodded, and Janus climbed onto the bed and sat about a metre away from him. “I came as soon as I heard, I… Holy shit, is that blood yours? Remus, can I see your hands?”

Remus hesitated, then held out his arms. Janus looked faintly nauseated, and Remus looked down to see that the back of his left hand and arm were red and glittering. Frowning, he looked closer to see several large cuts along the back of his hand and up his wrist (they had stopped bleeding by now), and a lot of glass splinters embedded in his skin.

He swallowed hard, a distressed sound slipping from him, and Janus immediately reached out to touch him before pulling back. “It’s okay. It’s okay, arms. Do you still have that kit at the back of your wardrobe?” Remus nodded, and he stood up. “Alright. Can I clean you up a little bit?” Nod. “Can we go through to the bathroom, or would you rather stay here?” Remus’ whine of frustration made Janus look up from the open wardrobe. “Oh, right. Sorry. Would you be more comfortable staying here?” A firm nod. “Okay.”

Janus pulled the small metal box out of the hoodie Remus had last wrapped it in and returned to sit next to him, then opened it. He put the lid down beside him, then put the broken razor on top of the lid without a second glance.

“May I have your hand, Rem?” Remus offered it up, and Janus squeezed his fingers ever so lightly before resting it on his knee.

The improvised ‘first-aid’ kit contained a pair of tweezers, a needle and thread that Remus had never had to use but had wanted on hand just in case, a large amount of plasters, several strips of fabric that Remus had torn off of various shirts and used when plasters weren’t really enough, a tube of antiseptic cream that Janus had nicked from his parents’ medicine box for him, and, of course, the razor blades that usually necessitated the use of the rest of the box. It had been Janus’ idea to assemble the kit. It had been a good idea.

Holding the tweezers carefully in one hand and gently gripping the underside of Remus’ forearm in the other, Janus leaned in and started picking the fragments of glass from his skin. They made a quiet ‘plink’-ing noise as he dropped them onto the lid of the box.

As he worked, Janus spoke quietly, and Remus found himself relaxing. “I heard halfway through my last period. Said I felt sick. They sent me to the nurse, so I came here instead… I’m sorry it took so long, Rem.” Remus twitched his fingers against Janus�� knee, and Janus glanced up to smile at him again. “Logan’s going to be fine. Chipped tooth, smashed glasses, broken nose, a few bruises, damaged pride. Nothing serious.”

He let go of Remus’ arm for a moment to pull a water bottle from his satchel and dampen one of the strips of fabric, then offered the bottle to Remus. Accepting it, Remus took a few small mouthfuls, the cool liquid soothing against his raw throat and a distraction from the drag of wet cloth against his skin as Janus started wiping the blood away.

“I was worried when I didn’t see you at lunch. I’m glad you’re… Well, not ‘okay’ - this is going to sting a bit, are you okay for me to use the antiseptic now?” Gritting his teeth, Remus nodded. He still flinched as Janus spread the white cream across his arm, but didn’t pull away. “You’re doing great, Rem. Nearly done. I’m glad you’re safe now. That’s what I mean. Okay, plasters going on now.”

Remus hummed quietly. Now that Janus had managed to catch his attention, he was suddenly aware that his chest still felt as though it were burning, and that his back wasn’t exactly comfortable either.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” It seemed that Janus was thinking along similar lines. Remus hesitated, then tried to remember how to speak.

“Ch… Chest. ...Mm, back.” The words hadn’t wanted to come out, and it looked as though Janus could tell that.

“You don’t have to talk, Rem. It’s okay. Can I take your shirt off to get a better look?”

Shuffling closer, Remus nodded. Janus would be gentle, he knew. Janus knew how to touch him when he was too overwhelmed to cope with anything around him. He still flinched when his friend’s fingertips brushed the skin of his stomach, and Janus froze. He didn’t move until Remus had nodded at him, and when he did he was careful not to touch Remus any more than he had to.

Remus was so, so grateful for that.

Janus let out a low whistle when he looked at his chest. “Shit, Rem. That looks bad. Can I persuade you to let me take you to the hospital to get you checked out?” He shook his head so hard he could feel his brain rattling against his ears, and Janus bit down on his lower lip. “Okay. Okay, that’s okay. Can I have the water? I want to clean this, but I don’t… I don’t know what else to do. A hospital would be best…” Remus shook his head again.

Sighing, Janus tipped water onto the fresh rag and then leaned forward, hesitating just before the cloth touched Remus’ chest until he nodded. “I think it’s gonna scar. What were you doing in the chemical store, Rem? … Sorry, you don’t have to answer yet. At all, if you don’t want to.”

Remus swallowed hard, trying to force the words around the knot in his chest and the lump in his throat. “Pushed. Mmm… After Physics.” That was good. The words were coming easier than they had before, although not in any great quantity.

Janus swore, finally pulling his hand away from Remus’ chest and getting up. A disgustingly pitiful whine left Remus’ chest, but Janus merely carried the first-aid kit around so that he could start putting plasters on Remus’ back. He was quiet for several long seconds, and Remus pulled his arms into his chest and hunched over. Then Janus swore again.

“Fuck, Rem. You’re telling me you were in that closet for four hours?” Remus shrugged. “Fuck. Text me next time, okay? I’ll come get you out.” Remus nodded, but he doubted it was a promise he could keep. At no point in that closet had he been thinking rationally enough to reach for his phone. “No wonder you went for Logan… Did they put you in there?”

Remus shrugged. Then he shook his head. It didn’t make any sense for Logan to have locked him in. They had never shown him any sort of aggression before. It didn’t feel like the kind of thing they would do, honestly. “Think… Think they were tryin’ to help…” He mumbled thickly.

Janus made a sympathetic humming sound, and the knot in Remus’ chest pulled tight and snapped. The sob that left him was almost silent - Remus had long since learned to cry silently - but Janus must have felt the way it rushed through his body like a tidal wave.

“Remus?” He shifted, and then Janus was in front of him again and Remus allowed himself to slump forward, wrapping his arms tightly around him and ignoring the ache of the cuts in his hand. “Oh, hey… I’ve got you. You’re safe now, just… Just let it all out…”

That was the second time Remus cried in front of Janus, and Janus held him until the last sobs had drained from him. Then, spent, Remus curled up against his friend and fell asleep.

He actually tried to apologise to Logan a few days later, approaching Virgil after school to ask if he knew where they lived. Virgil had cocked an eyebrow at him, a wary expression on his face.

“Why? You planning on beating up my boyfriend again?” Remus supposed he couldn’t blame Virgil for being wary of him, not when he snapped like that sometimes and- Wait.

“You and Patton broke up?” He blurted the question without thinking, then swallowed. “Uh. I’m sorry.”

Virgil smiled faintly. “Nah. I’m dating Patton and Logan. Patton’s dating me and Logan. Bet you can’t guess who Logan’s dating.”

“You can do that?”

Virgil actually laughed at the slightly stunned expression on his face. “Yeah. They’re both coming over later, actually. Why did you want to talk to them?”

“I wanted to…” Remus trailed off, shifting awkwardly.

“Didn’t catch that, dude.”

“I wanted to apologise. For… For last Friday. It was… An accident.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, and Remus shifted again. “You accidentally slammed your fist into somebody’s face a bunch of times.”

“Yeah.”

Virgil stared at him for a little longer, then shrugged and held the door open for him. “Alright.” Remus followed him inside and sat nervously on the couch. Virgil sat on the coffee table.

The actual apology didn’t go quite as planned.

Patton arrived first, let out a small squeak when he saw Remus, and took several sharp steps backward. Remus sighed. It looked as though he had lost a lot of progress there.

It took several long moments of Virgil whispering in Patton’s ear for the chubby boy to come and sit in the armchair, as far away as he could get from Remus.

Then Logan had arrived, both eyes blackened behind their glasses - and he had smiled at Remus, albeit slightly nervously.

Remus stood. “Logan, I- I’m sorry. About Friday. I - I guess-” Logan had held up a hand, and Remus had stopped abruptly.

Then Logan spoke, and he was left gaping at them. “No. I should be the one apologising, Remus.”

“Like hell,” Patton spat.

At the same time, Remus said, “What the fuck? I broke your nose.”

Logan crossed the room slowly so that he could sit down on the table beside Virgil, leaning forward to look Remus in the eye. “It was clear that you were having some form of panic attack, and I reacted incredibly poorly. I should not have just grabbed you, and I do not blame you for lashing out.”

Everyone had gone silent. Patton looked as though he had just been kicked in the stomach, and was very obviously mouthing the words, ‘panic attack?’ at Virgil, who just shrugged. Remus licked his lower lip nervously.

“Uh… I mean, it could have gone better, but I still… I turned your face into roadkill, Logan. And you’re apologising to me? Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

“I assure you, Remus, I am not an idiot.” Logan frowned briefly, considering the plaster on the back of Remus’ hand (he was pressing his palms against his knees to stop them from shaking), and then smiled at him again. “I propose a compromise. I will accept your apology if you will accept mine. Does that sound acceptable?”

Remus made a slightly choked noise, then nodded. “Okay. Sorry I fucked up your face.”

“It will heal; you are forgiven. I apologise for no doubt adding to what must have been a particularly unpleasant experience.” Virgil wrapped an arm around Logan’s waist, and they turned their smile toward him before glancing back at Remus.

Remus swallowed. “Um. Yeah. I guess I… Forgive you for that. I… Thank you.”

As horrible as the experience itself had been, Remus had come out of it with something approaching a new friend - so how could Janus be right when he argued that it was the worst thing that happened in the eight months between their birthdays?

A few nights after Janus turned seventeen, they met at the quarry and made a bonfire. It was a little cold for them to be properly comfortable, given the fact that the winter seemed to have arrived early that year and it was now the end of November, but between the fire, the beer Remus had snagged from Remy, and the whiskey Janus had smuggled from his house, they barely noticed it.

Virgil joined them for a while, long enough to roast a few marshmallows and then get twitchy about the fact that there was probably a monster sleeping somewhere in the quarry (“It was a bear, Remus, for the last time!”). Eventually, he had made the decision to leave while he was still conscious: Virgil seemed to be constantly running on caffeine, a trait he had probably picked up from his brother, but when he had a few drinks he got very mellow very quickly.

That left Remus and Janus passing a silvery flask between them, side by side and as close to the campfire as they could get without burning their feet on it. Remus had already set his hair on fire leaning in in an attempt to rescue a fallen marshmallow, and Janus was keen to avoid further injury. He was more than a little drunk: since he had stopped using alcohol to knock himself out, Remus didn’t drink very much anymore and had lost a lot of his tolerance. Janus looked more steady, but he was still leaning against Remus - although that may have been to stop Remus from pitching forward and burning to death.

“How’s it feel t’be seventeen, Jan?” Remus asked quietly, absently picking at some marshmallow that had gotten caught in his teeth.

“Hmm…” Janus handed him the flask, and Remus took a large mouthful from it before trying to hand it back. Janus shook his head. “About the same as being sixteen, dummy.”

“Disappointing. Was hoping you’d get the instruction manual.” Leaning down (and feeling Janus grab the back of his shirt so he didn’t fall), Remus picked a large stone up from the ground and tapped it a few times against the flask, then tossed it in the fire. Sparks flew at them, a few landing on Janus’ hat. He brushed them away.

“What instruction manual?” Remus could feel Janus’ eyes on him as he found a smaller stone, this one with a pointed end, and tapped it against the flask again.

“Do you mind?”

“No, go ahead.”

“The Human ‘Struction Manual.” Remus found another stone, and started using the pointy one as a chisel to carve a line into the flask.

“Oh, that one. Were you looking for tips?”

“You know it.” Janus chuckled, leaning over his shoulder to watch the curved shape that was beginning to appear under his hands.

They were quiet for a while. The silence went on long enough that Janus had leaned forward to throw more wood on the fire twice and Remus had finished his octopus before Janus spoke again.

“Remus?”

“Mm?” Remus swallowed another mouthful of whisky and handed the flask back to Janus, who accepted it this time.

“Have you ever…”

Janus hesitated, and Remus grinned faintly, nudging his side with his elbow. “Y’know th’answer’s prob’bly yes, right? Spit it out.”

Janus elbowed him back. “Okay. Have you… Ever had a crush on somebody you know you shouldn’t?”

Remus blinked slowly at him, his heart sinking. With every bone in his body desperately hoping that Janus wasn’t about to say he liked him, Remus licked his lower lip and then looked back at the flames in front of him.

“I… Told Roman I liked Remy once. He asked me if I liked anyone, so I… Said Remy.” Remus chuckled nervously. “Jerk went ‘n kissed him ‘few weeks later. Rude.”

Janus seemed to have gotten the answer he wanted, because he leaned his weight against Remus again. “So you like Remy? Virgil’s brother?”

He could have just nodded. He could have nodded, and kept the weird part of himself that he was sure was broken out of the light. But this was Janus, and Janus was his best friend, and Remus trusted him with everything.

Besides, lying to Janus really wasn’t easy.

“No…” Remus muttered. He reached for the flask, and Janus gave it to him without complaint. “Don’t like anyone. Never really have. Not r’lly sure if I will ever.”

“Okay,” Janus said, as though that was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, Janus didn’t seem to care, and Remus felt briefly stupid for having worried about it. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and passed the flask back.

Silence.

Oh. He should probably ask Janus what that had been about? “Why?”

“Uh…” Janus sighed quietly and took a small sip of whiskey, then seemed to notice the weight of the flask in his hand and raised an eyebrow. “How much of this have you had? It’s gotta be almost empty.”

“Not that much,” Remus replied petulantly. He tugged at Janus’ sleeve. “Why’d y’ask about crushes?”

This time, Janus was quiet for so long that Remus thought he wasn’t going to reply. Finally, he rubbed his fingertips together and held them up to the fire. “Roman.”

“How drunk are you? I’m Remus.” Remus poked Janus’ cheek, and Janus exhaled through his nose before batting his hand away.

“No, Remus, I meant… I like Roman.” Janus shifted a little, and Remus realised that he was trying to look him in the eye. He tried to return the gaze, but couldn’t figure out whether the Janus on the left was more real than the Janus on the right or not. Huh. Maybe he was more drunk than he thought.

“Roman?” He asked stupidly.

“I… Are you mad? It’s just a crush, if you… You know, if you think your best friend and your brother would be weird, I can never mention it again - I mean, I doubt anything’ll happen, it’s just a crush…”

It occurred to Remus then that Janus was probably waiting for him to say something, and he tried to work out what was expected from him. Would it be weird if Janus dated Roman? Well, only because Roman was a self-centred jerk. It would be a lot weirder if Janus had decided he liked him - that would make their being friends really difficult. Or would it? It would probably be just like being friends, but they’d have to do… Other stuff. Nope. Remus would rather not do other stuff with his best friend.

But Roman… Roman could be an absolute arsehole. He had already ditched Virgil when he had needed him most, and Remus had no doubts that he would ignore Janus unless Janus was actually useful to him.

“Rem?”

“Hm?”

“Do you hate me?”

“Why’d I hate you?”

The Janus-es in front of him frowned. “Because… I just told you I have a thing for your twin?”

“Oh. Huh.” That didn’t really explain why Janus thought he’d hate him. Remus shook his head and went to lean against Janus’ side again. “Nah… You c’n like Ro-ro if you want… He’s a dick, though… Lotsa pressure, fr’m th’ parents...”

“I know you don’t get on with him. If you’d rather I didn’t… Talk about this, or whatever…”

“Don’t mind. Jus’... Jus’ don’t want ‘m hurting you… You d’serve better than Ro-ro… You gonna give the flask back?”

Remus made a grabby motion for the flask with one hand, and Janus shook his head and held it out of his reach.

“Gimme.”

“Rem, you’re really quite drunk.”

“Am not.”

“Your eyes haven’t focused on me once in the last half hour. I don’t think you should have any more…”

Remus pouted. “C’mon, Jan… Let’s ‘t least finish the flask?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Janus tucked it into his satchel, then started collecting the few empty beer bottles and marshmallow packets piled by their feet. “I’ve gotta make sure you don’t die on the way home, and I’d rather it if I didn’t have to carry you.”

“Spoilsport…” Remus complained, but gave up after that. He was fairly certain that the middle Janus - there were three of them now - was the real one, but not certain enough to push his luck. “We goin’ back to yours?”

“I don’t think you currently have the capacity to walk back to your place alone, let alone get in through the window,” Janus replied dryly, leaning down and wrapping an arm around Remus’ waist to pull him to his feet.

