little agatha thing post aop cause she makes me sick <3 enjoy and just don't look too closely cause my thoughts aren't Coherent today and my own hands are shaking a lot so ignore it if you see any mistakes or something doesn't make sense at all im gping off vibes today okay yay thank you
Turns out, taking care of wounds is more complicated than she thought. Medicine in general, really.
Her foot still aches and shoots up with pain and makes her want to cry and scream and die each time she moves it; sometimes even when she doesn't– even bandaged, even after she did all she could.
She… should probably go to a hospital. In every book she read, on every website, they say to go to the hospital if a wound is severe– she does not know a lot about what classifies as a ‘severe wound’ but she supposes being shot would count.
They told her to not get in their way. Agatha isn't entirely sure how to avoid that, but she knows she doesn't want to meet them again. She doesn't want to die.
…Still, she is not in her body and still underage, and while she doesn't know much about Gabriel's parents, she doesn't want to risk the hospital calling them. The police could be informed too, depending on what… those guys did.
So. She did it on her own. The bullet wasn't deep in the skin, thanks to the shoe, but it still hurt. She dug it out and disinfected it all, and packed it with gauze and tied off with bandages. Didn't cry at all. Doesn't limp at all and doesn't shake when she changes the bandages and applies the oliment; it's all fine and she is fine and thinking of it all doesn't make her sick.
She went into the school exactly one time when she was sure nobody was inside. Took a few books into her backpack from the library (the ones that weren't completely destroyed, anyway) and ran off as quickly as she could. She doesn't stay in her mom's apartment for long either; the police didn't care enough to keep watch of her when her mom got arrested, but again, she doesn't /know/ what those guys did or said– they could be looking for her right now. She did kill someone.
So she hides in abandoned buildings and in tight alleyways, and reads her books. The normal ones she keeps for when she's more tired– the book she reads when she can process it.
She starts keeping an eye out for people walking with hoods on. She starts recognising the tattoos and the way weapons look hidden under clothes. When her leg isn't bothering her as bad and she feels confident, sometimes she tries to talk with some of them.
…or tries to get brave enough to do so, anyway.
She just needs a bit of time, that's all.
Still, she knows all of them– most, at least, have their own knives. Agatha doesn't have her own knife, but she does own a simple kitchen knife that's small (and for cutting fruit) and could potentially work for rituals. It's enough for cutting skin open, and that's really all she needs for now.
Today, though, Agatha is sitting in Mister Alex's apartment.
He's dead now.
She saw it in a newspaper and knows perfectly well it wasn't any sort of car accident or whatever else they're talking about. Not at all feeling sick, she read his file from the school to find out his address; until the end of the month comes and the rent isn't paid, nobody should bother her here. She knows this part of the town well enough; nobody really concerns themselves with what happens here, as long as the money is right.
It's dangerous, yes, but Agatha has to learn how to be dangerous herself, doesn't she? This is the first step. It's fine.
She sits on the sofa with a knife in one hand and an apple in the other.
Somewhere far away in her mind, she remembers her mom making a “salad” to go with the dinners they had– carrot and apple, grated and with some sugar. Agatha never got to peel them; “you're too young to be using knives” her mother used to say.
But her mom is gone now– has been for a long time, even if she was still staying near then. And Agatha isn't a little kid anymore.
If she wants to be able to do more rituals, she needs to get better. Using a knife skillfully and without hurting herself is important, she knows. She needs to be fully in control. Not afraid of hurting herself.
“Fruit,” she murmurs to herself, and tries not to wince too much at how her voice sounds. “Fucking stupid.”
Stupid doesn't mean not important, she has learned. She can be as pissed as she wants, as long as she gets the job done.
So Agatha takes a deep breath to calm her shaking hands and lightly digs the knife into the skin of the apple. Slowly and carefully, she starts peeling it off without raising the knife; goes in circular motions, around and around.
It takes no more than a few minutes. She looks at it and just sighs. It looks awful. She either presses too lightly and leaves some parts of the skin behind, or presses too hard and takes away big chunks of the inside part.
With now sticky fingers from the juice– that don't remind her of anything else; not of feeling Gabriel's– her own blood, not a warm, disgusting and red fluid staining her whole, she just reaches out for the next apple. Wipes off her hands on the couch. It's not like she's going to be here for longer than a few weeks. It doesn't matter how much of a mess she makes.
Practice makes perfect, after all, or… whatever they say.
She can do this. Just has to pretend her fingers don't shake and her foot doesn't hurt so much that she's afraid she's going to have to go to a hospital eventually, where they're going to have to cut it off or something. It's fucking stupid. She's strong, for fuck's sake. She can deal with it all herself. She never needed anyone else, so she doesn't need anyone else's help now.
PSA - Effective April 28, Californians will be able to make online purchases with their EBT card s. Currently, only 2 retailers are set up to accept this.
On AMAZON, you may use food stamps on grocery items.
On WALMART, you may use food stamps on grocery items and also cash assistance funds on all other items.
Both retailers will charge fees on online purchases under $35. Food stamps CANNOT be used to pay these fees.
Spiderbit week!! prompt for "blood" and also very inspired by the supernatural au that WSD thought of!! I've never written these guys before so apologies if i got their personalities very wrong shshshsh @anonymous-dentist
Neither of them speak, though Roier has his eyebrows furrowed and he pauses from time to time, like he's about to say something.
Maybe it's because Pepito is already asleep, Cellbit muses to himself, only half aware of what's happening. Roier pours the bottle of… alcohol, maybe? right onto his wound, and it immediately foams, a now pink-red liquid dripping down his chest. It falls on the floor in drops. Cellbit somehow can't bring himself to care or comment, even with the knowledge that Roier hates mopping his floors. He seems awfully passive-aggressive tonight.
…It should hurt more, he thinks. It should sting and make him hiss, he should be holding in a scream. It should hurt. It doesn't. Cellbit doesn't feel anything, just… numbness.
