#im. weeps and holds my head into my hands in despair.

[icharchivist]

Chikage’s 3rd flair (the usual fanservice minichat one) has him talk about how the Spring troupe is trying to get information out of him, and yet that way he learns more about them and he enjoys getting to know more abut them, and then he turns to Izumi like “do you want to hear more about me? okay. lean me your ear” and then he gets EXTREMELY CLOSE TO THE CAMERA TO REALLY TRANSLATE THAT HE IS WHISPERING DIRECTLY TO HER EAR

and it’s to say how he prefers to eat his curry. he’s CLOWNING ME.

and then he ends up being all teasy because :) yeah it’s still learning about me! and it’s implied Izumi gets pouty because he replies something that a friend of mine translated "Well, there's no need to know in hurry. We'll be getting along for a long time, right?” but google translate translated the “getting along” part as “we’ll be in a long relationship after all”

and i’m

i’m having a moment. 

[yatsurinamikaze]

Sombre (ninth - part ii) - (ninth - part iii) - (tenth)

//tw: miscarriage, blood, depression, dark stuff.

Miya Atsumu x Reader (angst)

The Eisa festival finally arrived, bringing with it a palpable sense of excitement that enveloped the entire village. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, and lanterns adorned the streets, casting a warm, inviting glow. The rhythmic beat of taiko drums filled the air, mingling with the joyful laughter of children and the hum of animated conversations.

The villagers gathered in the central square, dressed in vibrant traditional attire. The women wore bright kimonos, and the men donned happi coats, each garment adorned with intricate patterns and vivid colors. Dancers prepared for their performances, adjusting their hanagasa hats and practicing their movements.

You and your father joined the celebration, you found comfortable seating on the pier, your spirits lifted by the festive atmosphere. As you watched the dancers perform the traditional Eisa dance, your father leaned in to explain, “You know, the Eisa festival is more than just a celebration; it's a tribute to our ancestors. It's said that during Obon, the spirits of our ancestors return to visit, and we dance to honor and entertain them."

Your heart swelled with emotion as you listened to your father's words. The thought of your ancestors watching over everyone brought a sense of peace. You turned to your father, your voice tinged with curiosity and reverence. "Do you think Mother is watching us too?" You asked softly.

Your father gazed at the dancers for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I believe she is, y/n. Our loved ones never truly leave us. They live on in our memories, in the traditions we uphold, and in the love we share. Your mother is a part of this celebration, just as much as we are."

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but your smiled, feeling a profound sense of peace. "I hope she's happy seeing us here together,"you whispered.

You father placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his eyes reflecting the same mix of sorrow and hope. "I'm sure she is. And I think she would be proud of the strength and resilience you've shown. Life has its challenges, but we find joy and meaning by staying connected to our roots and to each other.”

You look at the little dressed up kids, playing in the background, feeling the bile rising in your throat and your heart getting heavier.

“But Im anything but resilient.” You frown. You confesses about the miscarriage and the reason you came home after so long was because you and Atsumu broke up. Your father looks at you with concern, “What happened? Did Atsumu do something?"

Through her tears, you shake her head. "No, it was me. I completely shut myself off, he tried you know. I just..” You sniffle.

Her father wraps his arms around her, letting her weep on his shoulder. "I had no idea you were carrying so much pain. I'm sorry, y/n. I'm so sorry for not being there for you."

You pull back slightly, eyes filled with a mixture of anger and despair. "I didn’t want to burden you. You've already been through so much. And look at me—I couldn’t even keep my own marriage together."

He shakes his head, tears glistening in his own eyes. "You are never a burden. Never. I wish you had told me. We could have faced this together.” You nod your head gently as he holds you against his shoulder.

“You know y/n, your mother was a formidable woman. She had this strength that was quiet but unyielding. And I always saw so much of her in you.” You sniffle, "I don’t feel strong. I feel like I’m falling apart.”

"When your mother passed away," he begins, his voice filled with emotion and regret, "“I just.. I just saw so much of her in you know? Every time I looked at you, I just.. couldnt. I thought you would be able to deal with your emotions. I was drowning in my own grief and always thought you were brave and would brave this as well. But I think I went wrong there. I should have talked about it, shared my feelings, and not let this wall build up between us."

He sighs deeply, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Not talking about our feelings became the norm in the house. You shouldn't blame yourself for it; I'm partially to blame as well. We never talked about anything... and I guess that changed you."

He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "I guess that's why you shut yourself off from Atsumu as well. But that’s not a good thing to do. In good relationships, you talk about things. Your mother always said the same. She believed that love was about sharing everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly."

You nod, her heart aching with the weight of his words. "I want to do better, Dad. But I don’t know how. I feel so broken."

He hugs her tightly, his voice breaking. "You’re not broken, y/n. You’re hurting. And it’s okay to hurt. You just need to believe that you can heal. And remember, we're in this together. Always."

As they stood side by side, the past began to blend with the present, their shared grief transforming into a shared hope. The festival, with its joyful noise and vibrant energy, became a backdrop for their healing, a reminder that even in the midst of sorrow, there is space for joy and reconnection.

The night stretched on, filled with laughter and the hum of life, and as you and your father joined in the festivities, you found themselves woven into the fabric of the celebration, your hearts beginning to mend with every passing moment. The festival's spirit of unity and remembrance wrapped around you both, offering a promise of new beginnings and the strength to face the future together.

Masterlist

[georgette-mademoiselle]

Georgette and sekido part 8

overthinking

This one is kinda a continuation to the last one i made yesterday

Even since the beginning of there first encounter she had always tried to keep away from him because he was very intimidating but after finally bieng alone to talk to him that fateful day there relationship started to slowly develop from there but would revert back when his anger got the best of him towards her accidentally.

But on this particular day she was avoiding him for a week now and soon his rage would dwell into fear he thought he was going to lose her for good and choose to be with the others instead of him permanently.

He was in his working station in his room mot even able to concentrate as he fidgets around his pen while the other massages his temple his leg making the same movement as his working hand he was nervous more so that his beloved could possibly be thinking to leave him now because he went to far in his words.

He may be the embodiment of anger but still shares the same anxiety as hantengu just not to that extreme. Soon his chest almost felt tight and suddenly hes gulping down his weakness near the edge of wanting to have a paranoid breakdown never in his life has he felt such guilt for his actions not like this hes not used to this feeling at all and it only agitates him more that hes in this vulnerable state of despair and shame.

But then the door slides open he had forgotten to lock it. it was georgette, she had come to check up on him after never leaving his room all day today sne was worried for his well-being but before she could even say anything something was already wrong by the shaking body gesture and hands clutched onto his head "sekido!" She called.

Immideatly he jolted to her way. His eyes where wide in fear and it looked as if he was fighting back tears seeing the glisten of his eyes while sweating. His panick attack was about to hit full blown but her presence and look of genuine concern blocked it from happening.

"g-gerogie..." Just before she could move towards him with open arms sekido jumped out of his seat to hold her missing her warmth her gentlness her scent everything about this woman he missed it all. Wrapping his arms around her waist before he fell to his knees the wetness of her dress as he silently sobs of relief.

"sekido! Sekido! Hey whats wrong? My thunder storm why do you weep?" She kneels down letting him rest upon her lap as he lets it all out fingers caressing his soft auborn colored hair.

His words took time to put together, pulling together to stop from hyperventilating until finally words managed to escape his mouth.

" i-i-...im sorry! Ok there! Sorry! I know im not the kindest of person in the world infact i dont even deserve to be treated with such gesture! Y-you deserve better ok! Go with ai hes more empathetic o-or urogi! He can make you smile! Even stupid karaku would be better of with you! J-just...*fighting the urge not to cry again* anyone but me ok! I dont want to hurt you like that ever again I'm sorry georgie im so sorry!...."

She sat there and listened to his woes, she had no idea that he would have been affected by her absence, she only wanted to give him room to breath no matter how long it taked but that wasnt the case sekido missed her since day one of leaving him alone and now his guilt took a toll on him that she would leave him for somone else somone better and kinder. Yet little did sekido know he was kind a very different kind of kindness that was rare to see.

" my love, why do you say such nonsense? I already have the most kindest most understanding man right her on my lap." She moves her other hand to rub his shoulder.

" your motherly nature when you look out for your comrades is something i admire, perhaps strict but nonetheless its because you care for there safety"

" and dont think ive forgotten the time when you nurtured me during the time i came home with my face disfigured you still complimented me thoughtful after i was feeling low self esteem in that moment and to top it off you even came to my care when i was sick due to my ability even though you didnt have to. i think about it often "she chuckles placing a kiss on his forhead.

" you are loved sekido, and you are wanted. Nobody is perfect and thats ok...im not eather. No matter how rocky our relationship gets i want us to be able to solve it together because at the end of the day while i love the other three i want to be with *you* more than anyone sekido.."

He listened and the more he did the more he was gaining his composure again. He needed to hear that this was something hes been needing to hear for a long time now. Hes flawed and thats ok she is aswell. As his worries finally drift away sekido finally had the courage to slowly lift himself up to her nuzzling on the crook of her neck the same she did to him during that day of her mental breakdown.

"thank you, my rose..."

"i really needed to hear that..." He deeply sighed feeling true relaxation now.

" i think if you hadnt had come here any time i would have already bashed my head againts the wall along with the other idiots."

She only laughed

" where going to have to work on a different approach for a better anger management for example"

Hands him a rubber stress ball "tada!'

"....what the fuck is that?'" he looked at it with disgust the texture feeling wrong to him

" a stress management ball you can squeeze it throw it and smash it to let your anger all out see? Im good at this!"

He just stares at it and then clutches it with his fists then snorts.

" well this sure looks fun.."

"because it is my little lightning bolt ❤️"

Dividers by @/elryisia

[shuniverse]

tea left cold ,,|| k.krg

💌 modern au , non-despair au , kyoko has sleep issues , f!reader , hurt/comfort ;;

🫶 ;;

kyoko never had good sleep. and she certainly doesn’t now, not as she’s making herself tea.

she knows you’d be upset if you knew she was up, but she just couldn’t fall asleep, and she didn’t wanna make you stay up with her constant tossing.

but, her stomach drops a bit at the sound of padding bare feet through the hallway.

“kyoko..?”

your voice makes her frown just a little, loving how sleepy and adorable it sounds, but it just makes her a bit more sad.

“oh, love, head back to bed, I.. I’ll be back soon.”

“uh-uh, darling you need sleep. is there anything I can do to help?”

she shakes her head. always her answer.

no. you can’t help, you’re beautiful and I wanna gaze at you as I sleep but I just can’t fall asleep. I just can’t. my eyelids can’t stay shut. is it nerves? is it my love for you? no that’s cliche, and we both know I’m not that cliche. it’s all annoying, so so annoying.

“my darling.” in her unfocused state, you’d made your way to her, and you’re gently holding her cheek, making her come back to reality as she leans into your touch, tiredly gazing at you. “I can see the bags under your eyes, my love. you really need some sleep. is it the new case?”

she doesn’t respond, and you know you hit the nail.

“darling, we both knew that case was heavy. why’d you go after it?”

she sighs. “I..” you wait patiently for her to answer, and so she does.

“I just couldn’t stand to leave it alone. yes, the case is heavy and difficult and mind-numbing, but.. I just couldn’t help but what to go after it. im sorry, I.. I don’t know if I can even get out of it- like- it f-feels..”

as soon as she hears herself stutter, she pauses. she hates sounding fragile in front of you, or anybody else. the loss of her father, the trouble she’s been through with her old classmates, the constant pressure of her grandfather; it’s all made her so closed off.

but as she looks at your soft, caring expression, she feels her walls breaking down bit by bit, and tears fill her waterline. “I-I.. I just didn’t.. I don’t know if I can leave.. and.. I don’t.. w-wanna..”

the tears start to fall, and you sigh softly, holding her face in both hands and placing a kiss on her nose.

“I don’t wanna d-disappoint.. anybody. not you, not my father, not my.. g-grandfather..”

“shh, shh, darling, no need to say any more. we can call about it in the morning, okay? let’s head back to bed, you need sleep, my love.”

she sighs shakily and nods. “I.. I’m sorry..”

you immediately shake your head and tilt her head to look at you in the eyes. “no, baby, no apologizing. you have a right to emotions, hm? darling it’s okay, tears are always okay. I’ll always be here for you, yea?”

she nods, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her head on your shoulder. and soon, you hear silent weeping and your oversized tee shoulder wet with her tears.

you give a small sad smile, gently kissing her head as she quietly sobs into your shoulder.

“my darling, hey, shh.. I’m here, it’s okay, you’re okay..” you gently rock her, petting her head.

after about 5 minutes that feel like half an hour, she lifts her head, usually cool and collected eyes and face wet and puffy.

you softly smile, hand resting against her cheek and rubbing your thumb against it gently. “let’s head to bed, okay, darling?”

she nods, kissing your palm softly. “okay, love.. I.. really need it.”

you giggle, kissing her nose and nodding. “yes you do, honey. c’mon, darling, I’ll fluff your pillows extra tonight.”

she gives a gentle smile. “thank you, beautiful.”

you smile, and walk with her back to your bedroom.

the tea, however, was left cold on the counter the rest of the night.

;;

I hope u enjoyed <3

I love kyoko, dearly, and I thought I’d write some hurt/comfort for fun 😋

stay safe lovelies 🫶

[fionajames]

how the wound heals

this is a bit short, but here. supposed to be hurt/comfort but more hurt. like, 70/30 instead of 50/50. this is for @lovejoysoots, so you can blame them for making u cry/j (dont actually, their amazing and he's my friend and epic.) (u can blame me).

PLEASE PEOPLE REQUEST THINGS SO I CAN STOP SQUEEZING IDEAS OUT OF THE SAME TWO PEOPLE

Anyways, enjoy, i hope this makes u cry (i say lovingly)

Ahsoka stared at the wall across from her, studying every scratch and inch of it. She’d been doing that for what felt like hours, waiting on Rex’s return as the emotionless numb infesting her grew with every passing second.

Some things we can’t stop, she thought, the image of Jesse ready to shoot them appearing in her head. She flinched, thinking of his laugh and warm presence, and then the lifeless look in his eyes when they’d discovered his body.

The door opened and she turned to it half-heartedly, watching Rex shuffle inside and close it behind him, pulling his hood off. The bags under his eyes reflected her own as he sat down next to her, draping an arm over her shoulders wordlessly.

“It’s not your fault, Vod’ika,” he whispered and she sniffled, feeling her heart ache. Ahsoka desperately tried to cling onto any maturity her body contained, but all of a sudden, she felt like a child. Like her fourteen-year-old self, seeing her first friend die. A clone who’d cheered her up after Teth, had died in the next battle.

“Maybe it is,” she murmured, tears filling up her eyes and collecting in her lashes like raindrops. One fell to roll down her cheek and she brushed it away. Rex’s face softened in despair, pulling her into him for a hug. That was all it took for her to crack. Ahsoka let out a cry as she sobbed, burying her face in the crook of his neck as Rex soothingly stroked her lekku.

“There was nothing you could do.” Rex closed his eyes as his own tears fell from his golden eyes. Holding his sister close to him, he whispered comfort to her in words of velvet. “Nothing.”

Ahsoka weeped as the pain of the Order hit her again. “He’s dead, because of me. They all died, because of me.” She remembered the shattering feeling of Anakin's cries, the cries that made her instinctively turn to Rex. She’d barely had any time to think about it at that moment when she was fired upon, but now, it was all she thought about.

“Nothing” Rex repeated, tightening his grip on her as though he feared she might disappear. Ahsoka was the only thing Rex had, and Rex was the only thing Ahsoka had. But due to their situation, they had to split up. “One more week.”

Ahsoka nodded, scrambling to stand. Rex looked in heartbreak at her crestfallen face.

Oh, she was still just a kid. 

So was he. 

“I don’t want to separate,” she told him gently. Ahsoka thought of the time she and Barriss had been on the transport when the mind controlling worms had taken over. They’d separated, and their situation had only worsened.

Rex stood, wrapping his arms around her again. They stood and hugged in mostly silence, sniffles here in there as their sorrow encased them. But at least they weren’t alone.

“We have to,” Rex whispered his response, rocking them back and forth slightly. “For both of our safeties.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” she croaked out and he smiled sympathetically at his younger sister.

“It’s for my safety,” he replied, knowing that the only way to convince her was to remind her that he was keeping him safe. Ahsoka cared about Rex above herself, and he hated it, but it was true. It was a bit hypocritical of him - honestly - as he cared about her over himself. They were brother and sister, best friends, and it showed. “Just as I’m doing for you.”

“One more week?” Ahsoka pleaded, he nodded, even though he’d already agreed.

“One more week.”

alright, hope i see some tears.

love y'all, have a goodday/night

request stuff please im on my hands and knees begging.

[rainbowcarousels]

WIP Wednesday

Last week, @desertfangs posted about a work in progress Wednesday so Im deciding to keep it going. If you see this, please take it as a cue to share some of something you're working on if you so desire.

I'm still working on the Hurricane Lestat fics, but I have something else I've been messing around with on the back burner so that's what I'm posting today.

“I don’t like him.”

They were sitting on the rooftops watching the comings and goings of the people who wanted to gaze upon the ruined mind of the brat prince. To see if he had truly seen something beautiful, something real and that it had ripped him to shreds. Of course, they couldn’t see Lestat from this vantage point and getting closer was bound to arouse all the more suspicion if someone were to see them. Armand could block the minds of most, but he had no idea about Nicolas – assuming his appearance wasn’t some burning induced hallucination and he wasn’t sitting here talking to himself.

It wasn’t Lestat or one of the gutter rats that had made their pilgrimage to see him that Nicki was looking at, but Louis hurrying back from what Armand assumed was a quick feed, His shoulders looked hunched and his body was drawn against the cold, his hair in wild disarray in a way that made him look even more like his predecessor. 

It made looking at him unsettling.

“You don’t like anything.” Armand felt something pang in his chest, a longing he didn’t have it within in him now to dissect. It was hard to look at Louis from the outside, worse to see him unhappy. It stood to reason he was hurt by what had happened with Lestat – for better or worse, Louis loved his maker. 

“Did you see his face?” From the corner of his eye, Armand saw Nicolas shift. “Looked like he’d been crying of all things. Don’t people get enough weeping from Lestat? He had to make another eternally maudlin monster?”

Louis had never been much of a monster. Louis was more human than any of them. Maybe that had been their downfall – there was too much humanity, too much bleeding emotion through Louis and Armand didn’t know if he had enough left to fill so much as a cup. A cold he’d tried to banish from his thoughts time and time again had taken hold of every inch of his body, his heart trying to thrum against the icy silence within.

“What exactly is it about Saint Louis that is causing this hesitation?” Nicolas asked. “You claim you don’t care if they know you’re alive, they certainly didn’t mourn you for long when there was Lestat to over, so why are we still sitting here? Oh. You <I>love</i> him. You love him?”