Remus woke up the next morning knowing two things. One, that he had never had a worse hangover, and two that his best friend had the misfortune to have a crush on his asshole of a twin.

The latter he could manage - he just had to make sure to warn Janus that Roman would probably just hurt him. The former he could manage as well, given that Janus had handed him some aspirin as soon as he had woken up and kept trying to give him glasses of water, but was a far bigger problem.

“These are really good, Remus.” It was February, and they were in Remus’ room for once. Spending time in Remus’ room had become more difficult now that he no longer had a door that locked or even had a handle, but everybody was out today. Their parents thought that Remus was running errands for a neighbour of Virgil’s - Remy had done an incredibly convincing old-lady impression and had managed to create three afternoons a week where Remus was ‘volunteering’ as payment for breaking some windows - and hadn’t made sure that there was anybody in the house to make sure he didn’t do something stupid.

(Remus wasn’t allowed to be home alone anymore, not since he had succumbed to the overwhelming need to see what would happen when he put various different fruits in the microwave and ended up breaking the thing beyond repair).

Remus was on his stomach, sketchbook open in front of him, working the tail of a cat that was in the process of curling up inside a half-finished open skull, where the brain should be. On the opposite page were several sketches of a possum Remus had found in the woods the other day. Janus was sitting next to him, a psychology textbook open in his lap but clearly no longer of interest to him.

“You really think so?” He tried to keep his voice light, but they could both hear the uncertainty in it. This was the first time Remus had actually allowed Janus to see inside one of his sketchbooks.

“Uh, hell, yes.” Finger hovering just millimeters above the page, Janus traced the curving spine of one of the possum studies, one where the small animal was twisted around and hissing at something behind it. “They’re awesome. I didn’t know you could do this…”

Remus smiled and moved down to add shading to the hollow eye sockets. “You do now.”

“I do.”

Janus squeezed his shoulder gently, and Remus tilted his head to rest it lightly against his hand before straightening his neck and continuing. “I’ve been thinking… When you apply for college, in October… I’ve been thinking about apprenticeships. I’ve borrowed Roman’s laptop and had a look around, and… Well, most places require good grades, but if you look for more arty things…” He knew that Janus hadn’t gone back to his textbook and was staring at him, but he didn’t want to look up just yet. “Well, a lot of tattoo parlours just ask for art portfolios, pretty much. A few basic reading and maths skills, but nothing difficult. Hairdressers ask for similar things, but I refuse to cut hair for a living. Fuck no. God.”

He was trying to deflect from the heart of what he was saying, and they both knew it. Janus didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he plucked the pencil from Remus’ hands and grabbed his shoulders, shaking them gently.

“That sounds brilliant, Rem! Do you know what you’re going to need for your portfolio? Is there anything I can do to help? I will, obviously - and you can get your boss to give you a reference if you need it -” A faint chuckle left Remus, and he sat up. Janus’ enthusiasm was akin to a ball of sunlight, perking him up. It was amazing how much difference it made, having somebody that had faith in him like this.

Things just felt easier, with Janus as his best friend.

When Roman let their dog dash out into the woods and pinned it on Remus, Janus helped him scour the woods whenever he could get free of revising. Although Remus didn’t say a word to Roman, the sudden lack of time in which he could be planning and putting together a sketch portfolio grated on his temper.

He wasn’t about to go and tell his parents that it had been Roman who had let Filo out - but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to sink his fist into Roman’s stomach, his jaw, his teeth, every time he saw him.

Remus had liked Filo. He had really liked her. And now she was probably dead, and it wasn’t Roman’s fault that she had run out (although he could have been more careful) but it hurt that he was taking the blame for it. It hurt that he would get home after ‘school’ - which was sometimes school and sometimes work but never anything more, because if he was late then he ended up getting yelled at again, and it was just easier for that not to happen… - and have to check in with one of his parents, whether by text or in person. It hurt that he was then sent out into the woods behind the house to search until he found the dog, or until it got dark, and not to come back until one of those things happened. It hurt that he had to answer a phone call every hour to make sure that he really was searching (of course he was, and was Roman helping? No, of course he wasn’t) and not just goofing off. It hurt, especially when the long hours of the summer rolled around, that if he arrived home before it got dark then he was sent straight out again, and not allowed dinner until it was properly dark.

When school ended and the holidays began, he spent the mornings working through a never-ending list of chores, and the afternoons still searching for Filo. For the days where he worked at the supermarket, he had persuaded Remy (read, bought Remy coffee every morning for a fortnight) to call his parents pretending to be some irate neighbour demanding Remus help out in his garden as payment for setting his sweet-peas on fire.

It was August when he finally found what remained of the dog.

She was halfway between the quarry and the train tracks, and it was almost impressive that she had made it that far before succumbing to whatever had finally killed her. Remus couldn’t be sure: all that was really left of her was a skeleton, a few scraps of fur and rotted flesh clinging to it in places, and her collar. He hadn’t cried, but it had been a very near thing. Remus had sat with her for almost an hour before finally getting up and heading home to fetch a spade.

He left her collar on the kitchen table when he got back.

It was gone the following morning, as though she had never existed at all - except in Remus’ mind, where her corpse haunted his dreams relentlessly.

Things were quiet after that.

Roman applied to study classics at a number of prestigious colleges. Their parents showered him in praise.

Remus applied to several apprenticeships, all in the same cities as the colleges Janus had applied to (hopefully, when Janus’ first choice accepted him, Remus would discover that he had been accepted to one of the apprenticeships in the same place). He didn’t tell his parents - he didn’t tell anybody other than Janus, although he had a feeling that Virgil knew, and by extension his small collection of dates.

(Virgil knew everything, and it was terrifying. Two days after the bonfire they had had for Janus’ seventeenth birthday, he had turned to Remus and told him to look up asexuality and aromantic to see if either of those helped him. Remus had immediately accused Janus of telling him (although he hadn’t asked him not to, he had hoped that Janus could keep a secret) but both Janus and Virgil denied that that had happened. When Remus had asked how he had known, Virgil had grinned widely and said that his spiders had told him. Creepy. Remus loved it).

The downside of this, of course, was the way that disappointment practically dripped from the walls and ceiling of their home. It wasn’t even as though anybody had been expecting Remus to apply to college, so why his parents were acting as though it was a shock similar to biting into the last candy in a box and discovering that it was coconut (and Remus was always the coconut candy) he had no idea.

He didn’t care. In a year’s time, he would be out of here and away from the twisted, toxic mess that their family had become.

Things didn’t go to plan.

Things never went to plan.

Christmas came and went. Their parents gave Roman a leatherbound collection of his favourite plays, and Remus nothing. Remus, who had started saving money to put toward an apartment, got him a small glass paperweight that looked like a snake, and spent hours on a picture of him, Remus, and Virgil of them that he copied from a picture Patton had taken of them a few months ago. They had been in the woods, leaning over a stream and searching for frogs to poke at. Janus had bought him an encyclopedia of famously gruesome deaths throughout history, and Remus loved it.

Roman got accepted to his favourite of all of the universities he had applied for.

Janus got accepted to his first choice.

Remus, to his great surprise, got an offer from not one but three tattoo parlours, one of which was in the same city as Janus’ course. He accepted that one, ready to start the following September.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, Remus found Janus staring at a box of chocolates in his room when he climbed in through the window. “Are those for us? Bit of a departure from tradition, isn’t it? I thought this week’s movie was accompanied by sushi.” It was Janus’ favourite, and Remus adored the fact that they were eating raw fish. It was so cool.

Then Janus blushed, and Remus wanted to bury his face in his hands.

“Janus, please tell me they’re not-”

“They’re for Roman,” Janus blurted, and Remus groaned theatrically and threw himself down onto the fluffy rug on the floor as though he had just been shot. Janus chuckled.

“I wouldn’t, Jan, I really… Wouldn’t.” Remus rolled over, still clutching the spot on his stomach where he had been ‘shot’ to look at his friend. Janus had stood up so that he was standing over him, appearing to be upside down.

“You’ve said that before, Rem. And you won’t give me a good reason not to - you’ve told me on multiple occasions that you don’t care that -”

“Correct, I don’t mind care that you want to fuck my brother.” Janus rolled his eyes, and Remus knew he had been planning on saying it a little more delicately. “But I give you the same good reason every time, Jan - he’ll hurt you, and I don’t want to have to kill my own brother. My parents will kick me out for good.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Janus’ voice was suddenly stern, and Remus sighed, sitting up.

“They won’t really. That would bring too much attention, you know that…” Accepting the hand Janus was offering him, Remus got to his feet and followed his friend over to his bed. Sitting down, he waited for Janus to join him before leaning forward to pick up the laptop. Their usual boxes of sushi were on the bedside table. “If you really want to do it, I’m not gonna stop you, I just… I want you to know I’ll pick your side, when it goes wrong and he hurts you. I’ll pick you every time. You’re my best friend.”

Janus had beamed at him. “You’re my best friend too, arms. Now pipe down and pick a movie - I think the eighth one in that zombie series is on Netflix? The one with the gratuitous guts?”

“You know I’m always up for gratuitous guts, softie.” Janus had elbowed him, and Remus elbowed him right back.

In the end, it probably wouldn’t have mattered whether Remus had warned his friend again or not. Janus had been too nervous to give Roman the chocolates and they had ended up eating the box together the day after Valentine’s Day.

And then Remus was eighteen, which meant that in two or three months he would be free of school, and a few months after that he would be starting a new life where people didn’t know him as Roman Wang’s screw-up of a brother.

He was so, so close to getting out, to being free of this hell-forsaken town -

But Roman had to fuck up again, just one last time.

Remus hadn’t even had time to prepare. Usually, he would see the aftermath of hurricane Roman and at least be prepared for his parents’ wrath; this time, he got home after a double shift at work to find Hyun-ki sat at the kitchen table and his mother leaning against the sink, arms folded, both clearly waiting for him.

His voice died in his throat.

He wished it wouldn’t - but it had gotten to the point that whenever he saw the hateful disappointed creases between his father’s eyes, whenever his mother folded her arms and pursed her lips in just that way, his voice fled and it was all he could do to keep his body from following.

“What is this?” Dae’s voice was ice cold as she pointed at a small, clear bag on the table.

As though he were in a dream - no, not a dream, Remus knew what dreams and nightmares were like. As though he were a ghost, Remus approached the table and stared down at it.

The dark green flakes in the bag were easily recognisable as pot. It was as though Remus had gone back in time to the few weeks when he had tried using the stuff to help him sleep - but he had gotten rid of it as soon as he had decided to try to find something better. Which meant that this had to be…

“Roman’s.” He hadn’t realised that he had said it: the words had left his mouth without permission, and oh, wasn’t now just the worst time for his voice to show up?

If it had been just his mother, he might have gotten away with it. She was far enough away, and his voice was so quiet… But his father was right beside him, and he heard the word as clearly as if Remus had shouted it.

“Don’t you dare blame your brother for this!”

Oh, the irony, Remus thought, and, I guess we’re going straight to shouting.

It only took a few minutes for the words his parents were shouting to cease making any sort of sense. After that, it was just Remus, just Remus and a wave of sound that hurt his head, and then he was nodding, because what else was he supposed to do? Tell the truth and be accused of making more excuses?

He opened his mouth to try to force some words out - anything, anything from “I’m sorry” to “I’m a rather well known drug dealer by now, please call the cops” - and nothing came.

What was going on? Now Roman was in the doorway to the kitchen, and the shouting had stopped.

Remus blinked hard, and intelligible sound returned to his surroundings.

“-sweet of you, saja saekki, but he brought this on himself.”

“But - but he’s… He’s your son,” Roman protested. What a strange thing to say, Remus mused. Roman had never bothered trying to stick up for him before.

“Not anymore.” That was his father, and Remus must have heard wrong, because that just didn’t make any sense.

Then his parents turned back to him with twin glares, and Dae made a flapping motion toward the door with one hand. “Why are you still here? We told you to go.”

Roman was staring at him, stricken, and Remus could suddenly hear his own heartbeat in his ears. “G… Go?” He whispered, and his mother looked even more irritated than before.

“Get out of here, Remus! You’re not welcome here - you bring shit like this under our roof, and you expect us to welcome you in with open-” And then the shouting was too much again, and Remus didn’t hear anything else.

Instead, he turned and headed back toward the door. It felt like walking through treacle, thick, sticky, unreal. His father was standing by the doormat, one hand outstretched, and Remus stared at him for a long second before figuring out what he wanted. Digging in his pocket, he dropped his house keys into Hyun-ki’s palm, and watched his fingers close around them.

Then the door was open, and he was outside.

Now what?

Remus made it a few steps, then found that he was sitting down.

It was getting dark. Could he walk over to Janus’? He didn’t think his legs would carry him that far. No one part of his body felt like it was connecting to any other anymore.

There was a snap in front of him, and he flinched back. Roman was right in front of him. How long had he… It didn’t matter.

Roman was saying something, and Remus nodded, because what else was he supposed to do? Nodding was easy. If he could just go along with whatever was happening now, maybe it would be over soon.

Maybe he would wake up, screaming, and find that this was all just a nightmare.

There was something cold in his hand. Looking down, Remus found that Roman had pressed something black and oblong into his palm - his car keys. Roman had given Remus his… Car keys?

Now he was pulling Remus to his feet, and suddenly there was a blanket in his arms.

Then Roman had gone.

That was… Weird.

Remus just stood there for several long seconds.

Then it occurred to him that if Roman had given him his car keys and a blanket, maybe he meant for Remus to spend the night in the car. That didn’t seem unreasonable - a little out of character for Roman, but maybe he was changing. It wasn’t as though he had ever tried to stick up for Remus before, either.

Even so, the inside of the car was cold and lonely, made even worse by the numbness filling Remus’ stomach.

Eventually, it occurred to him that he should probably tell Janus what had happened. Not because there was anything Janus could do, of course, but because… Well, Remus didn’t really know. Janus was his best friend. He’d probably want to know.

<Parents found weed in Roman’s room. Been kicked out. Sleeping in Roman’s car for tonight.>

<Sent 21:48>

It was only a few seconds before his phone beeped in response.

<What the FUCK>

<No you are not>

<I’m coming to get you, you can stay at mine>

<Where’s the car? You’re not walking alone>

<Sent 21:49>

Remus bit down on his lower lip.

<I can walk alone.>

<Sent 21:49>

He didn’t want to - and he wasn’t entirely sure his limbs would last that long, either. Janus seemed to know he wasn’t being entirely truthful. It wasn’t easy, lying to Janus.

<Stay where you are, I’ll be right there.>

<Sent 21:50>

<Just outside my place. Bright red car. Can’t miss it.>

<Sent 21:52>

Then time did that strange skip again, and Janus was knocking on the car window. Remus scrambled for the handle to open the door, and he slid into the passenger seat beside him and hugged him. Remus hugged back. Janus smelled faintly of alcohol - wine? What day was it - Friday? Remus wasn’t sure.

“Are you alright?” Remus nodded, and Janus raised his eyebrows.

“...No,” he admitted.

“Let’s get back to mine. We can figure out what to do long-term from there, okay?”

Remus nodded slowly, allowing Janus to pull away from him to walk around the car and slide into the driver’s seat. Key in the ignition - and then Remus’ hand on Janus’ shoulder. “You sure you should drive? Don’t mind walking…”

“Rem, you look like it’s taking all your energy to keep speaking right now. I’m not making you walk. I’m not really drunk, okay? It’ll be fine.” Leaning over, Janus took the blanket that had fallen by his feet and wrapped it around Remus’ shoulders, then squeezed his hand gently. “You hold tight. It’s going to be okay.”

Remus nodded, too tired to care anymore. It was easy to just lean back in his seat, let Janus put the car into gear, and pull out from the kerbside.

Janus made light conversation as they drove. Remus found that he didn’t listen to most of it, focusing instead on the comforting sound of Janus’ voice itself and allowing the warmth in it to melt the numbness filling him into a deep, cool wave of misery.

He had just been kicked out. He had never thought that that would… He had never thought they would actually kick him out. He had been planning on leaving in a few months, yes, but… Didn’t you already need an address to get an apartment? And he couldn’t just live at Janus’ place full time. His parents would find out, and he’d get in trouble… Maybe Remy would let him stay with him and Virgil?

Remus lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, and found that his face was wet. He was crying. The second he realised it, he couldn’t stop realising it, couldn’t stop the tears dripping down his cheeks or the sobs building in his throat. He tried to stay quiet, but a hand on his knee suggested that he hadn’t done a very good job. That was the third time he cried in front of Janus Sinclaire.

