#tw: vague references to depression

[sapphire-heart-tippy]

Pixies, I'm going through it

And by it

Let's jusr say

My existants 😏😉

[naviculariis]

tw: Kanon being a sap, talks of Past Attempts, depression, but also being okay in the end. I

Push On Through will more than likely be the next tattoo I get.

Oldies Station had already become a favorite before the concert, but hearing it live + coupled with some rl things that have happened this year alone-

I have never cried so hard at a concert before.

Because yeah. I didn't expect to see 21. I had plans when I was 19. I almost went through with them. & this is why this band means so much to me. They helped me in my darkest hour ( car radio + oh, miss believer + truce ).

I may incorporate Stay Alive somehow, too.

And now I'm freshly 28, with a whole life ahead of me and God it is so fucking terrifying and so, so very hard sometimes but.

I gotta Push On Through. Because one day, I may be at my kid's first dance recital. Or walking down the aisle to my partner. Or having my first book be sold in stores. Even with tragedies, even with my own troubles, I need to Push On Through. Even on the darkest days.

[bigger-bluer-moon]

First time in a LONG while I've had the motivation to do a comic on my own time, so I went and illustrated one of my fav scenes from @within-your-eyes-if

NOTE: spoilers for the demo (one of the last scenes), specifically Gabriel's romance route, also TW for vague references to depression and self-harm

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 13

Prompt: Body Worship Pairing: Boyfriend!San x reader WC: 1.6k Summary: The change of seasons has always been difficult for you and today is no different. Some days you just need some help.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent San or any Ateez member. Although this isn’t necessarily an 18+ work, for my comfort and boundaries please if you are under the age of 18 do not interact with this. 

I’m going to put the TW/CW above the cut this time as TBH, it’s not really smut.

TW/CW: depression, self-hatred, vague self-harm references, leg shaving, San bathes reader. 

 Everything hurt. That’s all you knew as you laid in bed. A deep ache that resonated in your bones consumed your being. Nothing helped, rolling to your side, laying on your back, leg up and on your stomach, just pain.  “It’s because you rolled around in bed all day,” San chides from the doorway as you groan. “You need to get up and stretch, just to rebalance your body. It’s not even about working out. If your blood pools in one spot you’ll feel off.”  “I think I’m sick,” you sniff. Your sinuses are on fire, swollen and pulsing in your skull.  San sighs. The sort of illness plaguing you was not the type remedied by chicken noodle soup or ibuprofen. It was one that needed time and care and understanding. One that would flare up unexpectedly, inappropriately, uninvited.  Flinging back the covers you shriek as cold air hits you like a truck, grappling for the covers. Two strong warm arms scoop you up into the air as San carries you bridal style to the bathroom. “I think a bath will help,” he says, sitting you on the closed lid of the toilet.

 The running water in the empty tub is loud, thundering as it hits the basin. The loudness numbs your ears for a bit. You barely notice as San busies himself as you list to the side, leaning on the side of the sink. Everything still hurts. Your jaw hurts as you adjust it, seeing if you can relieve the pain circling your ears and throat.  Squatting to eye level smiles at you, trying to hide the flicker of concern in his eye. “Hey hon, i gotta take your shirt off.”  “Start with pants please!” You stick your legs straight out in front of you and wobble your feet. San obliges, taking care to wait for your toes to point so the fabric slips right off. Not that it’s particularly difficult, seeing as they’re a pair of ratty sweats.  The bath is half full as he scoops your shirt over your head, leaving you in just a pair of underwear. You shiver and stare at the steaming tub, arms crossing over your stomach and chest. He leans over to check the water temperature, back flexing under his white cotton shirt. Hugging yourself tighter you hate to compare yourself but can’t help it. A veritable god while you…well…your self evaluation faired far worse. The comparison stung each time you thought about it, each remembrance a tiny papercut on an unhealing body. Yet he was like a salve, patiently covering and waiting, unable to prevent but trying to ease what pain he could and somehow that burned you even more than the initial cut.  “I’m going to wash you,” he says slowly, waiting for your fierce objection. Instead you look up at him, mouth a straight line, and nod.  “My legs are hairy.”  He shrugs, turning to the water. “Okay.”  “I just thought you should know.”  “Do you want me to shave them?” He offers sincerely as he turns off the tap. Steam rising from the tub in soft curls, you let your eyes trace their outline as you think.  “Do you know how?”  He shrugs again, “can’t be more difficult than shaving my face.”  “Okay but they’re MY legs and YOUR hands. It’s a little different than doing it to yourself.” You can hear the tension in your own voice raising, almost to a forced laugh. The reaction feels strange and foreign even though it comes from your own body. Twisting on the lid of the toilet seat you dip your toe into the water. It’s hot, a little too hot. Your toe numbs quickly in the water, tingling as you withdraw it.  “It was just an offer, you can say no.” San helps you, sliding down your underwear, the last barrier between you and the elements.  “No, it-it sounds nice.” You stutter. Sighing as you slide yourself from your perch into the tub. The water burns but you need that. The cauterizing sear removes the sin. Or so you feel. Burn off the exoskeleton so you can feel again.  San looks concerned as you slip down into the water. “Isn’t it too hot?”  “I’ll get used to it.”

 Hugging your knees to your chest, the soft washcloth moves in slow concentric circles across and down your back. The gentleness with which San treats you hurts almost more than the sting of the cool air. Guilty isn’t the right word for the twist in your gut. The kindness just hurts sometimes.  “I love how soft your skin is when you’re fresh out of the shower.” San murmurs. “I love how the smell of soap and skin clings to you. I love how I’m the only one who gets to see these freckles on your back like this.” His list goes on as he cups handfuls of water to splash down your spine. He would bathe you all the time if you’d let him. The ritual is soothing and intimate. Every word he says a truth he rarely gets to voice without you complaining. When you are like this though, lulled into a docile state by the water, he can praise you as much as he wants.  “Feels nice,” you’re muffled by your own knees. Not like it is difficult to tell what you are saying.  San leans over the edge of your tub, kissing your shoulder softly, supporting your back as he lays you against the back of the tub. Working the washcloth down your arms and over you chest, you wince as he gets to your soft tummy.  “It’s exposure therapy, if its too much you can tell me.” San hopes you won’t tell him. The plush squish of your stomach is something he rarely can indulge in. Washcloth as a flimsy excuse his fingers glide over your buttery soft skin. He can feel your lungs hitch in anticipation so he presses harder. You’d figured that one out together, if he pressed harder you could tolerate it more. “You know how much I love soft things. I’m a connoisseur of soft things and you are the crown jewel of my findings.”  “That doesn’t help,�� you mutter sourly. “What if I don’t want to be soft.”  San nods, there’s nothing to say to it. Instead he heads south, skimming past your clit, it’s not the point of today. Instead he focuses on your thighs, equally soft and plush as your stomach but more easily tolerated. You always complain how they hurt, that your hips are tense. Hips carry a lot of trauma. He half washes, half massages your thighs. Letting the soap lubricate his squeezed pulls of your muscle.  You moan, loudly. He can feel the thud of the knot in your quad as he presses past it. You moan again, slipping further into the tub So he does it again, and again, and again until you shudder and arch up, water splashing around you. “Did you just-”  “I don’t know-” you sit bolt upright, looking at each other shocked. “It felt really good.”  “Good to know.”

 You relax back again. Soft and pliant he treats you like a doll, limbs limp as he moves them. Holding your leg, the water drips on his cotton shirt, clinging semi-transparaent to his abs. Slowly he lathers your calve with shea butter infused soap, then wets the razor. Funnily enough he didn’t even care if your legs had hair or not. Really if any part of you had hair or not, he wouldn’t mind as long as it was you. But you liked the sleek touch so he was happy to oblige.  Another person shaving your legs is exceedingly strange. But it’s nice. You hate the process of hair removal but love the results. Laying back loosely, San takes more care than you ever would with your razor. He’s meticulous and methodical in his removal, particularly around your ankle bone, riddled with scars. You consider telling him that at this point your ankles are made of steel callus but the delicate way he lifts the pressure of the razor is endearing.  It’s almost more intimate than taking his cock. At least for San it is. He could so easily hurt you like you’d hurt yourself. It would be even easier for him, it wasn’t his skin that the razor’s edge was pressed against, he didn’t know the feeling, he could only watch and hope his pressure was enough but not too much. Knowing if he slipped the sting would be worse coming from a person who loved you instead of your own hands focused his wandering mind.  Giving into help wasn’t easy for you. Each time San places the razer to your ankle you have to remind yourself to relax. Using your full will to control the flex of your calves as he runs the length carefully. Even with his time and care one leg is done quickly, dipping back into the now lukewarm water as he retrieves the second leg. At least someone should love you even if you can’t.  “San?”  His face lifts, eyes sparkling, “yes dear?”  “I love you.”  Still holding your leg he leans sideways to kiss you ever so briefly. “I know you do.”

Sorry I had a hell of a couple of days and WAS NOT MONITORING and my queue broke. here’s to getting back on track. Sorry this wasn’t really smut????

[cybernecromancer365]

A.N. TW: For self-exit references. When I feel depressed my writing follows suit. Apologize for any mistakes. This is really just something random I wrote.

------

They stood outside Tissaia's door. A whole day had passed and then some. Sabrina stood with her arms crossed, Margarita beside her, and Triss in front of them. Triss gathered them to check on Yennefer. They knocked on the door a few times but never got a response.

"How long will she stay in there?"

"However long she has to." Margarita spoke where Triss ignored the conversation, the red-head staring at the door and preparing another knock.

"Never thought Tissaia would do something like that. Especially not over a man." Sabrina said the latter part almost under her breath.

"It's not about Vilgefortz. It's about Aretuza. You know that." Margarita corrected her with a healthy dose of side-eye.

Triss knocked and they waited for a response. "Yennefer...please come out. At least walk with us for a few moments."

Nothing.

"You still need to eat." Triss waited, then sighed.

"She'll find us when she's ready." Margarita squeezed Triss’s shoulder. "Come on, let's go."

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

Tissaia was going to hate her. There would be hell to pay for taking away the one thing Tissaia valued the most, control.

They did it for a reason. Aretuza couldn’t afford to lose its rectoress, and neither could she.

The evening sun slowly faded from Tissaia's room. Yennefer watched the open window opposite them with a hollow look in her violet eyes. Her tears dried hours ago, and her anger simmered until only a vague haze of sorrow remained.

The room was silent. A breeze wafted in, and Yennefer lay still. She hadn't uttered a word in hours. She hadn’t the energy to even hear herself talk. It all went to the Rectoress resting beneath the bedcovers.

The marks on Tissaia's wrists had healed to angry red scars. It was the best they could do for now. They'd all exhausted their chaos to bring Tissaia back.

Yennefer stroked Tissaia's pale cheek with her thumb, touching the Rectoress as though she were delicate glass. Her tears gathered each time she thought of the moments before the ceremony.

'You lied to me. Why?'

That thought stayed on her mind as she replayed their last moments incessantly, containing her emotion behind an unsteady frown.

Her world came crashing to a halt when she felt the searing pain in her wrists. It took her by surprise.

Her heart pounded, and a dangerous pang split it in two as she ran across Aretuza as fast as she could with her wrists still on fire. Her hands were numb when she reached the room.

She was grateful the others were close behind her. They started on Tissaia immediately.

"We need you too."

Triss pulled her out of her horror.

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

Bringing Tissaia back took hours, and now all she could do was watch Tissaia breathe. The process of coming back was naunced and different for everyone. But as long as Tissaia was breathing, their part was done.

The center of her chest still ached as she recovered from the shock that left her tired and drained. The soreness under her ribcage throbbed with every inhale.

Their minutes were precious after she found Tissaia lying on the floor of her room with pools of blood under her wrists.

She had no time until now to lament over Tissaia’s choice, ruminating over a thousand what ifs.

Tissaia fooled her with a smile. She left the room, reassured by the gentle look in Tissaia's eyes. Strength had returned to them, or so she thought.

Now, their final hug haunted her. She welcomed it then and needed it more than she thought. Tissaia clung to her more than ever, and it chilled her to realize why. For Tissaia, that hug was their last. She couldn't have known, and that was exactly how Tissaia wanted it.

Yennefer's brow tensed.

What a cruel way to leave her. Tissaia had to know the horror she'd face in finding her.

Tissaia’s letter lay on the nightstand opposite them. Yennefer skimmed it once and couldn't read it again. Reading it the first time was hard enough.

She couldn’t believe a note would’ve been all of Tissaia she had left. It would’ve haunted her for the rest of her life as it did now.

The pain Tissaia must’ve felt...

Yennefer stroked the white hair under her palm as the Rectoress' color returned.

Tissaia was the strongest of them all. They needed her.

She wouldn't return to Ciri yet. Ciri had Geralt, and it was a good thing she did. They'd understand.

Yennefer closed her eyes and sunk deeper into the pillow, keeping Tissaia close, her hand resting on warm skin.