Was it written so clearly in his face that he hadn’t had to say a single word? Of course he had loved Louis, he had wanted to give him the world but how do you give the world to someone who only floats through it like a spectre? How do you love freely with someone who was then defined by their despair? 

“Does he have some secret talent I’m unaware of?” Nicolas was practically sneering, the monster of jealousy a green shadow falling around him. “All I see is a mastery of melancholy. Is it a secret? Is it lewd? Is he more entertaining when his mouth is so full that he’s weeping for better reasons than the naughty, nebulous evils of the world?”

“Are you worried he’s better than you?” Armand forgets himself and snaps; he’d still too raw for any of this. 

“I don’t think it’s right for you to judge me on a diminished performance,” Nicolas kicked his leg at him, making Armand’s move. “I’m better at it when I have use of my hands and if you hadn’t been trying to punish me like some peculiar play of parenthood, I think we’d have had more fun.”

“Do you want an apology?” Armand asked.

“What for?” Nicolas asked, and this time, Armand drew his eyes from the ground below.

“Taking your hands,” Armand said “Sending you to sleep without feeding.”

Nicolas cocked his head to one side. His hair had probably been cut by him from the jagged ends, but it was still jarring to see him this way. “Would you mean it?”

Armand considered it. “No.”

“Then why bother with it?” Nicolas merely waved him off. “ If I wanted liars and fools, I’d have sought out Lestat before now.”

“I should have sewn your mouth shut instead,” Armand replied.

“A bloody kiss with a needle and thread,” Nicolas shrugged. It was strangely familiar, the nonchalance of it. It reminded him of something and someone he didn’t want to think about right now. “With romantic gestures such as those, I can’t imagine why your paramours keep running from you.”

[sungbeam]

ONLY YOU

▷ jjh x reader

▷ 0.5k words, inspired by the platters' only you

a/n: yeah so,,, had to indulge my jaehyun heart a little and i was just feeling this song 🤧😔 (couldn't wait until the jaehyun taylor swift au lmfaoo)

Oooonly yooouuu~ The sweet, deep voice crooned after the guitar, a stark contrast to the weeping that had once filled the apartment.

You whirled around, a stupid grin slapped on your face as you laughed through the tears cascading down the slopes of your cheeks. "You're so—you're so stupid."

Jeong Jaehyun smiled, his dimple deeply indented into his soft cheek. "Stupidly good," he corrected you as he made his way from the vinyl record player and to the couch. You had made yourself into a little cocoon of blankets and snotted tissue paper within the thirty minutes you had arrived home, stood up from your Valentine's date, having called Jaehyun on the way. 

To be completely honest, Jae was pissed that some idiot guy had stood you up, today of all days. He had happily excused himself from his own half-hearted date (a date he only accepted because you were going out) to come home to comfort you. He found you, wallowing in your own despair, all alone. And so he came in and quietly put the record on. 

Jaehyun wrapped his arms around you, blankets and used tissues and all, in greeting. "Hi, darling. How're you doing?"

You sniffled and wondered how he could stand the disgusting amount of snot that you were blowing into your tissue. "Okay," you replied quietly, voice hoarse from the sad amount of bawling you just did while he wasn't here. You thought it was stupid, how much you cried over the bozo who stood you up. "I look… like shit," you laughed, grimacing at the trash littered around you. 

"Your date was shit," he muttered back, suppressing the pure annoyance in his tone. "Why are you moping over him anyway?"

You looked at him, a silent question asking what else you were supposed to do. You had gotten all dolled up, only to get stood up. All of that makeup was gone, that pretty, red dress tossed into the back of your closet. 

(Jaehyun thought you looked good in everything, but the sweats you had on now were making his heart do a few cartwheels, actually.)

Jaehyun made a noise of indignation. "Tsk, no more of this." He suddenly stood, digging into your blankets to grab your hands and haul you up from the couch. 

"Jae—" 

"No," he refused, shaking his head. "I'm not letting you do this to yourself, Yn." He held both of your hands and smiled. (You could have died on the spot from the smile he gave you.) "Dance with me."

With only a little balking, you let him guide you in a gentle sway with your arms hung around his neck and his arms looped around your waist. He tucked his chin into the crook of your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. 

Then he began to sing. 

"You are my… destiny," he hummed softly, making butterflies soar in your stomach. "When you hold my hand, I understand—"

Every high note reached to tonal perfection, in the specific kind of soft perfection that Jaehyun was.

"—the magic that… you do." 

Jaehyun pulled back for the next line, eyes gazing into yours so deeply you might drown. Sincerity was so stark in his dark irises; every word he sang came from the depths of his heart. "You're my dream come true. My one… and only you."

nct m.list

permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess

join my permanent nct taglist!

[tobi-momo]

A Misunderstanding

PAIRING: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

GENRE: Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Reverse Comfort

WARNINGS: a lot of crying from both you and kuroo | cursing | mentions of sex | cheating (kind of? youll know when reading) | angst | mentions of drinking/being drunk | nothing is suggestive!! oh ya yall are married btw

WORD COUNT: 3k

A/N: ok ik this is long but this idea came from literally nowhere but i decided to write it thank you @combat-wombatus for helping me you helped put ideas in my brain<333 now i wasnt originally going for a happy ending but im really bad at angst so enjoy the shitty ending :)

“Please, Y/n, you know I didn't mean it,” he pleaded, his large hands desperately grabbing at your form while you push him away, your breaking sobs making his heart shatter. “Please, baby, don’t leave me,” he begs, falling on his knees in front of your trembling body, not being able to tear his eyes off of your heartbroken ones. He needed you to stay. He needed to show you that he isn’t that guy and that he would do anything for you. It was a one time thing. He wasn’t even sober. It wasn’t him. It was the alcohol. He wasn’t thinking straight. Please forgive him, please, please, please.

But you couldn’t. No matter how hard or how much you loved him and wanted to, the pain that ripped at your heart every time you looked at him was too much to bear. So you didn’t. You turn your blurry, glassy eyes away from him as he grabs your hand and forces it into his; your lips quivering and knees shaking. You couldn’t keep the betrayal and agony inside, whining and weeping at him, your knees giving out before your legs slam against the floor, your head near the carpet as you try and keep your affliction at bay.

“Y/n, please,” he whines, tears streaming down his pale cheeks; his admission of his unfaithfulness drained the color from his face. “Please forgive me, I need you, I love you so much.”

“W-” you sniffle, not knowing what to say. You knew you didn’t have to say anything at all, that you didn’t owe him any words, but you just...you just needed to know. “Why,” your voice quivered and cracked, your throat sore, “why did you,” you take a long breath, grabbing your chest to try and stop the heartache, the sudden cramp that formed where it used to be filled with warmth and love, “do this to me? With her?” You look up at him once with wide, searchful eyes as you ponder the reasons and look for the answers in his empty pupils.

“I wasn’t thinking straight, baby, I didn’t know what I was doing, please,” his voice stammers, trying to get you to understand that he really didn’t know what he was doing. “I would never do this to you, I-” “But you did.” Your tone is no longer sad and confused, but angry and fed up. His head backing up quickly, not expecting the response. “You made a promise, Tetsurou, remember?” You glare at him with menacing eyes as you hold up the very finger he kissed and placed the ring on on your wedding day. The beautiful diamond ring that had his initials carved in the interior and little gorgeous jewels that made the walls sparkle once hit with the hot sun was no more; the dark, gloomy piece of rock and metal meaning nothing but lies and mistrust.

“No, Y/n, please. Don’t do this to me,” he adjures guiltily.

“Don’t do this to you?” Your voice laced with deadly venom, standing and backing up, wiping your mouth with your hand in annoyance, placing it on your hip. “You did this to me! You did this to us! You went out! You got drunk! You fucked someone else! And not even a random girl! No! You just had to fuck your ex!” Your voice cracked again before you inhaled sharply and covered up your struggle.

“Y/n, I didn’t know what I was doing!”

“And that’s an excuse?? What, so now you can go fuck whoever you want and say ‘I didn’t know what I was doing!’” you mimic, “so you can get away with it every time?”

He didn’t answer. He looked at the ground, understanding exactly where you came from.

“Hm? Are you gonna answer me, or sit there like a coward?”

He could tell fully well you were just saying this because you were hurt. You didn’t mean any of it. You loved him. No matter what, you will always love him. Trusting him was out of the box for a while, maybe forever. But he can’t lose you. He knew you were soulmates- he knew you were made for each other. There was a reason you guys made it this far and only had big problems now. He needed to find that reason and use it for himself to win you back. He needed you back.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, your dramatic hand gestures coming to a halt at his words, your figure coming to a stand still as you wait for him to finish. “You don't deserve this. You don’t deserve me. Please know that it was a mistake and that I’ll never do it again ever, ever, ever,” he repeats, wanting it to sound as sincere as he means. “Just please give me a chance to make this up to you, please don’t leave me by myself without you,” he sobs out, putting his head in his hands.

You knew you shouldn’t feel bad for him. But god-fucking-dammit are you feeling bad for him. You knew you still loved him, you knew he still loved you- that much was obvious. You couldn’t see him for a while, no. Could you guys work it out? Maybe stitch the wound? Wait until the scar is barely visible anymore? Would that even work?

“Tetsurou,” a single, hot tear dripping down your face as you point to the ground. “I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

“I know, I know, just please give me a chance to help fix this!” He cries at your feet, his body bundled in a ball of self hatred and guilt. “I can do it, baby. I can help things go back to normal.”

“I don’t think they ever will be normal again.”

He whines, trying to negotiate with you as much as he can. “Let me fix us. Let me give you my everything again, let me show you that I’m all yours and no one else's, please,” he moans in anticipation for rejection, knowing the chances of you agreeing were next to zero.

The next few hours are silent. Him alone in the bedroom. Crouching on the floor as he ponders your possible answer. You work in the kitchen, making food to satisfy your appetite. He could hear your sniffles from the bedroom and picture you wiping your tears as you carry the pots on the stove. God, he was the biggest piece of shit ever known. What the fuck went through his mind when he was fucking his ex? He only remembers some of it, them waking up in bed together after, only wearing undergarments underneath the sheets and him holding her waist as if she were you. He thought they had ended on good terms, knowing that they were better as friends. He rushed out the door, not being able to stay in the same room without getting sick. He knew what he had to do.

He opens the door to the living room, a slight creak gaining your attention as you stir the sauce in the pan. Your eyes are puffy, your lip still trembling as you try to turn away from him. He only takes about two steps forward before he stops, trying to find the words he wants to say.

“Listen, I know you said you needed time, and I’m not rushing you at all whatsoever. I want to give you all the time in the world to think this over. If you need, I can go to Kou’s house and stay there for a while. He won’t mind. I just want to give you the space you deserve.”

You nod in response, your head still facing away before he whispers an “I love you” before he slips out of the apartment.

~.~.~.~

The next few days were tortue. Not being able to sleep in the same bed he would sleep in with you, not being able to watch the same tv shows, not being able to even be in his presence at least once a day like you used to melted a hole of despair inside you: eating away at your emptiness, taking away the numbness that you so desperately needed right now. The feeling came back- the one that you tried shutting out three hours ago. It crept up at you, flipping your stomach and weighing your lungs down to the floor, your throat sore and dry. Your eyes wet with a blurry wall as your tears build up once again, missing your cheeks as you crouch down looking at the floor, falling on the tile. The droplets containing your anguish splatter on the ground, your raggedy whimpers echoing throughout the vacant apartment, making it all the more obvious he wasn’t there.

Knock knock knock

Was that the door?

Your wide, unbelieving eyes turned to the wooden door frame; the knocks getting louder and faster. You quickly stand up and try to collect yourself, preparing to have a long talk with Tetsurou. You grab the handle, turning it- the door opening with a tiny creak.

Oh.

“Hi! Kuroo left his jacket at the party the other day, is he here?”

Oh, that bitch.

“No. He’s not.” You deadpan, not finding her cheery, happy expression amusing.

“Oh no! Uh, well, here, can you give this back to him for me?”

“Stop smiling at me like you aren’t part of the reason he’s gone.” You snark, glaring at her with sharp eyes as she backs up, confused.

“W-what?”

“You heard me. Don’t act fucking clueless.”

“Excuse me? Who are you to talk to m-”

“Oh, cut the shit,” you roll your eyes, “I know you slept with Tetsurou, you don’t need put on whatever the fuck this is,” you gesture at her.

“What the hell are you talking about? What are you, fucking crazy?” Your eyes narrow in confusion, your disgusted scowl lessening at her words.

“Right. You probably don’t remember because you were blacked out,” you add sarcastically. “He told me what you guys did. Now you know. So, I would love it if you would just leave.”

“What are you- Me and Kuroo didn’t do shit last night. I drank like two beers and was hanging out with another girl the entire time,” she explains, looking offended. Your face loosens into an expression she couldn’t read. “He blacked out early and passed out on the couch while I was busy talking with the other girl.”

“Huh?” You whisper, your disoriented thoughts not aligning to a proper conclusion.

“I didn’t go to bed until like,” she thought back, “I don’t know, three in the morning? There were people passed out on the floor so I decided to take the guest bedroom with her. I was still awake when Kuroo came into the room, I’m guessing because he thought it was yours, based off of how he kept mumbling your name and shit,” she exhales, “he grabbed onto me once he got in and just clung.” You glower at her, huffing. She sees this, sighing before continuing, “Calm down, remember nothing happened. Remember that girl? She ended falling off the bed because I was scooting away from his clingy ass.” You look at her blankly, trying to fit the pieces together. “She ended up leaving the party completely,” she mumbled in embarrassment before you speak up.

“Then why did he tell me you guys had sex?” You mutter quietly, although assuming she heard since her head backed up while she quickly scoffs.

“I swear to God, that man. Listen.” You look up into her eyes- her genuine eyes. “Me and Kuroo didn’t do a single thing. I didn’t do anything to him and he didn’t do anything to me. I’ll have a conversation with him later because he is an absolute dumbass,” she breathed.

What the fuck?? You were just supposed to believe her?

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“Me and him ended a long time ago. I don’t like him like that and I haven’t for a while. And seeing he was bragging about you the entire time at the party, he’s over me, too. Besides, I’m not even into guys that much anymore anyways,” she grinned and winked at you. The shock and realization hit you like a truck. She wasn’t even- oh my God. She chuckled at your expression; you ran away from her to the counter to get your phone, quickly unlocking it and tapping on Tetsurou’s contact.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mumble over and over. To tap the call button, listening to it ring as you bring your phone up to your ear, hearing him pick up the phone almost immediately after.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” He sounded worried. It’s only been about a week, he had hoped that you weren’t going to leave him.

“Get over here, right now, Tetsurou.” Your voice made it seem like it was urgent, so he quickly picked up his jacket from the couch, and you could hear the jingling of his keys as he grabbed them and opened the door, almost slamming it shut once he left.

~.~.~.~

“Y/n?” He asked at the open front door, wondering why it wasn’t closed. “Y/n, you have to be careful and close the door, we have them for a reason, you know,” he said as he walked in. Even after being at the line of a break-up, he still cares for your well-being. He didn’t even do anything wrong and he was still caring for you as a loved one should. He always did everything to make you feel comfortable and safe, so once he knew that he had slept with his ex he was completely devastated to his core. He didn’t want to do this to you, but you had the right to know.

“Tetsu.” You called. Already back to nicknames? This is good, right?

“Yes? Y/n?” He was scared, to say the least, feeling awkward and not knowing what to do. He walked scarcely towards your figure sitting on the couch, not caring to drop his keys and jacket on the counter. He had a feeling this might go wrong.

“We need to talk.” Shit. This is exactly what he didn’t want to hear. Hearing those words he couldn’t help but think that you were going to make him pack his stuff and go. “So, I talked with your ex.” You speak slowly, not wanting your words to come out wrong. You don’t want him to take any of this in a bad way at all. Yet his eyes widen drastically, his heartbeat racing and his nerves pricking him. “You are just one big dummy, aren’t you?”

What? What are you talking about?

“What?”

“You didn’t sleep with her. She told me everything that happened that night. She’s not even into guys anymore. Tetsu-”

This couldn’t be happening. Not only did he accuse himself of cheating, he accused himself of cheating with his ex, and that he cheated with his ex at a party, while you two are married. And then it turns out it wasn’t true? What the hell was wrong with him? He jeopardized your entire relationship because he was too drunk to know what was going on.

“Wait, what?” He yells, angrily sitting down on the couch, “so you’re telling me-” you nodded and hummed an ‘mhm’ in response. His hands find their way to his hair, pulling at the roots and scratching his scalp, his low grunts of pain and fury seeping out of his throat as he frustratingly comprehends what he just did.

You rush over to him, grabbing his wrists and pushing them down to his lap as fast as you can, making his eyes find their way to your blown out pupils. You can see the hot tears prickle down his cheek as he frowns at you, completely and utterly defeated.

“Tetsu, I don’t want you to hurt yourself, it’s okay,” you reassure, giving him a happy smile. He wanted to smile back, but he couldn’t control the broken sob that escaped him. “Hey, hey,” you try to grab his attention as he pulls his head down, crying. “It’s okay, baby, it’ll be okay.” You wrap your arms around his head, protecting him as you softly coo and ‘shh’ him quietly in his ear. ‘I’m sorry’ kept coming out of his mouth as he clinged to you, not being able to help his want to be closer to you. The realization that he just almost broke your heart completely and he had worried about divorce for this shit made him want to just rip his scalp out. He was so stupid. So, so so, stupid. “Tetsu, look at me, please. Look at me,” you whisper, bringing your hand to his chin, dragging it up so you could catch sight of his hazel irises. His eyes red and puffy, his cheeks wet and his eyes droopy, you couldn’t do anything but frown at the sight. He hated himself right now, not wanting to face the embarrassment and the humiliation of the situation.

“You don’t deserve me, I’m so sorry,” he whimpered in your arms, gripping them tighter and tighter for comfort- you knowing that he needed it right now. You had already pulled him into your chest, feeling his wet tears soak your shirt, your hands rubbing his back and your fingers gently grazing his throbbing scalp.

“It’s okay, I forgive you, Tetsu, you did the right thing by telling me you did it instead of hiding it from me, and then it turns out you didn’t do it at all.” Your cheeks start to feel hot, and you don’t even realize your sniffles until you could feel a dam break at your water line. You couldn’t stop them, the tears of relief. You didn’t want to stop them. You were glad that they were her, glad that they were for him, glad they were because you knew the truth, glad because you knew you two would be okay.

You looked back at your ring, watching it bloom like a flower in the spring, the meaning coming back to your marriage. It wasn’t just metal and rock anymore, it was a gorgeous promise.

“I love you, Tetsurou. Don’t forget that. You’re staying with me, alright?” you whisper into his hairline.

“Thank you,” he cries.

