#maybe writing this will spark something in me though uvu

[tvrningout-a]

thinking about cyrillo and just!! how he really doesn't know how to rest. i'm willing to bet that this guy hasn't taken a proper vacation in ages bc a proper vacation means traveling to the countryside, to the sea. it means being away from high society and its expectations, away from all the people who know him and expect him to help and entertain them. it means being alone with himself and without thoughts of all the things he needs to do. it means relaxing -- really relaxing. and as good as cyrillo is at blowing off steam, he isn't necessarily the best at taking a breather.

he's a doer. he sees something that needs to be done, and he does it. he sees someone in trouble, and he helps them. he sees something wrong in the world, and he fixes it. he's always been this way, even as a young boy. he cannot stand idly by, doesn't know how. he doesn't know how to rest, and maybe... maybe that's going to be the point of his story. after all these years, after all this time of fighting and living for others, he's able to rest once king edmund is dead. whether that means he dies at the end of this story or simply retires, maybe fakes his death -- we'll just see :' )

it actually really hurts me to kill characters off but cyrillo is incredibly old. his soul is incredibly old and burdened by so many memories. his mind is a graveyard of old friends he can no longer write; places that no longer exist; moments he can never get back. he doesn't hold onto the past but still the memories can be heavy whether he realizes it or not. and he did lead a full and happy life even if the happiest he felt was with his human wife and child -- his first life, the one he led before the great war. out of all the characters i have banging around in my head, i think cyrillo would be one of very few who i could kill off and feel bittersweet about it rather than purely upset.

but like i said, we'll see! bc i can also imagine cyrillo finding his peace and beginning a new chapter. i dunno what that chapter would be, but atm i imagine it would involve going home across the sea or tagging along with rin. story is just beginning, though, so who knows where i'll see cyrillo ending up by the end :' )

[whumpmatsus]

from the whumpmeme....., 26 intentional for choro pwease. UvU

Ultimate Whump Writing Meme! / ACCEPTING!

26. Medication overdose (intentional or unintentional)

HOO BOY..........

buckle up buttercups, this one is quite a ride!!

I had lots of fun writing it and could write TONS more about it....... but I wanted to get it done and not turn it into a freaking 10,000 word monster............... XD

also I really tried to do research on overdoses of this particular medication, I hope I got it right! (if I didn’t get the ‘how much you have to take to get to the severe symptoms’ part right, I apologize, I couldn’t find a lot of info on that so I just went with a number that sounded right to me!)

enjoy!!

-

It’s too much.

Everything has become all too much for Choromatsu.

He doesn’t really know when things got this bad. There’s no mark on the calendar as to when the scale tipped from ‘hard, but getting by’ to ‘suffocating under the weight of everything’. Maybe it became too much little by little and he’s only noticed it recently.

The fact is, though, it feels like he’s just being crushed beneath… everything. It shouldn’t really be so much, should it? His current job is only part-time, and his life isn’t really all that stressful otherwise.

Sure, he’s got this weird anxiety disorder that occasionally pops up to mess with his life, but he’s been on medication for a while now. It seems to be helping quite a bit; he’s noticed his anxiety attacks have been cut pretty much in half.

His life is actually going pretty well at the moment.

So there shouldn’t be any reason why he feels the need to simply end everything.

Despite the medication, and despite the lessened actual anxiety attacks, despite the barely-there of stress, the thoughts that usually trigger his anxiety have been popping up a lot recently. There are a ton of what ifs, worries for a future that isn’t here yet, doubts about himself, concern for things his brothers are doing.

That anxiety crops up, it just doesn’t send him into a full-blown attack like he used to have often. The bad thing is that it almost seems to transcend an anxiety attack, like he’s been pushed into anxiety so far he’s numb and unable to respond to it. Even though his hands don’t shake, his face doesn’t get hot, that weightless nausea doesn’t blossom in his stomach, it’s worse. It feels like his brain shuts down and he just goes through the motions of whatever he’s doing.

He doesn’t really feel like himself anymore, or maybe he feels too much himself. It’s as if he’s getting anxiety from the lack of anxiety.