'I'm not ready to lose you.'

[bunny-rambles]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

characters; Xiao, gn reader

cw/tw; cat xiao ! xiao has cat ears and a tail ! stressed reader, vague references to depression, self indulgent hurt/comfort, heavy on the comfort

word count; 1.1k

notes; Miao has arrived. You pet Xiao’s ears and suddenly the world isn’t so bad. Thank you to Aya ( @kazuily ) for reading this, sorry you had to read it like 4 times, I feel kind of bad about that. As always, I hope you enjoy ! (Repost because something was wrong with the tags)

Please reblog and comment if you like this!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was dark by the time you got home.

Normally, you would call out his name and tell him you brought something for him, an offering for his company that he seldom shared.

But not today.

You slumped down into the sofa after haphazardly shucking off your coat and boots, trembling fingers searching for something to latch onto. Blanket in hand, you wrapped it tightly around yourself, curling up to bury your face into the soft fabric. And then, your shoulders started to heave as you let out a silent sob. All the air in your lungs felt as if it had been stolen from you as you tried to open your mouth to breathe, a choked sound forming in the back of your throat. Your lips tried to form words - to curse the gods, perhaps, for how miserable you were feeling? Or to beg them to end your suffering? You weren’t sure. Your prayers would go unheard anyway. Nothing was going to change, and no one was going to help. Alone in your misery, sinking further and further down into the depths of the abyss, descending until you reached the bottom with no saviour to drag you back out.

Maybe it was better this way, surely your problems would bother whoever misfortunate enough to be permanently in your life. This was fine. It was for the best, actually. You would fall asleep, and tomorrow the cycle would begin anew.

A hand gently set on top of your head under the blanket.

A quiet call of your name. The darkness fades as the blanket that was wrapped tight around your head is carefully removed.

Intense, golden eyes bore into your own, embracing you in their uncanny warmth. For a moment, nothing was spoken. There was no need for words when your current appearance completely betrayed how you were truly feeling. Even if you wanted to tell him you were fine, something in his sharp gaze urged you not to. You sniffed quietly, breaking the silence. His thin pupils shifted to your curled up body before moving back to your tear-stained face and slightly running nose.

“Sorry… I must look so gross right now…” You chuckled weakly, trying to diffuse the tension. Your companion shook his head, his thumbs albeit gentle, firmly caressing your damp cheeks to wipe away any stray teardrops. Adorably, your nose scrunched up from the contact, a quiet groan bubbling in your throat. “Xiao-“ You tried to protest, but your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch when his hand simply stayed cupping your cheek.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, and something in your chest snapped at the bittersweet feeling of being asked such an earnest question. He cared. Someone cared. Your bottom lip trembled, lowering your head so he would just stop staring at you with those big, kind eyes- a softness only you saw in the feral feline. A quiet sigh escaped his lips, hands pulling away. Instinctively, your hand latched onto his wrist, a silent plea not to leave. Thankfully, he understood.

“I’m not going anywhere. I just… Wanted to sit next to you.” Oh.

Your grip loosened and he pulled away, only to do exactly what he said he was going to do after you sat up to make room for him. With the most featherlight touch, he took ahold of your arm and pulled you into his chest. His arms settled around you, holding you with enough strength to keep you pressed up against him. It wasn’t the most comfortable, your legs still tucked under yourself and your cheek squished up against his shirt, but even in this awkward tangle of limbs, this felt heavenly.

“I’m here now.” He mumbled quietly, fingers beginning to lightly run across the top of your head, much like how you would on his ears when he wasn’t feeling the best either. The tension hidden deep in your body started to dissipate with every stroke of his lithe fingers.

“Can I…” You started quietly, trailing off.

“Hm?”

You took a deep breath, burying your face into his chest to hide your embarrassment at what you were going to say next.

“Can I move closer?”

“Oh.” You didn’t have to look up to know his pale cheeks were beginning to redden. He wasn’t big on physical contact, often holding your hand or giving you short hugs instead of the long lasting embraces you desperately craved.

“It’s okay to say n-“ Before you could finish, you were being lifted up, your face pressed against his chest firmly. When your head raised, you realised you were tucked up snugly against his side, with him lying beside you. His head was turned away, ears folded and narrowed, his cheeks a bright pink. You hoped he wasn’t too uncomfortable… But the way his arms pulled you in closer told you otherwise.

“Better?” He asked quietly, hand moving back to rest on top of your head. You nodded slowly, receiving a soft hum in reply.

“Xiao-“

“Don’t. I’m fine. Just not used to it.” It was almost as if he could read your mind. The corner of your lips curled up at the thought. As your eyes began to flutter shut, a soft sensation akin to that of your discarded blanket began to wrap around your body. You didn’t have to be a genius to know that it was Xiao’s giant tail.

You always admired how fluffy he was, years of being on his own with no home making his fur grow out much more than that of someone similar to his kin. When you finally managed to get him home and convince him that you weren’t trying to drown him when showing him the bath, he was more fluff than body once he got dry. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve assumed he was some sort of pedigree, with how silky smooth he felt under your touch. Well, what he let you touch anyway. At first, he wasn’t fond of letting you pet him, and if you did touch him, it wasn’t for very long. Now, however…

Hesitantly, your hands slid up towards the top of his head, reaching up for your prize. Instead of flinching away like he once would, he lowered himself closer, letting you run your fingers through his thick fur as much as you wanted. By the way the room began to fill up with the sounds of loud purring, you were sure he was just as pleased as you were.

“Thank you…” Your voice was quiet, muffled from being snug against his warm chest. He hummed quietly, shifting to rest his chin over your head, his own eyes beginning to feel heavy.

“Rest now. I’ll be here.”

[eruanee]

Kiryuu Touga and the cyclical narrative

TW : Discussions of misogyny, emotional manipulation and abuse, sexual abuse and (sexual) child abuse. (Very vague) mention of incest.

First of all, not really as a disclaimer but more as a recommendation, a lot of my thoughts about Touga are shaped by this essay, which is definitely easily one of my favorite pieces of Utena meta. I think I'm going to implicitly or more explicitly reference it sometimes, but you don't need to read it to understand this post.

I have a complex relationship with Touga. He is despicable, yet the more I watch the series, the more I find myself... fascinated by him. This post is a pretty much a synthesis of all these thoughts.

On a purely narrative level, Touga's role is a bit special. He's the antagonist of the first arc. The three duels involving him are all turning points in the series. He's a core character in the development of several other characters (Saionji, Nanami, Utena and Miki on a different level).

Yet, turns out he's only a puppet, just as everyone else is. How surprising. And when it comes down to it, what do we know about Touga ?

He's the Student Council's president. He seemingly can't have a relationship with anyone without manipulating them to his advantage. He sleeps with any girl (and maybe not only girls) who breathe around him in a 1 ft radius. His way of coping with depression is to seal himself in a wide and totally empty room to listen to his own voice on repeat to ponder heavily on his broken hopes and ideals. (Hmm. Hardcore.)

And more importantly, he wants power. A power that would be absolute. But why so ?

And this is the point where it gets complicated.

Touga is barely the main topic of episodes focused on him. He is the center of many obsessions and interests, but it seems we never touch upon him as a person. He can be seen being vaguely vulnerable in eps 11 and 12 and then there's the whole Black Rose arc thing. But where does all this mess steam from ?

Victim status

Eps 35 and 36 are the one going deeper into Touga’s character and yet... we’re barely sure of what’s actually going on in his brain. These episodes always give me a weird feeling because we don’t really get to see Touga express his feelings very clearly or freely... We barely get to hear his thoughts. 

Just like Anthy.

Don’t make me say what I didn’t say, though. Touga gets to have way more agency than ever does Anthy, and he certainly doesn't endure the same dehumanization as she does. Anthy does have agency in a way. But she expresses it in hidden, implicit ways : playing tricks, hitting people in their sore spots, sarcasm, empty eyes and fake smiles. She’s manipulative and Touga is, too. These two share many similarities, though they can’t completely blend with each other, of course. 

We don’t know much about Touga’s childhood. We know he and Nanami were adopted (or “sold”) to the Kiryuu family at a young age. That’s basically it in the canon of the series. Though, Touga’s backstory in the movie, showing him being sexually abused by his adoptive father, was apparently meant to be included in the series as well :

Although the TV series touched upon Touga’s younger days, the film goes into more details – the wound of Touga that was never directly depicted. In his younger days, Touga was a normal kid who enjoyed happy times with his friend Saionji Kyouichi and his younger sister Nanami. However, he came to know his unfortunate fate from the time he was ordered by his parents to wear his hair long. His parents sold him to the Kiryuu family. Although he was an adopted son on the surface, the instinctive Touga knew what that meant. And in order to protect his younger sister, he accepted his lot. Being sold. We did not go into depicting what Touga’s parents obtained by going as far as selling their son. We would like you to think of it as a kind of metaphor. 

And Touga accepted in silence the sexual abuse from his new parents. His personality changed while he made a magnanimous show of enjoying the abuses in order to prevent his personality from splitting. The change took place in a spot so deep in his mind, that even those closest to him did not notice. Saionji and Nanami never noticed out of their innocence. And Touga never told his secret to anyone. It is said that a human being gains whatever he lost in exchange. So what did Touga gain in exchange at that point in time? It was the sense of alienation from being abused every night and seeing his innocent friend and sister during the day. The alienated self.

(Extract of a comment Enokido, one of the writers who worked on Utena, wrote about Touga’s role in the Utena movie.)

Of course, you could argue whether or not the sexual abuse is canon or not in the series. After all, the series and the movie don’t seem to take place in the same canon (even though it is hard to completely disconnect the two). Whatever you choose to believe, I personally think it all makes so much sense. 

It makes sense regarding Touga’s general behavior in the series (but this is more touched upon in the essay I linked above) and it makes his goal and his narrative role much clearer.

Being sold like a mere object, knowing a much harsher truth about life Saionji and Nanami don’t know about, showing everyone a stronger facade in order to not completely lose your mind and keep protecting your friend and your sister from this reality and eventually... letting them know in a painfully gendered way, perpetuating everything this system has forced on you. 

It has all become part of you. 

Keeping the cycle of violence going became part of your blood and flesh. Making clear who is supposed to inflict pain and who is supposed to receive it. Who is supposed to protect and who is supposed to be protected. Who is supposed to act and who is supposed to wait. 

And you ? No, you’re never supposed to hurt anymore. You want a way out of this. For you, the easiest way is to simply reclaim the place that was always prepared for you to take. 

When Touga and Saionji found Utena in her coffin, it feels like Touga knew something Saionji didn’t. Saionji felt it too, but he wasn’t able to recognize what it was. After all, he was still a child. Touga knew about the same thing Utena learned with her parents’ death : they both had a glimpse of what the “adult world” (Akio’s world) actually looks like, shattering their juvenile knowledge of the world. 

A world where people die. A world where the weak lose. A world where the prince should protect the princess. 

Touga already had a coffin. Utena just found hers and was about to find a new one. Saionji was just finding his. 

It all makes sense regarding how obedient Touga is to Akio and why he seeks his validation, his desire to go up in the hierarchy aside. It makes sense because he is “alienated”. Touga got deprived of everything, he knows the burden of being alive and he’s learned, from his early childhood, to be compliant. 

He seems independent during the Student Council arc and a majority of the series, but eps 35 and 36 show he is not the mastermind of it all. He has a privileged position but unlike some other characters, Touga never uses his agency to try to break out of the system ─ he follows its rules and tries to reinforce his dominance. 

Why would you break out from a system serving you so well ?

“I want to become like him. I want power like his.”

Touga is alienated to the system and his only goal is to become what it expects of him. After all, why wouldn’t he ? Being a prince is the best position offered by the system. Being a prince means acquiring an absolute power. With such power, one doesn’t die and is forever out of reach and harm and pain. Who wouldn’t want such a thing ? 

The prince never saves the princess out of selflessness. He saves her because it gives him a reward in exchange. He saves her because it gives him power and control over her and ultimately, everyone else. And so, the princess becomes a "toy" wannabe princes has to win, to conquer.

Does Touga, even during what seems to be his most “sincere” moment in ep 36, ever wish to protect Utena for something else than possessing her ? When could have he learned to know and appreciate her as a person, rather than a princess ? A reward to conquer ?

When did he stop wishing he could’ve saved Utena just like Akio did ? I believe he might be genuine, yet he acts toward Utena exactly like she acts toward Anthy. He wants to save her for his own sake, regardless of her personal hopes and desires. 

It’s truly sad, though. Because all of it is nothing but a childish dream. There was never once a prince in this world. Only boring and abusive adults. 

“Are you really happy with that?”

Well, when it comes down to it, probably not. But was it ever about happiness ? Probably not either. The pursuit of power only ever leads to isolation, to a complete lack of meaning ─ after all, friendship is a fool’s thing. No one can reach what’s behind the facade. 