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REQUESTS: OPEN

reblogs are appreciated :))

[lale-txt]

because im so indecisive and love your prompts list and writings, how about “it’s never been enough.” if you can and it is much for shanks

everything for you, ven <3 also thank you for choosing one of the angst prompts, i was very excited to write them *rubbing my racoon hands together in mischief*

prompt: “it’s never been enough.” w/ Shanks

word count: 403

The empty wine bottle rolls of the table, shattering into a thousand pieces, interrupting the silence that lingered between you and the red head ever since those words had fallen out of his mouth, full of bitterness and and bottomless sadness.

“It’s never been enough.”

He might as well have clenched your heart in his hand, dripping with your love, carelessly spilling it everywhere. Maybe the shattering sound wasn’t glass but your desperately beating heart, being crushed under the heaviness of the conversation you had late at night; at the kitchen table in the dim light of a few candles, flickering before they go out.

The only people awake at 3am are the lovers and the lonely.

You weren’t lovers anymore.

You were two people once in love that had fallen out of it, or maybe only he did, leaving you with what was left of it. Leaving you bleeding out, with open hands and cracks in your heart that were now filled by despair and darkness. It was still beating but right now you wished it wasn’t.

With shaking hands you reach over the wooden table, a gesture so small and yet so helpless, a silent cry of begging to be loved, to be held. Tears are rolling down your face, seeping into the wavy grain of the table, the place where it all started, where you spent countless nights laughing and kissing and fucking, where you swore your love to each other between fresh bread and butter and flowers he picked just for you. Where you felt truly calm and happy, for the first time in your life.

Where you thought forever actually held a meaning.

Shanks pulls back, unable to look you in the eyes. With his face in the shadows you can’t tell if he was also crying. You have never seen him cry. When you closed your eyes, all you could see was his laughing face, waving at you with the little smirk you loved so much, him calling out your name as if it was a magic word.

Maybe you should never open your eyes again. Maybe this was just a bad dream. Maybe you would wake up in the bed next to him, where he would kiss your forehead softly, holding you until the nightmare had passed.

Maybe you could be lovers again, in another world, another life. Until then your heart will whimper and weep, screaming his name into the dark.

[shirtlesssammy]

3x14: Long-Distance Call

Guys! We have a special surprise next week!! (Hint: We finally get to recap the gay angel episodes again!) Until then, enjoy our last episode for season 3...

Then:

Sam’s saving his brother no matter what

Now:

On a stormy night, a man drinks alone, contemplating life. His phone rings. It’s Linda. Ben tells her he can’t. “My wife.” He hangs up the phone. It rings again. Linda pleads with him. She loves him. He hangs up again. The phone rings AGAIN. He slams it down repeatedly and tears it from the wall. IT RINGS AGAIN! Damn, Linda, you are persistent. To stop the ringing, Ben pulls out a gun and shoots himself. 

Dean tells Sam they have a case. Sam tells Dean that they’re on a case --his. Dean balks at that because they’ve got nothing. Bela’s gone, the Colt’s gone, and Dean would rather work a case they can solve than wallow in his imminent death. 

They head to Milan, Ohio. They head right to the dead guy’s house and interview his widow. She’s a little belligerent but tells them that there was blood everywhere (Oh, that’s why she’s belligerent), favorite scotch was out, and the phone was ripped from the wall. 

Sam asks to look at the crime scene. He goes through the caller ID. Dean asks about strange phone calls. She admits that a couple weeks prior she picked up on a call that Ben was on. It was static. No one was there. 

Research time!

Dean finds out that “Linda” was Ben’s high school sweetheart --and she died in a car accident. On top of that, she was cremated. On top on top of that, Sam discovered that the caller ID on the phone traces back to a phone number used a century ago! (I presume Sam did all that research while he stared out the window.) 

They head to the bowels of the phone company to find fly infested, porn addicted Stewie. I’m going to skip over all this but will laugh at the ad that said “Order now & receive a bone-us gift!” Sam asks Stewie to trace the old-time number. (Natasha: flames on the side of my face at this damn offensive porn franchise.)

Dean pulls out the threat level 5 on the guy and the guy finds some results. There’s different houses that all received a call from that number. 

Sam heads to investigate one house. He poses as a phone company employee. He asks about strange phone activity. The man that answers the phone says that they haven’t had any issues. Sam notices the daughter looking concerned in the background. 

She pops outside to call his bluff. She wants to know why he was asking about the phones. He gives her a little give and she admits that she’s been talking on the phone with her mom --who’s dead. 

Dean checks in with similar stories. Then he gets a call. It’s the static-y voice of John Winchester. 

Later at the motel, Sam wants to know more about Dean’s call. Dean gets all nervous boy about it possibly really being their dad, and what they should do about it. What should Dean say? Sam, ever the pragmatist, suggests, “hello.” It’s funny, but I guess not really because Dean walks out on his brother. 

Dean comes back with a reason why things are happening here. It’s the birthplace of Thomas Edison, and there’s a museum with Edison’s spirit phone. 

They take a tour but the phone doesn’t have any EMF. They’re stumped as to what’s happening. 

Later that night, while Sam slumbers, Dean stays awake to answer his phone. John calls again. He asks Dean how he could sell his soul. “I was looking after Sammy like you told me to.” (Boris screams into the void) John tells Dean that the demon that holds Dean’s contract is in Ohio. 

Meanwhile, the daughter from earlier is IMing a friend when she gets a message from her dead mom. The mom says she wants to see her. The girl is scared but her mom reassures her that she’s with her. Then the girl’s computer flickers out and in the reflection of the monitor, we see the girl and her mom. 

The next morning, Sam returns from interviewing Lanie, the haunted daughter, to find Dean obsessing over demon omens. He shares his intel with Sam. 

Dean’s pretty sure the demon who owns his contract is following him. I pull a Dean voice to say, “Why are you so obsessed with me?” only Dean’s actual line in the show is “My ass is too sweet to let out of sight.” God. This show. Sam tries to tell him that the demon-killing exorcism that John gave Dean over the phone might not be as advertised. Dean’s a believer, though. He’s got faith in John! (Just gonna take a li’l writing break to tear at my hair.) 

Sam heads back to watch over Lanie, but before he goes the Winchesters hold an emotional shouting match. Dean’s ready to stop the demon from coming after him once and for all and thinks that Sam’s reticence is just more head-butting with their (now dead) dad. Sam accuses Dean of having “blind faith” towards his father and I weep. Sam leaves with one request: that Dean stay put until he returns from seeing Lanie. So. That’s going to go well. 

Lanie explains to Sam what’s been going on - that her mom’s requests have extended beyond the normal grieving cemetery visit. We cut to a young kid playing in his room. His toy phone rings. “Hi, mommy!” he chirps. 

Cut to Dean “Single Man Tear” Winchester sitting dramatically by his phone. It rings. 

Lanie reveals to Sam that her mother’s ghost told her to kill herself. When Sam hears the ghost’s catchphrase, “come to me,” he realizes that they’re dealing with something else entirely. 

While Sam experiences revelation, Dean heads off alone following his dad’s orders. f r o w n y f a c e. He ends up in a quiet, suburban home.

Meanwhile, Lanie’s brother Simon (of the toy phone fame) has gone missing. Sam saves him just in time from getting pancaked by a truck. As soon as the kids are buttoned up back home, Sam calls Dean. He tells him that a crocatta is after the people of the town. It’s a scavenger that lures grieving people and eats their souls. It tends to dwell in filth. Dean recalls the flies at the phone company, so Sam heads out on a hunt. (Meanwhile, YES, Dean’s off having his own questionable adventures, setting demon traps in a nearby house.)

Sam calls Dean for backup before assaulting Stewie, the phone guy. “I know what you are and I know how to kill you,” Sam says to the terrified guy. Someone looms behind Sam with a baseball bat. It’s Clark, the manager! He takes out poor soft-headed Sammy. Unfortunately, Clark takes out Stewie too. 

They both wake up tied to chairs inside the building. Clark kills Stewie and then fangs out. He unhinges his jaw and sucks out Stewie’s soul. Yummy? Clark then lays his hands on the phone console...because it’s time to kill Dean!

Elsewhere, in a police locker room, a man’s phone rings. It’s his daughter. “I know who killed me, daddy,” she says. The girl’s voice tells him that her killer is at their house right now. 

Clark explains to Sam that spoofing John Winchester was incredibly easy. All he had to do was find their phone numbers, then John’s old numbers. That let him listen to voicemails, read emails, and easily find the weak links that led him to target Dean. Oof. (Side note: a crocatta would make a seriously amazing private detective in an alternate Supernatural where monsters have better meal restraint.) 

Dean stands ready at the suburban house - ready to kill a demon. The grieving officer heads home, ready to kill his daughter’s murderer. 

Dean’s jug of holy water is met with an angry father with a shotgun, so things start out really well. They quickly devolve into a dirty fist fight. 

Meanwhile, the crocatta continues to villain-monologue at Sam.

Technology, Clark says, makes it so much easier to target people. They’re connected - yet isolated and easier to pick off. (I scoff at this overdone oversimplification of the role of “technology” in society. I hate when people try to pretend the past was trouble-free.) Sam finds his argument weak as well, and punctuates that by breaking free of his bonds and attacking Clark. 

At the house, Dean disarms the grieving cop and reveals the demon trap below the carpet. He starts reading out the exorcism. To his horror, the guy walks right out of the demon trap. When the guy accuses him of killing his daughter, the pieces click for Dean.

Sam kills Clark by jabbing his head into a retail hook suspended off the wall. OH I SEE, this show has always been obsessed with death by hook. >:| 

Dean and the officer avoid killing each other. Instead, they despair in beaten silence together, before we cut to Dean holding a compress to his forehead back at the motel.

Sam and Dean go over the case back in the motel, but talk quickly switches to EMOTIONS. Sam apologizes to Dean. Dean admits he was wrong. “I wanted to believe so badly,” he says. STORY OF HIS LIFE DAMN IT. He admits that he’s terrified of dying. Terrified of Hell. 

Sam gives him sad puppy eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with having hope.”

“Hope doesn’t get you jack squat,” Dean tells him.

For Sad Boys with Poor Coping Mechanisms Science:

Call Me By Your Quote:

I just talked to an 84 year old grandmother who's having phone sex with her husband, who died in Korea! It redefined my understanding of the word 'Necrophilia'

That’s what happens when you mess with the phone company, dillweed

 Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[spirit-of-the-void]

Ebony and Ivory- Bonus Vergil Ending

Author’s notes: So. This took me a really long time to write, and...well...I dont really know what to say about that. To be honest, the V ending got a lot of complaints, and it really tore down my motivation and confidence for this fic, for writing in general. Not to mention I was trying to get my life together for the beginning of this year, but the virus shit kind of ruined everything so im just...dead for the most part. Shit sucks, I’m tired, but...I felt bad about never giving this ending, so i did my best to make it something worth reading for you all. Im sorry it took so long, im sorry i never write or post anymore. Im just really doing my best to get through each day, and im really grateful for those of you who stuck around, and those who didnt

Heres to, hopefully, more writing in the future.

Bonus Chapter

Vergil’s alternate ending

So lost in the gravity of the moment, minds addled and fogged with sadness, pain, and rage...neither man heard you.

The Outsider didn’t notice you snap out of the pocket Void he held you in, didn’t hear the shattering of obsidian and the distant howl of a thousand voices screaming their denial, their sheer despair at your choice. After all, this place was a part of you--The void wanted it too, ached and craved and begged for his punishment. The man who caused you so much pain, left abandoned and alone to suffer all the agonies a world could offer. Surely this could not be, surely you weren’t making this choice, willingly embracing this agony in all its absolute brilliance?

 It hurt, it hurt. The pain was so fresh and alive, it rattled through your bones and spread like boiling, freezing water through every joint and tendon. Memory had always been your burden, from the moment you entered the Void to every fresh breath of it you drew to fight being swallowed whole by the inky abyss. And now those memories were like brands, searing into your skin and leaving scars so deep that they were numb. The burn didn’t stop, and neither would the images that came with them.

Images of your baby. Your son--Nero.

The instant you relieved that moment, saw his tiny form peppered with a tuft of white hair upon a shivering head you screamed, thrashing against the obsidian hands holding you back. One by one they shattered, shards drifting into absolute nothingness like dust floating on the breeze. More and more they came, trying to wipe it all away. And still...you writhed, shouted, held onto every moment, every pain. The guilt was more agonizing than anything else, sending your limbs trembling and mouth open in a soundless cry to join the ever shrieking masses. You left him, you forgot him. Your flesh and blood, your son left on a doorstep alone to grow up feeling abandoned and neglected. 

No amount of power could change what had happened to your mind, to your body bleeding out on a sidewalk. Strength was just a fleeting concept then, a whispered promise of brighter futures than your soul was made to endure. When that agony returned, when the tragedy of that day struck it left you shattering and broken, glass upon the ground begging to be picked up again. You weren’t like that anymore.

Strength was no longer an empty promise, it was something real and tangible. You could hold it in your hands, cradle it and nurture it with everything you had. It existed in the laughter of friends, in the feeling of holding a loved one’s hand,  deep breaths of ocean air and memories made in that place of tragedy that were so bright. For so long now ignorance had been your enemy, snatching away so much happiness and leaving you wanting. Losing V, the Outsider’s betrayal, this--if only you had known, if only things could change. If only. You were tired of those two words, the taste of them now foul and bitter like poison shoved down your throat. There it choked, spat out with more force than ever thought capable. No more ignorance, no more hiding from that deep, aching pain and regret--you knew now, and by the Void itself you would die before not knowing again. 

It felt like hours had passed before the hands finally stopped coming, a gasp escaping your lips like you had been held under the ocean’s weight the whole time. Finally, a breach. You crested over that familiar surface of water, falling upward until the familiar glow of the Void finally met your eyes. Obsidian hands managed to break your fall, eyes swimming with dizziness and tears while everything sank into the very core. Vergil, your love,  abandoning you, the order, the pregnancy, Nero--everything. This was the make or break moment, the time to sink or swim. You lay on the cold ground for some time, treading the waters of your own mind and trying not to drown while the Foresight screamed in unbearable pain. You would not break. You would not break. You would not break. 

You wanted to remember, wanted to remember everything. There were so many things that had to be said, apologies to be made, love to give. You wanted to weep at the feet of your son, to beg and plead for forgiveness and tell him how absolutely loved he was from the very start. To make up for lost time, to change everything without the fear of shattering apart. The past could not be fixed, mistakes were now written in stone. But you knew that didn’t have to mean the future had to be bleak. You remembered now--That deep feeling of love, meeting Vergil that first time and pouring everything into him. His betrayal had stung to your very core, had left your past self weeping along in a cold cell. But...that love wasn’t gone. It didn’t justify Vergil’s actions, but you knew now. No longer ignorant, having been so close and deeply in love with the human part of him he rarely showed. V, the broken man who wanted nothing more to be protected and loved. 

Now you knew both sides of the man you loved, and you didn’t want to lose that again.

Clarity seeped through the pain, weaving together the pieces left behind and keeping you solid. A wheeze escaped your lungs, sounds fading in and out as you struggled to rise from the ground. The Outsider’s voice, Vergil’s, the Void. Promises of punishing the son of Sparda, of leaving him still loving you while V was here to keep you happy and ignorant. Denial scraped along the already-battered walls of your head, gaze lifting just enough to see a blurry vision on the precipice of the endless sky. There the Outsider held Vergil up by his collar, framed by an endless glow without stars and no sun. Neither had noticed you, so lost in the Void’s howl and in the Outsider’s chiding promise. It made your teeth grind, head swimming with desperation and the unrivaled need to stop this, to stop everything. No more--no more pain, no more suffering, no more punishments. 

You dragged yourself, body trembling uncontrollably as the Foresight battled every inch of it. A fail safe, meant to protect you from memories that might bring about shattering. Right now it definitely wasn’t helping, but that didn’t mean you would stop. The hard ground of the debris scraped your legs as you went, but they were practically numbed by everything else. Whale oil rising like bile in your throat, eyes black and reflecting the Void’s glow like obsidian crystals. Your tears glistened, dew on their surface, falling steadily through the harsh, wheezing breaths. Clearer now, clearer every second. Vergil stared sightless ahead, eyes glazed and empty as he accepted the Outsider’s fate. His look of defeat shook you, made every cell scream out in denial and sorrow. Both of you were so young, so foolish, so desperate, so headstrong, so hurt--not anymore, not. Any. More.

“Vergil Sparda, this is your punishment for hurting my child.”

Enough. We’ve all had enough.

The Outsider jolted when you reached out, grasping the back of his jacket with shaking fists and pulling yourself upright. What a sight you must have been--body riddled in scratches from dragging yourself, pale and shaking while the wind whipped your hair into a senseless mess. The deity immediately gasped, dropping Vergil’s limp form in shock and leaving him sitting on the edge of the debris, jolted back into sense. For a brief moment, your eyes met. Agonized, horror-filled blue staring into the glistening black, reflecting so many emotions, apologies, and regrets. When he was like this, his expressions reminded you so much of V. You knew what he was seeing, feeling, remembering. Seeing what his choices wrought, the tragedy and despair left in the wake of an arrogant child’s selfishness and fear. And that’s what he looked like now--unabashed vulnerability, tears in his eyes threatening to drip down already-wet cheeks. That past was done, it was gone and left in the rubble of memories that longer mattered.

Here, now...that mattered.

“Y/N…!” The Outsider rasped in horror, griping both your shoulders as you grabbed the lapels of his jacket without letting go. It caused him to crouch to your level, expression filled with panic and shock as he continued on horrified, “You shouldn’t be here, you still...still--How did you manage to--”

You couldn’t explain, couldn’t give him the chance to send you back again. You choked on a shuddering breath, arms reaching up around his neck and pulling closer into the only embrace you had ever shared with the deity. The one who gave you life, saved you from the abyss and spent the past few years trying not to let you break--his methods were not the right ones to take, lingering in cruelty and the very pain he knew too. How could you expect a creature who knew nothing but the empty, mindless howl of the Void to know anything of comfort and affection? He had no one to teach him mercy, to remind him of what humanity was like. To let go, no more pain of betrayal, no more anger.

 He froze when you rested your face on his neck, body held against his as wind whipped around you both mercilessly. There was no warmth, not physically--but his chill was a comfort all its own,  a familiarity that kept you from shattering and calmed the Foresight into a low hum.

“N...no more…” Your voice was so tiny, a broken sob against his frozen skin as you squeezed tighter, “Please...please...No more.”

The Outsider swallowed hard, body still rigid as his hands very gently settled on your back. Like he was holding glass thinner than paper, on the verge of breaking. He grit his teeth, you could hear the grinding of his jaw from this close.

“You’re suffering,” He managed to rasp out, voice shaking with restrained emotion as one hand threaded through your hair, “My child, my only precious flower--you remember don’t you? You remember what he--”

I remember. I remember remember remember. And I never want to stop. 