(It hurt her. Why- why did he allow that to happen? She got hurt and it's all his fault and he doesn't feel anything and he's the one that should be feeling it.)
“I'm sorry,” he says, a barely hearable whisper. He doesn't know who he's saying that to, in the end. “I… I didn't mean to bother you.” I didn't mean to wake you up. I didn't mean to make you take care of me. I didn't mean to make myself attached. I didn't mean to. I didn't.
Roier only tsks, rolling his eyes. He picks up some gauze and presses it right beneath the wound to soak up the falling blood. He does it rougher than necessary. Harder than he normally does. “You're not bothering me, asshole, just making me-” He pauses, throwing the gauze into the sink and looking away for a moment. “Worried. And mad. Mostly mad.”
Cellbit would normally snort in response, but he doesn't now. He can't quite bring himself to. Instead, he stares at Roier’s fingers. They tap on the sink anxiously, leaving bloody fingerprints that turn into small puddles mere seconds later. He doesn't seem to notice it, so Cellbit doesn't comment.
“You make me mad,” Roier concludes. “Because you are an idiot and keep throwing yourself into situations you can't… bring yourself out of.”
He takes another gauze and a needle into the other hand, returning his gaze to Cellbit. His chin is pointed up, but his eyes- They pierce him, and the black smudged eyeliner only makes it more unsettling. Well. It would, if Cellbit cared about that. He doesn't. But- the eyeliner was smudged already when he first knocked on the door. There had been no time to ask, if Cellbit even would want to.
(He had been crying. Why? Cellbit wants to know, but Roier is everything he doesn't understand. There's just something he's missing, as always.)
“And you make me worried.” Roier murmurs, voice low yet almost like a growl. His hands tighten on the objects he's holding, knuckles turning white. “You make me worried. And you might die and you're a stupid idiot and I hate you for that.” His voice cracks.
There's a pause.
“Yeah.” Cellbit responds. He knows Roier doesn't like apologies. “I know.”
“You could have died. Tonight.” His voice is shaky, and his eyes shine. He's beautiful. He's about to cry. “God, you're so stupid.”
Cellbit swallows and feels his throat close up. He reaches forward, placing a gentle hand on Roier’s cheek. It's covered in blood. Cellbit thinks he feels sick, but Roier either doesn't notice or doesnt care. He has to… Gods. He can't see Roier cry. That'd just break him, he thinks. He can't deal with that now.
“I'm…” No, he can't say that. Not to Roier. “It won't happen again. We just- we had a fight and I… I fucked up. It won't happen again.”
Roier nods without a word. He swallows and moves away from the touch, his expression changing into something more controlled.
His hand comes up close to the wound, needle itching close before it stops. “Want anything to bite on?”
Roier knows a lot of things, both small and big, about Cellbit. Information that a lot of people would like to get their hands on. But he doesn't know everything. He doesn't know how it was for Cellbit back then. He doesn't know and he doesn't ask. Maybe that's why Cellbit keeps coming back.
“No.”
Roier hums and doesn't ask and there's that.
“You had a fight, you said.” Roier eventually says when they're near the end of stitching. Cellbit doesn't really know what the fuzzy-numbness he feels every time… something like this happens is, but by this point, it's gone. “Is Bagi- How's she holding up, then?”
Cellbit thinks back to his sister, eyes furious and a snarl on her face. He thinks back to how she screamed, how much blood she lost. He should have helped her, but-
He grits his teeth, fingers pressing hard into his own leg.
That damned demon barged in like-
God, he can't think about this. He doesn't want to.
Tina took her away with a cold gaze and a snarl of “Leave” and there was nothing he could have done. He tried, before. It always ended the same. And he was bleeding out, he was hurt- (It shouldn't have mattered, it shouldn't have made a difference, she was hurt worse, he should have tried harder-)
So. He can't even be sure. Tina took care of her, surely. (But in what way?) She wouldn't allow Bagi to die, they both know that.
“She's fine.” Cellbit says, realizing he was silent for too long. He uncurls his fingers and tries to breathe. “Staying at the motel tonight. We, um. Decided to stay away from each other for a little while.”
That's not true. They haven't decided anything, but he knows how Tina is.
“Ah.” Roier breathes out. He probably knows he's being lied to, but that's their thing. They don't ask questions. Cellbit cringes anyway. “So you're… you'll be staying?”
Roier’s hand on his chest - the one that's not stitching the wound, that is - flexes, fingers starting to drum. Anxious.
There's a pause.
I didn't mean to get myself attached. I didn't mean to get you attached, either.
“If… if you'll have me,” he murmurs, quiet and only a bit uncertain.
(Gods, he can practically hear Bagi taunting him right now. When did his face get so hot? This is- embarrassing, he can't belive in himself.)
Instead of calling Cellbit out, Roier bites his lip, eyes darting down. There's- something that maybe could be called a grin, if only he could see Roier's face better. They don't speak, but then-
“Of course, man.” Roier smiles eventually, looking up at him. There's something in his eyes that hasn't been there before.
“Of course,” Cellbit repeats, a small smile appearing on his face as well, despite everything.
They fall into comfortable silence after that, but it's… different from before. The tension is mostly gone and… Roier seems almost satisfied. Or something similar, anyhow. Because despite how good he is at reading people, Roier is… like an enigma he can never quite understand. There's just something about him, something Cellbit isn't getting.
(Maybe that's why he keeps coming back.)
Roier finishes the stitches and after pouring some more of that disinfectant, starts bandaging the injury. It's only then that Cellbit realises he's been staring at Roier the entire time. But- it's weird. It doesn't feel like he's going to throw up from stress because he had to keep watching, just to make sure Roier wouldn't hurt him. No. Roier would never do that. It's more like…
(“What is up with you today?” Bagi asks, eyes squinted. Her laptop has its screen turned off already, research long forgotten. She's been staring at him suspiciously for the last 10 minutes. “Why do you look like that?”