Saionji was able to confront Touga with his own lies and paradoxes, get as close to his real self anyone probably could. But it wasn’t enough. Saionji himself didn’t go as far as leaving the system entirely, even when it seemed he had cracked it all. Touga sort of did, too. 

As far as I’m concerned, we only heard his own, deep thoughts once.

“Kiryuu Touga, the playboy Student Council President... Is it? "Playboy" sounds old-fashioned.”

Touga weaponized himself. He weaponized his body (sex is only a tool to aim for power). He weaponized his heart (relationships only matter if you use them to your advantage. Those who believe in love and friendship are fools and will be ultimately be used to someone else’s advantage). And for what ? 

I really like the symbolism of the poppy flower in ep 35. I feel like it symbolizes Akio’s power, in a way. I’m incredibly bad when it comes to the language of flowers (so everyone is free to correct me) but please bear with me. In the East, red poppy flowers apparently symbolize romantic love and success (what it probably means for the girl confessing to Touga, as well as Akio when he “eats” it in this scene, since Touga and him are talking about Utena) but it can also symbolize “luxurious pleasures and fantastic extravagance”. In the Japanese language of flowers, red poppies can also symbolize someone “fun-loving”. I feel like both of these work with Akio and I believe that for Touga, they are a symbol of luxury and extravagance. 

Yet another girl confessed to him. Without even thinking about it, he kissed her. He will never read her confession letter, he probably didn’t even notice it. He will probably simply leave it on the floor, without a care. This pursuit of power isn’t even fulfilling to him, there’s absolutely no thought behind it. Only automatic actions, behaviors working in favor of someone else’s greater scheme. He won’t even get to actually possess Utena. 

He will never get what he truly wants. Is there even anything that he truly wants ? Saionji, maybe. In the meantime, he’s just a tool for a system. A system made up by boring adults, based on lies, illusions and unachievable dreams. 

Touga is condemned to go in cycles. He’s given everything to overcome what keeps him stuck and trapped, but it doesn’t do anything. He can only revolve around his own coffin, completing the same circle, again and again. 

He doesn’t know how to do anything else. 

It will never make anything he’s done forgivable. But at least, maybe one day, he’ll realize. Or maybe never. 

We can always create new roads, leading to worlds completely unknown to us, where everything needs to be built. Anthy and Utena are here to show the way, who deserves to follow these new roads is only up to you. 

On a purely personal standpoint... I was never really able to answer this question. 

“No. It's not over until we see it through the very end.”

[insoukokuhell-434]

Angst with a Happy Ending - skk fics

The format I’m using is:

Title - writer (ao3 link)

Angst related to ( )

Fic length Time period (teen/mafia skk, 22! Skk, all ages) Additional tags (Tags in bold added by me for extra info) TW

Some fics have parts of the summary/ comments added for additional info

Recovery - rutu14

Chuuya in Emotional & Physical Pain

Dazai in Emotional Pain

Dazai's Self-harm

11.4k 22 SKK (Post Dead Apple) Hurt/Comfort Post-Corruption, Angst, Confessions, Soft Dazai Osamu (or at least as soft as he can be), Reconciliation, Getting together, First kiss, Literal sleeping together TW -  Implied Chronic Pain, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction

my soul is too much charged with blood of thine- soupthatistoohot

Past Break-up

Soukoku in Emotional Pain

Dazai's Depression

10.4k TEEN & 23 SKK (AU) AU - No Powers, After College/University, High School Exes to Lovers, Chance Meetings, Post-Break Up, Past SKK but also present ;),  Getting Back Together, vaguely, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Texting, reconnecting, Dazai is a Mess, Caring Dazai, as caring as he can be y'know how he is, Guarded Dazai,  that man can't be vulnerable for the life of him, Chuuya Is So Done, Caring Chuuya, skk’s Unconventional Mating Rituals, Macbeth Spoilers, I can't believe I have to tag that

Sleep Warm Tonight - bluemango0406

Dazai's Defection

Dazai & Chuuya in Emotional Pain

16.6k ALL AGES (16-22) Canon Compliant Dazai is Bad at Feelings, Dazai is a Mess, Soft Dazai Osamu, Chuuya Needs a Hug, Hurt Chuuya, theres a lot they need to figure out between them, Dazai Takes Care of Chuuya, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, they need to learn to talk about their feelings more, Underage Drinking, Christmas fic

I'll Always Come for Chuuya - Anonymous

Soukoku Fight

Chuuya in Emotional & Physical Pain

Dazai in Emotional Pain

11.5k MAFIA SKK Some Dazai & Oda, Jealous Chuuya, Dazai Being An Idiot, Dazai is Bad at Feelings, Lack of Communication, Chuuya Uses Corruption, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Dazai Takes Care of Chuuya, Confessions, Soft skk, they're more best friends than frenemies in this one

I think he knows - sanguinekitten

Dazai’s Depression

Chuuya in Emotional Pain

Soukoku Fight

5.2k ALL AGES Canon Compliant Angst, 5+1 Things, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Dazai needs a hug...and some medical attention

pages stained with crimson ink - soupthatistoohot

Dazai's Depression

ALL AGES 5k Birthday Presents, Birthday Tradition, Post-Corruption Ability Use, Retrospective, 5+1 Things, Getting Together, Sort Of, Dazai's depression

For One Day - StarshipDancer

"Unrequited" Love

Soukoku in Emotional Pain

Soukoku Fight

15.9K 22 (AU) AU - Modern Setting Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Misunderstandingsm Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, First Kiss, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Soft skk, POV Chuuya, POV Oda, Curry References TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions  

believe me darling, the stars were made for falling -communist_sasuke

Dazai’s Depression, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt

14.6k MAFIA & 22 SKK Worried Chuuya, Love Confessions, Dazai is a Mess, Angst, Self-Harm , Fluff & Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon timeline, First Kiss TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions , Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt

Run Away With Me - Anonymous

Dazai's Grief

5.3k Dark Era Grief/Mourning, Dissociation, Suicidal Thoughts, Soft Soukoku, Dazai Needs a Hug , Dazai Has Feelings, Pining, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sharing a Bed, Chuuya Needs a Hug, Kissing, Dazai asks Chuuya to run away with him

A Stupid Question - writingfromtheshadows

Dazai's Grief

Soukoku Argue

5.8k 18 SKK (Dark Era) AU - Canon Divergence Denial of Feelings, Feelings Realization, Light Angst, Fluff

Summary - “Chuuya,” Dazai’s voice tugs Chuuya out of his thoughts, “I’m leaving the Port Mafia as soon as I can after tonight. I want you to come with me.”

Unmarked - rubydragonz

Dazai in Emotional Pain

2.7k ALL AGES AU - soulmates Soulmates, Miscommunication, Dazai being An Idiot, First Kiss, minor Oda/Ango, minor sskk, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, This is funny but like at Dazais expense

dreaming of flight - orphan_account

Soukoku Fight

3.8 k  MAFIA SKK Fluff, Arguments, Suicide Attempt, angst and fluff

Please like/reblog if this helped u find a fic, I'd be delighted to know <33

Angst & Fluff fics

Soukoku Fic Rec Masterlist

[yxamix]

Introspection

Chapter 0 : Prologue

When do you know it's going too far?

TW : Implied/references of drug use, heavy read, explicit language used

Based in a Modern/Realistic AU, depression/mental health focused storyline.

"Hey Jellal, we were thinking about hitting up that new club that opened up downtown, wanted to ask if you'd come along agai-"

He sighed.

Delete

"Yo bro! There's a sick rave we've all been invited to an-"

He swiped.

Delete

"You know we got some more of that shit and was thinking if you'd-"

He paused to take a pull.

Delete

His vision hazed as he watched the numbers of his inbox. They had accumulated again, just like before. And just like before, the numbers had grown higher.

They always were when he finally got the courage to face them.

How long had it been this time that he hadn't listened to them? A few weeks? No. More than that. A few months then? What was it? Time had become so irrelevant to him nowadays that he could not tell.

But it's not like he wanted to know how long he had been running away either.

Briefly closing his eyes, he lifted the roll up to his lips again. He dragged it on longer this time, feeling his thoughts go blank for a period. The relief it gave him made him unwilling to move from such a state until he had to be released.

Exhaling the built up smoke above him, he felt the remnants burn his eyes a bit. Making it blurrier than it already was. Darker than it already was too.

The sight in front of him was as if it reflected the state of his mind in those few seconds.

Murky.

Vague.

Invasive.

Impermanent.

Until it all dispersed.

And he'd have to take another pull again.

Looking down at the lit screen of his phone, he selected the next message he would listen to. Hoping that reducing those numbers he saw piling up in his inbox would help clear some of his conscience.

But the next one didn't let him relieve himself like that.

"...Jelly?"

It was her again.

"..How are you?"

The woman he didn't want to hear of.

"I tried to call you a few times today but you were busy again."

Because each time he did, she brought it back to him.

"It's okay though, boys your age have a lot going on in their life."

His mistakes.

"You have so many friends now too, and I don't want to keep you from having a good time with them."

His misguidance.

"But I'm just not used to you having moved out yet."

"I don't know if I ever will be."

His melancholy.

"I know you get tired of hearing it, but you're my baby boy Jelly. I just worry about you so much."

Everything he wanted to ignore.

"I'm sorry I call you so much, it's getting annoying isn't it? I'm sorry. I know you're grown up now and you don't have much time but please do call back."

"Please don't forget us even though you're going more into the world now."

"Me, Siegie and even your Papa, we all want to hear from you I promise."

"Take care of yourself Jelly and always remember we all love you."

"I love yo-"

Delete

He swallowed.

Another voicemail from his mother. One of these was sprinkled amongst every handful of messages he went through in his inbox. Her soft and honest voice never stopped tormenting him each time he heard it. The pain woven in her voice couldn't hide, no matter how hard she tried to conceal it.

It always came through regardless.

She was a bad liar.

Just like him.

But he wasn't going to expose his lies to her anytime soon.

Stretching against the suede material of the sofa he had crashed on, he wondered to himself just like any other time, why did he do this?

Why was he heartless enough to ignore her and her every desperate attempt to reach out to him, yet not heartless enough to not feel guilt and heaviness with each word she left for him in her messages that would only ever be dismissed?

He probably wouldn't ever be.

He wasn't like that.

But it's times like this he wished was.

Then it would be easier for both of them.

Reaching over to the glass table beside him, he grabbed a hold of the can of beer he had been sipping from every now and then. He didn't know why he did that either. The taste of beer wasn't something he found pleasant yet he kept taking modest sips of it anyway.

Perhaps because the burn it created in his throat felt deserved and that's why?

Really that's what his life was now.

Doing things without ever really knowing the reason why.

But then again, maybe that's how it had always been?

And it just took nights like this to realise.

He cleared his throat from the burn of booze passing down before taking another hit. As his brain clouded up whilst the smoke was inhaled, he felt himself instantly shift from his heaviness holding him down, to a state that allowed him to continue with his outstanding messages.

"Jellal bro! We're all going out and-"

Delete

"Heyyyy Jellaaal! Do you wanna-"

Delete

When listening to the current voicemails, his finger instinctively trashed them by a few words in. He didn't need to lie to himself now, he didn't really care about the contents of these messages at all.

The only reason he would listen to them for that split second, is with the hope it would relieve some of the burden those rising numbers impressed on him.

To be able to say that he at least did that if nothing more.

It was selfish and it was deceptive, but he wanted to get this tedious cleans over and done with soon.

It wouldn't be truthful, but at this point, what about him was?

He kept going through his inbox absent-mindedly until a change in tone caught his attention and forced him to listen and be present.

"Mr Fernandes, you missed your appointment on the 10th, we are calling to know if you'd like to reschedule with-"

Delete

Ah.

"Mr Fernandes we called up before to inform you of a missed appointment on the-"

Delete

That was right.

There were a number of appointments he had been missing for a while now too. And for some reason he didn't want to follow up on them, when truthfully that would have been the wiser thing.

But it's ever since the diagnosis was made, the help he should have been going for, he soon started to avoid.

And he started to look towards other places for alternatives.

Resolutions.

Which would work for some time.

Until they wouldn't.

And ruined him more in return too.

"Mr Fernandes your prescription has been ready to pick up for 3 months now-"

Delete

Taking another puff, he watched the dirty white glow transiently before his eyes lazily threw a glance at his said 'alternatives'.

On the littered glass table beside him was the evidence of his spiraling.

Things he would have never seen himself using, things he never thought he would be abusing, but it was there by no mistake. In front of him in plain sight. Cartons, bottles and pouches. Empty or becoming empty during another one of these nights that refused to move to the next day.

Life would be going so fast until it would stop.

And when it did, that's when he found himself like this again.

Trying to make it move again.

But regardless, the passing of time never stopped being painful.

Using the back of his hand which he held his cigarette with, he rubbed the side of his eyes, hoping sleep would come to him anytime now. And stop his under eye bags and dark circles from getting more obvious than they already were.