“I don’t care…!” Your body shook harder, voice taking on the hard edge of resolve even while tears swam in your vision again. The memories hadn’t stopped, they refused to cease in their brutal assault. Vergil never coming to save you, the pain of being shot, giving birth alone and soaked to the bone. Blood on the sand, your son’s wail on the wind. His face, his tiny hands… You sucked in a shaking breath, heart aching as a broken whimper slipped from your lips, “Please...don’t take him from me...I can’t lose it again…”

I want to know him. I want to know Nero as my son. I want to know Vergil as my everything.

You didn’t want this pain to be a reminder anymore. You wanted to make new memories with your child, to make up for all the mistakes and everything he lost. To go on without knowing, to live in ignorance as his friend and listen to him speak of the sorrow that came with being abandoned...you would rather die. Guilt was not a stranger, and you knew it was possible to grow and heal from it again. Because you weren’t that broken soul in the Void anymore, having tasted what a happy life could truly be like at the very core of your being. A perfect word would have been Vergil coming to save you back then, stealing you away to a quiet place to give birth and raise your child together as better people, to move on. But this world was far from perfect, and that was okay. To learn, to move on and grow from what happened seemed too good to be true, but it was all you wanted, all you had. 

Vergil stared at you with absolute agony, those tears managing to trickle out against his will down sharp cheeks. You loved remembering him, those special first moments. Getting to hold his hand, a first kiss, that night...it had been everything, bringing familiarity to the time you had been with V. Of course the poet felt so right, so deeply familiar and necessary--your body remembered him, saw the black-haired human in every tender, vulnerable moment with Vergil. Getting to have them both was such a blessing, to learn that part of your soulmate so intimately and without restraint. He held so much back, drowned out by fear and pride that continued to choke his happiness. Things could change, they had to.

The Outsider sucked in a sharp breath at your words, hands shaking where they gripped the back of your blouse. You could teach him too, could help him remember what empathy felt like underneath the howling Void.

The cold has numbed you, but it doesn’t have to be that way. 

“I...I could return V to you…” The Outsider whispered, staring over your head into the empty abyss as the wind continued to howl for everything you had lost, “That man, he...he hurt you, broke--You. I almost lost my only child, the only gift this wretched place allowed me.”

In a way, the deity was a child too, not understanding his own emotion and lashing out in kind. All this nonsense had been born in how much he cared for you, so much that the idea of losing you scared him into cruelty. It wasn’t right, he hurt you and the people close to you in the process. It couldn’t continue like this anymore, not on the path of revenge and tragedy. 

You let out a soft breath, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to push back the tears. Your pain wasn’t helping him see clearly, nor was it aiding you in any way. It had to end, this ceaseless cycle—The Outsider needed to understand that you could handle this, that you could grow and stand on your own feet while carrying the weight of these memories around on your shoulders. 

“I know what that feels like,” You whimpered, breaths attempting to slow but still hitching with each swallowed sob. That fear he felt, the panic...you felt that all and more, “Please, father...don’t make me lose my child again.”

You felt him suck in a shuddering breath, eyes a glassy black as they stared over your shoulder into the abyss. In all the time you knew the Outsider, he had never shown emotion like this. Muscles locked to the point of shaking lightly with strain, air pressed through his nostrils like he was afraid opening his mouth would release an unwilling scream of denial. Because you knew deep down, knew he could understand your desire to keep these memories. Seeing you lose Nero had to hurt him too, bringing on the unwilling fear of experiencing the same thing once you almost slipped away. He had tried the only way he knew how, and now…that fear was caging you in, born of desperation and panic that kept the entire ocean at bay in the hopes of saving you from drowning. But he could never stop it from trickling through, not for long.

You delicately ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the wind send the short locks tossing back and forth. He felt so...human, real and solid. You were willing to bet he wasn’t always the God of this place, that his vulnerability and immaturity had roots in something deeply human. He froze sharply at the contact, hands squeezing the fabric of your blouse so tightly you wondered if it had started tearing.

“If I could take you away from this place, I…” You whispered, eyes closing softly as your body battled exhaustion, “The Void has made you cold, father. I just...I cannot let these feelings go.”

You leaned back just enough to stare at the Outsider’s face, obsidian meeting obsidian and reading each other’s faces. His eyes were wide with unrestrained desperation and sorrow, echoing so many years spent in this miserable place without the sun. You placed both hands gingerly on his cheeks, thumbs stroking along his high cheekbones as if waiting for tears to be shed.

“Father,” You whispered, voice aching with so many things better left unsaid as you stared at him steady and imploring, “Ignorance won’t protect us anymore.”

You hear Vergil suck in a breath at that, air dragged through teeth clenched so hard they might crack. The Outsider’s reaction was no different, those obsidian eyes wide and face a blank mask of shock and regret that showed no signs of fading. You knew what he was thinking, knew that desperate horror of watching you come so close to shattering, to becoming one with that deep, endless abyss. He was not used to fear, he was not used to being afraid. And that was something you could understand, something you wished so terribly to ease in any way you could. But this pain was so necessary, the deepest ache in your chest that gripped with icy fingers and refused to let go--shattering or not, painful or not...the memories were yours, and you wanted to keep them. You owed this to yourself, to Vergil, and especially to Nero. There were so many things you wanted to say to your son, and those things needed to happen above all else. 

There was a pause of silence between you all while the Outsider froze in place, seeming lost in thought as his endless gaze seemed to bore into your own. The only thing that broke the tense air was the howling winds from all around, even the moaning chorus of suffering voices seeming to quiet as they waited for the Outsider’s choice. If he decided against you, there would be a fight that could not be won, a fight that would more than likely end with you shattering from the stress already on your body. That was a risk the Outsider couldn’t afford to take, even with all the powers he held over you. The deep burn of foresight, icy veins of the Void’s magic as it traveled through your body--every breath was given to you by this ancient being, every bit of life you now carried each and every day. Without him, you would have never met Vergil, and for that you would always be grateful. 

The Outsider did not move for a very long time, only leaning back after his black eyes finally blinked at you. His hands slowly lowered from your form, falling back limply to his sides as he looked away, something akin to regret flashing across his face.  Exhaustion and acceptance followed like close companions, his eyes so very tired as the man rose to his feet, leaving you kneeling on the floor before him with a pleading expression on your face. For a moment, he could only stare down at you with more sorrow than one creature should carry, the chilled winds of the Void making his hair blow wildly in several directions. He looked more ancient than ever, the years spent in this wretched place more than showing on a face that was far too young to look so lost. The Outsider stared at you as if prepared to lose you forever, and that was the moment you realized he had finally made his choice.

“...I only wanted to keep you safe,” He spoke so softly, tone feather-light and echoing through the space as if he had screamed it out to the chorus of the Void. He rested one shaking hand upon your hair, eyes closing as his voice became ragged and somehow even softer, “I did not wish...to see you end.”

You nodded once, fresh tears dripping from your black eyes and onto the debris underneath you. The pain of his betrayal, every place you had traveled to, the lost memories and empty dreams...He didn’t know what else to do to keep you from shattering, fueled by desperation and that cruelty he knew so well. You didn’t want to hold onto it any more, these deep feelings of anger and regret that threatened so strongly to overtake you. They were nothing more than a burden now, and inexcusable weight that clung to your shoulders with sharp, unyielding claws. They had been your companions for far too long, and now...now they needed to leave.

You gripped the Outsider’s wrist tenderly with both hands, turning his palm over so you could press a kiss to it. He sucked in a sharp breath at the action, listening quietly as you replied in that hoarse, ragged tone, “I know...and I will be safe...I will,” Your black eyes raised, the color finally slipping back into your normal tone, the whites returning and glistening with tears, “Let me remember the people I love.”

You could see the lingering hesitation even as the Outsider pulled his hand away, eyes downcast and body stepping back toward the precipice. His gaze lingered for a moment on the form of Vergil, seeing the way he looked at you in absolute agony, the tears slipping down the sharp line of his jaw and the shattered expression in his eyes. There was remaining resentment there in those obsidian orbs, but he clenched his jaw and said nothing to the Son of Sparda. If you had to guess, the Deity knew that the only words that could get through the half-breed’s thick skull would have to be yours, and he wasn’t about to interfere with that again. So he paused only to look back at you again, face slipping back into his usual, neutral expression before you watched him disappear into a cloud of obsidian crystal shards without another word. You could understand that he needed time again, needed to process everything before addressing it again. 

He didn’t take away the gifts he had given you, at the very least. But the burn of Foresight was now gone, leaving only the familiar chill of the Void as it seeped through your limbs. For a minute you could only wheeze, trying to get the chaotic storm of emotions in check and feeling Vergil’s gaze linger on you with its familiar intensity. There were so many things between you now since the trials, since you attacked him in the Qliphoth. Those memories from Fortuna, of your first love and traveling together around the city--they mingled with every terrible, unspeakable event that took place after, all the terror and suffering that threatened to cloud out all the wonderful things. At the forefront was the guilt, the aching regret about what happened to Nero, of leaving him on the orphanage steps. It tore you up inside like razor blades, so very painful and absolutely unyielding. 

You slowly rose to your feet, turning towards the Son of Sparda with small steps and watching as his gaze lowered toward the ground. He didn’t dare look up at you as you approached, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths and hands shaking at his side. Vergil had never looked this way to you before, so lost and filled with absolute emotion. It reminded you of how V had acted in the Qliphoth tree, the desperate pleas and the guilty torment of knowing that he would have to leave you at the end of his mission. God, you were so grateful for getting a chance to know that side of him, to love his human half in its entirety before it eventually returned. Those moments were so precious, to witness the vulnerable things he tucked away behind all that anger and pride...All Vergil had wanted was someone to save him, to be loved and cherished like any other person wanted too. And you had more than enough love to give, leaving no room for anger or grudges left behind from past mistakes.

When he spoke, his voice came out low and hoarse, its tone and cadence barely managing to whisper over the Void’s howl, “Why...Why did you choose to remember? He...He could have made you happy, could have given you back the man who knew how to cherish you. But you...you…”

You ignored the question, sliding both hands through his slicked back, white hair and lingering there for a few moments while he breathed faster. Tension was there in his trembling shoulders, in the way those icy blue eyes stared down at the ground and refused to look away. You could feel it now, those walls he kept up for so long bending under the weight of regret, of truth and long desired affections. What point was there in fighting things now? At the end of the day he could no longer hide what he wanted anymore, could no longer hide behind the shield of indifference or spite. All that could possibly remain now was guilt and regret, of self loathing that had seeded itself deep inside since the moment his mother had died. Vergil had so many reasons to hate himself, for things that weren’t even his fault, and for things that didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was leaving those mistakes behind, remembering the good things and striving to do better.

He had that ability inside of him, you knew he did. The ability to change, to atone for his sins. 

“Why?” Vergil continued to ask, breathing growing more and more ragged as you lowered yourself in front of his hunched form, both hands cupping his chilled cheeks and forcing his tormented gaze to rise up to meet you. There was agony in its depths, denial and confusion that made your heart ache so terribly, “All I’ve ever done is hurt you…! I...hurt everyone, took from everyone--V could have given you everything you wanted, without the things that make me who I am.”

You rested your forehead against his, tears forming on your lashes like dew drops and dripping in crystalline droplets onto his thighs. You could feel it when his breath hitched again, sounding like he tried so hard not to cry.

“...We don’t have to hurt anymore,” You whispered, voice soft and just as ragged as his own. Both hands rested on his chest, smoothing over the lines of his vest and feeling his heart race through the fabric, “That man who made me so happy is a part of you, Vergil...It was that same part of you that brought me so much happiness in Fortuna, that you buried under the fear of vulnerability. You made mistakes, we both did...All I want now is to move on from them, to be happy with you, with Nero--we owe that to him after all he’s endured.”

You felt his jaw clench at the mention of Nero, knowing exactly what went through his head. Your child, shivering in the cold and wailing for parents who were both gone, a little boy growing up thinking that he had no family, that they  abandoned him without a second thought--then as an adult, having his arm ripped off by the man he learns to be his father, left bleeding on the garage floor in pain. Years and years of not knowing, of aching to learn who his family was, then one strolls in and literally takes a whole limb. The agony that must have caused, and now...now there was still more to learn, the truth hovering so close and the boy didn’t even know it. All those things had been mistakes, yes, but it was Vergil who had to own up to them, who had to learn and try to do better. And that had to be the hardest part, to learn from one’s mistakes and not sink into the pit of self-loathing to cope. 

You let out a slow breath, trying to gather your words through the storm of guilt and emotions that still carried from the regained memories. Each breath felt like ice, words coming out hoarse yet firm as you told the son of Sparda, “You...You have to let those things go, Vergil, you have to talk to your son...Please...please. Please don’t leave us again, learn from what has happened and do better.”

We both can do better. For all of us.

You heard him swallow audibly, hands clenched into fists at his side as Vergil fought every ounce of instinct he had built up over the years. To hide his emotions away, to swallow them down and feel nothing but resentment and anger like it would somehow protect him. Self loathing was at its core, the final wall of his defenses once everything was gone. At the end of the day you knew that Vergil needed to learn how to be happy, to live with the things he had done and make reparations for them as best he could. Protecting others, doing things for the sake of good and not greed...those parts of him were real and tangible, you had held them in your arms once, kissed them with tender lips. They had been true and filled with so much emotion, and they wouldn’t just go away at a swipe of the Yamato.

Vergil finally looked up to meet your gaze, the faintest hint of tears clinging to his grey lashes as you swiped them away with your thumb. It was still so odd to see so much emotion on his face, torment obvious and out in the open.

“...How can you still love me after all of that?” He whispered incredulously at the look you wore, one of deep adoring and exhaustion as you continued to cup his cheeks, “I...I don’t understand. I don’t deserve it.”

His words made your heart ache terribly, thudding away in your chest like a caged bird trying to be free. Vergil’s was pounding too, closer to hard fists on steel walls of a person trying so desperately to escape a deep agony.  

You stared into his eyes as steadily as you could, voice coming out soft and reassuring as you explained, “Because love isn’t about deserving it or not, it’s about feeling emotion... and acknowledging it without running away,” You reached down, threading your fingers with the trembling digits of his own and giving a light squeeze, “Vergil Sparda is meant to be mine, and I don’t want anything else but that...I want to be with the one I was made for, and...that person is you.”

You broke me, and I broke you...I think we’re done breaking each other, aren’t we?

All that was left was to pick up the pieces.

You were shocked when Vergil’s arms pulled you against him hard, wrapped around your waist and squeezing as he buried his face against your shoulder. You could feel his ever breath, hear it rattle and shake with rasping sobs that had ached so desperately to be free this whole time. God, it felt good to finally be held by him again, every precious memory returned and emotions so very raw. You could feel them now, everything he had bottled up inside pouring out like water from a shattered glass. How it must have felt to finally acknowledge so many years of repressed emotion, to embrace someone without the heavy shackles of pride or hesitation. You embraced him back with accepting arms, eyes squeezing shut at the relief that came with being with the one you loved again. Whole and complete, just as tender as when he was V yet somehow more bittersweet. 

This was everything you had craved without even knowing it. 

You pressed kiss after kiss to his neck and shoulder, breaths slowing and the hollow ache in your heart finally fading at his touch. He was so strong, body holding fast against yours and the lines of it so very familiar. The storm inside was familiar too, you an anchor for the son of Sparda when he needed it most. 

“...I…” Vergil whispered after some time, voice low and hesitant as he swallowed back some of his emotion. You could feel his arms squeeze tighter, face pressed to your neck as he admitted, “I...I love you...Even back then, when I left, you...I thought about you the entire time I was on the ferry, yet I just...just…”

Forgot. That was the Outsider’s doing, wiping Vergil’s memory so that when you returned he could be punished without any complications. You let out a soft breath, leaning back to touch your forehead to his once again just as the portal started forming underneath you--crystalline hands curled upwards, gently wrapping around your forms as the Void’s hollow wailing grew louder and louder. As if saying goodbye, crying out in mourning for something that it felt like it was losing. Even if he wasn’t visible, you could feel the Outsider watching you both, his trepidation like a tangible force that filled the empty skies of the Void like thick, hovering storm clouds. He was afraid for you, he was lonely and alone. But you would not be leaving for good--even with the dark memories it carried, the empty blackness was a part of you, and so was the black-eyed God who resided there. You would return again someday, after having a chance to heal.

