#tristan cadence | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crimsonlyinglilly · 7 months ago

Text

Day 3 “Well, well, well…”

| Hiding | Ambushed | Stalking |

More June of Doom, more Caged Founder.

Elijah learns how they mean to keep him captive as Tristan shows off what the ritual did.

Warning for violence, and Tristan's creepiness(veiled Rape threat)

-----

It takes Elijah six days to wake after the ritual, he’d been left unchained, laid on the floor, they had arranged for him to be washed and his clothes replaced.

Aya hadn’t questioned why Tristan had looked so pleased at the long white tunic along with the plain slacks.

It’s proof of Tristan’s confidence in the magic is the fact he’s the first to enter the cell after they receive a word of movement being heard, Aya following.

It was just the three of them again, Tristan hadn’t wanted anyone else and Aya saw no reason to risk anyone if the spell had failed so she told the witches to remain outside, to seal the room if anything went wrong.

Elijah lunged for Tristan the moment he realised there was nothing to stop him, Tristan made no attempt to move or avoid the attack.

Aya watched as Elijah froze, his hand wrapped around Tristan’s throat but the hand didn’t tighten to choke, to crush his throat or tear his head off, things she knew he could do, things he had done when they captured him.

Elijah’s brows furrowed for a second before he moved again, it was clear he had aimed to take the other man’s heart only to find his hand came stop, resting flat against his chest almost like a lovers caress.

She saw the way Elijah’s eyes widened as he looked at his own hand in shock before he looked away from it to Tristan’s face.

Aya didn't need to see that to know he was smiling.

Elijah stumbled backwards, growing understanding and concern appearing on his face.

“Well, well, well…” Tristan called as he stalked after their retreating Sire. ��Having trouble Elijah?” Tristan asked before catching the other man’s wrist, using his shock to pull it towards him dragging Elijah with it.

Elijah's attempts to free himself were weak if barely there.

“Tristan.” he hissed.

“This is working far better than I had thought.” Tristan mused, as Eijah continued to struggle to free his wrist.

“What have you done?” Elijah asked, looking between Tristan and her, she refused to let anything appear on her face even as she noticed a hint of fear in his voice, this was for the best of their people.

Elijah would come to understand and accept that, he didn't have a choice in that now.

“What I told you I would.” Tristan answered “I keep my word after all. Ensured you can no longer be a threat to any of those born into your Sireline.”

He had barely finished speaking before he struck, Aya almost missed the movement Elijah suddenly stumbled back but not far as Tristan kept the hold on his wrist and used it to pull him back.

Elijah looked back up blood trickling down the side of his face before the split in his eyebrow, caused by one of Tristan's ring healed.

Elijah narrowed his eyes looking between them before with a quick movement ripped his wrist free the sickening cracks explaining how.

A trapped animal could chew their leg off to escape, Elijah broke his wrist and hand to slip it from Tristan's hold, before vanishing in a burst of speed.

Aya feels a rush of air behind her but as she turns all she sees is the blur as he escapes before she could grab him.

“Running Boy.” Tristan called, dropping his voice and changing his cadence, Aya recognised who was trying to mimic, but Elijah's reaction made it clear as for a second he froze.

Just enough time for Tristan appeared in front of him, both hands wrapping around his throat.

“He got close, did he?” Elijah asked, smirking as if he wasn't the one in danger, before shifting from amusement to an almost disappointed tone, “I thought i told you to run-”

Elijah's words were cut off when his back slammed into the wall hard and Tristan’s hands squeezed, cutting off Elijah from speaking any further.

Aya know it’s instinct that has Elijah suddenly gripping Tristan’s arms as he chokes. Yet he can't do anything, he can't break or bruise or even dig his nails, so Aya watches as Elijah Mikaelson holds Tristan’s wrists uselessly.

After a time Tristan releases him, stepping back and watching as Elijah fell to the floor gagging and coughing as his body tried to take in the air it didn't really need.

The marks around his neck were almost a black collar, and as he tried to speak the only sound to escape a broken weeze, vocal cords still too damaged.

Tristan didn't let him heal as he grabbed him by the hair and dragged him toward, back to the middle of the room.

“It seems you're going to need a lesson to help you accept your new situation.” Tristan said with a false put upon sigh.

Aya watches as Tristan unleashes years-centuries of resentment and hate, taunting their sire as he does, Elijah doesn't let out a sound, other than the sharp grunts of pain he couldn't stop.

Aya suddenly realised why Tristan had been so pleased by the tunic, as even with Elijah’s healing preventing any marks remaining the white showed the blood clearly.

----

“Of course there is one fall back about this.” Tristan said as he stepped back from the crumpled form of Elijah. “Anyone outside of the Strix could also be of your sire line so really shouldn’t let you leave now, since you can't defend yourself.”

Red eyes surrounded by dark veins became visible as Elijah gathered the strength to push himself into a sitting position. Tristan stepped back toward Elijah, lifting one foot up to place on his chest and push him back down.

"However the Strix, to repay it's heroic founder's choice of undergo the spell to protect them from him, will forever protect and guard their Patriarch." Tristan explained.

"Your story is that I volunteered for this." Elijah asked in disbelief, sounding breathless from the pressure on his chest.

Tristan's foot trailed from his chest down one of Elijah legs before it stopped over his ankle, he smiled down.

“You’ll play along with this little story.” Tristan said, making it clear it wasn't a question.

Elijah glared back, Tristan grinned and placed his weight down slowly.

All their hearing caught the sound of bones cracking and breaking.

Elijah hissed but make no other noise and pulled his other leg to him.

“I’d like an answer.” Tristan told him as he twisted his foot, grinding the bones beneath it.

“Fine.” Elijah growled but sighed when Tristan stepped back, dark veins fading and eyes return to the human brown.

“I suppose that’s everything sorted then.” Tristan said pleasantly after watching Elijah on the ground for several moments.

“Not quite,” Elijah spoke quietly as he surprised them both as he pulled himself back up, not putting any weight on that leg but straighten up he turned to Aya, ignoring Tristan, "Aya, they were your people, you led them to their deaths. Shouldn’t you avenge them.”

It’s his eyes, looking at her with disappointed like she was the one that failed him, that abandoned her, that killed her people.

She shouldn't.

She didn’t attack those who weren’t a threat.

And Elijah wasn’t anymore, he couldn’t harm any of them and he couldn’t take them with him if he got killed, the Strix wouldn’t let him risk himself.

But the dead were not coming back.

Gavriel was dead, Mary was dead, Akana and Kaze were dead, they followed her for centuries and they were gone.

She let go of her control and let out her anger her grief.

She came back to herself as she caught sight of Tristan watching silently with a raised eyebrow.