“Remus, Remus, I’m so, so sorry…” Remus turned his head to find that Janus was looking at him, one had on the wheel to keep them going straight, the other rubbing his leg gently.  “It’s going to be okay. We’ll sort something out, I promise… You can let yourself cry, it’s-”

That was when

the world

ended.

-

Remus awoke to the smell of smoke and something burning, and the feeling that he had just been slammed face-first into a wall. Everything hurt. Everything was much too warm.

Groaning, he opened his eyes, and found that there was a strange, red tint to the world. Wiping his hand across his face revealed a cut on his forehead that throbbed painfully and had been dripping blood into his eyes - when had that gotten there?

Then he realised that he was still in the car, and that an orange, flickery light was illuminating the cracked windscreen before him. Had they… Had they crashed?

Fumbling awkwardly, Remus undid his seatbelt and scrabbled for the car door, pushing it open. There was a crackling in his ears as he crawled out of the wreck that had once been Roman’s gorgeous car, and it took him several long seconds to realise that it wasn’t just his brain. It was coming from the mess behind him.

Remus turned his head.

The car was burning.

How had he not noticed that before?

Where was Janus?

The driver’s side door was still closed - he could just about see it through the flames feasting on the car’s bonnet. Did that mean - 

When he saw the dark shape still in the driver’s seat, Remus felt his heart stop.

He was moving back toward the car before he even knew what he was doing, feeling his fingers blister on the hot metal as he jerked the door open.

It wasn’t just the car that was on fire, the grass around them. Janus’ clothes were on fire, that stupid hat he was always wearing was burning away merrily on his head, and the side of his face nearest Remus was already scorched and blackened, and Remus was certain he would never forget this image for as long as he lived.

He was glad for the hours he spent hauling boxes at the back of the supermarket. It meant that he was strong enough to carry what he really, really hoped wasn’t his friend’s corpse away from the acrid-smelling bonfire.

Janus’ phone was in his pocket, miraculously untouched by the flames, and Remus stared at the lockscreen for a long second. It was a picture Janus had taken when he had gone to visit his college, long before he had applied, when he had decided that that was where he wanted to be.

If Remus didn’t get an ambulance there fast, he didn’t think Janus would see it again.

Janus was breathing now, he could tell, but only just. It sounded painful, and Remus looked down as he dialled the emergency number to find that Janus’ eyes were open, one of them reddened and stark against the burned skin around it.

“Don’t worry, Jan, you’re - you’re gonna be okay, it’s -”

“Emergency services, how can we help you?”

Remus was crying again. He could see the tears dripping down onto Janus’ face - and Janus didn’t seem to be able to feel them. It didn’t look as though his eyes were focusing.

An ambulance wasn’t going to get there fast enough.

“P-Police! And an ambulance - I just saw two boys hit a - a telephone pole, the - the car’s on fire, I think the - the passenger, I think he’s seriously injured -” Remy had been teaching him to disguise his voice.

Janus was frowning beneath him, mouth moving and only strains of air whistling between his teeth.

“I - I think the driver was that kid - that kid, the bad one, Wang, Remus Wang, I think he’s killed somebody-”

Now Janus was shaking his head, and those horrible, silent tears were still coursing down Remus’ face.

“We’ll have somebody with you as soon as possible, sir. Could you give us your name and location, please?”

Remus looked around desperately, and was lucky enough to see a street sign almost immediately. He rattled it off, and then hung up, attention returning to Janus.

It looked as though Janus was struggling to breathe. It looked as though he were only seconds from passing out again, but he must have been conscious enough to hear the conversation, because his mouth formed the single word, “why?”

Remus let out a shaky laugh. “Police’ll get here faster. Ambulance’s gonna be too slow. You’re gonna be okay, I promise. Not letting anything bad happen to you - ‘n they’re gonna want to arrest someone. You just gotta sit tight, okay? I’m gonna handle this. ‘S all gonna be okay. You’re gonna be fine. It was my fault, it was all my fault, jus’ tell them that, okay? You’re gonna be fine, Jan. You’re gonna be fine. It’s gonna be okay. It’s all…”

Janus’ eyes rolled into the back of his head, and Remus had never been more terrified than he was in that moment.

And then he could hear sirens in the distance, getting louder.

They were going to arrest him - but Janus would be okay. They would take Janus to a hospital, they would make sure he was okay, and that was all Remus needed. As long as Janus lived, as long as Janus got to keep his future, Remus didn’t care what happened to him.

When the police car arrived, ambulance in tow, releasing Janus’ still form and allowing himself to be cuffed was the easiest decision Remus had ever made.

Taglist:

@bloodymari-0666

#roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #AccidentsHappenAU #drug and alcohol use and misuse #suicide attempt tw #referenced self harm tw #nonbinary logan #trans patton #this was meant to be 6k #why is it so long #i was possessed by the spirit of writing

[drifting-mindspace]

Things we deserved to get from the Naruto manga and anime that we never got -

• JONIN NARUTO -

We followed him around as the lovable Genin knucklehead. Now it goes without saying that him being a Jonin is just a rank and honestly doesnt mean much. Rescuing Gaara, going after Kakuzo, Mount Miyaboku were all A & S-rank missions.

But I would liked to have seen him doing missions post war in a slightly more mature yet typically knuckleheaded manner instead of the passing phrase he made tonShikamaru about being too busy doing missions for the next 6 months.

We grew up with Naruto and now that he's older and stronger we dont get to see him in action.

• A Happily Married Kakashi & Shizune- 

Hatake Kakashi has led a deeply traumatic life. His mother died when he was very young, his father committed suicide when he was 6 causing him to distance himself from everyone around him. The first person he opened up to and formed a bond with died moments later protecting him, the girl he deeply cared for and probably harbored feelings for which he was too afraid to confront died at his hands as he desperately tried to protect her, a year later his sensei died protecting the village. When he became a sensei to Team 7 he felt he was on a path to finding inner peace by ensuring these children avoid his traumas but his prized pupil went rogue shattering that hope. After all this I’d hoped he would’ve finally found a happy ending.

Why Shizune? Well I considered him and Kurenai getting together and him helping raise Mirai but Shizune has always felt like the only Kunoichi in Konoha who has her shit together. She is perfectly at peace with where she is in life. She is incredibly mature and level headed as she helps run the village with Tsunade. Someone who is at peace with herself and her aspirations is the perfect anchor for a man with a whirpool of trauma brewing in him.

Alas it seems like the showrunners have no intention of a romantic arc for Kakashi and the Hatake name will die with Kakashi.

• The Uzumaki Clan

Within a span of 3 months Naruto meets 3 Uzumaki clan members. Nagato, Karin and his own mother. While speaking with Kushina he finds out about the dark fate of the Uzumaki clan. How they were blessed with unimaginably high chakra reserves and were gifted in Sealing Jutsus, longevity and how it led to them being targeted by those who feared them leading to their village being wiped out and scattered across the shinobi world.

Instead of turning the Naruto saga into the Uchiha Chronicles Id have preferred a deep dive into the Uzumaki clan. Maybe even have a Sasuke-like venegeful figure who wants Konoha to suffer because they failed to provide aid to the village they called their strong allies in their greatest hour of need.

Like Sasuke this villain would’ve witnessed his fellow clansmen cut down, unlike Sasuke however he wouldn’t have had the likes of Naruto, Itachi or Kakashi to anchor him in the light leaving room for redemption.

This could have been the one villain that was so far gone in his pain and hatred that no amount of 'talk no jutsu' could have changed his mind and would've pushed Naruto to the very brink until he finally had to choose between killing his clansman or protecting his village.

Naruto would make the ultimate sacrifice for Konoha and this would all the more set his resolve to pulling Sasuke back from the darkness or dying with him.

An Uzumaki villain gifted in Fuijutsu and the use of the Uzumaki Kekkei Genkai, the Adamantine Chains along with massive chakra reserves would be the perfect power scaled villain for Post Pain Arc Naruto.

Instead we got Uchiha chronicles where everyone did whatever the fuck they thought of doing and chakra limits were all but history. This one really disappointed me. Which brings me to my next disappointment.

• Naruto Killing a Villain

Now I know it seems like an odd hang up. Naruto? Kill? But he is so fixated on redemption. That is exactly why I wanted this to happen. The series has gone out of its way to make sure Naruto hasn’t killed a character. The worst of it was against Kakuzu. The kind of attack unleashed upon Kakuzu SHOULD by all means have killed him. Yet somehow he was left in a ‘dying state’ and Kakashi was the one who did the deed. 

Naruto being forced to kill a villain as a last resort and making a choice between saving someone dear to him or tainting his hands with blood was the ultimate moral conundrum for a shinobi whose biggest goal was rescuing his best friend from the dark. It would take him back to Itachi’s words where he asked Naruto what he would if Sasuke decided to destroy the village.

Instead we saw Rasen Shuriken and Rasengan getting scaled down to a point where they always injure and opponent but not kill him. For an S-rank jutsu, Rasen Shuriken happens to be quite lenient.

• Neji beoming the head of the Hyuuga Clan

This pisses me off the most. Neji was supposed to be to the Hyuuga was Naruto was to Konoha. I always expected Neji to overcome all the obstacles and get recognized by Hiashin who would then redeem himself and disband the branch system once and for all. Hiashin as a character was never redeemed. Here was a man who let his brother get executed to avoid punishment (albeit he was against it but it did happen), constantly abused his kind daughter and belittled her for being too soft and put her down to a point her personality was underdeveloped and she had deep seethed confidence issues.

Disbanding the branch system and making Neji the leader would redeem him in the eyes of the readers/ viewers and would clean up the Hyuuga clan.

Instead Neji was scrapped aside to give Naruto and Hinata a bonding moment. They had a bonding moment, it was when she almost died saving his life. Neji didn’t have to die for them to get together ffs. What a wasted potential.

• NaruSaku

Now I’m not a fanatic shipper. In fact when I read and watched the original series I absolutely HATED Sakura. My hatred for her reached it’s peak during the Zabuza arc when Naruto ran at the S-rank villain, got kicked away and got up to show he went in for his forehead protector. “What do you think you’re doing Naruto? Even Sasuke-kun wasn’t a match for him.” I just wanted Naruto to turn around and tell her to stfu in that moment. As the series approached the time skip I was well and truly content with NaruHina.

But Shippuden changed things. The hints towards Sakura’s changed feelings were sprinkled all over the series. One moment that stands out for me was the Clone Training arc where Sai tests her by abusing Naruto and she goes on a rage rant about how great he is. Let’s not forget that in her darkest hour, as she saw a ruined and destroyed village the only person she thought of and cried out to was Naruto. Not because she felt he could save the village (she was as shocked as Shikamaru as she found out he was facing pain alone) but because when things when bad for her the only person who she felt comfort around was indeed Naruto and that is indisputable.

She goes as far as ruining her friendship with Naruto, a bond she truly cherished as it was all she had left after Sasuke abandoned the village, and confessed her feelings to manipulate him. Yes manipulative, scheming and downright a bitch of a thing to do. But it was all she could think of to make Naruto stop chasing after Sasuke. She, more than anyone wanted to see Naruto become a Hokage and realize his dreams and dying while rescuing Sasuke was a risk she couldn’t take and she decided she’d have him hate her than die. Wrong yes. But oddly noble.

This combined with all the blatant attempts to establish her being like Kushina and Kushina saying she wants Naruto to find someone like her changed my mind from NaruHina. I still adore Hinata. She is a wonderful character. But organic plot progression is far more important to me than my ships being canon.

A Naruto-Sakura family would’ve been incredibly entertaining and the dynamics would be perfect. We’d see a Minato-Kushina couple on screen for the next series. Which brings me to my next disappointment.

•HinaShino

I don’t know if that’s the official name for the pairing but I always felt these 2 would make a great couple.They are both people of a few words and are both incredibly intuitive and understanding individuals. Shino would accept Hinata for who she was and vice versa. Being with someone who was happy with the person they were would go miles in helping them come out of their shells.

Altho this isn’t a massive disappointment for me. I’m happy that Hinata ended up with Naruto. But like I said organic plot progression matters to me and if Naruto ended up with Sakura I’d prefer Hinata to end up with Shino.

•Hiraishin No Jutsu

Sadly as the series progressed Naruto had become so OP that not letting him master his father’s improved version of Tobirama’s jutsu was a great decision. It would’ve just made him senselessly OP. 

However instead of giving him all those God Tier power ups which he just gains in single training sessions I’d have preferred him working hard to master the Hirashin. Instead of sending him off to an island and treating him like a fucking idiot and asking him to survey animals I’d have preferred if Tsunade gave him an impossible task.

“You can’t fight in the battle. But I will only allow it if you can master your father’s jutsu.”

It was a period of 6 months between Danzo’s death and the start of the shinobi war. Ample time to show him training hard to learn a jutsu that for once required him to study. Hiraishin deals not just in physical acts of speed but also mastering seals.  Seeing his friends go off to fight in the war as he was left behind would have only added to his frustration and motivated him more.

Showing Naruto training hard like they showed him training for Rasen Shuriken would’ve only made us cheer all the more harder when he’d make a badass entry on the battle field as Tobi came close to killing Kakashi and a three pronged Kunai swished between the two, an orange flash appeared and Naruto kicked Tobi away.

Sadly this was swapped for Pokemon evolutions where arc after arc Naruto levels up just like that. The show’s entire premise was based on hard work and guts.

Sasuke was the genius who gained his power through natural ability. Sure he trained hard but his strength came to him with ease. Naruto had to slog. He manged to make the Rasengan after nearly 15 episodes of training and even then he had to get stabbed to be able to use it. It wasn’t until another 10 episodes that he properly used it. His training for the Rasenshuriken took an entire season to yield results and even then he didn’t learn to throw it until he trained for another 3 seasons till the Pain arc.

Post pain all this is tossed aside. He sits at the waterfall twice and beats the darkness. He sits in the room once and tames Kurama. Later Kakashi and Guy are in trouble, he has an inner dialogue with Kurama and suddenly he mastered the two man team with no prior training. Rikkodu Sennin touches him once and suddenly he’s learnt how to grow eyes, stop death and fly just like that.

The series stopped being the Naruto series we grew up with post Danzo and it saddens me.

• Naruto Sensei - 

And finally my last and greatest disappointment of all. Not seeing Naruto as a sensei. We’ve seen glimpses of his nurturing side in his interactions with Konohamaru but I’d have loved to have seen 40-50 episodes of him leading his own squad of genins. A perfect combination of Kakashi and Guy as he’d wow them with his brilliance and equally embarrass them in day to day interactions with his goofy tomfoolery. His genins would be in awe of him. Naruto Sensei - the hero of the war. 

His students could have an arrogant son/daughter of a feudal lord who insisted he be trained by the war hero, Naruto and Kakashi had to cave in for diplomatic reasons. Naruto refuses to take anyone who doesn’t work hard to get where they are but after the bell test sees potential in the child. A child with no ninja background. His parents were farmers outside of Konoha who were very poor. His sole aim is to be a ninja so strong that he’s always assigned big missions that will help him ease his family’s financial burdens. A genin from the Inuzuka clan (or any other clan, maybe even Hanabi if the show wanted to push more Naruto-Hinata interactions) who thinks he’s better than the other 2 because of his family background but is taught humility by Naruto.

Sadly another development in Naruto’s life we were denied.

Well that’s my rant essay. I know a lot of people won’t agree with what I had to say but I wanted to get it off my best anyway. Why? 

Because I wanted to dattebayo!

#naruto #naruto uzumaki #naruto shippuden #jonin #jonin naruto #kakashizu #kakashi hatake #shizune #uzumaki #uzumaki clan #nagato #nagato uzumaki #karin #karin uzumaki #kushina #kushina uzumaki #badass naruto #killer naruto #hyuuga clan #neji hyuuga #neji #hinata hyuuga #hanabi hyuuga #hiashi hyuuga #byakugan #narusaku #sakura #sakura haruno #haruno sakura #otp

[end-of-pizza]

Weird anime night ~Please teacher

Okay guys, I know I’ve been out of this whole anime discussing thing for a bit. Been in my own little world of building gundam models, watching ASMR videos and doing my tech support job, also got into buying stocks….the quarantine has been weird. I haven’t really left the house save to go to meijers to get groceries for 4 months now……kinda starting to lose touch with reality. To try and ground myself I have been revisiting things from when I was a teenager, rewatching old tv shows, reading old books….started with gundam 08th ms team, and Red Mars, and lo and behold I fell back in love with my old flame…ROMANCE ANIMES

long time readers of weird anime night will know that this is a thing that happens to me off and on. Highschool romance shows just vibe with me in a real way, I have been dating the same girl since I was 13, and I am 29 now, and we live together, so learning how to love while learning what love is, and learning about girls while also learning how to love one girl, man romance anime have that shit in spades….and it makes me feel really nostalgic, for things like first kisses, sneaking out after hours, being nervous with someone you will later be intimate with. I love it man, that shit DOES. IT. FOR. ME

so while revisiting my favorite romance anime of all time, Suzuka, I remembered about one I hadn’t watched since 2006, Please Teacher.