“I know,” You whispered to Vergil, feeling the Void’s howl ringing sharply in your ears as it started to fall away, “It’s over now, that pain is over. Let’s go home, and see our son.”

~~~

~Four Months Later~

You could tell it was still in the early hours of the morning, the sun barely peeking through the curtains of your bedroom in orange, pink colored hues. Warm--everything felt warm now, safe and comforting as you had sought for so long. More than anything, things felt correct, like every missing piece of your puzzle had finally fallen into place. Absolute in its entirety, perfected in its security. The way light air billowed through the windows, making curtains drift in a slow dance of dark blue fabric in the direction of your bed--Vergil’s arm wrapped around your form, his steady heartbeat under your ear and the warmth he shared with your body. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt peace like this, a rightness that seemed to fill up your form like honeyed milk and bringing with it a sleepy peacefulness that made it incredibly difficult to rise for the day. Then again, you were a better morning person than the son of Sparda, who would no doubt awaken surly and annoyed as he usually did.

So many things had happened in the past few months since you returned from the Void, so many things and so many emotions to work through. You had fallen onto the sand with Vergil by your side, Nero and the others rushing out to meet you in relief and worry at the way you both looked--even more so when you collapsed upon the white haired boy and sobbed, refusing to let go as apology after apology had burst from your lips. Eventually Vergil was able to coax you into letting go, and then...well, you had to tell Nero everything. Every regained memory, every terrible tragedy and all the things you so desperately wanted to say sorry for. He had to know how much he was loved, that you so terribly wanted to stay with him but circumstances never allowed. He listened to it all in wide eyed shock, but you had the feeling that he could sense for a long time that there was something that tied you both together, something neither of you could understand until now.

You were telling the truth, and he couldn’t very well deny that. His best friend had been his mother all along, and that was a lot to take in. He was struggling with the knowledge, but not as much as the fact that he wasn’t abandoned for being a half demon, that his mother went through so much terrible tragedy and died on the steps of Fortuna’s orphanage. All those years of searching and filling himself with questions and resentment, all of it for nothing. His mother had come back eventually, and that whole time he thought himself the older one, like he was meant to protect her like a little sister. Things had become such a mess, weaved together in chaotic knots that took a solid hour to weave with Kyrie there to support Nero while he absorbed it all. You were shocked to see that this info was somehow a relief to him, and even more so when he embraced you like a mother as if it was somehow the easiest thing in the world...like he had wanted nothing more. 

Mind you, Nico was in absolute shock about all of this--she kept staring in slack jawed awed at you and Vergil, unable to wrap her head around any of it. You, one of her closest friends, had given birth to a punk like Nero? How the hell was such a thing supposed to make sense?

Naturally, the very next thing Nero did was punch Vergil square in the jaw.

Both you and Dante had to hold the hot-tempered devil hunter back as he shouted curses at his father, railing into him for everything he had done to you and all the pain he caused. All his childhood questioning, all the pain--if Vergil hadn’t been such a dick so much suffering could have been avoided. You protested in between that things were fine, that it was in the past, but the son of Sparda didn’t say a word, didn’t fight back for once. Her merely sat on the ground where he had landed after the blow, rubbing his jaw with one hand and staring blankly at the ground. He was trying so hard, you could tell--sorrow lingered in the depths of his icy blue eyes, mingling with self-loathing as Nero reiterated back all the terrible things he had done and what a terrible person it made him. You wanted to stop him, but...Nero deserved to speak his mind, and Vergil had reparations to make.

After some firm discussions on the matter, you and Vergil agreed that it would be best to stay at Devil May Cry while things settled down, to find an outlet for the son of Sparda that would actually let him help people. Kyrie and Nico were both disappointed that you’d be moving, as were the children, but...right now was a sensitive time for Vergil, one where you were too nervous to let him be around things that would only make him feel worse. Until his head was sorted out, Fortuna was too much of a terrible memory for you both to literally live in the location of, and staying at Devil May Cry would be for the best until that was sorted out.

Regardless, the next few months passed somewhat peacefully. You and Vergil joined Devil May Cry, and set about fixing Redgrave City and rescuing any survivors still trapped inside. There were buildings to be fixed, roads that needed repairing, and broken families that needed to come back together. You knew this would be hard on Vergil too, but it was absolutely necessary that he try to make up for all the terrible things he had done. Every life taken in his pursuit of power would weigh on him for a while, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon, but...this did help. It was a while before the son of Sparda wasn’t listless anymore, that you could get more emotion from him that wasn’t guilt or regret. Mind you, Dante being irritating did help with that, but even he was worried the first few months when he would taunt Vergil and get nothing but sadness from his brother.

The surly man had been through too much trauma, seen too much. Having you by his side was his only anchor for a long time.

Which led back to present day, you wrapping a leg around his waist and letting out a heavy sigh of impatience when Vergil still slept soundly. You would think that someone like him, all pride and silly rules, would be much better about getting up in the morning. Instead, he was somehow worse than Dante, all annoyed grunts and exhausted stares as he dragged himself downstairs for a cup of coffee or tea. At least Dante would come down sleepy but cheerful, usually around noon or one o'clock in search of day old pizza. You knew trying to wake the son of Sparda up would not be an easy task, but you knew that there would be missions today that needed preparations--Nero and Nico would be joining you, after all, and there was nothing more exciting than the idea of spending time with your son.

You hummed softly, slowly rising from where you lay against his side and sitting up on Vergil’s lap with mischief in your gaze. It was surprising--he had taken months to get used to sleeping next to you without jolting awake in defensive positions, and even longer to get used to you touching him. So the fact that you could now settle your entire weight on his waist and place your hands on his chest was a pleasant show of how far he had come. Christ, he was such a beautiful man--those grey lashes were resting against his cheeks, face peaceful and calm in rest with messy hair and kissable lips. You could have stared at the hard line of his jaw for hours, wanting nothing more than to nibble it with your teeth and smooch for hours on end. Such a hard urge to resist, especially considering that he definitely should have been awake right now to start getting ready.

He stirred a little bit when you leaned forward, kissing a slow line from his shoulders and neck to that jaw you had been admiring so much. He was so very warm, and hard by the feeling of him pressing against your ass. It would be fairly hard to stay asleep with you rubbing on him like that, worshiping his chest with your mouth and hands while he stirred just a little bit more. There was no denying that low, rumbling hum of sound that came from his chest, peaceful expression shifting into something far grumpier as he stretched out under your hips. Reminiscent of a mighty panther waking with a low growl, eyes still not opening even as you leaned your face against his neck and gently bit where a vein pulsed steadily under the skin. 

You weren’t surprised by the low rumble of his voice under your ear, sounding incredibly tired and slightly grumpy as he groused, “I thought you agreed only to awaken me early for emergencies, brat.”

There had been some sort of agreement--but you were a little too distracted to remember it, tongue sliding up his warmed skin with a soft purr of, “But it is an emergency, my heart...I’ll simply perish without your help.”

You were being a bit cheeky this morning, feeling a surge of mischief and glee when his hips couldn’t help but shift slightly underneath yours. That pressure had to be a bit constricting on his cock right about now, but you weren’t getting much of a reaction out of him yet--he never did fall for your dramatic claims.

“Oh?” Vergil murmured, eyes still not opening as you bit down on his left earlobe, heartbeat quickening in your chest as he continued on, “Will you now? You certainly have a lot of energy for someone close to perishing.”

That last word turned into a bit of a grunt when you purposely rubbed yourself against his cock, feeling its hard length shift and squeeze between your bodies. To be honest, this was probably doing you in more than him, that firm pressure on your clit making you moan breathily and lean against his form like a cat in heat. Your panties did nothing to sully the friction, arousal making its home in your abdomen and pooling warmth down into your core like melting honey. Vergil was certainly able to catch your mood, letting out an amused rumble of sound when you breathed heavily against his neck, rutting against his cock again with absolutely no shame. Honestly, a past version of you might have been embarrassed to act like this, especially with someone as prideful as the Son of Sparda. But you well enough by this point that he wasn’t phased by your unabashed desire--rather he enjoyed when you gave him this kind of attention, like it stroked his ego.

It definitely did. 

“Vergil…” You whined, wrapping both arms around his neck and pressing your entire body against his when he purposely tilted his head to the side as if feigning sleep, “Don’t be mean--I let you sleep longer today that I did yesterday.”

He chuckled lightly at that, finally cracking one eye open to stare at you in his typical, superior sort of way. Honestly, you were a bit dazed for a moment at how handsome he was, white hair a tousled mess on his pillow and lips curving into a bemused little smirk at the desperate expression on your face. Vergil had a special way of looking absolutely, arrogantly smug, especially when he knew how badly you wanted it. But he was also weak to your pleading, and even more so with you all over him and looking so very tempting in just a tank top and some panties--he’d be a foolish man to refuse you in even the most dire situations, although he had to get his fun in somewhere.

The half-demon clicked his tongue, head tilting back and eyes closing again as he replied to you in a purposely sleepy tone, “Maybe you should ask me nicely, doll, and I’ll think about indulging you.”

You bit your lip, knowing full well he wasn’t about to walk around aroused for the better part of the morning, especially not with work to do and especially not while meeting with your son. But it would be silly of you to call him on that bluff, especially since he was prideful enough to prove you wrong just for the hell of it. And quite frankly, you’d lose out far more than him with such a foolish game.

A sigh left your lips, body falling limply against his in a show of defeat, “...Please?” You murmured softly, chin resting on his chest as you stared at him imploringly, “Please, Vergil?” 

His smirk widened at that, showing his pearly white teeth in accompaniment with his equally smug reply, “You could always try calling me ‘sir’ just to sweeten it a bit, brat.”

“Now you’re just pushing it.”

It warmed you thoroughly when your huffed reply made the half-breed laugh, the sound sleepy and smooth as he finally yielded and wrapped both arms around your form. It felt so good to be held by him, your body made to fit against the hard lines of his own. the sensation only grew deeper when he rolled over to press you into the bed, mouth catching your lips in a deep kiss and hands holding him up on either side of your head. Whatever grumpiness that plagued him upon waking faded away with your tongue stroking over his, breaths mingly and hips pressed against each other in a slow grind. You’d be hard pressed to miss his desire now, especially with him rutting it against your wet heat in those slow, deep presses that made your breath catch in desperation. Christ, you were needy--and he absolutely adored that about you, wanted to indulge every chance he got, even if it meant teasing you a bit first.

You were panting when his mouth slipped to your jaw, a growl in his throat while he kissed a line down to your chest and lingered there for a moment. You practically trembled when one hand tugged up your tank top, those kissable lips latching onto one nipple and making your hips rise at the slow, purposeful suction he gave. Christ, his tongue...he was merciless this morning, absolutely ruthless. The half breed swirled the wet appendage over the sensitive bud in his mouth, making you whimper and fist his hair with both hands. So sensitive in the morning, becoming a writhing mess under his ministrations in a matter of seconds. He let out a satisfied hum, blue eyes looking up at you from under his lashes as he released your breast with a hollow pop, moving onto the next.

You were already drenched by that point, anymore foreplay absolutely not needed, but that wasn’t stopping Vergil. He would willingly draw this out hours if you had it, bringing you to the edge of orgasm over and over again without satisfaction, until you were sobbing with need. And then he would be the opposite other days, literally making you come over and over until you were begging to stop, until the overstimulation was too much. Unfortunately, today offered very little time with all the plans in mind, so he could only get his fun in short intervals. Honestly, you could have taken two of him with how aroused just the morning wanting had made you, and that was plainly obvious when the half-breed tugged your panties down your legs, tossing them to somewhere in your room.

You practically sobbed with need as he plunged his fingers into your sheath, the slide easy and wet as he tested your resistance, finding absolutely none. Your toes curled into the bed sheets, head tilted back as he kissed along your neck and jaw with those fingers working below. Curling inside, searching for any sweet points and making slick, lewd sounds with every thrust. You could only squirm, at his mercy and trembling with a building orgasm in your lower half. God, why were you always so sensitive? He had just barely started and you felt already inches away from coming on his fingers, hips rising to meet him as a desperate moan left your parted lips. No wonder he could overstimulate you so god damn easily--without edging you would just orgasm easily without much work at all.

“Ahhh...ahhh...g-god, please--” You whimpered against his neck, hips rolling against his hand as you squeezed your eyes shut, “Vergil...Vergil I’m so--”

“Already?” The son of Sparda murmured, stilling his fingers and chuckling at that half-choked sound of desperation you made in response, “I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that, doll.”

You weren’t really in the mood to be prideful today, his teasing barely registering with you as the feeling of that orgasm started to dull. It was so very disappointing when his digits left your throbbing insides, a trail of slick following them as proof of your arousal. That might have been a bit embarrassing if you had any shame left, but that wasn’t really the case after everything you had been through with this man. The son of Sparda seemed pleased, icy blue eyes lingering on his fingers before drawing them into his mouth, tasting your essence as he leaned back to gaze over your form with a hint of adoration in their depths. The way Vergil looked at you, lingering on each scar and left over wound from battles past...it made you heart only ache more, body desperate for his affections and warming further as you stared back with a pleading expression of your own.

 Luckily enough for you, Vergil seemed to be far more merciful today, placing both hands on your thighs and pushing them back and apart. You bit your lip, knees up to your chest and held there right where your legs bent with his strong hands. So exposed, spread nicely for him and ready to be taken. The half-breed gave you a look that told you not to move your limbs in the slightest, letting go so he could pull down the thin, cotton dress pants hiding his length from your eyes. You could have moaned when the hard appendage slipped free, precum already beading on the tip smeared away by his thumb and looking so damn perfect for you and you alone. God, he was beautiful everywhere, cock lengthy enough to press deep inside and thick enough to spread you without hurting too much. And with how aroused you were, it would be absolutely painless, your body practically aching to suck him inside and feel each stroke along your inner walls. 

Vergil didn’t seem keen on waiting any longer either, pressing the tip against your folds and sucking in a breath as he stroked over your clit for a few seconds, just savoring the wet warmth. You were trembling, toes curling with anticipation and heart pounding quickly in your chest when he finally pressed it against your throbbing entrance, Vergil gritting his teeth at the way your body molded around his length. A perfect fit, his cock slipping easily inside and buried deep in a matter of seconds. Your eyes rolled back a bit in your skull at the feeling of his tip brushing your cervix, filling you up entirely and leaving not a single inch that wasn’t being touch by him. You had no doubt that he could feel your every breath, every shift of muscle as you fought the urge to rut against him as the desperation grew higher.

“G-god, please…” You whimpered, shuddering when he leaned over your form and pressed both hands to your legs again to press them back. The movement shifted his cock inside, burying it just a bit deeper and making you gulp in a quick breath of air, “F-fuck...fuck…”

“So crass, my doll,” Vergil hissed, voice breathless as he leaned down to nip at your neck again, “You’re absolutely drenched...you must have really worked yourself up this morning.”

That was certainly an understatement. When he slid his cock out of your throbbing sheath it was a wet slide, plunging back in with a wet sound that seemed overly loud in the quiet of your bedroom. A choked whimper left your lips at the pace he began to set, wasting no time in being gentle with you with how obviously you wanted it. Your hands blindly reached for him in the mess of sensations scattering your thoughts, one wrapped around his neck and the other burying itself in his hair as your lips pressed hard together in the next instant. Vergil always kissed you the same way when you made love, like he was starving and you were the first meal he was allowed in so many years. You could only hang on as his cock plunged in and out below, roughly pressing your hips into the bed as each breath mingled desperately between your molding lips and tongues. Desperate, mindless, both seeking pleasure from each other as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it was. Vergil felt like home, felt correct in the best way possible. Body to body, legs wrapping around his waist now as he fucked you into the mattress--one hand cupped your warming cheeks, the other bracing himself upwards so he didn’t crush you with his weight. Each soft sound of pleasure that came from his lips was like music, panting gasps or subdued moans that strained with each thrust into your sheath. You loved looking at his face, seeing him come undone with pleasure and lose all composure as he shared his body with you, became vulnerable with you.

You were so close now, his hips grinding against your clit with each thrust. It was quite the sensation, feeling his  cock bumping your cervix every time he buried himself deep inside and feeling so very filled to the brim. The growing orgasm was coming much faster than you thought it would, your body still just as sensitive and absolutely trembling as it pushed for that pleasure like your life depended on it. Christ, how would you be able to work after this? He was so easily making a mess out of you, and something about that was absolutely tantalizing. Not that he was any better--you could already tell he was getting close too, the son of Sparda burying his face against your neck and body tense as he ground himself inside of you with a desperation that was starting to match your own.

“Y/N...fuck…” He hissed, voice low and breathless as he pressed his mouth to your skin, words slightly muffled as he moaned, “You feel so good, I can’t--fuck--”

You couldn’t even form a reply other than a wordless moan of your own, head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut as your orgasm started to crest. It throbbed through your insides, hips jolting upwards as a half sobbed cry of release left your lips and your body clenched around him like a vise. The half-breed grit his teeth, the tightening around his cock sending him to his own peak shortly after. His hips stuttered in their thrusts, a hoarse groan muffled against your skin as he buried himself deep to fill you up with his load. You could have melted at the feeling of him spilling inside, body going limp with satisfaction and toes curling into the mattress as you rode out the storm of pleasant sensations. Warm, thick, and so very deep--making love to him felt so perfect, and getting to have him again and again was more than you ever thought you’d be allowed. Bad memories, pain, suffering...they couldn’t have been further from you both at that moment, quietly coming down from your orgasms in the safety of your bedroom.

You don’t know how much time passed with you there, Vergil’s body pressed to your own but careful not to crush you with his weight. The throb of pleasure was quieting now into a warm glow, limbs limp and body deliciously spent as you let out a soft, contented sigh. An ideal way to spend your day involved staying like this with him for hours, maybe longer, and getting to enjoy each other as much as you wanted. That wasn’t likely today, but it still felt nice to lie there for a few moments, sharing warmth and listening to both heartbeats slow to something far more tame. Your fingers idly traced patterns on his relaxing back muscles, your other hand in his hair and gently stroking the slightly damp locks out of his face. You could feel him melt under your touch, breathing evening out considerably and eyes closing as he savored the comfort of your affections for just a bit longer.