Elijah looks up at her, tongue licking the blood from his lip as the split heals. Her hands were covered in blood, his blood, the blood that had made her, a gift once, now it tied them all as one.

Something Elijah would have to accept.

The disappointment was gone from his eyes, replaced with triumph and she almost flinches as she realised she had played into his hands.

Let him used her to punish himself for the hesitation that had led him to this.

He would use this as a reminder every time she would approach him to work with the Strix.

'Fine' she thought taking a breath before she hit him again.

If he wished to be nothing but a prisoner he could be.

Loyalty is a fine trait, noble but like everything else, too much destroys, our friend will destroy himself one day. Gavriel had said in despair, once in the aftermath of Mikael.

Eventually, the boredom, having nothing to focus on would drive him to re-join them.

She turned and walked away, she didn’t want to see the sight of him anymore.

—--

Elijah watched as Aya stormed away, his blood still on her fists, even as all his injuries healed, a simple beating wasn’t going to leave a mark.

He pushed himself back up, refusing to let it show when his newly healed ankle rolled under his weight.

His healing was slower, likely an aftereffect of healing from the ritual, time without blood and this recent altercation.

Correction he thought If they had kept going they might have left a mark.

And he could do nothing, they hadn't been lying or overconfident, Elijah couldn't harm them in any way.

He couldn't free himself from Tristan's hands, couldn't defend himself, hadn't been able to break Aya’s neck, he had felt his hand freeze up before he could touch her.

It might just be Tristan and Aya, he'd have to find a way to check on that with the rest of Strix, but he doubted it.

“I'll have clean clothes and a washcloth sent, we can't have our honoured founder looking such a state.” his first sired voice dragged him from his thoughts

Elijah couldn't withhold the grimace at the reminder of the mess he must look, blood and other fluids must have stained him during the beating while he was distracted by the pain.

“You're enjoying this too much.” He told Tristan, mostly to ignore his slip.

“Really how so?” Tristan arched a brow at him, as if the glee wasn't glittering in his eyes didn't give him away.

“I can smell your excitement.” he said, his disgust clear, Tristan enjoyed bringing pain to others, along with their past, this had to be one of Tristan's dreams.

“Which means Aya could and yet she left you with me, knowing you couldn't defend yourself.” Tristan chuckled as he made the veiled threat but Elijah met his look unimpressed, even before he added “Fear not, you know I don't force that, it should be your honour for any of my attention.”

Elijah knew Tristan, which meant he knew his limits, unless he had changed much in the last nine hundred years, Tristan’s pride couldn't take needing to force himself on another.

And Tristan could and would only change for Aurora.

“You understand now don’t you? There is no other place for you, what use are you to your siblings when you can’t defend yourself, how many out there will you be helpless against.“

“I will not simply-” he started, stopping suddenly as Tristan closed the space between them to appear right in his face.

“No, you won't will you?” He didn’t flinch as Tristan laid a hand on his cheek gently, he wasn’t going to ever flinch from Tristan de Martel he swore to himself. “but I will enjoy watching you give in.” Tristan leaned closer to his ear to whisper “and helping you learn those lessons.”

Elijah drew himself up to his full height, making the most of the difference between them to look down on Tristan.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with being physically helpless, Klaus had pushed him past his limits after Katarina had escaped, Mikael’s training on some day could be best described as him attacking until his sons learnt to take his hits and stay upright.

Pain he could take, he had been raised to bear it.

Tristan met his disdainful look with a polite smile but smug eyes.

Unfortunately Tristan knew him far more than he ever wanted an enemy to.

“I've sent word, your siblings know you’ve returned to the fold.” Tristan called back as he stopped at the door.

“They won't-” he started to quickly, cursing him mentally for revealing to much by just that as Tristan cut him off.

“Really?” he asked mockingly, amusement clear in his voice even as he kept his tone mild “from my reports your brother has grown quite paranoid over the centuries. Isn't that why two of your brothers remain in their coffins?”

The door shutting was loud in the silence as Elijah found himself alone, unchained but more trapped than ever before.

The door may be unlocked but surrounded by vampires he couldn't fight back against. He sank to the floor, cracking the flooring with supernatural strength and let out a heavy breath.

That strength meant nothing when he couldn't use it.

He was in trouble.

#june of doom 2024 #june of doom #elijah mikaelson #aya al rashid #tristan de martel #elijah x tristan #fanfiction #the originals #the vampire diaries #fic #tvd fanfiction #the originals au #the vampire dairies au #tvd #AU- The Caged Founder

8 notes · View notes

sponsoredbydestiny · 6 months ago

Text

You know a serial has won you over when a single chapter sparks three different effortposts, and you have to gesture at the least important one just to clear headspace.

Tristan and Song, huh!

“You have a way with words, sometimes,” she finally said. “Allocating vice. Is it from something you read?”

“…there are times when evil’s face is bared and people say enough. When they push back, when the crowns of the world are remembered that no number of levees can truly hold the sea. They only hold until a storm makes the waves tall enough.”

Tristan was taught how to talk, even in a literary cadence when need be. But come on, you don’t really believe that horseshit, right?

Song does believe it. Reputation is fake, (loathe as she is to acknowledge that.) Literature, however, is deadly serious. Those lines about the levees and the sea are 100% copped from some old book, but that provenance makes the sentiment harder for Tristan to undermine, much to his horror. ’Oh hell, she has a moral compass.’

Like, Tristan’s already nonplussed that she wants to sleep with Evander. Then he is thrown by the realization that she’s nearly unswervable in a way that actually values him. How much more of a headfuck would it be, to appreciate that an essential element for both impulses is her genuine piety towards musty tomes?

#pale lights #pale lights spoilers #pl ch51

9 notes · View notes

sama-not-sam · 8 months ago

Text

Sama "the ambitious" Ali: task 002; the eulogy

It hadn’t occurred to Sama that Mrs. Tristan might expect all of the wards to speak at the funeral. She’d expected to hear something from those who’d been closest to him, Angus, Carmen, Estrella, and probably from Alison, but she certainly hadn’t been planning to speak herself. Sama was here because it was appropriate, because she wanted to honor Richard’s memory and all he’d done for her, and because she’d never felt like she could say no to Mrs. Tristan. She was not here because she had any right to Richard’s life. But, she’d never felt like she could say no to Mrs. Tristan, so Sama would have to come up with something to say.

Sama was a fairly confident public speaker. She wasn’t someone who gave speeches, but she could lead a meeting or present findings when the need arose. The main problem was she didn’t have anything to say about Richard, or at least not anything that couldn’t be said by someone else. It felt a bit like being asked to give a eulogy for a former boss, or one of her college professors. Sama wasn’t qualified for this, and worse, it wasn’t something she would get a second chance at.

