#Angst and Tragedy

[miraclesabound]

All of This is Temporary

Summary: What should have been Mikey and Reader's special night goes sideways, and unfortunately, it never gets fixed.

Pairing: Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader, pre-relationship

Notes: This idea of Mikey and his friend getting thrown out of some VIP event came to me in a dream (and the music cue as well). A surprise cameo from one of my other favorite characters from a different show, because he showed up in the dream too. Also on AO3.

Warnings: Spoilers for The Bear, canon-typical language, classism, unrequited (?) love, addiction themes, tragic ending (mention of Mikey's suicide)

Tags: @pettyprocrastination, @cinewhore, @phoenixhalliwell, @nolita-fairytale

NOVEMBER 2021

The movie that Mikey won tickets for is at Doc Films , and given the place's history, you and Mikey are almost more dressed for an opera than a movie. He's done out in an old but clean tux, bow tie and cummerbund included - and you bought yourself a silver dress with matching clutch. You may not be a couple, but you take internal satisfaction in knowing how good you two look together right now.

The main thing that's important to you is that, at least from what you can tell, Mikey is fully sober this evening. You know you're not his keeper, but you feel some pride on his behalf - whatever he's strugging with, he's made the effort for you tonight, and that warms your heart.

However, that warmth sours in your stomach when you actually get to the theater. When you and Mikey walk in, it's clear that this is a much smaller event than you thought - and that you and Mikey are WILDLY overdressed. Of the maybe twenty total people there, the only other person dressed formally is a gruff-looking man whose hair is almost as dark as Mikey's is. In his case, he's wearing a strikingly modern all-black suit.

Mikey smiles when he sees the other man and gives him a hearty handshake. "Roy fuckin' Kent! What brings ya this way?"

Roy shrugs, but he accepts Mikey's handshake just the same. "Mikey Berzatto, ya old dog - just takin' some travel time - Coach Lasso fuckin' insisted... And who's this, then?"

Mikey introduces you, explaining that Roy had visited The Beef by accident a few years back during an exhibition tour in the States. "You better come in for a couple sandwiches tomorrow for lunch, ya hear me?" he tells Roy. "Won't take no for an answer!"

"Wouldn't miss it," Roy says. You and Mikey take your seats on Roy's other side.

A woman a few seats away chimes in with: "Oh, you two look so nice - is that your tux?" You don't care for the look of her - she comes across like someone trying to draw Mikey's sister Natalie from a mirror image only.

You want to believe that she's just being nice, but something about her tone is venomous, and Mikey must feel the same way. His response is icy. " 'Course it's mine, why wouldn't it be?"

"You're Michael Berzatto, right?"

"Yeah?"

"My cousins love your shop - I guess I'm just wondering why a sandwich shop owner would need to buy a tux instead of renting one; that's all."

If you didn't know better, you'd think she was trying to call you and Mikey tacky. Apparently Roy feels the same way, because he leans over towards her and says, "Oi, Pam, knock it off, yeah? Movie's startin'."

"Pam..." you think to yourself. "Why does that name sound familiar?" The lights turn off, and you smile to yourself when you hear a familiar musical sting playing for the movie intro.

"Don't call me by my name...all of this is temporary..."

You know this song very well, and you can't help but hum along. To your pleasant surprise, you swear that Roy is humming too. Who knew such a brash guy liked Halsey? Neither of you notice Mikey staring at you like you hung the moon and stars.

Suddenly the lights come up, and that woman who looks like Natalie's evil twin is standing in front of you, a sickening smile on her face. "Miss, you're going to have to leave," she tells you. "This is an exclusive event, and you're causing a disturbance."

Roy, God bless the man, speaks up for you - and thank goodness, because you feel like you're going to vaporize from embarrassment. "Pam, it's nothin', I was humming too."

"You're a VIP, Roy, and she isn't. It's my movie, and if I want her and her ridiculous disco ball of a dress out of here, that's my prerogative." Shit, you realize. This is Pam Stratford, the writer that Mikey enjoys so much. No wonder he was excited to get these tickets...

Mikey pulls you into his side - almost as if he expects Pam to take a swing at you. "Listen, I've always liked your work, but you don't get to talk to my g- - my friend like that - we got our tickets fair and square."

You can see that flash in Mikey's eyes that means either a bender or a fight is coming, and you don't want to see him arrested. Pam seems like the type to call the police in faster than they're needed. Pushing lightly against his chest, you say "Bear, it's ok, I'll just go..."

"Then I'm leavin' too," he says. "Roy, I'll catch ya tomorrow - Pam? You can go fuck yourself for bein' a snobby bitch." The silence is deafening as you two leave the theater, but the outraged look on Pam's face is almost worth it.

You shudder as you step out into the night air, even with Mikey holding you and blasting like a furnace. "It's cold - take me home?"

"Yeah, let's get you back before you freeze."

--

The train ride back to your neighborhood is quiet, and it's not until the two of you are walking up to your stoop that Mikey says, "Pam was wrong - you look gorgeous in that dress, and that's God's honest truth."

You smile at him. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

"Do we...wanna try this again some other time?" he asks, holding your purse for you as you dig out your keys. "Maybe not a movie, but some other excuse to dress up?"

"I'd like that, Bear," you agree. "Let's aim for after Christmas - I know how nutty things get for you during December."