He never wanted to stop feeling them. And neither did you.

You expected him to pull back as he always did, to kiss you on the lips and remark upon how you should probably start getting ready. Instead, you were surprised when he let out a soft breath, tone low and uncharacteristically gentle as he wrapped both arms around your spent form.

“I love you,” He murmured, stroking one hand up into your hair and pressing a tender kiss to your jaw, “Thank you...for loving me, for...choosing me.”

Your breath caught at his words, that familiar pang of emotions squeezing your heart as you recognized the vulnerability and hesitation in his tone. Even after four months, you could feel how each past mistake weighed upon the son of Sparda, making him feel undeserving of you, undeserving of anything. No doubt Nero’s constant reminders weren’t helping with that, nor did the Outsider’s trials all that time ago. You wished that there was more that could be done to ease his pain, but knew that the only way that he could change for the better was to embrace the mistakes and do better in the future. He was, after all, half human.

So you wrapped both arms around his neck, heart beating faster in your chest as you pressed your face to his silvery-white hair and smiled softly, voice absolutely truthful in your reply to the son of Sparda.

“I love you too--and I will always choose you.”

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[summoner-kentauris]

im not editnig this because its 1 am and i have to work tomorrow suffice to say it almost certainly got errors

i would call this emotional h/c ish territory. people having messy problems but coming out of it okay. alfonse dealing/not dealing with his hel curse. al and zash dealing with the fact that no one wrote him lettterrrrrrssss. no one was more surprised than me to find this one ends positively

-

Alfonse Gustavsvin, First Sword of the Order of Heroes and Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Askr has made some serious mistakes in his life.

Not the kind of mistakes his father would have called mistakes. Not the little things he’d once dragged himself over the coals for. Those things that Kiran calls “healing” to forget.

No, he’s his own man now, or at least he’s trying to be, and in that vein he can admit that he, himself, has made mistakes. Little ones, like sneaking away to practice, when he should have been balancing books, and causing a few hours headache for Anna when she had to do it late at night. Normal ones, like letting Kiran fly the Aether castle. He’s even made some big ones.

He’s not sure what category to class forgetting to tell Zacharias about that tiny small thing with Hel and all that.

He doesn’t even realize he’s made said mistake until he’s face to face with Zacharias again, and Zash is bleeding from a nasty cut on his head, and his shirt is torn and he’s sweating and wincing and grabbing a rib and begging the Order to help his sister-

That’s when it hits. He didn’t tell Zacharias. By the level of desperation in his voice, no one had.

Alfonse finds he doesn’t curse very often unless its around Zacharias, and he really has to work hard at it then, because, well, shit.

He tries to break the news as diplomatically as he can.

He can recognize Zacharias by his lance work alone.

He doesn’t need to see Zacharias’ eyes to read heartbreak.

-

He’s not surprised that Zacharias doesn't seek out the healers that night. He’s seen the what Bunrun- Spring Bruno can do with a staff. Fuck. Another thing Zacharias doesn’t know.

Focus on breaking the news about an amnesiac bunny summon version of him later.

Death first.

Zacharias sits, peculiarly still, as far away from camp as he can get. The cut on his head looks better than it had looked, which is nonetheless worse than it ought to. He doesn’t touch Zacharias. He believes him about the curse, really, he does, even if often his heart doesn’t want to. Wants him back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because if there’s one thing thinking you were gonna die in nine days did for you, it was help you be a little less equivocating. “I should have told you.”

“You were busy,” Zacharias says, simply, without looking over at him. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

You were busy, meaning, someone had told him the whole story before Alfonse had got to him. You were busy,meaning, Zacharias is always making up a narrative in his head. There’s nothing to apologize for, meaning, inevitably Zash is writing himself out of that narrative. Again.

Alfonse sighs.

“What were you told?” he says, in lieu of anything better.

“It matters not.” Zacharias goes to rise. “I must-”

“Sit down, Zach,” he says, maybe with more force and less weariness than he thought, because Zacharias does immediately. He almost looks surprised. It would be funny, if Alfonse wasn’t so tired.

“When all this is over,” he says, without thinking, “I’m going with you.”

Zacharias turns and stares at Alfonse through his mask for a long, long moment.

“What?”

He can’t match his stare. Not with the mask on. Not when something that hurts and stretches is unfolding itself, like a spine clicking.

So he doesn’t. The heavy night is deep. It looks endless, but only because its so dark. There’s no way to see a beginning, so there’s certainly no way to see an end.

Zacharias makes a huffing sound. “You can’t come with me. Alfonse, you can’t, I- the curse alone.”

“Nine days.” The voice doesn’t sound like his own. “Nine days.”

Zacharias falls silent. Alfonse feels silent, too, except he’s talking, so he can’t be. He’s moving his hands, so he must still be here.

“I didn’t want to see you,” he says. “So I didn’t tell you.”

Fool that he is, he doesn’t realize its true until he’s saying it. Until its real and invisible in the night air.

Zacharias sucks in a breath, but doesn’t say anything.

“I wanted to think,” he continues, “that I didn’t want you to see me like that. But it’s not true, is it? I didn’t want to see you, to see you and know you were-”

He cuts himself off when he realizes what he means to say. But, there are mistakes, and then there are mistakes.

And he misses his friend.

“…right,” he finishes. “Curses can be solved by death.”

“I know,” Zacharias says, after a beat. His tone is calm, even. “I’ve known that for some time. You know I believe that. So, then… what’s truly troubling you?”

“It’s funny, right?” That’s answer enough, right? “Nine days and all I could think about was how I didn’t want you to show me up.”

“Mm hm,” Zacharias mms. “And the truth, this time?”

Alfonse snorts. “What makes you think that’s not?”

If Zacharias cracks a smile, Alfonse chooses not to notice it out of the corner of his eye. None of this is funny.

“You’re clenching your left hand, where you usually hold your shield. I thought you’d broken that tell?”

He does laugh at that. His laugh doesn’t sound right. It sounds hurt. Why is he the hurt one?

“This isn’t… this isn’t funny,” he tries.

He’s not prepared for Zacharias to lightly reach out to touch his face. He’s not prepared to notice, suddenly, the tears that have begun making their way from his own eyes. He’s not prepared for feeling like someone has shoved Fólkvangr through his heart.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Why am I… why am I crying?”

“Oh, Alse,” Zacharias says, and then nothing else. He’s too busy pulling Alfonse into his arms, hugging him tightly, pulling his head close and holding him.

Alfonse doesn’t know why he’s crying. He doesn’t know why he can’t stop.

“I don’t… I don’t...”

Zacharias doesn’t say anything. Not when Alfonse starts making choking ugly crying sounds, not when Kiran and Sharena show up in a panic and he waves them off. Not when Alfonse finally beings to quiet into something he can pretend isn’t weeping.

Zacharias is quiet for a long, long time, until there is only the sounds of distant camp, and restless insects.

“Did you kill it?”

It takes Alfonse a moment to realize where he is, that someone is speaking, that it’s Zacharias who’s speaking.

“Hel?” he adds.

Alfonse carefully works his way out of Zacharias’ arms. It’s so cold in the night, but… “I… yes.”

“Good.”

Mistakes he’s made, that he keeps on making. He wishes he could go back. It’s so cold in the night.

“We were supposed to be together. It was supposed to be Embla, supposed to be together-”

“Aren’t we?”

The interruption throws Alfonse for a second. He swivels to look at Zacharias. Masked as always. And yet, Alfonse can feel Zacharias’ eyes on him.

“Aren’t we what?”

“Together. You and I. You’re here. I’m here. We’re here. That counts, doesn’t it?”

It’s like the earlier not-crying has wrung all the words out of him. “I...”

“I’ve learned a lot, being away,” Zacharias says. He looks back out across the night. “Very little has been useful, I think. Some of it, though… Does it matter?”

He turns back to face Alfonse abruptly. “Does it matter? That you didn’t tell me? I don’t want to hurt anymore. I don’t. I’m so ill of it, so… does it matter? Can I choose to let it go?”

“I...” Alfonse doesn’t like feeling dizzy. Doesn't like feeling cold. Wishes someone was hugging him again. Wishes it was Zacharias. “It’s not that simple, I…”

“There’s too much complicated in the world, Alse. There’s so, so much of it. I… know not what deserve is, or what right is, but I find myself wanting to ask all the same: can we be simple again? Let’s be easy. Let’s let it all go and just…”

“I didn’t write you.”

“And I wasn’t there,” he counters. “And next time, something will happen and you’ll run off without me and it will be the end of the world, and I won’t be there and you didn’t tell me. You hurt, I hurt, none of it’s our fault. So hang it all. It’s been a decade. If neither of us is going to change, do you really think our feelings will?”

“I thought I was going to die,” Alfonse says. His voice sounds small. He can’t bring himself to hate it. “I thought I would never see you again. So I though it would be easier to just accept it.”

“That doesn’t sound like a man who stood in a bunny costume and promised to kill a god for me, now does it.”

A spark of an emotion that’s not empty despair.

“This- this isn’t funny!”

Zacharias smiles a bit. “Apologies. My sense of humor has been warped by the voice in my head, you know, the one that regularly demands I disembowel everyone I’ve ever loved.”

He can’t stand this cold. “Hold me, please.”

And Zacharias does, without a pause.

He falls into a running a hand through Alfonse’s hair. It’s soothing, in a way Alfonse hasn’t felt in a long time.

Maybe ever.

“It truly isn’t that simple, is it?”

Zacharias talks to the open air. Alfonse doesn’t want to leave the warm he’s found in order to look at him, so he doesn’t.

“No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Zacharias says. His hand doesn’t falter in Alfonse’s hair. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“Me too.”

That’s pretty simple, Alfonse thinks as they sit there. Two people, being sorry that they can’t properly care for the person they care about. None of it really their fault at the end of the day.

“Alright,” he says, suddenly. “We’ll let it go.”

“Mm?”

He leans up. He untangles himself.

“You’re right,” he repeats. “I promised we’d kill gods together. But, if we’re going to be defiant, well… oughtn’t we do it right?”

Zacharias tilts his head. “What?”

“I was so afraid,” he says, simply. “No more. Damn the gods. I chose you.”

Zacharias’ smile flickers, then settles into something softer and more familiar. “And if we fail?”

“Hm.” Alfonse settles back into Zacharias arms, it feels different, somehow. Less like running. “Well, we’re still young, you and I. Plenty of time to make some interesting mistakes.”

At that, Zacharias genuinely laughs, and then relaxes. He goes back to fiddling with Alfonse’s hair, and, frankly-

Frankly, he’s had a shit day, but in that moment he’s never felt better.

[dapandapod]

A song unsung

I am so fucking sorry. Here’s a headsup. I wrote such a sad thing today, so much angst, I hate myself a little for it, I did what I never said I would do.

Honestly, I cried writing it. Here it is on Ao3 too... Here there will be death and grief and sadness! Enjoy! T_T 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her small body lies lifeless in front of them. Her small dress is bloody and broken. Her eyes blank and glassy.

They failed. The monster is dead but so is the child. She would never have her fifth birthday. Jaskiers entire body hurts. He has a big scratch on his arm, but his heart bleeds more. Her tiny frame lies unmoving on the grass.

Next to her, on his knees, sits Geralt. He stares, his face unreadable. Her lifeblood is still dripping from his face. He was too late. Too slow. Not enough to save her. Jaskier approaches him, laying a hand on Geralt's stiff shoulder.

”It was not your fault.” He says softly. Geralts says nothing. They stand together in silence.

”We should go back. Bring her to her mother.” ”We can’t.” Geralt's voice is steady. ”She will wake up soon.”

It breaks Jaskiers heart into a thousand tiny pieces. He knows what must be done. What Geralt must do.

”It’s not fair.” He can feel his eyes burn, tears threatening to break free. ”There is no other way. She will hurt less this way.” The first tear falls down Jaskiers cheek when Geralt unsheathes his dagger. They wait together.

And finally, her eyes open. Black and cruel. Geralt push his dagger in her heart. She screams. Geralt cuts her head off. She never makes a sound again.

They refuse to burn her together with the monster that killed her. They gather firewood for two. Her funeral pyre is so small. They take the small dress with them.

The village elder meets them at the outskirts of their gathering of houses. He and a few others are gathered, waiting. When it is clear that no child is with them, a loud wail breaks from one of the women. The mother. She screams and sobs, clutching at her chest.

“Did you kill it?” The village elder asks them quietly. Geralt nods, his expression stony. “Is she…?” The man's voice wavers. “Yes.” Geralt grounds out, lowering his eyes to the ground. “I couldn’t save her.” Jaskier reaches out to touch his arm in support. When Geralt hands them the small dress the wails turns to screams.

The mother twists out of the arms of her husband, howling with rage. “You killed my little girl! You did this! You monster!” She snatches the dress from his hands, her face a picture of despair. Another heart wrenching sob, and then she pounds Geralt with her fist. Her husband grabs her arms, tries to pull her back. “You coldhearted freak!” She spits in Geralt's face. She keeps screaming and wailing as they drag her back to their house.

During the entire assault, Geralt just stands there. Watch the mother mourn. He takes it.

Jaskier can see from his posture alone that he truly thinks he deserves it.

The elder hands Geralt a pouch of coins. “Take it. You killed our monster. You earned it.” Geralt turns away, without taking the pouch. Jaskier looks after him for a second, then he accepts the pouch from the elder.

He follows Geralt towards their camp and Roach.

They sit across each other. A fire is crackling, the darkness has fallen anew around them. Jaskier is for once very quiet. There are no words. He has shed his tears, and now there is a hollow place inside his ribs.

He looks over at Geralt. To most people, he looks the same. Like he is the indifferent monster like they want him to be. He sits there, cleaning his blades. The dagger rests in the grass beneath his feet. The fire is reflected on it’s smooth surface.

“Have you ever lost someone before?” Jaskier asks, breaking the quiet. Geralt doesn’t look up. “...Yes.” “Is it always this hard?” The nightbirds are coming out. Geralt finally relents and meets Jaskiers eyes over the flames. He swallows. So much repressed emotion. Fuck those who say Witchers can’t feel. “It never gets easier. I don’t want it to get easier. It has to matter.”

There is silence again. Jaskier tosses another clab of wood into the fire, which licks at it greedily. Roach is softly chewing on the feed they gave her earlier.

“Do they always treat you like that?” A sad smile finds itself on Geralt’s face. “She mourns. It helps them, I think.”

Jaskier does not say it. But he wonders how she would have treated a knight, or any huntsman being a human.

“Did you ever lose a friend?” Geralt is quiet for so long Jaskier thinks he won’t answer.

“I did.” Geralt says quietly.

That night they put their bedrolls close together. Geralt says nothing then Jaskier leans against him. Doesn’t protest when he wraps an arm around him, fitting himself against his broad back, holding him close.

It takes two days for Jaskier to touch his lute again. He strums it softly, a soft, achingly sad melody. He doesn’t sing, but he writes.

The song is never sung when Geralt is near.

Jaskier only plays it when they are apart, on nights when it feels hard. He sings of failure and mourning, of a long and lonely life lined with loss. About taking the blame, about every ache a heart can feel.

It nestles itself in his audience's hearts, weep and feel for those who can’t any more.

It is only years after Jaskiers passing that Geralt learns the words.

A young bard sings in a tavern where he and Yennefer are eating their supper.

He knows it from the melody, a melody he heard many times before.

And Yennefer holds him tight, so tight, under the stars.

~~*~~

“She took me in, she loved me dear, for her I kept them safe They trusted me, they hugged me close, for them I kept her safe

For many moons, for many suns, with them we all were safe But then it came, it took my pup, we were no longer safe I

I love them all, I love them dear, I need to keep them safe I hunt the beast, I flash my teeth, Im a beast that'll keep them safe

I fell the fiend, I used my teeth, but know I was too late The blood run red, the blood is hers, I was so very late

Her skin is cold, her tears ran dry, I couldn't keep her safe I bore her home, home to them, I couldn't keep them safe

She shuned me hard, she ran me off, I loved her very much For her I killed, for her I left, I loved them very much

My pup I mourn, my pup I lost, I couldn't keep her safe I miss them all, I miss them still, I hope that they are safe”

[jj-stein]

anti used jamesons body to torture henrik, and used henriks body to hurt and interact with jamie, but neither of them ever got to meet the people that anti was using. anti never told hen or jamie each other’s names or really explained who they were, partly because he just didnt care, and partly because he wanted to give the illusion that it was his body, and not him possessing someone.

henrik had no clue who anti was using, he had never seen jamie before and didnt know who this lost ego was, but he also never blamed him for what happened to him because henrik knew that he wasnt here with anti voluntarily. anti did tell him a little bit about jamie, just because he doesnt have many people who he can gush about his puppet to, and learns that the poor guy cant speak (which explains why antis ‘voice’ is super scratchy and why he keeps spitting blood), that hes been with anti his entire life, that hes this objectified and completely isolated person who henrik doubts has ever had any freedom or choice in his life. anti considers him a ‘birthday gift from jack’ or his ‘roommate’ and has referred to him as his pretty doll or his personal little whore or his darling baby boy, but never letting his name slip.

but henrik couldnt help but think about him, and to distract himself from the crippling despair and pain he’d wonder about who that poor man was, what his name was, where he came from, what his personality was like, what he did all day while anti was gone, what his relationship with anti was, if he loved anti, if anti was kind to him. sometimes he heard footsteps over his head that sounded almost lighter than antis, but was too afraid to call up to him for help because anti would pin his mouth shut with safety pins if he heard him crying or yelling too loudly. he still daydreamed about calling up to the mystery man who lived upstairs, calling ‘hello! hello! my names henrik, my friends call me schneep, whats your name? are you lonely up there? are you happy? are you safe? i dont know you but i forgive you anyways for anything anti does to me and im sorry that you have to live like this’

and jamie never knew who anti was torturing and wearing all those months, but he knew that he was in pain and didnt want anti to hurt people or jamie with his hands and just wanted to go home, and jamie never held any of it against him no matter what anti did. of course jameson loved it when anti wore him, even if anti hurt him, because hes never really been held or touched or talked to by another person, but it was absolutely exciting to him to think about the fact that there was another person! in his house!! a real live breathing person like him!! he so very badly wanted to meet him, just to talk with another human being because he was just so lonely, but anti told him that he wouldnt want to meet the other man because he was a failure and was a doctor who killed people and was a miserable excuse for a human that wouldnt be worth the time to talk to. he wouldnt want to talk to jameson anyways, he’d hate him because he was just a body for anti and hes weird and mute and socially impaired and uninteresting.

but that didnt stop jamie from wanting to meet him, wanting to take care of him after anti hurt him, wanting to bring him food or blankets. or talk to him, or touch him, or be his friend. he wanted to be with another person so badly that he would press up against the locked basement door just so he could listen out for the man downstairs, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wood and pretending he was with him. hes fallen asleep on the floor, pressing his ear to the ground while he listened to him weep or cry out or sometimes even sing quietly to himself. he wanted to knock on the floor to get his attention, or whistle down the vents so he knew that he wasnt alone, that there was someone upstairs thinking about him and wanting to be kind to him and wanting him to know how sorry jamie was that this was happening to him and that if he could help him he would in a heartbeat.

