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jojikawa · 1 year ago

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Sukuna’s Vessel, Yuuji Itadori.

Your time as Sukuna’s wife was a small blip in time. Something you nearly forgot until a pink-haired boy tries to talk to you

tw// fluff, adult language, MC is Lilith! (a powerful demoness) if this does well I will make multiple parts.

masterlist

Art by icebuko

Was inspired by this scene from RWBY. dividers

You have already adjusted to your life in this world. It was hard to know if this is what you enjoyed or not but there was much less violence and a lot more excitement and love…You figured the mundane life suited you better. You became interested in the culture of Japan, you taught yourself its current traditions and you learned to be an elementary school teacher. No idea of why you were resurrected in this modern age came to your mind, but all you could do was live. Although, for years upon years, you felt like something was missing, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

Just when that feeling was beginning to fade, you met a particular boy. You stood in the spring rain with your transparent umbrella, dressed in business casual as you helped your young, toddler students cross the busy street. Silently, you desperately tried to shield the babies from the harsh rain and cold air. The children scattered, going on their way back home using the routes you taught them so that they could be fast.

“Um, excuse me…?”

It was the boy you had seen before. He was young, probably a teenager. You noticed him stalking you for a bit now. What could he have wanted from you?

His hair was an unnatural color, maybe dyed. His uniform wasn’t anything like you had recognized and on his feet were painfully red shoes that hurt your eyes. Truly the sense of style for a young boy in this age fashion.

“Yes?” You turned around to look at the boy. He was visibly nervous but you tried to comfort him with a welcoming smile. As you examined him, you got a sense of familiarity.

“Are you….(y/n)?”

You blinked for a moment. Could this have been an older sibling of one of your students?

“I am.” You replied. “Is there…something you want to speak to me about?” You tilted your head and he became increasingly restless under your watchful eyes. “Can we talk in private?” The boy asked politely. You looked down at your watch. It seemed you had time before you needed to go home to prepare your lesson for the next day of teaching.

You humored the boy. The two of you walked to a nearby park where he told you his name and his occupation. He told you why he was going to school. If what he was told was true, you should already know about curses and sorcerers. He also asked you questions.

Yuuji asked things like if you had a family, what you’ve been doing with your time, etc. But then he asked who you were and if you loved anyone.

You found it rather inappropriate that someone so young and strange to you was asking about your personal life.

Now, the two of you sat on the bench. The rain eased to a drizzle and you began to enjoy the little time you had left with the boy. “Why does who I may love matter to a boy like you? You should be into girls your own age.” You joked, closing your umbrella and leaning it against the edge of your wooden seat. Yuuji blushed at your comment and raised his hands before shouting. “N-No, it’s not like that! I was asking f-for a friend!”

“A friend?” You repeated, raising your eyebrow slightly. You couldn’t recall anyone who wouldn’t be interested in you. “Well, I need to get going.” You told him. “Dinner’s calling me and I have to grade my student’s tests.” You smiled kindly, beginning to stand before the boy suddenly stopped you. He grabbed the sleeve of your attire before uttering:

“Are you really the wife of Ryomen Sukuna?”

Your mouth opened to speak. You felt the world stop and it was like you couldn’t feel the rain on your skin anymore. That was a name you haven’t heard forever.

“Who told you that name?” Your ability to make Yuuji feel calm was soon diminishing. Yuuji didn’t reply at first. His eyes darted from you and often looked to the right as if he were in thought. He would hold his head but never made an effort to mention why he was behaving so erratically.

“I guess that means you are her.”

Your face eased. “So, I assume that you have revealed yourself to me because you plan to kill me like what happened hundreds of years ago or so?” You tilted your head before giving him a closed-eyed smile. “Huh?? Oh, N-No, of course not. My sensei doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“Then…who sent you?” You sat back down by Yuuji. The boy didn’t answer you. His gaze broke from yours. “Yeah, Yeah, I’m getting to that!” He muttered but rather loudly. The boy didn’t seem to be talking to you.

He then turned his full attention to you again. “How did you meet Sukuna?” His question was innocent but it held unimaginable weight. “First,” You raised a finger. “How do you know that name?”

Yuuji shoved his hands into his pockets. “School.” He lied…half lied.

“They’re teaching you about him at your school…? Gods…” You sighed softly. “I knew Sukuna a long time ago but my story goes beyond him. I’m much older than him, you see.” You looked down at your black pumps. It was expected of you to wear this for your job. You suddenly felt the pressure of walking in them all day and kicked them off just a bit.

“Older?”

You nodded. “I was actually the first woman. I was the first wife of Adam. You know who that is?” You broke your gaze with the ground to see that the boy was staring at you rather intently. Was he even listening? He wasn’t even blinking. “Yuuji.” You called, ripping him from his daydream.

“H-Huh? Oh, Adam? Um…” He thought for a moment before shaking his head. You smiled. “It’s okay if you don’t. It’s more of a Western tale…” Your manicured nails dug into the soft wooden chair. “Adam was a jerk.” The frown you held was small but behind it was an anger that only the Gods could fathom.

The boy’s ears perked up. “Oh, like Adam and Eve! You’re Eve!” He looked as if he had hit the lottery with a guess that good. But…

You laughed again. “No. Eve came after me. She was the more obedient wife. I’m often erased from history.” Your posture eased and you leaned your back against the bench. “Ryomen Sukuna was the only man that ever loved me. And that I loved back.” Your heart rate quickened thinking of your lover. “You humans know him as a horrible threat…which is true.”

“But I was a horrible person too. We were horrible together…my Ryomen.” You said his name so breathlessly. It was so long ago but you replayed your favorite moments with him. There was no harm in talking about Sukuna, right? He was long gone so this boy’s superiors couldn’t have been targeting you for any reason. You enjoyed pretending to be a human. This wouldn’t be a problem, right?

Yuuji didn’t say a word. He hid his eyes from you, sinking further into his jacket. Without saying much of anything, you effortlessly humanized Sukuna. It didn’t make the boy feel any less hostile toward the King of Curses but it did give him insight into what kind of person he was. He had a soft spot for at least one person. Without warning, he sat up straight. “Um…would you say you still loved him?”

Normally, you would be put off by such a question, but you were already deep in this conversation. Your eyes wandered to the people entering the park here and there. They pushed their kids in strollers and walked their dogs. The sound of the cars driving behind you was painstakingly loud as you tried to think of the past. You answered. “Yes, I do.”

Suddenly, Yuuji erupted with activity. The way he pulled his hood over his head and turned away concerned you. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” You leaned over going to rest a hand on your shoulder when you heard muffled speaking. “Yuuji—”

“I-It’s nothing! ‘Just cold, sorry!” He blurted out, causing you to recoil back. “I see…” You replied, going back into your place. “I wonder what ever happened to Ryomen.” You looked down at your watch. It was time for you to go now.

“I know where Sukuna is.”

“What?” The corner of your mouth instinctively raised into a smirk but your eyes were wide as saucers. “I didn’t peg you as a prankster but I suppose I should’ve expected it.” Your tenseness eased, before shutting your eyes and laughing to yourself. Sukuna? Here? No, that surely wasn’t true. The world would be in ruin if he were.

“I’m serious!” Yuuji then proceeded to explain to you his unique situation that involved him swallowing your lover’s fingers and, in turn, bonding them together. You still didn’t know what to believe. It almost made you angry…you somehow felt that perhaps, sorcerers were watching you, waiting to see if you’d break your masquerade as a human if they convinced you that he was alive.

You clenched the handle of your umbrella as it lay beside you. “If Sukuna is really inside of your body, then let me speak to him.” You were….half serious. You wanted so badly to just hear his voice again, even if he were saying something vulgar or pure evil. Or to know if this was all just a trick. Yuuji rubbed the nape of his neck. “I can’t really do that. Not in public, he might—”

“He won’t.” You interrupted. “I’ll make sure he won’t.”

Yuuji had no choice but to trust you. For the last day, he’s had Sukuna yelling at him so loudly and often that he wasn’t able to tune it out like always. For a moment, Yuuji stopped resisting Sukuna’s pull on him, allowing the curse to take over his body. There was a familiar set of markings that appeared on his body and face. The amount of joy, confusion, and concern that filled your body was undeniable.

Although your Ryomen Sukuna was in front of you, trapped inside the body of a boy, you felt like it was a trick. Maybe it wasn’t sorcerers casting a spell on your mind. Perhaps it was God punishing you one last time or it was Adam trying to take one last jab at you before you experienced true death.

Once you laid eyes upon Sukuna, it still looked as if Yuuji still had control. His eyes were like that of a dear in headlights while his face was full of admiration.

“Ryomen?” You called his name, causing the vessel he was in to flinch. His eyes then turned serpent-like. They were eyes you knew very well.

“It seems as though you have been resurrected.” He rested his head on his palm, those same eyes wandering your body, staring shamelessly at your chest area and thighs. “But you can never be too sure. How do I know you’re real?” He fidgeted more in his seat—more than Yuuji actually. He tapped his foot on the ground, drummed his fingers on his leg, and even sank his nails into his jawline out of anticipation.

The question caused you to blink. “You’re asking me if I’m real—?”

“Hurry. You have—” His gaze shifted downward for a brief moment before it went back to you. “—less than 60 seconds. If you can’t answer me, I’ll kill you and be done with it. Tell me what I said to you the first time we met. Only I and the real (y/n) know of this.”

Your mouth curled into a pleasant smile. You turned your hips towards him. “I’m not scared of a little monster like you.” You locked eyes with him. “When I met Ryomen, the first words to me were ‘You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’ And I said, ‘I think the Gods would disagree.’ He laughed in a way I would never forget before telling me: ‘Give me a son and I’ll give you the world.’”

Sukuna was unmoving. His antics completely stopped and he listened. So silent…it was unlike him. You continued.

“I was devastated when he asked that of me. I said ‘I can not have a child. My womb is corrupt.’ And so he vowed to make—”

“Shit, it really is you.” The words pour out of his mouth like a waterfall. “It’s been so long. I thought I would never see you again. What are you doing living a mundane life with mortal scum?!” He cursed and threw out his insults, not even caring about the poor humans who walked by and were forced to listen to him. You smiled attractively. “I kinda like this ‘scum’” You replied, mimicking his voice so well you sounded like a female version of him.

“What happened to your body? Why are you burrowed away inside of a child?” Your head tilted with curiosity. His vessel was much smaller than his original although, it was nice seeing what he’d be like as more of a man human and less of a monster.

Sukuna parroted the same thing Yuuji did, confirming the truth. The boy ate his finger.

“…but once I return to full power, I’ll make the Gods pay for what they did to you.” He wanted nothing more than to just reach out and touch you. It’s been so long since he’s seen you…

…since he’s heard your voice.

Hundreds and hundreds of years of his consciousness lingered beyond his execution and his only thought was you. Even then, aspects of you had faded in his memory. Where were your horns and claws? Did you even have either of those? You had a sword too? No? Oh, he couldn’t remember but one thing that did stick with him was your presence. Sukuna could track you like a bloodhound and find you at every corner of the earth.

“The Gods wouldn’t care about you, Ryo.” A dry laugh left your lips at his awestruck face. “They don’t even care about me…but, my ex-husband Adam—will return. You’ll be good to me and kill him, right?” Your sweet smile turned into a smirk, your eyes turned warm and filled with lust. Sukuna picked up on your subtle cues, his mouth going from slightly agape to a twisted, toothy grin. “I’ll bring you his head, I swear!”

“Hm.” Your eyes lit up with enthusiasm. You couldn’t help but rest your palm on his cheek. Yuuji’s skin was much smoother and softer than Sukuna’s monstrous features. “…and if you objectify me again, I’ll obliterate you.” Your manicured nails grazed his skin, threatening to pierce the vessel at any moment.

Sukuna was confused—not afraid. He hasn’t wronged you so why are you threatening him? It was then that he noticed your eyes. They glowed red.

That’s right, you were rather observant. His hungry eyes were already sexualizing in every way possible.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Sukuna replied, his wide demonic grin returning to his soft features. “But ya know, if you want, you can have me right now.”

Your eyes softened before you exhaled. “In that body?” You chuckled. “Maybe when it matures a little.” Your words made his smile fade and his nose scrunch up in disgust. “Who cares how old this vessel is?! It’s ME!”

“And you’re a bit short for my liking.” You fake pouted before letting go of his face. Upon instinct, he rubbed the claw markings you left behind. “I’m still taller than your small ass. You women are so picky with your size kinks.” he spat, rolling his eyes. “Next, you’ll ask me to put the world in your hands. And what do you bring to the table, huh?”

“Myself.” You replied before placing an innocent kiss on his cheek.

“Then, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stick around.”

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #ryomen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen headcanons #Sukuna x demon reader #female reader #reader insert #fluff

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giuliettagaltieri · 1 year ago

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Garden of Uncertainties

Pairing: Husband!Gojō x Wife!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The day Gojō Satoru becomes a married man.

Warning: angst, arranged marriage, age gap, implied jujutsu society stigma

Word Count: 924

4 of 9

The day you marry Gojō Satoru was like any other day.

It was the definition of a Sunday morning, quiet, peaceful, and almost like a secret between the two of you.

One might imagine the day the strongest sorcerer would get married to be the grandest day every living man would ever see in their lifetime.

But it was quite the opposite.

The number of guests who witnessed your marriage can be counted with just two hands. The decorations were subdued, yet your eyes did not miss the diamonds that glittered your kanzashi. A gift from the family you are to be wedded to.

You stand there next to Gojō, trying to be as still as you can. You can hear every word the minister says and so is every song the birds sing outside the church, or every whistle of the breeze.

It was calm.

And the small smile on your husband to be’s lips added to the serenity the day has brought you.

You stood so close to him, but it barely felt close enough. Almost cursing the distance between you. You wonder if he felt the same.

Afterall, Gojō Satoru did not utter a single word to you the moment you stepped inside the doors of the church. He stood waiting at the end of the aisle, offering a calming smile to ease your nerves, receiving your gloved hand as you reached him, but that was it.

Knowing Gojō all your life made you aware of how difficult he is to read at times.

And no matter how hard you want to believe that he is glad to stand there next to you to be wedded, no assurance from him means that you cannot let your guard down.

With that said, bile started to rise to your throat but you squeezed your eyes shut to calm your nerves.

Nobody else can upset you better than yourself.

“Y/N.” His soft whisper snapped you out of your thoughts.

You look up to him, your eyes wide in confusion, lips slightly parted, it makes his eyes linger on them for a moment.

“The uh…” Gojō nearly snickers. “The minister asked if you would take me as your lawfully wedded husband.”

Oh.

Oh!

“I do.” You say quickly, turning to the already smiling minister.

Gojō playfully lets out a deep sigh of relief, making the witnesses behind you laugh at his antics.

The minister asks the same question to Gojō and he responds a split second later. Your worries quell the tiniest bit.

More words were uttered by the minister and you get lost in your thoughts once more.

Gojō has a small smile playing on his lips as he listens. His eyes stealing quick glances at the dazed look on your face.

As he expects, you don’t hear the declaration of the minister, flinching at the loud applause behind you as confusion fills your eyes once more.

And in a quick impulse, Gojō Satoru swoops in to capture your lips on his.

His hooded eyes met yours just before you melted against him, your eyes fluttering to a close. And the cheers get louder.

Warmth fills your chest, almost overpowering the doubts.

Almost.

Gojō ends the kiss with his eyes shrouded with a look that once again summoned the uncertainties to your chest.

But he gives you the smallest smile of assurance.