AND DUDES

THIS SHOWS FUCKING WEIRD

I remember it being pretty run of the mill, comedy romance story about a kid who bangs his teacher…..and like, yea on the surface that is what it is, but like…..spesh if you incorporate the second season into it, its sort of about ALL love….even some kinda eh….troubling kinds of love, like in season 2 a dude straight up wants to plow is like……kid sister, and that is…..well fucking disgusting, I know its like a THING in japan to want to bone your parents and siblings, because well……some sort of mass mental delusions or something…..but like, its there….its gross as fuck but its there….

The rest of the show is fun though, still pretty problematic, I guess it was less gross to me when I was 16, but as a 29 year old….yea a teacher wanting to bone her 15 year old student is pretty gosh darn awful......I mean she’s also like...an Alien.....but he’s still 15 years old and she is a dang adult

heres the wiki plot summary of season 1, warning spoilers ahead.

Please Teacher! is a story mainly revolving around a tight-knit group of friends in high school and how they cope with several life-changing events that are never too far off from intimate relationships. The main character is a boy named Kei Kusanagi who suffers from a very rare disease which causes a comatose state referred to as a "standstill" whenever he is under severe emotional distress.

Before the beginning of the story, Kei, at 15 years of age, had fallen into a "standstill" lasting three years after witnessing the suicide of his elder sister. After recovering, he quietly moved away from home in order to avoid social difficulty due to his long absence, and began living with his uncle, a medical doctor, and aunt. Due to the strange nature of how he came to live there, Kei wanted to keep the situation a secret from his new friends for fear of being ostracized as being too old to associate with them. After Kei had established himself in his new surroundings and had entered into a close group of mutually supportive friends, a Galactic Federation starship had entered Earth's atmosphere stealthily, approached Honshū Island and landed surreptitiously in Lake Kizaki.

The story begins with Kei suffering a minor 'standstill' while in the vicinity of the lake, witnessing several unexplainable phenomena happening there, and then watching as a beautiful half-human alien named Mizuho Kazami materialize beside the shore. Kazami was sent to observe planet Earth by a seemingly benevolent Galactic Federation in order to prevent humans from making developmental mistakes. Kei, upon observing the materialization, attempts to escape the pursuing Kazami. Kazami is under strict orders to prevent her true identity and mission from being discovered. During his attempt to escape, Kei falls into the lake. Kazami rescues Kei and, using information from his identification, is able to return him home in secret. The next day, Kazami has become Kei's new homeroom teacher and next-door neighbor.

During assisting her in moving in, Kei suffers another standstill, and while in a weakened state explains his predicament to the compassionate Mizuho, who ends up revealing her own origins and purpose on Earth. Several accidental activations of Mizuho's teleport technology (which were inadvertently caused by Kei) eventually place Kei and Mizuho in a couple of compromising situations in front of his uncle and aunt and his school's headmaster, but Kei protects Mizuho from charges for an inappropriate relationship between student and teacher by impulsively stating that they are married, resulting in an actual civil marriage that later blossoms into genuine affection for each other. The headmaster relents, partly because he, too, had married a former student younger than himself and can understand their situation personally. Both are allowed to stay so long as they do not reveal their status to the other students, and do not engage in any public displays of affection.

 The remainder of the series concerns the budding intimate relationships between the close friends, one of whom (Koishi Herikawa) is romantically interested in Kei, and another (Ichigo Morino) who has suffered even greater loss of time from the same disease as he has; the problems of having to maintain the secrecy of the marriage; an interfering parent and sibling visiting from the Galaxy Federation; and Kei learning to overcome the ever-present threat of another lengthy 'standstill' stealing more of his life, particularly as he has fallen deeply in love with Mizuho and desperately wants to remain with her.

Eventually Kei falls into another major "standstill" and in order to bring him out of it, Mizuho has to use her technology which is against the law. As a result, her status on Earth is revoked, she is banned from the planet and all memory of her is erased from everyone's, including Kei's, minds. With the help of her mother and sister she sneaks back and is devastated to learn that Kei, who she is deeply in love with, has no memory of her. While helping her move back in, Kei reveals that his memory has returned and the two express their love for each other and get married again.

 I am rewatching it, its nostalgic, not as nostalgic as Suzuka or School Rumble, which are my number 1 and also number 1 favorite romance anime. But it’s also not as problematic as like, Rumbling Hearts or School days.

I am happy to have this tumblr back in my life, it’s helping with the depression, I think that’s why I started it in the first place….the American Education System was surprisingly good at both causing depression and training me to help people cope with depression.

I love you guys, I will start doing one of these every week, and I really am thinking about doing a sort of short podcast on all the series I have done thus far, like a 30 minute episode or so discussing the stories, rating them etc. I really like the idea of doing a podcast, just takes a long time to make em, I’ve been trying to do a D20 or Cyberpunk real play podcast for like 2 years now, and still just in the editing process of it.

blah blah blah, TLDR

this shows weird, fun and heart warming at times, but it is about a teacher who fucks her student, and like YES she is half alien.....but…..she is also a pedophile, that didn’t really stick with me when I was 16, but it does now….so it is harder to watch then I remember.

6.5/10

~Hoover ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

please teacher update

maybe I wasnt watching the show closely enough but I guess he isnt 15? I got the impression he was like early highschool, but watched some more tonight and I guess hes 18 during the course of the show.....so she isnt a pedophile, but she is boning her student, and she is a space alien so there are still some not good implications there power dynamics wise.....but lets just say maybe I was too hard on Please Teacher 7.5/10

#weird anime night #please teacher #anime #romance

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Best of the Best | Part 1

Genre: Smut and Angst

Word Count: 4k

Summary: You promised yourself you’d never fall for another clingy, needy boy who demanded you gave him all your love, only to leave you after he has sucked you dry. Yet here you were, making that same mistake again. Alternatively: It wasn’t easy being perfect. Sometimes, Taeyong needed someone else to take control. Sometimes, he needed to be broken down completely in order to be put back together again, better and stronger. 

A/N: I tried to get as close as I can to ty’s actual personality in this one. This is largely inspired by his verse in Whiplash and some tidbits about his life that I learned from @nctforuandme she’s honestly single-handedly responsible for reigniting my obsession with ty so thank you a lot babe

Warnings: femdom, sub!taeyong, dom!reader, student/professor relationship, age-gap, dry humping, thigh riding, degradation, sexist remarks, breath play, semi-public sex, cheating, Miss kink (?), pwb professors with benefits, usage of the painfully cliche trope of “but you can’t fall in love with me”

“What is this?” You hear someone bark out. At first, you don’t think the wrathful inquiry is directed at you. After all, who would dare speak to you this way? But when you hear the same voice shout out again, much closer this time, you look up to find that the person, that poor fucker, was in fact talking to you. “Are you deaf? I asked you a question.” The students, who were just starting to file out of the room at the end of your lecture, freeze in their tracks and look over, varying degrees of shock and trepidation displayed on their faces. One of them, a tall bespectacled boy who you know you guess is a friend of the boy with the suicidal wish, Lee Taeyong, bravely steps forward to try and pull him back, muttering quietly to him, “Let’s go, man. It’s not worth it.” But the silver haired boy shakes him off, never taking his hateful gaze off of you. “No, this is bullshit. This paper is worth twenty-five percent of our final score and she gave me a D. A fucking D! This is gonna mess up my whole grade.” Gasps echo around the room as more students come into the room instead of getting out in order to watch the scene unfold. The boy’s friend pales and urgently whispers to him, “Dude, the man-eater is gonna have your balls for this. Apologize and let’s—“ You’ve heard enough.