Another sigh fell from his throat as he looked at the dark room around him, wondering how long it would be until the light would hit again. The time lit on his phone told him there were still hours ahead until sunrise. On top of that it was winter too, so the wait would undoubtedly be long.

Trying to pass the time yet again, he went back to going through his inbox. There were a few more reminders from the doctor mixed in with some invites from his friend, and on top of that like he already expected, another few voicemails from mom.

"Jelly hi! It's mama again-"

Delete

"Oh! I actually wanted to quickly ask-"

Delete

"And then I also forgot to tell you-"

Delete

This time he couldn't stand being tortured.

Just hearing the return of her voice had him instinctively trashing them.

The fact she would send so many at once, he could tell why. Hoping that he'd see at least one of them out of the many she piled up, hoping that one of them would catch his attention.

Since he wasn't picking up her calls anymore and calls from himself were once in a blue moon, she resorted to the next best thing.

Sending conversations in hope one of them he'd respond to.

But all she did was talk to herself.

He hated it.

She gave so much effort towards a son that couldn't give her any.

Every time it got harder to.

That's why it was easier to hide away.

But either way that never stopped her.

And only made him spurn more too.

His fingers shook slightly as he held the phone, trying to clear all the messages with her name over them. At times his thumb slipped and it would start her voice, causing his heart to writhe with that deep seated pain from listening to her again, and he'd silence her immediately.

He kept doing that until her name was cleared from what he could see of his screen now. There was no doubt in his mind that he would find more from her if he just scrolled further up, but for now as long as he didn't see that name, it would be better.

As he cleared up his inbox, there were a few other names he came across which he hadn't really heard of in ages now. And these names were mixed with those that tried to replace them.

"Hey Jellal?"

He paused.

"What's up man? It's been so long, oh my god."

Stunned from hearing a voice he didn't really expect to hear again.

"We need to meet up again bro, ever since you went off and did your own thing you barely remember us lot."

From being reminded of a connection that was so different to what he lived by now.

"Call up when you get this alright?

"Honestly bro I wanna see you."

From being reminded of what he had.

"We need to hang out like old times."

And what he was losing.

"I hope you're not just forgetting the past now that you're going places."

Erik still wanted to check up on him, it was surprising.

It had been years now since they had gone their separate ways, and he didn't really think about him as much as he should have for someone he grew up with.

He didn't know why either.

His heart was touched by the fact that his old friend reached out to him after so long, but the warmth was quickly lost as guilt took over and writhed in him further when he remembered Erik was barely a passing thought to him in these current times.

Some part of him wondered if it was mom that told Erik to try and call up on him, he wouldn't have put that past her as if he wasn't answering her, she might have thought that he'd answer to someone else.

But such a thought felt cruel.

As Erik didn't dislike him, he never did. He would have done something like this on his own incentive, he shouldn't have discredited him like that.

The two of them grew up together, were like brothers all the way up until they couldn't take the same path anymore. Practically inseparable until the distance grew and life went on for the both of them. And he never went to close it between them.

Erik…He was a good friend.

He however…

He wasn't.

Delete

Not anymore.

He deeply inhaled, trying to relieve the heaviness that he wasn't prepared for.

Looking over at the cigarette he had been taking his hits from, to his dismay it was reaching the end of it's life. Sighing he took the last pull that was possible so he could savor the bitterness once more before smashing the remnants on the glass table beside him, snuffing out the fire and glow.

He wondered…

Should he reach for another one since this one was finished?

He bounced the thought around in what was left of his head until ultimately deciding against it. Though it was tempting, he couldn't be throwing his health away more than he already was.

Barely in his mid twenties and God only knew what problems were underlying in him from these new habits.

With his (now) free arm he brought it over, using it as a support for the back of his head as he moved about a bit to get comfortable again. It was something he had to do every now and then since sinking into the suede of the sofa didn't remain as pleasant when he had been like that for hours.

After that readjustment, he went back to going through the list of names and numbers, being greeted by those he knew were coming again, making the act of committing to his cleanse for his conscience easier until he got some other messages that had him pausing again.

"Hey babeee, want to-"

There was no need to listen to the rest of that message to know what would follow. And honestly there was only one reason he kept connections like that, but if he had to be frank, in recent times he had barely been interested in that too.

Sex was once intimate.

A pleasure.

Now, regardless of what angle he looked at it from...

It was a chore.

The effort needed to pick someone up, to act in a certain way to try and get something going…

It got tedious .

Sometimes he wanted it. Sometimes it made the nights pass. But other times it made him feel trapped. And tonight was one of those times.

It had been like this for some time too.

Having the option was good.

But he wasn't looking to indulge in it now.

He didn't know when he would again.

Delete

Since his mouth had it's fill of tobacco for the night, he wanted something else to accompany that harsh taste. Unfolding his arm he had used as the support for the back of his head, he reached over to take a few more sips from the open can beside him.

Though the taste was bitter and scalding, he hoped that whatever was left inside could help his eyes close quicker.

It was getting heavier with each sip, so perhaps it was working.

But still he was too present for his liking.

As the burn settled in his throat from his latest sip, he commenced going through the outstanding message. Again, a mixture of new names, names that only called him or he only called when something was wanted, and then the name he wanted to avoid.

At some point his vision started to fade as he kept looking on; whilst listening to the snippets of messages that were deleted without him needing to see. It felt like he would finally give into the darkness, but that's when he heard a voice that stole him straight from it's longed embrace.

"Hey….Jellal?"

His features twitched, unsure of who's voice he heard.

"It's me."

But hearing what they said next confirmed what his brain already started to connect.

"I know we haven't spoken in some time and things didn't end well between us but…"

It was her.

"I've been worried about you."

Another person he didn't think to hear from.

"I'm glad you didn't block me, I really wanted to talk to you but I didn't know how to come about with it until now."

Another person he wished to avoid.

"Call me back when you hear this, okay?"

His eyes blinked open, slowly seeing her name fill his vision and he just stared at it, not knowing what to do.

Erza.

She was the last person he expected to want anything to do with him with how it ended up between them. She wasn't happy with him, they both knew that, so what was making her come back?

The last he had heard about her, she had a new boyfriend. Someone more considerate, someone better suited and overall better for her. Someone who wasn't problematic nor felt unnatural. Someone that would make her happy, unlike him.

And he was happy for her, he truly was.

But why was she trying to talk to him now?

His thumb hovered over her name, shocked still that it would exist again in his recent contacts with all that happened between them. Their ending wasn't as explosive as it could be, but neither was it sweet either.

A sudden death was what it really felt like, or perhaps what had been between them had already been dying before that, and she just made him realise it.

Either way it wasn't going to work out between them like that and he came to accept that.

She wanted things that he couldn't give her.

She dreamed of things between them that he could barely see.

She wanted someone from him that he couldn't be.

Lingering feelings weren't enough to save what was between them.

But he wasn't bitter, she deserved better.

He came to peace with that decision.

And he believed she did too.

So why was it that she wanted to talk to him again?

Shouldn't he have been a closed chapter in her book by now?

Ghosting over her name with his thumb, he briefly contemplated what he should do. And before he knew it, her name also suffered the same fate as all the others he had gone through.

Delete

The weight felt like it increased in his heart, deeper than he thought it would, and adding on to the gaping hole he could feel tearing into him more. Some part of him wanted to look at that name just a little longer, try and build on that hope he killed.

But it was dangerous.

And he didn't want to drag her down again.

He couldn't deny, it was sweet that she was worried about him. It was sweet that she even gave him any thought at all after all these months when things became sour. But really, someone like her shouldn't have been concerned with the likes of him.

They were from two different worlds, and the boundaries couldn't be blurred like they believed they could.

People talked.

The world talked.

It didn't consist of just the two of them.

Everything that happened between them, someone else had a second opinion to say.

And at some point it couldn't be ignored.

He didn't blame her though. The world's judgment would be and was definitely more sound than his own. And ultimately he did want what was best for her, even if it wasn't himself.

And he knew it wasn't himself.

Even if she wanted to believe otherwise.

Scrolling through his remaining list of names and numbers he looked to see if her name existed anywhere else. It wasn't the case. But fact brought conflict to his heart.

He didn't wish to ponder on it so he went on to the other names yet to filter through to distract himself. As he was doing that though, there was a change in the usual tone he would open his messages to.

"Oi why aren't you picking up your phone anymore?"

"Always ghostin now and shit."

"Do you want us to beg to bring you out or somethin?"

"If you wanna be a little bitch about it, suit yourself."

A hostility he didn't expect.

And going through the chain of messages from his new friends, he found a lot of them adopted the same tone too.

"Why the fuck you always hiding now?"

"You're meant to be part of the group but you're acting like a right pussy."

"Stop being a fucking attention whore, the world can't revolve around you. We all have lives of our own you know?"

"Are we supposed to drop everything for you and wait at your feet?"

"Inconsiderate cunt."

But he couldn't say that he was completely surprised.

Delete

Delete

Delete

Delete

Delete

The new group of people he hung out with, he learned they weren't the nicest. A lot of them didn't hold back the sharpness of their tongues either. They were mean, judgmental, self-absorbed and shallow. Not the sort of people you'd call friends proudly.

And to be honest, he didn't know why he had.

At first he believed them to be alike. Lost souls though hurt and troubled by the world around them, finding distraction and comfort in what could take the pain away. While those words were not a lie, just because there was common ground like that, it didn't mean they understood each other.

Or that they even wanted to begin to.

Just because all of you were in a hard place, didn't mean that the support needed would be automatically created.

The world wasn't like that.

Misery loves it's company.

He had every reason to leave, he knew what they were doing to him.

What he was doing to himself.

Yet…

Somehow…

He remained put.

Because perhaps their thinly veiled cruelty resonated with himself. Their self absorption reminded him of his own. Their suffering reminded him of his own. And their self destruction was like his own too.

He lost his feeling of belonging in the world.

And through them, he thought he would find it.

It was wrong.

But he had gone so under he didn't have the strength to wander once more.

Yet with what he could hear in the voice of his false comfort, they would drop him soon. He would be homeless again. A vagrant again. And there would be no one but himself to blame for it.

His vision had become blurred again at some point in time. From listening to the sharp but truthful voices telling him what he already knew. From listening to that which he tried to hide in. From listening to those he tried to hide from until, eventually, a new voice spoke back to him.

"Oi you traitor."

One that was like his own.

"Can't believe you move out and don't even think to contact the single most important guy in your life once."

"That's considered an unforgivable treason in my books, but since it's been some time I'll allow it."

Even though the sides of his face had become wet, he couldn't help the small smile that had cracked at the dramaticness of the obnoxious voicemail. Of course, the first he would hear of his brother again would be through words like that.

But his smile didn't last long when Siegrain's tone also changed to everyone else's.

"No but seriously idiot, have you forgotten us or something? You can't have. That isn't like you."

And even he was questioning him.

"I know things were tense between you and our old man before you left and you don't wanna talk to him. And to be honest I don't blame you, he's always been hard to talk to, you leaving didn't make it any easier."

"But like, that's him."

"What have I done?"

And he too was asking things he didn't have the answers to.

"And Mom?"

"What did she do?"

Or that he was too ashamed to say.

The fact that his overly carefree twin was also getting involved told him how far he was going. And it's not like he didn't know it, he did. He wasn't ignorant of the damage he was doing by any means. But even so, he couldn't stop himself.

He didn't know why, he just couldn't.

"Do you know how much she speaks about you?"

Given how things had become at the household, he didn't think his name would be something she mentioned so openly with all the tension that it would stir up.

But Mom wasn't like how Grandma or Grandad were to his father. Even if he was becoming a lost cause, she wouldn't just act like he was dead like they did to Dad.

She wouldn't act like he did the biggest sin against them.

But now he wished she did.

It would have been better for her if she had.

What did she seek to accomplish by doing such things?

Thinking about it, he wondered if Sieg calling him was another thinly veiled desperation of their Mom trying to reach him. If she nor Erik worked, was it that she resorted to Sieg next?

But before he could chase that thought, his brother quickly disproved that notion with what he said next.

"And before you even begin to think about it."

As if he could tell where his train of thought was going.

"She didn't tell me to call you up."

Was it that transparent now?

"...Okay well she did, but like I did this on my own initiative. You're not the only one with your own life, I've been busy with my own shit and I couldn't find the time."

"But like, why wouldn't I do this? It's not like you're a stranger or someone I don't care about. You're my brother. And like, I realised how quiet it's been since you left. Even more than before."

"Even Erik told me the other day that he hadn't heard from you much since you left and that's when I knew something was up."

"I can understand you ignoring me, like I'm that annoying shithead little brother who gave you more reasons then one to leave on the side for adoption if you could. But Erik? Your best friend since like the time you guys could talk?"

"And Mom too? The woman who has been nothing but good and loving to us. To YOU. The one that's always been there for you before anyone, even me."

"This doesn't make sense."

He was right.

"This isn't like you Jellal."

It wasn't.