“Calm yourself, my love.” He whispers as he caresses your cheek. And then he has your hand in his and a grin finds itself on his lips as he faces the small crowd.

You did as he told you and you smiled too.

It is your wedding day.

You have no business feeling miserable.

The banquet that followed was livelier.

Guests from the other clans and your husband’s acquaintances are all present.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling at people all afternoon.

There were speeches from elders. Some with lessons you will cherish forever, some with warnings hidden behind fragrant words.

Naoya Zen’in, now tipsy, kept coming back to your table, saying over and over that he could have sworn he had been married to you before. Until Gojō led him away. You blanch after having caught the end of their conversation, mostly gruesome threats from your husband.

The sun was almost setting in the distance and you cannot quite come to a conclusion of how exactly you are feeling.

As you sit next to your newly wedded husband in his car, you nibble on your lips as you watch the pavement blankly.

“Have you come to regret your decision to meet me at the altar?” His voice was playful but even so probing.

You let out a small exhale and mustered a smile as you faced him.

“No, of course not.” You laugh lightly and Gojō returns your smile but the two of you face the road a second later. Your smiles are gone.

The bliss brought on by the wedding was slowly fading, it seems.

You wanted to talk more with him. To know him better. But it felt wrong to break the silence.

Apparently, Gojō felt the same way as he no longer spoke, but instead, he put his hand atop your thigh and squeezed gently. A show of affection, destroying any physical boundaries you previously had, solidifying the fact that you are now married and everything is about to change between you.

In response, you place a hand over his, telling him that you are willing to take the first steps with him into this voyage you embarked on.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

#gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojō satoru #arranged marriage #jujutsu kaisen #husband gojo #gojo satoru angst #gojo fluff #where the blue roses grow #gojo series

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000-pawz · 9 months ago

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" fantasy romance tropes " bnd series masterlist °｡⋆⸜ 🪽♡🪄

coming soon!

a/n: i was listening to dawn in the adan by ichiko aoba and got inspired to start a series! i barely see any fantasy stuff on here and i'm a big lover of it so here this is :3 <3 (p.s. there won't be an order to posting! it'll be random >3<) i tried to put my own spin on these tropes, so i hope you guys look forward to them! <3

"bloom for me" - sungho x reader ˚ ⋆｡˚

angel sungho x human!reader | modern-day au, forbidden love, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

"sungho has been assigned to be your guardian angel, to look after you from afar, and to make sure you stay out of harm's way. the only rules? don't get too close and never interfere with true fate. but when you find yourself in a dark place, unsure of whether life is truly worth living, sungho finds himself unable to simply sit around and watch you fall apart. he wants to show you the light; even if he must sacrifice everything he has even known for it."

"night life stars" - riwoo x reader ˚ ⋆｡˚

elf!riwoo x human!reader | old fantasy au, forbidden love, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, strangers to lovers

"growing up, you've always been told to never pass the flower field in the woods and to stay far away from elf territory because everyone knows that elves are the most violent creatures in the forest. one summer, a drought spreads throughout your village, and while fetching water from a stream in the woods for your family, you end up slipping and hitting your head on a rock. when you finally wake up, your eyes immediately lock on to a pair of glimmering green ones. eyes that belong to the enemy itself."

"safest sounds"- jaehyun x reader ˚ ⋆｡˚

hybrid!jaehyun x human!reader | modern-day au, hybrids & humans, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, strangers to lovers, living together

"after another tiring day at work, you're walking back to your apartment when you hear soft cries coming from an alleyway. with your undeniable curiosity, you go to find the source of sound—and much to your surprise, you find an abandoned hybrid curled up in a ball, shivering from the cold. with a promise to take him to a shelter when the sun rises, you let him come home with you so he can eat and have a warm place to sleep for the night. in the morning, though, you discover that this hybrid has already claimed you as his owner."

"seneca" - taesan x reader ˚ ⋆｡˚

magic!taesan x non-magic!reader | modern-day magic, rivals to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort

"han taesan. the bane of your existence. he's been your academic rival at your boarding school ever since you transferred a few years ago, and you have despised him ever since. on your way home one day, you end up encountering some people looking for trouble. in the blink of an eye, taesan is there to help you get away, but something is off. might it be his glowing hands and eyes? no, no, no. you must only be imagining things... but taesan's threat to keep everything a secret says otherwise."

"dance on the moon" - leehan x reader ˚ ⋆｡˚

mermaid!leehan x human!reader | pirate au, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, hidden love

"there's nothing more that you hate than working as a maid on this deck. your captain and crew are worse than scum and you miss home every day, but you must do as they say if you want to survive. one stormy night, the crew catches a mermaid in their net while in the pits of the sea and your captain declares to sell him on the market as soon as they reach land. but when you become tasked to watch over the poor mermaid every night, you end up promising to help him escape back to his home. maybe he could find a way to help you escape too."

"seek for warmth" - woonhak x reader ˚ ⋆｡˚

vampire!woonhak x vampire!reader | vampire au, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

"woonhak never asked to be a vampire; he never wanted to live a life he didn't choose and be cursed to live forever. thankfully, there's another fledgling in the coven who sees the light still shining in his undead eyes. you're there with him through the insatiable hunger and the yearning for a past he never had the chance to live, holding his hand through it all. eventually, he begins to find solace in your warmth despite his fingers being cold to the touch."

masterlist

#000 pawz ⋆˚🐾˖°#000 pawz masterlist! ⋆˚ฅ ฅ˖°#boynextdoor #boynextdoor fluff #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor x reader #bnd #sungho x reader #sungho imagines #riwoo x reader #riwoo imagines #myung jaehyun x reader #myung jaehyun imagines #woonhak x reader #woonhak imagines #<3

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fairdale · 10 months ago

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to william herondale, with love

you have two options when it comes about will.

you can choose to stay in the surface, to think of him as a sassy, sarcastic, superficial and selfish man who doesn't give a shit about anything nor anyone except for jem, who makes insensitive jokes and doesn't care if he hurts people.

or you can choose to know him. the little parts of him that make him wonderful, sweet, delicate and caring. and, oh, how much love will fill your heart when you realise how much he deserves to be loved.

and how much he craves it.

will is sarcastic, yes. he's funny, he pulls off jokes like it's nothing, he makes people laugh, he sings the demon pox song and makes everyone think he's a little crazy.

but he's also the kid who left his family too young because he thought he was cursed and he loved them too much.

he's also the kid who thought no one could ever love him anymore.

he's also the kid who felt terribly lonely after leaving his family.

he's also the kid who wanted jem to be his parabatai so badly he didn't care he was sick and that he would leave him too soon.

he's also the kid who didn't want people too close to him because he loved them and didn't want anything bad to happen to them. jem was different. it wasn't just because he was sick, it's because he was jem. because jem saw who he truly was when no one else did. his heart beat because jem's did as well.

he's also the man who loved to read. the man whose name will still be dancing in the walls of the library centuries later. the man who found a safe place between books.

he's also the man who was so in love with tessa he tried to break the curse after years of living like that, because his love was so pure, so deep, so real, he had to do something.

he's also the man who put his hands into the fire to save jem's yin fen, because he couldn't imagine a life without him. because he didn't want a life without him.

he's also the man who was desperately in love with tessa, but made himself scarce because he couldn't put his own happiness over tessa and jem's. because he saw how good they were to each other.

he's also the man who held jessamine in his arms when she died too young.

he's also the man who let jem go when he told him he didn't want to live like that anymore even though it would forever break him and he would take a part of his soul with him.

he's also the man who went to save tessa even when he felt his heart getting carved out of his chest when jem died.

he's also the man who learned how to have his sister next to him again, the man who went back to his parents even if he were terrified.

he's also the man who made sure tessa never doubted for a second that he was devoted to her.

he's also the man who travelled the world with her and wrote her letters to show his love.

he's also the man who made sure to love his children loudly, to tell them he was proud of them and that they weren't monsters.

he's also the man who fought against injustices in the clave.

he was also the man who died surrounded by his loved ones (because he was, in fact, so loved).

he was also the man watching jem and tessa's wedding dream since the other side of the river, being happy for them.

will was the man with a heart so big he didn't know what to do with all the love he held in it.

when someone asks me, but why do you love him so much? well, how can you not? how, when he tried to love so quietly but he was screaming, when he was trying not to care but he cared more than anyone.

will herondale was, is and forever will be the character i hold closest to my heart, the character who made me laugh, cry and love the most.

"he lies consistently. he always invents the story that will make him look the worst."

"but it was there, in the touch of his hand on her cheek, in the softness of his voice, in his eyes when he looked at her. it was the way she had always dreamed a boy would look at her. but she never dreamed up someone as beautiful as will, not in all her imaginings."

"all my life, since i came to the institute, you were the mirror of my soul. i saw the good in me in you. in your eyes alone i found grace. when you are gone from me, who will see me like that?"

"against his own will, almost, will felt himself understanding; he would have done anything, he thought, told any lie, taken any risk, to make tessa love him. he would have done— almost anything. he would not betray jem for it. that was the one thing he would not do."

"don’t you see, will? you’re a person like me. you are like me. you say the things i think but never say out loud. you read the books i read. you love the poetry i love. you make me laugh with your ridiculous songs and the way you see the truth of everything. "

"when she tilted her head up and brushed his lips with hers, he cupped her face in his hands. so many years, he thought, and each kiss was new as the break of day."

"wo men shi sheng si ji jiao," said will, and he saw jem’s eyes widen, fractionally, and the spark of amusement inside them. "go in peace, james carstairs."

"and in the shadows they’d whispered, reminding each other of the stories only they knew. of the girl who had hit over the head with a water jug the boy who had come to rescue her, and how he had fallen in love with her in that instant."

"she remembered when will had died, her agony, the long nights alone, reaching across the bed every morning when she woke up, for years expecting to find him there, and only slowly growing accustomed to the fact that side of the bed would always be empty."

"i don’t know how to live in the world as a shadowhunter without will. i don’t think I even want to. i am still a parabatai, but my other half is gone. if I were to go to some Institute and ask them to take me in, i would never forget that. i would never feel whole."

"i miss you. we miss you. someday, we'll all be together. not too soon, my angel tessa. i can wait."

...

"my name is herondale," the boy said cheerfully. "william herondale, but everyone calls me will."

#tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #shadowhunters #tid #tlh #will herondale #jem carstairs #tessa gray #i love will with all my heart you don't understand #i cried while writing this #don't judge me ok #herongraystairs #the infernal devices #the last hours

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gardenlasagna · 2 years ago

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Its honestly eda's character development that really hits me now that the finale's over. After Eda got the curse, her entire life changed. She was already doing poorly fitting in at hexside, and then that just made things worse. When raine came into her life, she gradually began to love them, but she eventually pushed them away completely because of her curse. She didn't want to hurt them so she kept her secret from them, and they eventually broke up with her because of this. This left her alone, after she pushed both her father and mother away later in life and her sister joined the emperor's coven instead of her. She ended up just living by herself. This is where King and Luz came in.

With Luz just kinda being thrown into her life, she wasn't too thrilled about teaching her and did ask for something in return. But as time went on Eda became sort of a mother to Luz, and their bond grew stronger and stronger, until eventually Eda finally broke her curse while reuniting with her sister.

In Eda's requiem, she goes through a checklist including things she has do do for Luz and King, and says "You've changed, Owl Lady." She then smiles and picks up a photo of them and says, "It's worth it." This to me shows just how much she's grown from the beginning of the series, when she was tired, hesitant to teach luz, and still being controlled by her curse. She found a family in Luz and King and Lilith, and soon after reconnected with Raine, who reminded her, "you can't run from your fears forever, which is why you gotta jump on them." Just like she said to them when they were younger playing music together. She also reconciled with both her parents, and whens he finally talks to her father she still doesn't believe she deserves forgiveness for something the owl beast did, but he tells her to let the past stay in the past. When she finally defeats the owl beast, this is when she realizes that its not a part of her, its a curse and she can control it.

This all comes together at the end of the show, when we see that Eda is now the headmaster of The University of Wild Magic, and living happily with Raine. Even through everything, all of the battles she fought when everyone told her she was wrong, and all the friends and family she assumed wouldn't forgive her, she finally found peace.

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sebsallowapologist · 2 years ago

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Bathtub

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

Rated: M - 18+

Warnings: naked mc, making up after a fight, post Hogwarts, auror Sebastian, curse breaker mc, comfort, fluff, female body worship

After a horrible fight about MC risking her life at her job Sebastian makes it up to her with a little bit of pampering.

I apparate outside of the small home I share with my husband in the small Hamlet of Feldcroft.

The light was on, so I knew he was awake. Fuck, he’d be waiting up for me after our knock down drag out fight this morning. All that work staying late at the office to avoid him for nothing.

Since the Ranrok fell when I had been in school, the hamlet finally came back to life, new families moved in bringing children, new businesses and a lively hood that Sebastian said he hadn’t seen since he was a child. When the two of us graduated and got engaged it only made sense to move back to the small town.

It had been over six years of married bliss. Sebastian fixed up the house and expanded it, adding rooms for Anne or Ominis to visit should they want to. He even put up with me when I took absolutely forever redoing the kitchen, spending hours letting me change the cabinet color.

The married bliss has been interrupted this morning, after Sebastian brought up his distaste for my job for the millionth time. I was a curse breaker, he was an auror. They were both exciting, but sometimes dangerous jobs but he was keen to cut yours down any chance he took. I loved my job, loved helping people and he just seemed to think it was a fun little hobby.

It all came to a head this morning when he simply told me the work you did wasn’t WORTH it. I’d come home late again, but he’d come home late often for work.

It would have hurt less if he had slapped me. After he said that I had gotten up from bed, threw on the first thing I could find and spit out that I was going to your worthless job, and he shouldn’t wait up for you that night.

That was about 19 hours ago, and now here I am, standing outside your home, too nervous to apparate directly into your living room.

The nurse who worked at my office had done a fine time patching me up after the mission had gone somewhat sideways, but there I was again - coming home banged up. It was just going to give Sebastian fuel for his stupid argument.

Before I could gather your nerve the front door to the cottage opened, your husband backlit.

He was still wearing the clothes from his office, but his cloak was gone. His shirt sleeves rolled up to rest right above his elbows.

“Come here, love.” He says and gestures for me to come to the house. I sigh and give in, pushing my anxiety aside as I limp into my home.

When I reach Sebastian I’m ready for the lecture to begin, but he simply pushes my hair behind my ear, gently cups my cheek and gives me the softest kiss I’ve ever had. He pulls back, not before giving me a few extra pecks.

Sebastian takes my limp hand and leads me to the bathroom connected to our bathroom. The tub at the back of the room was steaming, a layer of bubbles peaking out over the edge of the porcelain.

Two candle sticks sat on either side of the tub, basking the dark space in a warm glow. Fresh cut flowers from the garden sat in a beautiful vase on the stool next to the white clawfoot tub.

Sebastian looks proud of himself as you take the room in, “Seb.” You whisper. “This is... beyond.”

He squeezes my hand and drags me toward the center of the room. “I have to apologize.” He sighs, his hands reaching for the lapel of my coat, helping me slide it off my shoulders. Neither one of us makes a move to catch it s it falls to the ground.

“It wasn’t fair of me.” He continues. “To not take your job as seriously as I take mine.” He sighs, lifting my chin up so our eyes meet. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been together, my heart races as soon as he looks at me like that. Like I’m the only thing worth being soft for.

I sigh and he starts slowly, carefully undoing the buttons on the front of my button up shirt. “To me, my job is worth risking my life for. That’s easy.” He sighs, sliding my shirt off my shoulders, letting it fall to join my coat on the ground.