“What?” He rolls his eyes, giving her an unamused look. He looks fine, he knows this, because he checked himself before they left the motel. He's meeting up with Roier today, so obviously- Pause. That sounds… He's meeting up with an important and respected informat today, so obviously he has to look at least a bit put together. There's nothing unusual about that. “You're being weird, stop staring at me and do your research.”
Bagi clearly isn't convinced, creeping her face closer. Cellbit keeps up the gaze and- there it is, she sighs in disappointment, eyes darting down to his meal instead. But she doesn't steal the plate away, like he expected her to.
There's a pause. Ever so slowly, she raises her head and on her shocked face begins to grow a grin.
…uh oh. What is she-
“Are you wearing fucking perfume?”
He stops chewing. Meets her gaze. Tries to ignore the absolute horror growing as he realises his face is getting hot. He's blushing. What-
“...no,” he tries, but his voice comes out practically like a squeak. He curses himself for it.
“You are! Oh my Gods, are you serious?” Bagi cackles, suddenly gleeful. “Why are you-”
He watches the realisation paint on her face. Her mouth opens, but no words come out of it.
“...You're wearing perfume.” She says slowly, a smirk beginning to make itself known again. “For the meeting with that guy today?”
Cellbit silently starts chewing again, looking away. He takes a sip of his lemonade (which was supposed to be a coffee, but of course, he can't have anything nice in life) and sighs. “Let's- let's just eat and leave. We are-” He shoots her a look, which at least makes her look a bit bashful. “-not talking about this.”
Bagi leans back in her seat, eyes squinted once again. Considering. Was he too harsh on this? There's a growing ache in his stomach, because- Gods, he doesn't want to fuck up with her again. How can he- how can he fix this?
“Okay, maybe I am wearing perfume for the hot guy, but- Hey, no, listen to-! That's just good manners! There's nothing weird about that!”
“Oh my Gods, I have to tell Felps. Does Felps know? Doesn't matter, I'll tell him anyway.” Bagi grins, not bothered at all that she was interrupting him. She looks very eager to eat quickly and get out of here, suddenly.
He sips on his lemonade instead, jaw tensing and untensing. Ugh. Gods.
“You so have a crush, that is crazy.” She continues, eyes wide. “I can't believe this, what?”
She laughs again and doesn't stop, even when Cellbit gives her his remaining fries and salad.
A crush. How stupid is that?)
It's more like adoration. He's enjoying watching Roier work. Gods. Gods, that is- He is not dealing with that tonight.
Roier grins at him, obvious to his thoughts. “All done! Come on.”
On shaky legs, Cellbit stands up to follow Roier out of the door. When Roier's back is turned, he reaches his hand out to touch the bandage gently, looking down at it. It's… good. Suspiciously good, even, he'd say. But. This is Roier. He's like that, Cellbit found. Full of surprises.
The house is dark. Obviously, because it's night and Pepito and Jaiden are sleeping-
“Oh.” Cellbit murmurs, a small wince on his face. “I hope I didn't wake Jaiden up.” He likes Jaiden. It just wouldn't do to make her angry, and he knows she likes her sleep.
Roier full on stops in the middle of his tracks. His shoulders come up, but his back is to Cellbit, he can't see his expression, can't understand-
“Jaiden's gone.”
…what?
Cellbit pauses as well, but for a different reason. Oh. He isn't… He isn't good at dealing with this. Oh Gods.
But then Roier suddenly turns around, a smile on his face. It doesn't look quite right. “Er, I mean-! Not like that!” He laughs and it sounds just like the one that Cellbit hears a lot while interrogating people. But never before from Roier. He's anxious. Why? Covering something up, surely, but…
“Huh.” He just says, smartly.
“Erm. Yeah! You know, just- For a little while! We're just taking a break from each other, you know?” Roier stutters awkwardly, that smile still wide on his face. It brightens suddenly. “You know, like you and Bagi! A… bit. But we didn't fight or anything, just-!” There's another pause, but this time Roier is watching his expression closely. His face sours slightly at whatever he finds. “...you know.”
Cellbit has no idea, despite how many ‘you-know's Roier just uttered. “Um. Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Roier nods, seemingly relieved. He stands still for a moment longer before reaching out to flick off the bathroom light, making the hallway fall into complete darkness. (Are there no windows here? No, that doesn't seem right. He's sure there were some the last time he was here.)
“Um. Anyway, now that you're here-” Roier grasps his hand tightly and begins leading him deeper into the house. “You know how you're like, an even bigger nerd than me?”
“I'm not a-”
“So, I was thinking- You could even help me with Pepito a bit! You know, he's such a little geek, I don't know who he got it from…” Roier doesn't even stop talking as they get to a hallway with many doors. Bedrooms, Cellbit thinks. He doesn't lower his voice either. Cellbit winces in sympathy for the kid. He hopes they haven't woken him up. “He just reads and reads! Ugh, I swear, I need to start taking more of those books away, his eyesight is already so bad!”
Bad eyesight doesn't come from just reading, Cellbit wants to interrupt. He wants to say a lot of things, actually. But… It is Roier's house. He's a guest. If Roier is so eager to change the subject and then rant about his child, then who's Cellbit to stop him, really?
The door to the- bedroom, it's a bedroom, is opened and Roier pulls him inside, closing it right behind them.
“And, he's still a little stupid, but I'm sure you-” Roier suddenly stops talking, yet again. He looks into Cellbit’s eyes, an alarmed look on his face. “You… like kids, right? I mean, you must like kids, but even if you didn't- You'd… you'd like Pepito! Because, I mean-”
“Um. I guess I do?” Cellbit interrupts, only because Roier looks like he's about to kneel over from over explaining himself.
A beat.
“Cool! I mean, no, that's good… Yes, I'm just…” He laughs and pulls away from Cellbit, walking deeper into the room alone. He stops in the middle of it, eyes locked on the bed. A large one. “...I'm- I'm sorry, I must be acting like a terrible host right now. Oh. I'm just…”
He makes some vague motions with his hands and smiles.