It’s been slowly driving him to this point, to the point where he’s so frustrated he just wants everything to stop. Hell… he’s on medication for anxiety, and although it seemed to work at first, now he’s having it to a level he never did before.

The medicine is supposed to work. So it’s gotta be a problem with him, right? That perhaps it’s so carved deep into his being that nothing is going to make him feel any better? The thought that he can’t be fixed has replayed over and over in his mind for what feels like weeks. It’s terrible.

What if it’s true? What if he’s stuck as a prisoner in his own mind forever, so fucked up that he gets more anxious in response to something that’s supposed to stop the anxiety? What if he keeps being a burden to his family, never becoming a productive member of society, doing nothing but drowning in his own nerves?

All these thoughts converged tonight when he went to take his daily dose of medicine, and a few too many got shook out into his palm. It somehow sparked the thought that if one doesn’t help, maybe two will. Or three. Or ten. Or twenty. And if that many don’t help, then at least maybe it might be enough to end his suffering.

So he’s sitting here on the toilet with a cup full of water in one hand, and a fistful of Lexapro in the other, trying to work up the courage to swallow them all.

How many are even here? Most of the bottle, he thinks. There might be a few left in there. Not many, though. How big of a supply was this, again… a month? Two months, three?

However many he’s got, it’s obviously more than he’s actually supposed to be taking. The directions on the bottle say to take one tablet by mouth, once a day, at nighttime. ‘Do not exceed recommended dosage; consult your physician before making changes to any of your medications; seek immediate medical attention if recommended dosage is exceeded’; all the usual stuff. Those warnings are on there for a reason, aren’t they? He shouldn’t take all of these.

Make an appointment with Kobayashi-hakase, the sensible part of him whispers. If you don’t think the amount you’re taking now is enough to be effective, she can prescribe you a higher dose that’s safe. You don’t have to do this. This isn’t safe.

The other part of him that’s tired of being anxious to the point of numbness fires back immediately. You have to do something. This isn’t working! It takes a week or two before you can see Kobayashi-hakase. Can you wait that long? You can’t, can you? This over-anxiety is fucking killing you, Choromatsu. Do you wanna die because you let it have control? Or do you wanna die because you were trying to fix it? If it doesn’t stop the anxiety, then at least you’ll be dead so you won’t be suffering anymore.

The thought of being dead by itself is terrifying. But the thought of his anxiety being gone, in whatever way he can get it to stop, is a comfort.

His old, familiar symptoms flicker back in briefly, his hand shaking  as he crams the handful of pills into his mouth. Even with the water, it’s sort of difficult to swallow, almost certainly because one isn’t meant to be taking so many pills at once. That nearly is enough to make him spit them back out, simply because he can’t handle the mouthful.

At last, though, he manages to gulp them down. He drains his whole cup of water too, not realizing how thirsty he was until he started drinking.

… What now? Should he try to go read before falling asleep? Just climb into bed? Everyone else is probably in the futon already, starting to drift off. They wouldn’t notice if he just stayed here for a bit, right?

They won’t miss him.

So he sits there on the toilet, and leans back a little. He’s so tired from everything, he just wants to sleep. Although sleeping in the bathroom isn’t a great choice, he thinks if he goes to the bedroom, he might crawl into the futon and cling to Osomatsu and cry to his big brother about what he’s just done. He does not want to do that.

For once, he’s going to be strong and get through something awful on his own.

His eyes slip shut, and he starts to feel kind of weightless.

Maybe when, or if, he wakes up, he’ll finally feel better.

-

“I’m telling you, Karamatsu-nii-san, it’s kind of weird that Choromatsu-nii-san wasn’t in the futon when I woke up. I really have to pee, but after that, you can help me look for him, right? It freaks me out when he’s not there.”

“Mmmh… I understand, Totty. He’s likely just downstairs for a snack or some such, but making sure wouldn’t hurt. He’s seemed a bit off lately.”

“You noticed that too? Oh, thank God, I thought it was just me overthinking shit. You think he’s okay?”