All through the service, Sama went back and forth in her mind about her plan, if it was a good one or not, if it would look like she was honoring one of Richard’s passions or like she just couldn’t be bothered to try harder. She refused to acknowledge that she was more concerned about Alison’s judgement than anyone else’s. At least she could find some comfort in the fact that she was closer to the beginning of the speakers than the end. She could get it over with, if nothing else.

Sama waited until Jacob was back in his seat before standing, not wanting to rush anything. She held the book of poetry with both hands as she took to the podium. She tried to look at the other mourners, but couldn’t, instead focusing on some point in the distance.

“Hello.” Her voice sounded too quiet, even with the aid of the microphone, and she had to take a slow breath before continuing, louder and more confident. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Sama Ali, one of Richard’s many wards.” Sama paused, losing her train of thought for a moment and unable to remember the transition she’d rehearsed in her head.

“I’m not a sentimental person. It’s not something that’s ever served me. I don’t have anything to share with you about Richard that you don’t already know.” She found herself unable to find a flow of words as she usually did, probably the difference between speaking to a group of coworkers and giving a eulogy.

Sama cleared her throat, and opened the book to the page she’d hastily marked with a bobby pin. She’d been thinking about poems about death since she first received Mrs. Tristan’s letter, and when she found out she was supposed to speak, Sama had slipped into the library in search of one in particular. Under the circumstances, it seemed like the best she could do.

“I thought, maybe, I could share something other than memories, something we all know Richard loved. This is a poem by Maya Angelou, titled When Great Trees Fall.

“When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety. “When great trees fall in forests, small things recoil into silence, their senses eroded beyond fear.”

Sama began to find her footing as she read the poem, gaining confidence in the familiar cadence of one of her favorite poets. She began to look out over the gathered crowd, meeting the eyes of some of her fellow wards.

“When great souls die, the air around us becomes light, rare, sterile. We breathe, briefly. Our eyes, briefly, see with a hurtful clarity. Our memory, suddenly sharpened, examines, gnaws on kind words unsaid, promised walks never taken. “Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us. Our souls, dependent upon their nurture, now shrink, wizened. Our minds, formed and informed by their radiance, fall away. We are not so much maddened as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of dark, cold caves. “And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.”

Sama closed the book and came back to herself, once again uncertain of her choice and unable to make eye contact. For a moment, she wondered if she should say something else, but she couldn’t think of anything, and certainly nothing more eloquent or poignant than Maya Angelou. So she just made her way back to her seat, back straight, shoulders square, eyes trained on the ground.

#wrhq.task #day0

7 notes · View notes

lordofthestrix · 21 days ago

Text

Tristan: "I value all of my Strix in this room equally. Aya, Shen Min, Claire, Arthur, Rowan, Holt, Cadence, Takahashi and..." Subtly looks at smudged writing on hand. "Moe is hidden."

#Tristan de Martel #Crack #I like to headcanon Mohinder was among the initial bunch chosen by Elijah instead of Tristan.#And that he was the one person Tristan wasn't so sure about wanting to take under his wing.#“What is his gimmick again? He feeds on other vampires?”#“You mean like the deranged Original who hunted me and more importantly my family for a century?”#“The one who murdered a considerable number of his brothers and sisters last week?”#“How amusingly quaint.”#“Fine. But we should keep an eye open. I'm pretty sure we can do better on the ruthless warrior front moving forward.”#Apologies for the silliness today. Apparently embracing a touch of the absurd is part of my strategy for adapting to new environments.#The Strix: You have to break rules if you want to build a new world #Phantom Lex: Seen or unseen. Here but not here

4 notes · View notes

dustedmagazine · 8 months ago

Text

E — Living Waters (Silver Rocket)

E’s fifth full length packs a wallop, thanks to new drummer Ernie Kim, a Boston area veteran of bands including Tristan da Cunha. Not that the trio—the other two members are Thalia Zedek and Jason Sanford—has ever been especially quiet. Still no question that the intensity ratcheted up another notch this time in lurching, lumbering rhythms that shake the floors like a brontosaurus passing.

It all starts in “(Fully) Remote” with its thrusting, heavy industrial cadence that comes down hard at the beginning of every four beat measure, swings back, then hammers home again. And while superlatively heavy, E’s music has a twitchy, paranoiac empty space embedded between assaults. Sanford mutters ominously about how “the information, it comes from inside,” while Zedek picks up the end of a verse in a feral, vibrating howl. A trebly violence of guitar skreetches over the monstrous beat, like napalm fire catching.

E has never had a full-time bass player. Typically Zedek plays a conventional guitar, while Sanford goes at his home-made instruments, some of which look like cubist reimaginings of a guitar, drawn in thick lines with air where the body usually goes. For this album, however, Zedek, too, experimented with her instrument, adjusting it so that it could produce both guitar and bass-like sounds. The low-end girds the band’s customary antic, always-in-motion onslaught, giving the sound more force and resonance. And yet, it’s the drums, always the drums, that shock and roil these songs, their stick-shattering thwacks turning uneasy fever dreams like “Names Upon a List” into firefights.

A couple of these tracks lean way into this assaultive aesthetic, stripping away the poetry and melodic color to reveal the animal beneath. “Deep Swerve” bounces wavering, dopplering sounds off the hardest beat you can imagine, and “Ash” reprises the woozy foundation, adding flares of guitars and voices to its giant footed procession.

But it’s the epic title track that puts the pieces together, its ritual beat, its slow-chiming guitars, its gut-wrenching vocals all conjoining in triumph. Zedek sings, primarily, holding the long notes over a tumult of percussion and guitar sound, as if withstanding, once again, all the difficulties of the last few years. It’s nine minutes plus of persistence and resilience, playing out in a way that will make the hairs on your wrists stand up. E is full of power, now more than ever.

Jennifer Kelly

#e #living waters #silver rocket #jennifer kelly #albumreview #dusted magazine #thalia zedek #come #live skull #jason sanford #neptunes #ernie kim #tristan da cunha #no wave #punk #noise

3 notes · View notes

agilneanrose · 1 year ago

Text

“I will not.” The three words were spit into the room, disturbing the pretentious clinking of tea cups as it washed over the collection of ladies in a wave of youthful anger and disgust.

“Rosemarri Sayage, you may be excused. See yourself to the chapel and pray for the return of patience and the grace that you lack today.” There was a waver in her mother’s voice, her normal docile and cultured tones straining to be strict and sharp. It was an act, of course, put on for the noblewomen that stared at her. Her mother was under the strict rule that no woman should raise her voice but she was embarrassed in front of her guests and while she didn’t yell, she strained to be harsh - the tone had the same cadence as a badly played flute which made the dismissal a blessing.

