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jadelynlace · 3 years

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a dead woman tells no tales / Vikings fiction

series based on Lady Lazarus, a poem by Sylvia Plath.

chapter five / catch up here

synopsis: He left you for dead and now you’re back.

author’s note: the one small detail the reader has, is that she is a red head.

specific chapter content warning(s): mentions of blood, suicide, and sexual content below the cut. yes I have fucked up the entire timeline and characterization, but I have no shame. (however, if you do want to talk about someone who fucked up, let’s discuss the absolute shit ending Hirst gave these characters!) is my love for floki obvious yet? don’t answer that. also, before I go: Ivar has a breeding / pregnancy kink, pass it on.

pairing: Ivar x Reader

✄

“Why do you have a child?” Ivar’s voice beckons to you from where you have positioned yourself along the rug, the small eyes watching you back as she lifts her head.

“I told her mother I would watch her so she could bathe in peace,” You reply as you hear Ivar clicks his tongue in distaste.

“She is a spoiled one,” Ivar laughs.

“She is small, Ivar,” You reply softly.

“Do not gift yourself any thoughts about children, Y/N,” Ivar warns suddenly. “They are small, yes, and they are helpless,” He says from his spot, the pulp of an apple crushing between his jaw as the sound alerts the small one to raise her head again.

“They are helpless because they need teachers,” You sigh, rolling yourself along the rug to adequately stand, leveling the child along your hip. Ivar’s eyes are stuck on how the infant grabs at your hair, tracing her tiny hands along your covered breasts and you know that she much be feeling hungered. She lets out a small squawk which you are quick to quiet before turning away from Ivar.

“Where are you headed?” He asks, turning his head to the side as you give him another look over your shoulder.

“To return her,” Is all you say.

“Come back to me when you are finished, we have things to discuss,” Ivar hums, wiping the drip of the juice from the apple off his chin.

You wanted to spare yourself the words Ivar had undoubtedly set up for you, strolling through the village to occupy your time instead. You know he is counting the moments before you return but that remains of petty interest in your mind. There is far more Kattegat has for offerings now that you are not hidden in a cart to recover from your injuries. You catch sight of an axe’s curve sharpening, the slice through the air calls you and you notice Ivar’s head as you search the shop’s perimeter. As he catches you in his sight, there’s a sliver of a smirk across his mouth as he waves his hand, the few patrons of the spot vacating and closing the one door behind them.

“You wished to speak?”

“Come closer,” Ivar demands, softer than the tone you know him to hold. Following suit you step closer to where he sits, still pulling the axe along the plate as it sharpens. “Closer,” He says again but you are now touching his feet where they are hidden, your kneecaps kissing along his. “Closer,” He says once more without looking up at you but you lack the space to move any more to his liking. Until you take the axe from his grip and maneuver it away, and replace how he held the handle with how his hands quickly latch to your hips. You find yourself over his lap once more, groping hands taking the collections of cloth around your ass to squeeze, tracing your hips and quickly grabbing your breast. “You have put images in my head,” Ivar tells you. “Images of carrying my child,” No sooner do the words leave his mouth than do the flutterings in your lower half take your notice.

“No, Ivar,” You say, trying to reel his mind back to what is important.

“Why must you deny me?” Ivar asks, still stroking skilled fingers over your dress as his eyes finally catch yours. “What has changed so much now that you no longer wish to carry my children? That was what you wanted not long ago. Do you remember how we would talk of it? How we dreamt of names, imagined whom they must take after—and I spoke of how I wished for a child with hair like yours. You would never let me fill you, but you did when you showed up on the raid. How did you end up there, Y/N?” Ivar’s speech unlocks the hidden memories that you tried for too long to bury; the fumblings in the grass where you would make love with him but you would always ask for him not to fill you—not ready to carry his child when you could hardly carry yourself. How one afternoon he caught himself too late, staying within and you suddenly could not understand why you were so fearful of the aftermath. How when your monthly blood came not far after and those dreams left as you washed yourself.

“Show me how you act around a child, Ivar, and perhaps I will reconsider,” You whisper, challenging his gaze and how he watches you, licking his lips.

“You did not answer my question,” Ivar replies in a husked hiss.

“I never went far Ivar,” You say with a small smile. “I fought alongside you, as one of your men, I just stayed hidden too well behind the armor,” His lips are rushed against yours, hungered as his tongue wastes not a breath before it’s sliding with yours. His hands never cease, they want to rip the fabric from you but he favors this dress too much to do so. Moving your hips for you against him, how he grows behind his own clothes as you rub. Ivar’s mouth breaks away from yours as you roll yourself still, groaning and you suddenly light the fire in your own belly to make him whimper your name, not showing him mercy until he’s released inside of his own clothes. Despite Ivar trying to push you in his favor, pin you from how you’re moving so he can have you how he wishes, his moments of struggle do not last long when you latch his hands against your covered chest, making quick work to spill you breasts so he can grab them. Ivar comes undone far too soon for your liking, rubbing him as there is moisture against you, his eyes screwed tightly shut as his mouth is open under the luxury of his quick release. You put your mouth on his to catch his breathing, how he moans in ecstasy and shock at what you did.

“You are a heathen,” Ivar quickly whispers, your own arousal peeked as his voice rasps against your mouth. “You are a heathen and you are mine,” His hands grab tightly now against your chest as your moan echoes back into his throat, his mouth sliding down your jaw. “You are a heathen and now you have a mess to clean up, woman,”

Your arrowheads heat nicely, bend quickly, and sharpens the best they have yet, your work ends as rain opens through the skies and your name is called from down the path. You know it is not Ivar’s tone who attracts you, the mysterious voice looming a noise to tickle your hair. Floki was a man you remember to have been gifted Ivar’s attachment, how Ivar looked up to the man so highly, replacing him to become someone who he would consider his own elder, even when he wasn’t. Your hatred for those who killed Aslaug boiled between both of you, you wondered what took Ivar so long to seek revenge even though you were the one who pulled the final arrow.

“The Gods told me of your return,” Floki sings when you see him, the laughter ringing to you as you dwell upon the silliness this man was known to hold. “How have you been holding yourself since? Do you still not feel well?” Floki asks, pointing to his head. “Not well up here?” You can’t stop the nod that shakes your own cranium. “While our minds are beautiful tools, they are also evil weapons,” He tells you. “Come and speak what is on your mind to Floki,”

Your mouth seals itself too quickly before you can start a speech to the man. In true honesty, you don’t quite know how to articulate the pain that churns deep inside of you. He stands, tends to a meal over the flame before he returns a cup of mead in your grip. You down it suddenly and he laughs at that, refilling it once more but still the words do not sit upon their perch. You’d dream to take your dagger to your lips and pull them apart so the words can fly freely if that meant they would spare you the sickness they have locked in your heart.

“I do not know where to begin—or where the words even begin,” You admit.

“You have always carried a sadness inside of you, the red haired beauty you are, but you have always let the sadness take more of you than it should have. It is because you failed in that jump? Because you could not quiet the evil voices and now they have one more thing to hang above you and taunt you with?” Floki asks. How the man knew what was tangled through your unspoken speech would always amaze you. “You are a strong warrior, a strong woman, show them,” He says when you drown the next few gulps of mead.

“It is different now,” You find yourself speaking. “I remember who I was, but she is locked somewhere and I do not know if I want to let her back out. I have done evil things Floki, thinking it would heal me and it only makes the thirst stronger,” Floki only studies you as you speak.

“You have that need to kill, to seek revenge for something that you could not control. You covet the lives of others so you take them away with your own hands. You make our Gods proud in doing so, but you do not find the answers any clearer,” He tells you, the curve of his blade over a piece of wood as he carves. “Darkness changes people, red haired beauty, but you are not stuck in darkness anymore, you are just simply stuck—scourge the world as you dream and show everyone how strong you have become,” He sings, raising a brow to you as the carving draws a bit more character.

“You are quick with your hands, Floki, and quick with your words. I envy that about you,” You tell him as he laughs once more. “I do not know what I want right now, Floki. If I want to be the strong woman or if I want to go back to being who I was, deeply in love and hoping for a life with Ivar,” You sigh, setting the container along the table.

“Who tells you that you can not have both?” Floki asks, a sideways cocked head as he sets the figure on the table. It is a quickly sliced crescent moon, peeled smoothly and soft as you hold it. “You remind me of the moonlight; you are beautiful but not always there, but even when you are hidden you remain. In shadows. If the moon smiled, she would look like you,” Floki says through his own grin. “Wolves howl at the moon in tribute; make your people howl at you,”

“Where do the Gods speak to you?” You ask with a laugh. “Where does it come from, and how do you get it so quickly?” Floki laughs along with you as you hold the piece tightly in fondness. “Can I keep this?”

“I would be gravely hurt if you did not. Here—” He says with an open hand before you set it along the rough palm, before he carves a quick socket to poke through. “I will find you some string, sit here,” He speaks when he raises quickly, searching about the room for lone pieces of material he seems to enjoy collecting more so than he does enjoy using. The charm is placed on the string before he is behind you, tying it. “You think it may be safer not to feel, but you are wrong,” Floki whispers as his lips graze your temple. “Go home to where Ivar is, and make him howl at you too,”

Ivar is asleep when you sneak back to his quarters, across the mat in twist, ties legs to the side as he rests in a curve the sits more humorous than it does uncomfortable. Watching him for a moment, how his eyes still dance despite being covered by his lids, how his chest rises slowly though breathing. The beauty he has now, more grown, sings adornment through heart; markings on his face that remind you of the younger man you knew, with shorter locks and gravely blunt humor that always halted you before it made you laugh. He was still the Ivar you knew, he was just hiding it like you had been. You walk to his side quickly, moving his legs gently to straighten but that still wakes him with a quick gasp, lids flying apart to catch you.

“You would wake sore if you rested like that,” You tell him. “I was only trying to make you comfortable,” His eyes watch you as you speak to him, rounding the furs to cover him once more as you tuck them. His hand reaches out for yours and you place it along his, a small brushing of his lips along the back of it as you smile. You climb around him quickly, flopping your frame across the vacant spot as his slight laugh warms through you.

“Where is this from?” He asks when his hands stroke the small pendant you wear.

“Floki,” You reply. “He and I spoke for a long time,”

“Floki is a good man,” Ivar says, laying next to you. “He knows too much for his own good, I do think,”

“I think you do too, Ivar,” You reply. “I think you let hatred take the place of love,”

“I do not, I hold few things with me that I love, hatred will never take their place,”

“What do you love?” You ask him gently, rising to your elbow, but there is an abrupt silence before a cracks the smallest detection of a smile.

“I love my mother, and the thought of her peace in Valhalla,” Ivar starts. “I love when it rains at night, when it darkens the sky but still there is a small sliver of the moon. I love the chaos of the battlefield, how it is so sporadic but it still calms me,” He adds, speaking up towards the ceiling. “I love the Gods, and their path for me,” He head turns back to look at you, lips still curved in the same smile. “I love you,”

“Even after that jump?” You whisper.

“Even after that jump,” He responds as his eyes catch yours. “Before it as well. I dreamt of our future, our rule,” Ivar adds. “I dreamt of us,”

“Do you still?”

“Yes,” Ivar answers in a quick sudden way, furrowed brows considering that perhaps he is the only one of the pair that still dreams of a future with you. “Do you not?”

“I dream of dark things now, Ivar. Perhaps it is the way of the Gods, for my pitiful effort to end my own suffering, but there has not been pleasantry on my mind for some time,” You admit. “I worry I may never have those sweet dreams again,” Ivar’s hand catches your cheek as you sigh, the somber look you wear so well there once more as it angers him more than it makes him want to match. As Ivar pulls you closer, your body suddenly oozes like sand in at his touch, molding along how he lays so he can have you against him. Broad chest to lay on with arms that lock behind you as a shield, keeping the slivers of evil spoken words where they belong in the darkness of the room. You feel his lips brush along your hairline and you want to allow it—his openness with you—you want to relish in it, dance along the feelings but you fear that once you do they may slip away once more. Ivar’s hand trail across the plains of your back, slowly loosening the tunic as he goes, your breathing picking up as his hands cup along the roundness of your ass, taking his time as he pulls you to part before sliding his hands back where they began. How he has his ways to make you feel such pleasure with simple touches, you will never know. How the young man who was almost frightened to touch you like that for the first time has long since faded. Showing him where his fingers should stroke, showing him how to make your body respond for his, watching how his eyes darkened as you grew wet, the noises he pulled from your lips, the sounds of his fingers in your cunt, matching with what grew to consume him the first time Ivar ever entered you. The pleasure that bloomed where you two had connected, studying you while cashing his own release, slipping out in the last moment not to lose your tightness and warmth. Painting your skin with his seed as he trailed his own hands through it to feed you. The mess you two were when you always rejoined whom still littered the field and how obvious it must have been written on your faces. In brush, on stumps and behind fallen logs. Sneaking into his home and trying to stay as quiet as you two could.

As you relish in the thoughts of the past, Ivar’s hands grace your chest, the tunic long since discarded as he lays you back, hovering sideways to catch your skin sparkle by the light of the fire. Ducking his head down, his lips curl around your breast, pulling at the skin as you let a hiss rush from your mouth at the way his canine fangs nip at you. Pulling your nipple to bud and you can’t stop the way your hands need him. Rolling the seams of his garments down, raking your nails along the inked drawings his now carries, feeling how hard he has gone just by his tongue exploring your chest. Your legs spread farther, letting him settle between them but he makes no haste to have you in such a way, still bringing his tongue to cover you, licking you like a meal before his lips have found your neck. You can feel how he smirks against your throat when you gasp, melting it into a moan when they latch at the spots under your ear, how easily he recalls what places to go to make you a mess beneath him. Ivar hisses as your nails pierce the skin of his back, dragging lines over the muscles as his hands grab your thighs to still you. His eyes set on yours when his prick is just out past your entrance, his chest heaving, eyes dark alike as he never falters his gaze as he starts to push in. You watch his breathing quicken as he sinks down, his lips separating as his hip bones rest with yours. You look away only as your eyes close, dropping your head to fall back along the bed with a sweet moan that jabs right to Ivar’s crotch. With a slow roll of his hips your mouth opens to sing another note of pleasure before your hands start their endless search to grab it him, pulling him to come as close as he can while he still thrusts. It does not take long for the tightness you hold him with to thicken, for the growls to drool from his mouth as he reaches closer to his peak, maneuvering to his forearms as he watches your chest bounce as he moves harder still. Your body latches along his finally when your orgasm grabs at you, eyes on Ivar as his mouth opens at the sight of you coming around his cock, the slowing of his own movements to simply savor how your appear like a Goddess before him.

“Fill me,” You whispers as your hands crawl to hold his scalp. “Please Ivar, fill me,” You beg softly and he can only manage a nod as his own release trickles from the backs of his thighs, nipping his tail bone as a rush of sharp snaps of his hips crash with yours, the final one causing a long groan as he releases inside of you. Lids still plastered shut as his arms shake, his back tensing and you can see the small pulses of the after waves course over his whole body as you pull him to lay over you. You’re not bothered by the heaviness he reigns over you, the large warrior he’s become as your wrap around him as much as your able while he holds you alike.

“Please never leave me,” Ivar whispers suddenly along the shell of your ear, a voice far too soft for him that registers as pained in your hearing. “I was so lost; please never leave like that again,” Ivar begs. You don’t have the words at the ready to reply, moving his head for him to graze your lips on his is the only way you find yourself answering. His mouth heavy on yours as his salvia comes to rest on your tongue, pleasured pain of how he's still inside of you making your hips roll on their own accord as he growls against you. Finally he pulls himself from your walls, hovering over you as you feel his seed drip from your core, you catch sight of him observing how it flows before he takes his fingers to drag through, pushing it back into its home as he pulls them out once more and pushes them against your tongue.

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godkilller · 3 years

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@shirenui144

A more sombre question, but had me wondering... Has Gin ever cried / what would it take to make him cry? I imagine it would be verse dependent, but could a man this guarded ever visibly show such emotional hurt?

out of character. Why must you hurt me.

But it’s an excellent question, and as you say too -- Gin has become such a guarded, numbed, and twisted man. He has, for lack of better wording, killed off that part of himself long ago. He is also one of the topmost guarded characters in Bleach, even Ichigo’s little trick of ‘reading his opponent’s heart’ during battle did not work on Gin. Gin was empty. Gin wasn’t even ‘looking at Ichigo’ with his heart when fighting. They did not reach each other. Gin is so utterly closed off from others and himself that there’s an eerie absence of self present in him, a swallowing abyss, intimidating and oppressive. Gin has also spent his entire existence isolated, he joined Aizen extremely young and thus his centuries-long otherness began. He cannot show emotions akin to Toshiro, who is often used in ways alongside Gin to show what happens if one shows emotions and weakness to Aizen Sousuke via childhood friends. Renji and Rukia, too, are used in ways that contrast Gin and Rangiku subtly in the background. Gin’s interactions with Rukia about Renji, and his interactions with Toshiro about Momo are to make Gin more of an other. He is removed, unlike them.

So Gin does not despair openly like they do. He doesn’t shout or cry for the audience to see. He’s a villainous cold-hearted bastard.

This is on top of the potent sense of cultural toxic masculinity and military way of avoiding / “dealing with” emotionally charged moments, not speaking of trauma, and the whole nine yards of suppression which channels into self-worth issues and a tendency for violence. Most characters in Bleach, and especially male characters, aren’t allowed to really stop and think about what they’re feeling, doing -- Ichigo being able to do a decent amount of that, yes, with his protagonist badge, but even then ? It’s pathetically insufficient, barely a taste of what Ichigo actually should be experiencing, and no other characters are allowed to mourn losses or suffer long-lasting consequences for their actions, for injuries, for mistakes, for harmful words or acts. It’s an action / fighting series, the audience is here for big flashy swordfights and cool abilities, not emotions. Certainly not darker topics of PTSD and the like.

You can slice it any which way, but Gin grew up as a child soldier. It can be contrasted by the fact that the majority of the Gotei 13 / Shinigami characters are shown, in flashbacks, as entering the Academy whilst in adulthood, becoming Shinigami once adults, with the exception of people like Toshiro, Momo, Hiyori, who all look / are perpetually young.

Gin is a little older than Toshiro, for context, by the way -- and he is younger than Byakuya. Because Tite doesn’t know how the ages of his own characters work, it can be argued that Gin and Hiyori are possibly within the same ballpark in terms of ages. But like. Look at her. What the fuck. ANYWAYS, the point is ? Gin’s young, and his trauma is fairly fresh. From the Winter War -- and then 110 years into the past to the Turn Back the Pendulum arc -- Gin spends the majority of his childhood either playing caretaker for Rangiku, who is actually a little older than him, and then killing; first, the three Shinigami that attacked Rangiku, then the Third Seat of the Fifth Division, and then many more likely during his career of observing failed projects at Aizen’s side, witnessing horrific Hollowification experimentations, and many more things. The crucial period of development for things like higher level empathy ( Gin showcases it by sharing his food with Rangiku, a stranger, and then we see the absolute absence of it from then on ) and Gin swiftly enters into the midst of Erikson’s industry vs. inferiority stage of development; what does he have to offer the world ? What can he become ? Will he be good enough ? This is the stage in which Gin makes the connection as well as makes peace with becoming a monster; this is what I’m offering, this is what I’m becoming, this will be good enough.

He flipped a switch. It’s questionable whether or not Gin has the ability to cry once he’s an established Third Seat. It’s gone, it’s been swallowed down a hole so deep and dark Gin doesn’t want to go searching for it. He doesn’t want to cry. Gin already has a negative connotation connected to crying given his quote “I’m gonna become a Shinigami, change things for ya, so that you don’t have to cry anymore, Rangiku.” Not crying = good. Not crying means better. Rangiku crying over what was done to her was what embedded into Gin that he needed to be stronger. No crying allowed. None. In his mind, obviously, Gin doesn’t actually make that connection that ‘because Rangiku did this, I’ll do this’ no, he’s not so meticulously aware yet, but there’s certainly an imprint left on him from those earlier years in the Rukongai, dreading her tears, hating them, hating those men, and so crying = murderous intent. Crying = anger.

If Gin cried as a child, he didn’t realize he was doing so. I can see him crying in his sleep from a dream, a nightmare, a jam-packed series of emotions hitting him whilst vulnerable, whilst unable to smile and swallow it all down. I can see him waking from it and wiping at his face, feeling utter detachment like an ache in his chest, an otherness, like that wasn’t even him crying, that wasn’t him. Gin wouldn’t think more of it, he wouldn’t dare linger on the thoughts. Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know.mp4 and all that jazz.

