if vιℓℓαιηs { kill } people and нεяσεs get people { killed }
                                                      then wнaт am I?

(Source: servinglies-archive)


                 But I’m only Human
             Aɴᴅ I ʙʟᴇᴇᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ I ғᴀʟʟ ᴅᴏᴡɴ
             ᴵ’ᵐ ᵒᶰˡʸ ʰᵘᵐᵃᶰ
            And I crash and I break down


           тнє мιηυтєѕ ι нα∂ ℓєƒт ωιтн нιм
                        ƒαℓℓ αωαу
           ℓιкє ∂єα∂ ℓєανєѕ ρυℓℓє∂ ƒяσм



Tris jumped when she heard movement from
across the room. Who was he and why was he
in her room? She watched him cautiously, a bit
confused when he said her name. He knew who
she was. Her arms crossed over her chest as she
looked up at him. 

She said nothing for a few moments. The only
thing she could do was stare. His face was familiar
but still so distant. She had worked out where she
was, maybe he was her doctor. “I-I have to go back
to Abnegation. I have to choose tomorrow.” Tris
pushed her hair behind her ear and went to
stand up. 

Tobias looked at her bewildered. Tris’ words barely registering
with him. But, again they spoke volumes. “Tris.” His words
were soft. Much softer thn he would ever speak normally. “Tris
what are you talking about? You chose months ago.”

He wanted to reach out and touch her. Make some feeble
attempt at lettig her know it was okay but, the look in her eyes.
The one that reminded him of a cornered animal had him
holding back. She didn’t remember him— or anything. Why was
it that not remembering him seemed worse?

"Don’t you remember? You chose Dauntless." Tobias thought for
a moment before an idea sparked in his mind. Holding his hands
up so that she knew he wouldn’t hurt her he moved a mirror
towards her. “Look at your collar bone.” His tone was soft yet firm.
She wouldn’t be able to deny her choice then. Of course the rest 
remained to be seen. 

Hiding in the shadows Tobias remained as quiet as
he could manage. Marcus would be home soon and
he was always so unpredictable. Something that 
someone so young shouldn’t ever have to know about
a parent but, Tobias was well aware of his father and 
his actions. 

The belt, the words and the loneliness all things that 
as an adult he did his best to hold at bey. For the most
part he succeeded in this but, the feat was something
that still haunted him.

The fear landscape never seemed to change even
when Tobias felt as though he had conquered the fear
of his father. Bile rose in his throat as his palms
began to sweat. “It’s not real.” he’d tell himself over and
over again. But, each and every time he did his heart
would race. The pace uncontrollable even for someone 
that seemed to have all the control in the world. 

Sweat started to bead over his neck— it should have just 
been an easy thing to get through. Even when he was 
in this scenario Tobias knew it was false— it was a
landscape formed of memories not reality. But, try
explaining that to someone that was stuck in his childself.
He couldn’t comprehend that on an emotional level. 

Even when he was told time and time again that it wasn’t
real. It was just something that his mind made up. 

The belt snapped and Tobias’ eyes were wild with fear.
The outline of the man— his greatest fear lurking over
him. How did he get so big? Wanting to curl in on himself
Tobias just wished himself out of the fear.
"You’re not real" he repeated over and over again. But,
as the belt came down on his arm and then back he felt real. 

"You’ve got to control yourself." he could hear the words 
and knew they were true but, he couldn’t. “You need to
face your fear.” Why did that seem so much easier? Why
was it that all he could think of to do was fight back?
Maybe it was the fight or flight mentality. Leaving—
running wasn’t very dauntless and he knew that the
people watching him during this part would judge him
if he ran.

Bringing himself to his feet Tobias stood and faced his
father. Marcus still seemed so big. So much bigger than
he was in reality. Tobias’ eyes were firm, sent in beating 
this fear. At least for now. Maybe he’d finally get over it. 

Reaching for the belt as it swung out Tobias bit his tongue.
Pain searing through his arm. “You can’t hurt me.” he thought.
That was why he left. Why he came here instead of staying
where knew he belonged. 

