#anyways. i have decided he loves bears and he likes venom solely because he reminds him of bears (+the standard boss-loving syndrome)

[zeeckz]

[misstinfoilhat]

Whumptober 2019 #16: Scars- Bungou Stray Dogs

This is part 2 of this ----

“How can you do this to yourself?” Kunikida asked, deep in shock. Obviously, Dazai had been hiding something under his bandages. Self-mutilation had always been a distinct possibility, but not in his wildest dreams had Kunikida ever thought that it would be this bad. Nobody should be able to hurt themselves to this extent.

It should not be humanly possible, but then again...

A chill went down Kunkida's spine as he realized for the first time how the name of Dazai's ability actually seemed to fit the distraught man in front of him, in some sick, distorted kind of way. 

Maybe the idea of being in possession of no longer human was what fueled him, manipulating his body and mind into enduring these horrible actions which any sound mind should be unable to commit against oneself.

A faint shake of the head was the only response he could get out of the lethargic man and Kunikida decided to let it be for now.

If he pushed him too hard, it would only end in disaster. Even if Dazai always seemed to worm his way back to life, into the same annoyingly carefree and chipper 'bandage-wasting-suicidal-maniac' (which somehow had become a term of endearment around the agency) he usually was- this situation right here, right now, felt different.

It was real and right in front of him and uncensored and absolutely heart-wrenching.

So Kunikida kept quiet and continued cleaning out the wounds, using strips or stitching them together before covering them with excessive amounts of gauze while his thoughts were spiraling out of control about the days leading up to this...

...which had been utterly uneventful. Nothing to warn them of what was to come at all.

They had been just like any other days, weeks or months, with Dazai doing slightly dangerous things around the office, declaring them as possible suicide methods while wearing a huge grin on his face. Or, shamelessly getting down on his knees in front of any woman in his proximity that he deemed worthy, begging them to commit double suicide with him.

Teasing, agonizing Kunikida to no end, abrupting his thoroughly planned out schedule just to get a reaction- which Kunikida always would give him.

Pretending that Ranpo wasn't fiercely competitive towards him- letting the abilityless (and just a bit clueless), but never the less genius, detective solve several puzzles Dazai himself likely had been able to figure out the second he had laid his eyes on them.

And the way Dazai was huddled up in the corner of the room like a ferocious animal when Kunikida had come in...

“Who did you think I was?” Kunikida finally asked carefully. Dazai bearly stirred.

“Hm?” Dazai hummed, still a long way from his bathroom in his mind. But, he finally seemed to be waking up from the hypnotic daze he had been trapped inside.

“When I came in... You seemed to think I was someone else.”

“Oh.”

Dazai was weary and pale, probably from blood loss and sleeplessness. Kunikida had just begun to sew shut yet another gash on his arm, but the stinging, throbbing sensations that radiated from the self-inflicted wounds exceded far beyond Kunikida's precise stitches.

“I- I'm not sure,” Dazai answered sincerely, winching a little as Kunikida tied the first stitch at the next laceration.

“Sorry,” Kunikida muttered quietly, but Dazai only waved it off as not a big deal.

“I think I was somewhere else, in my mind, I mean,” Dazai explained before he scoffed drearily. “When you let yourself in, I was looking for a weapon I haven't borne in 5 years.”

At that, Kunikida raised an interested eyebrow, but continued his work meticulously all the while, hoping that his cryptic partner might continue this rarety of opening up if he didn't interfere too much.

Of course, Dazai didn't, which wasn't too surprising considering that he was the same man who had managed to keep his past position as one of the most powerful (not to mention dangerous) people of the Japanese underworld a secret for years. A position he had reached when he was still just a teenager.

How this suicidal, manically depressed goofball could manage such a thing, was something Kunikida would never be able to truly comprehend. It was likely something none of them would ever understand- they would never know how a scrawny child with a death wish had ended up as an executive in one of the most feared gangs in the world.

The only person in possession of those answers was currently seated on a toilet seat in front of him, bleeding from countless lacerations reaching from his throat to the soles of his feet.

So, Kunikida decided that he couldn't pounder on that part of Dazai's past anymore. It was simply too bizarre, and even if Dazai clearly was very haunted, maybe focusing on who Dazai was now- not who he used to be, could somehow pull him out of this self-destructive apathy.

Or maybe it's not Kunikida who needs to stop thinking of Dazai as a monster.

Kunikida cleared his throat, catching Dazai's glassy eyes that had previously stared blindly into his lap.

“Dazai, I know I might be the last person you'd want to hear something like this from, but I'm going to say it anyway... You have to stop blaming yourself for... whatever it is that's tearing you apart. You need to stop living in the past and start looking forward to the future... The past is clearly eating you alive, but the future just might save you.”

Dazai only looked at him. For a long time, while a small, pained smile slowly tugged at the corner of his mouth. Dejected, he let his hair fall in front of his eyes, and something in his expression shifted.