Gin is more likely to lash out in anger than let himself cry. I have a headcanon / drabble somewhere of Gin screaming into his inner world, clutching at his hair, feeling so terribly close to crying but he can’t, it literally will not happen. He’s too bottled up and frustrated from that that when he actually has an opportunity to cry and it doesn’t naturally happen because he’s become so suppressed, it just outright angers him. Because he has latched everything up, lock and key, by the time Gin’s an adult -- if he were to cry as an adult, it’d be during a flurry of explosive emotions. He cannot just casually let loose, no, that door’s jammed shut, it’s been coiled tight in him. A pit of despair by the time the Winter War rolls by. Gin admits to feeling anxiety, dread, during that conflict -- a sign of slowly coming undone, no longer able to keep himself from hesitance, doubt, insecurity, and anticipation hovering around him like a dark cloud. Gin cannot cry, though, not now. Not when he’s so close to making all the pain worth something...

So it’s no surprise that Gin really only starts getting the actual opening to properly cry in my canon divergent verses. But the catch !!!! Gin has failed so thoroughly and so brutally that he feels he doesn’t deserve to weep about it. That this is merely a fraction of the karma he deserves. He experiences suicidal ideation, daydreaming of how it’d simply be easier if he hadn’t survived at all. He feels too hollow to cry, then, at the start. He feels too heavy, too much, it’s too much to cry about. He ruined himself and Rangiku for nothing. He did all of this for nothing. And now Rangiku wants answers, still waiting, watching him, and he can’t cry in front of her. IT’S STILL INGRAINED IN HIM FROM CHILDHOOD: she’s the one who cries and he’s the one who comforts. The audacity of him to cry in front of her after everything he put her through, as though he were the victim and her the one needing to comfort him. Gin may be morally gray, but at times he truly sees the world in black and white. No moderation, no give and take.

It’d hit him later, when he’s learning to become more vulnerable. When he’s trying to open up to Rangiku about something he has to rip from himself, his heart holding onto this sorrow for so long Gin has to surgically remove the truth from himself. AS A CHILD, WITNESSING WHAT HAPPENED TO RANGIKU COUNTS AS A TRAUMATIC EVENT. Not talking about it for 110+ years does a number or two on you when you at last, FINALLY, tell her the fucking scoop. Gin repressed what happened to Rangiku because he recognized that Rangiku did not fully and properly remember, recollect, what happened to her. He knew. Gin saw.

Compartmentalizing her trauma on top of his own, as though a keeper of it, a sin-eater, Gin would feel absolute despairing relief at finally telling her. Despairing because he’ll be inflicting upon her something he’s been holding back, holding that door shut, for the entirety of their knowing of one another, and to finally let go of the door and let that beast of trauma go charging at her undeterred ? There’s immense guilt attached to this entire affair. Gin feels childlike guilt; why her, and not me ? I wish it could’ve been me, we could’ve traded places and I’d be fine, I’d live, we could live happy together. Akin to survivor’s guilt, Gin wishes those men had found him and taken a piece of his soul rather than Rangiku’s. The ‘why’ of it haunts him. Why her. Why didn’t I stop them. Why didn’t I show up sooner. I could’ve bitten at them, kicked and hit, we could have escaped together -- or at least you could have. Gin also feels guilt at a base adult level: why am I keeping this from her ? No, it’s too late to tell her, she’s happier now, there will never be a good time to tell her.

There are so many things, feelings, thoughts, that Gin has never shared with Rangiku due to it all being tied to the unspoken secret he’s let fester inside of him.

SO WHEN GIN FINALLY TELLS RANGIKU WHY HE JOINED AIZEN, WHY HE TRIED TO KILL AIZEN, WHY HE SAID THOSE WORDS TO HER DURING THAT BLIZZARD AND BECAME A SHINIGAMI ... GIN’S GOING TO BREAK DOWN.

The truth is tied to vulnerability in Gin’s mind. Telling it means ripping himself apart at the seams. Everything he crafted himself out to be was made around this secret. It’s going to be bloody, it’s going to hit him like a fucking train. Gin’s going to feel it coming, rumbling on the tracks, he’ll hear it even, that approaching storm, he’ll know by the prickle at his eyes and the closing of his throat, but still nothing’s ever prepared him for the absolute choked finality of the truth, and he’s going to do his best to hold it back -- it’s instinctive, it’s in his blood by now to mask it, stop it, divert and drawl his way out of it. But this time he can’t just stop halfway and distract her, talk about something else. No, Gin’s cornered himself and it’s high time Rangiku got the truth from him, he can’t run away any more. He’ll have to grit his teeth and talk through it, swallow it back just enough to speak, to tell her what he’s done to them both and for what, for why, it’s the worst possible conversation they could ever have, but one they need. And Gin’s going to find himself incapable of holding back a sob the more he discloses, the more that slips out and escapes him the more the emotions tied to that sunken anchor come up too. He will feel simultaneously lighter and heavier for it.

There are numerous ways Gin’s thought about wording it. He’s thought about the numbed approach, MISSION REPORT style: Aizen Sousuke harvested souls from the 64th Rukongai District, they took a piece from you. Perhaps not, no, not like that. Maybe... back when y’were a kid, there were three Shinigami assigned to the 64th District to collect souls to fuel Aizen Sousuke’s Hogyoku. They took somethin’ from you. I saw it. I saw them hoverin’ over you, I saw it in their hands. I saw’em offer it up to Aizen in the forest, collectin’ firewood. I saw him.

WHY DIDN’T I STOP HIM, WHY DIDN’T I ATTACK THOSE THREE MEN THEN AND THERE IN BROAD DAYLIGHT WITH YOUR COLLAPSED FORM A FEW FEET AWAY, MAYBE I COULD HAVE TAKEN THEM ON AFTER ALL. I COULD HAVE CRUSHED A SKULL IN WITH STONE, I COULD’VE STOLEN HIS SWORD BEFORE THE LIFE FULLY FADED FROM HIM AND MADE IT VANISH, I COULD’VE CARVED THROUGH THE SECOND, SLICE THE TENDON AT THE THIRD’S ANKLE AS HE ATTEMPTED TO FLEE, WARN OTHERS. SLIT HIS THROAT AS HE CRAWLED AWAY. YOU’D HEAR IT, OFF TO THE SIDE. YOU’D SEE ME COME UP TO YOU WITH BLOOD SPLATTERS. YOU’D SEE ME LEAN OVER YOU WITH NOT A PERSIMMON OFFERED, NO, YOUR OWN FUCKING SOUL THEY PLUCKED FROM YOU. SHAKY HAND. BLOODIED HAND. TAKE IT, TAKE IT BACK. I FIXED IT --

Just tell her. JUST TELL HER.

DO YOU REMEMBER THE DAY WE MET, RANGIKU ... ?

#[ headcanon ] fresh snowfall; fading footprints mark his path #[ verse: redemption ] i am healing by mistake; rome is also built on ruins #me: i wanna cover more but also i. oof.

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thebadchoicemachine · 3 years

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For the writing prompt, what about ghost!Robin and Catboy!Corpse seeing present day Cornelius/Dream? Like Dream being confused and happy about his Partner and Son’s Ghosts being there and everyone else being v confused about the two random people calling him Cornelius and knowing him from a hundred years ago.

anon im so sorry. This has been sitting in my inbox for months now but I just cannot finish this story. it a really cool idea though. Here’s my incomplete first draft. I just copy and paste it from my wip to here so this is it, notes and cuts and typos and all.

The idea is Karl shows up when they’re in the prison and they see the false timeline where Cornelius was a killer and are forced to accept he sucks

_________________

- The execution cell was supposed to be merciful, a more civilized solution than being beat to death, but everything about it made Robin gag. He hoped he would never ever end up in it.

tw: implied indirect suicide, major death but they’re ghosts(?)

--•-•-*-•-•--

Colors and colors and colors wouldn’t stop melting and mixing and swirling. They surrounded him. They were in him. They were him. He breathed them in without breathing, he bled them without blood, he was falling and flying and stood completely still.

And then it was dark. No, then it was light. White and clean like the marble of a palace Robin knew he would never get to see.

Where... where was he? He’d won hadn’t he? They’d... killed... him. They’d killed everyone.

He wanted to die. He had to. There was boiling in his blood he couldn’t ease, he had to die, he needed them to hate him. To end him. The Jester’s Curse. Cursed to be wronged, to be hurt, to be freed.

He’d always had it, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t know why he resisted for so long. Perhaps, despite everything, he’d enjoyed living at one point. Despite what he was, despite his curse, despite bring a jester, he wanted to live! At some point he couldn’t care less about tricking others into condemning him to the grave.

After Cornelius, after Cat, he didn’t even fight it nor could he fight for it. He didn’t even care. Even as the ground swallowed him up in flames of the execution he held no harmony. No peace. There was no joy in his victory, there was no meaning to his death. Even in fulfilling it, he’d denied his curse.

That’s why he was still here, wasn’t it? Jesters want to die, they want to transform, to be released into vengeful spirits of lies and trickery. He was... dead. He was also... still here... why? He knew why. He didn’t think he liked the answer.

Robin couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand to bother mourning anymore. Not himself, not his long-dead family, not his new fath- he choked. He didn’t know know on what, he had no air, no lungs. He just couldn’t finish the thought.

“We never did make it official, did we?” A solemn, comforting, voice rang out.

Robin spun around. No. What? No, it’s not. It is. He is. Right there. Standing- no, not standing. Neither of them can stand. Not floating either just… there… was Cat.

Robin felt his eyes fill up with tears, he didn’t know how, he didn’t care. He flew into his friend’s arms.

“Woah! Ah, be careful, child.”

“H-how,” Robin sobbed into his chest. “How are you…”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“I th-thought that was because of my c-curse.”

Cat sighed, gently ruffling the child’s hair.

“No,” he spoke, finally. “I don’t think that’s why any of us are here.”

“Then-”

“No, I don’t think it’s what happens to everyone either. I’ve been alone as far as I can tell. I haven’t found anyone else. Not even…” he sighed again.

Robin understood. Cornelius was gone.

“I’m so sorry, Robin.” Cat tightened his grip. “I’m so sorry for what we put you through. We promised we would give you a better life, a safer one, but we left you in the worst way possible. You were executed because... because of me.”

“Oh,” Robin stared down at his feet. “You... were there for that?”

“No. I wasn’t- I can’t- I don’t know how to explain it, I only know what happened. Exactly what happened. It was like living a story being told to you, as though a nar- narrating...

Narration. Something clicked in both of their minds. Wasn’t there some strange… the spirals… the colors… he didn’t have a name, not one he ever told them. He had simply showed up one day, right before it all began. He wasn’t there, not properly anyway,. but he was there. He was there in the backs of everyone’s minds. He was there as he explained away every awful thing like it was a footnote in a novel. He was there as he made and told truth. He was the Narrator.

He had such an air of control, such an air of change.

Thoughts (memories?) of a past that never happened flashed through Robin’s mind. Cat was out investigating, Robin was carefully looking over his medical supplies. He couldn’t risk- NO. No. He swept the distraction from his mind. He wouldn’t get carried away, not this time.

The narrator. The Narrator. He had a book. A swirling and swishing mash of colors cover on his book he scribed all their horrors into. That’s where they were.

“Cat, we need to go. He made a mistake. This… was his first time. We are not supposed to be here. We were never meant to leave. We should try to get out.”

Cat only nodded. Robin didn’t know why he understood or how deeply, but he did. This was a mistake.

The two began wandering the halls. It was strange, being able to think and move again as though his body was still his. To have his mind and thoughts working in a stream of consciousness instead of a thick muddy bog of echos. If he didn’t know any better he’d describe it as feeling more… alive.

He even reached out to guide Cat out of habit. How amazing was it that he had habits again? Cat allowed him to because he knew the comfort it gave him to have something so familiar. Although, of course, not really needing him to. They were both still dead, spirits, memories. Living- not living like this, detached, was like existing with a million tiny radars reaching out all around you. It wasn’t a matter of seeing or feeling, simply knowing. When you were so disconnected from life and itself you were able to get a much clearer and instant idea of the world, he supposed.

They walked and wandered in silence for a while. At least, a while from their perspective. Even with no real idea what or where they were Robin could tell time was… off… here.

Eventually, they found their way out. There was no exit or pathway they walked through nor was it a sudden jump. They had just… made it out. They were standing beneath the shelter of some trees. It was raining. They were surrounded by unfamiliar structures and landscapes. Of course they were, but this wasn’t just some distant biome or kingdom it was…

“Robin? Are you alright?”

“I- yes. I’m fine, Cat. This is- I mean, that place is just… wow.”

“It’s... different, yes. This rain is- hmm, it’s weird. I can’t feel it but I know it’s there. It’s making everything fuzzy.”

Robin stuck his hand out. The raindrops sizzled against his skin. He was so focused on the odd sensation he jumped when Cat yanked his arm back.

“What was that? Are you alright?”

“The rain, it stings.”

“Badly? Are you hurt?”

“Not really. It feels like I’m a bar of soap being whittled down by the drops but I’m fine. It only feels strange.”

“Oh, good,” Cat breathed a sigh of relief. “In that case, let’s keep moving.”

Robin agreed. They didn’t have anywhere to go but neither felt like standing under the tree for all eternity. Besides, they were in a whole new world, maybe even a whole new dimension, and Robin was really curious to see what was with those strange building

It all seemed impossible.

His breath was taken away at every turn as they walked. Structures like nothing he’d ever seen before. There were so many colors, so many shapes, so many mechanics, so many things, and all so high and huge. It was amazing.

“Slow down a little, this rain is really disorienting.”

“Sorry! Sorry, this place is just… wow.”

“So you’ve said,” Cat laughed. “What exactly is so amazing about it? Describe it to me.”

“Well, there’s so much of it. It’s like a town but nothing like a town at all. More like a whole kingdom. A very strange kingdom. There’s no uniform to it, every build is unique. There was a castle we passed, it was huge and had so many colors! There were just rainbows and rainbows pouring out of every-”

“Mmm, interesting.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“This castle though, it felt like regret, didn’t it?”

“Y-yeah? Kinda,” Robbin had been trying to avoid thinking about that, how he could feel every building. “Uh, over to your side there is a pit, a giant crater bigger than our entire town! It’s tragic. It’s refreshing a little. It’s kind of…”

“Familiar. I- I don’t want to be near that, Robin. Let’s keep moving.”

Robin didn’t agree. He wanted to get closer, to feel what was so sad, so new, so ended, what about whatever tragedy there was familiar. He wanted to understand what he knew would hurt him, and why.

*****

“No! He would never!” Cat’s voice was rising. It was honestly scary, Robin had never seen him so wrathful. “He is the kindest person you will ever know! He is a protector! He’s- he is-”

“Do you really believe that?” The Narrator asked, calm and unfazed, sorrow creeping into his question. Robin couldn’t shake it from his mind. His thoughts were ruffles like pages flipping backward in a book. Like a pencil rubbing revealing words erased and undone but that had still been written. He was sent back to his flashing memories, his lies, unable to stop them.

Cat was out investigating, Robin was carefully looking over his medical supplies. He couldn’t risk choosing wrong tonight. He’d been right to focus on himself. No, he’d been lucky. He’d panicked. Cat was out to the town now. Robin was out now. The killers knew they could stop them, they would be targets. The killers…

Part of him wanted to ignore it, to go back to thinking it couldn’t be one of them. That no one would do something like that, that is must be some outside force but Jimmy… they’d gotten him right. Robin winced at the memory of Helga, at how it had almost been him, but they’d gotten Jimmy right. He knew they had, the Narrator said so.

The next morning, no one had died. Robin hadn’t needed to heal anyone. Cat reported Jack hadn’t left his home. It seemed like, well, it must be Jack. It just had to be, didn’t it? Robin frowned. He liked Jack enough, he didn’t want to kill anyone. He didn’t want to be wrong again but what choice did he have?

Jack was fighting. He was shouting, angry, scared. He was in the exact same place Robin had been a few nights ago. The familiarity burned inside his chest. He couldn’t stand any more of this, it needed to end tonight.

“IT’S CORNELIUS! IT’S HIM! IT HAS TO BE! Look at me. Look at me! You know me, I’m simple, I farm potatoes. If Helga was still here she’d remind yall I ain’t good for much else. You really think I could do this?”

Robin couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to spare everyone he could but… Cornelius? Could he really condemn him any more than he could Jack? Could he any less?

“What makes you think it’s me and not one of them? I know you’re a killer, Jack. You guessed Cat would be on your trail tonight and didn’t kill. Why else wouldn’t someone be dead today?” Cornelius’s voice was as calm and upbeat as ever, if not a bit exasperated.

“He’s smart! He’s too smart. Look at his freaky, calculatin’ eyes, if you can ever see them. Look at him! Hiding behind that mask, wearing that ridiculous green hood, what’s that smile for, huh? None of us should have trusted him the day he set foot in this town, make up for it now. C’mon! Cat, I know you’re better than murderin’ folks for mayhem. Bob, you’re as simple as me! Robin,” Robin froze up as he was addressed directly “You’re a child, a sweet one. I’m sorry you have to live through this. I’m sorry you’ve been where I am now but I only hope that gives you the empathy you need to make the right choice. It’s him. I swear it’s not me!”

Everything felt stifled. He muffled the distraught protests of Cat in favor of listening to his own. No. No, it couldn’t be. Everyone in town used to be friendly but Cornelius was a friend. He and Cat had been there for Robin. They’d taken him in, cared for him, treated him as their own son. Well, Cat had.

Robin slowly blinked. What had Cornelius done for him? Thinking this way made him sick but he needed to be rational here. Did he really believe Cornelius was innocent, truly? He trusted Cat. Cat had proof he was safe, even if he wasn’t an investigator he had years and years of kindness to back him up. What did Cornelius have, really? He was kind, decent enough, but so was Jack. So were Jimmy and Helga. That wasn’t something he could base his vote on.

So what did make him so sure it wasn’t Cornelius? The only… he realized the only thing holding him up was Cat. Cat loved him. Robin wanted that to be enough. He wanted desperately to go back home, to lay in Cat’s lap while Cornelius told them stories. He wanted to retreat into his memories but when he tried they felt corrupted, tainted, hollow.

Every time he tried to imagine the kind way Cornelius had ruffled his hair, how he’d giggle and blush after a kiss from Cat, how he’d take off his mask at home and join Robin sitting on the porch, every time he tried to lose himself in the memory of that soft, humored, smile he was frozen inside by the eyes. Even when they were sad or kind his eyes were always vibrant, sharp… calculating.

Robin took a shaky breath. He didn’t like this, he didn’t want to do this, any of it. He was filled with a numb resolve as he cast his vote. He had no proof either was innocent but he had no reason to believe Jack was capable of this… he knew Cornelius was.

“The voting has finished,” The Narrator began. “Jack... Jack is the most suspected but this means nothing. Cornelius, by 3/5ths of the vote you have been found guilty. Please, step into the chamber.”

“NO!” A scream cut through the faux memory, just barely. Just enough for Robin to hear it. Who had yelled? Cat? Cor- Dream? Himself? He didn’t know, he was still lost.

Lost… Robin was so lost. 3/5ths. Cornelius obviously voted for Jack and vice versa, Bob was on Jack’s side, Cat must have voted for Jack even if only to save his love. Robin had been the deciding vote. What had he done? Was he right? Cornelius gave him no answer as he calmly stepped into the cell. The Narrator blabbed on, explaining the votes and who and what but for the first time since the colorful stranger arrived Robin couldn't listen to a word he said, instead focusing on Cat.

Cat had run to the jail, his hands reaching desperately through the bars. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this,” he kept repeating. His voice was calm and low but Robin could tell that was desperate. He was putting on an act, trying to reassure Cornelius as though it would all solve itself if he just kept together. Cornelius still didn’t speak. He took Cat’s hand and rested it on his face, under his mask.

Then the grate snaped close and Cat was forced to pull his hand back. He barely moved though, pressing his hands against the wire through the bars. Cornelius pressed his hand up from the other side. Maybe Cat could feel it, maybe he couldn’t, Robin didn’t know which he preferred.

Part of Robin wanted to put him to back away, to warn him the bars and fence was there for a reason, but the rest of him knew he couldn’t. The least- the only thing he could do was allow Cat this brief moment of closure, if you could even call it that.