Rapid blinking and it was over. Dazed, confused and still in
shock Tobias looked around the room. It was empty.
No one was there but him. It was an obsessive compulsion.
One that he couldn’t stop forcing himself through. 

Maybe one day all of it would be over.



Tris’s eyes shot open, her eyes scanning the room as her heart raced. She looked down at the many tubes in her arms. The room was white, and she could here noises from the hall. This was the first time Tris had been awake in days and she couldn’t remember anything. 

Her hands and arms were covered in scrapes and bruises that looked like they had been washed. Her clothes were different. She was no longer in her dull, grey abnegation dress. She was in a white gown, her blonde hair draped over her shoulder. “Hello?” 

Days— days had elapsed. Night turning into morning,
afternoon and night again. Tobias awake the entire
time waiting… Tris would wake up eventually and he’d
be there to make sure she was okay. He wanted to be
the first person she saw when she opened her eyes.
The days went on and he began to wonder if she’d
ever wake up. Shaking his head he pushed that thought
aside. If there was one thing Tobias knew it was that
Tris was too stubborn to not wake up. She was too
stubborn for almost everything.

That thought alone brought a smile to his face. Of 
course he couldn’t think of happier times. Times when 
they didn’t have all of this to worry about. There weren’t many
of those.  But, then he heard a voice that pulled him back to 
reality. Standing he moved to her bedside. 

"Hey Tris." he whispered tentatively. 


( + o p e n )

                 Alcohol and him certainly made an interesting pair; walls crumbled under
                 the sway of intoxication, and it’s both refreshing and alarming for those
                 caught in the crossfire of it all. He wasn’t sloppy by any means, but he
                 was a touch more social — a bit more talkative, quicker to get in someone’s
                 face or speak up in a moment where observation would have been key.
                 A cigarette hangs from lips stained with dark liquor, a long-necked bottle
                 in his free hand, swaying as he swirls the gulp or two worth of contents
                 that remained at the bottom. Dauntless parties were only bearable like this;
                 drunk enough to be comfortable in a room of obnoxious human beings.


                 The bottle empties when he tosses it back, and his tongue slips out over
                 cigarette burnt lips, dark eyes closing for a brief moment only to open
                 once more. Familiar faces hold vague spots in his ever-turning mind,
                 memories and mental notes completely fogged over under the sway of
                 liquor. Smoke lingers in his lungs with an idle inhale, and he stops before
                 a face he could, possibly, know well. ( He’s a little bit too drunk, and
                 everyone seems familiar enough. ) Standing there for a moment, he basks
                 in a gaze he can’t place, before stepping forward, features unmoving.

                 Another heavy drag, and the cigarette is in one hand while the free hand
                 snakes its way along his new found counterpart’s jaw, holding their head
                 in place with a surprisingly steady grip. His lips purse slightly, and an idle
                 stream of smoke snakes across features, his lips twitching up into a rather
                 smug smirk. Stop staring.

Forever out of place Four knew that’s how he was at these parties.
Once a stiff always a stiff they reminded him constantly. Of course
he had no way of denying that. Maybe it was lingering fear of his
father that pushed him to make an attempt at fitting in. Alcohol was
never something he particularly cared for. The burn and taste left
something to be desired but, one thing he had figured out it the
quicker you drank it the faster you gave up caring about the taste.
The only thing that mattered were the lingering effects. The haze,
the cloud of his past lifting for a brief time.

Four was watching Eric who much like him became a little more
carefree when he drank though that’s where the similarities ended.
Maybe he was looking for too long the truth was that he couldn’t
remember. It were the harsh words that snapped him back to reality.
A faint smirk curled his lips. “Staring… but, I’m trying to figure out
exactly what it is I’m looking at.” Four grinned pushing himself from
the bench he had been sitting on swaying slightly with the change
of positions.


' You clearly did
  and what kind of
  point would that be?’


Four smirked though being called
out on a bad shot wasn’t
something that he particularly
enjoyed. “The point is—” he paused
for a moment. “That you should
pay more attention to what you’re
doing and worry less about everyone
else. It’s a good way to get yourself killed.”