“Well, I certainly hope so. Part of me wonders if maybe he’s just needed some more alone time recently… but… I also can’t shake the worry that something is truly wrong. You know how he doesn’t like to tell us when he’s struggling.”

“Uuuugh, I know. What’s his deal? Doing that is like… I dunno, should we call it pulling an Osomatsu?? Because that’s who he reminds me of when he says ‘I’m fine’ and doesn’t mean it.”

“Mh. You’re not wrong. Well, in any case, I’ll wait out here while you pee, then we’ll go find him and ensure that nothing is wrong, alright?”

“Okaaay… be back in a minute.”

After all, it’s a little strange that Choromatsu wasn’t in the futon by the time they all settled down to sleep. It’s not completely unusual, though; sometimes he gets anxious before bed and goes for a walk or sits at the kitchen with a cup of tea for a while until it calms down. None of the other sextuplets thought too much of it or went looking, because most of the time being asked about it makes Choromatsu feel like he’s being backed into a corner and makes the anxiety worse.

He’s been doing so well lately, nobody wanted to be the one to mess it up by bombing him with concern. The weirdest part about it is that he still wasn’t in the futon by the time Totty woke up (a single blessed hour after they all went to sleep) so the youngest could ask Choromatsu to take him to the bathroom.

The task then fell to the second oldest, who’s equally put off by the idea that Choromatsu hasn’t come to bed yet. Often if the third eldest can’t get his anxiety under control after half an hour or so, he surrenders and crawls into bed to seek comfort from Osomatsu. And, typically, he’s able to calm himself down enough to sleep within half an hour, so it’s even odder that he’s not back regardless of what’s going on with his anxiety.

Still, Karamatsu at least is trying to squash down his own worries. It’s fine. Choromatsu probably just fell asleep at the kitchen table and he’s lying there snoring with a cup of cold tea next to him. Where else could he be, really? His anxiety has basically prevented the possibility of him taking a risk ever.

So Karamatsu leans back against the wall for a moment, intending to close his eyes while Totty goes to the bathroom. Just as his eyelids flutter shut, however, his not-really-coherent-still-half-asleep thoughts are interrupted by the chilling sound of his baby brother screaming.

“Oh, my God, Choromatsu-nii-san!!”

Karamatsu’s inside the room in a flash, and he barely catches Totty when the youngest runs into his arms. A quick squeeze is given so that Totty hopefully won’t completely lose it, before he looks down to see the source of his little brother’s sudden wailing.

There’s Choromatsu lying on the tile floor, splayed out as if he fainted. He’s wearing the same clothes he wore during the day, not changed into his pajamas… and Karamatsu notes with horror that he can’t see Choromatsu’s chest moving.

He carefully tugs himself away from Totty so he can kneel next to the third eldest, patting him down to look for any signs that he’s okay. He has to be okay, he has to be. This can’t happen. He can’t…

“Choromatsu,” he calls, trying with all his might to keep tears from spilling over his own eyes. He’s terrified, but right now he has to hold it together. If he falls apart, there won’t be anyone to get help for their brother. “Choromatsu, wake up. Wake up!”

When he gives Choromatsu a none-too-gentle slap on the side of his face and it only elicits a drowsy groan, he knows this is bad.

As soon as he can feel that Choromatsu is barely breathing, everything starts to go into rapid motion. Karamatsu tells Totty to go get his phone and call 119 for an ambulance, and he himself yells from the bathroom for his parents, and he stays here trying to get Choromatsu to respond.

About the time Totty comes back, and Karamatsu can hear his youngest brother sobbing, “Please hurry, he’s my big brother, I c-can’t lose him… o-okay… yeah, please… I… I’m back with my other brother… I-I’ll hang up… thank you…” is when Choromatsu’s eyes flutter a little.

“Choromatsu,” Karamatsu tries again, patting the third eldest’s face. Not quite the slap he gave before, hopefully enough to bring him around a little. “Choromatsu, can you hear me?”