She couldn’t help one last dig as she pranced through the open doorway and paused to repeat herself. “Momma, I will marry the dead tree in the farthest pasture before I marry William Fogof the fifty-first.”

Someone gasped. There was a clank of a teacup against the saucer and before any more words could be said, she swept from the doorway. The hours kneeling in the chapel would be worth it.

"How many hours now?" A sigh followed the baritone question and at once she crinkled her nose. She’d lost count.

“At least four hundred..” She twisted within the puddle of her skirts and robe, one hand finding the cold stone floor so she could peer back towards the entrance of the modest chapel. Tristan, a handful of years her senior, stood with his shoulder braced against the frame of the door.

“That sounds like a lot or a lie.”

“It is a lie, I have forgotten how long. But you know what I have not forgotten?”

He pushed forward and she waited, watching him as he made his way through the pews. His dark hair matched hers, only his had no curl and hers resembled a rat’s nest every morning. He was tall, lanky as most boys his age were, and as arrogant as any young lord should be. Only when he collapsed next to her did she settle onto her heels, hands clapping against her knees. “I have not forgotten that I refuse to marry William Fogof the fifty-first! He is old, Tristan, at least thirteen, and is fatter than cook’s winter pig. I would have to fight for my food and ladies do no fight!”

“Ladies do marry, it is your job. But you do not have to worry, it won’t be for some years - at least ten. It is just a contract --"

“--they do not marry winter pigs, Tris-tan. " She interrupted. "Do you want to marry a winter pig? I know Lady Dionis brought her daughter today in hopes of seeing you. Her dress took up the entire left side of the tea table! And she has a boil right under her eye, titan's it wiggled when she chewed. I named it -- "

“Rosemarri…” He began but must have pictured William or Miss Dionis in his head because he didn’t finish the admonishment.

Her scowl faded into a faint smile, talasite eyes laughing as if she could read his thoughts. “Two copper he has a tail..”

@swordandsayage

#PAst #Tristan

3 notes · View notes

im-a-ramblr · 2 years ago

Text

And then please reblog, the more votes the better.

#tumblr polls #my polls #i am being a mence #can't believe #derek hartigan #got the kids in the divorce with #tristan cadence #arcane ascension #this is a joke that kind of works in canon but definitely works in what I'm planning #Derek x Tristan

19 notes · View notes

good--merits-accumulated · 6 months ago

Text

caught off guard reading a book from 1974

#the cadence of this is wonderful i'm going to be repeating Mmmmmmff Nya go away for the rest of the day #mmmmmmff nya. go away.#tristan rambles

2 notes · View notes

manyfandomocs · 10 months ago

Note

So many new ocs and plot bunnies just throwing it out there any thoughts on new crossovers? (Or not-new crossovers that we just really need to talk about about?)

Omg honestly we've both been having so many new ones so, under the cut because this is BIG (I did just romantic because it was even Bigger with platonic or ones that could be both but I still have the platonic saved so, lmk if you want) (I ended up cutting out some Glee ones as well so if you want the ones left out I can have another, but at least I bolded my faves??)

also. there are more fandoms we have but after like two days of going through these lists my brain hurts so. just lmk if there's any fandom you want in particular <3

Descendants

Honestly we just need to talk about any Gabe crossover that isn't Ace x Gabe and Ro & Gabe but especially Topher and Evander

Ace and Wrenley give me vibes for some reason, idk what but vibes

Anissa Radcliffe x Stephen

Atalia of Atlantica x Jackie

Atalia of Atlantica x Wrenley

Blossom x Stephen

Callista x Stephen

Chessy x Stephen

Chessy x Emmeline

Chiara x Cosette

Cian x Cosette idk why

Cian x Evelyn idk why

I literally wanna say Cian x Gabe but idk

Cian x Kirsti

Cian x Wrenley

Cosette x Evelyn

Cosette x Ginevra

Elise x Emmeline

Elise x Estelle

Elise x Stephen

Finley x Ginevra

Finley x Stephen

Fitz x/& Gabe I can't figure out the vibes

Fitz x/& Stephen (only x if he isn't with Finley)

Fitz x Ginevra

Gloria x Ruby

Gloria x Annalise

Hannah x Stephen

Hannah x Kirsti

Harley x Wrenley

Harley x Jackie

Honey x Stephen

Honey x Emmeline

(I said just doing romantic here but I do love the idea of Honey & Gabe just saying)

Princess Isabelle x Charlotte

Princess Isabelle x Stephen

Lawson x Cadence

Lawson x Cosette

Lawson x Wrenley

Lucette x Evelyn

Lucette x Cadence

Maria x Wrenley

Noelle x Stephen

Roslyn x Stephen

Roslyn x Wrenley

Roslyn x Emmeline

Roslyn x Cadence

Taryn x Jackie

Tristan x Stephen

Tristan x Gabe

Tristan x Kirsti

Violet x Stephen

Violet x Jackie

Gilmore Girls

Allie x Theo

Allie x Dahlia? Idk I'm getting vibes

Amanda x Thomas (Thomas is truly the Gavin of my Gilmore Girls ocs with all the girlfriends he gets)

Annabel x Caspian

Annabel x Serafina

Antoinette x Serafina

Avery x Caspian

Avery x Serafina

Brady x Caspian?

Cameron x Theo

Catie x Thomas

Charles x Theo

Charles x Jasmine (with Blythe and Kaito or not either way)

Chelsea x Theo

Chelsea x Thomas

Chelsea x Lydia

Cosette x Thomas

Dani x Caspian

Eleanor x Thomas

Eleanor x Theo

Eliya x Lydia

Elle x Caspian

Evan x Theo

Freya x Caspian

Gabi x Jasmine

I kinda want Harry and Troy and Vicki idk with who

Holland x Dahlia

Jane x Theo

Kaylee x Caspian

Kaylee x Theo

Lexi x Dorian

Lia x Theo

Lili x Theo

Lili x Thomas

Lili x Jasmine

Marley x Theo

Sage x Theo

Sage x Jasmine

Sage x Dahlia

Sienna x Caspian

Sophie x Serafina

Sophie x Caspian

Willow x Thomas

Willow x Theo

Willow x Jasmine

Glee (I might be already about to update my list with another but I kept it simple with who's already there lmao but I will come to you with ideas when I add)

Abbie x Christina

Abbie x Felix

Abbie x Steve

Abbie x Xavier

Barbie x Carrie

Barbie x Jupiter

Barbie x Steve

Betty x Felix

Betty x Jupiter

Betty x Steve

Betty x/& Zeke (x if he isn't with Claude???)