"I don't know why you're acting as if it is."

He didn't know either.

But he couldn't tell him that.

"You know someone from our highschool also called up the other day? Asked how you were doing. If you were doing any better. I forgot the dude's name, but I remember it having like Mac in it and it sounded like a book we studied in English."

"Anyway Mac, he didn't have your personal number so I guess he called us up with what you gave him before. Mom told him you moved out anyway though, and she gave him your new number but she told him you don't pick up much since you're so busy."

"I don't know what happened after that. But either that probably didn't go ahead with it or maybe he did and you never heard it yet."

He couldn't answer that for himself either.

Macbeth was concerned about him too? That was surprising. It made him wonder why when the two of them only spend sparse moments together when in high school. Really he had only spoken to the guy before exams or something revolving class since they both were performing similarly.

Once again the sentiment was sweet, but it's pleasant feeling didn't last long as he couldn't even tell if he had ever seen Macbeth's call. Did it ever come through or was it another he mindlessly dismissed and deleted during one of these cleansing sessions.

He didn't know.

But he didn't have time to try and recall an answer as Sieg went on to bring him out of that spell of self-loathing.

"Whatever the case is, people are asking Jellal. People know something's up and they've known for some time now. It's not just Mom, it's not just me. Erik and even old friends are asking about you."

"Why do you keep ignoring everything?"

Yet again something he couldn't answer readily.

But what Sieg said next only brought back the spell of self loathing he saved him from.

One that was more raw and bitter than any other and he hated to face.

"I shouldn't need to tell you all of this. You should know this on your own and honestly you probably do."

"I don't get it."

"You've always been the considerate one. The responsible one. You've always been the perfect one. The one Mom and Dad were proud of most. The one that people liked the most."

"What's happened?"

"It doesn't make sense to me!"

"Like what you're doing is meant to be me! I'm the troublesome little shit that's meant to get Mom and Dad's hairs graying early. Not you."

"You can't take my place like that."

Sieg was trying to be light hearted, but hearing those words had his teeth grating in his mouth. The tension rose in his body without warning from listening to those labels that he couldn't understand anymore. They didn't resonate with him nor did they mean anything now and hearing them was almost a form of mockery.

The bitterness spiked so sharply that he almost cut the voicemail short, but the subject changed again which gave him the shift he needed to listen on.

"Talk to us Jellal."

"Please."

"Whatever you're going through, tell us."

"Tell me."

"I swear, even with as much of an ass I can be, I'll listen.

"I swear Jellal."

"You know what happened to Dad and his brother. Fuck, his whole family. You know what happened to them. I don't want us to be like that."

"With the way things are going it's looking like that, and I don't want it to."

That comparison Sieg made wasn't one that was new to him. It troubled his own mind more often than not. How their dad and his own brothers became estranged, even before Dad was sent to prison.

How one of his uncles became a drug addict during his own youth and becoming a highschool dropout followed not long after. Then on top of all that, kicked out for failing his second chance and becoming dead to the family for years.

Their dad suffered an even crueler fate than that.

And their family was still paying for it.

"I'm sure you don't want it like that either."

He agreed with his brother's words. Never did he want their family to become so pulled apart that it created the same bitterness left in Dad's own. That couldn't even heal after the wounds were long closed.

He never wished for the past to repeat itself.

But he didn't know why he wasn't able to stop it.

He had done everything just so the pain would stop.

So the family would be happy.

But somewhere that intention had inverted.

His actions didn't match up to them anymore.

And he didn't know why.

"So stop all of this!"

"I don't care, you better call me back or I will find you myself and I'll make you talk to me."

"Don't doubt my ability to do that!"

"And for God's sake, talk to Mom already!"

That was the last of Sieg's voice in the message. He stared at the voicemail that had come to it's send, unable to decide what to do with it. Not because of the threats at the end, but his brother had him feeling conflicted again.

Even more than before.

There was something strangely cruel in hearing Sieg's voice compared to anyone else. Perhaps because it was as if his own voice was speaking to him, telling him what he knew deep down and bringing it out into the open where he didn't want it. And Sieg knew more than anyone else, he knew how to say things where they would hit.

He didn't make waste of that in his attempt to reach out.

His thumb hovered over his name just like it did with anyone else's before. But for some reason, this time he found himself unable to commit to his will to be ignorant. Something stopped him from pretending Sieg's message never existed.

He couldn't tell why.

But it felt a graver sin to do the same to him that he had done to everyone else.

So he didn't.

Instead he went to the next message above his, trying to wash his mind of his brother's words, hoping he would go back into that state of ignorance. But without realising who the next message was, he was greeted by another voice that was one he definitely didn't want to hear.

" Jellal."

Because it was one that spoke to him more directly then Sieg ever did.

"I know you don't wish to speak to me, and I will not ask you to."

"But since it's nearly been a year since you moved out, I wanted to ask you."

"Are you happy with your decision?"

"Do you feel liberated now?"

"You said you didn't feel home here, then have you found your home now?"

It was impossible to tell with what intention those words were asked to him with. Was it in mockery? Was it in anger? Was it in sincerity? Or was it the same as him? Asking an answer for the sake of it.

Dad's voice was emotionless as ever. Calm as ever. He couldn't understand his emotions just like he couldn't with his. But somehow, even with this disconnect between them, their father always could say something that struck straight on the target. Even now with these questions he posed out of nowhere, he couldn't help but feel caught.

Because some part of him believed Dad knew the answers to those questions he asked even before he did.

And with what he said next confirmed it.

"You don't need to tell me that answer, that's for you to contemplate and to come to an understanding of."

"Also contact your mother, have whatever issue you want with me, but don't make her suffer for it."

"And one more thing."

"Don't think hiding away is going to solve any of your problems."

If there was anything that left him speechless from what his dad said, it was those last words. He felt himself shake from how direct that comment was, he had seen right through him.

And now that father's voice came to cease, just like with the others, he found himself staring at his name, watching it taunt him on the dimly lit screen, forcing him to comprehend that which he didn't want to.

He just sat there in silence, shuddering and listening to his father's last words echo in his brain. He wanted that voice of his to shut up, he wanted to stop hearing that ridicule, he wanted to stop hearing that clear cut truth.

Wanting to be rid of that taunt, he went on to try and listen to the next messages that were left, in hope they would cleanse his father's message.

Cleanse the emotions he left stirring in him.

But no.

"Jellal please talk to me."

Delete

The next messages only added on.

"W-What have I done wrong?"

"P-Please tell me s-so I-I can fix it-"

Delete

"Pleas-"

Delete

"I-I want to be a good mom."

Delete

"J-Just please let me k-know and i'll be-"

Delete

"I-I'm so sorry-"

Delete

"I-I don't know what I did wrong-"

Delete

"P-Please J-Jellal!"

Delete

At some point he couldn't even tell what he was pressing anymore. Her voice became all he heard.

Out of all the messages he skimmed through, he never failed to single in on the increasing pain that grew with each message he deleted.

Running away could only do him so much, his father was right, but his sins were too heavy to face. Each broken word and bout of desperation he pushed her towards and for what, the scales got heavier.

There was nothing stopping him answering her or anyone, not even pride. What was there to be proud of in a state like this?

Yet why did the only answer he turned to was to keep quiet?

And how long would he be able to?

It couldn't go on like this.

Using the inner palm of his hand he wiped the sides of his eyes, feeling the rawness of his skin itch from the touch. He sighed to himself quietly, allowing for once a sob to break through from his throat as the phone shook from his hand and the first reply he could muster left him in a whisper.

"I'm sorry.."

As the words left him in confession all he could wonder was…

How had it all…

…Come to this?

[wrongcaitlyn]

okay so ‼️TW‼️ for this ask and off you do not have to answer or read it if you don’t want to please stay safe!

so. i think once in tyt there was a short reference to nico being suicidal and having self harming/self destructive behaviors. i believe maybe it was after he had to jump off the balcony? and will was like “nico did you do that on purpose” and he’s like “no” and it’s “he kept thinking of the time will caught him” or something like that i’m sorry i can’t look at it rn!

BUT

I was wondering if we’re ever going to get an expansion on that or just any mention of it in general.

me personally i would love too see some scar representation but ofc it is your fic and please don’t feel pressured into anything! i totally get if you don’t want to include anything about this.

and i’m very sorry if this made you uncomfortable or that this was triggering for you.

have a good day! and plz don’t feel rushed to respond! ❤️

yes! you are remembering correctly, and do not worry, this isn't uncomfortable/triggering at all to me! in fact, that's actually one of the reasons it wasn't expanded on - i have no experience with self harm/ thoughts of self harm/ being suicidal, and so even though i made those vague references, i felt very unsure about diving any deeper.

also, i started writing this fic when i was still pretty new to writing in general (or at least, i used to write a lot, and then i took a pretty long break, and then i came back with some one-shots, and this was my first really long project in quite a long time), and so i was just really,,, idk not insecure but i was overly cautious about making sure that i wasn't writing anything wrong, especially because i was writing about things that i had no experience with. like, my family's pretty alright, nowhere near abusive, no alcoholics, and despite the depression my mental health's pretty alright, at least at the time i was writing this - and, obvi, the main thing was that i'm not trans, and yet i was writing a trans mc coming from a very abusive household.

so with all of that, i dropped in these references to his freshman year, and very purposefully didn't start in freshman year because i knew that i wouldn't be able to write that accurately (or, at least, i didn't want to risk writing it inaccurately and portraying these very serious topics in a way that might trigger/offend people who do struggle from these things) and started off the fic in a time where nico was mostly in a much better mental state than the year before, but still struggling with those problems - just not as severely(?) as before.

i'm honestly considering/have been considering going back and editing talk your talk (the og fic) just because i think i've grown a lot as a writer while writing that, and there are a lot of, firstly, tiny grammatical errors, and some scenes that i would like to restructure/fix. i might be able to start that this summer, we'll see!

but ANYWAY to answer your question!! i honestly hadn't thought of going more into that, even though i am adding some more detail to nico's current mental health issues/his ptsd. i'm not completely sure about going into *detail* of it, because of the aforementioned reasons; i just think that these kinds of topics are very sensitive and it's not like the kind of stuff you can just, like, google and understand. if i were to add more about sh/past suicidal thoughts, i would definitely want to do more research/look up accounts of people's experience of it, because i'd want to make sure that i'm writing it correctly and not in a way that would just brush aside any of the details, yk?

i also think that, in a way, nico has completely blocked out that time of his life. it was very dark, and he's experienced even more trauma after that, and so it's just something that he tries really hard to avoid/not think about - even though i do think that he talked to mr. d about it at some point.

so the answer, to be honest, is that i don't know, but it's leaning toward a no. now that i think about it, though, i'm not entirely sure if it's realistic for me to just drop that toward the beginning and then never have nico think about it again- so i would have to do more thinking on the topic! thank you so much for bringing this up to me because even though i do remember mentioning it, i never really think about those early chapters anymore, which dealt with some pretty heavy material, even though i tried to stay very vague about it all.

i think that i'll try to include it at some point, and i do have a scene kind of forming in my head that i think i could put it into, but i don't think it will be very detailed, probably staying in the same lane as everything else that i included in the early chapters of talk your talk! thank you for the ask!!

[youdontknowhowtodiequietly]

This is mad long, bare with, or don't lmao

TW's for: References to depression, r*pe, a*use towards women, and a bunch of other women rights related issues. I don't go in depth, but they are very much there. Be careful. Look after your mental health, please. Also a smidgen of spoilers for the Barbie movie at the end.

So, this whole tangent began with the Barbie movie. I've wrote all my thoughts down in a notebook, that's how I know what I'm going to type - vaguely. This will seem insane to have come from the Barbie movie, but I think it will hopefully be coherent. (Not like anyone will read this, lol. I am NOT anywhere near popular enough for this to even get a comment but here we go)

Right. A bit of context to my life. Since I was about 14, I have always felt that I am some sort of trans. For a while I thought I was non-binary, then I thought I was gender-fluid, then (a recent development) I thought I was a guy. So, you can imagine the absolute loop I have been thrown through when I realised that what I might have been feeling is internalised, borderline, misogyny.

Wild right? Let me explain.

Since I was 11, I have repeatedly heard the horrors of being female in this world. The rape/murders that happen on a daily basis. The horrors towards women in the past. The continued disregard for female autonomy. The abuse faced at the hands of people who are supposed to protect us. It's all horrific. Not only this, but I have seen, heard, learnt, about the way society completely destroys women. The lack of acknowledgement for the pain of females', the constant dismissal of mental illnesses, physical illnesses and disabilities (this also happens with males, too, I am aware, especially in the mental health department, but this section of this post is about people with the female anatomy.) The blatant disregard towards women who report abusive partners or stalkers is disgusting. (And that is just in 1st World countries where human rights are supposed to be the best. The horrors that happen in other countries are worse, but I am writing about what I know. I cannot say anything about other countries other than I know that there are some truly atrocious things happening to women in a lot of them because I am not educated on those situations. But believe me, I see it.) I see people AFAB lament the horrors of having the female anatomy. The wish to not have periods, or a uterus at all. The constant pressure put on women to look a certain way all the time. To not be too thin or too fat, not have too much hair but have enough that it doesn't look like you're trying too hard, etc. Honestly, the Gloria speech in Barbie is the best one I have ever heard about what it's like to be a woman. I see people expressing disgust at pregnancies, how they never wish to have one because it'll make them look ugly, or because of the complications that come with it. I have seen it, and do see it, all. For the past 7 years I have seen it all.