Cornelius still kept silent, for just the briefest of moments Robin hated him. How dare he? How dare he sit there, keeping Cat suffering in silence? How dare he keep Robin in this horrid suspense? How dare he not admit his crimes or keep pleading his innocence? How dare he… how dare… then Robin heard Cat whimper and the anger was gone.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? We-”

“Well, that’s not gonna happen,” The Narrator laughed, almost callously. If he wasn’t so detached from the world, so different from them he felt innocent even in cruelty, Robin might’ve felt like spitting on him. He couldn’t though, he was different. He was detached. He was like a child who didn’t know any better than to hurt others’ feelings. Like a child except instead of not knowing any better he knew too much.

Maybe that’s why Robin didn’t lash out or protest as the narrator pulled the lever. Maybe that’s why he didn’t scream as the pistons shifted. Maybe that’s why he only closed his eyes and ignored the shouts of triumph. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry at Jack and Bob for celebrating, at the moment he was only glad their cries drowned out the sizzle.

#tftsmp #tales from the smp #the village that went mad #tftsmp 1 #tales from the smp 1 #writing doodles #tftsmp fic

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gameofdrarry · 3 years

Text

Wizards Hearts Recs: Established Relationship

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 Malfoy Meet Muggle by PenNoire Rated: Teen Words: 25,326 Tags: Animagus, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humour Summary: Draco Malfoy is surprisingly happy in a comfortable relationship with Harry Potter. Unfortunately, Harry wasn't brought up doing things the wizarding way, and if Draco wants to make this work, he's going to have to learn to integrate the magical with the muggle. Really, how bad can it be? ❤️ Read on AO3 or FFN

📜 A Nightmare Waiting to Happen by triggerlil Rated: Explicit Words: 21979 Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Claustrophobia, Eye Trauma, Eye Gouging, enucleation, Childhood Trauma, Vomiting, Choking, Unreliable Narrator, Horror, Body Horror, Clones, Abuse, Nightmares, Zombies, Cannibalism, Sectumsempra (Harry Potter), Legilimency (Harry Potter), Hospitals, Character Death In Dream, Antagonist James in Dream, bug horror, Snakes, Moths, Child Death in Dream, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Established Relationship, Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Attempted Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Corpses, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt/Comfort, Curses, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Protective Draco Malfoy, Husbands, No Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobic Language, Sexist Language, Bullying Summary: Draco sat beside Harry's bed as the man breathed deeply; his eyes were moving rapidly beneath his eyelids, and every so often, he would twitch or part his lips. Draco couldn’t imagine what was going on in Harry’s mind, but he clutched his husband’s hand, wishing he could take his place, do anything to help. Harry Potter is cursed into a nightmare-verse—escaping one nightmare only causes him to fall deeper through the layers of his subconscious—will he be able to free himself, or will his deepest fears swallow him whole? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Age is just a number by gnarf Rated: Teen and Up Words: 1555 Tags: Old Age, Humor, Fluff, Established Relationship, Dementia, Plot Twists, Shoplifting, Just Add Kittens, Muggle London, HP Fluff Fest 2020 Summary: Married for decades, their life is perfect. Until Harry gets a call and hears the following words "Mr Potter, we caught your husband stealing ten large packs of King Sized condoms." ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Our Dreams, Our Pride by ahhhnorealnamesallowed Rated: Mature Words: 10319 Tags: Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Healer Draco Malfoy, Healer Harry Potter, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Holidays, a very british coach holiday, Ireland, POV Alternating, Swearing, discussion of sex and sexual acts, Slice of Life, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, (or very little plot), Magic University - Freeform, Post-Secondary, Getting Together, Established Relationship Summary: For six years, Harry has promised Draco a 'big thing' for their anniversary. This year is the year Harry is going to make it happen, even if he does so in a very Harry Potter way. Including last-minute vacation planning, some very sassy old people, a coach bus, and less anniversary sex than expected. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 No Wizard Is an Island by Novaa Rated: Mature Words: 50009 Tags: HP:EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Ensemble Cast, Slow Burn, Quidditch, Getting Back Together, Established Relationship, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Auror Ron Weasley, Auror Harry Potter, Healer Draco Malfoy, Apothecary Draco Malfoy, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Slice of Life, Harry/Draco Big Bang 2018, Community: harrydracobang Summary: For a life is made of the people living it, and no wizard is an island. A twenty-years journey in the intertwined lives of Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Draco and Harry. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Arrangement by RurouniHime Rated: Explicit Words: 65746 Tags: From Sex to Love, Established Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Domestic, Requited Love, Making Out, Jealousy, Falling In Love, Angst, Confessions, Moving In Together, Introspection, Pining, Community: help_haiti Summary: It's worked for years. Why change it now? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Training Exercises by spookywoods Rated: Explicit Words: 1313 Tags: Auror Draco Malfoy, Blindfolds, Hand Jobs, Married Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, It's Curry Night at the Malfoy-Potter Residence!, so you know it will be hot, Terrible smut and terrible puns, here all week Summary: Harry comes home from work to find Draco sitting in the dining room in the dark, wearing a blindfold and little else. “It’s for training,” Draco says. “Training?” “Sensory and environmental magic.” “I could help you train,” Harry says. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Take a trip into my garden by Andithiel Rated: Explicit Words: 5974 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Porn with Feelings, Established Relationship, Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, First Time Bottoming, Draco in lingerie, Bisexual Harry Potter, Rimming, Anal Sex, Really there might be too much feeling for it to count as pwp, As usual when I write, Enthusiastic Consent Summary: Harry has only been dating Draco for about two months, but he’s already obsessed with the git. And he knows that today, Draco has something special planned, something that includes him being dressed in skimpy lingerie. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Forget-Me-Nots and Narcissus by triggerlil Rated: Mature Words: 14430 Tags: Piano Player Draco Malfoy, Wand Maker Harry Potter, Summer, Domestic, Work partners - Freeform, Established Relationship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Wakes & Funerals, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Gardens & Gardening, Panic Attacks, apple picking, Wandmaking (Harry Potter), Classical Music, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort Summary: His long pale fingers travelled across the keys, the sound of the piano cresting and falling, one moment soft and enticing, in the next fast and sure. The first few buttons of his white shirt were undone, revealing a pale chest and thin lines of scars; the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal strong forearms, one marred by a smudge of black ink. Or in which Draco is overcome by grief, and Harry is there to keep him afloat. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Through the Window, Clear Skies by tackytiger Rated: Mature Words: 1415 Tags: Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Moving In Together, Boyfriends, Domestic, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Emotionally Repressed, True Love, Mention of wanking, mention of fucking, but mostly just love, Engagement, Drarry Discord Writers Corner Drabble Challenge Summary: What would happen if Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy moved in together, too soon after they started kissing and then fucking and not hating each other anymore? Will Draco insist on a wine rack? Or: Domestic Drarry with a bare hint of angst. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Sweet Nothings by vivi1138 Rated: Mature Words: 1985 Tags: Major Character Death, Character Death, Minor Character Death, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, Hallucinations, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, POV Draco Malfoy, Established Relationship, Hopeful Ending, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Muteness, Terminal Illnesses, Physical Disability, Loss of strength, Bodily Fluids, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Missions Gone Wrong, Auror Partners, Minor Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Afterlife, Mental Health Issues, hopelessness Summary: What do you do when you lose the one you love? After a raid goes wrong, Draco navigates the waters of his grief and may very well lose himself in the process. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Love Found by peachpety Rated: Explicit Words: 7500 Tags: Double Agent Draco Malfoy, BAMF Harry Potter, Hogwarts Sixth Year, love realizations, Boys Kissing, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Occlumency (Harry Potter), mind connections, Intense Emotional Action Sequences, Canon Dumbledore Death, Established Relationship, Teenage Boyfriends, Boys In Love, Non-graphic Mentions/Recalls of Offscreen Sexual Activity Between Consensual Minors, Magic and Emotions Conveyed as Color, Threats of Physical Violence and Intimidation, References to Past Forced Submission, Killing Death Eaters, Eventual Happy Ending, Minor References to Past Snape/Lucius Summary: During Harry’s sixth year, Draco Malfoy joins the Order as a double-agent and continues with his task to get the Death Eaters into the castle as assigned by Voldemort. Draco succeeds with his mission the evening Harry returns from the caves with Dumbledore. The boys reunite on the Astronomy Tower and, with the Death Eater’s arrival, are forced to engage in a fight, driving Harry to come to terms with his feelings about true friendship and romantic love. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Christmas Is For Sex (and Love), So Give It To Me by GoldenTruth813 Rated: Explicit Words: 53218 Tags: PWP, Established Relationship, Christmas, Bondage, misuse of frosting, making gingerbread houses, coming without touching, Blowjobs, Fingering, anal penetration, Rimming, misuse of fairy lights, Praise Kink, Nipple Clamps, erotic massages, Lingerie, Harry in Lingerie, Butt Plugs, Masterbation, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation, Topping from the Bottom, Ice Play, misuse of snowballs, misuse of brandy custard, veritasium, Public Sex, misuse of christmas candles, Wax Play, floating blow jobs, bubble baths, Candy Canes, misuse of candy canes, sex with feelings, Clubbing, naughty letters, babysitting teddy, Edging, healing past trauma, really so much more than sex, but lots of sex too, spiked hot cocoa, Drunk confessions, Anal penetration with a foreign object, french!draco, Switching Summary: Draco buys Harry an Advent House, intent on helping Harry create all new holiday memories, and have a lot of great sex in the process. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 there’s a trick with a dragon I’m learning to do by curiouslyfic Rated: Explicit Words: 20000 Tags: Politics, economics, social commentary, international relations, mature characters, complex relationships, intellectual comradeship, working together to achieve a common goal, sharp dressers, snark, banter, armchair sex, wall sex, desperate kissing, orgasm denial, playful biting, Machiavellian intrigue, wizard banking, Potterverse ghosts and goblins, pursuit, subtle seduction (i.e. life-saving and/or political acts that can be interpreted as courtship), and frivolous decadence Summary: Harry’s live-in’s a workaholic being courted — harassed — by an array of weeping minions and an assortment of overprivileged pricks. Harry’s bloody portraits are being harassed — courted — by, well, an assortment of things Harry doesn’t even want to think about. Harry’s had a long week already and so far, his weekend’s not looking much better. At least he can say with certainty there's no place like home... ❤️ Read on Dreamwidth

📜 Last Offices by tackytiger Rated: Mature Words: 6737 Tags: Major Character Death, Character Death, Blood and Injury, Memories, Unhappy Ending, Wakes & Funerals, Falling In Love, Sad Harry Potter, Preparation of a body for burial, Non-Linear Narrative, Flashbacks, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Happy Memories Summary: It didn't seem fair that Malfoy was dead, and Harry was supposed to just keep on living without him. He had lost enough people to know that he probably would keep on going—his stubborn heart was still beating, after all, even though it felt like it was going to break. But first, he had to get through the laying out of the dead—those old Pureblood funeral rites—even if every time he touched Malfoy's too-cold body, he was reminded of how things used to be, and how things might have been. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Love Is by xErised Rated: Teen and Up Words: 26529 Tags: Emotional Roller Coaster, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Post-Hogwarts Summary: Aurors Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are presumed dead during a mission gone wrong. Their partners — Draco and a pregnant Hermione — refuse to believe that they're gone, even after a year of their absence. A tale of loss, longing and love, with a happy ending. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Making A List and Checking It Twice by blithelybonny Rated: Explicit Words: 20758 Tags: Porn with some plot, Established Relationship, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Dom/sub, Making Out, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Masturbation, Voyeurism, Dirty Talk, Spanking, Frottage, Rimming, Sex Toys, Butt Plugs, Subdrop, Aftercare, Bathing/Washing Summary: ON HIATUS - WILL BE COMPLETED -- A life-changing event is headed Draco and Harry's way - what better way to celebrate than by checking a few things off the old sexual bucket list? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Dreams That You Dare to Dream Really Do Come True by Drarrelie Rated: Explicit Words: 11751 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Established Relationship, The Burrow (Harry Potter), Birthday, Harry Potter's Birthday, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Birthday Smut, Sexual Fantasy, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Secret use of sex toys in public, Internalised Kink Shame, Praise Kink, Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Porn with Feelings, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, Dom Harry Potter, Sub Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Power Bottom Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Don't copy to another site, Fanart Welcome, Podfic Welcome Summary: Today, Draco’s new boyfriend turns nineteen and the annoying tosser has refused to present a wish list. It’s not Draco’s fault if he felt compelled to get a little creative, right? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Up the Duff by CorvetteClaire Rated: Explicit Words: 86755 Tags: Mpreg, Magical Pregnancy, Fluff, Smut, Light Angst, Wizengamot, Unspeakables (Harry Potter), Snarky Malfoy-style Humor, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Harry's Thing with Walls, Adorable Toddlers, Pregnant Draco, Protective Harry, Desperate Malfoys Summary: Draco Potter is hugely pregnant and (much to his surprise) enjoying himself. He loves having Harry fuss over him and looks forward to adding another Potter to their little family. Unfortunately for Draco, his parents have found out about their impending grandchild and have no intention of letting him separate them from this child, as he did from Bob (Felix). Their attempts to force their way into Draco's life may bring down even greater troubles on his head when the wizarding world at large finds out that Draco Potter, née Malfoy is up the duff! Or The fic that answers the burning questions... How many servings of McDonald's french fries can a pregnant wizard eat in a single day? Just how adorable and persuasive can a quarter-Veela toddler get before his fathers sell him to the Goblins? Is it possible to conceal a pregnant belly the size of a Hogwarts carriage under a glamour? What could be more ruthless and dangerous than Malfoys in need of an heir? Will Harry and Draco ever agree on a name for their child? Are girls really easier (and will our heroes ever find out)? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 what the body wants is coolness by lastontheboat Rated: Teen and Up Words: 13428 Tags: Day At The Beach, Established Relationship, First Time in Public, draco overthinks things, harry is affectionate, Beach Quidditch, no smut just fade to black, HP Drizzle Fest 2020, Community: hp_drizzle, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE Summary: "Are you done primping yourself yet?" Draco asked, feeling mulish. "We can still meet your friends on time if we leave now, but we'll have to walk quickly." Harry rolled his eyes. "It's a beach day, Draco," he said patiently. "Not a pureblood society event." "Yes, well, not all of us have the goodwill of the rest of the wizarding world to fall back on when we commit acts of social barbarism." ~~~ Draco and Harry have been seeing each other for months, and Harry decides the best way to tell their friends is to bring Draco to a group beach outing. Draco's given up enumerating all the ways this plan could go wrong. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 A Memorable Speech by Samunderthelights Rated: Teen and Up Words: 1300 Tags: Drarropoly: A Drarry Game/Fest, Drarry, Fluff, Silly, Weddings, Established Relationship, Short & Sweet, Don't copy to another site Summary: Harry is asked to give a speech at Teddy's wedding, but when he gets flustered, it becomes a speech the wedding guests will remember for a long time. ❤️ Read on AO3

#established couple #established relationship #drarry #drarry recs #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

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robots-and-writing · 4 years

Text

The Road to Ruin (MTMTE Sunder part 3)

(TW: Needles, Surgery, blood, mind control, yandere, mentions of human experimentation)

Sunder left his beloved's room, human blood staining his hands. His room is directly beside it, and in the corner is a hole where he has a perfect, one way view of his dearest. Their set up is the same as last time, except this time a note is set on their chest. It's handwritten, in his scratchy yet legible handwriting.

"To my dearest most beloved little angel,

My dear, you've been out for a day after those nasty decepticons attacked us. I fended them off but they managed to injure you. I've dressed and bandaged your wounds and I will be back soon with some food and some clothes for you.

Your dearest Conjunx,

Sunder"

It was a messy letter, with a small bloodstain on the corner. But it would serve its purpose well. He checked his human supplies for anything he may be lacking. Blood transfusions ready to go in case of any injuries, water, food, and clothes. There was still more to get but the human would have to wait for them to arrive.

Sunder looked over to the altar dedicated to his beloved. Pictures of them adorned his walls, along with their name all over the walls written in energon. The altar had little keepsakes of them. One of their shirts he had stolen, a lock of their hair and a vial of their blood were his favorites. But his favorite thing of theirs? A recording. Taken without their knowledge back on earth, they had a lover there. They confessed under a tree to their old flame, and Sunder's spark broke in two at that moment. But one good thing came of that confession. A recording of his little angel, saying "I love you, more than anyone else. Despite your flaws and despite mine, we are meant to be."

Those words tasted like the most delicious memories, like the sweetest energon, and like the greatest victories. They repeated in his mind 24/7, and were what motivated him to continue on when it came to keeping as sane as he could be without them by his side.

But despite his best efforts, Sunder couldn't handle being without them. Seeing them with another person made his brain swim with thoughts of violence. He should use his powers to tear that wretched other human to shreds. But something made him stop himself.

What if my dear hates me?

Sunder wasn't exactly the friendliest looking cybertronian. Tall, broad and scary, with spikes and pointy bits sticking out of him, most humans would run away in terror. (Before being torn apart of course.) But after a few human experiments, his idea was made possible. Mnemosurgery works on humans. Not from a distance, that requires a brain module. But it could be done.

His first experiments were unsuccessful. Too many needles meant a full lobotomy and possibly making them brain dead. Too few needles and the results were more temporary and a much more thorough "coding" would be necessary. Some of them bleed out due to him accidentally hitting a major artery. Some starved as he didn't feed them right. And some couldn't handle being an experiment, so they threw themselves off the workbench onto the ground, committing suicide. It was a delicate balance.

At first he didn't want to alter his beloved too much. Just make them despise other humans. Then he realized that would just make them miserable. So then he wanted to make them like him. But that would be too easily undone. He had to go full in. Make him their guardian angel. Make him the only one they feel safe with. He is the only one they will ever love. He is what stops the universe from killing them.

Getting the human was a challenge. He could do it himself but that would run the risk of alerting the other Autobots to his presence and imprisoning him again. He could do something the humans called "Catfishing" but that requires patience. And that is not something he has ever had enough of. He finally settled on a bounty hunter. 10 million shanix, as long as not a hair on his precious human's head is harmed.

He got a ping from a famous bounty hunter. He had the human. "Rendezvous at the coordinates and bring the shanix." Sunder did, and the human was finally in his grasp. Kicking and scratching at his hand, they were a wild and untamed thing. Taking the human back to his ship he pet them gently on the head, far more gentle than he ever had been.

"Who are you? Why was I taken here? Are you going to kill me? I thought Autobots didn't harm us?" He only smiled.

"Are you even listening to me? I'd at least like to know if I'm going to die? Are you really just going to keep on petting me like some pet-"

"You're home now darling. And soon, you'll be whole. We're two sides of the same coin."

"Uh- WHAT? I have a partner, and I love them very much! Besides I don't even know who you are, now put me down before you break my arm or something?"

He deposited the human in a large glass enclosure, with a bed, sink and bathroom and a cup on the side of the sink.

"Is this... an enclosure? Am I a pet to you? Excuse me but I'm a person with a life to live, rent to pay, and a partner to love! I'm not for your sick entertainment!"

Sunder only looked at them with wonder and glee, like a kid on Christmas. He spoke in a spine-tingling, nerve-wracking voice, as if Satan himself was speaking through him.

"You my dear, are a unique creature. Small and insignificant in stature, yet bigger than anything in existence." His words did nothing to soothe them as he leaned in so close his eyes reflected their face like a mirror. "Humans are so short lived, yet manage to reek of sin. Even you! With your small head, and tiny little legs, you have managed to commit the worst atrocity of them all!"

"What did I do?"

"You promised yourself to someone other than me."

Sunder tilted his head in a way that was probably trying to get a better look at them but only brought tears of panic to their eyes.

"I don't- I don't understand! I don't think I deserve to die!"

"Kill you?" The confusion in his voice was true. Had his intent not come through clear with his words? "My dear! You are sorely mistaken. I am your Conjunx! Your other half! Or as humans put it, your husband?"

"HUSBAND!? Sir I hardly know you! And even if I did know you, I already have a boyfriend and I love him more than I will ever love you."

The hand Sunder had on the edge of the clear box the human turned to a fist, shards of glass bursting everywhere. It cut into the human and they hurriedly put their arms in front of themselves to protect their face.

"Now now. That walking pile of sin is far far away now. And there is nothing more you have to do with him."

"But-"

"You're bleeding darling. And while your blood would taste delicious, I can't afford to have you fall unconscious or worse."

Reaching for them with the hand that didn't have glass shards sticking out of it, he held them firmly in his hand and took them to a corner of the room that had medical supplies. Sunder pinned them to the table as they thrashed around with blood dripping everywhere. One limb at a time, he picked the pieces of glass out of them and dressed and bandaged the wounds. Judging by the screams of pain the human made, it stung terribly. Then Sunder moved them to the medical bed and strapped them to it and moved on to cleaning off their face. He patched them up with expert precision as they cried out hoping someone would rescue them.