Sav/Bobby/Val can really be platonic or romantic with so many of my people I feel like they'd be a whole list on their own

I don't wanna break Camilo and Jo up so, also own list of who could be platonic and romantic

Cece x Christina

Cece x Giselle

Cece x Sophia

Christie x Carrie

Christie x Felicity

Christie x Giselle

Christie x Jupiter

Claude x Beatrice

Claude x Leonard

Claude x Zeke

Cole x Carrie

Cole x Jasper

Cole x Reagan

Cole x Steve

Cole x Xavier

Colton x Ashton (They have their friend verse but I'm definitely not opposed to romance)

Colton x Felix

Colton x Jasper

Colton x Steve

Colton x Xavier

Daphne x Carrie

Daphne x Jupiter

Daphne x Reagan

Daphne x Steve

Delilah x Carrie

Delilah x Giselle

Delilah x Xavier

Demi x Carrie

Demi x Reagan

Dolly x Carrie (if not with Barbie)

Dolly x Felix

Dolly x Jupiter (if not with Barbie)

Dolly x Reagan

Gil x Ashton

Gil x Felix

Gil x Jasper

Gil x Jupiter

Gil x Leonard

Hadley x Christina

Hadley x Giselle

Hadley x Steve

Hadley x Xavier

Hillary x Steve

Holden x Ashton

Holden x Felix

Holden x Jasper

Holden x Leonard

Jaci x Beatrice

Jaci x CJ

Jason x Ashton

Jason x Carrie

Jason x Jupiter

Jason x Sophia

Jeremy x Beatrice

Jeremy x Leonard

Jeremy x Zeke

Josie x Carrie

Josie x Felix

Josie x Steve

Joy x Carrie

Joy x Felix

Joy x Jupiter

Joy x Xavier

June x Carrie

June x Felix

June x Reagan

June x Steve

Kendall x Beatrice

Kendall x CJ

Lilibeth x Kaipo

Lilibeth x Zeke

Logan x Ashton

Logan x Carrie

Logan x Karina

Mac x Jupiter

Mac x Steve

Mac x/& Zeke (if he isn't with Claude??)

Marilyn x Carrie

Marilyn x Christina

Marilyn x Felicity

Marilyn x Giselle

Marilyn x Jupiter

Marilyn x Karina

Maureen x Carrie

Maureen x Reagan

Maureen x Steve

May x Giselle

May x Karina

May x Xavier

Any of the Natalie ones from the Natalie list I gave

Perrie x Christina

Perrie x Reagan

Perrie x Steve

Roxie x Carrie

Roxie x Felix

Roxie x Giselle

Roxie x Steve

Roxie x Xavier

Sadie x Beatrice

Sadie x CJ

Sadie x Leonard

Satine x Christina

Satine x Felix

Satine x Jupiter

Satine x Reagan

Tegan x Carrie

Tegan x Christina

Tegan x Giselle

Tegan x Steve

Tommy x Beatrice

Tommy x Leonard

And any from the Zoe list I gave

Harry Potter

Just this whole list

#answered #randomestfandom #crossover list #i am not listing every oc

1 note · View note

dianessunflower · 2 years ago

Text

Tristan und Isolde in The Good Fight 6x04

i was not always an opera fan but i am always a fan of art referencing art. so when Tristan und Isolde popped up in season 6 of The Good Fight, you can imagine i was intrigued.

again, i wrote two threads on twitter, and i'm reposting here in lieu of there never being another thursday ep of TGF ever again (crying hours).

by Spanish artist Rogelio de Egusquiza's Tristan and Isolde (Death). 1910, oil on canvas, Bilbao Fine Arts Museum

anyways, T&I is an opera in 3 acts by Richard Wagner with a German libretto, based on a 12C romance Tristan and Iseult by Gottfried von Strassburg. known for tonal ambiguity, orchestral colour, harmonic suspension & chromaticism (very basically, using tones outside major/minor scales).

i will say from the outset i am not a Wagner fan (google it, but also it's rather ironic given what happens in this ep), but i have been to the villa where he lived in Lucerne (great views). (Walter Benjamin called Wagner an example of "bourgeois false consciousness" lolol)

anyway back to T&I… he wrote it while having an apparent affair with Mathilde Wesendonck 👀🍵 but it was also written after his discovery of Schopenhauer, a German philosopher who also influenced Tolstoy.

his point was to write tragedy, not romance, and his work marks the departure from tonal harmony in 20C EU classical music. the opening is called the Tristan chord—listen to the dissonance, nothing being resolved.

T&I uses harmonic suspension—creating musical tension and expectation in the listener through prolonged unfinished cadences. but he does so throughout the whole work, like introducing a cadence in the prelude and not resolving until Act 3 Finale.

and um, this deferred resolution is frequently interpreted as symbolising both physical sexual release and spiritual release (aka death ahah). there is also a day/night, life/death theme going on—opposites attract.

to return to Schopenhauer and the general storyline of T&I, it's really premised on the idea of unfulfilled longing and unachievable desires. make of that what you will.

[pre-finale addendum] i never really thought T&I was a direct metaphor, but more about how love doesn't always triumph. tragedy.

the important thing about the T&I plot is that it's a chivalric romance with certain elements, based on ancient Celtic myth, though the opera itself is based on a Medieval German retelling:

the brave hero (you're my hero)

the forbidden/doomed lovers (can your love survive outside the bubble)

and of course, the love potion, which makes Isolde fall in love with Tristan whom she had previously sworn hatred for after he killed her uncle. it SHOULDN'T make sense, and yet Diane and Kurt fall in love anyway.

the love potion is magic, but it is also poison (this is where it could become a metaphor* for PT108). and it doesn't just slowly poison them, eventually in the opera it poisons everything and leads to the lovers' downfall.

****(ftr, i do not think PT108 itself is poison & certainly not in reference to a depression treatment)

there are interesting doubles in T&I, mostly that Tristan's first wound is healed magically by Isolde, but later he's mortally wounded when Isolde doesn't reach him in time.

(Rogelio de Egusquiza, Tristan and Isolde (Life). 1910, oil on canvas, Bilbao Fine Arts Museum)

i think we see this flipped in TGF. in s1-2, Di has been wounded emotionally by Kurt and eventually they reconcile. but in s6, Di has been depressed and had multiple near death experiences, and yet Kurt doesn't seem to be able to reach her.

hence the quote: 'Here he lies, the great man, in thrall to the world’s most wonderful delusion—love.' and like the opera, the harmonies won't resolve until the very end.