Can you imagine how much that has f-ed me up? I'm sure you can, because I'm sure it's also true for a lot of you.

All of this has made me hate the idea of being a woman.

When I was in my early years of high school (I'm in the UK and we start high school at 11 and finish at 16) I always said how I would "love to be a boy" because I always saw it as easier. I hated being a girl because everything was so shit. And that carried on into my later years of high school.

As I was introduced to the wonderful different gender identities that exist, I began reading and hearing stories of how trans/non-binary/gender-fluid, etc, people felt before they realised they were what they are. And I thought, "oh, damn. That me." So I began experimenting with labels. But even whilst I did that, whilst I played around with pronouns, names, hairstyles, clothing, I always felt this deep want to wear pretty dresses and have long hair. But I rejected those wants because I was "trans/non-binary/gender-fluid now and if I want those things then I can't be any of those." Which, yes, I know, is very binary of me. I understand that anyone can wear pretty dresses and skirts and have ling, flowy hair that they place sparkly pins in. I know. But you have to understand how damn difficult it is to ignore the stuff you have been taught all your life. I wanted to be called she/her but at the same time rejected those feelings because the thought of being a woman made me sick.

But then I watched the Barbie movie.

Now, I don't remember my childhood much. I don't know if it was what you would call "traditional girlhood." But I know it was good. And I know many AFAB have experienced horrendous childhoods, which hurts me to think about every time. But when I saw the ending of the Barbie movie. When the videos of those girls and women were playing. I felt something in me. I'm sure you've all heard different renditions of how the montage made women feel, and a lot of them is how I would describe how I felt. So, I won't get into it. But just know I felt a shift in me.

As well as that montage, other things in the movie got to me. The inherent femininity of it, for one. I know from discussions with other people, and from seeing many videos/blogs online, that what I'm going to mention is a common experience for a lot of AFAB. I hated the colour pink. Despised it. I only very very recently, before the Barbie movie, began admitting that the colour wasn't so bad. But the Barbie movie made me think that, omg, I might actually love the colour. Alongside the colour pink, I loved the outfits of the Barbies'. They were so freeing to see. As I wrote previously, I wanted to wear pretty skirts and dresses and have pretty hairstyles, but always refused to acknowledge that. Seeing the Barbies' in their overtly feminine clothing (again, I know I'm leaning into gender binary but please give me some slack. It's hard to write when you're not a novelist) made me feel giddy. I saw them and was like "pretty pretty pretty" and not just because all the women were beautiful lmao. It lit up a spark of joy in me seeing them dress in those clothes. That's how I can best describe my feelings. I just suddenly felt that I could wear those things. Weird, huh?

Another thing in the movie is the portrayal of happy older women.

This again links with the video montage, but also links with the old lady at the beginning of the movie saying she knows she's beautiful, with Ruth Handler being so gentle with Stereotypical Barbie and not ridiculing her for being stupid or naive. It also links with Gloria. I freaking loved Gloria. All of these portrayals made me so happy because it gave me a sudden sense of hope that I will be okay one day.

As someone with severe depression and probably autism/ADHD, who doesn't remember not being depressed, that really spoke to me. These women were happy. They were okay with themselves. No, the LOVED themselves. It was beautiful.

This movie healed me, just a bit, and let me make the first real steps to healing fully. I'm still not 100% sure about my gender identity, but tbh I don't quite care. I'm starting to wear makeup often, starting to take care of my body better. I also bought a cute little Stitch dress lmao, and a white, frilly tank-top with purple flowers on it. I'm embracing my feminine side and I've never felt more free.

It's a wonderful feeling. I'm surprised myself that this all came from a Barbie movie. But, at the same time, I think I was beginning to realise this about myself before the movie. Having finished college and not needing to worry about Uni as I'm not going has given me the freedom to actually look at myself, internally, and ask "what do I feel?" Again, linking back to the Barbie movie when Ruth says, "Take my hands...Now, feel." And I have done. I've asked what my brain needs, and it's full of pretty dresses and pretty hairstyles and warmth and a want to live again.

I'm aware that this may seem silly to a lot of people. Maybe even childish. But I don't care. And that's a lot for an 18 year old to say, because many people my age, and older, do care. A lot.

This has just been an introspection, but I chose to share it because maybe it will help other people.

(Also, heavy disclaimer if you got this far. I don't know what terms are still used now, or how they're used. And writing about girl/womanhood and femininity whilst also trying to be inclusive to those who have the female anatomy but don't identify as a woman, and those who don't have the female anatomy but identify as women is very difficult. So, I deeply apologise if I used the term AFAB wrong, or if it is no longer an accepted term. Also, if anything else in this post is wrong/offensive or incorrect, again I'm sorry. Please let me know what is wrong and how to fix it and I will do my best to edit this post with the updated terminology/fixes.)

[highwaywhump]

Would you be up for writing a little piece about kill shelters, from the pet’s POV? I saw that you said you wouldn’t write about pets actually being PTS - completely understandable! - what if someone were to come in at the last second with the news that the pet’s original owner had been found? I’m so curious on what the process would be for the shelter handling this- since it would technically be murder, how would it be done in a way to remain ‘legal’? And what would the pet be told? Would they tell them what was going to happen, or just ‘get on with it’? :o

TW/CW: A CHARACTER THAT IDEALIZES DEATH/HAS SUICIDAL THOUGHTS. to be clear, he doesn't die, but another character does (this comes through very vaguely - never voiced outright). brief and vague mention of a gun, talk of scars, low self image, talk of collars and chains and cages/kennels, description of a hit and run victim (still alive), brief description of a dislocated hip, talk of restraints, talk of syringes and needles.

i know our community has suffered these past few days, and i was seriously debating whether i should post this piece or not. in the end, i figure that writing has been my way of overcoming difficult feelings for many years now, and i have been dealing with a lot of them lately, including intense stress and depression. if anyone feels i am doing something wrong in posting this piece, please let me know and i'll see what i'll do about it.

i am also painfully aware this ask was sent over a month ago (in reference to this ask), but i had to sit down and think about how i wanted to go about it. BE AWARE that the following piece features a character that idealizes/wishes for death - please sit this one out if you are struggling with such thoughts. i'm putting everything under a read more so that you can avoid reading a single word if you don't feel comfortable. my dm’s are always open if you want to talk about anything. <3

this character might seem familiar to some. spoiler, this is how poker from this piece ended up. he was about 35 when joey met him and he’s a few years older in this piece. and i'm sorry but there’s just something about men in cages… (also, let’s ignore that i add a bunch of details here that weren’t present in the first piece with him. also also, i don’t know what happened to the verb tenses in this one. it’s the middle of the night. roll with the punches i guess)

-

It might’ve been months since the guard dog saw his owner last. He doesn’t know. He’s stopped counting. 

Well. 

He never really started. 

He doesn’t remember much about him. He’d lost another fight, the last one in a long row of losses. He’d been pulled into the back of a car by his thick collar afterwards, dazed and hot and sputtering blood all over the leather seats. They’d hit him in the ribs for it and he knew he’d deserved it. 

Whoever was driving had been given orders in his owner’s rough voice. 

“Go down to the docks. Get rid of him.” 

He knew there was a lethal piece of metal stuck down the waistband of the driver’s jeans. 

He’d been taken a few hours outside the city instead, deposited on the wet asphalt outside of a brick building and chained to a drainpipe. The driver had gotten back in the car and sped off. 

The guard dog had leaned against the hard brick, watching as the brake lights disappeared. He didn’t think much, other than okay. As if he had anything else to say about his situation. 

His surroundings turned into a shapeless blur from there. Hands touching him, cold and unfeeling and clad in blue rubber. A couple were soft and took their time to stroke his hair, scratch the hard to reach place between his shoulder blades. He savored those moments, and tried to remember the hands and the face they belonged to, but none of it lasted. 

Nothing ever lasted around him, it seemed. He couldn’t keep an owner for more than a few months, never more than a year. Couldn’t keep winning. Couldn’t keep anyone safe, even though that was the thing he was made for. The only thing that kept, were the scars. 

And the fucking tattoo on his wrist. Not even the facility that had made him, wanted him back when the shelter called them about him. Too old. They had no prospects who would want someone like him. 

That was what the visitors said too, few and far between as they were. Too old. Too big, too many scars, too scary, too ugly, too old, too dumb, too old again. They talked about him as if he wasn’t even there, huddled up in a corner just on the other side of the chain link. 

He knew it was his fault. He should be, or at least seem, happier to see them. Smile. Wait at the kennel gate, like all the others did whenever somebody stopped by. 

But to what end? Another owner who would put him in the ring again, just to be angry at him when he loses? Or someone he can take bullets for again, even though he isn’t quick and bright enough to anticipate them anymore? 

He doesn’t dare hope that anyone else would want him, not in his condition. It’s true, what they say. He’s old. Scarred, slow. There are sunshine stories of even the most unwanted of pets, expenses in every way, who somehow end up on the couches of kind people who just want a companion, their head resting in their laps, petted by soft fingers.

Those people get platonics, though. Domestics. Even the occasional romantic can adapt to such a lifestyle. 

But not an old ex guard dog, like him. 

He’s no use to anyone, not anymore. 

They remove him from the kennel one day. For a moment, his heart beats a little faster. He can’t tell if it’s fear or excitement, but it turns out neither is warranted. He’s taken to another room, a chain attached to his collar, the other end pin shackled to a ring in the wall. Another pet, younger and prettier, is put in his kennel. He can see them through the frosted glass on the door. 

He turns away. 

He doesn’t cry. 

Visitors don’t come through this room, he realizes, and for the first few days he’s happy for it. Nobody talks about him now. It’s quiet and the cold linoleum floor is almost comfortable on his joints. The only bad thing about this room is the other pet, chained to the wall opposite of him. The man is curled up, breathing shallowly through dried blood in his nostrils, and the sound is annoying. He’s younger than him, and he was probably very pretty once, but now his face is bruised and swollen, and bloody in the crevices even though they washed him with a damp cloth when he came in. Hit and run, somebody had said in passing.

That was four days ago. The guard dog watches him, mostly because there isn’t much else to look at in here. His leg is in a weird position, he’s noticed. It’s as if the thigh has rotated where it attaches to the hip. He wonders if it’s supposed to be that way. It doesn’t look very comfortable. His stomach is weirdly distended, too. It looks out of place on a body that is otherwise slim and smooth. 

Two workers descend on him one day, kneeling down beside the misshapen figure. They talk to him, sweetly, as they gently lift him over on a gurney and start wheeling him through another door. “You’ll feel a lot better when you wake up,” one of the workers say, a vinyl clad hand patting his shoulder. The one part of him that isn’t broken. 

The guard dog catches the faint smile visible through a swollen cheek as they pass him. The other pet is happy they’re coming for him, making him feel better. Finally. 

Maybe twenty minutes have passed when the workers come back. One of them wipes their hands on their worn jeans. “Glad that’s over,” he mutters. "Should have been done when he came in," the other says. The guard dog meets his gaze as they pass. Neither of them say anything. 

They’d come for him a few days later. They wear the same smiles and the same gloves as they did with the other pet, but he doesn’t need the sweet talking. He goes with them willingly. He’d stopped eating a while back and his muscle tone had disappeared a long time ago, so it was easy for them to help him up to his feet. He’s taller than them, still, and keeps his head down the way he’s always done. 

He’s known cold. Heat, pain, pleasure even, in small stints. Grief, fear. Rage. As he places one bare foot in front of the other on the beige linoleum, obediently following the worker in front, he knows he will soon know death. 

And he isn’t afraid. 

“You won’t feel a thing,” one of them says as they help him sit on the steel table in the next room, as if anyone has ever cared about how he’s feeling. 

“You’ll feel much better after,” the other worker says, without specifying exactly what was supposed to be better, as they gently lay him down. The table has leather straps hanging down the sides, ready to restrain its more unwilling cases, but he doesn’t move and they don’t use the straps. In the corner of his eye he can see two syringes on the counter. One of them is skinny and filled with clear fluid. The needle is small and will slip into him easily. He’s had many needles before. This won’t feel any different, he decides. The other syringe is larger, the needle too big to be used on somebody who was awake feel it. 

It doesn’t matter. He’ll feel better after. The guard dog refocuses his gaze on the bright light overhead. He closes his eyes. 