"Hello? Anyone? Please, someone help me! This can't be happening to me!"

"You speak as if anyone will ever rescue you."

The human finally stopped moving and let Sunder work as his words set in. No one will ever come for them. No one will ever save them. Ever. Ever. Ever.

The human didn't even react anymore to the sting of the cleaning of their wounds. Nor when he set them in his hand, this time loosely and just sat there petting them with a look of wonder and some sick form of love. For once, his mouth was closed.

Sunder looked back on the next two days as a time where he had what he thought he always wanted, but had been in denial of one fundamental truth. Having his beloved is meaningless if he isn't their beloved. Sure they didn't resist his petting, or him telling them all about the last person he ate the memories of. But they never reacted. They only drank when he forced water in their mouth. His dearest didn't even eat and became lethargic and entirely nonresponsive. That's when he knew. It's time for you to be perfect.

That was also the day he realized he had been conned. He woke up and they were gone. All that was left of them was a fresh bloodstain where he had broken the glass a few days ago. The vent nearest to the glass box was open as well, meaning they had truly escaped. Sunder cursed himself and his oversight. But now he had a human to catch.

The first place he checked was his room. And sure enough, there was a stack of boxes the human must have climbed down and the door was open. They must be terrified. If they stayed with me they would be worry free. And they were terrified. Straining his audials, he heard a faint and distant whimpering from a hallway further down.

"Oh dear human, why do you feel the need to run?" He put his hand around the corner of the hallway, just to hear their muffled gasp. "With me, you will never feel any shame from your sinful memories, and you will have eternal happiness by my side."

Now backed into a corner, they stood strong and tall, looking him in the optics with nothing but pure revulsion at him.

"Sunder, eternal happiness by your side? How is that possible?" His hand dented the wall unconsciously. Their words hurt, but he was not surprised. "You tore my family to bits, kidnapped me and forgot to give me anything but water for 3 days! I could never be happy with you."

Yes. It's time now my dear. Now It's time for you to be perfect. He didn't bother trying to hide his smile as he reached his hand towards them. There was no trying to escape him now, they were cornered.

Back in the present, Sunder had been scrawling mortilus' name on the walls in the blood of his beloved. The walls had been written over multiple times, in both blood and energon which made his entire room smell of rust. He checked on the human one more time before going into recharge.

#heed the trigger warnings #mtmte #idw #mtmte sunder #maccadam #transformers #sunder #yandere #my writing

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seiin-translations · 3 years

Text

2.43 S1 Chapter 5.5 - Stand By Me

5. SACRED COURT

Haijima talks about Yoyogi National Gymnasium similarly to how most kids talk about Disneyland lol

Translation Notes

1. A service ace is a point made on a serve that the opponent had failed to touch

2. A kei car is the smallest highway-legal car in Japan

3. Takeshita Street is a popular street in Harajuku known for its trendy fashion boutiques and for being very busy

4. I feel like this is a reference to something I don’t know, but the wooden fish is a fish gong that is struck while chanting sutras

5. Manuscript paper is the paper used in Japanese schools for compositions and stuff like that. It has boxes in columns to write characters in.

Previous || Index || Next

…Where am I again…?

When he woke up, he couldn’t immediately remember what had happened. The view around him was a hazy milky white, without a single distinct outline. It’s like I’m sinking into the bottom of a beaker filled with a mist of dry ice…it kind of smells like a science lab.

He felt something like a tugging in his left arm. There was a thin line connected to his body, pulling at him from above. The line was holding him back from sinking any further.

A blurry white ball with eyes and a nose was floating in the air.

“I got a text from Kou.”

The ball spoke with a familiar voice. The low-volume voice sounded pleasant to his ears as it seeped through the fog of dry ice.

“…Souta…?”

His consciousness was still fuzzy and his speech was slurred. The white shirt just blended into the background, and when he squinted, he found a proper body below the ball. A uniform…but not Meisei’s uniform. He had heard he went to a different high school.

“You really quit…? Why…?”

“Because I wanted to.”

He was a little surprised by his curt answer and closed his mouth. He heard a short exhale, and then his voice softened.

“…Ever since I entered middle school, I lost interest in volleyball. All I could think about was quitting, and it was getting harder and harder to go to club activities. Everyone entered Meisei, saying that we’ll do volleyball together, so it wasn’t an atmosphere where only I can say I wanted to quit…I was afraid that if I quit, I wouldn’t have any friends at school… I thought Minami-sensei would be disappointed, and besides, my mom’s the head of the parents’ association. I also felt like I had to be at the center of the team…I was tied down by so many things, and everyday was painful… So I came up with the idea that if I hated being in the club to the point of committing suicide, I could get sympathy and quit…That’s how I got involved in everyone’s plan. …I’m sorry.”

After everything that happened, he only has that simple “I’m sorry”?

However, when he learned the reason after two years, he felt like there were no words other than sorry… If you ask Haijima, it was such a trivial thing that he couldn’t even understand what was bothering him.

Was such a boring reason what was behind that incident?

Well…it’s not like I was the one who drove him into a corner…

“…You should have told me, normally.”

His mouth pouted a little despite himself.

“If it were you, you would’ve been able to say it. Well, I don’t think you’ll ever want to quit volleyball, even if it kills you. But I’m not you…I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I didn’t want to be hated by everyone.”

It’s not like I want to be hated…he wasn’t happy about that, but it was true that wanting to be liked by people wasn’t that high of a priority for him.

When he was in elementary school, the two of them would talk about high school and national team games after club ended. They could talk and talk and never get bored of it, and he wished the time when Yoshino’s mother came to pick him up would never come. Yoshino also had a lot of old video footage that only existed on videotape, and he was even more enthusiastic than Haijima about that kind of thing.

The shock slowly soaked into him at the idea that someone who was once obsessed with volleyball could stop liking it. Haijima couldn’t even imagine himself not being interested in volleyball anymore. It was the same as asking if he could imagine the afterlife. He couldn’t.

If there was just one starting point for his imagination—it was that on the third day of the Autumn Tournament, going to a game felt bothersome to him for the first time in his life. For him, it even had a feeling of dread. At that time, he had regained his willpower after sleeping a little, but if that kind of constantly continuing heavy mood was the “wanting to quit” that Yoshino experienced, then it might be quite painful to even live everyday.

“Souta, you…”

His brow wrinkled as he frowned, staring at Yoshino’s indistinct face in front of him.

“Nnn…?” There was nervousness in Yoshino’s voice.

“You got fat, didn’t you?”

The contours of his face were quite round. That was why it looked like there was a floating ball.

“…You’re as blunt as ever. Well yeah, I got fat after I quit the team.”

Yoshino’s voice lightened, like he was expecting something more. He didn’t seem to be offended. Probably.

“Are you in any clubs now?”

“Yeah. It’s not sports-related though. I’m in the science club.”

“Is that fun? More than volleyball?”

“It is fun, more than volleyball for me. There aren’t a lot of members, but they’re all good people. I have fun going to club activities every day. We go to the science lab every lunch break to collect data from our experiments.”

He didn’t like that he had affirmed it, but he could tell from the excited way he talked that he was doing what he really wanted to do now. Something fell into his chest with a thump, and he accepted that, Aah, the things that are “fun” for Yoshino and me aren’t the same anymore…

Even though their eyes sparkled at the same things, aimed for the same stage, and planned to do the same things, maybe that didn’t mean they were in the same story.

“Then, I’ll be leaving now.”

He could feel Yoshino standing up. Even though he had no intention of stopping him, Haijima immediately tried to reach out his hand. But his arm was pulled back as if it had been caught on a fish hook, and he was only able to move it a little.

Yoshino, who was about to leave, turned around. “…Take care of yourself. Don’t be too reckless.” Something soft gripped his hand along with a gentle voice. His fatty, plump hands were not bony and didn’t feel like they belonged to an active volleyball player anymore, but he could feel their warmth flowing into his wrapped-up fingers. It was as though the coldness of his fingers, which had been holding him captive ever since the day Yoshino didn’t come, was becoming undone.

Before he let go of his hand, Yoshino’s voice that had been mild and gentle took on a faint gloom.

“Chika, don’t be reckless, okay? You’re a true genius, not an ordinary person like me, and you probably can’t even imagine your limits right now…but I have a feeling that if you were to be betrayed by volleyball one day, you might be surprisingly fragile…I know it’s none of my business, but that’s what I’m worried about.”

***

“When did you get a fever?”

He seemed to have lost consciousness for a bit again until he heard the next voice.

The round outline of Yoshino, who had been by his side since a while ago, had changed into something more vertical and narrower. He looked up at the outline for a while, and then asked,

“…Are you angry?”

“Yeah. If you’re willing to work a little harder to read my mind off the court too, then that’s progress. Here.”

He held out to something to him. He tried to reach for it, but his arm cramped up and the thing was put in his hand instead. “I had them fixed at the optician across the hospital. They said that it would be safer to buy new ones, though.”

“Aah…thanks.”

“You really do have a strange way of getting into trouble during a game, don’t you?”

With his head resting on the pillow, he put on his glasses. For the first time in a long time, his vision was clear again. It was so clear that it actually made the world look distorted, which made him feel a bit dizzy. The lenses were in place on both sides, but there was still a sense of discomfort because the frame was still warped.

Kuroba was sitting on a chair beside the bed with a grumpy look on his face. Behind him, there was a partition with the curtains drawn. It looked like a break room-like space with a simple bed next to the examination room.

There was an IV tube connected to his left arm. Drops of water were dripping regularly from a clear pack that was hooked to a stand above his head. The liquid in the pack was down to about a quarter of its original volume. I was told to stay on the drip for about an hour…so I guess forty-five minutes have passed or something like that?

After resting, he was able to think more clearly and remembered how he had walked to the car by himself. By the time they had arrived at the hospital, it must have been 5:00 or 5:30, so outpatient consultation hours must have been over by now. He could hear the hurried conversations and footsteps of the staff, but they were far away, so it wasn’t noisy. In fact, it was rather isolated and quiet.

The final serve was done perfectly as he had imagined. Just as the gym was buzzing over the two service aces (1) in a row, the Meisei coach and captains returned after their meeting, as though they had timed it.

Although the second-year members were severely reprimanded for skipping practice to play an impromptu two-on-two game, the fact that a former Meisei Middle School student came to visit meant that Haijima and Kuroba didn’t get into much trouble. It was also thanks in part to Komukai and Ikawa coming forward and saying that they had an arrangement beforehand. Come to think of it, Komukai was the one who warned him just before the score board crashed into him…

The coach and captains asked him about this and that, but from that point on, Haijima was completely wobbling and couldn’t answer them properly. Right when he thought, Ah…I can’t stand anymore, he felt hands go around his sides and supporting him. “Sorry, he has a fever,” He heard Kuroba’s voice through the haze of his mind. So the advisor drove him to a nearby hospital.

“No wonder that you were sleeping like you were dead on the train. I should have noticed it earlier, but I thought it was strange how your face was kinda hot, but since it was right before the game began…Really, why did you decide to go to Tokyo in that condition?”

“I didn’t think I had a fever either. I’ve been feeling off since the end of camp, but…”

“What!? Camp was a month ago! Wait, was that why there was something off with you at the Fall Tournament? Why were you practicing every day under the blazing sun in that state, are you stupid!?”

“You’re too loud, shut up…”

He pulled the terry-cloth blanket up to his eyes and dejectedly slithered under it. If there wasn’t a drip connected to him, he would have covered his ears with both hands. He wasn’t happy with the feeling of being below someone and being ordered around by them, but he didn’t have the energy to fight back.

His mother, who passed away before he started elementary school, was a sickly person. Haijima inherited that, and although it wasn’t bad enough to interfere with his daily life, his body wasn’t strong either. When he was little, he would often have fevers of unknown origin that would last for about a month in summer and winter. However, ever since he started playing volleyball in the upper grades of elementary school, he had become physically stronger, and it had been quite a long time since he has had such a long period of discomfort.

It seemed that he didn’t like the words “feeling off.” He got angry.

“It’s not ‘feeling off,’ you’re in bad health. Don’t switch words and gloss over the issue.”

“…My play wasn’t off though.”

“That’s the problem in your case. It didn’t influence your play…in fact, you got even more agile for some reason. I really don’t get it. And when it’s over, look at you. You’re completely out of energy.”

You’re so noisy…If he said that, it seemed like he would continue to get lectured, so he endured it. He normally didn’t consciously hold back what he was about to say that much.

“…I hate it. I hate it when I can’t play volleyball even for a day. I feel sort of…impatient…”

He whispered on the other side of his blanket. Kuroba, who had been talking at great length, stopped for a moment, then sighed quizzically.

“I don’t know why, but it seems like you’re living too fast and recklessly…?”

He was relieved when he realized that his lack of concentration in the semifinals of the Fall Tournament was because he had a fever. The fed-up feeling on the morning of the semifinals as well…he wanted to get rid of that feeling as soon as possible before it took hold in him, and now that he thought about it, even though he felt off, he felt like he couldn’t take a break from practice.

But he was able to explain to himself that it was just the fever that made him sluggish, and he was relieved…but in the end, the desire to play volleyball again welled up within him. It was a waste of time to rest.

“Haijima-saaan?”

An elderly nurse knocked on the partition frame and poked her head in. Kuroba stood and opened up the place.

“You’ve just finished the drip. …Yes, if there is no blood coming out after about ten minutes, you may tear off this bandage. The doctor says that you should rest today and properly go have a checkup at the hospital after you go home. Did you contact your guardian?”

She quickly pulled out the drip and performed the procedure while speaking so rapidly and one-sidedly that he recoiled. “…Not yet,” he answered in a small voice and got up while staring fixedly at the small adhesive bandage that was pasted over the small needle hole. Kuroba, who had moved out of the way to the foot of the bed, looked between Haijima and the nurse like he wanted to say something.

“Then, you’ll have to call them.”

“Oh, thank you very much for helping us!” Kuroba hurriedly said to the nurse, who was pushing the IV stand away from the bed. He waited for the nurse’s figure to disappear on the other side of the partition before asking Haijima.

“Can’t you just call your home in Tokyo?”

“I got the keys. I’ll just go to pick up the train money. If we get on the eight o’clock train, we can return just in time, right? If I stop by home and head for Shinagawa right away, we can make it in time.”

“Why don’t we just stay the night instead of forcing ourselves to go home today? You have a house here.”

“If we don’t go home today, we’ll have to be absent tomorrow too. Get my bags.”

He did some quick stretches on the bed to loosen up his back. Although he still felt sluggish, he had recovered enough to be able to move on his own. He wanted to move his body because he felt like his body would get more and more sluggish if he stayed in bed. The arm that had been connected to the tube was now free, so he felt somewhat liberated.

The taping on both hands had been removed. He was pretty sure he did it himself, though he didn’t remember. He was soaked in sweat from the game and his T-shirt dried as he slept, but either way he had to change into his uniform if he was going back (Kuroba, who didn’t have a replacement T-shirt, seemed to be planning to go home with just his uniform shirt, but as usual he couldn’t tell if that was cool or tacky).

When he tried to take off his T-shirt, it got caught on his glasses and he couldn’t get it off his head, so he tried to take them off inside his T-shirt. As he was doing this, he heard Kuroba’s voice along with the sound of a bag being placed next to him.

“I’ve been wondering about this, but can I ask you something? You don’t get along with your dad, do you?”

“It’s not bad or anything…” He was answering from inside his T-shirt, so his voice was muffled and it sounded like he was hesitating to speak, but he wasn’t trying to hide anything. “…My dad’s like me. Do you think that if there’s two of me in the same house, and one of them isn’t interested in volleyball, there’d be anything to talk about?”

“Ah…haha. I think I can imagine that.”

He interjected like he accepted that easily. He felt somewhat annoyed by that.

His father still lived alone in the apartment in Tokyo where they lived together until the second semester of his second year of middle school. It wasn’t that he had a bad relationship with his father, but he just couldn’t carry on a conversation with him. It was especially difficult to understand each other when it came to phone conversations. He truly wondered how his father and him had become so similar. Since Haijima came to live with his grandparents, they had had very little contact, but his grandmother sometimes told him about what he was doing, so he thought that was enough.

“It’s not bad, and my dad agreed for me to go back to Monshiro, so…there’s nothing for you to worry about.” It seemed like he was worried, so he thought that it would be better to say that wasn’t the case.

“Haijima-san, there’s someone here to pick you up. You properly contacted your guardian, didn’t you?”

He heard the voice of the nurse from before on the other side of the partition again. He finally pulled his T-shirt off his head and put on his glasses, then said, “Pick me up?” and exchanged looks with Kuroba.

“Hello.”

A bright voice came from the other side of the partition.

A person who was tall for a woman, with her long hair tied back and dressed plainly in a simple blouse and slim jeans——.

“Minami, sensei…”

He stood up, the bed rattling. As expected, he got dizzy, as his body that had been receiving an IV drip until right this moment had suddenly stood up. He immediately grabbed the top frame of the partition and ended up looming over it. The other person’s eyes widened as she looked up at him.

“Oh? You got taller than me? You really have grown. Are you at least 180?”

“I…I am. I’m around 181, no, 2, no, 3, no, 4…”

Wait, why am I padding the numbers? Kuroba had a “Who’s that?” look on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you were changing. Have you gotten dressed yet?”

After being told that, his eyes dropped to the T-shirt in his hands in surprise. He turned around and jumped at his bag. “I’ll get changed in ten seconds.”

“No need to rush. You just woke up, right? I parked my car in the parking lot.”

He shoved his T-shirt into his bag and grabbed a change of clothes. His shorts were halfway down his legs when he realized what he was doing and stopped.

Half-standing, he turned around awkwardly.

“Wait over there…Sensei.”

His mouth opened and closed, and then he heard his own tight voice.

***

“That’s right, when you were in elementary school, I used to tell you guys to change in ten seconds in front of me, but that’s no longer possible. Your body is completely a high schooler’s now. But you grew much taller than me. I’m a little shocked.”

Minami-sensei said with a happy smile as she turned the steering wheel. Haijima was seated diagonally behind the driver’s seat, hugging his enamel bag tightly and looking down. In the seat next to him, Kuroba was still looking between Haijima’s profile and the back of Minami-sensei’s head in astonishment.

The car was a small kei car (2), with the head of Minami-sensei crammed into the driver’s seat almost touching the ceiling in a few centimeters. When the three of them with their tall frames got into the car, it looked like a deformed car in a cartoon. The hair on the top of Haijima’s head just brushed against the ceiling, and in Kuroba’s case, he was completely stuck, so he sat so shallowly that his back sank into the seat, but then his knees ended up bumping into the driver’s seat.

“I’m sorry it’s so cramped. I never had two kids who were so big ride in my car before. You’re big, too. Are you a first-year? Center or wing?”

“I’m Kuroba Yuni. I’m a first-year. I play the wing position.”

He leaned forward and answered before she finished her sentence, then scrapped his head against the roof and lowered his head with an “ow.” Calm down, Haijima’s temple twitched, and he narrowed his eyes at him.

“You’re tall too, Sensei.”

“177 centimeters. That’s pretty tall for a woman, isn’t it? But today I’m the smallest, so my vision feels quite fresh.”

“Were you a volleyball player too, Sensei?”

“Yes. I used to play for a corporate team for a little while, but now I quit and teach at an elementary school.”

“You were the teacher at the club Haijima used to go to, right?”

“I was only a coach who assisted the head coach. The same year that Chika and the others started middle school, the school transferred me to a new position, and I lost touch with them.”

“Sensei, may I ask your age?”

Haijima silently pulled Kuroba’s back, who was clinging to the back of the driver’s seat and talking, back down onto his seat and made him sit. Watching them in the rear-view mirror, Minami-sensei grinned and said,

“Ahaha. I was twenty-eight when Chika was in the sixth grade. Are you fine with that answer? Chika, are you still not feeling well? You can go back to sleep. Or are you feeling carsick?”

“Ah…no.”

He hung his head and shook it while pinching Kuroba’s side. Kuroba tilted his head towards him and whispered into his ear.

“What’s with you? You’re suddenly so meek and quiet. Sensei’s worried about you.”

“Don’t call her Sensei. Why are you asking so many questions so over-familiarly?”

Haijima also kept his voice quiet as he and Kuroba pressed their temples together.

“Then what should I call her? Is Minami-san fine?”

“Stop…joking around. Minami is her first name. Her full name is Kashiwagi Minami.”