He gives another groan, and his eyes close again. “My stomach’s killing me… my head too…” His speech is quiet; he’s almost running his words together as if he’s buzzed. “Can I… have a drink? My… mouth’s really dry… then I might… need some help back to bed…”

Karamatsu shakes his head. “No, Choromatsu. We’re taking you to the hospital. Stay awake, please. Tell me what happened. Did you pass out? Were you feeling sick?”

“Aaaah…” Choromatsu’s hand hovers over his stomach, then floats up to his chest. The contortion his features take on makes it pretty clear he’s in some extreme amount of discomfort. “My heart feels like it’s… gonna come out of my chest… I’m tired… tired of everything… I can’t take it…”

‘Can’t take it’…? What is he talking about? ‘Tired of everything’?

By this point everyone else is crowding around the bathroom door, including their parents, and Karamatsu trades places with his mother. As he gets up, Totty hurries into his arms again to be comforted, bumping him against the side of the medicine cabinet. Although he hears a bottle fall, he’s more concerned with holding his baby brother close, petting Totty’s hair and kissing his head while he cries into Karamatsu’s chest.

“Hey.” Ichimatsu is holding the bottle now, halfway in the bathroom where it must have rolled. He shakes it a few times ― drawing attention to the fact that it barely has any pills in it. “Isn’t this Choromatsu’s medicine? The Lexapro?”

Osomatsu, who looks like he’s on the verge of shutting down, snatches it to read the label. “Hold the fuck on. When he took his pill last night, it wasn’t even near this empty.”

He pauses long enough that everyone can see the color drain from his face. “This bottle’s supposed to be enough for three months. It was like half full last night.”

Ichimatsu plucks the bottle from Osomatsu’s hand. “You think he took them all? That’s, like, fifty pills.”

Karamatsu thinks the way Matsuyo’s hand flies to her mouth, the way she reaches up for Matsuzo to steady her, is going to stay with him for the rest of his life.

Choromatsu… what did you do…?

-

Everything aches.

Choromatsu doesn’t know where he is or even who he is when he opens his eyes. All he knows is that he feels weak, every inch of him is hurting… he doesn’t think he could get to his feet if he wanted to.

The last memory he has is of swallowing his pills. If that killed him, he wouldn’t expect to still be feeling pain. He’d expect to be feeling nothing.

He’s still tired. He feels nauseous and his head is pounding and his mouth feels like cotton. And there are… wires… attached to him?

… Oh, shit. I’m in the hospital.

There’s a hand holding his, and when he twitches his fingers, a thumb rubs gingerly over the back of his hand. He feels a little less alone, because he can place it instantly. It’s his mother.

He glances over to see her sitting in a chair, scooted close to the bed. Her eyes look red like she’s been crying, and her hair is starting to fall out of the neat bun she always keeps it in. She doesn’t seem to notice that he’s awake until he squeezes her hand. “M… Mom…?”

All at once she appears to come back to life, lifting her head up toward him. “Oh, Choromatsu. Thank God.” She clasps his hand in both of hers, raising it up to press against her forehead. “My sweet boy. I’m so glad… they… they weren’t sure if you were going to wake up. Thank God, thank God…”

Oh, man. As exhausted as he is, he still has the energy to feel guilty. What she says is also kind of alarming. ‘They’, she probably means the doctors… they weren’t sure he was going to wake up? If he’s awake now, it… it can’t have been that bad, right?

You took six weeks’ worth of anti-anxiety meds, you fucking idiot, his mind snaps at him. You think that’s not gonna fuck you up? Look what you did to your mother. Look what you did to yourself.

Actually… what did he do? After taking the pills, he doesn’t remember anything else. His blood runs cold when it hits him that he has no idea what an overdose of Lexapro was going to do to him. In between taking it and the possibility of dying, he doesn’t know what it did to his body.

“Is…” Fuck, his mouth is so dry. “Is that why I’ve… got all these…” Shockingly, he can actually lift his other arm, and he gestures toward where all the leads are attached to him. “Why… why are they on my chest… like this…?”

He recalls watching medical dramas or documentaries where they would put these kinds of things on the patients. It’s to monitor their hearts… so why did the doctors put them on him? He’s young, too young to have anything wrong with his heart.