“Everyone, get the hell out of my lecture room.” Your voice booms out, making students jump in fear and slip out hurriedly. When you see some still hesitate to leave, their curiosity getting the best of them, you threaten, “I’m going to count to five, and if I see anyone else in here after I’m done besides Mr. Lee, they can expect a zero on their next exam.” At that, everyone quickly rushes out. Even Lee’s friend backs away, his hands raised in the air as if to say he has nothing to do with his friends stupidity, and then he leaves too. When the room is empty sans you and Lee, you speak again. “What seems to be the problem, Mr. Lee?” “I want you to change my grade to an A.” He demands as if it was his right to get the grade he wanted, looking every bit the spoiled brat whose daddy always gave him everything he’s ever asked for. It wasn’t a look becoming of a young man studying at a prestigious university such as this, and the look you give him in response speaks volumes of how little you appreciated that.   “You don’t deserve an A. Your work wasn’t up to par.” You say dismissively. Your response seems to make him light up with pure fury. “Bullshit! I worked my ass off on this paper. I’ve been getting straight A’s eve since I set foot in this damn college. I’m not going to have my perfect score ruined by you.” “Well, you should’ve thought of that earlier. Maybe then you would’ve given me something better than the dismal excuse for a paper that you handed in. You’re lucky I even let you pass. Don’t make me rethink my decision.” You threaten him, hoping to dissuade him from his silly tantrum. Despite your reputation for being a merciless “man-eater”, you really didn’t derive any joy from making the lives of your students miserable, whether they were male or female. You cared about your students. You took pride in your work. That’s the whole reason you were so strict in the first place. You wanted to have a positive impact on their lives. You worked your ass off so that years from now, one of these students might look back on their college years and think ‘Man, I really learned something of value from Miss ___.’ That used to be the case anyway. Now, having endured years of indifferent students and spiteful colleagues, you’ve all but lost your passion for what used to be your dream job. But even so, you still cared about your students and you were still willing to let Lee’s little tantrum go if he backs down and apologizes, despite him having so brazenly disrespected you in front of the entire class.  But it seems he’s not too smart, that one. “I gave you my best work. I always give my best work! That’s why every other professor before you has given me straight A’s.” “Hmm, is that why? Funny. And here I thought all the others were just kissing your ass because your father is a major investor in this university and they’re just trying to save their own cowardly asses. Sorry, sweetheart, I’m just so dumb sometimes.” You smack your forehead with your palm, pretending to extrude the stupidity out. “Don’t you dare—“ He seethes, looking absolutely murderous, and you swear you can actually hear his teeth grinding together. “I got this far through my hard work and my hard work alone. I will not let you take that away from me.” “Let’s see that hard work in your next assignment then.” You try to end it there, feeling weary already, but still wanting to give him a second chance that he didn’t deserve to tuck his tail between his legs and run. Turning your back to him, you grab your folder off the desk, looking to gather your things and leave, but he promptly rips it from your hands and throws it to the side, your carefully collected and sorted papers flying out and scattering all over the floor. You don’t have any time to react as he backs you into the desk and looms over you with equal parts anger and desperation. “Look, just tell me what you want and you’ll have it. You want a Rolex? How about a nice Louis Vuitton bag, huh? Say what you want and it’s yours. Just… please, I need that A.” His sudden change in demeanor from lethal to excessively desperate was concerning and a little bit unsettling. Why did he need that A so bad? It’s not like it’s going to affect his overall score that much. He won’t get a perfect GPA but it wouldn’t be too far off. “Mr. Lee, look at me.” You sigh in exasperation and gesture towards your generic, economic outfit of a simple white blouse and a black skirt. “Don’t you think a watch or a bag that cost more than my entire wardrobe would look silly on me?” “I could buy you a whole new wardrobe then, to fit your new accessories. Is that what you want?” He hurries to say, a knowing glint in his eyes as if he’s onto you. “Are you even listening? What I want is for you to leave me alone.” You take a step to the side, trying to get out from under him but he slams his hands down on either side of you, trapping you against the desk. “So the rumors about you are true, huh? You really are a bitter bitch who takes pleasure in making the lives of her male students miserable in order to make up for her own sad and loveless life.” He snarls, looking down his nose at you. “You know, maybe if you weren’t such a frigid bitch, a man would actually want to touch your shriveled up pussy. Give me that A and I’ll give you that dicking I know you’re dying for, baby.” “Oh, but Mr. Lee…” You gasp, looking up at him demurely, lulling him into a false sense of security as you lightly trail a hand up his chest towards his neck. “I don’t fuck little whores.”   You circle your fingers around his neck and press down, cutting off the gasp that tried to fight its way out of his throat. As you lightly choke him, you monitor his reaction closely, ready to pull back at any sign of distress. But just like you had predicted, he stays rooted to the spot, looking at you like an animal caught in a trap, his eyes jumping around in alarm as he tries to catch his breath and make sense of what is happening. Smirking, you press down harder on his throat, slimming his breathing down to a wheeze. “What makes you think that you would even be allowed to put your dirty, little cock anywhere near my pussy? You’re just a stuck-up, spoiled little brat who needs to be reminded how to properly talk to his superiors. Do you know what you should be calling me, boy, or are you too dumb to even remember?” “Yes,” He grits out, getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen to his brain. He was glaring bloody murder at you but he never once attempts to pull back. You knew he wouldn’t. You had always been an excellent judge of character, a skill that’s came in handy quite often in your profession, and you knew just what this boy so desperately needed. “Yes, what, little slut?” “Yes, Miss.” He wheezes out and bucks his hips against you, making you snap at him and press down harder on his windpipe, blocking his airflow entirely. “Did I say you could do that? How are you going to ‘give me that dicking I’m dying for’ when just having my hand on your throat is making you hump me like a horny virgin?”     All at once, you take the pressure off his neck and he folds over, molding his body to yours as he sucks in deep, gasping breaths. Grabbing his jaw, you press your face close to his. “Look at you, so wrecked already. Are you that easy? I didn’t even need to touch your little dick. I bet you would cum if I so much as lay a finger on you, wouldn’t you?”   When he doesn’t reply, you clench your hand down on his jaw, your fingers digging into his cheeks, and ask again, “Wouldn’t you?” “Yes, Miss.”  “Would you like that?” “Yes, please, Miss.” “No.” You deadpan, “You don’t deserve it.” He slumps, looking positively crestfallen, but doesn’t protest. You’re quiet for a moment, your face a mask of cold disinterest as you stare him down, watching as he slowly unravels under the weight of your unimpressed gaze. He was trying so hard to hold onto his pride even as his eyes start to tear up and his hips move ever so slightly against you, timidly pleading you to give him something, anything. "You really want that A, huh?” Your face breaks out into a triumphant grin, “OK, I’ll give it to you.” Caught up in your game, he had forgotten what this was about in the first place, and so he starts, thrown off by the sudden reminder. “That’s what you wanted, right?” You taunt, smirking as you watch him gape and fumble. “Yes, b-but—“ “B-b-b-but,” You mock, laughing, and the boy’s face flushes crimson. He bites his lip and averts his eyes in embarrassment. You smile at him knowingly, stating state what you knew he wished to say, “But now you’re all wound up now and you want to cum too, don’t you, greedy little slut?” “I'll tell you what? I'll give you that A you’re whoring yourself out for, and I’ll not force you walk out of here with blue balls and a stiff cock. How does that sound?” The boy gives you what might possibly be the most innocent look you’ve ever seen on his face, or anyone’s face for that matter. He was wide eyed and slack jawed, fear and hope flitting over his face in alternating ripples as he tries to make out what your angle here was. You half-expect to see little restless ears sprout up from the top of his head for how much he resembled a frightened little kitty right now. He looked so unlike his normally cold and severe self. Right in front of your eyes, he seems to transform into someone else entirely; his white skin turning warm and tan, his demeanor tender and inviting, his sharp features broadening and a full, boxy smile replacing the thin-lipped pout on his face… But as soon as you blink, he’s Lee Taeyong again, and not the boy who broke your heart so many years ago. Pushing him away, he stumbles on unsteady feet as you walk around the desk and sit on the leather chair. You pat your thigh, flushing the intrusive thoughts away and ordering him tightly, “Come here.” He doesn’t protest, just walks up to you in a daze and sits down on your lap, straddling your thigh between his legs and looking at you expectantly. “What I’m offering you here is a chance to get everything you want. If you can get yourself off just by riding my thigh, I’ll give you that A you so desperately want." Taeyong looked positively terrified, his face paling as he tries to figure out if this was a trick or not. Taking pity on him, you cradle his face in your hands and gently ask, “Can you do that for me, Mr. Lee? Can you show me what a good, hard working boy you are?” He nods fervently, eager to believe you, his hands going to his pants to unbutton them, but you brush them away. "No. Keep them on. I want to see you make a mess for me." Sucking in a breath, he whispers harshly, “Yes, Miss.” When he starts moving on top of you, it’s a little uncomfortable. He is somehow both heavy and bony, but you don’t dwell on it for long, not when he almost immediately picks up his pace, grinding against you earnestly as if he just suddenly realized how badly he needed to get off.  You watch his frantic movements in amusement, remarking, “You know, if we had enough time, I would never have let you off this easily. I would’ve edged you on for so long that you’d cum on command.” He shivers at your words, his hips grinding down harder against your thighs as delicious little moans fall freely from his mouth. You support his head in your palm as it lolls to the side, “Then I’d make you cum again and again. I would make you cum so many times that by the end of the night you'll be crying and begging me to hurt you even more." “Yeah, yeah,” He moans encouragingly, clutching onto you and swiveling his hips around in circles, his cock driving into the flesh of your thigh hard. "Be quiet kitten or someone will hear your mewls." You laugh, slipping a hand under his shirt to softly caress his stomach. He was shuddering like a leaf above you, barely able to control his movements, and he doesn't calm down. He only gets louder. "Damn, you’re a loud little slut." You push the fingers of the hand that had been cradling his face into his mouth, muffling his moans, and he immediately goes to work licking and sucking on your fingers like a lollipop.  "I knew I was right about you. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew that you were just begging for someone to strip you off of your abrasive and entitled attitude and whip you back into shape. But no one ever did, right? They all saw you acting cold and clawing at anyone who tries to come near, and they assumed you’re a lion trying eat them up. But you’re not a lion. You’re just a frightened little kitty looking for someone worthy enough to tame him.” You confidently, watching as the boy melts under your words, allowing you to gaze upon his true self.  You know it’s hard for him, exposing himself like this, so you try to be gentle with him. “Poor kitty, you must’ve been waiting for so long. I can’t imagine that your pretty little girlfriend ever took charge of you like you crave. I bet she just lets you do whatever you please with her. I bet she never once punished you for being so insolent or fucked you until you cried out for forgiveness. Isn’t that right, little kitty?” Taeyong’s legs clench around your thigh and he pulls his head back, your fingers slip out of his mouth and tracking strings of saliva behind them as he cries out, “I’m so close, Miss. Please, let me cum.” Since all of this must be so overwhelming for him and yet he was still well-behaved enough to ask before cumming without you needing to tell him to, you decide to take it easy on him. “Cum, little kitten, show me what a good boy you can be.” He gives a few last erratic thrusts before his body seizes up and he cries out, finally cumming. You quickly clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle his screams, feeling warmth coat the fabric of your skirt as he shudders above you. When he hunches over you, completely spent, you wraps your arms around him and rub his back soothingly, listening to him gasp for air and feeling his heart beat wildly through his frail rib-cage. "Hush little kitten. It’s OK. You’re OK. I’ve got you.” "Thank you, Miss." His reply is muffled as he buries his face in your shoulder. As his body slowly relaxes and his breathing settles down, you slowly become aware of what exactly you just did... You got yourself sexually involved with a student, a clearly troubled boy who craves affection and support and who probably now thinks you can give him that.  Why do you always go after the broken ones?  Technically, it wasn’t against school policy to hook up with a student but you could still get a lot of grief over this, and that’s just the administrative and interpersonal-relationships  aspects of it… You sigh, pushing the boy up so you can lock eyes with him. "You did well, Mr. Lee. You’ll be getting that A you were promised. You just need to keep what happened between us to yourself. After we leave this room, you have to promise to never talk about this again, not to me, not to anyone. Is that understood?" You hope he would gladly take your offer and leave. After all, he just got the grade he wanted and an orgasm to boot. But when he hesitates to answer you, you know you’re in trouble. “Mr. Lee, do we have a deal?” For another agonizing second, he remains quiet, throwing you into a vicious loop of worrying about all the improbable reasons behind his silence and how you’re going to deal with them and all the possible ways this could end badly for you.  Finally though, he breaks eye contact and answers you with a timid, “Okay.” As you watch him leave the lecture room, his gait funny because of the sticky mess in his pants, you pray to god that the feeling of dread washing over you is completely unjustified and that this wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass later. •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• As always though, your gut feeling was correct. After your little encounter with Mr. Lee, it was like he became obsessed with you. He would openly stare at you during lectures then find any flimsy excuse to talk to you after, leaving his friends to scratch their heads and wonder why the boy who was just about to end you a week ago was now always following you around like a little duckling. It was all getting very suspicious and you found yourself forced to intervene quickly before anyone figured it out. Rounding him up in your office--a concerningly easy feat seeing as the boy was more than happy to be locked up in a room alone with you-- you turn on him, “Mr. Lee, what on earth are you doing?” “I—I am asking you about the assignment.” He gulps, trying not to give himself away and failing miserably. “I don’t understand the part where—“ “Cut the crap, Lee. You understand it perfectly. You’re not very smooth, you know? Now tell me, what is this about?” You demand. You weren’t slick either. You knew what he wanted but you were desperately hoping you were wrong, the sickening sense of déjà vu coursing through your brain so strong, it was nauseating. You couldn’t handle another needy, clingy boy who demands all your love then leaves you when he has run you dry. The boy scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, and stumbles through his words, "Can I... can we...do... it again? What happened last week, I mean. Not exactly the same though! I can make you feel good too I swear I—“ “Didn’t we agree to never talk about that again? You’re talking about it.” “I know but I just can’t stop thinking about it! That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had and you didn’t even touch me. Holy shit, I can’t wait to see what you can do if you actually touch me.” “Then I’m afraid you’ll be waiting for a long time. What I did was wrong and unprofessional and as your professor, I sincerely apologize to you for that. It can’t happen again." “Why?” He whines childishly.  "Because I’m your professor.” You say it like it’s matter-of-fact, because it is. “If the other professors find out I’m sexually involved with a student, they’ll ostracize me. It’s already hard enough with all the malicious rumors running around about me just because I’m a woman who dares to be assertive and not let men walk all over her. If they find out about this, it will just be more proof in their minds that I hate men and I’m taking it out on a poor student.” “They won’t find out. I’ll make sure of it. I'll keep pretending I hate you and no one will ever know. And even if they did, I can shut them up. You said it yourself; my father is the biggest investor in this college and they all want to stay on my good graces. Please, I need this.” “That’s not how it works, Mr. Lee. They’ll only shut up in front of you but they’ll still talk behind your back. Why don’t you just hire a dominatrix or something if you need this so bad?” "I don’t want a fucking dominatrix. I want you." There was that fire in his eyes again, the all-consuming passion to get what he wants at whatever cost that you’re so used to seeing from him. This Taeyong was completely different from your previous lover. He was rage and determination and cold, blue fire; nothing like the warm and soothing orange of the other, softer boy. You knew this Taeyong. You could handle this Taeyong. “I don’t want a strange woman whipping me around and telling me to lick her boots. I want you. You get me! You saw me in a way no one ever did before. I just... I’m so close to losing it. I have to put on this persona every minute of every day but it’s slipping off and I can’t keep it in place anymore. I need to let go for once and let someone else take charge or I’m going to snap. Please, help me.” The problem is that you believed him wholeheartedly; you sympathized with him wholeheartedly. Because beneath his hard exterior, there was a soft, mushy thing inside that frail rib-cage of his that mirrored your own. You couldn’t turn him away when you saw yourself in him. So you agree, under one condition. “You can’t fall in love with me. If you do then it’s over.” Taeyong laughs incredulously, taken aback by the weird condition, and his mood immediately lifts up, clearly not taking what you’re saying seriously. “Look, Miss, I’m just trying to get fucked. Nobody’s falling in love here, at least not me.” That arrogant smirk was back on his face again. He looked so damn confident. So why was your gut feeling telling you that this is all a huge mistake? “Good.” You say, squashing the feeling down and taking in the beautiful, broken boy. •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• A/N: AHHHHHH I’m so excited for this series y’all. This was long overdue. Anticipate a lot of angst with this one. It’s gonna be dark but not in a criminal way, more like a slowly soul-crushing way like THERAPY. ahahahha as always I live off feedback and I’m anticipating your wonderful messages 

#taeyong smut #taeyong angst #taeyong scenarios #taeyong fics #taeyong fanfics #taeyong imagines #nct smut #nct angst #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fics #nct fanfics

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Ten

        I couldn't pinpoint a reason for my sudden combustion - I couldn't even remember the last time I'd been so emotional during a therapy session - but before I could embarrass myself any further I stood from my seat, heading for the door as the silence broke out behind me. Before I pulled it shut, I caught a glimpse of a disquieted Murdoc and his niggling eyes pointed towards me as I escaped. I just couldn't face him any longer.

     I paced back and forth in the entrance of the clinic, fanning myself as if I was suffering a heat stroke. I sat myself on the bench, dabbing the sweat off of my forehead and massaging my stinging cheeks. I figured I'd calm myself down before calling a taxi and dried my face with my shirt, pulling out my phone from my bag.

        "(Y/N)?"

        Startled, I hopped in my spot and almost dropped my phone. My hands scattered to catch it and I looked up to see Murdoc, the glass door slowly shutting after him while as stood motionless. I sighed with relief, even if I was embarrassed to be such a mess in front of him. "Hey, Muds . . ."

        There was a heavy silence hanging over us and I set my phone on my lap, wondering which one of us had more guts than the other to start a conversation first. "Wanna talk about it?" he asked.

        I inhaled deeply, nearly letting out a sob when releasing my breath and sniffing once more while he came towards me. "There's nothing much to talk about," I explained, tilting my head down.

        He perched beside me, our shoulders inches apart as he got comfortable. "There's gotta be something wrong," he pushed with a soft smirk. He tapped my shoulder with his own, "You can tell me."

        Part of my senses doubted myself. However, I'd known this man for roughly two months and we'd already kissed, so even if things we going a little fast, we were close enough, right? I scratched and rubbed my arms to warm my body up, pondering the right words to begin. Rain began pelting the pavement an hour prior to the session, leaving flooding puddles throughout the parking lot and streets, producing a foggy mist around us. The cold air pained my lungs but I just couldn't catch my breath. I wanted to spill everything I'd been holding in to Murdoc so badly, but the thought of facing my problems again just built more tears in my eyes, and I wasn't sure I was ready to breakdown in front of him. It was too late, though.

        I bawled mercilessly, the both of us completely ignorant to when I would stop. Not any time soon, certainly. Murdoc was puzzled, and I felt bad as I watched his attempt at handling me and my malfunction. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, letting me cry my heart out before I was ready to talk. It took five minutes of silence, aside from my sobs and snivels until I was stable enough to pull myself together.

        I could hear Murdoc's smile through his words, "Are you done?"

        I nodded and finally caught up with my breathing, turning my body towards his. "I don't know what's wrong with me . . ." I mumbled. "I just don't know how much longer I can live like this."

        I'd said so little but, and rightfully so, alarmed Murdoc to an awful extent. "W-what do you mean?"

        What did I mean? I'd been talking as if I understood myself but my mind was wandering elsewhere; I wasn't sure what I wanted from myself anymore. "I don't know . . . but I’m so, so tired of living this way. People tell me it gets better all the fucking time but if it doesn't . . ." I swallowed, “I don't know if I wanna be here long enough to see it get worse than this."

        Murdoc shifted his body closer, but moved his head back, searching for a solution to my distress. "A-are you . . . Are you suicidal?" he questioned under his breath.

        I lifted my puffy face to meet with his pale green complexion. How could I admit it? I wanted to be honest, but I couldn't help but feel like such a misfortune. "I . . ." Murdoc stared me down. It was an obvious threat to tell him the truth whether I wanted to or not. "Yeah . . ." I confessed. "I am."

        "For how long?”

        "A few days now . . . I don't know why I've been hesitating," I added, "but I don't walk into traffic for no reason."

        Murdoc was hushed but I could sense his trepidation like an animal. "So . . . you've conditioned yourself to . . . not look both ways?"

        "I suppose you could say that."

        I looked down and noticed his hands, one of them fiddling with the zipper of his leather jacket nervously. "Shit, (Y/N) . . . I'm sorry . . ." His tone gave me the impression he was feeling guilty, but for what? "Is there anything I can do for you?"

        I shook my head, "I'm just gonna go home, might take another shift to distract myself."

        Within a single blink, Murdoc's eyes switched like a light from sincere mourning to on-the-spot safety plan assertiveness. "No way," he said. My eyes widened at his spontaneous mood swings, taken back by his impulsivity. "Not like this. I'm not leaving you alone," he concluded.

        “What?” Deep down I wanted to reject his offer - or more so a demand - so I could isolate myself. I’d listen to my days worth of sorrowful music playlists and drown myself in a fort of pillows, blankets and tears; but I knew it wouldn't work. “Are you sure?”

        Murdoc stood up, holding out his hands for me to take. "Of course I'm sure," he insisted.

        “You aren't busy though, right?"

        He pulled me to my feet and I couldn’t help myself from smiling. "Nah, Tuesdays aren't usually busy due to therapy."

        Murdoc opened his arms wide, motioning for me to accept his proposal, and drew me into a hug. I was speechless. We stood for a few seconds, feeling him rock me back and forth and before letting go of our embrace and intertwining his fingers with mine. Was this Murdoc? He didn't seem like the hand-holding type, never mind the hugging type, no matter what the situation was. There was obvious chemistry between us but I could tell this wasn’t the typical romance he invested himself in. "C'mon, we can hang at my place," he said, heading for the parking lot. He didn’t release me, guiding me to his car as if I wouldn’t recognize it by myself. I was so genuinely muddled by his inexplicably affectionate gesture I couldn't understand what I was doing or where I was going. Nonetheless, I climbed into the passenger seat and it was much cleaner than it was before; I tried not to be impressed.

        As expected, Murdoc turned the radio on, and I decoded the familiar tune of Black Sabbath in all its heavy metal holiness. I relaxed myself to the beat vibrating through the speakers like last time, and I knew I made the right decision. I felt right where I was supposed to be.

        The ride wasn't any different from our past minute-long road trips down the highway, but I couldn’t help but notice it took longer. The only thing protecting us from awkward silence was the wind slicing through my hair as Murdoc rolled down the windows.

        "Is joyriding another activity I need to mark down on your list?" he asked.

        I smiled, too distracted by what awaited beyond the vehicle door to turn around. "Absolutely.”

        I heard him chuckle and he drove past the next exit, leaving me to wonder where he was taking us. "I'll spare a few more minutes on the road then," he decided.

        I looked back at him with a beaming grin, "Thanks."

        I received one in return and watched him turn up the music, his eyes skimming over the pavement. I understood, there and then, how much of an appreciation I had for long, comfortable tours around London. I slightly wished we'd stopped so he could look at me just a little longer; so that I could look at him and find the sincere generosity of his time dedicated to admiring the little things in his eyes, hoping it wasn't all an act.

        "(Y/N)?"

        "Hmm?" I questioned, my eyes glued to his picture before I noticed it moving. But how long had I been staring? How long had he been calling my name? I instantly flushed red, my eyes widening like sinkholes before leaning back and covering my face in embarrassment. This only seemed to amuse him more.

        "Alright, I know I'm charming and all but I'm sure there are other views worth noticing as well." His eyes moved beside me and out the window, and I followed his gaze to be met with the restless River Thames.

        The waves were small but strong, crashing against the walls that tamed their force. There weren't any boats on account of all the rain, but the weather only made the water splash harder and make my heart tremble tremendously in my chest. I couldn’t stress it enough: I might've lived in London since university, but I'd been stuck in the void of my apartment for more than half of the time. I couldn't remember the last time I'd driven past London’s many blessings but gazing upon Tower Bridge made me feel sick in a way. How could I have let myself miss out on such incredible sights right in front of me?

        “Breathtaking, eh?"