Minami-sensei said it was fresh, but it was fresh for Haijima that she was smaller than him. In elementary school, Sensei was like a tower, and her nickname was “Tower” (she seemed to have hated that nickname, and when some of the boys teased her with it, she would chase them around angrily). I had the impression that she had an overbearing physique…no, she has broad shoulders and is probably overbearing by average standards, but…she kinda looks more delicate than I thought she would be…

He was glad he was taller. That was a natural thing to think when you’re playing volleyball, and he knew that he still wasn’t tall enough, but he was confused at himself for being happy about it for reasons other than that.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think ‘Minami-sensei’ would be a female teacher.”

“I never said it was a man.”

The two continued to whisper to each other.

“Well, it kinda makes sense. I knew it wouldn’t be Vabo-chan, but I wasn’t entirely wrong either, was I? It’s not like a girl in your class or anything is going to catch your eye. A former athlete, a coach, and much older than you…Yeah, that’s just like you.”

“…What are you talking about?”

“The thing you said before about having a girl you liked, you were talking about Kashiwagi-sensei, right? Even you have normal emotions more or less. No, not even normal. I’m little surprised and shaken right now too.”

He walloped Kuroba on the side of the head with the bag he was holding, messing up his hair and causing him to scrape his elbow against the roof. He then pinned Kuroba down on his seat and pressed down on his face with the bottom of his bag. While they were silently fighting, Kuroba suddenly let out a big “Ah!” As he lied on his back, he looked up at the window and said, “I saw the word Harajuku just now!”

“Yes, we’ll be passing through Harajuku soon. Do you want to get out if I can park?”

Kuroba’s face lit up at the voice from the driver’s seat and he said, “Yeah, but it’ll be a lot of trouble for you if you do that.” “She can’t.” Haijima pressed the bag against Kuroba’s stupid face, which looked like he was quite seriously anticipating the possibility, one more time and got up, then pressed his face against the passenger window on his side and looked out. “It’s okay to sightsee around Tokyo just a little. We came all this way.” Kuroba also got up while muttering that, unwilling to give up, and hugged Haijima’s bag to his knees.

The roads in Tokyo were beginning to get congested as the working adults were heading home, but the cars were still going at a gentle speed. Under the gassy indigo-blue sky, streetlamps appeared at intervals and disappeared behind them. In front of Nanafu Station, where the school was located, there was not a single light on at night, but there were none even in front of Monshiro Station. All light and sound ceased to exist, and it felt like you had drifted ashore a small and isolated island. But no matter how far you went on the streets of Tokyo, the lights and sounds never disappeared.

As they turned onto a certain road from an intersection with a large overpass, he realized where they were driving to. What was up ahead was—.

He attached his hands and glasses to the window glass and fixed his eyes on their direction of travel. Finally, a large grey building appeared, on the other side of round street lights floating in the night sky like a formation of UFOs.

A large round building with a single dorsal fin-like projection on the roof. Although it was made of unrefined concrete, the gently curving form of the structure, like water eddying around, was so beautiful that it captivated his eyes—.

“Sensei, stop here!” While clinging to the window, he forgot himself and reached out to the seat next to him. “Kuroba, Kuroba!”

“Hmm? Is this Takeshita Street?” (3)

Kuroba eagerly said that and leaned forward. Haijima groped around to find his chest and grabbed it close to him.

“Let’s go see the best thing in Tokyo—Yoyogi’s first gymnasium.”

***

Thinking about it now, Minami-sensei must have planned to stop by from the very beginning. She wouldn’t have normally taken this route to get from the hospital near Meisei to Haijima’s home in Tokyo.

A little further down the road, she found an empty spot in the parking lot on the shoulder of the road, parked, and then Haijima dragged Kuroba out of the car and ran back to the admission gate of the gym.

“You’re too excited. I told you to calm down. The building’s not going to run away even if you don’t run.”

The entrance was closed, and the lights in the plaza from the gates to the gym’s entrance were off, leaving the asphalt to sink into the darkness. As it was located on a busy roadway, the noise of cars intermittently behind them.

The first gymnasium of Yoyogi National Gymnasium, the holy ground of the Spring Tournament. Most of the history of the Spring Tournament, which had been held more than forty times, had taken place at this Yoyogi venue.

“There isn’t anything going on today? They have concerts and stuff almost every day, not just sports tournaments.”

Minami-sensei, who came later, said as she peeked through the gaps in the gates.

The gates consisted of an iron fence about 190 centimeters tall. When Haijima gripped the rails and tested their strength, then lifted himself up vigorously with his arm strength. He leaned over the top of the gates and strained his eyes, but was disappointed to see that the building at the end of the dark plaza now only looked like a ruin. “That’s dangerous!” Kuroba grabbed the back of his belt.

“On the tournament day, there was this huge Vabo-chan balloon, and it was a landmark, and even though there was nothing cute about it, watching it bob around was kinda addictive…”

He desperately wanted Kuroba to also imagine that scenery, so he tried his best to explain it to him.

As soon as he enshrined that huge Vabo-chan balloon in his mind, bright line shone on that lonely indigo plaza as though blackout curtains were lifted at once. In the same way he could create a volleyball court around him without relying on his eyesight, the scenery of the day of the tournament was drawn with him as the starting point. Under the early spring morning sky, large crowds of people passed by them, who stood there blocked by the gates, and walked through the gates and into the admission gates.

The cheering squads of parents wearing matching windbreakers and carrying banners and drums. The concert band members in their school uniforms with mufflers around their necks and the cheerleaders in ponytails. The sports reporters holding equipment. And then there were the athletes of the competing schools, wearing their various team jerseys, each of them with feelings of tension, excitement, and fighting spirit in their hearts. Some of them were today’s high school students from vivid high-definition footage, and others were high school students he had seen in footage from a long time ago, with much frailer physiques looking at them now. High schoolers from various eras were mixed together, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were all volleyball players who had marched in carrying their prefectures on their backs.

Once he passed through the dark admission gates, his vision opened up again. In the vast circular space, illuminated by bright lights, was a spectator seating area with a capacity of over ten-thousand people, and in the center of that, there was a glossy sky blue and citrus orange volleyball court.

“The quarter-finals are on a multi-court, but the semi-finals and beyond are on the center court. There’s only court in the center of the arena, and it’s super fancy, and only the best players from the best teams who are capable of winning the title of the best high school in Japan can stand on it…”

“I get it, it’s an amazing stage. I know how much you want to be there, and I know very well that you’re a setter who can stand in the middle of that amazing stage.”

With a pacifying voice, he embraced his trunk and brought him down from the gates.

“That’s not what I meant, what are you talking about? I wasn’t talking about me?”

Haijima brushed off Kuroba’s arm in frustration and grabbed his collar just as he was turning around. Kuroba’s eyes widened as he clutched Haijima’s wrist and drew his chin in.

“Imagine yourself standing there. Try wishing for it seriously. More, more…You’ve got what it takes to be up there. And if you’re competing on that stage with a lot of people like that, you’re going to crave it more and more. You’re going to want strength and time so much that you can’t stand it. You’re going to be unbearably frustrated that there’s only three years of high school. That’s why I want you to be the ace…”

It was frustrating that what was inside of him wasn’t inside Kuroba. He wanted him to understand that somehow, and this might be the first time he had ever squeezed out words like that to try to convey something. He had often let things go, thinking that it was fine if he wasn’t understood. He had never been driven by the desire to actively share his values with someone before.

He let go of Kuroba’s chest, half pushing him away. He turned his back to him, who staggered slightly, and looked back at Minami-sensei.

“Sensei. I promised to go to the Spring Tournament with Meisei, but I’m sorry, I’m correcting that. I want to go there with Seiin…with those guys. That’s what I want now.”

Minami-sensei leaned her shoulder against the iron fence and folded her arms with a slightly scary look on her face. Thinking that she might be angry, Haijima waited a little nervously.

The ends of Sensei’s eyebrows lowered, and she let out a short sigh.

“You don’t have to apologize…am I that scary of a coach? Souta also came all the way to me to ask for permission with a teary face. He asked me if he could quit volleyball. You know, elementary schoolers become high school students, right? It’s not the same as me going from twenty-eight to thirty-one. It’s normal for friends and things you like to change rapidly. Because that’s how compressed the time all of you spent was.”

“Sensei, you spoke with Souta…?”

He hadn’t really thought about the extent to which Minami-sensei had heard about the suicide attempt, but then it occurred to him for the first time that she knew about the incident and the reason why Haijima transferred schools.

If Sensei knew that her students, who left her elementary school club happily and saying that they’ll all play volleyball together, became bullied or bullies in middle school and drifted apart, then she must be sad…

“I’m sorry…Sensei…”

He lowered his head and muttered an apology again.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You were the one who was in a lot of pain. We should be the ones apologizing…the adults shouldn’t have been so unperceptive…”

Minami-sensei’s hand touched his arm. It was a gentle touch. On the day when their club had lost a match, he had been comforted by the same gesture, and he couldn’t help but hug her around the middle and cry. He had never lost or cried like that. Suddenly, he felt as though the time had gone back many years, and he had returned to the time when his teacher still looked as tall as a “tower.”

But he was already taller than the Sensei before him. He couldn’t hug her or anything like that. And he wasn’t as hurt as he had thought he would be when he found out what had happened two years ago that he didn’t know about.

In the end, Komukai and the others probably didn’t think it was such a big deal. They didn’t imagine that they would ruin their teammate’s life, and he thought that Komukai was saying what he really thought when he disappointedly said, “With just that.” They had done it with only the intention of making Haijima pay a little, and he repented, then they would be satisfied. They probably wondered what was going on with him when he stopped going to school and then transferred schools from the incident that had occurred from that simple intention.

But if Komukai and the others really didn’t have a goal to eliminate Haijima, then that was actually…a relief.

He wasn’t eliminated from that team.

Once he understood that, the fear of starting over somewhere else diminished considerably.

“I’m fine now.”

He thought it was good he knew about it now. He thought that was probably because he could accept it now.

“I didn’t come here alone…so I’m fine.”

He could hear Kuroba gasp from behind him.

“I see…” Minami-sensei looked at Kuroba and smiled, as though satisfied. “It was a good thing you went to Seiin High School, after all.”

“Huh…” “Kashiwagi-sensei, you know about Seiin?”

Kuroba’s voice overlapped with Haijima’s surprised voice. Seiin was just a local high school, not a nationally know school. It also bothered him that she spoke like she had known where he transferred to since before.

“Who do you think sent me to pick you up at the hospital? Meisei Middle School’s coach asked me to do it.”

“The coach…?”

Haijima learned that the coach of the Meisei Middle volleyball team had felt responsible for the series of events that had occurred in the second year of middle school and that he had been concerned about Haijima’s condition for a long time. He thought that by the time he entered high school, things would have died down and he could talk to the coach of the high school team and call him back to Meisei. However, when he had heard that Haijima went to Seiin High School, he decided to withdraw and leave him alone——.

“Seiin High School in Fukui has a famous coach, yes?”

Famous coach? He looked back at Kuroba, puzzled, but Kuroba also stared back at him with a puzzled look on his face. They recalled the dried up old advisor who looked like a scarecrow with a wooden fish placed on top of the head. (4)

“…Haa?”

The two exclaimed in unison.

He had heard from Oda that he had been a volleyball player a long time ago. However, the old man usually fell asleep when he came to watch club activities, and he had never done much as an advisor, let alone a coach. Their advisor at Monshiro Middle School, who was an amateur but showed a lot of motivation, was a much better advisor.

“Adults are connected in ways that children don’t know about.”

A corner of Minami-sensei’s mouth raised in a mischievous smile.

“That’s why, the teachers at Seiin High School are already informed that you two are here. I’m sure that your families have been contacted as well. I heard that your senpais on the team were also worried about you. The two of you did skip class and disappeared together after all.”

They both groaned and their faces stiffened. There was no way the school wouldn’t find out that they skipped, so they were prepared to be penalized for it, but if they knew that they were in Tokyo, then…

“I hope they’ll just make us write an apology.”

Kuroba sighed, but for Haijima, who found writing any essay more than two columns on manuscript paper (5) torturous, a written apology was more hellish than any penalty. “Don’t look so miserable. I’ll help you. It’s collective responsibility,” Kuroba said and clapped him on the shoulder.

Minami-sensei looked down at her watch and murmured, “We have to go soon.” When she looked up, she had a big smile on her face, as though she was taking out a special present she was hiding.

“There’s one last message for you. It’s from the captain of your volleyball team. He says, ‘You have club activities tomorrow, so go home.’”

Previous || Index || Next

#2.43 #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 translation #2.43 book 1 #2.43 seiin high school boys volleyball team #2.43 seiin koukou danshi volley bu

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historyhq · 4 years

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sample app !

as promised, below the cut you will find a sample app fashioned as an application for my character mx. please note it does have mature themes like mourning, addiction and suicidal thoughts. read with caution. don’t feel yours has to necessarily be as long but i was enjoying myself ! it’s also totally okay to add in mock blogs, pinterest boards or general musings if you feel that’s the best way to express your character.

tell us about you –

ci, 24, gmt. just happy to be here !

the character –

tw: suicidal ideation, death, addiction, overdose, death.

i have fallen in love with mx and i would like to use the faceclaim of avan jogia (appropriate gifs from previous work)!

the reason that i want to play mx is because of the inherit darkness of his death compared to the life that he so briefly lived when surrounded by his friends. there are two sides to the same coins with this character and i feel like it’s almost ironic that he became the centre of his own universe but he couldn’t live without the people that managed to get drawn in too. although he had a good life, despite the fact he did, the pain for him was so deep that addiction grew and he could never grow past all the hurt and sorrow that he felt. he had never been the type of person to feel things deeply and yet he took so much hurt and internalised it until it ate him alive. i think that’s it’s almost the idea that people left behind hated and hurt over who could of saved him but nobody could of at all - when nina and george died, so did the real mx that they knew... they just didn’t see it yet.

i’m obsessed with that complexity, the fact that addiction or not that he will always be torn right down the middle by everything that has happened. i intend to play him in a way that shows both the old hints of mx and the new mx who doesn’t want to be alive here or there. in his mind things are already too far gone. does people coming back from the dead necessarily mean that everything is okay? he can’t erase that pain or suffering that he’s already lived, it’s something that can never be undone and even worse than a ghost, he can never outlive it or stop being haunted by those memories. there’s something so disturbing about getting everything you wanted back but always knowing that it was that same emptiness that still exists that led to your own demise.

mx’s key relationship to me and turning point is george, a person that he was innately drawn to throughout their shared lives but can you just erase the misery of that loss to be reunited? how can you know all that happened and still be willing to go through it again? in a way losing his friends was his demise but mx’s addictions, vices and his inevitable death may be just that; inevitable. he cannot undo what has been done even if the universe has chosen to do so for him and honestly, he doesn’t feel like he deserves a second chance. he doesn’t feel anything anymore.

i’d like to see him come back from it but in my heart, i don’t know if he ever will... what’s a second chance of life if what you’re thinking about is that second death?

writing sample –

he woke up and his hands were clammy, shoulder length hair drenched in sweat. his body felt clammy and rejected from the shell, something it felt like there was something on the inside that was screaming to be released with each heartbeat and painstaking breath. he was killing his body but he had already killed his soul and he realised that the pains weren’t anything trying to escape, just his irregular heartbeat trapped inside and reminding him that he was still alive and that he needed to live a better life. he didn’t want to. he had never wanted to. life had been all about living fast and free, never taking things too seriously and laughing off the concerns about his path.

if george and nina were still there they would of told him that they hated him or banged against his door until he answered, dragged him out of his own pit of despair or at least into the shower but they were both gone. there were no welfare calls, no understanding glances and no exciting wonderful moments that reminded him why he was still on earth. no, everything felt empty and the next pill might be the last, or the next one or the next one. in truth he had never intended to take his life but the pain of living had been so horrific that without numbing it, he was sure that he would of died anyway. he had convinced himself he needed them, that each hit was a step closer to recovery. he wasn’t recovering from his drug addiction, he was recovering from his addiction to sorrow and mourning.

his brown eyes shot open, splintered in the darkness by adrenaline as he shot up in bed. his heartbeat was fast but it could always be faster as he stumbled around his one room apartment crashing into things until he reached the fridge, swinging it open and shedding light on a scene that would of been ghastly to some. perhaps he was the one that was really dead; stuck in an unlivable hell, an absolute nightmare that he could not escape.

anything else?

nothing thank you!

#sample app #tw addiction #tw overdose #tw suicidal thoughts

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kpopbopz · 5 years

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min yoongi | careful what you wish for (angst trigger warning) part two

!!!trigger/angst warning: attempted suicide and harsh language.

disclaimer: this is a work of FICTION; purely meant for entertainment, all texts are fake and does not reflect the personality of min yoongi or any bts member. also, since this IS a work of fiction, there are dramatized portrayals of mental hospitals depicted in this part; this was not meant to offend anyone. xo.

also, if you or someone you love is feeling suicidal or in an abusive relationship, please seek help; I don’t mind talking and giving some advice but understand that I am not always available or a professional. ♥

♡.

part one.

Yoongi sat impatiently in the waiting room, completely exhausted and emotionally drained. The dark circles under his reddened and sore eyes made it very much so apparent that he was nervously tensed. Namjoon, Jin, and Hoseok were there to comfort him in his time of distress, but nothing they said or did helped in the slightest. The only thing that kept going through Yoongi’s mind was that this was all his fault. He’s the one who told you to disappear. He wasn’t being considerate and he should have stopped enticing the argument when you asked him to; when you begged him to. What the hell was wrong with him?

Namjoon kept trying to reassure him that you were going to be alright, but this didn’t stop Yoongi from worrying. Even if you did live, what made him think that you would want to stay with him? He didn’t deserve you. The second your doctor approached the four of them, Yoongi was first to stand to his feet, searching for answers with his worn out eyes.

“Min Yoongi?” he questioned, glancing over the set of worried faces in front of them.

“That’s me,” his voice was gruff as he spoke, “Is she..?” Yoongi held his breath, preparing for the doctor’s response.

“She’s alive,” he reassured, lifting the heavy weight off of all of their shoulders, allowing for Min Yoongi to finally breathe knowing that you were okay. “We had to pump her stomach, and she’s been placed on suicide watch for the next forty-eight hours. We’re lucky you found her soon enough before her organs started to react to the drugs and fail.”

“Can we see her, please? I-Is she awake? I need to see her now, please..” Without even waiting for a response, Yoongi tried to move past the doctor, only to have a hand grip onto his arm and pull him back.

“I will have a nurse check with her, but honestly all visiting hours are over for now; you’ll have to return tomorrow.”

“No, you don’t understand, I need to see her now,” Yoongi’s voice started to raise urgency. “I have to see her, she’s my girlfriend and I need to tell her—”

“I’m sorry sir, please come back tomorrow,” the doctor spoke calmly yet with the edge of a warning to their voice.

Before Yoongi could plead his case and cause all of them to be thrown out, Namjoon and Jin had pulled him back, speaking firmly.

“Yoongi, we’ll come back tomorrow, she needs her rest just as much as you do,” Jin mentioned, trying to be polite and understanding. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning, you can bring her something back okay? We can come back tomorrow, first thing.” Reluctantly but surely, Min Yoongi nodded, feeling relieved but still unsatisfied with being unable to see you for himself.

Yoongi had not been able to sleep that night. He hadn’t even returned to the dorms with the boys, instead, he headed over to your apartment, wanting to be close to you the only way he could. While laying himself down in your bed, he held onto your pillow, wishing that it were you while he quietly sobbed against it, repeating into the object just how sorry he was.

The next morning came around and Yoongi and the boys found themselves back at the hospital. He’d brought your favorite book, snack, and blanket along with his sweater for you to wear if it got too cold in the hospital and your house slippers. None of the other boys said anything about his state, he still seemed very distressed not having seen you yet, not knowing how you’d react seeing him now, but still somewhat excited that he got to be around you once again, alive with your heart still beating. He couldn’t even explain how grateful he was that you were still here.

“Hi, we’re here to see Y/n Y/L/n,” Jin spoke to the secretary as Yoongi kept quiet behind him, staring down the hall where your room could be, holding everything he brought close to him.

“Alright, please wait in the waiting room, and we’ll have a nurse come and take you back there shortly,” she gave a small smile as she gestured for them to sit.

While they waited, Yoongi bit his lip in anticipation, unable to sit as he waited impatiently. The nurse finally started to approach the boys, her expression slightly perplexed.

“Y/n can see you now, but she has requested specifically to not see someone by the name of Yoongi?” she furrowed her eyebrows as she looked over the boys’ muddled expressions.