“But when you risk your life.” He sighs. “For as noble as a reason can be- It’s impossible that your life is worth risking for anything. Your life is the most important thing in my world.”

He easily pops the button of my pants off and helps me step out of them. He makes quick work of my undergarments, and when I’m fully naked he takes my hand and helps me into the bath, still kept warm by his magic.

I sink into the water and moan, the heat helping to relax all the well worn muscles. I rest my head on the side of the tub and look up at the man I love. “Do you understand?” Sebastian asks. “It’s not that your job isnt important. It’s just that to me- you’re more important.”

I turn my head to stare up at the ceiling for a second before closing my eyes. “I think you’re going to have to get over that.”

Sebastian drags over the chair thats next to my vanity, sitting down next to the tub. “And I’m working on that, but you’ll forgive me if it takes me a while to get used to it?” His hand laces through my hair, tugging ever so slightly at the root. I hum in satisfaction and nod, “I think I can give you a bit of grace.”

“Thank you, my love.” He sighs and keeps petting my hair, kissing my forehead every now and then as I relaxed in the tub.

When I make a move to get out of the tub he stands up, holding out his hand to step out of the tub. The water slides down my naked body, droplets running in the valley between my breasts.

Sebastian slowly works his way down my body kissing each bruise, nick, scratch that littered my skin. When he was done kissing every mark he moves his mouth back to my lips, more firm with his kisses now. “I mean how could I not think you are the most important thing in the world.”

He starts at my collarbones skimming his nose down my neck. My husbands hands run over my breasts his fingers pinching my nipples lightly. “Bad boy.” I smile, bringing his face up to meet mine.

“I’m apologizing.” He explains, going back to his assault on my neck.

And so Sebastian apologized.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #gareth weasley #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow fanfiction

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sunnie-angel · 25 days ago

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The Hollow Months

conrad oxford x reader summary: loss has changed the trajectory of your life in ways you are still only beginning to understand, but forces outside of your control will not allow you to grieve forever a complete (mostly) canon compliant rewrite of the king's man (no knowledge of the movie is necessary to read) tags: period misogyny, grief, swearing, descriptions of violence, unresolved sexual tension, angst rating: mature | wc: 8.3k a/n: i have so much research on random things that only appear in a sentence or two (including a very badly hand-drawn family tree of the oxfords). george remains my favourite character to write. @batchilla is the best beta reader ever and any mistakes are mine part 4 | series masterlist | ao3

The king attends Conrad's funeral. A relative not so far removed as to not deserve the honour, but not so well loved as to have earned the privilege in life. Rippled murmurs accompany the man's entrance but you sit, unmoved, in the church pew. Too late, whispers a voice in your head. It sounds suspiciously like Conrad's.

The service is beautiful. Beautiful but terrible. Conrad's father speaks, rages really. My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: That it is sweet and proper to die for one's country.His anger is contagious, dripping cold rage like poison into your ears. Not even a year ago you sat in this same church, in the same mourning clothes, only now you are not seated up front with the family. You should be.

You do not weep this time. All of your tears have already been spent. There is no need for the lace edged handkerchief pressed into your hand with a worried look by your mother's lady maid this morning. It simply gathers more wrinkles in your loosely clutched fists. There is no burial. What is left of him has already been laid to rest in France.

A shell, Polly had told you, tall backed and watery eyed. He went back to save one of his wounded men. He didn't— he didn't make it back but Lance Corporal Reid did.

How badly did it hurt, you wonder. A shell, an explosive tearing his body apart at the seams, scattering him into pieces. Was it quick? You press your fingers into your shoulder, remembering the aching concussive force of the rifle’s kickback, Conrad’s smiling face praising you for a job well done. That same force tearing inwards, shattering bone and rending the soft flesh of his smile in two.

The idiot had gotten the Victoria Cross. Had made everyone so proud, you think to yourself wryly. What a barren comfort it is. It very nearly touches your shroud wrapped husk of a heart.

Ever since Polly had torn up the world as you knew it by the roots with a single sentence, a cold, cottony detachment had wrapped its way around you. Sound travels from a great distance to reach your ears. Your body moves on it's own, marionnetted by a force of will you do not understand nor have the interest to examine further. Food is tasteless. Shovelled into your mouth at the behest of your mother's needling. Numbness shrouds you from the world so much that all is missing is a coffin of your own. A ghost that doesn't understand how it's still living.

Time, so much, time. Stretching out in front of you in an endless road that you must walk alone now. Years for you to finish growing up, grow old while Georgie and Conrad never see twenty. Grass will grow thick over the graves they aren't in. Your back will bow, hairs turn to gray, hands grow weak and wrinkled while they'll be cursed to eternal youth. After a decade or five, will you even remember their faces properly? Their voices? Aren't you blessed to have so much fucking time?

It is a gift you do not want and so you squander it. Allow the days to run into each other in a haze of curious detachment and listless misery. Day runs into night into dawn into evening. It is a curious, shadowy realm you find yourself in, one where reality does not press down like shattering glass for every stolen inhale.

You'll miss him when he's gone, like there's no air but you're still breathing.

Those moments, the ones where reality lies thin, that's when you dream. Awful, wonderful dreams where the figures lurking at the corners of your vision aren't just your wishful projections but real. Dead, your boys are more alive than you are still living. The laughter isn't only in your head but ringing through empty rooms, the steady presence at your side not the bastard child of memory and delusion but physically there.

Living like this, the ghosts more real than the people fussing over you, is a heady dangerous thing. You know this, and yet you can't let them go. You speak and you can hear their responses, know the exact phrases they'd say. It's not enough. Replaying the same conversations, imagining words that never came out of their mouths, it grows to ring hollow. Insubstantial. Their ghosts growing into the pale shades of your own wants, not the men they were. Should still be. Aren't.

You need something real. Tangible. Leftover evidence that they existed outside of the foggy mists of your grief. That once there was laughter. Your hand rests on the door knob of Georgie's room. The door doesn't open.

Is it bravery or just the desire to poke at an open wound to savour the pain as proof of existence that sends you to the Oxford estate? You have no answer. It remains though that into the first flush of spring you step, trembling hands folded tight.

The sun is blinding. It shouldn't be. It should have gone grey and dull and weak the same way your world has been drained of all vitality. The journey takes too long and yet not long enough because far too soon Shola is opening the door to you and Polly is unlocking the door to Conrad's room.

Time has frozen here. The months, weeks, minutes do not unspool at a breakneck pace here the way they do for you, carrying you off in the current. It feels like the most awful invasion of his privacy to be here now when you had never been allowed in during his short life but here you are. Polly had taken one look at the gaunt hollows of your eyes, your picked at hangnails and cracked lips and sighed before bringing you here. None of your ghosts follow you here, to this place. To this room, echoing mausoleum like.

Not a speck of dust dares mar the space and yet it feels ready, waiting for its occupant to one day return. A perfect, crystalline moment that will never come. The clocks will never tick forward in this room. Fresh flowers might be exchanged for the dying ones on the desk, a perfect, constant loop. The wicker chaise will never have its new damask cushions creased by the weight of its inhabitant. Light from the windows will never fade the print of the pale green wallpaper because the curtains will never be thrown open again.

Nearly dizzy with the thought of Conrad's last days preserved in the amber stillness of the room, you stagger to the window. Your fingers dig into the painted white lip as you steady yourself, the soft white fabric bunching thick in your fists momentarily before you are blinded by the light. It cuts through the gloom, a silent inhale at the reminder of the world beyond. You pant as though the light exertion was something monumental. It feels like it was.

Under the new light, the thick air of melancholy is alchemized into something desperately wistful, or perhaps that is merely the projection of your own feelings onto the canvas of the room. What you had before taken for a rumpled cushion on the chaise is revealed to be a stuffed bear. A few tentative strides, and then gingerly you are picking it up. It's velveteen nose is rubbed nearly bare and one of it's arms hangs rather awkwardly but it is loved, so clearly well loved. The worn fabric under your palms sends a dull pang of something through your chest, the cotton wool of your own grief too thick for you to identify the emotion. With reverence, you place the toy exactly as it had been left by its owner.

Eyes wandering to the side table, you reach next for the small picture frame settled upon it. The metal of the tintype is cool to the touch. A woman, her dark hair piled high on her head cradles a swaddled baby in her arms. She looks at the child with such palpable devotion that not even the paintings of the apostles decorating the local church can compare. This must be Emily, you think, ghosting a finger over the image of her gentle face. And Conrad. Grief has long been a resident of this house.

Next to the picture's pride of place is a carved ivory box, scrimshaw work carved so delicately it seems unnatural. Inside the box lies a rope of pearls, the same as the ones worn by the woman in the photo. Did Conrad do this too? Go looking for some trace of a life torn away to cling to, even as time and distance buffeted the memories of them around until they became worn down into nothingness? With a firm click, the lid of the box closes shut on that train of thought.

The bed covers are still rumpled. With a tentative hand you trace the wrinkled sheets, long gone cold from the warm body that made them. The irritatingly bright sun has found it's way in here too. Beams trace the books on the nightstand and so you give in to the urge to run your fingers over the pages that once knew his touch. Treasure Island, The Secret Garden, The Scarlet Pimpernel. Your fingers come to a stop on a familiar spine. The Collected Works of Propertius. There is no air in the room to breathe.

Fingers clenching spasmodically, you work up the courage to lift the book out from underneath the pile. Caress the worn clothbound cover, the embossed letters so familiar to you. You lift up the cover and your knees collapse from underneath you, only the edge of the bed saving you. There, in a hand so familiar to you from years of passing notes, is Conrad's name etched below yours.

Your hand goes to your mouth to muffle your gasp tears pricking hot and insistent at your eyes. Hands shaking, your world narrows down to the book in front of you as frantically you flip to the next page looking for more—

"What do you think you're doing?" The words crack through the air like a whip, soft and hurting.

Mouth dry, you nearly lose your grip on the book. Nearly.

Conrad's father stands in the doorway, knuckles white around the wooden frame. He is haggard, eyes bloodshot and scruff growing unevenly around his chin. There are suspicious stains on his smoking jacket. The Duke of Oxford is the very picture of unfettered grief.

"I'm sorry I— I was simply looking for a keepsake," you mumble, voice thin from disuse. Ghosts don't need words to be said aloud to hear them, after all. "I'll leave you in peace."

Book clutched to your chest, you move to brush past the haggard man. Whatever is left for you to discover of Conrad, his thoughts and unsaid words, that is a private bitter joy to swallow. Faster than you can follow, a hand reaches out and grasps at the book, your whole body rocking to a halt.

"Leave it," the Duke says. You tug on the book.

"No," you answer crossly. You tug again.

With a strength you did not think the wiry man possessed, the Duke attempts to wrestle the book out of your hands. You refuse to let him.

"I said leave it," he barks, more harshly this time. "It belonged to— to him and I will not have thieves take any more of him from me!"

"It's mine!" you cry, wrenching away with a gasp. Fingers scrabbling you open it up to the first page. "It was mine first—" your voice comes out a plaintive cry "—mine then his for only safe keeping."

The Duke pauses, then reaches for the book again, catching hold of the cover. Desperate you pull back, locked in a childish game of tug of war with one of the most distinguished peers of the realm. You feel the binding start to give.

"Stop! Stop it!" you shriek at him, tears blurring your vision. "Stop it will—"

A letter falls from the pages. Shocked, the Duke's hold weakens and with a cry you wrest the book from him. He is not quite fast enough to hide the sender's name, scribbled on the back of the envelope, from you.

"That's my brother's letter," you murmur, slack-jawed and awed.

"And that is my son's book," he replies. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he seems to arrive at a decision. "Come. I need a drink for this."

He takes off down the hallway, the letter still in his hand, his stumbling gait clearly the result of an obviously early start with the whisky bottle. The hard corners of the book dig into your chest, the cotton wool keeping the world at bay fraying under the pressures. You follow him.

The door to the Duke's study is ajar and the man has already knocked back a glass, the smell of the liquor wafting off of him. He pours another. Vaguely you remember seeing the same bottle in your own father's study, his murmured words about savouring only a few fingers of the expensive alcohol. The Duke does not savour. He only puts down the full tumbler long enough to careless tear the envelope open before settling back into his seat and taking a long draught.

He begins to read.

"Dear Brother,"

You cave and pour yourself your own drink, just as full as his. The first gulp burns as it slides down your throat, the first thing you've actually tasted in weeks. He clears his throat and starts again.

"Dear Brother,

There! I bet that got your attention didn't it? "Oh but George," you say, "we're not related at all!" To which I will reply, "Not yet we aren't!" Which I am sure clears up very little for you, for as much as I love you (like a brother! with the exception of the rhubarb custard incident which my darling little sister will NOT be hearing about), you can be quite blind to the obvious even when it has been staring you in the face. For years."

You choke out a laugh. It's Georgie, Georgie's voice clear as a bell. The Duke's slurred pronunciation does not hide your brother's dry wit or teasing tone, his voice blurring with the one that echoes at the edge of your sleep and through all of your memories.

"So. To help drag you into the light, I am going to be honest with you. Brutally and completely. I was not honest with Harry about many things before he died, and that will forever be to my regret. I do not want you to have that same regret.

Many months ago now, I gave you my blessing for something. Now, whatever you thought it was I was giving you my blessing for, I have no idea since you never actually did the thing I told you to do. I am going to plainly and clearly tell it to you now: I give you my blessing to marry my sister."

The alcohol burns as it's forced through your nose. You heave and hack through your surprise, the Duke pausing to turn a blearily drunken eye to your direction. He does not offer you help and you could not stand to be touched in this moment anyway.

"Now, I'm sure you're quite shocked by this!" the Duke continues. "But George, you say, still in denial. I haven't shown any interest in her, how can you immediately leap to marriage? To which I say, oh yes you have."

You stare pointedly at the empty fireplace grate, the weight of the Duke's stare heavy on your face. You take another drink and feel it finally start to take affect.

"You have been in love with my sister since at least you were 14. I'm fairly certain it was much, much earlier but I was away at school and you blasted fools never would explain half of your little anecdotes or private jokes and so I shall simply have to speculate in vain. At the very least I know you loved her in some measure when you lied for her about falling from the tree at 12 (yes, she did tell me about it)."

Tears fall in heavy, steady streams from your eyes. They splash onto the one hand still clutching the book to your chest, burning hot. Your glass is empty. You stand and pour yourself another one. The Duke thrusts out a hand with his own empty glass and you fill it too.

"I know that what you feel for her is not the simple affection you have for me for an endless list of reasons but I have a limited amount of paper and so I shall be brief. Whenever she walks into a room, your eyes immediately go to her. You are driven most often and most intensely to laughter by her (though I shall always contend that I am by far the more amusing sibling). You match her machinations with aplomb and mischief. You care about her enough to know her well. You have never met her wit and intelligence with anything but enthusiasm and interest. Where a lesser man might grow resentful for not being thought the smartest in the room, you meet her with excitement. You notice her little habits and mannerisms and fuss when you notice a change in their patterns. You wish for her happiness constantly and you go to great lengths to assure it. You — and I shudder to think on this too long — are deeply affected by her presence and attentions.

You idiot. You fool. Conrad Oxford you are deeply and irrevocably in love with my sister and it is high time you realized it. TELL HER.

If she writes me one more time in tears lamenting how loving you pains her, brotherly affection be damned I shall have to knock your block off. Please see that it doesn't come to that. If this war has taught me anything, it is that life is too short and fleeting to waste time pretending love does not exist where it so clearly does. Love her well for me won't you?