“Of course, Kunikida-kun... I have to stop dwelling on the past and focus on the future. It all makes sense now,” he murmured in an eery whisper, bitterness, and animosity dripping off his tongue like blood from a blade.

Like the blood, dripping from Dazai's hands, arms, legs, feet, torso, hips, chest, neck... Kunikida was clearly over his head in gaping wounds.

“Dazai...” Kunikida started to say, but Dazai jerked his head back up. Exhausted yet fiercely focused, half-lidded eyes peered holes through Kunikida, almost startling the usually stoic man out of his kneeled stance in front of him, needle still between two pieces of flesh, ready to tie it back together.

“No, you're absolutely right. If I just stop thinking about it, it will all go away. I will win back my will to live. This aching, gnawing, harrowing emptiness that makes me utterly unable to feel a single thing except for unbearable guilt, will just disappear! The loved ones of those I've tortured and killed will finally be at peace! It won't matter that I've orphaned countless children and simultaneously been the sole reason that the only man that could've saved them was killed-” his voice broke off in an abrupt, pained choke.

Trying to brace himself, he inhaled a sharp shuddering breath. Carefully exhaling, everything shattered again and he was left heaving on the toilet seat, somewhere in between a sob and hyper-ventilating.

“Shit, Dazai... I didn't mean...” Kunikida quickly finished the stitch he had been working on and cut the thread. He backed up, giving the struggling man some space.

“...do you really want to know why I do this to myself?” Dazai asked venomously, crouched down on himself in a way that Kunikida couldn't decide reminiscent a hug or a straight-jacket.

“It's my punishment. These are all my sins. No matter how many scars that litter my body, it will never be enough...” His voice was shaking, fragile and small, struggling to bear.

“I can't keep count of them, just like I lost count of all the people I've hurt... how many families I've destroyed... So, I wear these scars on my sleeves as a constant reminder of what I've done, and it will never be enough... Not until it kills me.”

Kunikida wanted to say something, anything.

...but what was there to say, really? Kunikida knew a thing or two about regret, that much was true. Still, what Dazai had done... What good was a regretful sinner to anyone? Or a dead sinner, for argument's sake...

It wouldn't change the past. It wouldn't change his wrongdoings.

“At least, you're helping people now, Dazai. It won't cancel all the other things out, but it does count for something.”

“...do you know what the worst part is, Kunikida?” Dazai asked, seemingly ignoring the blonde's attempt of encouragement.

“...the worst part is, that... even if what you say is true...” 

He was unable to finish that sentence the way he intended.

Again, Dazai choked on his words. He cleared his throat, fighting back tears (because he didn't deserve to cry- didn't deserve to grieve or morn or feel fucking sorry for himself-) before he was able to force out in a pained whisper, “...it won't bring him back.”

Kunikida had come closer now, leaning down with his hands hovering insecurely over Dazai's battered body, wanting, but lacking the courage to place the comforting touch he so wanted to set on his partner's shoulder.

Suddenly, Dazai yanked his head back up. His expression was tight, and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. His irises seemed to wobble from unshed tears as he grabbed onto the taller man's shirt.

At the blink of an eye, literally, Dazai's body betrayed him. One tear fell, two tears fell, and finally, the flood gates opened.

Kunikida stared horrified, paralyzed by the rare sight. Dazai was showing real, unfiltered emotions.

Quickly, the idealist shook himself out of his stupified immobilization and pulled the trembling man in, locking his arms around him tightly.

Dazai cried silently. The only sound coming from him was an occasional shuddering heave for air, and Kunikida only tightened his grip around him, whispering repeatedly in his ear that it was okay.

------------------

Kunikida came around his car to help Dazai out. He had reluctantly agreed to use the crutches that Kunikida had found inside the closet in Dazai's bedroom, to ease the pressure on his newly stitched feet. It had been the strict condition for driving him out here instead of to the infirmary.

Dazai stood, heavily leaned on them and peered over the graveyard he had lead them to. Kunikida stood beside him, trying to follow his gaze, which guided him towards an old, weeping willow. Its branches leaned tiredly over a sole gravestone at the absolute edge of the site, with a beautiful outlook over the ocean.

Dazai started to hobble his way towards the tree, the snow dancing around him like angles in an ethereal snowball fight before Kunikida was able to shake himself out of his musings and hurried to catch up to his partner.

“Wait up,” he said, raising his voice slightly before catching up to him. Dazai really didn't need to slow down- the trail was icy and Dazai was clearly struggling to make his way, with the crutches slipping off the path now and then- leaving him looking unstable and clumsy.

But, he didn't look back. He soldiered forward, aimed intently at the modest gravestone under the beautiful tree.

Once there, Dazai let himself crumble to the ground in front of it, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a lighter. Using his bare hands, he dug out a small lantern from under the snow, and re-lit the light inside of it.