When Matsuyo takes their hands down, fresh tears are shining in her eyes. It’s like she’s reliving a terrible memory. “Choromatsu… shortly after the ambulance got you here…” The sound catches in her throat, and she squeezes his hand. “… You… you had a heart attack, honey.”

If his blood was cold just a minute ago, that news is enough to freeze it solid. A heart attack?! He can’t have had a heart attack. He’s not old enough for that! People who have heart attacks are in their fifties and sixties… he’s like forty years away from having a heart attack.

“B… but I… I can’t…” He can feel the tears welling up already. Oh, my God. What did I do to myself? Why did I do this?? I… I could have…

… I could have killed myself.

“I’m only twenty-five, Mom,” he manages to croak out. “But I… I… I h-had a… a heart attack…?”

It looks as though all Matsuyo can do is nod. Finally, though, she speaks up; she meets his eyes, looking through him in that way only mothers can. “Choromatsu, sweetheart…” Then she says the words he was hoping she wouldn’t, but he knew it was coming sooner or later. “Why did you take all those pills?”

He can’t hold it back anymore. He can’t hide it. Not when he’s faced with his poor mother, devastated that one of her sons just had a Goddamn heartache at twenty-five fucking years old because his stupid ass decided to overdose on medication that was supposed to be helping him.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” And his voice breaks into a million pieces, and he can hardly get the words out. As soon as he does, the tears start to spill down his cheeks. Why did he do this? Why did he think this was the answer? Why didn’t he just wait and make an appointment with his doctor?

He feels two inches tall right now. He could have taken his own life, taken himself away from his parents and his brothers and thrown everything he is away.

“I ju… I don’t… I was doing better.” His free hand scrubs at his eyes, trying desperately to dry them. “Then I… I started to feel… I-I was getting anxious because I w-wasn’t anxious! And it got… I felt… numb? I… I didn’t feel like me anymore… like I was… I was so anxious that I… c-couldn’t feel anything… and I hated it…”

Tears plop down to stain the thin hospital sheets, bleeding together into a heavy dark spot. “I… I just… wanted it to stop… I thought m-maybe the medicine wasn’t working… that I w-wasn’t… wasn’t taking enough. So maybe it would work… if I took a lot… and if it didn’t work… w-well, at least… at least I wouldn’t have to feel… s-so terrible anymore…”

The whole time, Matsuyo keeps running her thumb over his hand. It’s soothing and grounds him in the moment so he doesn’t get lost in his own head, and she isn’t judging him at all. She just does what she’s always done, and is here to love him.

She gets up out of her chair, stepping as close to the bed as she possibly can. Once she’s here next to him, he can’t stop himself from leaning in, letting his mother pull him into a comforting hug like he hasn’t let her do since he was a kid.

He presses his face into her chest and continues to cry. “But… but I don’t want to die, Mom… I don’t want to die… I just d-don’t know what to do…”

For the first time in a long time, Choromatsu lets himself fall apart.

As she always does, Matsuyo is there to hold her son even when he’s in pieces.

[dearmadalice]

For drabble challenge: 58, 88, 19.