Your future brother,

George d'Orcy

P. S. Please only name your first daughter after me as two Georges will simply be confusing."

You weep. Openly. For the first time since Conrad had died, you cry, Georgie's words having cut you open. Filleted and wriggling around in the rotting remains of the woollen indifference that had kept you whole.

"I don't— but Georgie said— he said—" the words are garbled, strangled noises, not true speech at all.

"Is it true?" Conrad's father asks. "Did he love you?"

"I don't— I don't know!" you wail, cut crystal glass tumbling from your hand to roll on the carpet. You clutch at the book, the fine weave of the cloth embossing itself into your skin. "Georgie— Georgie said he was going to— to write to him and if Conrad didn't— didn't feel the same he wasn't to say anything so we could keep on being friends. Only— only Georgie never wrote that and— and Conrad never read it. I don't know."

A tear drips onto the back of your hand, rolling off too quickly for you to catch it before it damps the worn edges of the book. Scrabbling through your pockets you locate your handkerchief and try to stem the tide. The embroidered initials catch under the pads of your fingers. C.O. A kind gesture given but never returned in the wake of your brother's departure.

"I don't know," you mumble over and over again until the words of lost their meaning and are simply first of air across your tongue. Hugging the book to your body, you rock back-and-forth in the beautifully upholster seat. The full glass makes a clinking noise as it is set on the table beside you. You sob yourself wretched.

"How do you— how do you keep on living?" you manage to ask finally. "When the ones that you love the most are gone?" You do not draw attention to the tears streaming down the Duke's face or the way that the light makes the portrait of Conrad's mother over the empty fireplace glimmer with unshed tears. "Because I've got nothing left, no hidden corner of the soul for respite where their lives have not changed mine." You sigh, fingers tightening in the damp handkerchief, the book perched in your lap. "All that love, rotting inside me into grief. And I can't wish it away because that would mean to never love them at all. But I don't know what to do with it, all that grief."

The moment stretches out, not quite the taut pull of a bow string, but the long drawing of water out of the well.

"You drink," he settles on finally. "So that the grieving doesn't hurt and the forgetting doesn't kill you."

Polly finds you in the paddock, mud and grass staining your skirts as you stare up at the too blue sky. Everything is amusing. Polly's long suffering expression, the whuffle of Morgana's whiskered muzzle as the mare roots around the crown of your head. It's been ages since that beautiful bottle of whiskey had emptied but still you feel it keeping you warm in the spring air, a fermented giddiness that keeps your skin buzzing. The car ride home nearly sees you sicking up at the side of the road. You laugh at your mother's horrified expression, her angry words about smelling like a distillery. All so amusing.

What is less amusing without the fresh glow of alcohol replacing the shroud that you had spent the last few weeks experiencing the world through, is the splitting headache. Your mother's lady maid forces an absolutely vile concoction down your throat that at least does you some good in return and then forces you down to take tea with the absolutely last person you wish to speak with. Blessedly your mother holds her tongue until you have downed enough cups of tea to resemble something marginally human. The toast, you decide, is a step too adventurous when she begins to speak.

"We missed you at lunch yesterday," she says over the top of her teacup. "And at tea." The question of where were you goes unsaid.

"I was….out," is what you settle on, eager to avoid the interrogation you know must be coming.

She sets down the teacup. "You went missing. For hours. No one knew where you were or if you were— if you were safe." Her lower lip wobbles. "And then you come home, three sheets to the wind and smelling of a distillery with the Oxfords' nanny of all people who took great pains to offer His Grace's apologies for returning you in that state." She settles her hand over yours, gaze softening. "There was mud on your skirts. One of your petticoats was torn."

Heat gathers under your collar. You can see the vast amorphous shape of her worries but you do not know how to assuage her fears.

"Georgie wrote Conrad a letter and the Duke offered me a glass of something to steady my nerves enough to read it. I must have over done it but that is all," you tell her.

"There are not many options," she continues, eyes still so horrifically gentle, "but if he has hurt you, if he has taken any liberties—"

"That is all," you insist more firmly. "I must have slipped in the mud walking to the paddock to see one of the Oxfords' mares but nothing worse than a drunken fall." You take her clammy hands in yours and squeeze. "I swear it."

She smiles back at you thinly. It almost seems as if she will start to cry when suddenly she snaps her head to the side with a gasp, shaking her head as if to clear it. She pours herself a new cup of tea.

"So—" she clears her throat. "So, there was a letter from George, was there?"

Heat floods your face, echoing the blood thrum in your head. This is a decidedly safer awkwardness to face.

"The Marquess Bolebec never read it but Georgie was urging him to— to propose," you murmur the words, eyes lowered. Your fingers pick at the toast, crumbs falling away.

"Oh darling," she sighs and there really isn't much more to be said.

Shola is the one that makes the trek to your house this time. If it had been Polly, you aren't quite sure that your mother would have let her in. But Shola is allowed entry and it is Shola that in his own stoic way summons you back.

"Morgana refuses to eat." He stands in the drawing room, tails immaculate and back straight. Still the miasma of grief clings to him.

"I don't know that I'm understanding your point. What is that to do with me?" you ask, reluctant to go back to that haunted house.

"She has refused her feed from the day that you came to visit her," he insists. Your stomach bottoms out. "I would not impose to ask such a favour if I did not think it was necessary. Please. She is all that His Grace has left of his wife. His son."

You look down at your hands. The handkerchief, laundered many times over and tucked up your sleeve. It is not such a very hard choice after all.

Morgana is very pleased to see you. If not for the skeptical looks the stablemaster and Shola give you, you'd almost think the tales of her sullen behaviour were greatly exaggerated. She is warm an solid under your hands, her lips twitching with an uncomplicated joy as you scratch behind her ears, take a hard brush to her short coat. You are here, and so she is content. You stand by her stall and keep her company and she is happy to eat. It is such a simple thing to make her happy, an ease that seems so foreign to you now.

Agreeing to come back is even easier than it was to agree to try. The unspoken, well-known fondness you have for the mare driving you out of your bed and the sticky clinging malaise of melancholia into the fresh air. Not every day, for that would be far, far too much. Propriety strains and bends under the mere thought. But every three days you will visit, spend time with Morgana's warm horsey smell filling your nose, her contented huffs and sighs a soft balm on the newly exposed edges of your self. She requires nothing more from you, no manners or sense of self-restraint. Wind tangling up your hair from riding Morgana bareback, it is almost like being a child again.

America enters the war. Your father murmurs the news over breakfast on bruse summer morning but you are fare more interested in slipping away as quietly as possible. One day the war will end but you've already paid a far too steep price. The sun beats down brutally for the first time that summer. The berries rot on the vines or are eagerly snapped up by wild creatures. You are not one of them any longer but with your hands tangled in Morgana's mane you feel a little less civilized.

Polly is the one waiting at the front of the house, hands folded primly in front of her. She invites you in to the house proper, lures you more like, with the promise of a wet towel and a cool drink. She treats you with a firmness that borders on brusqueness but that has always been her way and so you appreciate more than any coddling pity. Polly sits with you in the sunroom, will not have you tracking mud and horseshit through the house proper, but she says nothing about the animal smell your sweat has no doubt clung to you.

The glass of lemonade is cool where you press it to the nape of your neck, perspiration beading on the glass. It goes down far more easily than the liquor had. With the back of your hand you feel your cheeks and tut at the dry, feverish heat. A hat would probably have you saved you some but alas. Polly hands you a dampened cloth without speaking. A cloud passes by the window, bloated obscenely in the heat of the day against the cerulean of the sky.

"Dear, what have you done with the report—" the Duke comes to a sudden, shocked standstill at the realization that Polly is not alone. "Oh. What are you doing in my house?"

You throw back the dregs of your lemonade, grittily sweet from where all the sugar has settled at the bottom and Polly kindly refills your cup.

“I told Conrad I’d haunt him if he died before keeping a promise to me, but it seems like I’ve only got you left to haunt,” you tell him flatly.

Polly snorts. "If you'd paid attention to anything beyond the bottom of your bottle, you'd have realized that the young miss is over regularly to get that spoiled mare to eat."

"—I see," the man mumbles wrong footedly.

"Oh leave the girl be," Polly dismisses him — him! — and without another word he turns and awkwardly shuffles from the room. "Take your time dear, that'll teach him to pay more attention to the state of his household. Would you like a biscuit?"

Lemonade and biscuits with Polly becomes rather a routine part of your days with Morgana. Another reason to leave the suffocating clutches of your room fogged heavy with memories and half-remembered dreams. She does not talk, much, and neither do you, but there is a kind of silent comradeship built on your long years of acquaintance through those that no longer visit with you. When the two of you do converse, she asks about your studies. If you had kept up with your translations and your reading for she had remembered your interest. To your shame, you admit that you haven't. Polly simply smiles and brings a slim collection of poetry to your next teatime.

It is too late for bluebells now. Their flowering season has ended, all the blooms withered away on their stalks. You murmur a quiet apology to Georgie as you lay the harebells down on his grave. If he has any complaints on the matter, he keeps them to himself.

"I miss you Georgie," you tell him. Only the wind answers back.

"I miss you so, so much. I'm sorry it took so long for me to come back. Isn't it funny? We spent so much of our lives apart — you away at school, then at war — and now that you're right here in the village I haven't been down to see you for, oh it must be months now." The wind in the tree branches echoes like a laugh. His laugh.

"I don't— I don't know how to go on without you missing like a limb," you confess. The wind tugs at the hat on your head and you have to clutch at it before it goes free.

"But I think— I think I have to find a way back to the living now Georgie. I've got to live this life for the both of us, see, and I've been doing a rotten job of it so far. You wrote to me, once, that I wasn't to fret over you so much that I forgot to live my own life. If you could see what an awful job I've done at following your instructions, you'd probably rip into me something dreadful. But I'm trying now, Georgie, I'm trying. For you. For us."

The wind whips away the tears that have started to fall unconsciously from your eyes. It seems that ever since the dam has broke, the gauze fallen from your eyes, the tears have been impossible to stop.

You sit there for the rest of the visit in silence, finally feeling the warmth of the summer sun on your skin. The bees hum as they hover flower to flower, the birds in the trees break out into period song. One day, you hope to have the strength to make this trek to the other side of the cemetery, to sit in silence with Conrad in the same way, at peace if not in joy.

Months have passed and it is only now that you have worked up the fortitude to once more crack open the collected works of Propertius that had once been yours, then his, then yours again. You laugh even through your tears at his near illegible scrawl, questions and half-wrong translations mixed in with jokes and ruminations of his own. It is this book that you bring with you one, many days, until the courage to bring it fourth finds you and you pass it to Polly, shy now at her reaction.

Polly accepts the book with a smile that very quickly drops off her face as she flips open the cover. She says very little, shocked for the first time you've known her, into silence.

"It was mine," you hasten to explain. "And I lent it to him when I thought I'd be having…different kinds of lessons."

"Oh," she replies, blinking rapidly. "Have you read it yet?"

"I did," you nod vigorously, hands playing with the cool glass in your hands. "I thought you might like to as well."

She squeezes your hand firmly, once, then flips over to the next page.

Reading his notes again with Polly beside you is like rediscovering them all over again. She laughs at different parts than you had, or points out little things of interest that you had skimmed over, not understanding their importance. Polly traces over the words with her fingers, murmurs his words under her breath. With Polly, he becomes a living, breathing mind again.

Her finger comes to a stop at poem 15 and her brows raise into her hairline.

"My, these were certainly very…passionate poems the two of you were exchanging," she comments. You can feel a creeping heat working it's way up your neck and cheeks.

"Purely for intellectual purposes, to practice Latin translation," you say, defensive.

"I'm sure," she humours you, a sardonic twist to her grin. "Oh!"

"What is it?" You crane your neck over her shoulder for a better view of the pages.

"This—" she taps her finger on a phrase, underlined three times. "—I taught him this, to underline something three times while repeating it to remember it better."

huius ero vivus, mortuus huius ero

"I am this alive, dead I am this?" you sound out slowly.

"Close— hers am I living, hers will I be in death," she corrects you. Your mouth is suddenly dry.

"Oh. D'you think— do you think he liked the poems?" you ask nervously. You are almost afraid to know what her answer might be.

She settles you with a wry look. "I think he was very much in love with you, even if he didn't know it or how to say it. He gets that from his father."

The arrival of the Americans in England before they continue on to the Continent bring with it more and more letters from Mr. Thomassen that are promptly swept into the bin. The sky is blue, your brother and Conrad are dead, and the letters will not stop coming. Still they do not consume too much of your time. Polly has finally convinced you of the folly of knowing Latin and none of its modern counterpart and you are as eager to learn from her as she is to teach again. It is not so different as to be impossible but not so easy to render you bored.

You've had not quite a breakthrough but rather a shift in understanding in the night, one that you are excited to demonstrate for Polly. It gives you an energy to your step, an enthusiasm that brings with it a shade of who you used to be. The feeling is not the same as finally understanding Georgie's ramblings about motorcar engines or Conrad's laugh when you get to an answer faster than he can but it is close. The grief does not swallow you any less, the gaping hole in your chest still threatens to collapse in on you. But you have learned to live by skirting around those edges. To find the memories with sweetness still wrapped inside them and swallow them whole until their glow is brighter than the pit. To let that sweetness in the midst of all that sorrow find you.

Breakfast is the rushed affair it always is these days when you have the Oxford estate to look forward to. A flurr of moments, food shoveled into your mouth until your mother will nod in assent that you might excuse yourself. Today, you are nearly late and the reason why has you gritting your teeth in anger.

A visitor, unexpected and barely announced had interrupted just as you stood to leave, cloth napkin dropped onto your chair neatly. The odious Lucius Thomassen strolls in, hair just as shiny as his shoes and smile just as false.

"Oh I'm sorry to intrude—" the man clearly isn't. "—but I'm so glad to have caught you. I've been meaning to look in—"

"I'm sorry but I'm late for an engagement," you interrupt, unable to stand the man's presence a moment longer.

"Oh perhaps next—"

You do not stay long enough to hear the rest of his sentence though you know that there is nothing important that could ever come out of that man's mouth.

Polly is just as proud of you as you'd hoped but it does nothing to soothe the bee sting annoyance of the morning. Even Morgana's steadying presence is not enough to settle you. The memory of the last time you had seen the man, flanked by Georgie and Conrad sticks in your throat.

Scrubbed clean of the day and made presentable for dinner, you resolve to put the visit out of your mind unless it presented some kind of actual problem.

"That Mr. Thomassen, he seemed certain that he had sent you a rather steady stream of correspondence," your father remarks, cutting into his roast rabbit with economical motions.

"America is a long way off," you demure. "Post gets lost."

"Well then," he says. "Let us hope that the mail within England is far less susceptible to going astray."

You meet your mother's gaze. She simply turns away and takes a long, deep draught of her rich red wine.

"I am not certain that it is an acquaintance I wish to continue," you retort. The rabbbit tastes like dust in your mouth, fat a slimy choking film on your tongue.

"The man is rich, from a good family, and his business is set to grow even more with the contracts to supply the Americans with steel for the war. A bonafide war hero." The knife scrapes the plate, shiny with dripping fat. "Has he given any cause for offence?"

"Is my desire not to know him better not enough?" You ask, voice tight. Very precisely you put down your utensils.

"Not if the man has not actually done anything to inspire such a response," he returns, dabbing at his mouth primly.

"Georgie— Georgie hated him," you try. The footmen bring in the next course.