“What do you mean she doesn’t want to see me?” his voice was slightly cracked, yet raised in volume. “I need to see her, I need to apologize to her. Please, tell her I need to see her—tell her that!” The nurse would flinch back at his raised and desperate voice. Before he could do anything he regretted, Jin stepped in.

“Yoongi, we will tell her, okay? Maybe we can get her to change her mind, just wait here,” he stated.

“Jimin, Tae, and Kookie wait here with Yoongi,” Namjoon remarked before starting down the hallway with Hoseok and Jin accompanying him toward your room.

You were dressed in hospital provided sweatpants and a large white t-shirt. Being on suicide watch, they didn’t allow you to have anything, pretty much anything at all that would cause you to harm yourself.

The most ironic part was the medication they gave you. Giving you pills to keep you subdued from any thoughts of suicide, even though it was pills that caused you to be here in the first place. You hadn’t been there long, but already you hated this place, you were supposed to be gone—it’s what Yoongi wanted.

You didn’t want to see him because of that. You thought that you had been doing him a favor and you were surprised he came in the first place. He was probably just here to remind you how pathetic you felt, and how much he didn’t want you around. You couldn’t face him and you didn’t want to hear that. There was no possible way you could bear hearing how disappointed he probably was that you were even still here, so you rejected seeing him. You’d rather hear it from Namjoon then to have Yoongi confirm your thoughts.

When you heard a knock at your door, you froze, suddenly tensing up a bit at the thought of any of them seeing you in this state. The door opened, revealing Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jin to see you. You could barely look at them, feeling embarrassed that you’d been led to this point.

“Y/n..,” Namjoon came over to hug you first, being enveloped in his arms was the first type of warmth you felt in all the time you’d been here. The other two boys joined in making a short-lived, yet comforting group hug. “Why would you do this to yourself? We were so worried about you, all of us. Yoongi could barely sleep—why don’t you want to see him?” Your voice was caught by the lump in your throat, you wanted to cry, but you felt sort of emotionally numb. You shook your head and shrugged nonchalantly.

“He shouldn’t want to see me Joonie,” your voice was husky and low as all three boys watched you intensely. “He wanted me to go away. I don’t want him to see me like this.” It hit you when you said it, seeing you like this, you meant seeing you alive; he wouldn’t want that.

“What are you on about Y/n? He’s basically out there about to get dragged out by security because they won’t let him see you,” Hoseok spoke up and looked at you with a pout. “Yoongi-hyung didn’t even want to leave you here last night.” There was no possible way that your sugar bear was causing a fuss over you. He wanted you gone didn’t he?

“I know that Yoongi is one to lash out when he’s angry but, what did he say to you Y/n?” Namjoon made his presence known again, “He was in a state of panic, and he’s the one who made me call 911. What happened?”

“I-..,” the tears were finally forming on the rim of your eyelids as you shook your head. “Remember how I spilled water on his keyboard Joon?” He nodded. “He was so mad at me. He knew that I was struggling with my insecurity and he would be there for me, but he lashed out like never before—I mean he threw it all back in my face.”

The three boys were listening to every shaken word coming out of your mouth, feeling torn. To none of your knowledge, Yoongi had escaped the watch of the three younger boys and was standing outside your door listening to the sound of your voice. Your words breaking him apart.

“I wish it didn’t escalate, but he snapped and I just thought that he wanted this,” you scoffed at yourself as the tears finally broke free and streamed down your face, “You have to listen to what people tell you when they’re angry, that’s when the truth comes out. I just didn’t want to be a burden anymore, you guys should just go, really I’ll be fine. Tell Yoongi that I’m sorry to disappoint him...I tried.”

At your final words, Yoongi burst into the room and strode over to your bedside, dropping everything he’d brought for you at the end of the bed. He was sobbing, a complete mess in front of you as he grabbed for your hands desperately.

“No, Y/n, n-no,” his voice had pain lingering in it, “No, no, I’m s-so sorry. I love you, baby. I would never want you to disappear. I’m hot-headed and stupid and an asshole for e-everything I said to you. Please don’t say that.” Min Yoongi was coming undone before you. Begging for you to listen to him, begging for you to believe him and not caring that the other members saw him in this vulnerable state.

Even though you were already crying, seeing this site before you made your tears pour down your face harder than before.

“You mean that Yoongi?” you managed to get out between sobs. All he could do was nod as he wrapped his arms around you tightly, crying with you, refusing to let you go ever again.

♡.

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j-j-ehlby-writes · 5 years

Text

Love You Goodbye (s.s.)

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Word count: ~1.8k

Summary: The end of your relationship with Sebastian was never going to be easy, especially when you both thought you’d spend forever together...

Warnings: Heartbreaking break up (bruh I cried), mentions of sex but nothing too descriptive

Listen to the song, “Love You Goodbye” by One Direction and you will understand everything. I do not own the song or the lyrics!

A/N: All of the lyrics to the song are supposed to be bold, but for some reason mobile isn’t showing it. So I apologize in advance.

My Masterlist

It’s inevitable, everything that’s good comes to an end...

My suitcase is dropped by the door, a hole in my heart. This is it. As soon as I walk out this door, this nearly two-year relationship is over.

In the beginning, it was great like every relationship should be. We talked every day, we made each other laugh, we went out on fun dates and had nights in, we built a foundation that was going to sustain us through anything... well just about anything. “Anything” didn’t include the constant disappointment of our relationship always coming second. I knew when I met him that his career was a high priority. I knew there would be periods where we didn’t see each other or get to spend a lot of time together. I knew there would be scrutiny and jealousy.

But the reality of it all was far different than I expected. The missing dates due to filming, the lack of communication leading to endless fights, the amount of time spent apart outnumbering the time together... all of it being too much for both of us to handle.

I fidget with my keyring, eyeing the two keys I’ve gotten used to having: one for the apartment building and the other for this amazing second home I will miss terribly. The few memories we did make here I will treasure more than anyone will know.

His shaky exhale that fills the room is heavier than my suitcase. Today has been a toll on both of us. Neither knowing what to say; if there’s anything TO say. As I emptied my side of the closet that he so graciously gave me for my visits, the tears free flowing. My heart shattered with every article of clothing I placed in my suitcase. He sat on the bed watching as I packed. His tears matching mine.

After the last screaming match, I said the words no one wants to say in a relationship: I can’t do this anymore. I had been thinking it for a while, as much as I wish I didn’t. I loved him. I loved him with my whole heart. That wasn’t our problem. There was no love lost between him and I. That’s the reason we held on as long as we did.

But love alone can’t sustain a relationship. That’s not the reason to keep something going when it’s inevitable end was near. There has to be more than just love between two people. That’s all we had... and it wasn’t enough.

It’s impossible to know if after this we can still be friends...

I wish I could believe things could be good between us after this. The damage that’s been done can’t be undone. Words have been said that can’t be taken back. Promises that were broken can’t be unbroken.

I remove the keys from the silver ring and place them on the kitchen counter. I meet his swollen blue eyes that make my heart flutter. He stands before making his way over.

“Do you have everything?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

His voice brings fresh tears to my eyes knowing it’s probably the last time I’ll hear it. I nod, feeling the lump in my throat growing. “I think so,” I whisper back. “But you know me,” I wipe a fallen tear away, “I always forget something.”

The silence returns between us. The only sounds heard are our breathing. Trying to stay strong when we’re both hanging on by a thread.

I know you’re saying you don’t wanna hurt me Well, maybe you should show a little mercy...

“I don’t want this.” He shakes his head, voice cracking.

I swear my heart cracks along with it. This was never something I wanted. I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life. I wanted to marry him, be the mother of his children, be his partner in life...

I take a deep breath trying to prevent another breakdown today. “I don’t either,” I inhale again feeling my control slipping.

“Then please, just... stay.” He begs, running his hands up and down my arms before wrapping his arms around me. “I promise I’ll do better.” He says into my hair. I don’t know how many times I heard that promise. Every time he made it, I thought he might actually keep it. Until he didn’t. “I’ll take a break for a while. We can work on this- we can work on us. Just... please, baby...”

I would never ask him to take a break, risking everything he has worked for. He’s at the peak of his career. He’s worked so unbelievably hard to get where he is as one of the most recognized actors in Hollywood. It would be career-suicide to take a break at his current status. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if his dream ended because of me and my insecurities.

“I don’t want to lose you,” He whispers as tears fall.

The way you look, I know you didn’t come to apologize...

“I’m sorry.” I say for the hundredth time that day. He feels like it’s all his fault, he’s told me countless times since I admitted to not being able to be in this relationship anymore. But it’s not. We’re both responsible for the dissolution of our relationship. We both could have tried harder. We both could have done things differently. But it’s a little too late now.

Unforgettable, together held the whole world in our hands Unexplainable, the love that only we could understand...

“Please,” he begs again, tightening his grip around me. “Please, don’t leave me.”

That’s the final crack that broke the dam.

The sobs escaped both of us as we clung to each other. My hands clenched his t-shirt, balling it in my fists.

I know there’s nothing I can do to change it But is there something that could be negotiated?

It feels like hours before we pull ourselves away from each other. The shoulders of our respective shirts are soaked to the bone, our bodies empty, and our hearts in shambles.

“Are you sure,” he swipes at his face, “there isn’t anything that I could do to keep you from walking out that door?” His voice hoarse from the sobs that wracked his body just minutes ago.

“No,” I try to compose myself again before looking into his devastatingly beautiful eyes that hold so much hurt, so much pain, it’s hard to see knowing I’m the cause of it. “But if we don’t do this now, we’ll end up resenting each other later. And I don’t want to feel that way towards you.” I bring my hand to cup his cheek. His hand covers mine, bringing my palm to his lips for a kiss. “Anyone, but you.”

My heart’s already breaking, baby, go on, twist the knife...

“I love you,” he seals his love with an everlasting kiss. A kiss he poured every ounce of love he had left into the way his lips glided over mine in perfect harmony as they always have, how his mesmerizing hands ran over every curve of my body like he was memorizing it all. He lifted me up onto the counter without breaking the kiss, pushing himself between my legs as he has done countless times before. His lips slowly move down to my neck where he knows it gets me. He knows I can’t ever say no when he does this.

This time will be no exception.

Oh, why you wearing that to walk out of my life? Oh, even though it’s over you should stay the night...

He removes the knitted cardigan he bought me for no reason other than he thought I would like it, it’s suddenly too warm to be worn now. He always said it was his favorite thing of mine. He complimented me every time I wore it, and that was a lot. It was also my favorite. How loose it was made it perfect for winter nights without him, how big it was made it all the more comfy for the relaxing days, how perfect it was for every occasion no matter how special or mundane. However I think his favorite quality was how easy it was to take off.

His desire for one last time pressed against mine, moans being swallowed by the other as his lips found mine again.

In my head, I know we shouldn’t be doing this. This should be the last thing on both of our minds. However, we’ve both lost all of our strength to do anything, especially resist what could possibly be the last time we can feel each other’s touch like this again.

If tomorrow you won’t be mine Won’t you give it to me one last time?...

He scoops me up, my ankles locking around his waist as he brings us back to our once-shared bedroom, where we embrace each other in all of the love and tenderness we have in our bodies until the morning light peeps through the curtains.

I dress one more time before stopping to gaze at his sleeping form. All of the stress from the night before no longer visible on his strikingly beautiful face. His eyes aren’t as puffy. His gorgeous brunet locks and facial hair surround the beauty in a chocolate halo, his hair going in every direction because of all of the times he ran his fingers through it yesterday, as did I last night, his breathing and heartbeat even once again. He looked like the man I’d fallen so head over heels for and will be for as long as I live, no matter where our lives take us.

One more taste of your lips just to bring me back To the places we’ve been and the nights we’ve had Because if this is it then at least we could end it right...

I lean down and place a lingering kiss on his soft, pink lips. Oh how I’ve loved those lips. From the first kiss to the last, I will forever treasure all of the stolen kisses in public, long goodbye kisses at airports, sensual kisses for when either of us craved the other, and everything in between. Our relationship started with a kiss, it’s only fitting that it ends with one too.

Picking up my suitcase once more, I glance at the cardigan still sitting as it was discarded on the counter. I debated taking it with, but I know if I did, I’d live in it until it fell apart completely. By leaving it, I won’t have that constant reminder of him whenever I look at it. Just one less reminder of my broken heart.

As I look into his silent apartment one last time, as all of the memories we made flood back, his words before we gave in to our desire last night echo in my head...

“Oh, baby, let me Love You Goodbye...”

~*~

Sequel: Loved You First...

Tags: @the-marvel-wars @elusive-beauty @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent @fantasy-is-my-reality

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian #love you goodbye #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x ofc #sebastian stan drabble #stanstory

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ofvindictc · 4 years

Text

tagging: @ofisolaticn & @ofprinciples location: levi’s apartment. description: the game comes to an end. there’s defeat, there’s victory, and a few twists you might not have seen coming.

levi stone / daniel warren

when disaster strikes, there are always warning signs. alarm bells before a hurricane, or little shocks before a devastating earthquake. little signals, little hints, that your world is about to turn upside down. he'd always thought he'd see the end coming when it inevitably came, would see the threads of his plan start to unravel before they went nuclear. none of that happens though. he doesn't see the bracelet on henrik's wrist ( after months together, he's never worn one before; so of course, he stopped looking ) and doesn't notice the confusion on his face when the compulsion doesn't connect. he's distracted, thoughts on amelia, or the horseman's insatiable hunger that throbs like a migraine you can't kick, so he misses it. ( do you want to talk about your day? henrik asks, twice, though levi's told him to leave it alone. no, he bites back, eyes flashing golden with irritation before he realizes the error of his ways. forget you saw that. it was a trick of the light. i'm just a vampire. ) if he was thinking as logically as he once had, before amelia, maybe he would have seen henrik pulling away; would have suspected that something was up. he never does though, too caught up in the never-ending fight to keep famine nourished, covering up his murders, and ensuring his wife, his family, will make it through the horrors that they've suffered. the divide between levi and daniel is so wide, so blatant, that sometimes when he looks in the mirror he isn't sure who's staring back. ( it's a problem. he knows this. ) it's because his guard is down, defences lowered, that he doesn't see the attack coming before it's too late.(edited)

henrik mikaelson

it was a blissful ignorance, henrik realized later. with little signs, little breaks in the perfect image, ones that he saw and made the choice to ignore. it was easier to ignore. a amazing boyfriend, someone who loved him fully for who he was, someone who he put his heart in the hands of. someone who made him feel loved. someone so perfect they couldn't possibly be anything other than a manipulated figment of a dream. he'd just been a fool. thinking everything is going to be okay. pure fool. the bracelet was something he appreciated. he liked arlo. it was nice making friends, even if he was a bit on the younger side. henrik didn't feel the need to console him like he did his students, arlo was an old soul. someone who understood him in a way henrik was a bit shocked at, if he were being honest. he underestimated the younger man, completely. and then, when offered a small charm of a bracelet, he appreciated it. he said yes because it was NICE and there was no reason for a no. he asked levi about his day, twice. because he wanted to know, because he felt a distance, because he loved and he cared and maybe that'd been wrong. because levi's eyes flashed GOLDEN in anger ( he angered him that much?? ) and he looked him in the eyes like a vampire did and he tried to compel. and henrik was too starstruck to say a damn thing. he'd spoken to arlo and asked, nee, begged. for the compulsion to be erased, to be undone. and then--- it was. it was an agony, and it was heartbreak and henrik hated it for making him feel like a fool. and then, he also didn't. because as foolish as he felt, that kind of love was something he cherished. he'd never felt it before and despite the fury... there was gratefulness. it was arlo's idea to orb them and henrik couldn't help but agree. orb them in and watch the spell unfold. "hey," he greeted, awkwardly.

finn mikaelson

always and forever is a pesky mantra. it means standing by the sides of your siblings when they needed you, even if it risked exposure. he'd planned on just keeping an eye on his more vulnerable siblings, make sure they were safe, but it had turned out that his youngest brother was anything but. the compelled memories tell a story that mystified even him but he's not in a position to give henrik grief, only solutions. it's why they've orbed into the man's living room, magical binds summoned with a spell to knock the man ( no, the hybrid ) to his knees.

" someone's been naughty. " his words are dry, a vial of truth serum, home brewed, gripped in his free hand. the man struggles against the restraints as he approaches, the vial poured down his throat once he's close enough to keep him still. the restraints might not hold him forever, but the aneurysm inducing spell that can split a vampire's head wide open with a powerful migraine will be equally as effective.

the hybrid's chest is heaving, fangs distended as his eyes glow golden. he's exposed himself for what he really is now; there'll be no denying it now. " who the hell are you ?" this is directed at finn, smirking in the body of arlo park. " henrik, what the hell is this? don't let him do this. " the original considers intervening, telling him to shut up, but this isn't his place; this is henrik's fight, he's just here to ensure it's a fair one.

henrik mikaelson

the memories were both like a romantic comedy and a horror movie played out through his eyes. they picked apples, they had romantic evenings, and henrik fell in love. and as much as it was fake, it also wasn't. not all of it. being aware of the facade didn't take back those whole feelings of love he felt. it didn't erase every wanting moment. every kiss, hug, comfort. what it did was on a level, worse. leaving a dark poisoned shroud over them. it was funny thing, when the thing you love most was a detriment. he remembered all those compulsions, every single one. from the ones to tell him to shut up, to go away, to not care when levi took bites out of him. god, he'd been a human blood bag for so so long and he thought it was OKAY. so yes, as much as there was love remaining there was also fire building. or maybe gasoline. the fire had yet to ignite. he'd spoken to arlo more then he planned to. confessed all the emotions that hurt so fucking much. he'd bee surprised at the man's sympathy as henrik went on and on and on. he considered a lot of things. telling a friend, boarding himself up at magic school, even telling his family, begging klaus to rip him to shreds. that idea had been appealing until he realized how much it would hurt. because his seething betrayal didn't shatter his LOVE. henrik sort of fucking hated that bit, admittedly. it'd be easier if he could straight up hate levi. he remembered the utter terror of running from the man, of him killing his own neighbor and compelling henrik that dreaded night. that... wasn't easy ( he kept flinching at loud noises now and he'd defeated THAT response at 19. he would need to defeat again, he would. )

. but, as much as he knew he didn't want to see levi die. some things did change. he used to be one of them, one of the most important people, one of the people henrik would do most anything for. from ignoring the wrongness of something, to helping commit atrocities if it meant keeping them safe and happy. that didn't apply anymore. he couldn't erase his feelings but he could erase that. he couldn't choose to not love, but he could choose not to care. he'd never heard arlo speak with such dryness. not that henrik could blame him all too much. golden eyes glow and henrik is... unsurprised. he knows what he knows, and he feels TIRED. he wants this over with, but he knows it's not that simple. the truth serum, arlo guaranteed it would work. which was why it was easy to ask such blunt questions. "do you love me?" he asked the words gently--- weakly, both dreading and expecting the answer all too well. "and..." better to rip off the band aid, right? "whats your name?"

levi stone / daniel warren

tw: suicidal ideation

he doesn't bother pulling at the restraints once his knees hit the floor. he squirms away from the witch that's prying his mouth open, tries to growl but simply ends up choking on whatever they pour down his throat. the restraints burn his wrists, likely some kind of vervain derivative cooked up to keep him down. he thinks maybe he could break them but not without great sacrifice. ( famine's already weak. he hasn't fed today, he won't be able to help; he has no get out of jail free card. ) there's a quiet desperation in his voice as he pleads for henrik to stop this, for him to free him, but when he starts asking questions — that mask slips. he knows now; henrik knows the truth. there's no sense arguing, or begging for mercy -- for compassion. he's been found out, there's no absolution here. " no. " the words come out through clenched teeth, one last attempt at keeping this charade from imploding. he fails, like maybe he always knew he would, and hammers the final nail into his coffin. " i never did. i've only loved one person and she's not you. " it's not said maliciously, just honestly. maybe the most honest he's ever been with him. the second question is more complicated. it draws a laugh, wrists tugging against the restraints and inhaling sharply when they burn. ( he tugs again — maybe he deserves this ) " that depends. it's getting a little crowded in here these days. " he feels compelled to tell the truth but he's been running from it for so long ... it feels like he's poking something fractured; something damaged. " my name was daniel. then, it was levi. oh, and famine. it's a regular party in here. "(edited)

henrik mikaelson

despite it all, despite every single thing levi had done. from gaslighting him, to sinking his teeth into his skin, it still pained henrik to see him in this state. to see him held down with chains, his jaw pried open, he had too look away as arlo poured the truth serum down his throat. he felt guilt, guilt he knew was unwarranted considering the situation but still, horribly, there. he never heard his boyfrie--- no he couldn't call him that. calling him that would only make him feel even more of a fool then he already did. henrik had too much self respect for that. a slip, he could manage. but he wouldn't willingly say the words or think them. there it goes. expression changing so easily, it broke henrik's heart to watch the man he loved dying right before his eyes. a metaphorical death, but death nonetheless. lips pressed together because it was easier then letting out the shaky raw breath gathering in his throat from the confirmation of such a thing. he was so sure, that levi was the first person who loved him. no obligation, no strings tying them together beyond their hearts. and now? it was all a lie. and yeah, it hurt like hell. henrik knew the man would be able to see it all over his face, levi obviously knew him well by now. even if the man himself was a stranger to henrik. he hadn't been the one with the mask on the whole time, after all. he nodded his head, expression betraying him. it was irrational heartbreak, he knew. rationality and emotions ran parallels, lines that never met. "you didn't even care, not for a moment." it was silly threads he was holding onto, but he wanted to hear it from levi. maybe then, it would be easier.