when henrik escaped, jameson was devastated that anti wouldnt be able to touch and talk to him anymore, and that there wasnt a person in his cold, lonely house anymore. he wasnt even friends with henrik, and he wanted to be happy that he managed to get away so he didnt have to suffer anymore, but it still broke his heart in a way that he couldnt really describe. and when henrik was safe back with his family, his mind free of antis grasp and his body free to heal, he couldnt help but feel a crippling sense of what he considered to be survivors guilt. he feels as if he should’ve found a way to take jameson back home with him, he was suffering just as much as henrik was, it wasnt fair that he had to stay with anti while henrik got to go home. he would stay awake at night crying to chase or jackie about the poor man that anti had been using for so long, about all the different ways henrik couldve done things differently to take him back home with him to safety, where he deserved to be after so long.

but when they both finally came home, when they learned each others names and could see each other as who they really are, they could scarcely look each other in the eye. besides anti, they were the only two people who really knew what happened to each other, and being faced with the biggest connection to their past was something they werent ready to face. they did not speak to each other, or look at each other, or want to be in the same room together because they were afraid for the longest time.

it took some time, and it took some courage, and eventually they were finally able to stand in front of each other and exchange a simple hello without bolting out of the room. and it was scary at first, of course, because they couldnt really ignore the elephant in the room forever, but once they got to talking, once they were able to open up a little, once they could finally learn who they really are, they found it was worth it. 

it was a catharsis that they didnt realize they needed, and finally relieved some of the painful weight that constantly hangs from their heads. theres no other feeling like when henrik can hold jameson close to his chest and say from the bottom of his heart im so, so happy that you’re here. theres no other feeling than when jameson can wrap a blanket around henriks shoulders while he falls asleep and say im so, so happy you’re here. among all the shit they have to deal with, at least they can have a little peace between themselves.

im so grateful that you’re here. im so happy you’re safe. im so thankful i get to finally know you.

[dark-and-kawaii]

Itachi x Reader

Please enjoy!!! This goes along with the small Drabble I wrote a while ago!!! Quote a few of you were asking if I would continue it... So I did!!! Hopefully I did it justice!!!

Part 1. Click here

“Itachi… D-Do you really have to do this…?” Holding your hands against your bare chest, you watched as Itachi pushed his arms through his Akatsuki robe…

Itachi turned towards you, his face full of agony and despair… A sharp ping hits your chest as you stare into his onyx eyes… You weep on the inside, not wanting to cause him anymore suffering…

“____.” Ambling towards you, Itachi rested his forehead against your very own as he smiled with closed eyes, “You’ll make a fine mother with our child, i’m just sorry i can’t be here to witness it with my own two eyes.”

“I-Itachi... -”

Before you could continue with your own sentence, Itachi backed away from you and began to cough up blood…

“Itachi! Please tell me you’ve been taking the medicine i’ve been getting for you… H-How can you expect to even make it there if you’re like this… You… You’ll die before you even reach, and what if Sasuke brings reinforcements?!”

“Kisame will be there to keep them back as i deal with my little brother.”

Your eyes were glassed over and you no longer  could hold in your sorrowful tears, this was just all too much for you… For years… No…. Since childhood…  you’ve been keeping Itachi and you a secret and now… After weeks of not seeing him he attempts to get you pregnant and tells you he will see you in the afterlife…

Wiping his mouth, Itachi gathers himself and heads for the door…

…

‘T-This… This can’t be it… Please… I-It’s not fair…’  

As Itachi holds onto the door handle, before he leaves… He says his final goodbye to you with a forced smile and one lone tear…

Just as he walks out, a second before the door closes you reach out with your right hand and yell with nothing but pure emotion… “Don’t go!!!” …. As the door shuts… You fall to your knees sobbing…

Weeks have gone by… Nothing seems the same… And you had no clue whether you love was dead or not… Staring out your window, your hand resting against your cheek… You hold your stomach and prey that a miracle has occurred and that Itachi is actually on his way home…

Closing your eyes, you think back to when you and Itachi would play around in Konoha…

‘Can’t catch me!!! I’m the rogue!!!’ You stuck your tongue out at Itachi as you ran from him and jumped from building to building as he pursued you. Itachi flung one of his Kunai at you and it nearly grazed your arm… ‘EEEKK!!!’ Freezing where you were atop a tall building you hastily swirled around and stopped in the direction Itachi was… ‘You cheater and why are you using an actual weapon what if that hit me!!!’ You were stomping your feet and pointing at the kunai knife.

‘You’re the rogue and i’m the anbu though… Why wouldn’t i have a kunai knife, plus i would never actually aim for you.’ Teleporting from his spot, Itachi appeared in front of you and tapped his forehead against yours before grabbing his kunai.

‘Yeah yeah. Right. Let’s go grab something to snack on, Itachi.’

Walking side by side in the heart of Konoha with your dangos, you and Itachi were doing what children should be doing at such a young age, enjoying down time. Before you knew what was going on you heard Itachi yell out your name before being tackled to the ground…

A rambunctious cow had escaped it’s cart and was running straight towards you, and it probably would’ve killed you if it wasn’t for Itachi protecting you…

‘Someone grab that damn cow!’

‘Are you both alright?’

‘That must’ve been so scary! Those poor kids!’

‘____. ____.’

Despite all the voices going around in your ear, only one truly caught your attention…

‘I-Itachi…’

Opening your eyes, his face was a blur for a second until you blinked. Clear as day, Itachi had your tiny body in his small arms… ‘I’m glad you’re okay, ___.’

‘Th-Thank you, Itachi. F-For helping me back there.’

As you continued to peer up at him, you watched as he steadily closed his eyes and smiled, ‘I’ll always watch over you, ____.’

Opening back up your eyes, you continue to look out your window but this time with a smile on your face. Itachi’s childhood didn’t last long, but you cherish the memories you have before he became obsessed with training. He had good reasons for it, and you were honored he trusted only you to watch over Sasuke during certain days… Though, sometimes he’d still act like the overprotective brother and not allow you near him…

Chuckling at the image in your head from back then it was cut short as you heard a knock at your door.

Not even thinking you darted to your door, no weapon or jutsu ready in case it was an enemy… Just yourself and hope that it’s… ‘Please!  Be him!’

Opening your door… Your heart stopped and your breathing ceased…

….

“____…”

“K-Kisame…”

The shark mans iconic grin was nowhere to be found on his face… But instead a sulking frown…

“N-No… Wh-Where’s… Where’s Itach-”

“I’m sorry, ___. He asked me to come here once he-”

No strength left in your body, you collapse to the ground as you did the day he left…. “I-Itachi…”

By no means was Kisame a heartless guy. Getting down to your level, Kisame held out his hand to you. Lifting up your head, you saw he was holding Itachi’s necklace and Akatsuki ring,  “He’d want you to have them.”

“Th-Thank you, Kisame…” As tears ran down your cheek, Kisame wiped away one of the tears that was about to fall with his finger…

“I can’t stay, but if i can i’ll come check in on you and the child time to time. It’s the least i could do for him.”

“Ho-How did you know…”

“I have better senses than you think. I’ve got a good feeling it’s going to be a boy as well.” Standing back up, Kisame turned to look up at the sky. You could see faintly Kisame’s grin appear once more on his face… “Take an easy, ___.”

Once Kisame Teleported away from you and your home… You used your sleeve to wipe your eyes so you could slip Itachi’s ring on his necklace and place it around your neck…

Continuing to sit on the floor… Your mind was still fuzzy, you still couldn’t wrap your head around the thought of living a life without Itachi. Especially now that you’re carrying his child... Holding onto your head you mourn… Until a certain sound catches your attention…

Looking out your open door from where you sat on the floor… A crow perched on the small bush outside your home…

‘I’ll always watch over you, ___.’

As the crow caws, you hold your stomach...

“Thank you-”

~ Caw

“Itachi.”

Sitting up from the floor, you hold onto the door frame and smile at the crow before looking up at the blue sky as you continue to rest your hand on your stomach… “I know you’ll watch over myself and your son Shisui.... Itachi“

~ Love Kiwi xoxo

[whattimeisitintokyo]

I Could Never Hate You (Part 2)

Heeeeeeey, did you miss me? Probably not. I have no excuses, but here’s the rest of the chapter. Bleep!

“Im… Imelda?”

“Héctor!” Imelda reached over and cupped his face with her hand, looking deep into his blurry eyes. “Are you here with me? Do you understand me?”

“S-si… I can’t… I can’t move my arms. Agh, Dios, my head!”

“Hold on.” Imelda made quick work to unlatch the thick straps wrapped around his wrists, and once one was free his hand immediately went up to his forehead to try to soothe the pounding ache. When she had finished with the other one she was back close to his face. “Héctor, I need you to relax and tell me what you remember last.”

It took a few seconds, as Héctor gazed dully at his wife, before the memories started to flood back. “Ernesto…” he choked out, lowering his hand over his eyes as he bitterly wept. “I saw him… He’s-”

“Okay.” Imelda shushed him and ran a hand through his dirty hair. “Okay, you don’t need to say anything else.”

Héctor blinked up at the harsh lighting and his gaze went around the room, recognition settling in and disgust coming in quickly. He recognized this place. This was where his little girl had wasted away into nothing while he foolishly believed that she was getting the help she needed. And anger was a much better feeling to have than despair. It helped him, gave him strength. It would do. “Why am I in this hospital?” he growled. “Why am I here?”

Imelda’s face hardened and she looked at him with exasperation and anger, making him shrink back. “Why are you here? Héctor, you… You brought yourself here! You’ve been drinking so much that your body nearly shut down when you stopped. You haven’t been eating, you are ten pounds underweight! Your lungs are so congested that I-… I watched you nearly choke to death Héctor! How could you have neglected your health so much?! Were you trying to kill yourself?!”

Did you try to kill yourself Ernesto?

With a shake of his head he turned away from his wife with a snarl as he focused on anything else but her and that horrible thought of his brother. “Of course not! I would never do anything so… so cowardly! What do you care anyway?”

She didn’t answer, but Héctor heard the sharp inhale before there was a quiet still. It lasted far too long, until finally the metallic screech of the chair she was sitting on startled him into looking at her again. Imelda had stood up and patted her dress down, refusing to look at him, and cleared her throat. “I must tell the doctor that you are awake and aware.”

As she quickly walked towards the door, each click of her heels sent a sharp stab of pain directly into Héctor’s heart. She was leaving him. Again. And this time he knew why. He shouldn’t have snapped at her. But his head was throbbing just as terribly as the ache in his chest, and he had lashed out in his pain and suffering. But it wasn’t just this. The past few years of distance, that had eventually grown into separation, had been on him.

It was all his fault. It had to be.

“I’m sorry Imelda.”

His desperate, whimpering voice reached her just as she had opened the door, making her pause. She turned her head towards him so he could see her beautiful profile, but still wouldn’t look him in the eye. Still, he had gotten her attention, and he could work with that.

Make her listen.

“This is all my fault… Not yours.” Héctor said softly, his vision slowly becoming even more blurry with tears. His head only felt worse, and it hurt to breathe, but he continued anyway. “I’ve been a t-terrible husband… and father, and a… a terrible friend. I couldn’t see how bad Ernesto was because I was only caring about myself, and now he’s… He’s gone. And it’s all my fault.”

It was at this point Héctor had dissolved into sobs and what he was saying could easily be described as blubbering. But he couldn’t stop. “I should have been stronger, I should have made him go to a doctor, or just have kept him in the room, just not on the stage. But I was too weak. I’m too weak. It’s all my fault. He’s dead… I couldn’t keep him off the stage, and I couldn’t make Matty stay at home, I couldn’t make you-… I’m so sorry, Imelda!”

He broke off into a fit of weeping, trying and failing to keep it at a low volume. Trying not to look as truly pathetic as he felt. With his eyes still squeezed shut in misery he heard the door solidly close, and his heart shattered. It didn’t work. He had poured his heart out to Imelda, and she still left him. He had finally talked to her, tried for one last time, and he had still failed. Curling as much as his IVs would allow, he buried his face into his pillow and continued to cry. So lost in his misery he didn’t even realize that he wasn’t alone, until a soft voice startled him.

“Who said that you were a terrible husband and father?”

With a gasp he looked up and saw Imelda staring down at him, with an unreadable yet soft expression. His breath stuttered to halt at seeing her look at him like that, and for the life of him he couldn’t answer her. His voice was stuck in his throat as he gaped at her with tears still spilling silently down his cheeks. Luckily for him Imelda continued on her own.

“You have been nothing but a loving and devoted father.” Imelda said as she sat down on the side of the bed, and now that she was closer Héctor could read the expression past his blurry gaze. She looked so… sad. “Our children couldn’t adore you more if they tried. Never think differently.”

With a sniffle, Héctor smothered a cough as he swiped at his eyes. “But… But Matty. I let him go. If he dies…”

“Then it will be the fault of whoever kills him. Not his, not yours.” With a bowed head she looked down at he clasped hands in her lap. “And you didn’t let him do anything. Mateo does what he wants.” Then, suddenly, Imelda did something that Héctor had not seen from her in quite some time and made his heart flutter. She smiled. “Remember when he wanted to join the fútbol team, and I was afraid that he would fail, or hurt himself? I refused to sign the permission slip, and what did he do?”

Héctor was surprised when, despite all his sorrow, the corner of his mouth twitched upward at the memory. “He forged your signature.”

“And despite my concerns, he surpassed my expectations an succeeded in it. Even kicked the winning goal in his first game. Probably just to prove to me that I worried over nothing.”

“This isn’t a fútbol game.” Héctor whispered, the fleeting lightness of mirth vanished. “I sent him off to war.”

“No.” Imelda shook her head firmly. “No he was already going, you sent him off with a lighter heart. With the knowledge that you didn’t hate him for his decision.  I… didn’t realize that until afterwards. It’s what I should have done.”

“That’s why you sent him boots?”

“Si.” Imelda nodded and smiled again. “He is still an idiota, but I wanted him to know that I still love him with all of my heart… Like you did. I am sorry Héctor. I never should have said those things to you when it happened.”

Héctor sniffled again, the tight vice around his heart lessening just a little at her words. Knowing that she didn’t blame him for Matty’s actions made him feel a little better, but he still had to know the full truth. “But… you said it. Because you… wanted me to leave… Didn’t you?”

“…Si.”

Héctor sank deeper into the pillow and turned his gaze away from her. He knew it. She didn’t love him anymore. She truly didn’t want him with her. That was it. It was over.

“It’s for the best. You deserve so much better.”

Héctor’s head snapped back to stare at Imelda in confusion. A little too fast as his aching head protested against the harsh movement, but he struggled through the pain just as he struggled through his confusion. “Better?” he whispered. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Imelda looked away and crossed her arms across her chest tightly, almost as if she was hugging herself. Or maybe to prevent herself from touching him. “You’re a successful man, Héctor. And you’re still young. Young enough to find another woman who would be more than happy to start a new life with you.”

“Y-young?!” Héctor choked out in disbelief. “Imelda, I’m a grandfather.”

Imelda waved a hand at him dismissively. “That means nothing to a man. You’ll be as virile now until the day you die. You can expand your legacy even more with someone else. I’m finished Héctor. I have nothing more I can give you.”

Héctor’s brow furrowed in utter confusion, his weakened mind slowly trying to piece together what Imelda was saying.  “What are you talking about? Imelda, you’ve given me so much. How can you say you have nothing-”

“I am old, Héctor.” Imelda cut him off, and for the first time Héctor saw her cold façade crack into something vulnerable. “I am sagging and wrinkled. And not only that I am broken. Everything that made me worthy of being your wife is gone. Cut from me never to be replaced. I am a shadow of what I once was, and I am no use to you anymore.”

With a slow blink, Héctor suddenly understood.  “Imelda… Are you talking about the surgery?” She didn’t answer, but her silence was answer enough. “Imelda! You nearly died! The surgery saved your life!”

“And it ruined my body!” Imelda choked out, and she finally started to cry. “I see that scar everyday Héctor. It’s hideous and it’s disgusting. I’ve never felt so disgusted, and so… So embarrassed! And ashamed! I am not a woman anymore, at least not one that can bear you children!”

“I don’t want more children!” Héctor shouted, and the strain of the outburst proved too much as his chest was seized with a fit of deep hacking coughs.

Imelda was at his side in a second pressing a soft rag against his mouth as the violent coughs shook him. After what seemed like too long, to the point she was afraid that he would pass out again, Héctor finally drew in enough air to gasp and collapsed back onto the bed in exhaustion. As she wiped at his lips gently and shushed him, Héctor locked eyes with her and held her gaze.

“Imelda, I love you.��� He whispered, his voice rough from his fit. “I’ve loved you since I was eleven years old… The angelic girl in the creek who sang La Llorona so… hauntingly beautiful… You’re all I ever wanted. But I wanted you for you, not as a… a baby factory.”

Imelda laughed softly, bitterly, as she stood up to walk towards the trash bin. “Some factory!” she sneered as she tossed the soiled rag into the bin. “I couldn’t even carry our child to term. I was just too old, and Miguel nearly died before he had a chance to live.”

“But he is alive! You’re alive! Everything is fine!”

“And I gave you the most beautiful little girl.” She whimpered and lowered her head into a dry sob. “Leticia… with flowers in her hair… and in the end she rotted away.”

Héctor choked on tears as he struggled to sit up. “No. Imelda, that’s not true.”

“And I made you give up on her!”

“That’s not true!”

“How could you love a woman who killed her own daughter?!”

“Enough! Imelda, I –UGH!”

It wasn’t until he had crashed to the ground did Héctor realize that he had forced himself out of the bed, desperate to reach his hysterical wife. His weakened limbs couldn’t bear even his own meager weight and landed heavily on his knees and arms in an awkward, painful kneel. He hissed as sharp pain shot through him and collapsed to his side, his ringing ears preventing him from hearing Imelda’s terrified gasp.

“Héctor!”

And then suddenly he felt her hands on him, pulling him up into sitting position and muttering frantically that he had to get back into bed. As the pain slowly subsided he managed to grab her hand with his, squeezing hard and trying to draw strength from her. When she stilled and looked at him, he brought her hand up to his face and nuzzled it. Dios, he missed her. And being so close to her he could actually smell her again. And her kiss her palm, and-

Ay, mierda. I kissed her palm!

With a start he looked up at Imelda, expecting to hear a barrage of curses or maybe even being on the receiving end of a few indignant slaps. But what he saw stole his breath away. She just looked at him with profound sadness in her eyes, tears still running down her cheeks, and there was something else. Something that pulled at his heart and gave him the courage to keep pressing forward.

It was longing.

“Imelda.” Héctor whispered as he again pressed her hand against his face. “You didn’t kill her. She was too sick, and you did not make her sick. And you didn’t make me give up on her.  You were right. All I was doing was hurting Leti. And you… You did it first.”

Imelda blinked. “Did what first?”

Héctor smiled. “You said I let Matty go with a lighter heart. Well… You did it first, to our little girl. She didn’t have to fight anymore. She died peacefully with her family at home. That was because of you, and I am forever grateful for that.”

“And I don’t want more children, or a young mistress, or anything like that. All I ever wanted was a real family. Ever since I was a little boy, after realizing that my Mamá and Papá were never going to come back for me. And when I saw the bossy, snooty girl who always made fun of me for being too short, sing my favorite song in the most beautiful way… I knew I wanted to start one with you. I don’t care if you can’t have any more children. I just want you to be healthy, Imelda. And no matter how many scars or wrinkles or gray hairs you’ll get, you will always be the most beautiful girl in the world to me. I don’t want you to hate yourself Imelda, and if you do I’ll just have to love you twice as much to make up for it. Because, when I married you… I was ready to be with you… for life.”

Imelda closed her eyes and nodded, fresh tears falling and a trembling smile suppressing her weeping. With a shaking hand Héctor wiped the tears off of her face, and soon she too was nuzzling his hand. Slowly they came closer together until their foreheads were resting against each other, noses barely touching, and they just stared at each other and cried.

“Imelda… Mi amor… Mi diosa… Please tell me you still love me… Por favor…”

…

…

“You are the love of my life.”