Your father sighs. "Your brother was a good boy. He would have hated any man showing serious interest in you, as a decent brother should. But he was your brother and as your father my duty is different. My duty is—"

"Dear, why don't we leave such heavy topics for a more appropriate time?" Your mother cuts in, staring idly down at her plate the whole while.

Nothing more is said for the rest of the meal.

Every bit of life you had clawed back for yourself slips through your fingers. You cannot enjoy any of it now, not when there is that nebulous sense of maybe hanging over your head at every moment. Morgana's presence is no longer comforting because it will come to an end. Polly's company, her teachings, cannot lighten your mood because you will always leave her behind at the end of the day. Leave and return to your house where Mr. Thomassen haunts you.

He has learned from his first day's blunder and now only returns on the days you do not spend at the Oxford estate. Someone must have informed him of social etiquette because his calls do not last longer than the appropriate time but each minute is a minute too long. The man looks at you with an arrogance that makes your hair stand on end. His patronising tone turns your answers short and monosyllabic. He feels entitled to your time and so he is. He desires your presence and so it is procured for him. Resistance is a many-layered spiky thing that cuts you as often as it cuts him.

"I was sorry to hear of your brother," he says one day that you cannot flee as you wish to. "Bit of a stickler for silly rules but I imagine he is missed."

"Georgie was very dear to me," you reply flatly.

He leans in conspiratorially and you lean back. " Well yes, I'm sure. But we can't really choose our relatives can we, and they must be dear to us all the same." He winks and you try to constrain your grimace.

It is on another trying day of entertaining his terrible jokes and assumptions of intimacy where there existed none that he brings up the subject of Conrad. Your mother sits at the other end of the room, going over the details of the week with her lady's maid Collins in a farcical illusion of privacy.

"Your friend…" he begins leadingly. You rise out of your chair and busy yourself with the tea tray. Anything not to look at his face as he brings up a topic that does not deserve to be sullied with his mouth.

"You'll have to be more specific I'm afraid— I've many." A lie, but he does not have to know it.

"The Duke— no Marquess, the one that was quite rude the few times we met?"

You stir your tea more vigorously.

"I am not in the habit of memorizing every person's attitude towards you," you retort.

"You will be," he mutters and you whirl around to face him, nostrils flaring.

"Pardon?"

"Maybe," he ventures with a slick look of thoughtfulness, "his name was Bolebec? The young man who claimed all of your dances that first night. In any case, I heard the man got himself blown up and yet they still awarded him some kind of medal! Standards must be slipping if even failed missions can get rewarded now." He chuckles but all you can see is red.

"He did not 'get himself blown up'," you grit through your teeth so violently that your mother's head snaps towards you. "He was killed trying to save another man's life and he is worth far more dead than you are alive!" With every word you jab your finger at his chest. Attempting to escape your accusatory words and fingers he scurries back until he hits the seat back.

"I believe it is time for your visit to end," your mother cuts in before you can unburden yourself anymore. "Collins will see you out."

The coward nods, lips pressed into a thin line, then follows Collins out of the room. Your mother turns back to you and gently clasps your balled fist in her hand. You are surprised to find that you are shaking. Wordlessly she unfurls your hand and the crescent moon marks left behind by your nails. She clucks in despair and that is what breaks you.

"Why— why is father pushing for him so hard?" you croak.

Your mother sighs, then squeezes your hands in hers. "He's never confided in me very much and so I can only guess." Your gaze slides away from hers to the floor but she gently grasps you by the chin until your eyes meet hers. "But if I had to hazard a guess, I would say that it has to do with George."

"Geor— what? I don't— I don't understand." She sighs again, long suffering.

"Your brother was not just my son or your sibling, he was your father's heir too. Now, there is no successor to the title Baronet d'Orcy and your father is not dealing well with the realization that as of now the line ends with him. More so than with the loss of George. Whoever your husband is — and if his Majesty allows it — will be given the title and I think— I think your father is terrified of this."

You swallow thickly against the bile rising in your throat. "So what, Mr. Thomassen—" you spit the name like an insult, "—is to be Father's replacement for George? Do I not even get a say in what the rest of my life is to be?"

"Obviously he sees something in the man that makes up for his other…deficiencies," she says. "Your father has always had an exaggerated sense of self and I'd wager he thinks he can train any undesirable traits out of him long before they become troublesome for you."

"This isn't— this isn't what I want," you whisper brokenly.

"No darling, this isn't what I'd want for you either," she sighs, heavily. Resignedly.

Anger, like acid, bubbles in your veins. Burns something horrid in the pit of your belly until you are blinded by it. You have never been allowed your rage, or your grief, unbounded. You have never been allowed to choose for yourself. It is almost laughably stupid to have ever thought that you would be allowed that courtesy of choice for something so momentous as this.

Grey skies and whipping winds reflect back your mood but you are uncaring of the warning signs. You run as fast as your legs will allow you, uncaring of who will see your desperate flight. Moisture lies heavy in the air, the clouds menacing and heavy bellied.

The cemetery is deserted when you get there, hands resting on the wrought iron gate for a moment as you catch your breath. All those with sense have taken refuge from the coming storm, but not you. No, the injustice inside you burns like an afterimage, crowding out any thought but rage.

It is beautiful, the Oxford mausoleum, carved of grey stone and decorated with marble. You do not care. The building is as cold and unfeeling as its now dead occupants. The door is not locked and you slip inside just as the first fat droplets begin to fall from the sky.

Filemone next to Cymbeline, a blank space next to Emily, and finally Conrad, the names carved into the walls. Only dates, no lamentations for the losses or the brief lives these family members had lived. You come to a stop in front of the last name, the dates below it far too short. With an open hand, you strike out at the carved stone. The haze of anger keeps any stinging pain at bay.

"How could you? HOW COULD YOU?" you yell into the interminable silence. "You stupid, bloody fool how could you go off and die?" Your palm smacks the smooth stone again. "I needed you! You! And you fucked off to, what, prove yourself worthy? Show everyone that you're a man now? Well bully for you, you inconsiderate ass. You got what you wanted."

Thunder crashes in the distance but the storm has not reached you yet.

"Did you even think about what would happen if you died or were you just too arrogant to think it could happen to you too?!" you scream yourself raw. "hers am I living, hers will I be in death." you quote sarcastically. "You underlined that three times — three! — in that stupid book and what's that supposed to mean, huh? What, did you think that even if you heroically died with your tragic love unrequited love it would mean something? Because, and here's a jolly fucking surprise for you, it means nothing." Heaving, you swallow the spit flooding your mouth.

"It means nothing because we were both cowards and now it may as well have never happened." You rest your forehead against the cold stone. "You cunt. You were supposed to come home and let me love you," you whisper.

You slide to the floor, knees finally giving out, not heeding the prickling scrape of the stone against your face. The storm washes over mausoleum, just your own storm washes over you. Water pools at the door and on your face, your shirtwaist damp for more than one reason. The soothing drum of the rain on the roof turns hypnotic and you track the time passing by the drying of your tears.

Slowly you unfurl your cramped limbs, pins and needles crawling under your skin. The rain has stopped, or at least paused enough for the walk home and all the vitriol living inside of you has been spent.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, and you hope that wherever Conrad is that he hears you. "The life I would have wanted would have been with you. Next to you. But we don't— we don't always get what we want. No matter what happens, I just— I just need to say it once and have you know I mean it. So: I love you, you stupid, brave, impossible man. I love you and don't you forget it."

Gently, you press your lips to the cold stone carving of his name.

part 6

#conrad oxfrod x reader #conrad oxford x you #conrad oxford #cut all the flowers series #sunnie writes 🌻

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yikesharringrove · 2 years ago

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He doesn’t know why, but he’s laying down.

It’s the first thing he realizes. A stupid thing to notice, but just one minute ago, he was standing behind the counter at Family Video, and now he’s laying down.

His eyes are heavy, and it feels like it takes a huge amount of effort just to open them.

He’s in a fucking hospital.

He knows from the stupid white color of the stupid drop ceiling tiles. From the stupid annoying beeping of the stupid heart monitor. From the stupid scratchy gown he’s wearing instead of his sweater.

He heard a muttered curse next to him, and slowly lolled his head over to look.

Hopper was sitting next to his bed, his hat balanced on his knee, looking grumpily at the crossword printed on the back of The Hawkins Post. Steve wanted to laugh at the image, the chief of police swearing as he scribbled out something.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know that? Nobody knows what the fuck that is.”

“Blame Nancy,” Steve croaked. His head throbbed and he closed his eyes again. “She convinced them to add that. Said sales would go up.”

There was a rustling of paper.

“Smart girl,” Hopper said. He paused for a moment, and Steve felt like he needed someone to come and crowbar his eyes open or they would stay closed forever.

“You collapsed. Scared the shit out of your girlfriend, and everyone else at the video store.”

“Not my girlfriend,” Steve mumbled.

So that makes sense, why he was at work one second, and in a lousy bed at Hawkins General the next.

“You didn’t hit your head. Hargrove caught you before you went all the way down.”

Jesus, Billy’s reflexes really are something else. Steve’s gonna need to thank him for that. The last fucking thing he needs is another concussion. Maybe, to show his gratitude, he’ll suck Billy’s-

“I’m here because we need to talk about what the doctors found in your system.”

Steve’s mind went blank, and his eyes flew open.

Hopper was looking at him, his face an unfamiliar mix of sad, and angry, and fucking, disappointed.

Steve felt like he could vomit.

“They ran your blood. Routine E.R. shit, I’m told. But they found some, some substances that shouldn’t be there.”

Steve swallowed down the lump in his throat.

He knew the guilt was written all over his face.

“How long?”

“Since the summer.” He couldn’t look at Hop in the face. Not while he admitted this shit.

He was fucking stupid to think he wouldn’t be caught.

It’s a miracle Robin hasn’t walked in on him doing bumps in the bathroom at work, or Billy hasn’t found his stash tucked between the mattress and the box spring.

Hopper sighed.

“I know we all went through a lot last summer. With your friend getting trapped in the Upside Down, and you getting captured-”

“Tortured. I got tortured.”

Hopper sighed again.

“Getting coked up isn’t going to help anything.”

“What is this? Fucking Family Ties?”

He felt Hopper’s glare more than he actually saw it.

“It’s stupid-”

“You just don’t get it! Okay?” He really didn’t mean to yell, his head just fucking hurts and he’s so fucking stupid.

“Oh yeah,” Hopper snarked. “I fucking forgot. You’re the only person in the goddamn world that’s ever dealt with fucking drug addiction. So sorry.”

“I’m not addicted!” Lie.

“I don’t fucking believe you.”

Steve glared at Hopper.

“So, what? You’re here to arrest me?”

“No. I’m here to talk some fucking sense into you.” He shifted in his chair, the newspaper slid off his lap and fell on the floor. “You’re around those kids all the time. You fucking drive them around. You have been endangering their lives for months. And why? Because you can’t handle the trauma? We all have trauma. You think your friend Hargrove is totally fine after being stuck in that place? After realizing some fucked up doppelgänger was killing people? You think your girlfriend is totally fine after being tortured by the Russians too?”

“I don’t do it when I have to drive the kids, Hop I swear.” That, was the truth. “Okay, the other stuff, I get your point, but I need you to know, I wouldn’t hurt the kids like that, I-” the heart monitor was speeding up, getting louder in Steve’s panic. “You have to believe me, I’ve never driven them high.”

“Okay, okay. I believe you.” Hopper sighed again. “Just, why?”

Steve gulped.

“The Russians, they drugged us. They said it would make us tell them the truth. And I don’t know what it was, but fuck. It felt good. I couldn’t feel the pain, and I wasn’t scared, and I just. I didn’t know how to stop being scared.”

It was embarrassing.

Admitting that he’s been scared shitless ever since that first demogorgon dropped through the Byers’ ceiling.

Admitting he’s been doing lines of coke to keep himself from spiraling into inconsolable panic.

“I did some at a party, and it was the closest I felt to that feeling.”

Not technically true. He and Billy did some together last August, and it was like the fearlessness washed over Steve in warm waves.

But he can’t throw Billy under the bus like that.

And if Billy ever found out, that one night of drug experimentation between lovers turned into a full-on addiction, he’d never forgive himself.

There was a pause.

“Have you been snorting or shooting?”

“Snorting.”

“Okay,” Hopper stood up, stretching his arms above his head and placing his hat back on. “I’m going to tell your friends what’s going on. Not the kids, just Hargrove and Buckley. Joyce, too. Then, when you get out of here, you and I are going to clean out any stashes you’ve got. And we’re all going to be watching you like a fucking hawk.”

“Wait,” Steve croaked, his heart rate jumping up again, the beeping speeding up. “Don’t tell Billy.” Hopper shot Steve a look that said really? “Let me tell him. He needs to hear it from me.”

Hopper paused, on hand on the doorknob.

“Did he get you hooked? Is he on it too?”

“No! Nothing like that. Please? He’ll be upset unless I tell him.”

Hopper gave him a look that was a little too searching to be comfortable.

“Okay. Okay, kid. I’ll send him in. But he’ll know what’s going on one way or another. Don’t make me tell him that you’ve lied. Don’t think he’d appreciate it.”

He left the room without another word, leaving Steve to stew in his shame.

He’s such an idiot.

Why did he ever think he could get away with this and not one person would notice?

Even if they didn’t know he was regularly doing cocaine, Billy and Robin already knew something was up. They kept asking him if he was okay, coming over for impromptu sleepover parties. It was nice, he loves them both, but it was only a matter of time before the penny dropped.

It’s just embarrassing. That a routine blood test exposed the amount of uppers in his system. Exposed how little he’s dealing.

He rolled over, waiting for Billy to come into the room and blame himself for Steve’s stupidity. He didn’t want that.

Billy didn’t have a drug problem. He thought it’d be fun for them to get a little high and do stuff together. And it was! It was so fun, and they’d talked about doing it again.

Steve can kiss that idea goodbye.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Billy started following him into the bathroom to make sure he wasn’t doing anything he shouldn’t be.

It’s sweet, that his boyfriend cares so much about him that he would, hypothetically at least, do that.

But Billy’s got enough on his plate, and if Steve knows anything about him, it’s that he blames himself for shit just as much as Steve does.

He focused on the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Still elevated, his nerves for the coming conversation getting the best of him.

His head was pounding in a way that said it was time for his next fix.

He squeezed his eyes closed, willing away the need thrumming under his skin.

“So, you finally gonna tell me why you’ve been actin’ all squirrelly lately?”

#tw drug abuse #tw drug addiction #tw substance abuse #ask to tag #steve harrington #Jim hopper #harringrove #it’s mentioned a bunch #yikes writes #I don’t like this but *shrugs*#zest of lemon #again #mentioned in a few places #billy Hargrove

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hotchfiles · 1 year ago

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finale. damn your love.

pairing: james x fem!reader.

content warnings: james being kind of an ass, cheating on lily, lily will be probably shit talked (i luv her i'm very sorry !), mistress!reader, uhhh cursing, not totally AU but like... canon divergent i would say. probably hurt/no comfort unless i switch the ending but--

worth mentioning: reader insert with no use of names or “y/n”. paragraphs completely in italic are flashbacks. pro quidditch player!james. muggle born!reader.

word count: 2,1k

chapter 4, finale.

You spent the whole afternoon with some cousins, talking about the whole France thing, asking questions and trying to understand why they didn't move there when your aunt, their mother, did. Stable job, pregnancy... All reasons you certainly didn't have to hold you back. You could ask to be transferred to France's Ministry of Magic, or just take a muggle job as you thought about sometimes. And you definitely didn't have a baby on the way, nor a husband, or a boyfriend.