Cellbit winces internally. It's… just a bit awkward.
“No, it's… it's fine. Seriously, you're good. You're… good.” Oh Gods. What does he say to that? “I'm, um. Just. Thank you for taking care of me. That's already enough. You don't need to explain yourself, seriously. It's… fine.”
Roier stares at him. Stares some more. His hand comes up to his chest, almost as if he was… scratching at something underneath his shirt. But it's dark and Cellbit isn't really sure what expression he has and-
He's… muttering something to himself, Cellbit’s pretty sure. But… Then Roier clears his throat and puts his hand down, tense. Almost like he didn't realise it moved. He looks at the closet and back at Cellbit, in thought.
“You'll be fine in your clothes for tonight, right?”
“Um, yeah.” He's only in his pants anyway. His shirt was way too soaked with blood (hers, but by his fault) and even if it wasn't, Roier already took care of it. As in… shredding it with his hands. He's probably not getting that back. “We can work something out tomorrow. It's okay.”
Roier nods and sits down on the bed.
Cellbit stares. He is… pretty sure Jaiden has her own room. And Roier mentioned she's gone, so why… why is he here?
And he immediately curses himself for thinking like that. Maybe Jaiden isn't comfortable with people sleeping in her room, especially when she doesn't know about it. Roier would surely know that.
So he walks closer to the bed and lays down, slowly.
The bed is big. Big enough for- three people maybe, if he had to guess. So it isn't like it's awkward, but…
He doesn't really know what to do. Sharing a bed isn't something he does, it's just not. It'd be different if they were sharing heat while in the wild or something like that, but- That's not the case.
He feels Roier lay down next to him. When he looks at him out of the corner of the eye, he's smiling. A hand on his face, gently touching his own cheek. Inspecting. And then he turns on his side, towards Cellbit. Who very pointedly tries to pretend he wasn't staring.
He swallows.
“Goodnight.” Cellbit mutters quietly and turns as well, laying on his stomach. His hand automatically goes to rest under the pillow, reaching for a knife or a gun. It finds neither.
…Fuck, he left his weapons in his backpack. Which is in the entrance of the house.
“Goodnight,” Roier whispers back, a smile audible in his voice.
No, he can't go for it now. What would Roier think? And besides… he has a kid. Surely, this place is warded against everything, to hell and back. It's fine. And just for one night.
It's fine.
(Later, when Cellbit will wake up, he'll realize he forgot many things. Like his nightly prayer to Felps and cleaning his knife. Writing down in his notebook what exactly happened on the hunt. Cursing Tina in his thoughts.
But with the chaos of Pepito waking them both up early and immediately wanting to play, what he won't remember is that Roier never washed his face after Cellbit touched it with his bloody hands. He won't notice it either.
finallyyyyyy getting this out 🤏🤏 i had it 90% finished for days cause i just kept forgetting to write the last part and now that it's over. just noticed the quick "ending" is like 800 words long. well. enjoy arthur and kaiser now and the almost whole 3000 words of them
set somewhere between osnf and opd, no real spoilers, just the setting
tw/cw for a panic attack (sort of), internalized transphobia and a lot a lot a lot of overthinking
Perhaps the most embarrassing thing of all is getting caught in an act. It's been like this for as long as Kaiser can remember; from a teacher spotting him copying homework to an old man catching him door ditching with Bruno, all he has ever felt is embarrassment. Shame and embarrassment, overtaking him whole.
The knowledge is the worst. You know the person noticed you– they know, and that alone produces enough shame to put Kaiser into a panic attack. And then the ancipetation and the anxiety; they always say something, it's just a matter of when. Will they do it in private, or around people? Will they only send a look or will they scream, or maybe just hit your shoulder?
The shame, the embarrassment… Kaiser knows, in the back of his mind, that it should not be like that. The thought of a cashier scanning his groceries should not make him want to throw up.
And yet it is exactly like that. Ever since he can remember.
…he tries not to let it bother him. It's just hard sometimes.
Because despite what everyone might think, Kaiser doesn't have many boxers. And all of them are either too small or uncomfortable to wear, other than one pair.
(The thought of going into a store and trying to pick them out while not only the workers observe him, but the other customers will too– He cannot even think of standing there so awkwardly; everyone who takes one look at him would know he doesn't have an idea what he's doing. What would they think? What if he does something wrong and the customers notify the workers and then they kick him out– but not before ridiculing him in front of everyone, God, he can already hear what they would say, feel the shame. He cannot do that. He can't.)
So he does what he does best. Uses the computer. Buys them online.
He does his own laundry (obviously) and tries his best to hide the different underwear. He doesn't speak about it– doesn't dare think.
And yet. When Arthur creeps into his room at night (or when he inevitably does into Arthur's) his friend is always in boxers and a loose fitting, old t-shirt. Kaiser tries not to stare each time, he does, but it's… hard not to. It's not because he likes Arthur's ass or anything– (well…) but Arthur looks… like himself. Comfortable. Used to it all. And of course he is, he's a man, and not the kind that Kaiser is, he's a man man. A normal one.
He tries not to think about it, but it's hard when Arthur starts coming into his room directly after showering and spends most of his time there– sometimes, he forgets his clothes. It's not… a big deal. It shouldn't be a big deal, not anything other than a start of a joke, but…
Arthur leaves his boxers on Kaiser's bed. Sometimes.
If they're dirty, he usually remembers to take them back to his room to throw them into the bin, but it's less common if they're clean. Not just underwear either, all kinds of things end up in his room nowadays. Shirts, belts, money, guitar picks… everything, really.
And… Kaiser would never steal someone's underwear. Especially his friend's. That's just– weird, that has to be weird.
He doesn't want to be thinking about it, but he can't stop– it's awful and embarrassing and he'd rather Arthur stopped doing it. Even if him being there makes Kaiser feel better and light with laughter and when Arthur is next to him, breathing and fine, he can actually sleep instead of turning all night, and everytime he finds something that isn't his in the closet he's overcome by such domesticity and happiness and content– he knows they're close and something like a family, but to find proof of it…
So. It's… something. Not an problem, but an issue nonetheless.