It immediately illuminated their surroundings, giving their evocative spot in the dim graveyard a serene, celestial glow.

Kunikida curiously leaned over to read the writing on the stone. It said Oda Sakunosuke- born October 26th, died January 10th...

...oh.

Reading further, the engraving read in beautiful cursive, “Be on the side that saves people. If both sides are the same, become a good man. Save the weak, and protect the orphans.”

Suddenly, he understood the significance this man had had on Dazai's life.

“It was his last words,” Dazai said calmly, apparently noticing Kunikida reading. “He is the reason I left the Port Mafia, to spend my life in the light.”

Kunikida nodded, captivated by the moment.

“You truly cared about this man, didn't you?” Kunikida stated severely. Dazai gave him a curt nod and concentrated his attention back to the tomb.

“He was a good man,” Dazai confirmed solemnly.

“I'm sure.”

“He...” Dazai started to say, but cut himself off.

Kunikida kept standing behind, watching the wind tearing at his partner's clothes, ruffling his hair in the frigid winter-breeze.

“...yes,” Dazai finally continued. “He was... He was too good for this world.”

The snow shifted behind him. Kunikida lowered into the snow by Dazai's side.

Together, they sat there in comfortable silence, quietly honoring the man's life on the anniversary of his death.

The air was chilly, and Kunikida felt the snow soaking through his trousers, but he was going to keep sitting there for as long as Dazai needed.

After some time, Dazai reached into his pocket and took out a small flask. He opened it, muttering a quiet “Kenpai',” and poured out a small amount onto his friend's grave, before bringing it to his own lips, taking a sip. He passed it along to Kunikida- who was driving, but still accepted it. “Kenpai,” Kunikida repeated with a nod, gesturing towards the grave in a small toast.

The whiskey burned on its way down his throat, warming him up a little.

After their drink, Dazai was finally starting to get up, and Kunikida hurried to his feet to help him out. He handed the crutches over to him and turned to leave.

Dazai stayed back for a moment, smiling faintly at his friends final resting place.

“See you soon, Odasaku,” he murmured silently, bowing his head in respect before following Kunikida's lead.

Kunikida didn't want to think about what he might have meant by that.

Calmly, they walked back towards the car, side by side. Dazai still struggled a bit but was keeping Kunikida's pace never the less.

“Thank you,” Kunikida uttered suddenly, and stopped. Confused, Dazai tilted his head and peered back at him.

“For what?”

“For showing me this. I really appreciate it. I know it's... sacred.”

Dazai lowered his gaze for a moment, before a sad sort of smile appeared on his lips.

“Oda deserves for people to know what a great man he was. I should be better about that, huh?”

Kunikida shrugged. “Maybe so, but I think an even better way to honor his memory, is to stop disappearing for days and hurting yourself. I didn't know Sakunosaku-san, but if he's half the man you claim him to be, I'm sure he wouldn't want that for you.”

Considering this for a moment, Dazai nodded his agreement as if it was a thought that had never occurred to him before.

“Yeah, you're probably right...”

“None of us do,” Kunikida pressed on.

They had arrived back at the car now. Dazai got in, while Kunikida ushered the crutches in the back before getting into the driver's seat.

Longingly, Dazai stared out of the window as they pulled out from the parking lot in front of the graveyard, heading back towards the solitude and pressing atmosphere of the dormitories. 

Somehow, Dazai dreaded it, afraid that his head would spiral back into that dark space. He already envisioned ripping open the countless amount of stitches one by one, fixating the pain from his inside to the outside of his body- letting crimson liquid escape, reminding him of the many screams of his defenseless victims as he stomped their heads onto the pavement and-

“Don't.”

A hand was placed on top of his own, and he realized that he was subconsciously picking at his stitches over the bandages. Dazai blinked several times, surprised that he had let his mask slip.

Kunikida sighed audibly.

“I'm sorry,” Dazai muttered, parting his hands.

“Don't apologize, just... Just don't do that.”

Ashamed of himself, embarrassed about his slip-up, Dazai kept quiet for a long time. The silence in the car felt pressing and uncomfortable- and Kunikida racked his brain for something to say. He didn't want to leave Dazai alone with his thoughts for too long.

“...if you don’t, I'll tape oven mitts to your hands, like a toddler with chickenpox.”

Dazai snorted, willingly taking the bait. 

“Actually, picking at your stitches soften the skin and make it scar less,” Dazai proclaimed matter of factly.

Kunikida side-glanced at his bandaged partner, for once, understanding where this was going-

“You should probably write that down,” Dazai smirked knowingly, receiving a chuckle in response, and a light smack across the head.