“Small pinch, now,” one worker says, and he can feel a pinprick at the crook of his elbow, the cold liquid fanning up his arm as it is being pushed in. His heart beats a few more times before the serum reaches it. He can feel his pulse, docile to begin with, calm down even more. He feels sleepy, his body heavy, as if he’s being pushed into the table from above. The hard metal digging into his joints doesn’t matter anymore. He knows he won’t even notice the other syringe. He knows he’ll feel better soon. 

A grating ringtone interrupts his silent mind. One of the workers picks up, speaking in a low voice. Sleep tugs at the edges of his mind, and he wants to follow. Right before he goes under, the sound of hard plastic hitting metal and a few words make it through the fuzzy walls inside his head. 

“No trouble at all. You’re just in time, sir.” 

--

to answer your other questions, anon: in the legal sense it wouldn't be murder, as the pets aren't people anymore, they're only human at the biological level (again, in a legal sense). it's necessary :) and humane :) euthanasia :). the pets aren't told anything/they're gently reassured and told they're going on for surgery, or something similar. i think "you'll feel better when you wake up," is a classic in these circles. i'm sure some understand what is about to happen (hence the restraints on the table), but the majority goes quick and silent. i have no idea what happens to them after though so don't ask me about that :)

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

TW: suicide, sh mention

Looking for: advice

My friend has been really depressed lately, and I try to help her but she never tells me why. Most of the time when I ask her to rate her mood in 1-9, she picks 7 or 8. I'm really worried about her, it really hurts me to see her sad especially because I was just like that a few weeks ago (but now I'm recovering and getting better). She has said that she wants to kill herself before, and she has give vague hints of doing sh. I want to ask her straight if she do sh but knowing her she'll probably just distract the conversation/give a vague answer, and I'll just make her uncomfortable. I don't know what to so, if something happens to her it would just completely destroy me cuz I would be thinking of what I could've done to prevent that. She don't like confrontation so I just usually remind her that I love her and send positive/self care memes. I'm really worried about her, she's my best friend idk what I'll do without her. What should I do? I'm so scared I'll lose her.

Thank you if u answer this, you're all amazing

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry to hear about the situation with your friend. It's great that you're showing your love and support for her while she's going through this.

I'm QPR certified, which stands for Question, Persuade, and Refer, and it's training for suicide prevention. While I was QPR certified as part of a club, individual training is available if you can afford it. QPR training can equip you with the tools to help yourself or learn more about preventing suicide, learn the common causes of suicidal behavior and the warning signs of suicide, and how to get help for someone in crisis.

Primarily, it's important to ask yourself if you feel your friend trusts you enough to be honest with her thoughts and plans. If she never tells you why she's been struggling, that may suggest that she isn't comfortable opening up. That being said, while understanding why she's struggling may help put things in perspective, what matters most is that she's struggling, and you can still show your support, even if by directly asking if she's thinking about suicide.

While QPR training could help enrich your ability to approach this situation, it's by no means necessary. The gist of the training I got was to ask the person in question if they're thinking about suicide, and how thought out their plan is. It's important to have this kind of conversation at a time and place that is mutually comfortable. It may help to start by asking to talk about something personal just so she can have a choice in talking about it, and also so she knows the nature of the conversation you want to have. If she tells you that she has been considering suicide and has a plan, you can offer to go with her to get help, or send her crisis resources she can speak to.

If you'd like some crisis resources and would like our help finding some, feel free to let us know her region and I can try to find some resources local to her. Feel free to keep us updated on any developments on this. I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[aeternaluminanoctis]

venting about the appointment, tw fake-claiming

So that was a fucking shit show as expected. Love being told to our faces by this psychiatrist that he "doesn't know if he believes in multiple personality disorder" as Kai tried her damn best to push and advocate that our symptoms are hindering us. But he believes in dissociation at least so there's that!!/sar

Fucking hate psychiatrists. The ENTIRE TIME Kai was on the verge of switching out with Rion all because this stupid fuck wanted to shove more meds down our throat because "this helped with my dissociation" Hello?? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK! WHO GIVES A FUCK IF IT HELPS HIM IT DIDNT HELP US! Oh and let's not mention he straight up asked us "do you have any trauma that might have caused that?" upon Kai vaguely referring to how long we've known a specific protector as been around.

Yeah let's just calmly recount TRAUMA. I swear to fucking god if we don't get an actual therapy appointment soon or a call telling us we are scheduled for the psych eval I'm gonna front next time. I don't give a shit anymore. This shit is HINDERING OUR LIFE! WE HAVENT MESSAGED PEOPLE IN MONTHS! WEVE BEEN ASKING FOR HELP FOR MONTHS! I know this shit takes years but fuck shouldn't we at least be in therapy by now?!?

NOT TO MENTION KAI AND KURO BOTH MENTIONED IN DETAIL HOW IT AFFECTS US AT WORK! THEY BOTH TRIED THEIR BEST TO EXPLAIN TO THIS FUCK FACE WHY THIS WAS BAD! Oh but "the only meds that really help are anti-depressants." Great. WHAT ABOUT THE THERAPY AND PSYCH EVAL WEVE ASKED FOR EVERY SINGLE CALL AND VISIT?!

I'm pissed as hell. "Oh keep a journal next time it happens" ....LIKE WE HAVEN'T TRIED YHAT SHIT.

Fuck. Fuck this. Trying to get help was a mistake. These people never fucking care about us. They only care about shoving meds down our throats so they can line their pockets.

-Vanitas

[fated-normal-767]

Accidentally deleted the first version of the explanations. Fuck. Well I’m back now.

I won’t have time to start writing the other thing till tomorrow BUT this should take less time (I thought before I had to restart it)

there’s some small details referencing things I don’t know how to write properly yet, like mental health in detail, so minor tw for mentions of that

(I can write about mental health actually but it’s some brutal stuff further into the story so I want to be careful about that)

- Ares is left handed (ink on his left sleeve, doing most actions with his left hand)

- Kronos is painted as cruel or rude but never actually does much to make bad things happen; just takes advantage when they do. In terms of just actions, Ares would be much worse.

- The only times Kronos is shown to be “human” emotionally is in his will, or self described “Final testimony”, or with interactions from the perspective of Corvus while he’s alive. There is a very important reason for this.

- When Ares fakes his death and Shimmer thinks they’ve shot him, the shooting scene is designed to visually parallel this one.

- It also parallels Kronos’ death but you’ll see that soon

- The metaphor of drowning is used a lot around Ares, as he was specifically never taught to swim so he’d be easily killable if someone needed him dead. It symbolised a lack of control in his life, as a created weakness.

- Ares sees his surname as an insult, and it’s also used against him in arguments with other characters. He’s especially shown to recoil from being called “Mr Usotsuki”. Letalis calls shimmer “Usotsuki” but the meaning behind it is never clear.

- it’s implied, but the bottle and the drink in the glasses is alcohol. Yes Ares is 15 at this point. It’s specifically whiskey I think. This is directly after the government let him arrange a car crash that killed two people so I don’t think it’s really their highest priority to stop him from breaking the law.

- Kronos’ reference to Ares’ mother being what made him lash out. Hannah Usotsuki suffered from a version of psychosis and delusions which allowed Oulixes to manipulate her and make her seem “insane”. And now Kronos compares Ares to her in order to undermine his thoughts.

- Ares’ potentially injured right arm. Ares scratches his right arm subconsciously, or “to check he’s still real”. As well as this, it’s later described that ares leans on his less injured arm, despite his left arm being the only one damaged in the fight. With his depression, visible weakness, and lack of self preservation at this point, it’s sort of implied what happened.

- A lot of description for Ares relies entirely on his eyes, and what he’s looking at. He’s very linked to eyes throughout the story. Slightly unbelievably, I planned this before I’d even heard of tma, but yeah, very eye coded.

- The descriptions aren’t vague but they’re unsure. No one involved fully remembers this- there’s a lot of “Seems to” and “As though/As if” even in the narration.

Additional fun fact

Kronos has a brother who is later introduced as Augustus Garcia, who works for Zephyrus. He’s very rich and spends his time pretending to be straight for fun, then going home and commissioning femboy art of his gay twink fursona. Somehow, this is plot relevant.

Writing! @teamfortresstwo

The young man holds a crystalline glass in shaky hands. He can’t be much older than 16, yet he averts his eyes from the rest of the room and stares into the contents of the glass like he is much too tired to see any of it. His gaze is dull, and does not display much, though his slumped posture, pale skin, and the deep eyeshadow-esque smudges beneath his eyes could speak paragraphs upon paragraphs to his fragile state.

“Ares, are you even going to pay attention? I’m sure you’re quite aware how important this is,”

This tone is much too harsh to match this young man, but however does match a taller man standing across the room. He too holds a glass, but with a much more steady hand, and a glare directed clearly towards Ares. He appears the antithesis to this poor echo of a man; tan skin, fox-bronze hair, and a sharply ironed suit the maroon shade of dried blood,

“Usotsuki.”

That’s an insult. Ares knows it, he knows it as an insult, a threat, and a very painful reminder. He scratches slightly at his right arm, probably a subconscious action, or maybe just to prove he’s still real.

“Of course I’m listening Kronos. But I feel no inclination to act like I care about what you’re about to tell me.”

There is no hesitation, no stutter, the young man seems to have an uncharacteristically clear tone, though it cracks slightly as he speaks, and days without sleep weigh heavily in the words. Ares is just as formally dressed as Kronos, maybe you could even say more so; but the left sleeve of his shirt is smudged with dark ink around the wrist, and the clothes that were clearly finely tailored now hang loosely off of thin shoulders and a frail form.

“How the fuck could you do that?”

A laugh. The younger man seems to grin in response, but only for a moment. It’s the first flicker of emotion since Kronos walked in, but it seems sarcastic. An ironic twist, and Ares knows he doesn’t need to answer. There is an answer though,

“What, are you surprised I had the courage to change things around here? Astonished that I could stand up for myself? Hm?”

The tone is mocking, almost an attempt at cheery, but his hands shake more, and he gently places the glass next to an empty bottle on his desk to avoid it shattering against the floor when he would inevitably drop it. Despite all this, Ares turns around and looks directly at Kronos. His gaze is no longer nervous, and he holds the violent glare with the determination of a man ready to do anything for what he believes in. A cold laugh, the kind that feels like needles on you skin to hear.

Kronos does not acknowledge this. He seems as though he has just heard the most repulsive thing anyone has ever considered, and looks away from Ares with a look of disdain.

“He was your father. Did family really mean so little to you? You disgust me.”

Any semblance of confidence disappears from the eyes of the younger man, replaced with a fire, or maybe a sadness. The rage and misery combine and he takes a while to respond,

“You don’t know what he was like.”

“I don’t care what you think he was like. I knew him longer than you did and I can say with complete clarity that he was a better man than you’d ever fucking be. You’re just a coward, Usotsuki.”

The room does not fall silent, a distant murmur of talk makes sure of that, but air seems to fall still and harsh, as if the oxygen has seeped out.

Have you ever walked across a frozen lake? Unnaturally smooth and still ground; people don’t belong there, but there is always a sense of freedom in being somewhere you should not be, the ice is safe, of course.

Till it’s not. Till the soft crackle of snow beneath your feet grows aggressive. Till you can feel the rage in your very bone marrow, and the safety of nothing breaks to gives way beneath you. Cold feels like a fire if you’re not careful enough; anything can burn.

Ares grabs the glass from his desk and throws it into the floor. The glass breaks, the ice breaks, the silence breaks, Ares Usotsuki breaks,

“NO. NO, YOU DO NOT GET THIS. YOU DO NOT GET TO TELL ME WHAT I KNEW, WHAT I FUCKING LIVED THROUGH.”

“You have no right to talk to me like that, Usotsuki.”

Ares Usotsuki picks up the bottle from desk and drinks some; for a second it’s clear he finds the taste of the drink unpleasant as he almost drops it, exaggerating every movement with a stumble to recenter his balance and glare directly through Kronos. He says nothing.

“Really, Ares, you clearly need help. This is delusional and insane behaviour. You’re acting completely immature.”

Taking a step towards Kronos, Ares holds the bottle closer to his side, and speaks in a low tone,

“Shut up Kronos. Just,” A glance is thrown towards the broken glass on the floor, “Just shut up.”

“You are being entirely unreasonable. Everyone is trying to help and you’re an ungrateful bastard. You don’t even understand that Oulixes was doing the right thing,”

With a movement faster than you’d expect from the frail figure, Ares swings the glass bottle towards Kronos’ head, and he shuts his eyes, waiting for the crunch of either skull or glass, or hopefully both. There is no sound. His arm is grabbed and twisted at a sharp angle, and the bottle is pulled from his grasp. With his free hand he attempts to swing a punch and ignore the burn jolting through the muscles of his limp arm, but he instead stumbles backwards, visibly shaken.

A mocking laugh, and a cruel grin, “Ares, really. You’re unwell. This attitude will never get you anywhere.”