But by the end of the day, it always ends with shame and a panic attack, no matter what pills he takes, or how much he tries to do the correct breathing exercises.
Which is exactly why he's sitting on the bathroom floor after Arthur asked him if he knew where his boxers went.
And it's not like Kaiser is stupid, he can lie, he knows how to lie, but he just cannot get a word out when all he can think about is taking that stupid piece of material into his own pile of dirty clothes and putting it deep into his closet after the laundry was done; Arthur surely has to know he's the one who took it, because who else would? And what kind of person does that, who steals fucking underwear of other people? What sort of person does that?
His skin burns and his chest feels tight– he wants to claw it all off, along with the boxers (not his) on his body.
It's embarrassing. It's weird. Why does he have to be so fucking weird?
There's a knock on the door and Kaiser wants to cry; he should have known he'd get caught, he should have just not done it. It's not like it's his house, even, he's living here because Ivete and Arthur wanted him to– where would he go if they decided they hate him? To the Order, where they'd see each other anyway? No, he wouldn't be able to take that; maybe moving to… America would work? He doesn't know enough English to communicate without misunderstandings, but if his father was there once and did fine, surely Kaiser can do it too?
“Kaiserrrr, come on. Are you this bummed about losing in Uno?” Arthur's voice comes from behind the door, only partially muffled. He's audibly smiling, yet there's a tightness to his words; he's probably thinking Kaiser could be having another attack. “I promise I'm going to let you win next round.”
Which… he's clearly not having any sort of attack. Obviously.
There's a pause. “Kaiser?” Another knock on the door, but this one seems more like Arthur put his hand on the wood instead, not even wanting to make a noise. “It's okay if you don't want to talk, we don't even have to play tonight– just open the door? So I know you're alright?”
And fuck, how can he do that? Meet Arthur face on?
“...I'm fine,” he tries to say instead, keeping his voice clear of coming out shaky as much as he can.
He doesn't think it works. It comes out both broken and creaking, too loud to be a whisper but too quiet to be a normal answer. Kaiser winces.
“...please open the door.”
Kaiser does. He's not that stupid.
It unlocks with a quiet click and less than a second later Arthur is already coming in and looking him up and down, concern clear in his eyes.
“I'm fine.” Kaiser repeats, and this time, puts more confidence behind it.
Arthur stops and looks, and steps closer to pull Kaiser into a hug.
Kaiser– Kaiser feels like crying. He doesn't, because that'd make Arthur more worried and he never wants that, but… It's a near thing.
“Do you want to go back to your room?” Arthur asks softly into his ear, and Kaiser knows that he means together. Only…
He doesn't know. Arthur doesn't know it was him.
Kaiser feels his mouth go dry and his throat tighten. He nods anyway, because– what, he's supposed to break it to Arthur? When he knows it'd make Arthur hate him? He can't do that.
And Arthur is as gentle as he always is when it's the two of them when he leads Kaiser into his room, and Kaiser wants to scream and never open his mouth again. Arthur's so fucking nice. How can he deserve someone like that?
The guitar, once again, is already in his room. Arthur sits him down on the bed and covers his shoulders with a blanket; he takes the guitar into his hand and leans back, so their shoulders are touching.
He plays.
Well. Strums, at the very least. Calming sounds that repeat themselves over and over before changing into a different tune.
Kaiser stares at the strings and thinks about things that don't matter to avoid thinking of… that.
He always wanted to play the guitar. But he never learned as a child and after that there was no time– if he asked Arthur now, he'd probably be glad to teach Kaiser. Sometimes Agatha asks about something to do with it and Arthur goes on a rant, or the Dragões Metalicos stop him to make conversation and if none of them have somewhere to be, they'll talk for hours. It's something he enjoys. It'd be nice to share that.
Kaiser… Fuck. He can't just sit here and pretend nothing happened.
“...Arthur.” His voice is quiet and raspy; if he were not so stressed he'd probably enjoy it more.
Arthur hums and doesn't stop the strumming– good, there's something to focus on, something to distract him from breaking down.
Kaiser tries to breathe. It's not that big of a deal. Arthur can hate him and it is a big deal, but saying it itself is not. He can do it. Easily. No problem.
“‘m sorry.” He feels tears prickle his eyes. So fucking embarrassing. Why is he crying over this?
“...for what?” Arthur's trying to stay calm; Kaiser knows him too well not to be able to tell. Fucking stupid Kaiser worrying him again with his stupid problems.
Fucking hell. Blood rises to his face and all he feels is hotness and he wants to die. Just say it. Just say it. “I took your boxers.”
Arthur blinks. He tilts his head and pauses the strumming. “You…”
“I didn't mean to!” He did. He did; why is he lying through his teeth? You think you can save this? Go on, Kaiser, start the fucking show, see if it'll make a difference. “They were just in my room and I didn't notice when I was doing the laundry and I'm so sorry, I didn't realise they were yours and I took them, and I–”
“Kaiser– Kaiser, it's okay!” Arthur interrupts with a chuckle; a laugh he knows very well. Arthur only chuckles this way when he has to deal with Kaiser's breakdowns. “Man, seriously– it's not a big deal. It's fine; don't even worry about it. Seriously.”
The breath catches in his throat. Not a big deal. Of course Arthur wouldn't care. What was he thinking? Of course it's fine.
Kaiser looks away and tries to get his breathing under control; embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing. Why was he so anxious about doing this? He shouldn't be hyperventilating over this, it's not a big deal, it was never a big deal.
“...yeah. Okay.”
Arthur stares. He pushes the guitar to the side and shuffles closer to Kaiser. “Not a big deal. I can always buy more– it's okay.”
Fucking…
Kaiser closes his eyes as tight as he can. He won't cry, he can't cry, this isn't something he should be crying over.
It's okay.