[fuuwas]

Part 1 ( Jumin / Jaehee / Zen / Yoosung )

@love-dreams-unless-delusional asked: ❝ Rfa and V headcanon reaction to an older lady giving their female s/o shit. S/o did not even do anything. S/o is calm because she expects over 50s to act this way to younger generations. She admits though that if she was physically touched at all she would of beat the person up. ❞

♡ Poor Jihyun would be so confused. Why is this woman yelling at you all of a sudden? Is she unwell? His lips would part in surprise as he stares at the mess before him, stunned into silence for a few seconds. His protective instincts will kick in immediately after, and like Zen, he'll swiftly place himself between you and the ajumma, the polite smile on his face not reaching his eyes. Jihyun is a very nice man; he rarely raises his voice and he doesn’t like to argue. If the woman had been yelling at him, V would have politely tried to calm her down. He’s a naturally likable person, and the rude stranger would have melted under the light of his smile.

But when someone is bugging you, it's a whole different story. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t bother my girlfriend.” His voice would be calm but stern, like a teacher scolding a bratty child. I headcanon that when Jihyun gets mad, he has the same big dick energy as Jumin, only he’s ten time scarier because he still manages to look polite while he’s ripping you to shreds.

“She didn't do anything wrong. Or would you prefer I called the authorities? I’m sure this would qualify as harassment after all...” The charming smile would stay on his face the whole time and it would be a truly terrifying sight. The woman would blush and stammer out a hurried apology before clearing off, mortified at being told off by such a handsome gentleman.

“Sorry about that...” He'd turn towards you with an apologetic expression on his face (even though it wasn't his fault at all), “Are you alright, my love?” Jihyun would wrap his arms around you in a comforting embrace, gently patting your head and running his fingers down the length of your hair. He'll probably end up being the one who's more emotionally drained by the encounter, because the thought of anyone being mean to you breaks his heart. If you told him you were ready to beat the crap out of that lady, he would give you an eye-smile and a nervous chuckle, amazed at how...feisty you can be.

“I know you can defend yourself...” He'd place his forehead on yours, eyes glossing over with affection and voice turning unbearably soft, “...but I’d like you to lean on me from time to time. I promise I won't let anything happen to you.”

♡ Being rude to you when Saeyoung is around is not a good idea; that old prune has signed her sanity away the second she decided to open her mouth to insult you. It takes a lot to really piss Seven off, so he wouldn’t be screaming or getting ready to throw hands much like Zen was about to do, but this ugly person who think she can just say things to you is not going to leave this encounter unscathed. You’d be able to see the gears start turning in his head as his bewildered expression turns into a shit-eating grin, the same one he wears when he’s about to make Yoosung’s day worse.

He’ll find a way to mock her and confuse her without missing a bit, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a friendly gesture as he subtly moves her away from you and reminds her that Halloween is over and she should be taking off her witch mask, going off a million different tangents as he articulates lie after lie with the sole intent of annoying this woman like she’s never been annoyed before. “Don’t you know our heavenly Father has said not to bother young ladies on the street? It is a sin punishable by sticking six hundred and sixty-six loaves of bread up your nostrils. What? You didn’t know? Aren’t you a God-fearing woman?”

Luciel would troll her into begging him to leave her alone while you laugh and hold your stomach in the background. Having scared her away. he would cheerfully trot back to you, glomping you and squishing you against him as you giggle.

“You really have a knack for attracting weird people, honey.” Saeyoung will tenderly nuzzle his cheek against yours, your touch calming down his concealed irritation at what that awful old lady said to you, “...Are you okay? She didn’t hurt you with her ramblings, did she?” He’d give you a soft, concerned look as his silly facade fades away.

He’ll let out a huge sigh of relief once you tell him that, yes, you’re just fine, still squeezing you in a warm bear hug as he tries to comfort you anyway. If you tell him you were ready to fight that stupid woman, Saeyoung would laugh and shake his head, “Yeah, yeah, I know. You were making that super hot face you make when you’re about to fight someone right before I stepped in! (lol)”

♡ Saeran is already not fond of adults. That coupled with the fact that this adult is being an asshole to you is enough to make him wish for her immediate evaporation. You know how scary your boyfriend can be and this foolish lady is about to learn it, too. You can feel it in the way his hand possessively tightens around yours, his eyes sliding into venomous slits as he glares at her. He’d turn into a complete ice prince, the chilling expression on his usually calm face enough to freeze the ajumma in place.

“Are we going to have a problem?” His tone of voice would be curt, disrespectful and resonating with the hint of a warning. It would catch you off guard, because even though you know Saeran is very protective of you, he’s never talked to you this way before, not even when you were trapped in Mint Eye and he was tormenting you. This is the kind of voice he once reserved for V and his brother - a terrible, egotistic, heartless sound that makes it easy to imagine him with a choker around his neck and very pronounced shadows under his eyes.