. the laugh sent shivers down his spine. so unlike the man he thought he had known. his face brittles with confusion because DANIEL he remembered from his memories. but famine? "like the horseman?" yeah, he knew some mythology. not all of it, but enough. it was practically courses in magic school, henrik did pick up some things.March 24, 2020

levi stone / daniel warren

maybe he's not a complete monster. maybe somewhere, buried deep under layers of anger, or resentment, of hate, he can find an inch of compassion for this person he's hurt; he's wrecked. maybe he's capable, but even in the end, in the revelations of his own failures, he doesn't regret his choices. his plan was good, it was flawless even — and maybe if he'd been less human, more monster, it would have worked. ( he's not sure if he's angry or relieved about that. maybe some mix of the two. it's complicated. ) " i didn't. " he agrees, mostly because he has to. whatever they've given him, it won't let him say anything but the truth. ( ironic, given, he's not sure even he knew some of these truths. ) " you weren't a person to me. you were a chess piece. the mikaelsons are a fortress and i needed an in. " henrik, human henrik, was an easy mark and he'd exploited that. " — but don't take it personally, i didn't care about anyone. i just wanted revenge. " he still does, he still feels that undercurrent of anger that runs through him, but it's diluted; he feels other things, too. has, ever since amelia came back. " my switch was flipped. mostly, anyway. " it's — not something he considered, not really. he felt anger, felt vindictive, but never considered a world where you could blot out half and focus on the others. it was ... a surprise, even to him.

* " yeah, him. " his smile dies on his lips, feels the horseman restless in his head. like a siren's song, mere mention of him has him stirring. " i was out on patrol when a mysterious fog rolled in. it was him, and he needed help. " his visage cracks, exhaustion bleeding through. " he said we needed each other. " maybe they had, maybe he wouldn't have gotten this far without him, but right now he just feels tired. tired, angry, and caged. ( he pulls hard on the restraints again, just to feel something else )

henrik mikaelson

he felt used. and it hurt. he was so sure everything was going so well. he had his family, he had his friends, he had his boyfriend. it'd been so perfect, so flawless. henrik should have known better. a life of hardship didn't seamlessly disappear like that in favor of being happy. and now here he was. broken hearted for so many things, so many losses. the loss of love, the loss of trust, the loss of faith in his very self. the loss of the person that made him so so happy... it hurt. a nod of his head, glassy eyes and fragile expression. "i... i figured that." still needed to hear, still painful to hear, to know. but then levi--- daniel, he went on. and oh. henrik didn't know it could get worse but then there it was. getting worse. daniel hadn't felt a thing for him, because you can't feel things for pawns. and that's all henrik had been to him. all those late night movies, apple picking, candle lit dinners, the way he made him feel--- none of it was real. and fuck. there was a desire to ask arlo to change the plan. hold him down while henrik got out a piece of wood. he could stab levi right in the heart, the same place levi stabbed him. watch the man fall apart before henrik's eyes, like henrik was falling apart in front of his. but no. because it'd be a second later in which he'd realize what he'd done. and that love he felt for levi stone would become even more of a burden then it already was. and trust him, it was plenty of a burden. "that's sad." he didn't say it with judgement, with empathy or sympathy. there was sorrow in his tone, not for levi. but for himself. for his hopes, his dreams, his future which was now something he never expected or would have dreamed of. finally, his eyes met levi's and henrik spoke. words he hadn't expected to admit, let alone feel. "i almost feel sorry for you. you spent so much time on revenge, so much time using me and... and it was a waste." it wasn't even gloating. just a melancholy statement.

. there was no interest in his life story or even why levi wanted revenge. henrik couldn't bring himself to care. what's done was done and what scarred him would never be erased. well, it could be. but he wouldn't want it to. as much as it hurt, it'd remain as a reminder. a reminder to be smarter, a reminder to be stronger, a reminder of how much he loved his family, a reminder of how stupid he had been. and to never be so stupid again. at least, not anytime soon. he bit his lip, because the horseman did change things. the plan had been simple enough but this was a new factor. he had planned not to tell his siblings of what happened, not have them condemn him or pity him. it would have been easier that way. but what if his plan wasn't enough? this was a horseman. and if not telling his family could put them in danger--- he couldn't do that. fuck. "and he wants to help you with your vengeance." the confirmation was needed, if only purely for henrik himself.

finn mikaelson

there's an amount of pride that finn feels as henrik stares down the hybrid. he didn't know him very long, or very well, in the short period of time he'd been back but his restraint is remarkable. by mikaelson standards. his other siblings, save maybe freya, would have painted the walls with this creature's blood if they'd have deigned to be played as such. ( this speaks to his humanity. something the whole family is sorely lacking. )

he only intervenes when the hybrid snaps forward, the restraints pulling and crackling. they're powerful; he figures, if push ever came to shove, they could even hold one of his siblings. all the same, he tightens his hand into a fist. hybrids might have accelerated healing but those pesky little blood vessels popping in his head ? it'll hurt like a bitch. " don't interrupt. " he says simply, eyes on levi. " let him speak. " after all, doesn't henrik deserve his moment in the sun ? he sure thinks so.

levi stone / daniel warren

* the pain rocks through levi's skull, forcing his eyes shut as he growls. his eyes are blown wide, pupils bright yellow as he snaps at nothing. he's unable to break free, to do anything but fight, and what was once apathy is now pure rage. ( he thinks this is famine's doing; he has the reigns now, is pushing daniel down. so far down, all he can feel, all he knows, is the horseman's anger. ) " tha fios agam dè a th 'annad. no an àite, cò. " the horseman spits the words at the witch, using gaelic to mask his words. " tha thu a ’coimhead nas fheàrr na nuair a chunnaic mi mu dheireadh thu. " he knows the witch understands, sees the recognition and the fury pass over his features. i know you, i know what you are. you look better than when i last saw you. ( he wonders, idly, if the youngest mikaelson knows about the imposter masquerading as this witch. he bets no, but decides to keep that to himself; a bargaining chip. ) " you'll have to forgive your boyfriend. " famine's eyes flutter back to their natural hues, look up at henrik with interest. " he can't come out and play right now. i'll let him know you feel pity for him though. * GREAT* stuff. " lips twitch, a hint of a smirk at play. he doesn't bother tugging at the restraints; he knows he's too weak to break through them. he's a pragmatist. " when his interests and mine aligned, yes, i helped him. " which is true, for the record. " — but he's proven his WEAKNESS. he deviated from his plan, got sloppy and that's not really how i play the game. " the horseman shrugs, cavalier twist in his tone. " just consider me a silent partner. or a gatekeeper, if need be. "

henrik mikaelson

the hybrid snapped forward and henrik didn't even flinch. he didn't know where such bravery came from, or if it was bravery at all even. perhaps, it was foolishness. regardless of what it was, he didn't back down. eyes connected to daniel's, and staring him down with strength henrik needed to dig into. ( he didn't typically have it, only stored on behalf of other's. this was the first time, in a long time, he was using that streangth on behalf of himself ). "thank you arlo." he spoke, tone even but kind nonetheless. watching levi, daniel was something of an experience. in his memories held few times with those golden hues faced at him. but to see him and be aware, not be running or on the verge of being compelled, it was something else entirely. there was chanting, and henrik was lost. he didn't enjoy the feeling, not after all that had happened. he lacked so much control for so long without having known it. he wasn't keen on staying locked out of the loop for so long. "he's not my boyfriend anymore." and he said the words so fast without hesitation because if not for famine's sake, but his own, he needed to remember that. " a gatekeeper." henrik echoed, not quite convinced. he read about the horseman with a student once. they were having troubles with their studies and henrik volunteered to give a helping hand. he read about the horseman bringing forth the end of days, each bearing a ring upon their finger. a source of their power. famine, not the most powerful but powerful nonetheless. no, henrik couldn't take the risk of a changed mind and such power in the hand's of a man who hated his family. brazen, he crossed forward and wasted no time in sliding the ring off daniel's hand. eyes set on him, seeing how such a loss would effect him and hoping it'd be the right response.March 30, 2020

levi stone / daniel warren

it's as the ring's twisted from his finger that levi feels one last surge of overwhelming anger from his passenger as its ripped from him. it feels like someone's sliced open his sternum, reckless fingers ripping famine from his psyche as he screams. ( he has a high pain threshold. he thought he'd known pain, thought he'd known suffering, but this is somehow WORSE. ) he loses consciousness at some point, likely his body's way of protecting the fragility of his mind from the abrupt splintering. the last thing he feels is anguish mixed with revulsion as the black seeps in and sucks him under.

finn mikaelson

with more warning, perhaps finn would have cautioned his brother from angering a horseman. it's inevitable that the ring find its way back, the essence of famine returning to whatever withered husk it had left behind when it chose this body. he doesn't though, simply makes one of those 'yikes' faces teenagers constantly make before turning back to henrik. " with the ring off, he won't be able to access famine's powers. " he smiles, because to henrik this is a victory -- even if it's likely only temporary. " i can take it if you want, for safekeeping. " this face looks innocent, looks trustworthy. " we've got this thing that traps powerful cursed objects. i can put it in there and lock it away. it'll be safe. " behind him, he hears the hybrid start to stir. he debates whammying him again but knows this is a fight henrik needs to finish, no matter what he chooses.

henrik mikaelson

the sight of levi, daniel, before him--- bellowing in such pain and agony. henrik couldn't help but FLINCH at the sight. even now, after all he'd done. it made him feel something to see him in such pain. he felt guilty for that. he should be able to ravish his enemy's wildering pain ( enemy, the world felt wrong in his mind. unfamiliar and uncomfortable ). and yet, watching him in pain, henrik needed to look away. there was no regret. even if it made him feel some type of way to see daniel in pain, henrik didn't regret a single thing. a firm nod of his head, relieved at the loss of power's. the last thing he needed was daniel enraged and coming after his family. ( yeah, a very loud FUCK THAT in the back of his mind. ) "actually that'd b great." he wouldn't have known what to do with it anyhow, probably would have given it to niklaus or magic school. both of which options would demand explanation, which he wasn't keen to give. he didn't want klaus to know how he'd been duped, nor magic school to think he was a liability. maybe it was selfish, probably was. but he wouldn't risk it. so yes, letting arlo have the ring was his best option. "thank you." daniel begin to stir, and henrik had some words left. harsh words, that would not be easy to say. but he would do them anyway, he needed to. "after we finish how long could you keep him down?" he couldn't stay in that apartment. and he wouldn't risk getting everything in case of running into daniel or daniel finding wherever he lived next. wherever that would be. ( he'd figure it out ).

finn mikaelson

he takes the ring when its offered, securely tucking it into his pocket. he might not be as consumed with a thirst for power, for status as some of his siblings, but he knows not to underestimate an opportunity when it falls into his lap. ( better in his hands than someone else's. ) he watches as the hybrid stirs, glancing over at henrik when he asks the question. " that depends. i can keep him down for a few hours, put him in a suspended state, or we can put him down for good. " it certainly wouldn't be any skin off his back to eliminate the hybrid from the world. it's beyond an abomination; a bastardized creation from niklaus' bloodline that should never have existed. " whichever you'd prefer.

henrik mikaelson

"we aren't putting him down for good." it was said in a more demanding tone than henrik was used to using, but he couldn't help it. the idea of it, despite everything, made him sad. for all the bad memories daniel (as levi) had given. he also had given kind ones, warm ones. it didn't make his actions lessen or null. but it did change some things. "a few hours would work, thank you." his tone switched to something far kinder, and more appreciative. arlo was doing a lot for him, after all. a deep breath as he watched levi--- no, daniel, begin to open his eyes. "i have some things to say to you," he preempted. "and you... you're gonna listen." a deep breath. "anyone else in my family would slaughter you. they would make you hurt in ways you wouldn't dream and make you regret every single thing you've ever done." he stood straighter, with more conviction. "but i'm not my family. if you'd done this to one of them... maybe. but you did this to me, your life... it's mine." he took a step forward and knelt closer. eye level with daniel. "i'm letting you keep it. no more death, no more manipulation, no more anything. i'm letting you live." he emphasized. "this time, that is." more somber, he said. "there will be no next time. what saved you, was the happiness you brought me. lies or not, compulsion or not, i still remember it." and a spiteful part of him hoped daniel would hate that. you live by the grace of my will. "but... if you so much as go near my family, go near me... i'll tell them everything. and i know my brother's reputation, i know you do too. and my older sisters, my other brothers, all of them. my family, if they know what you attempted. they'd end you. there would be no place for you to hide. and this time, i won't stand in the way." it felt like a threat. henrik didn't know if he wanted it to be one, how he wanted daniel to feel. but he felt strong. and that was all that mattered in the end, in this moment.

#( interactions )#( henrik )#( finn )

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sunkissedjiaer · 5 years

Text

Melancholy / Yugyeom x Reader

requested!

Pairing: Yugyeom x Reader

Warnings: talk of depression, suicidal thoughts, angst, fluff.

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: They say true love can make it through anything and in this case it was the reason you made it through everything.

You stared down at the phone, his contact lit the screen up. You didn’t want to bother him or burden him with your problems but you needed him right now. Your body ached for him, your heart urned for him.

The hot tears stung your cheeks as they fell. You were at war with yourself and you didn’t even know why. Sometimes your days were like this and sometimes they weren’t. Right now, in this very moment, was a day you hoped to never have to relive. It was at its worse right now, the baddest it’s ever been and you can’t even understand why.

Just yesterday you were on a date with Yugyeom enjoying the smell of the blooming cherry blossoms and now here you are a day later in your bathroom crying and screaming your throat sore. There was a burning feeling in your chest and your limbs felt heavy, you were tired, so damn tired and you were tired of being tired.

You grabbed your phone and clicked Yugyeom’s number, the line began to ring. A couple rings went by and you heard his beautiful soft voice echo.

“Hey beautiful what’s up?” he asked

“I-I n-need you.. Pl-please come here” you sobbed

“y/n? What’s wrong? What’s going on baby?”

You began to cry so hard you couldn’t breathe. The phone dropped from your hand and you curled into a ball on the cold tile floor.

“I’m sorry Yug… I’m so sorry” you whimpered

“y/n I’m on my way right now! Don’t do anything! Please wait for me-”

The line ended suddenly and you sat yourself up slowly. Your head was pounding from crying and your body was shaking uncontrollably. You dragged yourself up to the sink and looked into the mirror, what you saw only disappointed you.

“You’re such a mess” you sighed “what happened to you? Where did that happy beautiful girl go? Where’d she go!”

You screamed and brought your fist to the glass. The sound of breaking glass echoed around you and a surging pain brought your teary eyes to look at your knuckles. Your once pale hands were cut up and bloody, the pain soon became numb, your body protecting you from the physical pain of it all.

You slowly sat yourself down against the tub, your thumbs tracing over a jagged piece of glass. You brought the glass to your wrist when the bathroom door was thrown open. You looked up to a scared and frantic Yugyeom.

“What are you doing?!”

Yugyeom quickly grabbed the glass from your hand and tossed it to the floor, kneeling down he grabbed your hands and eyed your wounds. Looking up he noticed the busted mirror.

“y/n.. What’s going on?”

You eyed your boyfriend, tears began to swell at the rims of your eyes once again.

“I’m so damn tired Yugyeom.. I don’t even know why I’m just so sad all the time and I just don’t wanna be here anymore”

“Here? As in your house? You can come and stay with m-”

“Not my house.. This life, I don’t want to live anymore.”

“Do not say that.” Yugyeom’s voice was raging but he remained calm “please tell me what’s wrong..”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know what’s wrong. One day I’m perfectly okay the next I’m crying and screaming until my throat swells shut. One day it’s beautiful and bright the next I’m questioning why I’m here? And it’s always been like this, I don’t know why I’m depressed, I have everything.. I have you, the boys, my friends, my family.. My brain just.. My brain isn’t working right..”

“Why am I just now hearing about this?” Yugyeom asked softly

“Because every time I have a breakdown or find myself crying I feel like if I contact you I’ll burden you with my sadness.. I’ll burden you with my problems..”

Yugyeom grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. His hands caressed your hair and you felt yourself sob softly, not because you were sad but because you felt guilty for bringing him into this.

“You will never be a burden to me y/n. You are my girlfriend, the love of my life. If you are sad I want to know, if you’re having a bad day I want to know. I may not understand completely what’s going on but I will damn well be there for you whenever you need me to be. I will always be there for you, no matter what. It’s you and me against it all baby.”

Your hands clutched at his arm, sitting yourself up you eyed the boy softly. Moving his hands to your cheeks he began to wipe away your tears and you grinned warmly at him.

He was right. You knew he was right but even if he was right it still felt wrong. You’ve always dealt with everything on your own, every feeling you come across you deal with by yourself. Every problem you’ve face you faced it alone as to not burden those you love.

“I’m sorry” you whimpered

“Don’t be sorry, just promise you’ll come to me..?”

“I don’t know if I can promise that..”

“y/n.. Remember, it’s you and me.”

“Okay… I promise” you spoke softly.

Yugyeom pulled you up to his face and planted kisses on your salted cheeks. After putting two kisses on each cheek he planted a kiss on the tip of your nose, then in the middle of your forehead and lastly he softly placed his lips on yours. Although they were salted from your tears he could still taste the faint flavor of strawberry. Smiling to himself he pulled away and looked at you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and head over to my place okay?”

You nodded “okay.”

The two of you walked into Yugyeom’s apartment and went straight for the bedroom. As you sat down on the bed Yugyeom placed your bags by the bedside table.

“I’ll get you a shirt to sleep in and then we can lay down and watch a movie okay?”

“Okay babe” you smiled halfheartedly

Yugyeom walked over to his dresser and pulled out an old shirt of his. Walking over to you he held it out to you but you were so tired you could barely lift your arm.

“You want me to put it on?” he asked

“Would you?”

Yugyeom nodded and grabbed the hem of your shirt. Slowly Yugyeom brought the shirt over your head and helped your arms out of the sleeve holes. His dark chocolaty eyes looked at your body adoringly, with a smile Yugyeom leaned in and planted a kiss on your shoulder causing you to giggle softly.

“There it is, that sound I love so much”

Yugyeom grabbed his shirt and helped you into it, after you got your head into the hole he let the t-shirt fall around your body. Wrapping his hands in your hair he pulled it to the outer part of the shirt, each strand falling into place on your back.

“Want me to take your shoes and pants off to?” he asked warmly

“Please?”

Yugyeom knelt down and untied each shoe individually and placed them next to the bed. Taking your socks off Yugyeom tossed them aside and stood again. His hands slowly reached for the buttons on your pants. Each button was undone carefully and slowly.

“Lay down for me?” Yugyeom asked softly

You laid yourself down as asked and Yugyeom helped you get out of your pants. Slipping the pants off completely he tossed them aside and you sat yourself back up.

“Cuddle time?” you asked hoarsely

Your hand went to your throat and you rubbed softly

“Here in a minute, let me get you some tea and water”

Yugyeom left and returned a couple minutes later with a tray. He sat the tray down on the bedside table and you looked at what he brought. A cup of green tea, a bottle of water, some sleep meds, ibuprofen, and two small chocolate kisses.

Yugyeom handed you the green tea and two ibuprofen's and you took them from him. As you took the pills and enjoyed the tea Yugyeom got himself comfortable and slid into bed next to you. Setting the tea down you wrapped yourself up in the covers and cuddled up into Yugyeom.

Your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around your waist.

“y/n..”

“Yes?”

“How many times has this happened?”

“By this, do you mean my breakdown?”

Yugyeom hummed in response and you let out a soft sigh.