He– He can't…
Arthur's arm slides under his armpit. It goes to his back while Arthur places his chin on Kaiser's shoulder. Stable, here, close, weight, not hurt…
“It's okay. Just breathe. We're all fine, cutie.”
He tries. He really, really tries. But he can't stop thinking about it, can't stop being so aware of them fitting to his skin comfortably– it doesn't bother him at all and that's what hurts.
“I can't– I'm sorry, I can't, I can't–” He tries to breathe. The air is escaping his lungs and refusing to come back and he's getting dizzy now; he knows this, he just has to calm down, just has to breathe, it's okay.
Arthur's finger slowly make circles into his skin and it's so gentle. He wonders what Arthur would think if he did that just a bit lower– what would he say if he knew how much of a weirdo Kaiser really is?
But he doesn't dare to ask that out loud. He doesn't want to know.
It takes a while; of minutes where he's almost there and remembers exactly why he's crying and everything starts again, silent sharp inhaling of air and the occasional murmur of Arthur's “it's okay”.
…Kaiser doesn't want to talk. His heart is still beating uncontrollably fast when he rests his head on Arthur's shoulder, and if he speaks, he's going to die. He can't do this. He can't.
Arthur's hand goes up into his hair– twirling the long strands between fingers. “Yeah?” His voice is a low murmur, familiar and safe.
…this guy. He knows Kaiser as much as Kaiser knows him. It makes him smile, just a tiny bit.
He does not want to speak– probably can't, anyway. Just nods against Arthur's skin.
“Mmhm. What's going on, then?”
“It's nothing. Stupid.” He moves his own hands too– tightly grips the back of Arthur's shirt between his fingers. “Fucking–”
Well. He can speak, as awful as it is. And Arthur knows that. Obviously he does. He knows how much of a fuck-up Kaiser is in this case; how words stop making sense at times like this and every sentence turns into a chain– chains that keep multiplying and weighing him down until he's drowning again.
“I'm just being stupid. It's nothing.”
He can practically see the smile on Arthur's face. “Is it really stupid, or you just think that?”
Of course it's stupid. Not only the… act itself is weird and stupid and embarrassing– he couldn't even say it. How much more stupid can that get?
Kaiser lets himself snort. “Stupid.”
Arthur tugs him a bit closer in response; guides Kaiser's head deeper into his neck, covers more of his back. Safe. “I don't think it's stupid if you feel bad about it, you know.”
Of course you don't.
“I took your boxers, dude, that's just weird. It's stupid.”
“I'd take Joui's boxers if I could, if that makes you feel better?”
It doesn't, but it would be funny to see that. Just a bit.
“Pffh. Sure you would.”
He snorts and knows a pout has appeared on Arthur's face. He can see it with his eyes closed at this point. Arthur does it a lot, especially when they play board games. An event that has become familiar to him by now; it's surprisingly nice to get all together and just… be.
(Kaiser can appreciate game nights at his big age; back when it was only him and his mother, there weren't a lot of board games they could play, just the two of them. Maybe cards, but Kaiser didn't like those too much, so they never did that often.)
“I can always take yours, don't test me.” Arthur snickers and he…
…no. He cannot bear to even imagine Arthur's expression if he were to open the drawers in Kaiser's room. There's a reason he hates having people in here when he himself is not present, why he locks the door when they go out, even if all other ones stay open wide.
There's a pause. Kaiser doesn't speak. Arthur falls silent.
“That's a joke. I wouldn't do that, if you don't want me to.”
Kaiser swallows. It's okay. Arthur is fine. He's not nosy like that. It's okay. He wouldn't just do that. “Yeah. I don't."
This time, Arthur's hand goes all the way down to the ends of his hair when he brushes it. He does it a couple of times before wrapping around Kaiser's back once more; tight but loose enough to get out of if he wanted to.
“Well– guess we have to go shopping, then. Tomorrow, if you want to?”
…shopping. “What?”
Arthur breaks the hug. He leans away just far enough so they can see each other's face. He's smiling.
“...I guess.” He looks down at the guitar and tries not to bite his lip. Arthur would notice that one.
“To buy me more boxers, duh. We can get you some as well– Man, we need to get a matching set!” He tilts his head and the smile doesn't wash away and it's… honest. Not some ploy to get Kaiser to look stupid or make him the butt of a joke. (How would he do that, if he doesn't know? Arthur has no reason to believe he is anything but a man. And that's good. It's… good. He doesn't need anyone to know. Or want. Obviously.)
He thinks of being in a store with Arthur– Arthur who is loud and shameless and would take up all the attention with a grin. He'd make jokes and try to get him to buy something stupid like the boxers with the hearts on them, but it'd be easy to buy in the same size. He could get something good. Feel the fabric before purchase, see how the material stretches, actually see if he likes it before he wears it.
Fuck it.
“Yeah. I'm free tomorrow.”
Arthur grins in response. “Neat.” He looks back at the door and back at Kaiser; “...Did you really not want to play Uno? I'm feeling up for a game.”
“Can we just- sit here for a moment? I want… I want to hear you play for a bit longer.”
“Awh. Of course, man.”
Kaiser feels his cheeks blush– but he just snorts in response. He leans on Arthur's side and lets himself relax. Of course it'd be okay. Of course Arthur wouldn't care. He's just like that, isn't he?
(Kaiser has no idea how he deserved someone like him. But he does not want to cry again today; he just lays his head on Arthur's shoulder and presses himself a bit closer. There's no reason to hide his smile, so he doesn't.)
Inktordem!!!! im starting with week 2 shshs we'll see if ill write more after it ends.... take this little thing about agatha cause the first thought that popped into my head when i saw the prompt was the library puzzle. and no way im writing that. so she gets it <33
some vague spoilers for aop if anyone cares about that
day 8 - biblioteca
The library is quiet, like always.
None of her classmates bother her here- at least not that frequently. She does not know if they're afraid of the librarian or the principal or something else entirely, but here she can breathe and not have to watch her back every second and it's good.