Saeran would stare straight into the woman’s ugly soul as he enunciates, “Leave. Don’t ever come close to my girlfriend again.” And that would be enough to make her turn tail and run. His icy stare would stay on the ajumma until he can’t see her anymore, the image of her face burned into his mind, then he’d turn to you, his expression softening with adoration as he squeezes your hand.

“I’m fine, Saeran,” You’d answer the question in his eyes with a pretty smile on your face, “And that was really cool.”

“Oh?~ Was it?” Saeran would chuckle softly, delighted at being praised as he brings your hand up to his lips and kisses it, “I’m cool, aren’t I? A cool boyfriend that will always protect you. I think I deserve a reward for my hard work.” He’d lean towards you with a smug look on his face, only to falter as you kiss his lips instead of his cheek like he was expecting, blinking dazedly when you pull away. 

If you told him you were about to clock that old lady in the face, he would scoff and tease you, his eyes glinting with amusement, “Right? I shouldn’t have said anything then.” Honestly, he’s an enabler he would have loved to see that. 

[imagine-valhalla]

BEING HARALD’S AND HALFDAN’S LITTLE SISTER WOULD INCLUDE:

◾ Being apart of such a dysfunctional family would be challenging. Many people would fear you and your brothers, due to the savage reputation that they have conjured up over time.

◾ Your older brothers would often tease you, ultimately being more protective of you than necessarily needed.

◾ This at times would annoy you deeply because you don’t enjoy being teased by your brothers, since they seek out to embarrass you until your wits are dizzy. Yet also, you would not be allowed to grow close to many people, the brothers often mistrusting everyone else.

◾ This would often lead to your lovers being slaughtered or anyone who stabbed you in the back to be executed in a way that you would not wish upon your enemies. (This would also include people who grew too close to you.)

◾ You would fear your brothers at times, but you would also find comfort in them. They’d show how much they care for you in their own ways, and you would definitely feel that love.

◾ You would often find your eldest brother, King Harald, to be the more overbearing one of the bunch, and much more annoying than Halfdan. He would jibe at you, just to see you blush and to creep under your skin. No one would have seen such a playful side to the King if it weren’t for you.

◾ Halfdan would be the one that you went to in order to be listened to. Harald is much more charismatic, able to throw his opinion around without even giving it a single thought. Whereas Harald would often listen to you, being silent before giving you his view - if he even had one -.

◾ It would be certain that you would bring a more pleasant side to your brother Halfdan the Black. People would get to see a side that would almost make them look twice. It’s not that he would be soft, but you would get him to let his guard down, having him be more talkative than him being around Harald.

◾ Halfdan would definitely back his brother up in taunting you, often being the one to go after you once things had riled you up and you stalked off in a huff.

◾ Your brothers would forbid you to be in any battle or raid with or without them, or at all. They would appear caustic about the topic, but in fact - deep down - they would love you with all their hearts, too afraid to lose you.

◾ Even the thought of seeing or hearing of you being in harm, having you die, would force them to tumble down to rock bottom, making them all the more unstable.

◾ They would often undermine you because you’re their little sister, they think they should be the ones to protect you, often surprised when you are the one protecting them.

◾ You would certainly not be a fan of Elisif, - along with your brother Halfdan -, you would find her unsuitable, seeing through her lies and games. You would feel sympathy for your brother; and you would have voiced your distaste for her, only for Harald to grow so cross with you that you daren’t bring it up again.

◾ Anybody who decided to pursue you or even insinuate affections towards or about you would feel their merciless wrath. They would be cruel about it, terrifying anybody that dared to speak of you or be around you in any context.

◾ But that isn’t to say that they wouldn’t warm up to someone who did truly love you and would treat you right. It would take a millennium for them to even grow comfortable with the idea, but if they saw that they treated you right and that you were happy, they would consider not killing or torturing them.

◾ But one whiff of anything fishy and they would end them.

◾ Even though your brothers would not like you to come along, they would find it hard not to travel anywhere without you. They would enjoy your company, finding that the only way to ensure that you are protected whilst they traveled was to have you close.

◾ Yet if they deemed it too dangerous, they would leave you behind (especially during raids), stating that there wasn’t any place for you there, damaging your confidence. They would keep you under the watch of some of their best warriors and shield-maidens, ensuring that you do not perish or have harm come to you.

◾ Despite the fact that Harald and Halfdan are quite inhumane at times, (particularly on raids and towards Christians) they would shelter you from certain things and I believe this strongly because you’re their little sister, they wish not to have things haunting you.

◾  You would certainly know the wrath of your brother’s and would witness much of it.

◾ Your brothers would keep you under their watch at all times. You would not even be able to dream of wanting to wander off and explore or get away from it all. They’d always be there to stop you.

◾ “What do you think you’re doing, dear sister?” Halfdan’s eerie and husky voice appearing to your left from out of nowhere.

◾ “Must I be watched over like I am an infant? Can I not explore Kattegat on my own?” You would state back, rolling your orbs.