[post-finale note] i did realise that when the Liebestod is playing while Diane and Kurt are talking on the sofa after the gala dinner that it does resolve. the answer was always there, that they would resolve together.

youtube

#tristan und isolde #richard wagner #the good fight #the good wife #diane lockhart #christine baranski #robert and michelle king #nat's tangents #the good universe #nat's art history threads #the art of referencing art in art

12 notes · View notes

storytellersumayyah · 1 year ago

Text

a permanent state of being

please read the trigger warnings before proceeding, they are more important than ever

tw: cancer, child death (cancer), funerals, intrusive thoughts, suicidal ideation, passively suicidal behaviours, suicidal thoughts, active wishes for death, untreated and minimised grief, weight comments, disordered eating, eating disorder behaviours/thoughts, desire for sickness in order to be loved, sexualisation of teens and invalidating responses towards this, panic attacks, vomit, telling a suicidal person to kill themselves, graphic depictions of child abuse

spoilers: tristan starts to develop eating disorder habits. victoria tells him he isn't capable of this. he realises he wants to die. when he tells his mother, she drives him to the beach and tells him to walk into the ocean- he cannot swim. she also drives dangerously and ignores him crying for her to slow down. there is no happy ending- james does not intervene and tristan continues to suffer from suicidal thoughts, ideation and disordered eating

if you need to skip this one, do not proceed. it is here because victoria is not a good person, and because i need to stop shying away from darker works that are appropriately tagged. i love you. there is also a better solution, and you will be okay.

Tristan learnt what death was at the age of seven. Or rather, he learnt the reality of death. Prior to that insultingly and uncharacteristically sunny day in September, death had been something he was aware of but did not know. Death was what happened to the parents of the children in the films. It was why he the first people he wanted to die were his parents. It was the only way he could become a hero. He told his father this at some point. He had ruffled his hair and said he didn’t actually want that. His mother stared him down and said that was a horrible thing he should never repeat. When he cried, she embraced him and explained it properly. And although he still didn’t understand what death was, he realised she was right, and he stopped wishing for people to die.

He was five when that conversation took place.

At seven, he would wish people dead once more. And this time, he would have slightly more understanding of what he was saying, but it would still be childish and unreal.

It started with whispers in the classroom. He had been invested in his book, but the sounds shook his concentration. He had looked up to shush whoever was talking during his favourite time of the day, but he realised it was actually his teacher talking to someone he’d seen with other students but never said hello to. When they realised he was staring at them, they both softened.

“Hey Tristan,” Miss Lovewell said.

He frowned, unsure if he was going to get into trouble for talking during silent reading. She gestured at him to go to her desk. He dog-eared the page and pushed his chair in before standing before her, hands loose by his side and chin tilted up the way his father always instructed him to. She smiled at him, and he relaxed slightly.

“Mr Cadence is going to take you to a different room for a few minutes, and then your mom and dad will come and pick you up, is that okay? You’ll be back in a few days. You’re not in any trouble because you are a good student who always does what he can, so don’t worry about any of that, okay?”

He didn’t want to leave, but it was clear he had no choice. He wanted Jonathan to pat his shoulder- the way he always did when he didn’t want a hug- but Jonathan wasn’t there, so he had to be brave alone. It wasn’t easy, but he managed to nod. And when Mr Cadence held his hand out, giving him the option to take it but without any force, he stuffed his own inside his pockets and trailed after (he did take them out when they were going down the stairs, because even though Adelaide said he was, he wasn’t stupid).

“Why am I here?” He asked. The room looked like the one Jonathan had described to him. But he wasn’t Jonathan.

“Tristan, you were close to Delilah, weren’t you?”

Delilah was a student in the year above him. She wasn’t in school that often because she constantly had to go to hospital appointments or stay home because she wasn’t well enough to come in, but when she did come in, he spent all the time he could with her. Everyone thought he had a crush, but that wasn’t it. He just didn’t know when he’d next get her, so he needed to make it worth it.

He shrugged. “I guess.” He wanted to be more confident, but he didn’t want Mr Cadence accusing him of having a crush.

“Do you remember how she sometimes had to take time off?”

“She’s not a bad student,” he immediately protested.

“No of course not. She was one of the best, given the circumstances.”

“Was?” Victoria had taught him to raise questions whenever someone changed the way they were talking. It wasn’t normal to use the past tense when talking about a child.

“Oh, Tristan. I’m so sorry. As you know, Delilah was very unwell. And sometimes when people get very ill, they can’t get better.”

“So Delilah’s not coming back to school?”

“I’m very sorry. She can’t. Delilah went to sleep last night, and she won’t wake up now. She’s gone to a place where there’s no hurt, and no pain, and she’s better.”

As a teen, he would appreciate the lack of religious talk. As a child, it would have been the one thing that made it make sense.

But he’d heard of the place with no hurt and no pain. “She’s in heaven?”

Mr Cadence seemed taken aback, but he nodded regardless. “Yes. She is.”

“So she’s dead?”

“She’s passed away, Tristan. I’m very sorry. Do you want to sit down? I’ll stay with you until your parents here, and we can-“

“I hate you,” he shouted. “You’re supposed to help people! Why didn’t you help her?”

Mr Cadence didn’t say anything. He just nodded.

“I wish you were dead instead,” he spat, not quite understanding what dead even meant, but still aware it wasn’t something you were meant to say.

“Tristan! You cannot say that!” Mr Cadence shouted. Tristan narrowed his eyes and decided he really did hate him.

He refused to talk to his parents on the way home. Everyone always said you were meant to go to adults when you needed help. Everyone always said they could fix everything. But they hadn’t helped Delilah. They hadn’t fixed her.

He kept thinking she would come back. The funeral didn’t make sense to him. All the funerals in the books and on the screen were black and sad. Delilah’s was fun. There was a casket, and he got to put a delilah on it for her. But then there were balloons and teddy bears, and it felt like she was really there with them, celebrating her life and smiling.

At nineteen, when he attended the funeral of an adult, he would find Delilah’s parents on social media. He would express his gratitude for how they had celebrated Delilah because of the children, and they would tell him that was all they had wanted to hear.

But then days turned into weeks turned into months and Delilah never came back. And he realised she never would. But his parents didn’t offer any comfort. And his school stopped his appointments with Mr Cadence after he refused to go into the room twice. But it wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about Delilah. He just didn’t want to talk to Mr Cadence because he hated him. But it was too late, so he just took the cues to be quiet and forget that Delilah had ever been a part of his life.

He did learn why he wasn’t meant to say he wanted people dead, but he was still so angry that he didn’t think he was wrong for saying it.

At fifteen, he grew terrified. He’d left for Eros Academy, and he’d won the crown. Mr Carter loved him. His boyfriend had been as awkward as him, and they hadn’t gone very far. The lights had been off. He hadn’t had to look at his body. But he couldn’t help but spiral about what would happen when things went further with someone. Or when the lights were on.