        “Yeah . . ." I said, my eyes glued to the mist lifting from the billow. I sighed, and I missed not fearing the water all the years ago. Every comber looked so refreshing - and I yearned for a simple droplet or two whenever I came face to face with a cup or even a puddle outside my apartment building - but I couldn't. I just couldn't do it.

        "We should do this more often; go out every once in a while and look at all the different Wonders of the World," he said.

        “You really wanna?" I turned back to him, my face lightening up with the change of subject.

        “Sure! You don't seem to get out much," he chuckled, a smile staining both of our faces. "Especially when I take you on tour with me."

        I rolled my eyes, "You're still convinced I'd go?"

        “Won't you?"

        I froze. "I-I mean, I would love to but . . ." I quieted down and Murdoc rolled up the windows, turning down the music.

        “What's the matter?"

        “I just wouldn't wanna be a burden," I stated bluntly.

        Murdoc nearly stopped the car, feeling the jolt as it sent both of our heads a few inches forwards. "What?" he exclaimed. "You could never be a burden, (Y/N)! In fact, I'd hire you to help us if my record company wasn't so strict," he said. "Why would you think you're a burden?"

        I smiled at his kind words before softly frowning. "All I know is I can be a lot of emotional baggage to carry. Y'know, I'm still working on myself and I know it's gonna be a long process . . ."

        Murdoc stopped at a red light, leaving the conversation quiet for a moment. "Well, hey," he began, "why don't we work on it together? It'll be like . . . rehab but much cozier and exotic."

        I laughed louder than either of us expected, "I don't think there's a way to make rehab cozy and exotic."

        “You'd be surprised," he smiled. "Besides, tour can be stressful, but it's a good type of stressful. ‘A distraction from the urge’ if you will."

        I pondered, my finger tapping my chin as I sat it upon the palm of my hand, my elbow on the car door's window pane. "It's definitely captivating. Sometimes I wonder if you're actually serious or not."

        “What, this whole time you thought I wasn't serious?" I looked back at him, realizing how crazy this man truly was. "I mean it. Get your degree, quit your jobs - all three of them, “he emphasized, “and come with me on tour. I'll ensure you a spot on our team whether my company likes the idea or not."

        I laughed nervously but his glaring eyes wore me down. "You’re not kidding?”

        "Not at all! How many times do I have to tell ya'?" Murdoc chuckled. Truly, my heart was all in for it. In fact, the thought didn't only excite me, but give me genuine hope. He was so confident that things would turn out okay in the end that I actually felt as though my future was set. Murdoc wasn't my therapist nor my doctor, and I wouldn't act like he was, but he was the only person I knew at that point who wasn't obligated to be there for me, yet was there anyway. "Does it not sound fun?"

        "It really does," I said. "I just wonder if I'll be ready to leave by the time you do.”

        “Oh, believe me," he smirked, “you’re ready to leave this place."

        I chuckled and he continued down the road, meeting with more busy streets and crowds of pedestrians. "Say, I'm a bit peckish. Wanna look for a place to eat?"

        Murdoc being Murdoc, we hit up my Café. I waved to Lawrence when passing the register, thinking about how much I'd miss his freckled smile when I left. I didn’t know how I felt about working at the Café so much, but I’d probably miss that place no matter how frustrating working in customer service was sometimes. We grabbed our grub and left the busy shop, Murdoc leading me through the city as if he were my tourist guide. "Did you adjust well moving here for university?" Murdoc asked me, taking a sip of his coffee.

        I twisted my lips in contemplation, "Yeah, a little bit. I needed time to get used to the accent but I got it eventually."

        “I feel ya there," he smirked. "Folks from Stoke are known for talking fast so everything felt sort of . . . slow," he mocked, leaving me laughing.

        “In that case, I didn't need you to tell me you're from Stoke-On-Trent," I joked back, feeling him nudge my arm all the while he bellowed.

        We walked a little further, a vibrant green park soon coming into view. Small blooming trees were planted without pattern, struggling to grow in the youth of Spring. They circled around a fountain in the middle of the yard, multiple sidewalks leading from the roundabout road to the beautiful sculptured centrepiece. I prayed to every god and goddess I could remember in hopes that we wouldn't get any closer. “What's your favourite part about living here?" he asked me. He took long strides forwards, crossing the street as I followed slowly behind him.

        “The weather," I dully replied, fear fuelling my energy to spin around and leave down the road, partially hoping I'd get hit by a speeding vehicle before I reached the other side. "What about you?"

        “This fountain," Murdoc smirked, speeding his pace. I winced and sighed, anxiety pumping through my veins as my heartbeat thumped faster. If I got any closer I'd have a heart attack. "Come on," Murdoc smiled, gesturing me to follow him. I watched him look to his left and right, assuming he was watching for wandering police officers as if he cared. He placed his palms above the fountain walls and pushed himself up, standing himself on top. He walked along the barrier, balancing himself with stretched out arms like a child. I pursed my lips, looking around frantically and hoping he wouldn't get us in trouble. Murdoc would be the death of my reputation one day, I knew that for sure. "Stu was up here one day, fooling around like a halfwit before falling in," he laughed. "I can't tell you how hard I wheezed!"

        I walked closer, hesitant like a stray cat towards a human. My breath began arriving in short, fast inhales and exhales, realizing how much I was sweating and shaking. What if he were to fall in and hit his head? What if I couldn’t pull him out in time and he were to drown? How would I ever make it up to him if I was the cause of his death?

        "(Y/N) . . . ?" Murdoc addressed. I stood still, my eyes widened as tears built up and my heart pounded in my ears. Finally, I backed away; the further I got, the easier it was to breathe. "Are you okay?" Murdoc hopped down from the wall, nervous to approach me. I wanted to shake my head, but I couldn't move any part of my body aside from my legs which pulled me back. His fingers wrapped around the fists that I clenched at my chest, pulling them down and turning me around to face the streets rather than the sculpture. "W-what's wrong?"

        I blinked, the tears leaking down to my chin and slowly down my neck. "I-I'm not good friends with water . . ."

        The pensive Murdoc squinted his eyes. "You . . . You have a fear of water?" I shook my head and he pulled me away further, pulling me towards one of the benches decorating the perimeter of the park. "Shit . . ." he mumbled, setting me down beside him and holding me close. "I'm so sorry (Y/N), I didn't realize."

        I calmed myself enough to speak, still gasping at every other breath. "I didn't want you to," I said. "I hoped you never would."

        "Why?" Murdoc asked, looking back at me. "It's clearly . . . important that I know so this doesn't happen again," he said.

        “I know . . . I didn’t want my fears to dictate what you do and don’t do because you don’t wanna . . .”

        “Hurt you?” he supplied.

        For lack of a better word, I nodded. “But I hate thinking about it, let alone talking about it . . ."

        He clearly didn't know what to say, and I didn't expect him to. What could he say that would make me feel better? “I know where you're coming from," he connected. "But listen . . ." I looked up to him, wiping the tears from my eyes and clearing my blurry vision. "I know you probably won't want to - I know what it's like to be pushed out of my comfort zone to help heal from . . . from stuff - but maybe I could help you?"

        I cleared my throat, pushing my hair from my face. "How?"

        "Baby steps," he said. "We'll just take baby steps," he repeated. "It won't be easy of course, and I don't even know much about your fears to begin with, but . . . I know it'll be worth it. During tour, if you’d still like to come, I can help you . . .” I stammered, “practice.”

        I couldn't make voluntary decisions like Murdoc could. He might’ve had a doctorate in psychology but were we capable of helping each other when we eventually left rehab and set off on our own? Auditioning for what might as well be Fear Factor: Without Cameras wasn't something you could sign up for so quickly, but I knew he wasn't wrong. Getting over my fears, or at the very least coping with my trauma, would undoubtedly save me from long-term suffering I'd have to endure. However, I also knew that one day I would have to push my limits and walk into the splashing void of wet predators - both living and inanimate - and that it would take a lot of stress and motivation to get there. Murdoc must’ve had his own goals in mind as well; could we reach them together without faltering?

        “You’ll be with me through it all, right?" I asked.

        “Of course I will," he smiled. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, holding me tightly before lifting his other hand to my cheek. He wiped the last of my tears away with him thumb, "I always will."

#gorillaz #murdoc niccals #murdoc x reader #x reader #romance #fanfiction #Russel Hobbs #noodle #Stuart Pot #Damon Albarn #Jamie Hewlett #phase 4 #2-d

[cripplecharacters]

What would a real experience in a psychiatric ward be like? Lots of sites say its good but they seem to be from non-patients. Do you also have any/know where I can find more reliable resources?

yeah, they’re awful. i’ll give my experiences, but they’re pretty intense. 

tw psychiatric abuse, suicide mention, sex ment, conversion therapy(?) under the cut. i’ll be getting a little personal and a little painful. a lot personal. i want to be clear: the only people these places help are those with unipolar depression and anxiety and EVEN THAT is only if you do everything they say and act the way they want. and are above the age of 35. and are nice to them. i take that back: it doesn’t matter what you have, if you don’t do whatever they say then they don’t help you.  i don’t actually mind giving my experience because venting is good.my experience is heavily tied to my being lgbtq/queer, but that by no means was the focus.

now, this is all worse-case… i’m sure there’s people who work at these places who are good people, but there’s bound to be people in the replies with their own horror stories and i recommend they share said stories and that you read them. and i do mean horror stories. first of all, it depends on the ward. short term facilities completely reduce your sense of freedom down to nothing because all they want is to make sure you aren’t going to kill yourself or someone else. in several places you are required to have a psych evaluation after a suicide attempt that lands you in the ER, some places skip it and just toss you into a short term facility. most people stay in those facilities for about a week at most, then move on to a long term facility if they need to stay longer. generally you get tossed in a room and have to wait until a counselor can see you, they usually make you go to their ‘group therapy’ which, in short term facilities, is pretty weak since most everyone there is exhausted and/or actually having a breakdown, but if you don’t go to groups they can mark you down as non-compliant and it’ll make it harder for you to be cleared to leave.the nurses can try to be sympathetic, but most of them have kind of reduced patients down to moving faces. they aren’t really sympathetic because to them, you’ll be gone in a few days, and your panic and fear will go away like it always does, and it’s not their problem. sure, they can handle a crisis- but they really aren’t all that kind and tend to get annoyed easily if patients don’t comply since they see so many patients they’ve stopped seeing them as individuals and just as nervous animals to be calmed, drugged, and booted out. sometimes the counselors will diagnose you with something completely off base and change all your meds before kicking you out, then you have to have everything changed back. seriously, if you don’t want to go to the groups, they make sure you know that it’ll keep you there longer. it doesn’t matter if you’re exhausted and want to rest. they made us go out and do “stretches” and lie down on linoleum. i don’t like touching the floor. they made me do it anyway. i can’t be still for long periods of time doing nothing. they made me do it anyway. granted, i was 14 and in the minors ward at that time, but still. if you’re too sick to eat, they mark it down and they’ll start breathing down your back about eating disorders. if you don’t do whatever you’re told, they usually imply you’ll have to stay longer. that’s essentially how they keep control. there’s a lot of ‘how’s your mood today’ and fake concern that hides that they’re just getting your info and wanting to move on. kids wards are especially horrible. they act like everyone there is a complete brat that is actively trying to cause trouble and they can and will make you sit in your room with nothing to do. 

also they WILL just change your medicine. the second place i went to as a minor just decided i didn’t need my stimulants, they didn’t believe in giving stimulants to people during nonwork days. they didn’t consult with me OR MY PARENTS, they just didn’t give me the medicine i’ve been on since i was five. adhd meds aren’t the types to cause withdrawal, but they keep me calm, awake, and alert, and when i’m not those things there really isn’t much being done. my mom went ballistic and pulled me out of that facility because they decided to screw with my medicine without asking anyone.

it’s pretty unanimous in any of these facilities that they think they are Always Right. ALWAYS. they can never ever be wrong. giving a 17 year old one of the most potently sedative antipsychotics out there instead of one less intense? they were absolutely in the right. thorazine WILL knock you out completely. i slept for hours on the couch in the rec room and it was my fault for not going to groups that day. 

i went to a long term facility literally a week after i turned 18. i had been told before i fit a lot of bpd symptoms and it was likely i had it, so i communicated that- i also communicated the horribly toxic and messed up friend situation i had been in the past two years, and i also communicated that i was asexual- big. mistake. they threw me into groups about healthy relationships and the counselor told me to my face that ‘sex is the most important part of intimacy’ and they kept drilling that i would forever be unhappy and toxic unless i listened and obeyed their concepts of healthy relationships and sex. again, i had literally just turned 18. most of the people in the facility had an average age of 35. i went there to process trauma and abuse and was treated like i needed to ‘get over’ my struggles in relationships- not the struggles that were actually there, like being unable to stand up for myself and communicate my needs, oh no- for my apparent resistance to intimacy and trust. those places medicalize the fuck out of being lgbtq- i had to also sit and go in depth about my dysphoria only for them to look at me funny (sorry nonbinary dysphoria weirds you out? my therapist understands it fine?) and continually gaslight me over and over about my experiences, my attraction, who i was attracted to and how- it was as though they had absolutely no idea how to interact with anyone lgbtq that wasn’t cis and gay and middle aged. i said i knew who i was: nonbinary, asexual, trans, not attracted to men: they used my close friendship that had been horribly toxic and traumatic with someone who wasn’t even a guy but who used he/him (or any) pronouns to try and convince me i was actually in love with him, because the concept of toxic friendships and relationships that aren’t romantic and are still painful exist. i still don’t know if they were trying to convince me i was a gay man or a lesbian, the trans thing confused them and they went back and forth with me not accepting my body or me not accepting being trans (i said i was trans?) if they do not immediately understand it, they want to make you say you’re something they do understand, because that way they’ll still be right. 

the gaslighting is something.a lot of these long term places (at least the one i went to) are meant for people older than the age of 35. they are meant for cishet people with depression. if you have issues that cannot be resolved with the treatment they give cishet people with depression, screw you. there WAS a trans guy in the ward who was given a decent amount of respect when they didn’t want him to talk about being trans in groups. they encouraged disclosure and they wanted to know everything. and again: you HAD to go to the groups, no matter how uncomfortable you are there. there’s not a lot of support for people who have disorders that Will Never go away- it’s just “coping strategies” for unipolar depression and anxiety and sometimes ptsd groups that i didn’t get to go to because i was too busy learning about sex and relationships. they acted like i was the one who could fix all my problems and i just needed to take charge and accept things and be kind to my inner child, but i’m a person with two personality disorders and severe dissociation. some things will NEVER go away, you can only learn how to manage symptoms as they come.and honestly i don’t think they even had very good depression and anxiety treatment. i feel bad for the people under the age of 25 who went there for depression treatment and were told it was something they could fix on their own. it’s not. 

these places are often old fashioned in that manner. the second you mention BPD, they go completely off the rails with treating you like you’re a menace to your relationships and you need to fix yourself before it’s too late. but that’s another story about how much BPD is stigmatized.  

also, they made me stay in a room with someone who snored despite the many free rooms. i know it meant ‘less rooms to clean’ but i have profound sleep issues and i’m autistic and have misophonia. i wanted to go out and sleep in on the couches in the open area but they just gave me earplugs and made me go back to bed. no sympathy. no sympathy for panic attacks or people dissociating. they shoved essential oils under my nose when i dissociated and i nearly hacked up a lung, those things are awful. 

you can’t just be left alone. you are NEVER alone, you can’t go and be quiet and be left alone, it is constant. you are stuck there and you cannot leave no matter how they attempt to sugar coat it: even if you went there willingly, they can keep you there if they say you’re a danger to yourself. they will check on you constantly if you want to be alone because you can’t want to be alone without being a danger to yourself, according to them. it’s not like people are autistic sometimes. it is IMMENSELY, unbelievably stressful. there is no being alone, they make you keep doors open, they make you viewable at all times- i can understand why, to an extent, but they have absolutely no sympathy for how you feel and don’t usually try to accommodate you either, so you just have to suffer through it. there are a million ways the rules to protect people could be better handled, but that would require being more one on one with a patient and actively being sympathetic to an individual’s needs, and you’ll just be leaving in a few weeks anyways, so why should they bother? there’s really absolutely no sympathy or compassion for the patients because they keep telling us to look at the big picture- when most of us are stuck in the here and now and the pain we are currently going through. 

anyways, i got bitter and angry, but that’s most of my experience. i have a lot of blurry memories i can’t really remember as bits and pieces, it’s all just one solid blur of six weeks of incredible stress. i hated every second and i learned absolutely nothing there because i’m not a 40 year old with depression, i was a traumatized teenager with several serious disorders. they were NOT equipped and they were stuck 30 years in the past. i was gaslit most of my time there about my relationships and my sexuality and my gender, about my illnesses and my life and my feelings- they’ll sit down and tell you in a gentle voice that you’re just stressed out and it’ll be okay, but then they don’t actually do anything to encourage that or help you be okay. they just claim to know how you feel, then insist on how you feel, then threaten you if you get mad. 

i honestly hated that place so much. there’s no compassion. they try to make it homey but it’s really just throwing a blanket on how they see the patients feelings as temporary and inconsequential.