“I don’t really keep track but lately they’ve become more frequent. I never know how to handle it, my episodes.. Or whatever you want to call them..”

“Maybe breathing exercises? Or a support animal?”

You giggled softly “maybe.. We can give those a try”

“We?” Yugyeom repeated

“Yes.. I don’t wanna go through those alone ever again..”

Yugyeom squeezed you lightly and planted a kiss on your forehead

“You’re never alone y/n, there’s always going to be someone there for you. Whether it’s me or your family, we’re there for you. Don’t feel burdened to talk about how you feel, it’s good to talk about what you’re thinking and what you feel. Don’t bottle things up okay?”

You nodded into his chest.

“I love you so much, we’ll get through this together”

“I love you most” you hummed.

If you or anyone you know has suicidal tendencies or is fighting the battle of depression just know that there are people who want to help, who will help. You are loved and wanted, you are amazing and beautiful. I love you all.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

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illumynare · 5 years

Text

Red vs Blue Fic: Gift of the Magi (10/12)

Summary: Wash has already gone through too much, been broken too often. So when they get captured by Hargrove together, Tucker figures he has one job: until the cavalry shows up, keep Wash alive and (relatively) sane. No matter the cost.

Unfortunately, Wash is just as determined to protect him.

Parings: None. Warnings: Rated M. Canon-typical language, aftermath of canonical character death, psychological torture, hallucinations, hallucinated child harm, mentions of torture and suicide, fake-out character death.

Notes: Also available on AO3!

GUESS WHO'S BACK, BITCHES.

I am so so so sorry it took me this long to update. 2018 was........a difficult year for me, creatively. But I am writing again and determined to finish this story. Huge thanks to @a-taller-tale for being a sweetheart beta, @saltsanford for screaming supportively, and everyone who let kudos/comments during the interim.

###

It’s day twenty-three of the worst camping trip ever, and Tucker has had it up to here with Agent Washington and his paranoid hard-on for drills.

(Not to mention his obsession with how they should all stay in their armor 24/7. So what if Tucker needs fresh air to sleep? Wash wouldn’t have to see him naked if he didn’t come storming into his room at the ass-crack of dawn to haul him out of bed.)

“This is bullshit,” Tucker grumbles, dropping into another squat.

“Keep counting,” Wash drones.

“Twenty—urgghh—three.” Tucker hauls himself back to his feet, glaring at Wash. “I can’t feel my toes anymore.”

“Come on, private. Freelancer’s rejects could do better than this.”

“No, duh. They were rejected super-soldiers. We were Freelancer’s target practice!”

“Huh,” Wash says dryly. “Well, that’s an idea.” He unholsters his rifle.

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Ooh, scary.”

The next moment he jumps as a bullet hits the dirt next to his foot. “What the fuck, man? Didn’t you give us a lecture about gun safety last night?”

“Rule two.” Wash’s voice is ice cold now, his rifle leveled at Tucker’s face. “Never point a firearm at anything you aren’t willing to destroy.”

His armor is gray again. How the hell didn’t Tucker notice before? And despite the bright sunlight there’s snow falling all around them in dizzying swirls, just like on Sidewinder.

Oh shit. Tucker can’t move.

“Time to run, private,” Wash says, but Tucker can’t move. “Three. Two. One—”

His voice suddenly cuts off with a loud record-scratch, at the same moment the snowflakes freeze in the air.

Yep, it’s me. Church flickers into existence, glowing blue and tiny, floating just a couple feet in front of Tucker’s face. I bet you’re wondering how we got here.

Tucker stares at him. “. . . the fuck?”

You’re dreaming, dumbass. Lucky for you, I can actually control your dreams when it’s your subconscious running them and not that fucking machine.

The only word in that speech that makes sense is machine, and even that Tucker’s not sure about. “But Freckles isn’t here yet,” he says.

Oh yeah, also? WAKE UP.

—and Tucker comes awake, thrashing and fighting the restraints for the second it takes his brain to boot up, for him to remember what’s happening and where he is.

It’s night. The room is empty, and dark except for the faint glow of the healing units over his and Wash’s beds.

“Church?” he says aloud.

This better work, Sheila, Church calls, and then appears beside Tucker’s head. In the darkness, he glows like a nightlight. “Okay, Tucker. Do you trust me?”

“The fuck?” Tucker says again, echoing his dream, because Church never says shit like this.

“Yeah, bad question. Actually, there is no question. Do what I say if you want to live.”

“I’m chained to a fucking hospital bed, I’m not doing anything!”

“I know. Just—STAY on the bed.”

Tucker rolls his eyes, automatically tugging at the restraints. “Wow, kinky. Do you want me to call you ‘daddy’ too?”

Before Church can reply, the door slides open. The lights come on, blinding bright, and Tucker has to blink for a few seconds before he can see that it’s the lemon-faced scientist who kept putting him in the machine, three Charon soldiers behind her.

“Come with me,” she says, and Tucker’s brain hysterically finishes, if you want to live.

Which is technically true; he’s pretty sure that the scientist wants him alive for testing purposes, and he’s positive that she’ll kill him if he doesn’t obey. But going with her means being put into that machine means getting killed by Wash again, and Tucker would have every reason to refuse her command even if Church hadn’t told him to stay put.

Not that he’s gonna get a choice. As Tucker thinks this, two of the soldiers step forward and start undoing the restraints, one working at his ankles and the other at his wrists.

The moment that the last strap unlatches, Church yells, “Now, FILSS!”

The doors slam shut.

It takes Tucker a moment to realize that something strange is happening. Automatic doors close all the time. But then Sheila says aloud, “Deploying defensive measures,” and there’s a hiss as a pale cloud billows in through the air ducts.

“Uh, sir?” says one of the soldiers, but the scientist is already at the door, fumbling at the keypad. When it doesn’t respond, she starts pounding against the door. “Open, damn you!” she yells, then staggers. And falls to the ground, as the rest of the soldiers do.

Tucker’s gasping for breath, a weird cocktail of terror and triumph pounding through his veins. He nearly jumps out of the hospital bed, because fuck yeah, they’re down for the count, and he doesn’t even care how it could have happened.

But Church is hovering in front of him, waving glowing arms. “Wait. WAIT.”

At the same time, Tucker hears the tinny, nearly-subsonic hum from overhead, notices the bright green glow, and suddenly it all comes together. Sheila piped in some kind of knockout gas, and the only reason Tucker’s still conscious is that the alien healing unit is scrubbing the stuff from his bloodstream as fast as he can inhale it.

That’s why Church told him to stay on the bed. Except Church is just a hallucination, so he couldn’t have possibly known because Tucker, didn’t know—unless—

“Church?” Tucker says, and he hates how his voice has gone small and wavering, but crazy as it is, he can’t help suddenly, desperately hoping that he isn’t alone, that—

“Okay, atmosphere back to normal, you can get off the bed,” says Church, as if he hadn’t heard him.

Tucker doesn’t move. He’s dizzy and numb and reeling with the sudden thought of maybe maybe maybe, and also at this point he’s so used to everything being a killer hallucination that it’s hard to care about what he actually does.

“Seriously, Tucker, get the fuck off that bed and unstrap Wash, we don’t have all day.”

It isn’t Church that gets Tucker moving, it’s the memory of the Freelancer video footage he watched, where Wash was strapped down to a bed and screaming. He slides off his bed and staggers over to Wash's bed. There’s still a weird, numb tingling in his fingers, and he fumbles with the straps for several minutes before he manages to get them undone.

In all the weird, fucked-up simulations that Tucker has experienced, Wash was never like this: still and unconscious and silent, limp as Tucker hauls him up into the rescue carry that once upon a time Wash made Tucker and Caboose practice back in the canyon.

In all the simulations, Tucker had never been able to help Wash.

“What now?” Tucker asks Church, because why not trust the hallucination? (Why not believe that Church is really still alive somehow?)

“Go out into the hallway,” says Church. “There’s a storage closet five hundred feet to your left.”

Tucker does. He finds the door, and it swings open at a touch—Sheila? Church? A fucking miracle? He doesn’t care, just pulls it shut behind him and eases Wash to the ground.

He hears the lock snick shut behind him. “Now what?” he asks.

Church doesn’t appear again. But he whispers into Tucker’s mind, Now we just gotta have faith.

Faith is fucking boring.

That’s Tucker’s conclusion, twenty minutes or maybe fifty hours into waiting, he has no way to keep track and he really doesn’t care. However long it’s been, it sucks to sit here in the dark, waiting for rescue because a hallucination told him to.

Wash woke up once. He snorted, and clawed at Tucker’s face a little. When Tucker shook him and said, The others are coming to get us, he launched into a series of weird, slurred apologies before he passed out again.

Which left Tucker alone.

And bored.

Church isn’t talking to him anymore. Tucker’s tried talking to him, again and again, but he never responds.

Of course he doesn’t, because Church doesn’t really exist. Except how did Tucker’s hallucination know what Sheila was planning to do? How did he know where Tucker and Wash could hide? What the fuck is going on?

Sirens go off, muffled through the door. Then they stop. Tucker hears a clatter of footsteps and gunfire, and then that stops.

Then the door slams open.

It takes a moment for Tucker’s eyes to adjust to the sudden rush of light. A moment before he sees who wrenched the door open.

It’s Carolina. She stands over him with a plasma rifle in each hand, an AI glowing over each shoulder. As much as Tucker's tried to avoid knowing anything about Church's fragments, he recognizes these two: the green one is Delta, Caboose's special buddy, and the red-gold one is Sigma, who Wash and Carolina thought might go crazy and evil for some reason.

Apparently Carolina isn't worried about that anymore.

“Can you walk?” she asks.

Tucker finds his voice, scrambling to his feet. “Duh,” he says. “How do you think we got here?”

He reaches for Wash at the same time Carolina does. Neither of them draws back, and for a moment he wonders wildly if they’re going to get into a tug-of-war.

Then Delta says, “I calculate an increased 57.8% chance of success if we allow Tucker to carry Agent Washington.”

Sigma flares brighter. “Agent Carolina, you excel at maneuvers that require maneuverability and speed.”

Carolina hesitates another second, but then she draws back, nodding in agreement.

“Don’t fall behind,” she tells Tucker, and turns away.

“That’s what she said!” Tucker says automatically, hauling Wash up into the rescue carry again. He staggers back out into the hallway after her, and then he doesn’t really have time to think of anything except how heavy Wash is, and how terrifying Carolina is.

He’d known that she’d had two AI fragments back in Project Freelancer, but he hadn’t realized what a difference it made—not until now, when she charges a squad of Charon soldiers, grabs one by the leg, and swings him so precisely that the soldier's shots at her take out all his teammates instead, what the fuck.

It’s honestly really hot.

Then they run into Red Team plus a bunch of New Republic soldiers; Tucker has never been so happy to see Simmons or Palomo in his life. Apparently there’s a larger operation against Hargrove going on, now that Sheila has told them where his ship is hiding, but this team is tasked with just getting him and Wash back to safety. They immediately hustle them into a Pelican, and it’s great, Tucker is so relieved—

Except once he’s strapped in and the acceleration has slammed him into his seat, the memories are suddenly back with a vengeance. It’s too much like the time they were rescued and Wash killed him, the time that Tucker absolutely deserved to be killed because he had—he had—

“Where’s Junior?” Tucker blurts out, before he can get even more afraid.

"Junior? " Grif says blankly. Tucker's heart stops.

It's not real, he tells himself, but his brain is working too well and his memories are too whole for him to believe this is a simulation now. And Church is silent in his skull. Whatever Grif says next, Tucker will have to live with, and if—if—

"Isn't he still at that dumb prep school you won't shut up about?" Grif says.

And shit, Tucker thinks he might be crying, but it doesn't matter. Junior's okay. His kid is okay.

He doesn’t even mind the silence where Church once was. Tucker can stand anything, as long as Junior’s okay.

#agent washington #lavernius tucker #rvb #rvb fic #red vs blue #my fic #my fic: gift of the magi

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accidentally-a-writer · 6 years

Note

If you want, could you write "Verbal Abuse", "Suicide Attempt", and "Tearful Smile"? You're gonna make us all cry with your stories so lets take up a notch and make us sob

It was a beautiful day. The sun had risen and painted the skies in pinks and golds, without a cloud in sight. The air held the crispness of morning dew without suffocating the rising men and women, who woke up with the expectation of rain, as clouds had shrouded the city until that day.

Such was the case for Alexander Hamilton and his family. He woke with a grimace, wishing for a few more moments under the covers with Eliza’s body warmth enveloping him, before seeing the delicate rays of light filter in through the curtains to their bedroom.

He rolled over, placing a gentle kiss against her hair before setting his feet against the floor. Eliza groaned, and turned over, still mostly sleeping.

There weren’t any true babes in their home at the moment, all being old enough to sleep through the night. It’d been ten long years of disrupted sleep for his wife, Hamilton figured he could gift her this a morning to stay in bed just a little bit longer.

His bare feet padded down the hallway to the nursery, where most of his children slept. (Phillip, being the oldest, had garnered himself his own room and study for his schoolwork.) As if it were some sort of miracle, most of his children remained asleep as well.

Alexander regretted his work hours, and the impact it had on his family life, he did; but the work he was doing for the President, and therefore the country, outweighed his own desires.

He kissed the tops of each child’s head, careful not to disturb them in sleep, and left the nursery. Getting ready for work was a dull affair, it usually was, but today felt different somehow. There was an anticipation in the air that Hamilton could not place but welcomed all the same.

When he left for work the painted sunrise had dimmed, but it was replaced by a sea of light blue and warm sunlight, so Hamilton didn’t count it as a loss.

Hamilton enjoyed the walk to work, it was a part of his routine, rain or shine. It was almost like he was loyal to the route, depended on it to stay unchanging, no matter what the circumstances.

It was a beautiful day, so he should have expected that it would go wrong.

When Alexander Hamilton arrived at work all conversations came to an abrupt halt. The staff stared uncaringly at him, before resuming making whispered remarks. Hamilton furrowed a brow; he’d had some controversies yes, but nothing to incite such treatment. He tipped his head to the staff nevertheless and made his way to his personal office, trying not to let the rapid whispers that followed upset him.

Getting lost in his writing, that was what Alexander loved about his work everyday. The way the quill seemed to flow his its own volition, etching words that only came to his head after they were on paper. It was not enough to stave away his growing anxiety at whatever was being said about him behind his back.

He knew of the gossip, of course he did, but that was gossip. This seemed… bigger than that.

This seemed like a scandal, and he had done nothing scandalous (barring his scrappy attitude and controversial plan for the National Bank,) to warrant his colleagues’ attention.

Jefferson, Lord help him, knocked on Hamilton’s door, which was already opened.

“What can I help you with, Jefferson,” Hamilton sighed, not glancing up from his work.

“Just wanted to congratulate you, Hamilton.” Jefferson was smirking, Alexander could hear it, but that wasn’t his main concern. The cold tendril of anxiety began to fill his veins as he finally put the quill down and looked at his adversary.

“Congratulate me on what, Jefferson?”

“Why, your rise out of poverty of course. You had us all fooled, bastard, that you were an orphan from a poor, but proper, family. But my God, that is an exaggeration isn’t it? You come all the way from the trading colonies, and your mother was no better than a two-bit whore.” Cold and absolute terror filled Hamilton’s core at Jefferson’s words. The blood drained from his face as he sat speechless and listened to him go on. “Did you not know?” Jefferson went on, “your whole life’s story was published this morning in a paper. Shame, that seems like something you’d want to stay under wraps, yes?”

With a triumphant smirk Jefferson parted, leaving a hyperventilating Secretary of Treasury in his wake.

Hamilton ripped out of his seat, rushing towards the only place he could think to go. He knocked and the door opened instantly, as if Washington were expecting him.

Well, if he’d read the fucking papers he probably was.

“Hamilton…” The president hadn’t even finished his greeting before Hamilton had shoved into his office unceremoniously. Washington sighed and shut the door behind the boy, praying to the Lord for strength for the next few minutes.

“Did you know?” The man (boy, he’d always be just a boy) asked, already starting a pace infant of Washington’s desk.

“I’d wondered - guessed, I suppose, that was back during the war. I never gave it much thought, son.”

“I’m not your son,” Hamilton bit back. He stopped his pacing and gave a breathy chuckle, his head whipped and met Washington’s gaze. Washington felt his breath sucked away from his chest as he realized Alexander had tears in his eyes. “I’m not anyone’s son, as everyone now knows, don’t they?”

“I’m sorry about the article, Hamilton. They had no right to publish such personal information of you as they did.”

“It’s not like it matters anymore, what’s done is done. Everyone knows, and we can’t make them forget. Dear God, my children, my children will be in disgrace with my misfortunes. I’ve ruined the family.”

Washington watched in despair as Hamilton’s breathing become shallower and shallower, the hysteria in his eyes growing more and more pronounced. He wanted desperately to say something to make this okay again, to offer some sort of comfort to his former aide. But what could he say to this? This news, being released to the public in such a fashion… Washington couldn’t even imagine.

No one deserves this.

“Your family loves you, no matter your parentage. Did Eliza know before she married you?” Hamilton nodded jerkily. “Then what difference does it make to your family? You’re still Alexander Hamilton.”

“Hah, Alexander Hamilton; bastard, orphan.”

“Anyone who’s opinion is worth listening to will not give it a second thought.”

“So you didn’t stop and reevaluate whatever the Hell this is? When your ‘suspicions’ were confirmed after all these years?”

“I-” and of course Washington was going to deny it vehemently, because it doesn’t matter to him, it doesn’t, but there was a moment when he saw the article and felt his entire system grind to an abrupt halt.

The pause was all Hamilton needed to infer a rejection.

“No, Alexander, wait!” Washington called after the boy as he rushed from the room, his whole body jerking in an effort to catch him before he was out of his grasp.

Once again, Hamilton’s entrance was met with sudden silence over the staff, paired with accusing and mocking stares.

Bastard

Haven’t you heard? Hamilton’s a bastard to some whore on the islands.

Old habits die hard, is that how he secured his position?

With the general?

Who else?

Maybe he’s the president’s bastard

Scum

Dirty

Half-breed

It went on and on and Alexander just wanted it to stop. The door slammed behind him with some force, he pulled the lock and let himself sink to his knees. This couldn’t be happening, why him? What had he done in is life to deserve this? It wasn’t his fault, James Hamilton abandoned him and his mother, it wasn’t his fault.

So why was God punishing him?

“Hamilton?” Someone was knocking on his office door. He didn’t want to see anyone, especially not the president. “Hamilton, open the door.”

Twenty years, that’s how long he’d stayed in Washington’s service; twenty years of Washington guessing and wondering and pondering the tragic backstory his aide had divulged one night. He said that now he knew the truth it didn’t make a difference, but Alexander could see in his eyes, it did. It always made a difference, no matter where he was or what he did, or what he helped to build, it always made a difference.

Shaky hands pulled a pistol, almost forgotten, from his desk.

The pounding on the door was still here.

“Go away.” Hamilton’s voice was weaker than he’d meant it to be. He tried again, “I said go away, sir, I don’t need you here for this.”

The pounding stopped, but only for a stunned second.

“For what? Alexander, for what? What are you doing?” The president was yelling, he was making a ruckus, surely someone on the staff would notice. He didn’t want anyone to notice him ever again.

“Stop!” Hamilton cried, fighting for control of his breaking voice. “I can’t- I can’t do this. I’ve lived through so much, built my way up, built a life, and for what? It all comes crashing down for the same reason I built it in the first place.”

Alexander didn’t realize he was crying until he felt a tear hit his shaking hand.

“No, no, no, no, Alexander, listen to me, okay? We can move past this, no one will give a thought to it in a few months’ time. Your writings, they inspire people, you have that spark in you son, your writings make it so that it doesn’t matter who your father is. I’ve known that from the moment I met you, this country has known that from the moment you burst into motion. I need you to open the door Alexander, please, open the door.” Washington’s voice was becoming more and more frantic, the jiggling of the doorknob more and more pronounced. “I cannot lose you, please open the door.”

It was enough for Hamilton’s shaky hand to glide the lock undone. Washington burst forth instantly, relieved eyes finding their way to Hamilton’s. Then they found the gun and a hysterical breath ripped its way out of his throat as he tore the metal away from Hamilton’s grip.

His next motion was to simply cling to Hamilton, wrapping him in his arms as the boy broke down. They stayed like that for a while, not caring about the outside world for that little moment in time.

Because they both knew the world would be waiting when they separated.

#fanfiction #writing #hamilton #hamilton fanfic #whump #alexander hamilton #george washington #washingdad #tw; suicidal themes

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