Mister Álvaro does not help with the bullying. None of the teachers really do, just give her a fake smile and pat her on the back and say to “just ignore them, it'll pass” and offer fake assurances and more fake smiles and none of them really care and she's so angry, why is nobody helping-?
But it's fine.
It's not like she needs help.
Mister Álvaro has given her a job. She can do that. She can do this one thing correctly.
And maybe… maybe then he will see that she's good.
Because she is; she's not a murderer, she's not a killer, she's not like her mother, not anything her classmates say she is.
So she tries not to let it get to her. Lina is enough, even if they don't meet often and that asshole keeps telling her rumors that aren't true and she has to explain herself every time they see each other- but it's fine.
Lina is nice.
Sometimes, Mister Álvaro lets her stay in the library ever after dark- Sometimes, Lina even joins her.
(Only when nobody can see. They can never let anyone see.)
But today, Agatha is alone.
She dusts the top of the shelves off, rearranges the books back into their correct places, and does her job.
She does not think about the book, hidden behind the secret fucking entrance to a bunker. About the dark leather cover and rituals and sigils and magic. She can do her job. She doesn't need to bother anyone with this.
She just sits down at the table, in a dark corner of the library, and reads a book that she doesn't care about.
She hopes that Mister Álvaro doesn't kick her out tonight. She doesn't want to go home.
…In the back of her mind, Agatha thinks of sneaking back into the bunker and finishing reading the book. They call her weird; and she knows she is, in a way. Surely it wouldn't make a difference if she just… leaned into it a bit.
Thought of agatha again. part of my ongoing wip which means hopefully more soon!! there are... things happening so do keep the content warnings in mind as you go. have mia and agatha (and lupi!) meeting for the first time
spoilers: lore revealed in opd18
cw: implied bullying, self harm and animal death/animals being heavily wounded. more detailed: torture + being forced to watch torture, thoughts of death/being killed, panic attack, ptsd episode, dog violence (dog attacking a human), thinking of murder and a lot of blood
-
It stares back. It stares back. It barks and growls and she– she doesn't want to die. But they're here and the dogs are covered in blood and they only ever laugh and she doesn't want to see, she doesn't want to watch– the fangs pierce the skin and there's blood; so much blood, so much pain, so much screaming. She doesn't want to watch. She has to. She doesn't want to die. They'll hurt her if she stops. The man on the floor (bloody and hurt in a way Agatha isn't used to yet, not yet) reaches his hand out for her. One of the dogs bites couple of his fingers off. It growls. She can't stop shaking. It turns to stare at her. It lunges. Agatha screams. It doesn't matter that it jumps at something- someone behind her, because it still hurts, it hurts and all there is is the blood and the darkness and the laughter in the distance. Eyes on her.
There's guts and blood and meat and blood and muscle and Blood and screaming. She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to die. It splatters on her face. Her hands are sticky with blood. Is it hers? It is not? Does it matter? Red is on the floor and organs are falling into it– her own insides twist and fuck, God, she doesn't want to die here. She doesn't want the pain. The fear.
Hands reach for her. Someone reaches for her. She doesn't want to die. She knows what she has to do. There's nothing here for her. Just her teeth and her hands and the knowledge– she has killed before. She has hurt before. She knows how to do it. There's a knife in her hand. It's sharp and efficient and hers and she knows it's good. She knows exactly how much it hurts. And fuck, will she make it hurt.
The dog launches. The bald guy with the dull knife reaches out. The girl with– A girl with pink hair… An angry dog barks. It's going to kill her. She will die if she doesn't kill it first. She bares her teeth– grips her knife– knife? There's no knives for her here– She doesn't want to die. She won't let them kill her. She can't. (Don't, don't, please– Please don't touch me, please, please, leave me alone–)
“Don't fucking touch me!” She snarls and screams and stabs. She doesn't want the pain. She doesn't want to die. The girl– A girl– The hands leave and nobody is near; there's a scream and then not– good, good, they're dead and nobody can hurt her anymore, it's fine, it's… It's not fine. She needs to get out, she needs to get away from this fucking place and the fucking–
A dog whines. It's just her and the dying dog (can't hurt her, it's hurt, it can't hurt her now) and the fast beating of her heart and the heavy breathing. She coughs and tries to inhale and just coughs more. But she's fine. Not dead yet. Fuck. Fuck. Her hands are— they're…
She can feel the blood, feel it under her nails, drying on her skin and turning sticky and… her hands are not red. It doesn't… She…
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She doesn't– she can't…
It's bright. It's never bright in the cells. There's no shadows hovering over her. There's never not a shadow hovering over her at school. She…
“Mia. You go. Take Lupi with you.”
…no. What?
It's the fucking old guy that– oh God. She's going to die. She's going to die. She doesn't want to die. Please. Please, I don't want to die, please– Don't hurt me, go away, please, go away– Fucking leave me alone! Don't touch me, don't come closer!
She grips the knife in her hand. She… doesn't know. Something trickles down her arm. She can't die here. She can't. But all she has is her teeth– her knife. That won't do anything against a guy with a fucking sword. She's going to die.
I'm going to kill you. I will. Don't fucking come closer or I swear–
She wheezes. There's no fucking air, she can't fucking breathe– God, she doesn't want to die. Please. Please.
She can't see either; everything is far too blurry for that– just flashes of red and black and dark and a soft yellow light– But it doesn't matter because everything turns to black anyway.
have this little thing about dante and leo from my au i have yet to put into actual words and out of my head. gal's here too cause i love him <333
Dante places his hand on Leo's cheek. He makes an effort to keep them still and to not press too hard; Leo will not be able to pull away, even if it will hurt him. He breathes slowly and consistently. There's no reason not to. Leo copies him. Or maybe he is copying Leo- he has been the one breathing almost mechanically perfect for the last two weeks now, while Dante was… not. Panic attacks and shortness of breath and holding it and the attacks of coughing… He tries, but trying is often far from enough.