◾ You could be just as fierce as your brothers, but much gentler too. It all depends solely on your mood.

◾ You would often spar with your brothers. They wouldn’t let you win, they’d take a fatherly role of making sure that you could defend yourself better than they could.

◾ Harald’s sword impaled the  ground beside your head with a thud that caused pain to rattle through your body. “And now, you would be dead.” He would spit down at you, sweat coating his flesh, his eyes burning strictly down at you as you stared at him in horror.

◾ “I-I tried my b-best.” You’d gulp out, too afraid to move.

◾ “Trying gets you nowhere, sister.”

◾ The loyalty between yourself and your brothers would run thicker than any material upon earth. Nothing could break you apart from them.

◾ If you put yourself in harms way, your brothers would lose their minds.

◾ “What do you think you are doing?!” Halfdan would bark at you, eyes darker than the chilly darkness of night.

◾ “If I do not do something, Harald will be a dead man! You saw the way he killed Elisifs’ husband.” You’d retort sharply at your brother, wheeling around to face him.

◾ “What is in those chambers is not for you to involve yourself in. I strongly suggest that you stay out of it.” He’d growl, pushing past you.

◾ “And when will you and brother quit acting like I am a child!” You’d shout after him, rage burning your insides out.

◾ “It will happen the day that your mind quits mimicking one of stupidity.”

◾ If your brothers saw you crying or hurt in anyway, they would get their men and assemble a plan to kill whoever upset you; and it doesn’t matter who it is.

◾  If you were afraid or terrified, your brothers would pick it up in a heartbeat. They’d be uncomfortable in comforting you but find someway to calm you down.

◾ “I swear to you that Ragnar Lothbrok will not kill me. So you have not to worry.” Harald would smile at you, patting your head in a way that was a softness only reserved for you. “Do not jump forward into what you do not know.” He’d hum to you.

◾ “It was only a dream, little one.” Halfdan would mumble from the opposite side of your chambers, frightening you witlessly. “If you are crazed enough to believe that we would let even a phantom in your wake, you are sadly mistaken.” He would lean forward, black orbs hypnotizing yet soft.

◾ You would always find the courage to tease your brothers back. It could often surprise them with the mouth that you have, but depending on their mood would be whether they take it lightheartedly or not.

◾ You would not always bear well with the rules your brothers imposed upon you. You would find them useless, not understanding that they are only trying to protect you. You would often sneak off when their attentions are whisked away, trying to escape from their opposing decrees.

◾ Even though your brothers would grow relentlessly angry at you for running away, you would fire it back upon them, showing them that you could be just as heartless if you wanted: Also reminding them that you weren’t their prisoner. You were their sister and as their duty as brothers, they were to let you be happy.

◾ They would make sure that you are taken care of at all times, even in the harshest of environments.

◾ The reason for their alarming protectiveness over you is due to the way you all grew up. Once Harald became king, it made you three a target. They had to protect you to whatever cost.

◾ If your brothers were upset, you would often annoy them with how you wished to comfort them. They would shake off how they felt, burying it away, which you would advice was not the best. However, they were already unsettled, not right in the mind. So what more damage could it do?

◾ Sometimes they would come to you to help with strategies and such, because you are wise and they trust your intuition. They may not always listen but they secretly know that you are right.

◾ You would stand up for your brothers even though they could do so for themselves.

◾ “If you are not aware, King Harald is my brother.” You’d spit your poison so venomously. “You’d be a fool to double cross my brothers, but even more so a fool to have me hear about it.”

◾ They would show their affection for you with the ruffle of your hair, hugging you to their sides, clapping your shoulder, giving you a softer look.

◾ “I want you to remember that I only love three people.” Harald would hum deep in the night when the fire is burning out and Halfdan is asleep. “You sister, Halfdan and my princess. You are the only ones that I ever will.”

◾ Besides one another, you would actually be their soft spot, a weakness of theirs. They would do anything for their little sister.

◾ Despite anything, your brothers would truly love and care for you, even if they appeared cold and with no feelings. Anybody who would think that they didn’t care for you would be sadly mistaken.

king harald finehair & halfdan the black gif : source - 🏹

hope you enjoyed! please follow for more, lovelies.

[poklina]

nobody asked but yet here it is. i rewrote monday’s scene with jace crying because i love suffering

chapter 2 of torn apart on saturday and then something big comin in abt a week anyways here it is

skyline - 2.3k

The first time he found Alec on the roof of the Institute, Jace didn't really understand why he had to come up here to let out his anger. It was cold, and the New York traffic was loud and distracting, and if Alec wanted to shoot arrows, why didn't he just do it down in the training room?

But Alec kept going up there, and Jace kept following.  At any hour of the day or night, you could be sure that Jace has sat with his back to the door, just watching Alec shoot arrow after arrow until his hands were rubbed raw. It got to a point where Jace just stopped asking why, and started asking how can I help.