known as: Let me blindly write Kosuna. And @dai-rokuten-maou’s Hisanaga. So if I butchered their character’s I’m really sorry. UvU------“You smell like a wet dog.”Kosuna barely looked up from the rabbit she was eating, the grease and juicesdripping down her chin. The woods were alive with the sounds of crickets andinsects, and the clearing was heavy with the smells of smoke from their campfire. It was unsettling being surrounded by so much dark, but the company wasgood.Hisanaga wrinkled his nose. “Kosuna.”“Hmm?”“You smell.”Kosuna paused in her eating for a moment to smell herself. Okay. It was a littlebad. She wouldn’t say it was a “wet dog” smell. But there was some dirt. AnIron smell. Sweat. Leather. She smelled more like a horse’s ass in her opinionbut if Hisanaga thought it was more wet dog . . . well that was hisinterpretation.“Yup.” Kosuna went back to the rabbit, picking meat off the bone with herfingers before shoving them into her mouth. The heavens had blessed Hisanaga.Without his trap making the pair of them might have starved. Or died. Kosunahad originally wanted to try hunting a boar but Hisanaga had insisted a rabbitwould be the safer option. And it was delicious.Hisanaga shook his head. “You need a bath.”“We’re in the middle of the woods,” Kosuna remarked. It just made Hisanaga sighagain. “But. Okay. Okay. I’ll try.” If they found a stream or something she’dtry to wash up. Her skin was starting to feel gross even by her standards. Itwas caked with mud – a horrible mix of blood and dirt. Hisanaga looked at her very seriously. Gravely. Then sighed again and went backto his dinner, eating with better table manners than Kosuna. By miles. Peoplewould start to think Kosuna was the weird corpse hermit guy.------“STOP INTERRUPTING ME!”Masamune cringed a little. Harumi rarely ever raised her voice. It also wasn’tas though he was unused to shouting but something about the way her facecontorted in irritation gave him pause. It was cute, actually. She got soworked up and passionate when she was angry. She liked to act the part of thequiet housewife, but this woman had more spark than she knew. She continued to go off, shaking a shirt at him. “I just washed this! And it’son your floor! How old are you? You’re a grown man! You should know that youcan wear this more than once. When you’re finished with it, for all that isgood in this world, fold it and put it away!” Harumi’s dark eyes were blazingwith fire now and she shoved the shirt under his nose. Masamune put up hishands defensively, his face cracking finally into a smile. “You’re so cute when you’re mad-“Harumi smacked him with the shirt. “Stop it! I’m not finished! And anotherthing- is it too much to ask you pick up after youself when you use thekitchen? I’m not asking you to wash everything but when you leave food sittingaround it dries up and sticks! At least do something with it!” Harumi was stillwaving the shirt. If it was a sword she would have been really scary. Maybethat would be his next tactic; stick the housewife on the front lines. “Sorry, sorry!” Masamune finally tried to take the shirt out of her hands, andstarted to fold it. That was enough to give her pause now, her tirade on holdas she watched him in amazement.Sure, he might have acted like a kid but he was capable of acting so much likethe adult she was demanding of him. “I just like seeing you mad.” He reachedout, pinching her cheek with a snicker. She started to blush furiously, andthen quickly yanked his hand away. “Stop it!”“Stop what?”“Flirting?”“You think I’m flirting with you? Oh no, sparrow. This is flirting-“ Masamuneran his fingers through her hair, pressing a few of the long, dark strandsagainst her lips. He raise his brow a little. “You see?”Harumi screeched, covering her face before she turned and started to beat ahasty retreat. “You’re intolerable! You are the worst!”“Yup.”-----“You’re Satan.”Oda barely moved, though his eyes did. They shifted to Kosuna who was staringat him with her mouth open dumbly. She looked very much like a fool. She was awoman filled with blind adoration and violence, with expressions that werewholly too honest, at least compared to someone like Mitsuhide.His lips quirked into a cruel smile. The obviousness of the statement suddenlysparked amusement in the dark lord and he started to laugh, the soundreverberating wickedly through the candlelit room. Well, ‘Satan’ was probablynot the most suitable phrase. He was something a little more complicated thanthat.Kosuna squirmed, her hands balled into fists on her knees. Her lips werepressed into a thin line, but her eyes were wide and surprisingly full of life.She was hanging on that laugh, and more so not terrified of it. He waved his hand at her, and Kosuna started shimmying closer to his seat. Asshe approached, he straightened until he had taken her chin in his hands. “Doyou offer your soul to me then, woman? And damn yourself to hell for it?”Kosuna’s eyes had gone all the more round. Now she looked all the more less awoman and more like a dirty, hungry child. Her lips quivered before she blurtedout quickly. “I-I’ll do anything you ask of me, Lord Nobunaga! My life – my soulbelongs to you! Whatever will be of use!”He started to laugh again. It was such a blindly, foolish answer. He let go ofher face, waving his hand for her to go. Kosuna scurried to her feet andquickly away, but he caught a smile breaking across her face. At the very least, he needn’t doubt her loyalty.