“Got me here. Got Oulixes in that fucking car crash,” A small laugh which twists into a wince in pain as he shifts his arm, “Got you all pissed off that I’m doing better than you, didn’t it? Angry that some stupid child runs this entire fucking place?” A flicker of sadness, “I couldn’t quit if I fucking wanted to. They need me here.”

“You’ve killed two innocent people. For nothing. I don’t envy you. I pity you. There is something wrong with your mind, and you need help.”

“OULIXES WASN’T FUCKING INNOCENT. I SAVED MY FAMILY. YOU-”, a sharp intake of breath, “You need to leave. I don’t need help. I especially don’t want your poorly disguised abuse- Sorry, sorry I mean ‘help’.”

“This is completely stupid. You’re acting just like your mother.”

Ares jolts up at that, without even pausing, throws his entire body weight into a punch, more as though he is trying to tackle Kronos. Then he tumbles. His ears are ringing, and his vision is blurred, warm blood pours over his eye and he lurches to the desk, dragging himself back onto his feet; The glass bottle Kronos had taken is now blood soaked and shattered on the floor, and Ares feels as though his skull is imploding, crushing into his mind, like, well, shards of glass, or, or maybe the feeling of your brain being vacuum sealed, he considered.

He grabs onto the edge of the desk and manages to drag himself onto his feet, though leaning heavily on his less injured arm, as the other hangs limb by his side, and he shuts his eyes tight to avoid blood dripping from a deep cut on his forehead. The tint is smudged through his hair and smaller cuts littered across his skin stain his shirt.

“Dear lord, Usotsuki. You’re a wreck,” Brushing his hands together to remove any specks of glass powder, Kronos glares disapprovingly at the man who seems to be staring intently at his desk, “At least Oulixes could make a point without getting so uselessly emotional, you’re nothing compared to him.”

A quiet click. Slowly lifting his uninjured arm from the desk, Ares holds a gun towards Kronos, though his eyes are still closed, with blood entirely covering one eye and obstructing significant vision in the other- he would need to be lucky to make the shot, even at point-blank range- The both of them knew that. But you don’t threaten the person holding a gun to you, no matter how unlucky you expect they’ll be.

“Now now Us- Ares, there’s no need for this.”

Ares has no mocking response, no nothing. He simply raises his other arm with a wince, to steady the hand holding the gun.

The door to the office has been ajar. It would allow anyone to look through, but no one working in this environment would dare irritate Kronos, or even the miserable looking Usotsuki, who was much more threatening than his appearance occasionally suggested.

Shimmer Usotsuki does not work there, they are much much too young, being just under 8, and not having much sense of what they are meant to hear or know. Disturbed by the shouting, they had wandered to glance through the gap in the door. They had not been there long, but they were afraid, for their brother, and for what might be about to happen.

Sheepishly, and with as much caution as a young child can muster, they attempt to look further round the door. And they do not manage, falling into the room and rapidly standing up. They didn’t dare utter a word, maybe they could leave without causing any trouble?

Ares jumped at the sound of the door opening, and still unable to see, turned away from Kronos, glaring towards the sound. His heart was racing and he had had enough of all of this; of everything, of this fucking place,

“WHO’S THERE? I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD YOU BETTER STAY BACK, JUST STAY THE FUCK BACK OR I’M SHOOTING EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM AND THEN MYSELF, YOU-”, he takes a pause to breathe heavily, almost sounding as though he is sobbing.

Kronos watched, with an almost amused smile. Ares couldn’t see but, well, he could. And he could see what was about to happen. The terrified child stares at Ares, who has gone still, other than his shoulders shaking and he struggles not to collapse or break down crying, as he waits for any indication to what is happening, and;

A quiet voice. They utter a name, just a name. Well not quite just a name; their brother’s name. It sounds like a question. It is a question. A gun falls to the floor. A young man who has done barely anything and yet too much falls next to it. He hides his face.

He does not stop hiding his face. Not long after the memory has been repressed from both his pain-riddled mind, and Shimmer no longer knows why they cannot look down the barrel of a gun without thinking of their brother, why some images haunt nightmares but don’t linger.

[timeguardiansarchive]

Rescued from the Depths:

@makesownluck​​ continued from X 

(Please don’t kill me for taking creative license with this or the fact that I continued it. I will also apologize heavily for Rose. She got super carried away. Hope the reply makes some miniscule amount of sense. There is absolutely never any pressure to match length or anything!)

Pure pandemonium had erupted upon the once leisure-filled decks and Rose, feeling more observer than participant in it, found herself clinging to Jack as tightly as she dared. Her exhaustion riddled orbs fixate on witnessing an emotional father bidding adieu to his bawling, petrified daughters. He had adorned himself with a brave face and spun a silvery tale in parting. While she was only being vaguely attentive in her eavesdropping, his words lodge in her cranium. “It’s goodbye for a little while,” the man professes. Nevertheless, she could see the truth laid bare in his eyes. With that thought, remained the knowledge of the conversation she had held with Mr. Andrews about the number of lifeboats the Titanic housed. Mr. Andrews’s words wage war on her already dismal dwellings. “There aren’t enough lifeboats even by half.” If what he claimed was true, and she had little doubt that it was having done the math herself and checked it by Mr. Andrews, her mind raced through countless more calculations until panic begins to inspire her to protest the offered spot on one of the lifeboats. This night would end with many innocent lives being lost. 

Whatever insistence she made was quickly overridden by the adamant and unrelenting persuasions of Jack and Cal. They had made an arrangement. Or at least Hockley claimed, that he had one with a ship’s officer to escape safely. Why he would offer such salvation to Jack, she is uncertain. Doubtful, she observes them both but allows herself to be ushered into the waiting lifeboat. She turns her back to the ocean and finds Jack’s outstretched hand, clutching his fingers with all her might willing him to come. Why couldn’t he just forget chivalry and join her? Why did he have to be as valiant and selfless as he had been the moment they first met?!

All too soon, the warmth of his contact is wrenched away, and she is pushed towards the back of the tiny wooden vessel to make room for more. Eerie traces of dimly illuminated indigo waters etched and ebbed across the side of the massive, struggling ‘Ship of Dreams.’ Oh, how that bestowed title torments her in that very moment. It was no longer a palace of celestial imaginings. It was a full-blown nightmare straight from the pit of hell!

While Rose was outwardly skillful in concealing her terror, it continued to bubble up inside of her chest. The force of which, battered heavily against her ribcages as her gaze shoots upwards, seeking, till they find Jack. He and Cal have a deal. She kept reminding herself. However, if they had a deal with an officer on the other side of the ship, why would they remain so stagnant in nearly the same place she had taken her leave of them? Conscience whispers, there is no deal. Is there? There is no grand reunion coming later on. Was there?! This was going to be their final goodbyes. The longer she ruminates upon these thoughts the more the internalized panic began to claw its way to the surface.

In the glow of the lone bursting flare, Rose could see the intolerable grief etched upon Jack’s handsome countenance. With that glimpse alone, she realizes, she can’t do this! She can’t abandon him now!!! She loves him more dearly, more ardently than her own life. She pictures where this road to supposed salvation will lead and it is the same hideous path she’d been set upon with Cal. A road that led her to near self-destruction.

She rallies courage around herself like a cloak, rises to her feet and she lunges quite forcefully forwards across the lifeboat to make the biggest leap of faith she can muster. However, sheer will alone does not propel her far enough towards her end-goal. Whilst her arms were outstretched and the ship had been briefly in reach, Rose finds herself plunging helplessly into the glassy indigo waters below.

There is little Rose can do to prepare herself or brace for the pending harsh impact. It’s all happening far too fast for actual cognition to fully ignite.

The connection with the frigid water below is punishing, forcing her to let out a terrible gasp. Following that gasp comes an influx of salted water that burns down every inch of her esophagus. Choking, she scrambles to suck in another breath of air, but the effort is futile. This inhale is also tainted with water. Lungs heave out a final ratty cough expelling as much as she could before she’s pulled below.

Rose begins to kick furiously, her legs tangling precariously with her skirts. She desperately grapples with her cold-numbed hands, clawing for the surface. Yet, she finds herself being dragged farther downwards. Weighted as if her pockets, correction- Cal’s pockets, were lined with bricks rather than luxurious fabrics. With every second, the adorned articles of clothing seem to be growing heavier and heavier as the water absorbs into the once dry material. It does not occur to her panicking mind to shrug the dress-jacket off. Instead, her focus remains on getting back to the surface despite her rapidly waning energy.

Rose had desperately wished for this horrific fate. Not more than a night or so ago, she had stood on the Titanic’s stern. She peered into churning waters that beckoned with the promises of eternal liberation and prepared herself to take the readily offered exit. That alluring promise had been nothing more than a mere mirage which, Jack Dawson helped to expose. He rescued her and gave her life purpose again!!!  

Jack had also been right about the water feeling like ‘a thousand knives all over one’s body.’ The chill is suffocating, snatching the breath straight out of one’s lungs. Something Rose was now experiencing with terrifying, miserable clarity thanks to the miscalculation.  

The auburn-haired young woman is jarred from thoughts of her own death by a sudden forceful tug that propels her upwards till she resurfaces. A powerful arm coils around her middle and draws her nearer. Sputtering out water, Rose turns her alarmed orbs towards the source. There is an immediate, grateful softening  to the cerulean hues as she discovers Jack beside her in the water. Hoarse vocal cords rasp out, “J...J...Jack? Wh...wh... what are y... y... you doing ... he... here? Y... you we....were safe! You ha....had... had that deal. Did ... didn’t y... you?” Rose prods, with great effort. Guilt adds to the crimson stains stealing across her porcelain skin. It was her fault that he ended up in the water!

She shivers fiercely against the night’s unforgiving chill as it winds through sopping curls and weaves itself into the drenched fabrics surrounding her slender frame. Rose allows herself to be drawn closer to Jack’s sturdier build knowing full well that she can hardly rely on her own strength anymore. Stiff fingers clumsily attempt to curl around his deeply saturated shirt until the wooden lifeboat begins to gain on them.

It took a good deal of effort on the ladies behalves to hoist both bitterly cold  unintentional swimmers to ‘relative’ safety. Rose stiffly pauses near the ledge of the wooden raft and clumsily attempts to help with Jack’s rescue until the indomitable force she recognized as Molly Brown slung a blanket over her shoulders and ushered her towards an empty space away from the edges. “Well ain’t you two a sight for sore eyes,” Molly exclaims, in a purely materialized way. “Sure glad we made room for you. Thought we nearly lost you both.” She confides, taking up a seat near-by.

The air is torturous, hardly tolerable against her already numb skin. Every subtle strike of a breeze feels more like a slap than a caress. Rose allows her violently quivering limbs to be maneuvered closer to the familiar comfort of Jack’s. Gnashing teeth attempt to emit a strained sound of words, “God, I’m ... I’m s.... sorry, Jack. I... I couldn’t...  I... I cou... couldn’t ... leave you.“ She confides, her tired eyes flooding with hot tears.  The contrast between the tears and the cold was uncomfortably significant though, Rose actively elects to ignore it in favor of Jack’s comforting words.

Cerulean orbs linger, fixating on drinking in every inch of Jack’s beloved countenance. Her own tired mind is dogged with unrelenting doubts that are compounded by the soundtrack of horrific screams, calls for lost loved ones, and the sound of twisting and groaning metal. She briefly pries her gaze away to examine the endless horizons but she could discern no warm lights from responding vessels.

Internally, Rose did not relish boarding another ship of any kind. Still, she is far too keenly aware that they are thousands of miles off their intended destination and that if they did not receive help soon, the disastrous fate of the others, would also become their own.

Rose knew that if she let herself focus on any more of the sufferings playing out all around them, she might drown in something more deadly than the depths of the North Atlantic. Shifting her attention, she whispers in question, “th... thi... think we’ll ev ... ever see New York?” Right now, the thought of dry land itself felt like a pipedream, a fleeting, hopeless imagining. An imagining that was infinitely safer than reflecting on the fact that many of the people she had brushed shoulders with, locked eyes with, shared a laugh or smile with, or even saw milling around the various decks, would never reach the final destination. Was it selfish of her to want to fixate on something sanguine than death? Perhaps. But Rose was beyond the point of caring.

There is something about Jack’s claims that bids her to believe, dares her to dream, that this nightmare would cease with the awakening of dawn's first light. His words offer a salve to her troubled soul and she melts into it as eagerly as she does his proffered embrace.  

“You...you’re.... you’re shivering.” Rose blandly states, pointing out the obvious when her attention returns fully to Jack. She instinctively moves to shuffle more of the drier parts of her damp blankets around him and she nestles tighter against his side. While she didn’t have much warmth to share, she would gift him what she could. Feeling a renewed sense of gratitude for Jack, she breathes, “you ... you could have le... left me behind...” There is no chastisement in the shallows of her syllables but rather curiosity and relief. If he had left her, she would have surely died without his intervention but his health wouldn’t have been potentially jeopardized.