Still, your heart was full of uncertainty, it's the perfect place to fall in love, one of your cousins said, and you laughed as if love wasn't the problem to begin with, as if love wasn't the one thing pushing you away from your home town because you were too weak.

You got home and by instinct started roaming around your apartment, looking at every picture, the place was full of things you loved, things you were dearly attached to and would deeply miss like your friends, the rest of your family, the London weather you could always see from your window... And obviously, James.

You weren't innocent to believe he would even remember you when making a decision like this, you very much knew if the roles were reverse he probably would be in France by now, and that hurt, that cut your heart deeply, knowing he didn't care was a terrible feeling, but still, you cared, you didn't really want to live away from him, because even after everything he put you through, you loved him.

Even when you were angry you couldn't imagine a life without James, it wasn't easy to switch your brain around completely, fact was that for too long you were sure that being close to him, that having him even for a night was the best for you, because you had him. And a life where you wouldn't have him at all seemed... Empty. But that emptiness seemed like such a relief if it came with no longer being his second option, not having to hear her name, not being the one he looks for to complain about her while also not doing anything to leave her. That seemed comforting. And the right thing. But you still were confused. It was too big of a decision that you had to make all on your own, anyone you told about it would certainly tell you to move and leave him behind. It was the right choice. So you couldn't.

While looking for a painkiller in your drawers (crying always gave you a headache, and you've been doing it a lot the last few days) you found the worst possible thing you could: A memories book. You and James had made two of those the last year of Hogwarts. With pictures and little notes and diary entries. The first page was your first picture together from when you were eleven, it was winter time, you both had your cold clothes on but still your cheeks and noses were extremely red. The picture itself was already a punch to the gut, but alongside there was his handwriting, meaning you probably left something on his as well, "you complete me since I was eleven. Back then I didn't know how big that was, but now I do, meeting you was the most important thing to ever happen to me. You're my best friend and I love you. From eleven to forever."

You tried to hold back the tears but it was inevitable, it was terrible to see how much things had changed since then, the person who once said you completed him, now would go months and months without talking to you, and then appear out of nowhere at your door in the middle of the night, it was always like that now.

Now the moments where you really felt like he needed you were rare, very different than how he was as a teenager, then there was a constant need to listen to you, to be helped by you, to touch you. And it was the same for you, and it hasn't changed for you, but it has for him.

Each picture from that album was a different knife to your chest, each photo causing you another wave of sobs as you compulsively cried. Every memory confused you even more, because in London you had that man, not always, but when you did it was like you were complete again, and when you were away from each other, you felt empty. You didn't want to feel empty forever.

In a moment of pure nostalgia you came to the conclusion that your James, the James from those pictures, still existed, even if just deep down, well in the back of his mind, he did still exist, and if you two could finally talk with honesty without fighting, you could bring that James back and you could work it out.

Before you could loose that single string of courage, you took your wand from your nightstand and conjured your patronus, non corporal as always, with time it began to feel humiliating to have yours mirroring his after so many years, your message with it was simple, yet desperate: I really really need you right now, come see me.

You felt relief, knowing he would be there soon and you two would talk. At least that's what you expected him to do. But he never came. Nor did he send a response. And truly, you could expect anything coming from him, but not that, you were clearly distraught in your message, and it still didn't matter. Just a new way to disappoint you.

Then you finally, finally saw the problem for what it was: You romanticized everything about that man, you could find beauty in every disappearance, you saw loving gazes when there was only lust in his eyes. There was no love coming from James, not for you. And you should have noticed that the first time he disappointed you. But you loved him too much and you thought things would be fine one day.

And nothing would ever be fine, not as long as you let him treat you like that, not if you kept answering to his pleads. Not if you still opened the door for him.

You were very nervous, but in the best way. It had been some weeks since the last time you had seen and talked to James, being one of Appleby Arrows' newest and youngest chasers was very time consuming, and you respected that. But he was home, you knew he was, Sirius had told you over letter when he would be back. You wanted to surprise him.

You weren't dating anymore for some time now, for no other reason other than the fact he couldn't be the boyfriend you deserved right now because of the team. You understood that, you thought it was endearing how he was thinking of you that way, and you still missed him when he was gone, you missed his smile, his eyes, his voice, his curls, his blurred glasses you would always have to clean.

You two had an unbreakable bond, best friends who were always there for each other, and even after breaking up you both had spent a few nights together, some just cuddling, some more than that. You didn't mind because you knew James loved you, and that he was just busy right now.

You apparate directly at his door without notice, the perks of being of age, and knocked on the door a few times, not even trying to hide the smile that took half of your face, you were so excited to hear him talk about the games, to see him, to feel his arms around your waist. To just think you were a few steps from feeling his scent... You were glad the torture of being away was over for now.

Ms. Euphemia is the one to open the door and you try not to notice how her smile simply disappeared as soon as she noticed it was you by the door, it was probably your imagination, she always liked you, actually, she loved you, you were always called for family dinners and vacations, you were part of the family, just as James was a part of yours.

"Darling! Didn't expect you so soon..." she sounds concerned, her head turning around for a slight second, seemingly checking for something, before giving you room to come in. "Come in, sweetheart."

You hug her in appreciation, and also because you've missed her almost as much as you missed her son.

"Jamie's home, right?"

"Yes dear, in the kitchen... But be careful."

You don't understand what she means at first and you don't try to hard to, you don't have time to, your steps quick to the kitchen, regret filling your mind and your heart as soon as you did so.

James had a girl by his side, you knew very much who she was even, from Hogwarts, Gryffindor like the both of you. Lily Evans. Their hands were intertwined, his smile that once was only yours was freely being directed at her, and worse than that, you see him brush his lips, that were also yours, on hers.

Your heart shatters. You feel like there's no floor to fall to anymore. You didn't know what to do, how to deal with that. You were so sure he loved you, that he didn't want a serious commitment simply because of his job, and now you saw with your own eyes that he just didn't want to commit to you.

You take the deepest breath you've ever taken, holding your tears back as you try to maintain at least some of your pride. He didn't even notice you were there, too busy completely lovesick for the one in front of him. You turn around and get out of their sight, Euphemia looks at you with the saddest eyes and calls you with her hands for a hug, which you gladly take. You can't hold the tears anymore, so you cry.

"I'm messin' up your blouse," you whine, feeling so sorry for that you couldn't even put into words, it was silly.

"Dear, my son broke your heart, don't mind the blouse." She hugs you even tighter as you both hear laughter coming from the kitchen, "You'll always be my favorite. My James will see how wrong he is, just wait a little."

You slowly agree with a nod, and as you both notice steps approaching, she lets you go from the hug.

You can hear James asking her if it was you just as you close the door and apparated back to your house. That was the last time you saw both of them for... You don't even know how long.

Euphemia told you to wait a little, and unconsciously you followed her advice, but you couldn't wait anymore, that was too much, it had been years, too many years, he made your life hell by taking advantage of the fact you felt in heaven by his side.

You let yourself sob, this time in total and complete rage, taking the book full of memories in your hand and throwing it in a trashcan.

Incendio.

You were going to burn him out if you couldn't ignore the memories. You watched the flames dance as they destroyed the paper, but the feeling in your gut didn't get smaller. And to think he was probably having a nice time with his girlfriend by now made you even more angry. Angry at him, resentful at yourself for letting it get this far.

You went back to the room and screamed in fury, throwing every single one of the frames containing pictures of you two on the floor, you desperately wanted him out, you didn't want anything to do with him anymore, you wanted him gone, gone.

You spent the next hours going through everything you had, burning pictures, breaking CDs, destroying plushies, ripping clothes apart, you knew for sure your neighbours would call the police at some point because of the breaking sounds and your yelling, but you didn't care anymore.

And then...

Your eyes fell to your bed, and you realized it didn't matter how much you tried to get him out of your home, James had plastered himself everywhere. Everything reminded you of him. You truly couldn't be there anymore. You couldn't sleep in that bed, in that room anymore.

And you knew, there was no confusion. London wasn't your home anymore.

So you left. Your apartment. Your hometown. Your beloved country.

And most importantly. You left James.

tag: @xcinnamonmalfoyx @dreamsygirl

#lari writes sometimes #marauders x reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter x fem!reader #james x you #james x reader #james x y/n #james potter imagine #james potter scenario

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thatone16216 · 1 month ago

Text

Slytherins Unmasked

Who are the REAL Slytherins? What lies behind Blaise Zabini's smirk? What secrets do the gray eyes of Draco Malfoy hold? What truths do the full lips of Pansy Parkinson not speak? What horrors have Tom and Mattheo witnessed at the hands of their father? What pain do Lorenzo Berkshire's jokes mask? What sadness hides in Theodore Nott's smile?

⚠️TRIGGER WARNINGS: RAPE, SUICIDE, SELF HARM, DEPRESSION⚠️

The Slytherins. The most privileged group in Hogwarts. Or are they?

For they are hiding something. Something dark. Painful.

Terrifying.

Read this at your own risk, my friend. For these are the real Slytherins. The ones behind the insults. The ones beyond the beauty.

*****

Blaise is violated. Every thought in his brain is tainted. Every memory is tainted. Tainted by what happened. What's been happening. What the monsters his mother has married have done to him on the dead of night. What goes on behind the closed doors of his bedroom. But he cannot say anything. Cannot do anything but hide it and endure it. For of he doesn't, the monsters will go after his little sisters next.

Pansy is hurt. She is not her perfect older brother, and her parents hate her for it. They beat her, they curse her, they scream and yell and throw stuff at her, and nothing is ever enough. She silently sobs to herself in the safety of her bathroom, feeling nothing except the blood running from the cuts on her wrist.

Draco is broken. His father may not physically abuse him, but his words scar just as deep. He truly believes he is nothing. He's been told his whole life by his father and grandparents, and he believes that to be true. That is why, every night since 4th year, he has stood at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, asking himself if he should jump.

Enzo is depressed. You can't tell easily, but behind the jokes and laughter, he's masking his heartbreak. He wants his mother to love him. Wants her to accept him, but she never will. She just tortures him, giving him just enough love to know what it feels like, then taking it back, never giving him a break.

Mattheo is angry. He was born into a legacy he never wanted, is being prepped to become the father he hates, and is constantly pitted against his twin brother. Behind the dangerous smirk, and the cigarettes and alcohol, there's a scared, broken boy. One who wants to take the knife sitting in his bedside drawer, and stab himself. Over and over. Always and forever. Until there is no pain.

Tom is numb. He stopped feeling anything. He turned it off. His father always said emotions were weak. He watches his father slaughter innocents. Helps his mother torture enemies. Looks the other way as his twin is tortured for not being good enough, while never making a sound when his own torture comes. He buried his emotions so deep, not even he knows what he's feeling anymore.

Theo is tired. Tired of his family. Tired of school. Tired of being alive. Tired of hoping that every drag he takes of the cigarette will kill him. Tired of this stupid mark on his arm. Every time he meets those blue eyes in the mirror, he never recognizes the face looking back at him.

In fact, none of them do.

For the Slytherins are broken. The seven of them are forced to live a life they didn't want. To serve a master they didn't follow. To die for a cause they didn't believe.

*****

To an outside viewer, a fellow student, perhaps. These seven kids are the most privileged to be alive. They were born into the most influential of families. The richest of wizards. Fortunes untold.

But what was money worth, when all that existed was pain?

All of them hide it in different ways. From substances to self-harm, they all hide their pain from the world - and each other. But the eyes, the eyes give their pain away.

Maybe Draco wouldn’t hurt so much if he knew what his cousin Enzo really did when he “stepped out for some air”. Maybe Pansy would understand Blaise if she knew what really happened behind the closed doors of his bedroom. Maybe Tom and Mattheo, bonded through birth, could help each other through the murders and unspeakable crimes they are forced to commit.

Maybe, they’d all feel more alive, less alone, if they knew what happened to them.

But they don't. They let the demons in their heads dictate them instead.

They let the brand on their skin dictate who they’ll live and die for.

They let their families destroy what could have been.

For if they weren't broken…

Blaise could have controlled it. He could have decided who to give himself to, and when.

Pansy would be loved. She would love herself and her family and her friends and anyone else she met in her life. She would give herself wholly to a partner she cares for, and she would love her children as much as her parents loved her.

Draco could be fixed. He could show off that dazzling smile that only his mother has ever seen, and even that was long ago. He could befriend who he wished, loved who he wished, and done what he wished, and his father would have accepted him.

Enzo would be happy. He those smiles and jokes would be real. He’d truly glow with happiness. Just being near him would make anyone’s day better.

Mattheo could be whole. He could learn who he is. He could show the world that he is not and never will be his father. He could even fight against him.

Tom could feel. He could feel and understand happiness and love and sadness and surprise and anger and heartbreak and every emotion in between. He could understand the looks the couples give each other in the halls, or why the girl he sat next to in herbology cried over the death of her rabbit. He could feel and understand all of it.

Theo would be content. He wouldn’t be tired. He wouldn’t feel like he's just going through the motions of life. He wouldn’t feel like the face in the mirror is an imposter, because how could such an impossibly handsome boy possess a mark for something so evil?

*****

The world sees the Slytherins as vain and bullies, but maybe it's to cover their own pain. The world turns to stare as they walk by.

Blaise, with his flawless skin, and chocolate eyes. Enhanced by moisturizers and hiding what he sees in the dark.

Pansy, with her perfect figure and full lips. Achieved through her parents monitoring her diet. The lips blocking the untold truths from being said.

Draco, with his gray orbs, like an ocean before a storm. Hiding the insults his father cleverly masks behind "complements".

Enzo, with his sharp cheekbones and mischievous dimples. The smile a permanent lie.

Mattheo, with his dangerous smirk and devilish attitude. Fighting those who he considers enemies, while never fighting the real one.

Tom, with his soft curls and charming smile. The smile given to people before they let him into their homes and he's forced to slaughter them.

Theo, with his charming attitude and handsome appearance. The shadows under his eyes, hidden.

The Slytherins are beautiful. How could someone so beautiful feel so much pain? How could someone so beautiful be so alone? So broken? So…

So…

Suicidal.

They all are. Every last one of them. They try to hide it. But again. Their eyes. Their eyes tell all.

That is why, when Blaise is on the quidditch pitch one day, he accidentally falls off his broom, landing on the ground below, an unnatural position.

That is why, when Pansy cut a little too deep, she didn't heal herself.

That is why, when life got too much, Draco finally jumped.

That is why, when Enzo started drinking, one stormy night, he didn't stop.

That is why, when Mattheo was alone, the darkness taunting him, he finally grabbed that knife.

That is why, when Tom had a chance, he turned his own wand on himself.

That is why, when Theo couldn't sleep, he took every pill in the bottle.

*****

Nobody understood, how those seven teenagers, so full of life, so full of privilege, could die so young. But as those people questioned and mourned, the families of them all stood still, faces grave, eyes cold. Staring at their children’s graves.

They knew.

They knew how their children died.

For they were the ones who killed them.

They killed them with every hit, kick, curse, insult, and object they threw at them.

They killed them every time they looked and said they’d never be enough.

They killed them, when they were born.