When the nurse came in several minutes later for a routine check on her patient, she was startled into a near heart attack and horrified at what she saw: Héctor Rivera, the man who all of Mexico had been waiting on with bated breath to wake up from Death’s door, and Imelda Rivera, the fashion mogul and shrewd businesswoman who had been coldly separated from her husband for months, were on the cold hard ground in a twist of IV tubes and blankets. Laughing, crying hysterically, and kissing each other with intense fervor.

The nurse frantically called for orderlies and doctors to come lift Héctor of the floor and back into the bed, difficult to do when he and his wife couldn’t stop clinging to each other. Once he was settled back into bed, and the doctors tried to treat him and question his wellbeing between all the kissing a crying, did they finally leave them alone again.

Ernesto was dead. He would have to be buried. Héctor would have to watch his friend be placed into his eternal resting place. It was the lowest he had ever felt in his life. But as his wife peppered his face with kisses and whispered words of love and apologies, that she did love him, that she wanted him to come home as soon as he was well, that she missed him and that Miguel missed him too, Héctor finally started to feel himself slowly rise from the pit of rock bottom.

It was a tragedy, but things couldn’t get worse than they were now.

Now it was time for things to start looking up.

“I can’t believe you’re kissing me!” Héctor said as he giggled.

“I can’t help it.” Imelda said as she kissed him for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last hour.  “I love you. And I miss you. Anyone would kiss their husband in this situation.”

“No, I meant that I’ve been the hospital for days! I must stink and taste too terrible to kiss!”

“I don’t care.” Imelda kissed him again, this time on the brow, and nuzzled his forehead. “I want you to come home Héctor.”

“Si, of course.” Héctor whispered. “I’ve wanted to come home for so long.”

“As long as you don’t mind sharing the bed with someone else… Someone younger. Like I have for the past few months.”

There was a beat of silence, before Héctor leaned back to look Imelda in the eyes again, a cold feeling of dread starting to creep back into his heart. “What?”

Imelda held his gaze for a second, before a sly smile curled her lips. “I got a new cat… Her name is Pepita.”

“….. You are so lucky I’m in a hospital right now. I think I just had a stroke.”

Imelda laughed again, with Héctor joining her, and they resumed kissing, and crying, and kissing some more. When the nurse came back in again later, she was once again shocked and exasperated at the sight of the both of them, cramped together on the small hospital bed, sound asleep in each other’s arms.

————————————————————

Ay! AY! This is terrible! Mierda! Basura! I can’t eat any more of this!

It had been a week since Héctor had woken up in the hospital and it had been a week since he had regained the love of his wife. With the promise that they would be together again, that he would finally get to go home, that he would get be with his adorable Miguelito and that that Coco would also be coming back with him, Héctor was ready to leave the hospital as soon as he had showered and shaved. The doctor, however, had abruptly dashed those hopes away.

‘Well Señor Rivera, I must say that you have some amazing lungs.’

‘Ha, you see Imelda? I’m fine! When can I-’

‘Amazing due to the fact that they’re both so full of fluid it’s a miracle that they’ve been able to absorb as much oxygen as they have been.’

‘… Ah…’

‘I’m sorry señor, but it’s going to be a while until you are properly discharged. But if you want to get out of here faster I suggest you rest as much as you can and eat everything that is put in front of you. You need to put on some weight.’

And so he had. It wasn’t hard to sleep; he was so weak nowadays that he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat despite the glaring lights and sunny rays pouring through his window. The eating, on the other hand, that was the challenge. Granted, since he had finally finished enduring a painful withdrawal from the alcohol and he was finally back with his family, Héctor had gotten back his appetite tenfold. He was still gaining weight painfully slow, which had always been a problem for him, but he had become a bottomless pit.

There was just one problem.

Hospital food was made in Hell by el Diablo himself.

With a hard swallow Héctor gulped down the mouthful of food he had been chewing on for two full minutes, and with a pleading whine and smile he held out the bowl to his two judges sitting on either side of him on the bed. Said judges being his youngest son and his granddaughter.

Miguel looked into the bowl and then shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

“There’s still some left.” Victoria piped up. “Finish it, or no dessert.”

Héctor groaned and looked up for any potential allies in the three adults sitting in the room with him. But Imelda, Coco and Vicente just stared at him with crossed arms and hard expressions, silently demanding that he finish his meal. Except for Coco. No, fire flashed in her eyes and Héctor shrunk away from her intense gaze, combining the last two bites into one huge glob and shoveling it into his mouth. He gagged a little at the taste and struggled to chew the large mass, but he did it. Anything to placate his sweet, terrifying little Coco.

Coco had always taken after him in temperament. Kind, motherly, always willing to help out others, and very gentle. But when she got really riled up, that was when the Imelda in her rose to prominence and blasted her ire at anyone in the wrong. So when Coco had visited him after he had woken up, had seen both him and her mother together and happy again, and was reassured that he would be all right, she had sighed in relief and smiled with happy tears.

‘Ay, gracias a Dios. I had prayed for so long… that you two… IDIOTS!… WOULD STOP THIS FOOLISHNESS!’

And so Héctor and Imelda had sat there in shocked silence while their little girl screamed and bellowed at them, and called them names, and shamed them to the point where in the end they could do nothing more than slump in pure dejection and just accept everything their daughter yelled at them like she was their own mother and they were the naughty children.

‘For months! NO! For years! YEEEAAARS! I have watched you sulk and whine and piddle and cry and not even try stand up for yourself while Mamá treated you like dirt! No, instead you drank yourself into a hospital bed and made all of us worry for your health when you didn’t care at all! What an wonderful example you’ve set for your son and granddaughter! No, you’re not a grandfather! You’re just a kicked puppy trailing after Mamá! And you Mamá, are the puppy kicker! Imelda Rivera, kicker of puppies! You should be ashamed of yourself! And why?! Because you were depressed about the surgery! All- of-this-could-have-been-prevented-if-you-had-just-TOLD-US!’

After she had finished, and making her parents vow that they would never do this to her or the family again, she had dragged an amazed Julio off by the wrist and had gone back to the mansion for the night. When they had returned the next morning to visit, no one mentioned the fact they both had suspicious marks and scratches on their necks and arms or that they were wearing the same clothes from the previous day.

With a heaving gulp and a disgusted groan, Héctor collapsed back onto the propped up pillows and let the bowl clatter to his side. Miguel picked the bowl up to inspect, and then held it up triumphantly. “It’s empty!”

Everyone cheered and clapped in such a patronizing way that Héctor growled and rolled his eyes in annoyance. “That was the worst one yet.” He groaned and held onto his gurgling stomach. “How can you screw up corn and beans so much?” He watched a Miguel curiously ran a finger through the lingering blob of gravy left in the bowl to taste it, smiling as the little boy’s face screwed up in disgust.

Vicente chuckled , stood up and walked over to the huge pile of flowers, balloons, gift baskets and presents that took up the whole side of the room. It had taken him and Julio several trips to bring up all of the gifts from the fans and Mexico’s elite, and the room was so overpowering with the scent of flowers. “I don’t think hospitals put seasoning in their food. It’s to nourish you, not upset a weak stomach. However, I think a little treat won’t hurt you.” He picked out an ivory box and brought it over to the bed. “Esther Fernández sent you a box of chocolates from Switzerland, along with a sweet note to get well soon.”

“Chocolate!” Miguel shouted and reached for the box, Victoria preventing him from flinging the lid away and placing it gently next to her. “Can we have some too, Papá?”

“Of course, but save some for me!” Héctor said as he plucked one out of the box. “Anything to get the taste out of my mouth.”

Vicente went back over to the pile of gifts and pulled out another, wooden box and handled it nervously. “Also, Emilio Fernández sent you this box of cigars. Very poor taste for someone getting over pneumonia, and… I thought since you don’t smoke I could give them to a friend of mine who would appreciate them more?”

Héctor waved him off and stuffed two chocolates in his mouth. “Take them, they’re yours. I can’t stand the smell of them.”

“Gracias, Señor.” Vicente said and sat back down with a drawn out sigh, rubbing the back of his neck and closing his eyes.

His exhaustion wasn’t unnoticed by the rest of the adults in the room, and when the three of them exchanged knowing looks Coco reached out to touch his arm gently. “Chente, you look so tired.”

Vicente blinked his eyes open. “Me? No no, I’m fine. It’s just… been very hectic for everyone this past week. We’ve finally settled on a burial site for Señor de la Cruz in Santa Cecilia and construction of a tomb for him is underway, but… there’s still so much to do. Like canceling the production on the movie, sending back the funding to the investors, a massive retooling for the new year’s schedual, and worst of all… I can’t find Señor de la Cruz’s Chihuahuas anywhere!”

Victoria gasped. “Oh, poor puppies!”

Héctor listened to Vicente’s woes in silence, nodding and smiling solemnly. “I’m sorry Chente. You’ve been under a lot of pressure for a long time.”

Vicente shook his head. “It’s all right. You’ve been sick.”

“Not just now.” Héctor said. “The whole time you’ve been my assistant you’ve been doing my workload as well as your own, while I’ve been wallowing in my own self-pity. I didn’t realize it but I took you for granted, and for that I’m truly sorry. You’ve been absolutely wonderful and I am very grateful for it.”

Vicente’s face flushed red at the praise, and he bowed his head humbly. “W-well… Gracias Señor Rivera. I would do anything to help you and your company. When you’re well again everything will be waiting for you back in tip top shape, I promise.”

Héctor smiled. “Oh, I’m not coming back.”

“… Que?”

Héctor looked at Imelda, who took his hand lovingly and nodded encouragingly, and continued. “I’m not an executive, Chente. I have no talent for business, and numbers. You do. Now I’ll still be the sole head of the company, but I’ll be leaving all those boring aspects to you. I’m retiring and going home to live with my family, and you’ll be the new CEO of Rivera de la Cruz Productions and Records.”

“… Que?”

“But don’t panic, Chente. It’s not going to be overnight. You’re going to get all of the training you need, set you up with an excellent team and board, get you all nice and settled in. You won’t be alone in all of this.” Héctor smiled warmly and held out his hand to the poor man. “You’ve helped me and the company so much this last year, it’s high time you get the right pay and a title to go with it. I hope you say yes, because there’s no one else I trust more than you.”

Vicente sputtered for a few seconds, his face turning from a burning red into a pallid white, before with a jerking nod he robotically grasped Héctor’s hand and shook it once. “Yeah… Yes! S-si! Gracias, Señor Rivera! Héctor! I won’t let you down- AY! What am I saying?! Yes I will! How can I run a company when I can’t even find four dogs and make sure that you eat?!”

“Don’t you worry about him, Vicente.” Imelda said as she squeezed Héctor’s hand. “I’ll make sure that he eats. You take care of the less important stuff.”

“O-kay. Okay, okay, okay, okay…” Vicente mumbled, standing up on shaking feet and walking over to Héctor’s unused oxygen cylinder. “Please excuse me. I think I’m going to pass out.” With trembling hands he strapped the mask over his face and cracked the valve open to full blast, taking in deep gulping breaths and sliding down onto the floor.

Miguel jumped off the bed and walked over to where Vicente laid slumped against the wall, gently patting his head. “You’ll be okay.” Miguel reached down, pried open Vicente’s shaking hands, and placed a half melted piece of chocolate into it, smiling sweetly.

A few minutes later, once it was determined that Vicente definitely would take the promotion and definitely wouldn’t throw up, Julio walked in with a large wooden box under his arm. “Hola Papá Héctor. How are you feeling? Did you eat?”

Héctor rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I ate! Dios mio, I’ll eat mud if it means these quacks will just let me out of here.”

“Well, I know how bored you are, so I brought you this!” Turning the box over, Julio showed everyone that it was in fact a small radio. “I thought that maybe if you could listen to the news or some programs it’ll make your stay seem shorter.”

“What a wonderful idea, mi amor.” Coco said.

“Gracias. It’s a wireless one and portable too!” Julio said as he tried to find a place to set it down amongst all of the gifts. “Ay… Chente, can I just move some of these on the ground?”

Vicente, staring off into space, barely acknowledged him with an affirmative grunt.

Once a spot had been cleared and the box switched on, Julio fiddled with the knobs until the radio static finally began to tune into a station. “Alright then, just a few more adjustments and here… we… go!”

“-you cry!”

“For even if I’m far away I hold you in my heart”

“I sing a secret song to you-“

Julio sighed. “Ay, they’re still playing his songs nonstop. It’s understandable, but still.”

Coco nodded. “Si, Tio Nesto endeared himself to a whole nation. It warms my heart to know how much he’s touched everyone so-”

“Héctor?!”

At Imelda’s cry, both Julio and Coco turned to see Imelda hovering over the bed as Héctor was… rocking back and forth, trembling violently and cramming the heels of his hands into his ears as hard as he could. His breathing became labored and a low, keening sound was coming out of his throat. His eyes were so wide and pinpricked, and even though the others couldn’t see it, all Héctor could see was red.

Blood! So much blood!

It’s all torn up! What happened?! Where are you?!

Ernesto!

The song won’t stop playing!

The bell won’t stop ringing!

It’s all over me!

STOP THE SONG! STOP THE SONG! STOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONG

“JULIO, TURN IT OFF!”

STOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOP THESONGSTOPTHE-

“HÉCTOR STOP! Héctor, stop! It’s off! It’s off! Cálmese, mi amor. Cálmese… Shhhhh….”

With a sharp gasp, Héctor found himself lying back down of the bed. Imelda was hovering over him with a terrified expression, and the doctor was next to him drawing back an empty syringe and checking his pulse. As his eyes roamed around the room he saw Coco holding onto Victoria as the little girl cried into her mother’s shoulder, and Vicente was holding onto a wide-eyed Miguel.

As a wave of drowsiness started to engulf him, Héctor turned back to Imelda and stared up at her in anguish.

“It’s alright, Héctor.” Imelda said gently.

Héctor shook his head slowly as the sedative took effect, tears falling down his face. “No… it’s not… No more… ’Melda… no more… mu-…”

As he drifted off into a drugged state of unconsciousness, he didn’t notice the worried looks that the adults exchanged with one another, and he didn’t hear the innocent question his son asked them all. A question they couldn’t really answer.

“No more what, Mamá?”

———————————————————————

“~MEEEEEEEEEE!~”

“AAAAAARGH!”

Instead of the rapturous applause he was expecting after belting out the last note of his song, Ernesto was startled by the sound of a hoarse, raspy scream of an old man. His eyes shot opened and he flinched back in confusion at his surroundings. The stage, the lights, the orchestra, the audience, the theater! Vanished! In the blink of an eye they were all gone! Instead he was in a rather sterile looking room not unlike what you would find in a hospital, and he wasn’t standing anymore either, but sitting up on a simple fold-out gurney.

Where am I?

“Puta Madre! What the hell?! Who the hell wakes up singing like that?!”

Ernesto turned towards the gravelly voice of the only other occupant in the room with him: a short, stubby old man currently trying to totter over towards his head on the ground, wearing clothes common of either a bank teller or some other kind of office worker-

His head?

…

On the ground?

…

This man’s head was on the ground.

…

How much did I take?!

Finally, when the old man finally reached his head and plopped it back on his neck, Ernesto realized it wasn’t a head at all. It was a skull. A skull currently glaring daggers at him with eyeballs suspended in the inky blackness of his eye sockets. This was no drug trip. This wasn’t even a dream. Ernesto knew himself enough to know that there was no way he could dream up something so ugly or terrifying in his life.

“AAAAH!” Ernesto screamed and scooted himself back as far as he could on the bed, plastering himself to the wall. He continued to scream as the skeleton slowly walked towards his desk with a sigh.

“That’s more like it. This I can work with.” The skeleton said as he held up a clipboard.

“S-stay away! Stay away from me!”

“Please remain calm.” It said in a bored tone as it read from the clipboard. “You are safe now. Rejoice, for all of your worldly pains and ailments are a thing of the past.”

“Wh-what?!” Ernesto croaked out and continued to press against the wall, trying his all to get away from this skeleton. From this monster.

“We welcome you to your final resting place- heh, final, yeah right- where as long as you remain well remembered in the hearts of your loved ones you will live on far longer than you did in lif… Lif? Ay joder, they still haven’t fixed this typo?!”

Ernesto continued to gasp in terror as he stared transfixed at the skeleton before him. “Don’t come any closer!”

It rolled his eyes. “I’m not even moving.”

“Yes, you are! You’re creeping up to me right now!”

“No, you’re pushing against the wall and moving the gurney towards me, cabron!”

Ernesto paused at that and looked down, seeing that the bed was now two feet away from the wall and his hands were still pressed against it. “Oh.”

And then he looked up towards his hands.

…

…

“Oooohhh…..”

“There ya go.” The old skeleton chuckled hoarsely as he watched Ernesto stare at his new boney appendages in quiet, awed horror and went back to his clipboard. “Bienvenidos, Señor de la Cruz. Welcome to the Land of the Dead. Now, since the requirement to be here is to be dead, I must inform you that that’s what happened. You are now dead. My name is Chicharrón and I will be death counselor for this eve- and there you go, pat yourself down. Down the ribs, to the stomach- ay, no stomach!- and then the face. Every time, just like clockwork.”

Ernesto tore his hands away from pawing at his own cheekbones and glared at Chicharrón. “This is not funny!”

Chich smiled at him. “You know I always thought your bulbous chin was just fat, but nope,” and he smirked and tapped his own protruding chin with a pen. “You’re just as chiseled as I am.”

“How?!”

“How?… Ay, I don’t know. Genetics, I guess? I took after my Papá.”

“HOW DID I DIE?!”

As he cried out that choked, desperate plea Ernesto already knew deep down what had caused his far too early demise. The drugs. What else could it have been? What else could have affected him so suddenly during such an enthusiastic, triumphant performance. As he had belted out that last note, it was obvious his heart couldn’t take the strain. After gambling with his body for so long with copious amounts of drugs and sex, it had finally caught up with him. With one last song to his familia, he had perished right in front of his eyes. It was sudden, but strangely poetic. As tragic and as horrifying as he found his current predicament, he could not ask for a better way to go-

“Oh, that! According to reports, a giant two-ton bell fell from a stage fixture and flattened you into a tortilla.”

“………. What?”

“To save you some embarrassment I took the liberty of putting it down as ‘Acto de Dios’ as the cause of death.” Chich said, pointing it out on the file before placing it in Ernesto’s numb hands. “In hindsight maybe you should have sprung for papier-mâché props, eh?”

When Ernesto continued to just stare at the file in shocked silence, Chich made his way over to the telephone on his desk. “You’ve been dead for about three weeks now, but your body was just now buried. Guess they had to either build a fancy tomb for you or they had to finish scraping you all up. But it’s givin’ me plenty of time to finish the bulk of your paperwork. No deceased blood relatives on this side I’m afraid, they’ve all been forgotten, but I promised your goddaughter I’d call her the second you’d arrive.”

The mention of that word shocked Ernesto out of his stupor, and he glanced at Chich with wide eyes. “M-… M-my… goddaughter?” he whispered breathlessly.

“Uh-huh.”

“… Leticia… She’s dead.”

Chich quirked an eye ridge at him. “Like I said, it’s a requirement for being here.”

“Sh-she’s dead… I’m dead… Oh! Oh no, no!”

With a frustrated sigh Chich placed the phone back on the receiver and rose up to deal with de la Cruz’s breakdown. “Easy, amigo.”

“I can’t die. Not now.”

Chich snorted. “If you’re worried about missin’ out on your fans and fame, don’t worry. There’s plenty of people here just foamin’ at the mouth to see the great Ernesto de la Cruz. A lot of the office ladies here are actually jealous I was assigned to you. You’ll be fine-”

“Héctor…”

Chich blinked at the deep sorrow and pain that he heard in de la Cruz’s voice and frowned. “Your writing partner? Leticia’s Papá?”

Ernesto brought a hand over his mouth and, seemingly to overcome to hold himself any longer, collapsed back onto the dead to stare morosely up at the ceiling. “Héctor… I can’t die. I can’t be dead, not now.”

He had promised. He had promised years ago, as he had looked two little babies in the eyes, that he would never hurt Héctor again for as long as he lived. He had stood by his side throughout all of their successes, fame, riches, pain, loss, suffering. Anything to even try to make up for what he had tried to do.

He had promised.

“… I was going to tell you everything…”