Damn, what I'd give for someone to ask me why.

The thought floated through his head like a piece of paper on the wind, quickly brought down by another choking sob that clawed it's way out of his throat. He didn't know how long he'd been up here, and he found that he really didn't care. His head was pounding and another wave shot through it every time another pathetic cry tore out of his throat. No one could hear him up here, or see him.

Maybe that's why Alec came up here so often.

The heel of his hands came up to wipe at his eyes roughly , resulting in just more blurred vision and hot tears sliding down his face. Why was he so fucking upset?

Oh yeah. Simon.

He'd tried to avoid him, he really did. After the bite, Jace felt like he couldn't breathe when he was around Simon. Of course, that wasn't really any different from normal, but this...this was worse. Every time he saw him, he was just reminded him of everything he could never have; a happy ending. Simon was with Clary, and obviously loved every minute that he was, that much was obvious. What with the constant kissing and the hugging and twirling and -

Anyways. He'd thought it would've gotten better with time, with distance and separation, but even that didn't work. Because Simon was everywhere, even when he wasn't physically around. Jace kept seeing everywhere; in Clary's smile, in Izzy's jokes, in Jace's blood, crawling towards his heart like a poison. So he turned to fighting, training. The only thing he really knew about himself right now. In the courtyard, sparring with Alec, he almost felt normal again. Felt like nothing had changed.

But then Inquisitor Herondale showed up just to punctuate the fact that none of this was in any way 'normal'.

Being sent to get Clary felt like the universe had a personal vendetta against him. Because whenever Clary wasn't in the Institute, she was with Simon. And there he was. Sitting on a bench, looking every bit like the normal Mundane that he had grown to hate so much, just soaking up the sun like it was all just a regular fucking day. But none of this was fucking normal, and he didn't know why he was so angry all of a sudden, they're dating, they're allowed to sit together, you prick -

And then Simon had to lean in to kiss her, and the only thing that Jace could see was red.

Because he had felt that way before. He had felt Simon underneath him, drawing blood into his mouth like sucking a bruise into his neck, and Jace knew he shouldn't interfere, he knew that Simon was never his to begin with, he knew all of this and he hated that he knew it. Because he wanted more.  Jace hated that he wanted more, wanted to feel Simon under him again and again and again, and in more places than just his arm. A fire roared in his stomach as he watched them on the bench, his brain clouded over with pictures of him and Simon against a wall, Simon sucking bruises into his neck, Jace doing the same, and Jace knew that he shouldn't want this, but oh, he did.

By God, did he want that.

It took every ounce of strength in him to move out from behind the van and step up to the happy couple without tearing Clary away and launching her into the river before them. Jace had become detached, a cold anger slowly searing it's way through his veins, and he thought it better this way. Because at least now, he could actually stand to look at Simon.

But then the idiot vampire started to talk to him.

He barely heard anything that he was saying, just letting his autopilot take over, lest he say something completely out of line. Distantly, he heard his responses to Simon's genuine kindness, too sharp and cruel for someone this genuine. He just wanted to walk away, find a tree to collapse against and scream into his palms how fucking unfair it was that he couldn't have him.

Simon actually leaned into hug him. Thank God he had enough mindfulness to turn him down bitterly, words slicing through the air like knives. Lord knows what he would've done had Simon actually had the chance to hold him.

(A small, selfish part of him wants to go back and find out.)

--

Oh. He remembers why he's on the roof. It's because of Clary.

She knows that they're not related. It should feel like a weight lifted off of his chest, a responsibility that he no longer has to be the sole keeper of. But it doesn't feel like that.

This feels like a bitter acid, eating away at him. Repeating everything she said to him in bright, bright Technicolor. Of course he didn't tell her at first. He know's exactly what she's going to do, and he can't bear to see Simon hurt like that. If she thinks it's about her, it is. It's all about her and what she's going to do to Simon when she finally decides she's sick of her rebound. And Jace swears to every living thing, he doesn't want Simon to get hurt. He doesn't want Simon to see how terrible love is like he did when his dad snapped his falcon's neck at 6 years old.

But another part of him does. Another part, dark and selfish, dripping in blood and vampire venom wants to see Simon break. And he wants to be there to pick up the pieces, put him back together gently and carefully, until his cracks are no more than shining silver scars.

Jace wants to hate that part of himself, but he can't fucking do it.

She told him to feel, that emotions can be helpful. How can she so…blind. Can't she see that's exactly what got him up here in the first place? He feels so strongly around Simon, it fucking feels like its tearing him apart, that's what it fucking feels like. He can't even stand to think of him, let alone be near him. Simon like is a flame and he is gunpowder, and he knows to the core of his soul that he needs to leave him alone, stay far, far away from this sunshine bright man, but he - he just can't. Jace wants to know what it's like to go up in flames, and love every second of it.