A/N: If it looks weird, that's because the way it was originally written and is posted on Wattpad and Quotev is as a bunch of drabbles in a book

#draco malfoy #blaise zabini #theodore nott #mattheo riddle #tom riddle #lorenzo berkshire #harry potter #slytherin #pansy parkinson #angst #I was in such a mood when I wrote this forever ago #now im in another mood #so im posting it here

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 2 years ago

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ok, maybe I'm watching too many romantic dramas. My request is for Sasaki, Hades, Poseidon and Shiva (if there are too many, my priority is Sasaki and Hades)

Let's say that the reader is a dragon or another supernatural creature with a human appearance, and that she loves her mother and her older brother very much, being they from a very feared and powerful family. Her mother is cursed with something that makes her very fragile after giving birth to her daughter and her brother is the living embodiment of light and blessings, good things in short. But the reader represents all the curses that fall on the mortal and the immortal, and she felt very lonely. Until her mother introduces him to an honorable family, and her only heir as a betrothed to the reader. They took years to get to know her and then he formally proposed to her, but… in the end he stabbed her in the back when he found out on her wedding day that she was cheating on her with a maid from another family who was a member of the families. And well, we return to the guys from RoR, let's say that they were interested in this lonely and hurt woman, and somehow they managed to win her over. But when they want to propose to her, she just started turning pale and then crying, as well as running away. And she is the fragile mother and brother who explains her trauma with marriage, plus that since they are from a family of old blood she has never had, you know, what happens on their wedding night. How would you help her get through this? (if they have fallen in love with this woman enough for this level of dedication) Or how would they react when they found out about her ex-fiancé? (Yes, he is still alive, he was the only son of that other family, if they killed him, the bloodline would go as far as that) (I know… very long, have a nice night or a nice day)

(*￣3￣)╭

-Y/N, only daughter and second child of the legendary Draco Family, descended from the Draco Constellation, powerful gods that have the ability to transform into dragons, was a lonely girl.

-Her elder brother, her twin, B/N, is like sunshine, he lights up any room he enters and gets along with everyone he meets, being the Dragon God of Light and Blessings.

-While you were the Dragon Goddess of Shadow and Misfortune.

-Her looks did not match her title and abilities, she was a stunning maiden, with long flowering dark hair, that mirrored her brother’s long flowing white hair, with piercing gold eyes, snow white skin, and an air of mystery about her.

-Y/N rarely ventured from her palace on family’s estate, choosing to remain away from others, others who would only whisper cruel things, as if she was an evil girl.

-This was not in fact true, you were a intelligent and elegant maiden who always thought of others, sending thoughtful gifts to those who needed them.

-Your family knew that you were not evil and did not treat you as such, your brother came to your palace almost every day to see you and walk with you, brightening up your day, and while your father, the personification of Draco itself, was busy, he always made time to send you gifts, letters, and come and see you once a week.

-Your mother was the only person you left your palace for, as she was weak, not sickly, just weak, she had been like that since the birth of you and your brother, due to a curse placed upon her by the jealous Andromeda, another constellation goddess, who loved your father.

-Her curse was to affect not only your mother, but your brother and you as well, if she chose to give birth; the curse was that if your mother gave birth, she would lose all her strength and live a life bound to her bed, to be forever weak, and her children would be born as polar opposites, light and darkness, blessing and curse, to force not only her but her child to live a life of torment for being ‘evil’.

-Andromeda told your mother that if she killed you both while still in her womb, she would have kept her power, but would have been deemed a monster for killing her children, with the intent of driving your father away from such a cruel mother.

-Your mother was not cruel, she chose to birth the two of you with no hesitation, and your father’s bond with her only grew, as she chose to sacrifice herself to bring their children into the world, which infuriated Andromeda and she fled, never to be seen again.

-There were many days were your mother looked healthy as could be, just unable to walk or do anything without assistance, but her handmaidens were always there for her, which you appreciated deeply.

-As you grew older, you were betrothed to another god, one who’s mother arranged with your mother when you started to blossom into your beauty.

-You didn’t mind, at first, as you spent the first three years betrothed to a man you had yet to meet, as you both were still young, you only knew that his name was Kand, and he was a minor earth god.

-Once both you and your brother were of age, you both got to meet your marriage partners, as B/N was engaged to a lovely flower goddess.

-Kand was a handsome and strong looking man, and he was stunned by your beauty, you were nothing like the humors who described you as a wicked looking hag, obviously started by vicious people who saw only to judge you for what you had command over.

-You were hesitant with Kand, who in turn kept his distance a bit from you, both sides were unsure of each other. You had gone so many years without talking to others who weren’t from your own family without being met with contempt and cruel words, while he wasn’t sure if the rumors were true and that you would cause misfortune to fall upon him.

-Over the years of being betrothed, courting each other, you fell in love, he learned that you had control of your abilities and you could cause misfortune to fall upon others at will and he grew to defend you against others who would dare say anything that wasn’t praise about you.

-When your wedding day came around, you had been preparing when your brother’s wife snuck into your room, “Sister Y/N, you need to come with me now.”

-You and Blossom got along very well and considered each other as sisters, but her tone sounded so concerned, frightened almost and you left, following with her to the guest house where Kand was preparing for the wedding.

-Inside, he was embracing another woman, kissing her fiercely before pulling back from her as she cooed up at him, “Don’t get married to that evil witch! You know I’ll take care of you, just as I have been for years.”

-Your power exploded, taking your dragon form of a massive black dragon, roaring furiously and destroying a good portion of the guest house, shocking Kand and his mistress who were instantly begging for your forgiveness.

-When your father and B/N arrived and saw the two together, half dressed, obviously about to start something until you walked in, and your father’s temper exploded, himself turning into a massive red and gold dragon, demanding to know what these two had to say for themselves.

-B/N and Blossom rushed to console you as you shifted back to your human form, returning to your palace where you cried for days, weeks, your broken heart crushing your chest.

-Your father and B/N came to you, telling you that this other woman was Andromeda’s daughter, Romeda, who saw your relationship with Kand as a way for more revenge against your family.

-With the blessings of the other strongest gods in Valhalla, he struck down Andromeda’s family except for Andromeda herself, who was stripped of her powers and made into a kitchen maid in the Greek pantheon, forced to live a life of servitude for her crimes.

-Kand was not innocent as well, he was punished severely and B/N told you later that your father actually punched him when he tried to apologize and say that he was wrong to do that to you, but what Romeda had said was true, they had been seeing each other for years now behind your back.

-He had been shunned and labeled a cheater, and his family was unable to find him a marriage partner, so he spent many of his days drinking his life away.

-You spent hundreds of years hidden away in your palace, afraid of opening up to others again. You adored Blossom’s and B/N’s children, who adored you, and the five of them all helped in spreading good rumors about you, about your beauty, which did have suitors coming to meet with you, but you refused them all, afraid of being hurt again.

-However, seeing the children running around your garden, you hated to admit it, but you felt a sort of longing within your heart, you wanted love, you wanted happiness again.

-You stunned when you arrived with your brother and father at a massive party, hosting both gods and humans, as many had never seen you before and jaws were dropped all around, you were so beautiful and many were quick to realize they believed the rumors without knowing the truth, they judged you just because of what you could do.

-You looked so mysterious as you kept close to your father, as you were an unmarried maiden still, and your father wasn’t going to let any men get near you if you didn’t consent first, he wasn’t going to let his baby get hurt again.

Kojiro

-You were surprised when a human approached you, Sasaki Kojiro, you knew him as one of the strongest swordsmen in the history of humanity, and he had defeated Poseidon in the Ragnarok tournament that had been so popular, everyone who had been killed was brought back and more tournaments were scheduled.

-He was an older man, but he wanted to shoot his shot with you, he had never met a woman before that caught his attention and held it so viciously before. He kind of liked the feeling.

-Your father wasn’t worried as you didn’t seem concerned by this man, at first at least, he greeted you warmly, bowing at the waist, before flirting with you, “Had I known that a goddess like you was here in Valhalla, I would have died much sooner!”

-His flirting was a bit shocking but you couldn’t deny the blush on your cheeks and his cheerful smile did make your heart flutter a bit.

-You got to know Kojiro over the next several months, as time was irrelevant in Valhalla, he took his time courting you, giving you simple gifts like pressed flowers, and he would regale you with stories from when he was on earth.

-You felt yourself weakening around him, a softness appearing in your heart again, one that your twin was easily able to see but everything changed when Kojiro approached you with a fierce determination in his eyes that made your heart flutter, and he asked you to marry him.

-Your response was not what he was expecting, you instantly flinched back, looking scared, and you ran from him trying to stifle your sobs.

-B/N had been around the corner and overheard and he approached, comforting the samurai before sitting down with him and he told Kojiro of your past, your previous marriage and betrayal, and now the fear you hold deep within you.

-Kojiro was heartbroken to learn of your own heartbreak, of the betrayal you faced on your wedding day of all days, but he grew to understand you.

-He approached you again the following day, with another pressed flower, “Y/N, I’m sorry for upsetting you yesterday. I didn’t know, but now I do. I want to prove myself to you, that I am worthy for your precious heart.”

-It was another few months of a slow rebuilding, he had to regain what was lost, you still trusted him, but you now feared what could happen, old trauma coming back to haunt you.

-He proved, day after day, that he truly loved you, he proved it until you had not a single shred of doubt in your heart that he wasn’t going to betray you.

-Your wedding was lovely and elegant, but the party was massive, and it got wild quick, but it was so much fun, you felt so much happiness in your heart that Kojiro took the time to prove to you that he truly did and would always, love only you.

Hades

-Hades knew of your previous engagement, it had been a hot topic for what felt like years, such a massive scandal, but seeing you there in that party, he wanted to find Kand and punt him into the sun.

-How did Kand cheat on someone as beautiful as you?! You were literally the vision of beauty and power, all in one!!

-Hades didn’t speak to you at the party, only giving you a single black rose, which was stunningly beautiful, and you were surprised to see that he had persevered it with some sort of magic, so it never wilted.

-His first words to you were in a letter, he penned a beautiful poem, describing your beauty. Your face was tomato red for most of the day.

-The two of you began to exchange letters, things started off friendly and soon he was coming to visit you, after getting your father’s permission and the two of you could talk for hours.

-Hades enjoyed learning that you were as smart as you were beautiful, and he fully regrated showing you how to play chess, as he can never beat you now, which he does tease about from time to time.

-Hades didn’t rush anything, he was content with being friends, something you appreciated, and your friendship got him out and about and away from his desk for a while, which he fully appreciated.

-You could both tell there was something more between the two of you, you were hesitant to explore while Hades was very observant, seeing your hesitation and he made no move either.

-B/N saw this ‘something’ as well and caught Hades one day, inviting him for a drink, and he told Hades about your past, of what you faced and why you were so hesitant with him.

-Hades knew of the affair that was revealed on your wedding day, all of Valhalla knew of it, and Hades gripped his glass a bit tighter, something B/N saw, as the God of the Underworld couldn’t even fathom cheating on such a stunning creature such as yourself.

-Hades paid more attention to you over the next several weeks, seeing how you shied away from his small affections, but he could also see your smile and blush, like you wanted more, but you were hesitant.

-Hades asked you out on a walk together, as he wanted to show you some of the Greek pantheon that he called home and you agreed.

-Cerberus instantly liked you and you adored the massive three headed dog, he was like a puppy with you!

-As you wandered the gardens a voice shouted out your name and you instantly paled, turning, your hair fluttering all around you as you saw Kand, for the first time in hundreds of years.

-He looked disheveled and dirty and you were surprised when Hades put an arm up in front of you, shielding you, “Do not approach Y/N, scum.”

-Kand didn’t take kindly to that, “She’s my fiancée! I have every rig-” you were stunned as Hades instantly had Kand hauled up by his throat, halting his words, “Wrong, you lost her when you chose another.”

-He threw Kand back who landed hard on his rear and you had taken a few steps back when Hades first went for your ex, but the drunkard was instantly on his feet and charged right for you, demanding you back.

-Hades gave him no mercy the second time, round house kicking him away from you, sending him flying before he turned to you and rushed you.

-He picked you up princess style, your face instantly flushing, as he easily leapt up, leaving the gardens and landing on the upper levels of Zeus’ mansion, which overlooked the gardens.

-Hades grinned at your red face, telling you how cute you looked before he set you down and stepped back, but kept one of your hands in his own.

-You thanked Hades for defending you, something he brushed off, “Any man would leap at the chance to save someone as lovely as you are, Y/N.” you turned with an even brighter blush which made him laugh warmly and you couldn’t help but peek, silently commenting on how handsome he was while laughing.

-He took you home after he calmed down and B/N couldn’t help but smile, seeing the two of you arrive, holding hands and smiling at each other.

-B/N knew you two were going to get together, you were perfect for each other.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror sasaki kojiro #ror hades

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mimisfortress · 3 months ago

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Guess who lost her diary key and is now turning to Tumblr to blog my feelings (me) 🦄🌈

💞💌Really long VENT post coming your way ❤️‍🩹🪽

Currently going through an emotional rut.

I feel pretty unsure of myself. I lost a couple of friends and I am having a hard time knowing whether it was my fault or if they had it coming.

These weren't just normal friends, they were family at that point. We witnessed unspeakable things together at a fairly young age and I really, really, really thought that our friendship was forever. I thought our friendship was different from everyone else's in a sense that growing older wouldn't impact us the way adults warned us it would. I thought trauma made us special and I thought change wouldn't find us.

To these friends, I was their baby sister and they treated me as such, too. They dogged on who I loved and did not trust me to make my own choices. They grilled someone who I had genuine love for after not batting an eye at the unhappy abusive relationship I was in for three years.

As I grew older, I grew distant because I was too scared to express that the way they treated me upset me. I figured that since they already have so much to worry about in their lives, my fragile feelings would burden them.

I am aware of the importance of communication, but I simply just felt like I couldn't communicate my feelings to them in any way.

During the past month, our friendship of 9 years came to an end. It crashed and burned when I couldn't make it to a big hang out that costed a lot of money. It was only supposed to be my friend and I, just us two. Luckily, this former friend of mine got a refund and another friend was able to take my place.

I don't know why they wanted me so bad. They had a lot to say about how bad of a friend I was and not much good to say about me, and yet they wanted me so bad. I didn't feel appreciated as a person and they didn't celebrate me as a friend. Yet, if they told me they needed me I'd come in and do what I could to the best of my ability even after they told me they hated me or told me my desperate attempts to help after they begged for my help was "inappropriate". I still stayed because if I'm the one in the wrong, I can also make it into a right if I really tried.

I hate to say it, but I feel anger when I think about these friends of mine. What I hate even more is that I keep wanting to go back. I keep wanting to say "yes! You're right, I am a terrible and awful person and I will change myself just for you guys!" just to hear their laughter again, see their funny smiles, and . . . inevitably get sent large paragraphs of text telling me I did something wrong again. And then the cycle repeats where I think that I'm wrong and they're right because I'm the little sister who's immature and doesn't know anything and they're the older, wiser sisters who parent me.

I was really sure that I was the failure. I was the one that failed to hold it together. I mean, come on! I didn't communicate my feelings, I told a big lie to them, and I grew distant without explanation.

But then I had invited a friend of mine into my home who has hurt more times than anyone I've ever known. We didn't have to experience a terribly traumatic event together at a young age to be best friends, she just loved me. She loved me and she told me why.

She liked that I didn't yell or curse when she had moments of frustration and impatience, she appreciated my high level of patience, and she tells me that she thinks I have emotional intelligence.

My other friends never told me anything like that. They think I suck at supporting them, they don't think I can be trusted to make good decisions, that I'm an inconvenience and blah, blah, blah, blah.

At my house, my friend looked over the texts shared between me and these other friends. Maybe it's pushing their privacy, but I felt like it was detrimental for my mental health for eyes other than mine to view these text messages and tell me if I'm allowed to be upset or not.

This friend of mine looked at these text messages with complete and utter disgust. I watched her make faces viewing the messages. She visibly cringed upon reading them and it shocked me. I thought she was going to be able to find something I said, point at it, and tell me "here's what I think made her mad. I can help you write an apology if you want!"