He didn’t deserve to feel insecure about his body. And he knew there was nothing to be insecure about. But when he looked in the mirror, he could already see it starting to change. If it changed, he wouldn’t be as desirable. He would have to rely on something other than his looks to be charming, and he wasn’t sure he could be anything beyond arm candy. Not outside Eros Academy that is.

It worsened when he went back during the Christmas holidays. As much as he hated the stares his parents colleagues sometimes gave him, they had stopped being sympathetic as he got older. Apparently, he was supposed to appreciate it. His mother had said he was lucky it only started once he turned fourteen. His father had looked uncomfortable but not challenged her.

He was awkwardly sitting at the company Christmas party his mother had taken responsibility for hosting. Nobody had brought their children, but he wouldn’t be able to leave until after dessert when everyone started drinking. He hoped his mother wouldn’t drink enough to actually become drunk. His father hadn’t drunk since that fateful day, so he wasn’t worried about him.

“Are you having a good time at that school of yours?” Someone asked.

Tristan nodded. It always weirded him out, the fact that everyone knew he was just a school kid, but still looked at him the way they did. His mother glared at him and he swallowed. “Yes. It’s lovely there.”

“I can tell. You’ve gained weight,” they commented.

He suddenly felt nauseous. He dropped his fork and pushed his plate away. “I suppose.”

He couldn’t allow his body to change. If his body changed, then he wouldn’t be pretty. Nobody would want him. And then he would have nothing to give anyone. James awkwardly intervened in the conversation, but it was too late.

Maybe, if he stopped eating, he would get sick. And maybe if he got sick, his parents would feel guilty and they would stick up for him again. Maybe they would love him more.

It all came to a head at lunch a few days later.

“Stop picking at your food,” Victoria said.

He put his fork down. “I’m not hungry.” It was a lie, but he needed to test his limits. Needed to see how far he had to go before someone noticed.

“Yes you are. This attempt at developing an eating disorder is pathetic and attention-seeking. People make comments about bodies all the time. You’re going to need to learn to ignore them,” Victoria said.

He swallowed. “I’m not trying to develop an eating disorder. I just don’t want my body to change.”

“Laurie, it’s okay if it does. You won’t be a teenager forever,” James said, much softer.

Victoria seemed to realise what she’d done. “That’s what I meant.”

It wasn’t, and they all knew it, but Tristan ate his lunch, even if it made him nauseous. He ate less at dinner as compensation. But because he cleared his plate, nobody commented, and he realised that he could maintain his beauty without raising suspicions if he was careful enough.

It was an on and off habit. It was easier to maintain at home. At school, Adelaide burst into tears and asked him to eat properly because she didn’t want him to end up in the hospital or develop a heart condition. Tristan had wanted to say she was being dramatic, but he knew the reality wasn’t what anyone aimed for when they started, so he’d promised and done his best. When his eating started to get bad, he would go to her.

That safety net didn’t exist at home. And it scared him, how easy it was to just slowly and passively destroy his body. But it also felt good, to know that he could make himself so sick through nothing more than deprivation.

His dad seemed to notice though, and he wouldn’t leave until he’d eaten enough, even when he didn’t want to do it. So he stopped trying to make himself unwell. The attention he received from it wasn’t worth it, because it was just more lectures and even less sympathy.

When he started eating normally, the way he always had before people made comments, Victoria seemed to relax. Tristan tried to accept that as her love, but it didn’t feel like enough. It never felt like enough, which meant that it must have been a reflection of him and nobody else.

The pressure kept getting worse though. Both in school and at home. It wasn’t enough that he was a Heartbreaker. He had to be the best Heartbreaker, because he was the Nightingale heir. And even when he was the best, he still needed to do more. Still needed to prove himself as a Nightingale. As someone worthy of Mr Carter’s mentoring, officially and unofficially.

Adelaide supported him the best she could, but they both knew allowances would be made for her. They would not be made for him. And Jonathan was too sweet, too fragile, too broken by whatever had happened to him at the start of their first year to offer any advice. And as much as Tristan wanted to ask what had happened, he knew the answer deep down. And he knew that, if nothing else, the Jonathan that emerged from that room would be one that would survive.

That was all that mattered. Surviving.

But then the summer came and went. His second year started, and he was drowning. The first years seemed so young, and he didn’t know how he was meant to break them. The older students were finally unlocked, even if he was still a few months shy of sixteen, but some of the stares made him feel like he was back in the manor, even if they were almost the same age.

He blew out sixteen candles and wanted to throw up. There was nothing stopping anyone anymore.

He went home for Christmas, and the feelings only worsened. He went back to school, and everything felt wrong. He wanted to claw his skin off. He wanted to become so sick that everyone would whisper, and he would be in the hospital. He wanted to be with Delilah.

It was only when he realised that he missed Delilah, and he wanted to be with her, even if he didn’t believe in anything after death, that he found the words to express how he felt. He wanted to die.

And it wasn’t an exaggeration. It wasn’t because he wanted control, or because he wanted things to change and he didn’t have the power to do so. It wasn’t because he just desperately needed a break from everything and everyone. Because breaks were temporary. Change was possible, limited as it may have been.

He wanted something permanent.

He wanted to die.

At sixteen and three months, he realised that he had never wanted someone dead before. He had wanted them to go far away from him and all that he loved, but he had not wanted them dead. And then he wanted to go back in time and take himself away because he was the first person he had ever wanted to kill, and surely that wasn’t fair.

When Mr Carter asked him what was wrong, he said he was tired. He told Jonathan he wasn’t sleeping well. He told Adelaide it was nothing a heartbreak wouldn’t fix. And then he dumped his boyfriend. They were nice enough to act like they hadn’t seen it coming, and Tristan wondered how many of his classmates would attend his funeral. Would the Heartbroken rejoice the way the people of Oz had? Would his parents try and celebrate his life the way Delilah’s had?

Nobody knew he wanted to die. He knew that was what he wanted, but it still hurt. That even though people cared about him so much, they couldn’t see that he didn’t want to be there anymore.

Or maybe they did. Jonathan sent him random quotes, claiming they were so awful he had to share them, and sometimes they made Tristan smile. Not because they were good- Jonathan was right in how bad they were, but because he was making an effort. Adelaide would constantly talk about plans for the future, and he would chime in with his own ideas before remembering he wasn’t supposed to want that. Even Mr Carter would talk about his excitement for Tristan to become a senior.

And in those moments, he would think that perhaps, he didn’t want to die. But then those moments would pass and the desire would come back full force, no matter how aware people may have been.

He didn’t say the words.

Not until his mother was driving them back for spring break. She had turned up without his father, who apparently had a business meeting so important it couldn’t be rescheduled or delayed. Tristan had bit back his response of how James would have known in September when his spring break started, so he could have accounted for that when he set the date and time.