Is this what you mean, Clary? Is this how you want me to 'feel'? he thinks viciously, triggering a new flood of tears to come down over his face, teeth grinding together. He's been up here for only 5 minutes. Already, he doesn't remember what he was crying about. He just knows that when Clary hurts Simon, he will rip her limb from limb and see how she fucking feels about that -

The door scrapes across the bottom of the roof, sending a jarring noise straight up Jace's spine that tightens every muscle in his body with apprehension, waiting for the mocking of whoever's behind him. That is, until he hears Alec start to talk about the Inquisitor, like he could care about whatever that old lady was doing. He barely hears anything Alec is saying to him, until his hand lands on his shoulder and turns him around gently, absorbing the sight of Jace's bloodshot eyes and tears streaked face.

He doesn't ask any questions. He just pulls Jace close to him and lets him feel a little bit longer.

--

They eventually end up with their backs to the door, looking out over the New York skyline in silence. Alec hasn't said anything since he came up here, and the only noise Jace has made is the aborted sobs that he tries desperately to keep pushed down in his chest. He's stopped crying, for the most part. Alec's shoulder is wet with the proof that it took him longer than it should have to stop, and his pounding headache provides more evidence. They simply sit side by side, Alec waiting for the explanation that he knows Jace desperately needs to give. But he doesn't push. He knows what it's like to be pushed.

"It's him, Alec." Jace finally says, barely louder than a whisper, but Alec can hear him clear as day.

"Simon?"

"Of course its fucking Simon. He's been causing me problems since day fucking one and now I can't - I can't get him out of my head -" Jace continues, eyes screwed shut and hands pressing hard into his temples, as if he was trying to push any thought of Simon out of existence. God, if only it worked that way.

"What happened that night?" Alec asked slowly, glancing over at Jace to gauge his reaction. None was given; he simply stayed as he was, knees locked to his chest and hands buried in his hair.

"You can't tell anyone. Okay? Not Clary, or Izzy, or Luke, no one. No one can know, Alec."

"I swear it."

Jace swallowed hard, and his conversation with Simon came back in full force at the front of his mind. Of course, he shouldn't tell Alec. But at this point, he didn't really seem to care.

"Valentine - Valentine slit his throat open. Alec, it was - it was awful. There was so much blood, fuck -" Jace managed to get out before his throat closed up entirely. Images flashed through his head, the red red red of Simon's blood against his skin, the coppery tang in the room that hit him like a train. It was all Jace could do to not start crying again then and there. "I went in as Clary to - to try and save him."

"He bit you." Alec said quietly, a slow realization blooming in his chest.

"Yea." Jace whispered back, sounding like the shell of a man who had been broken one too many times and was tired of being put back together.

"And then?"

"What do you think, Alec?" Jace said, a venomous sort of desperation leaking into his voice like oil dripping from his tongue. "He bit me, and I liked it. I thought I liked him before, but now - now I can't get him away from me." At this, he finally looked up at Alec, eyes considerably dryer than before but still hard and cold with anger. "Alec. He's - he's in my skin, and my blood, and every time I look at him I want him so fucking badly. And - and I know I can't have him, can't ever fucking have him and it - it makes me want him even more."

Alec doesn't respond. How can he? What do you say to someone who's never going to get what they deserve, as much as they want it? Jace was right; Simon is happy with Clary -

And suddenly it all makes sense.

Of course he didn't tell her. He wanted to win Simon over, not come crawling to him to try and pick up the pieces. Alec's heart feels like its been cracked in 2, clean and sharp, no pain, just a dull aching throb of I'msorryI'msorryJaceI'msososorry. But even as Alec looked at Jace helplessly, he couldn't help but get stuck on something else he'd said.

"You liked him - before?" Alec said quietly, more to the stone roof under him than the person sitting next to him. It didn't matter; Alec could still feel Jace's sharp intake of breath after he realized what he'd just said. There was silence for a moment or two, as Jace tried to weigh how much of a mess he'd already made, and how much more could be made with his next few words.

"Of course I did."

There was nothing more to be said after that. Both of them knew that nothing could ever come of whatever Jace wanted. There were too many variables, too many things that could go wrong. Jace tried but failed to hold back another sob as the heels of his hands dug into his eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears that was steadily making it way down his face. Alec heard the choked noise and scooted closer to Jace, swinging an arm around him and pulling him into his side.

They sat that way for a long moment, Alec resting his head against the stone behind him as Jace continued to cry into his side. This was a part of Jace that didn't surface very often, and yet when it did, it came with a vengeance that required at least half an hour to calm him down. Every time he got this way, Alec's heart broke a little more for his parabatai, someone who deserves the world and gets nothing in return.

Jace still doesn't quite understand why Alec comes up here so often, but after today, he thinks he's starting to get it.