He slides down his hand further down, passing by the pulse point – still beating, good, but at the same time, it stays unchanging; follows a rhythm and doesn't flutter when Dante reaches out and ghosts his fingers over the skin. It hasn't for a long time, even before all this.
He tries to ignore it. Pretend that it doesn't make his heart skip a beat and ache- that it doesn't make him sick to his stomach.
The hand moves down, breaking contact with skin and instead pausing in the middle of the gray shirt. Leo had never bothered to change his clothes, especially after… after Dante was told everything. It was him that used to nag Leo about it. They used to go shopping together, when money finally was enough to do so. Before Leo left, of course. Now he just stands here. Unmoving. Just breathing, yet not quite alive.
The tattoos covering his skin are hidden under the shirt, yet Dante remembers well enough (perfectly, he can never forget, he was there) where they are for it to hurt. His hand moves as the lungs inside Leo's body expand and compress, unchanging. Always the same, no matter what he does. The heart beats. He feels it thumping, and wonders if this is better than Leo dying.
Because… He's not here. He's not alive, not really.
(He hadn't been for a long time before this, too. Leo has never really been Leo, not when Dante knew him, anyway. And yet it hurts. It hurts so much.)
But maybe it counts for something. He's here, after all. Dante visits and he sees Leo, and knows that his body will be safe, at the very least.
He cannot say the same for many people he loves. For any of them.
“Well? Can we go now? It's boring in here.”
Dante scowls.
“You could have a bit of respect, you know,” he mutters, yet moves away just the slightest bit. He turns his head and meets Gal's gaze; the man is raising an eyebrow and leaning on the wall with crossed arms.
Still, where Dante goes, Gal follows, so Dante looks back at Leo without much rush.
Gal scoffs. He doesn't move any closer, though, so he's not as impatient as he tries to pretend he is.
“He's my friend. You can wait 2 minutes.” Dante doesn't bring up that he himself was waiting for Gal to do his makeup for at least 20 minutes yesterday- Gal is surely aware he's referring to it.
“What-ever. He was my friend too, but you don't see me groveling at his feet, do you?”
Dante doesn't answer. He brings his hand up back to Leo's cheek and just tries not to think about hugging him. It sounds nice, but he knows not feeling Leo hugging him back would make him cry. He already feels unstable enough today. There's no need for that.
He just traces the bones under the skin and passes his fingers through Leo's hair and tries not to feel too sick that his friend doesn't react.
“...we should leave now, if we want to go to that store. The movie is starting soon.” Gal says eventually, and it sounds a bit more softer this time. Awkward, yes, but nice, nonetheless.
“Yeah.” Dante doesn't hug Leo. He stares into his eyes instead; those empty irises that don't focus on anything anymore. “Yeah.”
And so he leaves. Doesn't say anything as Gal nudges him to walk first. Doesn't think about the fact that he was supposed to watch this movie with Bea. Doesn't try his best to remember the last time Leo smiled at him- he cannot, because it's been too long.
He just reaches out his hand and waits until Gal grips it to dig his fingers into it. At least one person will stay. That's always something.
anddd another inktordem day :)) short one today cause im too excited for the ordo calamitas prompt and can't think about anything else shsh
day 10 - ritual
spoilers up to the end of opc3!!
They're not quite sure when transcending became a longer process that took time, just that it did.
Over time, a quick 5 seconds became hours, and eventually Agatha began to order him out of the occult room and locking the door during her own transcending. For privacy, she says.
Dante… gets it. He thinks.
It is scary. You close your eyes, thinking that you're going to be gone for a few seconds, like always, and come back to see hours have passed. 3 hours here, 10 hours there, a whole night- it's disorientating at best. Vulnerable, for sure.
But they still don't know why. The best guess they have is Kian, but there's… nothing to work with, really.
He has gone through it, seen others do- but nothing other than that. It's not like they have the time to waste on this; Kian is still a danger and with the extension of the Ordo, there's always something more important to do.
But. There's time now. There's a reason to, now.
Carina says she doesn't want her family to ask questions. It's her first time dealing with any sort of ritual- she has no idea what to expect.
He has a reason now.
Dante draws the circle on the floor and slowly explains all he knows about the process- he answers every single question Carina asks. And there are… a lot of them.
She doesn't seem as anxious as-
…She doesn't seem to be as anxious as he imagined. Certainly, is less than anyone else would in her position.
And the questions are nice. Not just because he's confident about his knowledge in this; Carina is interested. Visibly, and that's… something new. The Ordo is… better about using the paranormal now, but to find someone so eager to learn about it isn't easy. It's nice.
She waits until he's finished, and when all is said and done, steps into the circle and sits down in the middle.
Dante… stares. She doesn't seem to be in discomfort, even with her furrowed eyebrows, just… focused, maybe.
He looks at the time - 14:06 - and gets his notebook out. Agatha will appreciate having some more information, and he himself wants to know more.
And Carina asked.
She asked. She asked him to keep watch over her, to be the one to explain it to her, and God, if that doesn't make his heart threaten to stop.
It isn't… it isn't like Jasmin.
Nothing- nobody will ever be like Jasmin.
But it's familiar.
He watched Jasmin transcend for the first time too; only then, he was way more stressed and way more close- the only reason he didn't hold Jasmin's hand was because she told him she'd be fine.
That wasn't like anything happening now.
He doesn't need to hold his breath and stare obsessively at anyone's chest to be sure they're breathing and still alive. There's no anxiety now. He knows how it works. It's a little longer, yes, but he knows that even if Carina was too weak (which she isn't), the only thing happening would be her being thrown out of the circle. She wouldn't die. There's no reason to worry. He knows how it works.
So he makes himself comfortable. Arthur is gone by now- he's not sure where, but Dante would know if anything happened, so he's not too worried.
One last look at the door; he might need to get water or some food from the kitchen later, depending on how long this'll take. But leaving Carina alone isn't what he's going to do, especially not when she just started.