They were a third of the way home, and Tristan was resolutely staring out the window.

“What exactly is wrong with you?” Victoria asked.

Tristan didn’t know what he was supposed to say. But this was his mother. So against every instinct telling him no, he was honest.

“I want to die,” he said. “That’s what’s wrong.”

She didn’t even brake. She turned to look at him for half a second, and then she looked back at the road. It was completely empty, and Tristan’s heart sunk. He had finally told his mother, the one person who was always supposed to side with him, and she couldn’t even face him.

He wanted to throw up. Or jump out of the car. They were moving relatively quickly, it would at least break a bone.

They were moving quickly. But it wasn’t a highway. It was a residential area.

“Mom?” He asked, voice shaky.

Victoria didn’t look at him. But she did clench her jaw. And she pushed harder on the accelerator.

Tristan felt his heart racing, his palms sweating. He had never been so terrified. His mother was a good, safe driver. She knew the speed limits.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

She still didn’t answer. He tried to fling his door open, if only so she would brake and yell at him, if only so something would happen that meant he could prove to himself that she wasn’t going insane, that she wasn’t trying to kill them both because surely not, surely, surely not, but she had locked them. As though he was a difficult child. And maybe he was.

She wasn’t slowing down.

“Mom, if someone or something came into the road, you’d cause an accident,” he said, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

It was ridiculous, but he was suddenly grateful he’d forgotten to drink anything that day.

She slowed down slightly, which put her on the speed limit, and he let himself exhale shakily. But then she suddenly turned left, completely ignoring the route back to the manor, and he was once again left reeling.

“Where are you taking us?”

Victoria didn’t speak. Instead, she took a few more turns and pulled into a car park. He was still shaking when she slammed her door shut, the noise only making him jump more. She unlocked his door. Tristan tried to hide his fear, because this was his mother, and he wasn’t supposed to be scared of her, but it was impossible.

“Get out.”

His hands were shaking too much to undo his seatbelt. Victoria leant down and pushed the button, rougher than ever. His legs weren’t cooperating either. She grabbed his arm and pulled him out, not even caring when he stumbled.

“What are we doing?”

He should have known she wouldn’t answer, but it still angered him when she didn’t respond. She didn’t let go of his arm either, just pulled him along like a ragdoll. She never faltered, never slowed down, even as Tristan kept stumbling and almost had to jog to keep up with her.

They were at the beach. The sand was getting in his shoes, and he was almost shocked by empty it was. But then he cursed at himself for being so foolish. It was a Thursday in December. And because he had left early, the other schools wouldn’t have even finished for the day, let alone for the year. So it made sense that there were no witnesses.

Victoria stopped at the edge of the sand.

Tristan watched the waves coming in and out. They were so rough. Too strong. It was almost scary to know that even the strongest swimmers would be overpowered by something that was needed to keep everyone alive.

“Walk into it,” his mother said.

Tristan felt the ground disappear beneath his feet and solidify into something unbreakable. He felt the words process as they fell on deaf ears. He felt real and disconnected from his own body. He felt his heart shatter all over the beach and stitch itself into something that could never be broken, because surely not. Surely he had misheard.

“I can’t swim,” he whispered.

“Exactly.”

He found the courage- or maybe it was fear- to look at his mom. There was no sympathy on her features. There was nothing to suggest she was joking. Nothing to imply that she was just teasing him. She was being deadly serious.

“What?” There was nothing else he could say. No other words. Nothing was sufficient, but he needed to say something, so he said something pathetic.

“If you want to die so badly, drown.”

“I don’t-“ he did want to die. But he didn’t want to drown in the sea.

“Exactly. You don’t want to die. You don’t want to kill yourself. When it comes down to it, you will always choose survival.”

He wanted to explain that he did want to die, he just didn’t want to do it himself. Didn’t want it to happen so violently. But he couldn’t. Because he was scared. That if he did, his mother would push him herself and only rescue him when it was just a second away from too late.

Instead, he turned on his foot and walked straight to the car. He felt sick getting in. His leg shook the entire journey home, and he refused to look out the window. But Victoria kept drivingly safely. So safely that he almost believed he had hallucinated the entire incident. Until a car suddenly pulled out and she braked, seconds away from a collision and the fear came back full force.

He made it through the door, and then he threw up. James appeared as he tried to stand, legs too weak to support his body as he fell back down, narrowly missing the wet spot.

“Tristan? Are you okay?”

He nodded, even though he clearly wasn’t. “Fine.”

“He felt carsick,” Victoria said.

James frowned. Tristan hadn’t thrown up in years. He also hadn’t felt carsick since he was a child. “That’s strange.”

“Very. James, you’ll clean it up won’t you? I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

James nodded, not even looking up as he rubbed circles on Tristan’s back. It was supposed to be comforting. It made Tristan hate him more. He should’ve been there. If James had been there, Victoria would have never risked their lives. If James had been there, she would’ve attempted to comfort him the way parents were supposed to.

“Can you stand up?” James asked.

Tristan stood and went to get the mop.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry. I’ll do it. You just go brush your teeth and lie down okay? I’ll bring you some toast in a moment,” he said.

Tristan couldn’t help it. He started crying.

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I know you feel icky, but it’s okay. Let’s get you out of these clothes yeah?”

He shook his head. “I don’t care about the clothes. I don’t care about the sick. Dad, I’m so tired.”

“I know. I know.”

His dad cradled the back of his head, even though Tristan knew he smelt like vomit, and it just made him cry harder.

“I want to learn how to swim,” he said.

James pulled away. “Laurie. Is there something you want to tell me?”

Everything. He wanted to tell his dad everything. “No.”

His dad didn’t believe him. He also didn’t push. Tristan didn’t know which was worse. But the next day, his dad found a swimming class for him. He went everyday for the whole of Christmas break, never allowing his mom to take him. She clearly thought he was dramatic, but she didn’t say anything. If James realised what had transpired, he never let them know.

And as soon as Tristan could swim, he completed further training to become a lifeguard. Mr Carter had been telling him to get a summer job. His previous summers, he’d interned at one of the businesses and worked in the ice cream shop where the pool was. But they were always short on lifeguards, and if he knew how to save someone else from drowning, then he could do it for himself too.

When it was time for him to go back to school, Victoria was holding the keys.

He froze in the driveway and she rolled her eyes before handing them to James, who just opened her door and then got in the driver’s seat.

He never told anyone what happened.

He just continued to want to die.

buy me a ko-fi! | read my novel!

#sumayyah writes #the heartbreaker's handbook #thh side story #tw cancer #tw child death #tw intrusive thoughts #tw suicidal ideation #tw suicidal thoughts #tw eating disorder #tw sexualisation #tw child abuse

2 notes · View notes