But no, reading the exchange of text messages angered her so much that she couldn't bare to read the rest, which disappointed me. What if she's missing the part where I say something I need to apologize for?

What she told me was this :

• You need to stop letting them walk all over you, you need to write a long message to them but not out of empathy or kindness, but to give yourself closure. You need to do more for yourself. I just don't want you to sit here and let them bully you.

• They are simply just choosing to believe that you are a bad friend. You don't talk bad about them to me at all, and yet they claim that's all you've been doing.

• Why is it okay for them to discuss what they don't like about you behind your back and not you?

And stuff like that. We never ended up sending a long text for me to express my emotions because knowing these friends, they'd blow up on me even more and tell me how a lot of it is actually my fault.

It's been a hard 3 months. I'm worried about becoming exactly what these friends of mine chose to believe I was; an unempathetic, emotionally unintelligent, mentally-unstable, coldhearted, and immature creature.

This is because often times things are believed into existence. Therefore, I'm going to work on kindness without the expectation of something in return, generosity, mental clarity, and patience to prevent their beliefs from becoming reality. I'm not going to give anyone a reason to treat me like they did ever again.

This situation has impacted my mental health pretty negatively, and so I'll be posting updates on my mental health!

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loveandmurders · 1 year ago

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I can't stop thinking about the song What could have been by Sting.

It happens to perfectly describe Trudy and Bo's relationship.

I am the monster you created

You ripped out all my parts

And worst of all, for me to live

I gotta kill the part of me that saw

That I needed you more

I can't imagine the trauma behind the way Vincent and Bo got physically seperated by Victor. But in a way, Bo is the one who suffered the less, compared to what happened to Vincent's face.

I can't imagine the guilt Bo feels every day though, even if it is not his fault. Deep down, he knows it. Trudy knew it too, but she still never loved him.

She couldn't, even if she would have tried.

She made him angry, she broke him physically and emotionally over and over again, until there was nothing left but a sadistic and violent man.

Even if Bo would have tried to get away from the murders, he couldn't. It was too late, it was his fate, it was what his mother made of him.

And even if he was aware Trudy never loved him, he still safely kept her body inside the church and replayed her funeral over and over again. It may be an attempt to get free from her, to finally let her go and to not desire her love anymore. Or it may be just like when you scratch an old wound and you make it bleed again. He knows he needs her, but he lost her forever and even if she was still alive, even if she could see everything he is doing for her and for her project, she couldn't love him.

Because she didn't have it in her.

And he knows it.

I hope you know we had everything

When you broke me and left these pieces

I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and

I want you to lose like I lose when I play what could have been

Oh, what could have been

They could have been a happy family despite everything.

Vincent was the little artist, Bo could have been the responsible big brother and he could have helped the family. Lester could have brought so much light and joy in the family too.

But Victor and Trudy didn't have it in them to be good, even less to be good parents. Their love was toxic and selfish. Maybe they loved each other, but Trudy certainly only loved her art.

More than once Bo cursed his parents, his mother. He just wanted to be loved, he just wanted to be part of something. He was jealous of Vincent, of course. But at the same time, he loved his twin too much and Vincent had always been there for him.

Bo's anger was directed toward his mother. The pain was (and still is) unbearable. He could imagine how life could have been. When she died, he wondered if it wasn't his own hatred and violence who killed her. Maybe everything he felt turned into a disease and destroyed her body like she destroyed him.

Maybe it was her own hatred and violence who killed herself, but Bo never thought about it, because things were always his fault.

In the end, she died and Bo killed Victor.

No one won, and everyone lost.

Why don’t you love who I am?

What we could have been

He used to scream at her, to threaten her, to try and beat her. When he grew up things went worst and even Victor had issues fighting him off. Truth to be told, Bo would have never hurt Trudy. He just needed her to see how hurt he was.

But she didn't care.

Now, every day, he goes seeing her at the church, asking her why she couldn't love him. Everything could have been so much happier, if she had at least been able to pretend. He could have even been a better person. Truth to be told, he didn't particularly enjoy the killing, he just didn't believe he deserved a better life.

His mother told him too many times he was a monster, so it had to be true.

And he loved her so much.

I am your ghost, a fallen angel

You ripped out all my parts

I couldn’t care what invention you made me

'Cause I, I was meant to be yours

And because the boys loved her, worshipped her, they couldn't let go of her work. Vincent didn't want to leave because of his face and because he had to keep going her art. Bo didn't want to leave because he couldn't let go of Vincent and because he wanted his mamma to be proud of him, wherever she was (probably in Hell). Lester left but came back everyday for his big brothers. Trudy never loved Lester either, but she never hurt him, because she didn't care about him at all.

She hated Bo because he was a monster just like her, because she could see her own sins in him, because she could see herself in him. And she hated herself and she hated this stupid and pathetic life she had. She had always wanted more, she wanted to be famous and that was why she forced Vincent to promise him he would keep going her legacy.

She hated her life, but she was scared to die.

And she died painfully.

Vincent cried, Bo didn't but shattered even more, Lester was lost.

Victor went even more insane.

Funny how a woman who had no love was adored by the four men in her life. Such a waste.

I hope you know we had everything

When you broke me and left these pieces

I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and

I want you to lose like I lose when I play

In the very end, Bo and Vincent die in the House of Wax. Vincent hugs Bo and puts his face where it used to be in their mother's womb. It could have been the metaphor of a new beginning in a better life, but it is just Vincent looking for comfort as he loses everything.

They die because they spent their life wanting to please a woman who broke them; they even die inside of Trudy's legacy. All her creations are gone now, even her boys.

Lester is left alone once again, as if even death forgot about him. He may be lost, but he is the only one who has the chance to get free from this past.

With a bit of luck, Bo and Vincent will never find Trudy in Hell.

Despite everything, they still deserve better.

I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and

I want you to lose like I lose when I play

What could have been

#house of wax (2005)#house of wax thoughts #bo sinclair #bo sinclair thoughts #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair thoughts #lester sinclair #lester sinclair thoughts #trudy sinclair #trudy sinclair thoughts #victor sinclair #victor sinclair thoughts #sinclair brothers #sinclair family #slasher #slasher thoughts #what could have been

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ivory-lamps · 2 months ago

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B14: Happiness I Don't Deserve

Characters: Nagi, Toi, Ryui, Netaro & Yodaka Location: HAMA Summary: The Night Group’s opinions start to differ. That night, the protagonist notices something has been scattered throughout the living room. Proofreader: Shay

ㅤ

Momiji / Kaede: Ryui-kun took the sandwiches.

Daniel: Yeah? Great. You should eat up too.

Yodaka: He must be deeply regretting what he said, Nagi.

Nagi: …But I still feel pretty bad.

Netaro: Why? Ryui shouted like that because he turned his cowardly words inside-out. There’s no reason for you to feel uncomfortable, Gii.

Nagi: ……

Netaro: (He still hasn’t cheered up…)

I know! How about I find a way for you to see your mother?

Nagi: What?

Momiji / Kaede: How?

Netaro: I won’t use methods such as divination, relying on gods or anything unscientific.

I could make an analogy of Gii’s mother based on his DNA and recreate her or~ If we can find out where she died and fetch her remains, I can use them to–

Nagi: That’s impossible.

Netaro. You said you wanted to understand us, but I think that’s going to be impossible, so don’t talk to me right now.

Netaro: ……

Nagi: And it’s not Ryui’s fault – nor is he a coward. It’s because I got my hopes up and made him angry.

Momiji / Kaede: Nagi-kun…

Nagi: Manager, breakfast was delicious. Thanks.

*Nagi leaves the table*

Momiji / Kaede: (...And there he goes.)

Daniel: Good grief…

Momiji / Kaede: That totally backfired… I’m sorry.

Yodaka: Don’t be discouraged. Wounds will heal quicker if you don’t let them fester.

Momiji / Kaede: Right… Netaro-kun, at times like that, you should–

Oh, he’s not here.

Yodaka: It seems he also left after Nagi did.

Netaro: ………………

Netaro: That was the first time Gii got angry.

(What is this feeling…?)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ📍 Flashback

Nagi: Is it a feeling aliens don’t understand? Like you guys don’t have the organ for it…?

Netaro: “I’m suffering, I’m worried, I’m lonely, I’m sad – Just what on earth do all those things mean?”...

(What do they mean…?)

Toi: ………………

Ryui: You’re awake?

Toi: …I–Is Nagi-kun okay…?

Ryui: ……

Toi: He must be feeling down because of my divination. He must be unhappy, right?

Ryui: It’s not your fault. It’s Astaroth’s fault – it’s the Shiramitsu Family’s fault.

…And it’s also my fault. I said some pretty cruel things to him earlier.

Toi: …… Then, it’s our fault.

Ryui: …Toi, I went to Hakodate to find a way to remove Astaroth from you. I wanted to search for the Shiramitsu Family’s roots in Aomori.

But I ended up at a standstill at Hakodate.

Toi: There’s a lot of spiritual energy there, so you’re bound to be heavily affected since you get easily possessed.

Ryui: In the end, I couldn’t get any clues. I even went through all that trouble to steel my resolve because I had to leave you alone – I’m so pathetic.

But I’m definitely not happy with what I achieved, so don’t worry. I’m definitely gonna drag that demon outta you and kill it.

And then, I’ll set you free from the Shiramitsu Family.

Toi: ……

(Will I hurt Ani-sama’s feelings if I told him Aa-chama isn’t that bad of a child? Will he get angry if I said we exchange journals every day and that they give me advice when I need it?)

(I don’t want Ani-sama to hate me. I want him to stay by my side forever.)

(Will I be able to curse Ani-sama to stay with me forever if I told him he’s the reason why I’m unhappy?)

Ryui: Hm? What’s wrong?

Toi: …Sigh.

Ani-sama, here. I’m sorry for hiding it.

Ryui: ! No, I should be saying that. Sorry for making you feel anxious because I kept it secret from you.

Toi: The Compendium of Laws… Ani-sama, are you studying law? Is it your dream to work in that field?

Ryui: Uhh, well…

…When I stopped coming by the house, I got possessed by a really annoyin’ evil spirit.

Toi: Ani-sama, the spirits and apparitions really like you, huh. I would’ve been able to help you right away if I was by your side.

Ryui: The person that took care of me back then worked in that field. …I think.

Toi: …Is that so? Ani-sama, you’re good with your studies, huh.

Ryui: But the reason why I was interested in this path is because I figured it would help you, and it’s definitely not because I wanted to leave you behind, alright?

Toi, if you were freed from the Shiramitsu Family’s shackles – if you didn’t need to do those divinations anymore – what would you want to do?

Toi: Huh…? I’ve never thought about that before…

(If Ani-sama will stay by my side, then…)

Ryui: Don’t worry about me. Have a good think about it. I’ll definitely give you freedom.

Toi: ……

Ryui: Then, stop always thinking about other people’s happiness. Start thinking about your own happiness in the future.

Toi: My happiness…?

Ryui: I wonder what that’ll be. You like idols so maybe you’d wanna be one? Nah, I’m worried some weirdos might approach you. I guess I’m gonna have to beat ‘em up as your bodyguard…?

Toi: (In Ani-sama’s eyes, does my being in the Shiramitsu Family and doing divinations equal unhappiness?)

(Us being together isn’t Ani-sama’s idea of happiness?)

Ryui: Anyway, let’s try and find your happiness, Toi – one step at a time. Okay?

Toi: O–Okay…

Momiji / Kaede: Sigh…

(The more I think about what happened this morning, the more I don’t know what I should do. I’m sure no one’s at fault here.)

(If only I did a better job. Maybe things would’ve been different.)

(I can’t get down in the dumps like this. I need to do something…)

It’s 2AM already…? I need to sleep. Maybe I’ll have a cup of hot milk before bed.

Momiji / Kaede: ……? What’s this? I smell flowers…

W–What is all this…!?

Nagi: Oh… I guess you found me.

Momiji / Kaede: Nagi-kun!? What’s the matter? You didn’t turn on the lights?

Nagi: I’m covering the place with flowers to make up for all the happiness I felt since joining HAMA Tours.

It’s my farewell party sponsored by me… I guess.

Momiji / Kaede: What…? Farewell party…?

Nagi: …I’m sorry, Manager. I guess everything was too much for me. I knew I wasn’t cut out to be a leader.

I hope I can return the happiness I received with these flowers.

Momiji / Kaede: ……

Nagi: …I’ve… never been so deeply involved with others before. It was something I always dreamed of, and it was fun. But…

I kind of… feel so exhausted… I feel like I’m floating at the bottom of the sea.

Momiji / Kaede: (Oh, Nagi-kun…)

(He’s going to leave HAMA House and HAMA Tours.)

I should be the one apologising. I’m sorry for asking the impossible and asking you to join the company. I couldn’t support you properly. I apologise for my inadequacy.

Nagi: It’s not that at all, so don’t worry. It’s my own personal issue…

I think I had actually given up on my mother somewhere in my heart. I think I realised what I actually wanted to know was whether or not she loved me.

There’s no way to know that, and there’s no way Toi can find out for me, huh.

Momiji / Kaede: ……

Nagi: I went on a tangent and everything’s a mess in my head, but, uhh, I’m trying to say it’s not your fault at all.

…Okay, I better be going.

Momiji / Kaede: Nagi-kun. I won’t contact you or search for you until you’re ready to come back. So…

Just like how you’re always so kind to us, I hope you can also treat yourself with kindness.

Nagi: Treat myself with kindness…?

Momiji / Kaede: There are times where you can be confused because it’s too loud and lots of things are happening at once.

When that happens, you can forget everything and stay at the bottom of the ocean until everything becomes clear and transparent.

Nagi: ……

……………. Okay.

Momiji / Kaede: [*]See you home soon.

Nagi: …[*]Take care. And…

Truly… Thank you – for everything.

Translator’s Notes ☽.‎˖

● See you home (soon) & take care: This is one of those phrases that is very tricky to translate and translations into English can differ depending on context. The phrase is often used when sending someone off to do a task/errand or in general, sending someone off before they head off somewhere (i.e. a trip) under the assumption you will be seeing that person again in the near future. For example:

- Parents sending their children off to school - Parents/teachers/elders sending children/students off on errands - Partners sending their significant other off to work - Co-workers sending their colleagues off on a business trip - Family/friends sending off family members/friends on a trip (overseas/within the country)

The phrase embodies the many meanings of "have a good day", "see you later, "come back soon" etc. all in one. It's also important to note that it's generally followed by the phrase "Ittekimasu", which means, literally, "I'll (go and) return". This can be different from a Western standpoint, where the speakers will typically use phrases that more or less mean a simple and casual "goodbye" (and possibly followed by a "see you later/tomorrow/etc.") in this sort of situation. In short, the nuances are quite different.

In general, I've decided to translate this phrase that is related to Nagi as "see you home (soon)" to better convey the idea of "home" (and to an extent, throughout the entire L4mps main story, the idea of "family") – which will all make more sense as you read Nagi's final words in the last chapter of Side B.

In my opinion, something I feel that is significant to Nagi's characterisation is the fact that Nagi doesn't say "Ittekimasu / I'll go (and return)" here, despite it being a very commonplace phrase, as he has never had someone to say it to (the phrase feels out of place for him), and that he has made up his mind to leave (and not return), thus not saying the phrase on purpose. Definitely evokes very complicated feelings within Nagi – especially given the point in time.

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#18trip #18trip translation #nagi #toi #ryui #yodaka #netaro

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