I left learning absolutely nothing. i’ve gone further with my personal therapist than i’ve ever, ever went with the facility because she actively listens, respects, and understands me. 

there’s no respect in these places. none. they are for people with easily palatable anxiety and depression- if you have severe psychotic depression? you’re screwed. if you’re severely depressed and suicidal? you’re screwed. if you have constant panic attacks? you’re screwed. i mean the most basic concepts of those disorders, no room for anyone else. 

anyways.

as usual, reddit has a lot of first-person experiences to check out; there’s no doubt some about psych wards. this may be non conventional, but there’s a webcomic about an inpatient facility called ‘fresh meat’ that might be useful to look at. it’s about a 17 year old with depression who has to go to a psych ward. it’s really viscerally uncomfortable in all the ways these places are, and i frankly cannot recommend it enough if you want a good idea of how those places work (the author is mentally ill themself.) it made me a little ill how well it captured the dehumanization and gaslighting, even if it’s fiction, i think it’s worth a look if you want more ideas.  also check the post replies for people with their own experiences. -mod a

#psychiatric abuse tw #sex ment tw #hospitals tw #Anonymous

[superjennysunshine]

Day 9: Day 7 - Revelations.

Today was fun. Xenoblades been fucking amazing so far and I’m still looking forward to playing it everyday, unfortunately FF14 has taken a backseat to it but I’ll return once i finish up Xenoblade.

So lets talk about day 7 huh.

I said I didn’t have a post for day 7 cause it was a bad day and that’s partially a lie. It was mostly an average day until I wrote out the post for day 7, at which point it became a bad day.

I didn’t really know what to write on day 7. I tried a couple things and none of them seemed to work and as I kept deleting paragraphs everything kept getting a little more raw and emotional, Attempt 2 was more emotional and raw than attempt 1. Attempt 3 more than 2, etc. On my fourth try I found what I was looking for, that feeling when you’ve struck literature gold and your just typing away filling the page with word after word of exactly what you wanted to convey.

But then I realized something. What I was writing sounded exactly like a suicide note. The first sentence was “I just wanted them to know how I felt.” later i wrote “I want them to know none of this was there fault, there was nothing they could’ve done.” and I started balling in my room, my door was open so I was biting down on my lip, tears streaming down my face as I wrote this letter. Finally I reached an end after 4 paragraphs and just sat there crying.

Ultimately I didn’t post that letter for day 7, of course, and I’m better now, I know that probably doesn’t sound like much coming from me, especially with events as of late, but I do feel better than I did then. But thinking back to it, It felt so final. It was so filled with anger and bitterness toward the world, some sort of lamenting tantrum at everyone who would’ve read it. It read like the words of someone who was about to die and it scared me. Still does today, which I guess is a good thing. 

I think about my own death a lot, hell I daydream about it nearly on the regular. I feel like I’ve told at least one or two people that but I’ve never told them specifically what I think about. I have two separate death dreams.

The first is the Car Dream. In the car dream, I’m driving, on some street near a closed gas station, when all of the sudden i get in a head on collision. there’s glass stuck in me all over, im bleeding out of my ears and my eyes are open wide in shock. I crawl out of the car and lay on the ground by the door, staring up into the sky as the dream camera very cinematic like floats up into the air as David Bowies’ Heroes plays. Melodramatic as hell I know. But that’s how it plays out every single time I have the car dream.

Btw David Bowie makes great credit music. Heroes, Moonage Daydream, Life On Mars they all have such an ending type of vibe too them, like you’re watching someone walk off the field in an 80′s movie. Or in my case die in a fucking car accident lmao.

Anyway..

The other is the Funeral Dream. In the funeral dream I’ve already died. Everyone I expect would be at my real life funeral is there all dressed up to the nines. It’s in the same funeral home as my dads, I guess because it was the last funeral home I vividly remember the look of. There’s no service or anything but there is a closed casket and a television. The Television turns on and a video begins playing. It’s animated the first I hear is Blue by Yugo Kanno, the ending track to Cowboy Bebop. Another very good credit song, mainly because it’s used in the series finale credits. The similarities don’t stop there, as a huge blue sky plays a pivotal role in the plot of this little animation. There’s a shot of me in a hospital bed, presumably in this dream I die of some sort of illness. Don’t know if I’d take it over a car crash but that’s a quandary for another day. I wont go into too much detail about the events leading up to the end of the video. But when the ending crescendo of Blue begins i start running up the side of the hospital, and jumping into the sky, and as the song ends I fly away, only to be seen watching the world below me while sitting on a cloud. It mirrors this picture from the ending of All Star Superman, which makes sense because it’s my favorite image a comic I love, and is also about someones death.

The video is honestly, quite beautiful. It’s stirred tears out of me more than a couple of times.

I’ve had revelations about these dreams recently. In both of them I’m killed by something completely out of my control. An Unstoppable Illness, and An Unseen Oncoming Vehicle. I go away to music, ending music, ending music I love, and in the funeral dream I get closure. I watch the reactions of the people I love and I watch them leave. Knowing that their lives will continue on.

A resolute end. A goodbye.

This entire break I’ve been dreading returning to my friends lives not because I hate them or anything but because It would make it so much harder to leave. I’ve felt exhausted of living for so long, since before I even knew any of them, though I didn’t know that back then. But I got involved in these peoples lives I became something to them no matter how small or big that thing might be I AM something. It all makes senses. I stop talking to my guitar teacher, I brush off every compliment that comes my way, I chuckle and say a half assed thanks when people show me genuine love, I confine myself to my room and never speak to anyone, because I’m trying to prepare. Whether all of it means to prepare to just disappear or kill myself is a question I don’t have the answer to.

The more important question is, now that I’ve figured it all out, how do I feel about it?

Idk. I don’t wanna die, not today. Not right now. I did on day 7. Will I tomorrow? Maybe.

Truthfully, I have no Idea how to process any of this information or what i want to do with it. emotionally I want to go through with it, just POOF out of peoples lives and chill either in this room alone or in the ether. Logically I don’t want to do any of that because that sounds fucking insane.

Idk man. Shits crazy.

[bing-fucker]

Plot twist, Remus was amping up his annoyingness and grossness just so when Anti is all fed up and says "UGH IS THERE ANYTHING THAT WILL GET YOU TO SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE" Remus can then say "lemme fuck you and I'll shut up for the rest of the day". It was all part of his master plan to get at Anti's twink ass

Remus is an evil master mind and I love him for it. Also, I'm using this ask to write it because y'all have given me far too many ideas for this, and if I have to suffer with my thoughts, so do you. Also, just for Hearts Anon, I did mention Anti bottoming for Dark. So there.

Also, I can't add read more links on my phone, so I'm sorry.

Warnings: Remus being Remus, mentions of wound-fucking and blood play, Anti's throat wound, mentions of suicide, dildos used as gags, use of the term "glitch bitch" in a sexual context, Remus licks Anti's throat slit. Ask me to add as necessary!

Meeting the Sides was supposed to be exciting! It was supposed to be fun and cool, because the Sides were new and it was fun to meet new people. Schneep had immediately latched onto Logan, and the two were talking about math so quickly that Anti wasn't even sure they were speaking English (he did, actually, hear some German words occasionally). Marvin and Jackie had both quickly been dragged off by Roman, Chase was speaking to Patton and Deceit, and JJ awkwardly teaching Virgil some Sign.

Which left Anti, who would have much rather been left alone. Unfortunately, however, Anti was not alone. No, instead, Anti had been annoyed all day by one Duke Remus Sanders. Remus was, to put it simply, fascinated by Anti. And, specifically, Anti's neck wound. Anti had attempted to escape him by going outside, but that just got him followed.

"Hey, if someone fucked your throat wound, would it be, like, deep-deep throating?" Remus asked, looking around the backyard of the Sides' house. "Or! Or! If you sucked someone's dick, could it go through the slit?" Remus looked back at Anti, who was sitting on the porch steps, looking exhausted. Remus leaned closer to Anti and poked his throat wound.

"Don't feckin' do that, you eejit!" Anti exclaimed, slapping Remus' hand away. "It isn't all the way cut through, dumbass, that isn't how biology works!"

"Have you tried it?" Remus asked, cocking his head curiously.

"No!"

"Then how do you know?"

"Because I'm not feckin' decapitated, this isn't just a hole in my throat!" Anti groaned and stood, stomping back into the house. It had been like this for the five hours that him and the others were visiting the Sides, and he was very close to taking Dark's advice and trying to kill himself again. Or maybe killing Remus. Either were ideas that would work.

Anti stomped into the living room, where most of the others were gathered. Remus followed behind him quickly, rambling on about something Anti wasn't paying attention to and never had been.

"Oh, for feck's sake!" Anti exclaimed, stopping and turning to look at Remus, who stilled and cocked his head curiously. "What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone!?"

Remus grinned wide. "Let me fuck you and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day." Anti heard the very distinct sound of Schneep cursing in surprise, and even a surprised laugh from Chase.

"Are you serious?" Anti asked, glaring at Remus.

"Deadly so," Remus agreed, grinning wider.

Anti glared harder. Was it worth it? The average man lasted three to ten minutes, to be fair. So it was three to ten minutes of Anti's life for hours of piece. "Fine," he said, drawing more surprised curses and laughs from Henrik and Chase. "But you don't touch my neck."

Remus looked shocked for a second, then grinned and grabbed Anti's hand, quickly sinking down and subsequently dragging the glitch out of the living room and into Remus' room. Anti looked around the room, glitching in annoyance.

"Wow. Great decorating skills," he said sarcastically. Remus' room was dark, messy, and probably a health hazard.

"Thank you!" Remus replied, seemingly mistaking Anti's sarcasm for genuine admiration.

"Yeah, whatever." Anti sighed and turned back towards Remus, opening his mouth to say something else. However his words were quickly cut off by the duke crashing his lips against Anti's. Anti yelped into the kiss, fumbling with his hands hand a second before settling them on Remus' hips.

"Jaysus feck!" Anti exclaimed, pulling away from the kiss briefly. "Warn a guy!"

"I thought the whole 'let me fuck you and I'll leave you alone' bit worked as a warning," Remus replied, moving to kiss at Anti's throat and frowning when he remembered. "How am I supposed to do foreplay if I can't mark your throat!?"

"Try taking off my shirt, asshole," Anti replied, pushing Remus away and pulling his shirt off. "There are other places to mark someone!"

"Works for me," Remus replied, quickly taking off his own shirt and shoving Anti onto the bed.

"Ask me to do things, don't just shove me!" Anti hissed, glitching slightly as he arranged himself on the bed.

"That's boring," Remus replied, straddling Anti's thighs and quickly setting to work marking up the glitch's shoulders and collarbones. "Hey, is it going to bleed? Like, while I'm fucking you?"

"You're feckin' disgusting," Anti replied, voice glitching into a soft moan when Remus licked around his nipple.

Remus didn't respond, only ground against Anti's thigh lightly. Anti winced slightly, suddenly very much reminded that the only time he'd bottomed before was when losing a fight to Dark- and Remus was shaping up to be quite a bit rougher than Dark.

"You hump like a wild animal," Anti hissed, holding back a sound as he shifted beneath Remus and was reminded of his own cock, straining in too-tight skinny jeans.

"Yes, well, it's one of my charms," Remus responded, sitting back slightly to admire the mass of dark bruises he'd left littering Anti's shoulders, chest, and collarbones. Anti glared weakly up at him, earning a sigh. "Are you going to glare the entire time?"

"Until you do something that's worth me not, yes," Anti replied.

Remus shrugged and climbed off of Anti, roughling yanking the glitch's jeans and boxers off in one smooth motion. Anti yelped, gripping Remus' hair as the duke lifted his legs in the air and pressed his face right against Anti's entrance.

"What is with you not warning people!?" Anti exclaimed, blushing and staring down at Remus in shock. Remus just shrugged and licked around Anti's hole wetly, drawing a startled moan from the glitch.

"Y-you're doing horribly," Anti commented, words falsified by the high-pitched, glitching moans he gave as Remus ate him out.

"You say that," Remus replied, pulling back slightly. "And yet every other part of you disagrees." As if to prove his point, he dragged his finger up the underside of Anti's achingly hard cock. Anti yelped, hips bucking up in response.

"See, look at that," Remus purred, snapping his fingers and locking Anti's legs into previously unseen stir-ups. He pulled away to undress himself. "You seem so open for me. Pity your mouth can't quite shut up."

"What are you gonna do, gag me?" Anti replied, blushing brightly at the lewd position Remus had put him in.

"You know," Remus commented, standing and walking to a chest of drawers across the room. "That's not a half bad idea. Let's test something out." Anti craned his neck to try and see what Remus was doing, blushing more as he became more excited at the mystery.

"There we go," Remus purred, returning to Anti's side with something hidden behind his back. "Open wide, my dear glitch bitch." Anti rolled his eyes at the name, but opened his mouth obediently, silently justifying his obedience by saying it was for the sake of being left alone. Anti's eyes once again widened as Remus shoved a rather sizable dildo down his throat, reflexive tears almost immediately springing to his eyes as he glared at the duke.

"Well, that was disappointing," Remus observed. "You were right." Anti rolled his eyes as if to say 'Duh, of course I was'.

"Don't get snippy," Remus laughed, climbing back onto the bed and between Anti's lifted legs. "You look rather beautiful, you know. All spread out and silenced. I bet you'd look even prettier with your lips wrapped around a cock."

Anti blushed and moaned around the dildo in his throat at the praise, arching his back as Remus slowly pushed the head of his cock into him.

"Oh," Remus breathed, watching the demon beneath him as he pushed fully inside. "Somehow I didn't peg you as the praise type. Hah! Peg!" Anti rolled his eyes again, letting out a muffled moan as Remus angled his hips and pressed against Anti's prostate.

"You feel so good," Remus purred, waiting less than a minute for Anti to adjust before setting a punishing pace. "Better than I imagined." Anti's eyes fluttered closed as Remus continued, moaning desperately around the dildo down his throat.

"Fuck, you're hot," Remus praised, gently stroking Anti's cock as he fucked him. Anti moaned loudly, not even caring as Remus leaned down and licked along his wound. Anti whimpered and moaned desperately around his gag, bucking back against Remus' thrusts as he came far too quickly for his own liking.

"That's very cute," Remus grunted, thrusts becoming erratic and even rougher as he came close to his own orgasm. "How quickly you came just from getting fucked. We should do this more often~" Anti didn't even have the coherancy to roll his eyes in response, or be disgusted when Remus came inside of him.

Remus pulled away with a soft laugh, licking his lips at the sight Anti made and staring for a few minutes. Eventually, he released Anti's legs from their stir-ups and pulled the dildo from the glitch's throat, impassively watching Anti gasp and choke for breath for a few seconds before offering a bottle of water.

"There we go," Remus laughed, getting dressed and tossing Anti his clothes. "That was fun wasn't it?"

"Ah!" Anti made a gesture for Remus to shut up when he was coherant enough to start getting dressed. "You said you'd leave me alone!"

"Does that have to start now?" Remus whined, watching Anti get dressed with a pout.

"Yes," Anti replied, pulling his shirt on. "Yes it does." With that, the glitch turned and stormed off, followed closely by the laughing duke.

Anti collapsed on the living room couch gratefully, looking forward to spending the rest of the visit in silence. Silence which he only got to enjoy for about ten minutes.

"Guys," Jackie said, voice soft. Anti groaned and looked away from his phone, looking at Jackie, who was now holding a sleeping Jameson, the youngest clinging to the hero like a koala. "Get your stuff, okay? We're gonna head home."

Anti stared in shock. He did all of that for ten minutes!? He could've put up with Remus for all that time! Not that he was too bothered about getting to fuck the other man, but still! It was the principle of it! Ten minutes!

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" Anti exclaimed, his loud voice joined by Schneep and Chase's loud laughter.

[in-tua-deep]

First time anon wanted to say I love all of your tua au’s. They are absolutely fantastic and I am soft for all of them. However I did amuse myself with the barking mad au, noticed you never write about Pogo in your au’s (do you not like him btw? No pressure on it just curious), but I just like the thought of him meeting/talking to partially feral!Five and he can’t quite figure out which language (animal or english) is more appropriate to say ‘master five what the ever living F****?!’ in.

!! hello first time anon! thank u for messaging

asdfHJGFSDG you caught me,, i don’t like Pogo and don’t think he should have a place in the children’s lives so I never write him into any of my aus because I lowkey want him to disappear

mainly because Pogo was complicit in their abuse to the point where even after Reginald was dead he was still keeping secrets - like he was complicit in drugging a child almost her entire life and emotionally abusing her by backing up the “You’re ordinary” narrative Reginald built up

and even after his death, Pogo stood up and said their dad left behind a complicated memory but then proceeded to compliment the man because presumably Pogo owed so much to him etc. etc. 

Grace I can excuse, because she’s a robot. She functionally had no free will since Reginald was fully capable of tinkering with her programming and forcing her to obey and keep quiet, but Pogo was an adult sentient being capable of free will and he still looked the other way. 

Yeah okay you could say maybe he did it because he was afraid that if he turned against Reginald, he wouldn’t have anywhere to go. You could say he didn’t know how to help beyond attempting to be there for the kids and turning a blind eye to some of their shenanigans (like going out to Griddy’s). BUT. After Reginald’s death he continued to keep the kids in the dark about their dad’s plan, withheld information, and made no move to correct anything. Like i’m pretty sure if he told Klaus “the box contained your father’s journal recording your sister’s power, no not allison, actually your dad drugged her all her life and I’d like to set the record straight on her being ‘ordinary’” klaus would have tried a hell of a lot harder to get it back

Grace, after Reginald’s death, was glitched out of her mind tbh but once fixed she made it clear that she did not support Reginald. After all, telling ur son that you’d like to go out when you were never permitted and then telling him that his dad isn’t around anymore to give orders is a pretty cool moment if I do say so myself

and in the day that wasn’t, Grace was going to tell all the secrets she’d been forced to keep over the years in the park as well. She tried to put it right pretty much as soon as she was capable

Pogo didn’t. He purposefully made efforts to continue Reginald’s plan, up to and including attempting to frame Grace for Reginald’s suicide, not telling Vanya about her powers, not telling anyone about that whole skeezy business, fixing Grace but then reminding her to keep secrets (which she rejects), and just generally. continued supporting a man we know to be an abusive piece of shit idk

so yEAH I don’t like Pogo and consider him to be an accomplice to Reginald’s abuse where I don’t hold Grace accountable because there’s free will involved and while he might have advocated for the children, I doubt he ever pressed if Reginald put his foot down which is why i never include him in anything lmao

as far as i’m concerned in all my aus he’s off chilling at one of Reggie’s other properties or something because Vanya doesn’t want him around (and for good reason) so he can live his days in retirement,,, anywhere else

as for the barking mad au, getting back to ur original ask, I think Pogo is?? Too human-ized? I doubt he’s been a proper chimpanzee for many years, a minimum of like. actually when was he introduced to the household? Was it before the kids were there? Average lifespan of a chimp is what, forty years? And he looked older with his cane and stuff so. Probably? 

But regardless I doubt he can understand anything Five is ‘saying’ with body language beyond what humans can read, mainly because dogs/cats and chimps are different (though Five also knows some sick birdcalls and can mimic alarm calls and ‘hello!’ and other cool thing) and feral!Five lived with only cats and dogs during the apocalypse. It’s a little like dumping a dog in with a colony of chimps - confusion on all sides rip so while Pogo probably would be like “Master Five what the Fuck” it’s more because Five is behaving like,, well,, an animal. Which all of the siblings are also thinking tbh

dog people or cat people would probably be able to pick up things here and there though. like that specific meow cats do when they Hunger, or the wiggling that says ‘happy and probably overstimulated’, and growls/hisses/showing teeth should be self explanatory tbh but like, there’s other things. Like quietly mirroring to hang out, slow blinks as affection, the way dogs will playfully run up and then run away in an almost crab scuttle to see if you’ll follow to play (with bonus jumping powers!), the either cowering down with metaphorical tail between legs or PUFFING UP to be the BIGGEST when threatened, whines that mean ‘hurry up!! come on!’ when someone is going too slow, the running ahead and running back to check and running ahead again

like look i have a pretty quiet dog all things considered, and i had an even quieter dog before they. She only really barks when people come up to the door tbh, but I Know People who own dogs like huskies who are the most vocal little shits in existence and who WILL scream when inconvenienced or nervous

(my sister, a vet student interning at a vets, has regaled me with tales of huskies brought to the clinic who just screamed like they were being murdered the entire time despite them not even being examined or anything. they were literally just chilling in the kennel.)

Feral!Five is actually more vocal than ur regularly scheduled Five but everyone wishes he Wasn’t (he’s also way less standoffish and very likely to just full body rub himself against his siblings or drape himself across them tbh bc like. if they wanted him to quit all they’d have to do is give a warning snap or growl or grumble and they don’t sO)

BUT HEY if u want to write something for the au then feel free to include Pogo and your idea because it is very cute!! I just don’t like Pogo and refuse to include him in things lmao

#ask me #anonymous #barking mad au #tua au #tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five #pogo hargreeves #pogo #tua pogo #half of this is just pogo hate and the other half is actually me talking about the au tbh #i just don't liKE HIM #he rubs me the wrong way #maybe it's bc i've never much appreciated primates #and chimpanzees are lowkey scary #them fangs man #i would rather fight a clown than a chimp tbh #legit the first time pogo came on screen i was like 'hmm. don't like that. don't trust him.' #and then when the secret keeping came up i was like VINDICATIOOOOOONNN

[umbillicalnoose]

i think that you would think im pretty and would like my poetry and i want to share it with you. im shy.

to be honest, im very apathetic these days. im not the nice “cutesy baby flower petal boy” i used to be. a lot has happened & im bitter & sullen & all in all, a pretty shitty friend/person to know. i used to possess some redeeming qualities, believe it or not, even if they were construed by the subconscious in an attempt to be likeable - a facade, even tho its only a facade, is still tangible, still there, is still something, even if not authentic. is poorer character forgivable in the name of presenting more authentically? but nah. that makes it sound like im putting effort into being a better person, which im not. im just sort of fried & done. its been a very long time since i played the role i built for myself on here of the “small fawn boy who wants to help girls” lmaooo. how embarrassing. altho, i was just a kid, & i guess, if you had a tumblr as a teenager, you went thru some cringe (i know the use of that word has fallen in on itself & adopted its own definition but for lack of a better one) ass phases, whether it was kinning or malingering mental illness or oh fucking christ, all that gender bullshit, etc etc. from what ive observed, tho, loosely following kids im still casually friends with that i met on here, i think we’ve all managed to Grow The Fuck Up, at least a little. most of us have jobs or r in school or have partners - growing up & moving on is a very surreal experience to watch/go thru. im moving at my own pace & ive accepted that - im still currently using & starving myself & concocting a suicide plan every day but at least i use clean needles as much as possible, i actively & honestly do strive for the bare minimum calorically, & um able to work with the mentality of “well ill have this when i need it but todays not that day” a lot more readily, in relation to suicide shit. ive finally found a therapist who Really Gets It, is a frontrunner internationally on ritual & extreme abuse & mind control. its pretty incredible what a few years with a good therapist can do. anyways. im sorry, i know you didnt ask for all this & im not even sure why i divulged. i guess, what tipped me off, was your attempt at sounsing “cute” - dude, cut that shit out, i promise youll be a lot better off. & i know everyone interchanges aspects of their personality based on who theyre talking to/who they percieve themselves to be talking to, but i feel like not a lot of people give enough credence to the internet & its hand in shaping/molding young people, kids, vulnerable dumbasses, especially tumblr (tho, i get that its a relatively new phenomenon) - u get a bunch of the “weird”, “alternative”, ““ostracized” kids together on a website, of course its gonna nurture a culture of hypervalidatoon & pretending to be sick in order to fit in to the point that its not an act anymore & exacerbation of symptoms & basically, just sucking each others dicks, sitting in ur own shit, & never ending coddling. & then, you have the older group of kids, who have played this game before but instead of helping or ignoring the Dumbshit kids, they indulge their own normally-buried-but-unleashed-by-internet-anonymity sadism/human instinct to just be fucking dicks & so now you have this vicious cycle of anger & hatred & fucking melodrama up the urethra. im sorry, i know im comig off as/am being harsh but god fuckin dammit yknow? also, this isnt directed at you, specifically, more of a generalized thing, @ myself included. so uh. i mean, if u still wanna share it with me after reading all this, id be happy to read ur poetry. i used to be over the top nice & then reverted to Major Asshole & am now trying to find that sweet middle spot - honoring & allowing myself to share my pain without putting it on others. which is really hard!! cuz becoming a Dick was difficult in that it forced me to be more honest with my true self & as such, more vulnerable - now in trying to become Kinda Nice again because despite being a pulsating scrotom, ive had the intense desire for friendship & human interaction, while simultaneously doing things that i was consciously aware was pushing others away - but then, if i pretend to be nice, where does that authenticity i worked for & was so scared of go? & i dont mean telling someone their new haircut looks nice even when it doesnt - thats just not being a dick. but i guess, those r the normal trials & tribulations of any relationship & adolescent developing identity. which is weird too - dealing with “normal” issues, i mean. whats the point if your life/limbs/breaking point arent at risk? whats the point when your best friends already dead. im sick of people calling "survivors” (despise that word, so fucking female-originated & overdramatic) “brave” & “strong” - surviving is not brave or strong. its just survival. you wouldnt call an animal brave for running for its life from a predator but you would call a dog courageous for going into a burning building to save its owner. premeditated action on the notion that you are probably going to be hurt is brave. being subjected to pain with no choice is not. theres no “silver lining” or anything “good” to be drawn from it either - sure it may have made x a more compassionate person or made y more introspective & gentle but you know what would have been even fucking better??? if the shit hadnt happened in the first place! let x be an asshole & y be self absorbed - the “benefits”, so to speak, do not outweigh the cost, not by a long fucking shot. its not only patronizing to hear garbage like that, but a slap in the face to know that anyone could possibly see anything good coming from that nightmare & that the characteristics, good or bad, you developed either in response to or as a result of, are worth praise. dont tell me im strong for doing what i had to to escape a torture chamber - tell me im perseverant for studying my ass off & passing that test last week. in the words of one of my dearest & most fucking brilliant friends, “pain doesnt owe me/you purpose - the need to intellectualize & assign meaning to pain & death is not only futile, but harmful.” & honestly, i think that it stems from weakness (in most cases - i realize theres a plethora of other reasons such as those who r just desperate for something to hold on to or r hyperintellectual & analytical or who have been pressured by external “support” systems to find the “good” etc etc) - while the majority of people view the person who “can find the good in everything” (strictly speaking only in relation to trauma/tragedy here & more in denunciation of those that celebrate this trait as opposed to vilifying “survivors” who respond this way, though in my experience, its very very very rarely the “survivor” that perpetrates this ideology ) as strong, i sort of see it as a weakness - their inability to sit with & absorb their own pain or that of others is so strong that not only do they have to frantically pull rainbows out of the teeth of a meat cleaver, they also have to exist within this strange (tho, not malicious - more subconscious) superiority complex. like, nah, dude, some times shit is just awful. you cant tell me anything fucking good came out of a four year old girl being kidnapped, gangraped, & tortured for two years, before being impaled & left to die on a stake. her mom opened a non profit organization? oh well thank fucking god for that!!! those that believe the latter to be more “enlightened” or whatever the fuck r the same people who say shit like “dying is easy - living is harder” & i get that that its supposed to be interpreted metaphorically for the most part - giving up is easy, trying isnt (which also.....isnt true??? admitting defeat & fully accepting the fact that ur fucking helpless is beyond hard lmao???) - but pretend youre somewhere, anywhere outside ur sunny little fucking yoga studio full of white women whos biggest issues r the pta & johnny whos failing math, & lets say your life is in real, imminent danger, a gun is to your head & i want you to not scream or cry or beg for ur life since dying is “easier”. if dying is so easy, why do the majority of ppl cling to it with such desperation - why is suicide illegal? why do some ppl go thru 100s of chemo treatments even tho the doctors say theyre just prolonging the inevitable, ppl who cut off a diseased arm so it wont spread, those who walk dozens of miles every day for food & water, etc? & i know & understand the survival instinct better than anyone, even when i wanted to die more than anything, my natural instincts would kick in with no conscious neural input & id do what i had to do. im not condemning those who cling to life (ok - a little. ur wasting resources out of ur own fear. but i also realize thats just me being a Fucking Asshole As Always cuz technically, im doing the same thing tho its more due to lack of opportunity rather than fear. i just think, societally, death should be more normalized, discussed, & not made out to be so unknown & scary), instead just reprimanding those who say shit like that (inspirational facebook quotes). especially cuz most of the ppl who do spew that shit have never gone thru anything even remotely difficult - their worst nightmare is a Big Scary Black Man grabbing them on the street, mugging them, & touching their tits. & i also know that these stupid ass sayings are to be applied to bullshit like exercise & fitness (“no pain no gain” is another one of my Favorites) & not fucking torture or even just ur run of the mill rape, even that would probably smash the rose tinted banana republic shades off their beverly hills tanned faces. but ive heard the no pain no gain one a handful of times in the last few weeks, specifically from doctors performing procedures in preparation for my bottom surgery. & i know its supposed to be encouraging & they have no way of knowing, but its just like, buddy, u have no idea who youre fucking talking to. & im starting to understand what THEY mean when they say it - pain with a reward is infinitely more tolerable than pain just for the sake of pain; like, a tattoo, it hurts, but u know, when its done, its gonna be sick as fuck. when u r able to fall back on the idea that its for something u rlly want, its A Lot easier to handle as opposed to pain thats Just Pain - theres no reward for it except, i guess, that the more u experience it, the closer u r to the end of it lmao. i mean, i still hate when ppl say it cuz for most of my life, pain was just pain, & the “reward” was the opportunity to go home at the end & so whenever ppl say that, my mind just immediately resorts back to that & im just like haha fuck u. but im trying to remember my experiences r definitely not universal & im starting to sorta understand what they mean i think. but, flipping gears here, & going back to the sentiment of “everything happens for a reason”, the base philosophy of psuedo deep Fuckwads - a girls dad didnt fuck her “for a reason”, everything doesnt happen “for a reason”. like ok, hypothetically, the kid he impregnated her with & that she was forced to have at 12 may surpass all odds & not become a homeless junkie & instead become a world renowned doctor who finds the cure for cancer. but she wasnt raped repeatedly from the age of six for that “reason”, no matter what anyone says & honestly, the liberation of the masses does not justify the suffering of one, especially a child. in my eyes at least. but again, im a bitter asshole. sorry i just Went The Fuck Off here oh my god.....if u read all this, thanks, pal. if not, thats cool too. but yea, send me ur stuff, id totally be down to read it. as for me potentially thinking ur cute, i have to look at my disgusting shitstain of a “face” every goddamn day so everyone else to me is fuckin aphrodite. but im also tryin to not put so much worth into physical appearance- its not something that should be complimented cuz its just smth a person was born with which is the same reason it shouldnt be insulted. this is gonna sound gay & stupid but i personally find that a persons essence & personality really permeates. you can meet someone who, objectively, isnt all that great looking, but once u get to know them, u really see their beauty - how the sun catches in their hair, their dilated pupils looking up at u from under long eyelashes in the dark, the birthmark on their right shoulder that they despise but that is so Them, the gap in their teeth, etc. & idk how to phrase this without it sounding like “well ur ugly but at least ur a good person”, cuz that only reiterates the societally indoctrinated emphasis on appearance & my kneejerk reaction to assure the person in question that thats not what im saying is only another result of that!!! its inescapable!!! but no, really, its not just a matter of “its on the inside that counts” - physically, they change or maybe, actually this is more likely, when i first meet them, my “default” eyes r just looking for features that i know im immediately attracted to (tall, blonde, sickly as in sunken eyes sticklike pale but still looks like she could & will beat the shit out of me) but as i fall in love or get to know them better, my eyes adjust & i notice & adore the beauty that was there all along. so uh. idk if ill think ur “cute”. but probably, yes, ill think ur an angel.