"Then it's a date?" Mikey asks. He doesn't mean to put you on the spot, but if you don't feel the same way he does, he'd rather know now.

Your smile grows even wider. "It's a date - we'll nail down details after New Years." With a sudden burst of bravery, you hug him tight and kiss his cheek. "G'night, my bear."

--

Unfortunately, the holidays madness makes Mikey spiral in a bad way, and he never texts you back about the date. In fact, you don't realize as you turn to open your door that this will be the last time you see him alive.

#mikey berzatto #mike berzatto #mikey berzatto x reader #angst and tragedy #ships passing in the night #mikey the bear

[tuatara-time]

@saltyspittoon and I were talking about bad future things for our OCs the other day and I was ✨Inspired✨. So, instead of working on Once More With Feeling (@oncemorewithfeelingau) like I’m supposed to be, I wrote about a super angsty and heartbreaking potential bad future ending for Lucy and Penrose >:)

mind the tags/warnings on this, they’re there for a reason

#rottmnt #tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt oc #tmnt oc #angst #tragedy #angst and tragedy #kraangification #cw kraangification #cw kraang #cw death #writing #my writing #one shot

[loiseau-lyre]

Here is the new chapter of Black Sun or The Taste of Ashes.

Enjoy !

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31802443/chapters/109925625

Credits for sinlugar on Ao3 for the fanart.

#my fanfic #zucest #firesiblings #azula zuko #angst and tragedy #chapter 38 #black sun or the taste of ashes fanfic

[philosopherbouquet]

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandom: Warriors - Erin Hunter

Characters: Blackfoot (Warriors), Runningnose (Warriors) (mentioned), Littlecloud (Warriors) (mentioned), Tigerclaw (Warriors) (Mentioned), Brokentail (Warriors) (mentioned)

Additional Tags: Occurs before the Nine life ceremony in "Blackfoot's Reckoning", Inspired by Fanfiction, Blackfoot's POV, Blackfoot is nervous about the consequences of his actions, Canonical Character Death, Angst and Tragedy

SUMMARY: 

Before Blackfoot gets his nine lives, he sits outside Mothermouth and thinks.

Inspired by the A03 works of @katiek101

#a03 link #fanfiction #warriorcats #erin hunter warriors #blackfoot #tigerstar #brokenstar #angst and tragedy #inspired by fanfiction #Inspired by KatieK101

[rcreveal]

The Anniversary

Summary:

NanoMutt Prompt a day: Day 10- How you say I love you- when I’m not there. This what-if asks what would happen if Crowley and Aziraphale didn't get their reunion.

Work Text:

It was the anniversary.  It always happened on the anniversary.

Cold.

Dark.

Empty.

A form hung suspended, curved, unmoving.

Years suspended in silence, and still, it always happened on the anniversary.

How he still knew that a year had passed, out here so far from the rotation of a mediocre little star, in a pedestrian little galaxy.  That was all gone now.  It had been for millenia.  Ever since the Second Coming.

There was no air to move, but his body still went through the motions of sighing, hanging as it was suspended, weightless.  The tissues frozen and pale.  Eyes open but spiderwebbed with ice.

Always, the anniversary.

The figure arches back, a shockwave of dark light bursts in every direction.

“Right. I didn’t get a chance to say what I was going to say, I think I’d better say it now.”

I love you, I love you, I love you.

“I could always rely on you.  You could always rely on me. We’re a team, a group.”

I love you, I love you, I love you.

“And we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t.  And I would like to spend…”

I love you, I love you, I love you.

“You idiot, we could have been an us”

I love you, I love you, I love you

Wave after wave.  Pulse after pulse, celestial radio waves from an empty quarter of the cosmos.

The figure, arms and legs throw out and wide, tattered wings stretched, seeking a reply, seeking something back.

The waves cross like raindrops on a pool, intersecting, and the harmonics create a returning message.

“Don’t bother.”

The signal dies from the source

I…

The figure crumples forward, jerkily each limb freezes into place.

love…  

The last reverberation fades.

you…

A death rattle of something escaping, a glittering trail of ice drops from the frozen eyes.

Always.

The anniversary.

#good omens fanfic #short one shot #neil gaiman #hurt no comfort #angst and tragedy #the way you said i love you prompts #crowley #outer space #post season 3

[humunanunga]

Enough of the trope where memory loss undoes the damage or the corruption or whatever. More content where removing memories just removes the context.

The tragedy of needing to grieve and not knowing what or who you lost or why. The angst of having trauma and being denied the awareness that it's trauma. The suspense of being different somehow and left to wonder how and when. The tension of knowing that something is off and you can't find where it hurts. The Adventure Zone gets it. Kingdom Hearts gets it.

There is an aching inside you and you don't know how it got there.

#i think about xion or the stolen century and need to lay down. i'm so normal about them. #tropes #narrative tropes #memory loss #tragedy #angst #the adventure zone #taz balance #the stolen century #kingdom hearts #xion #writing #musings #hall of fame

[rosealiceroyal]

In an alternate universe, Alex and Henry's relationship wasn't revealed to the world. But, Alex's biggest secret is yet to be revealed to Henry: Alex has a heart condition.

Language: English Words: 1,367 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 1 Kudos: 93 Bookmarks: 7 Hits: 2,912

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #firstprince #heart condition #hospitalization #canon divergence #angst #angst with a happy ending #angst and tragedy #white house

[kittykalliarts]

For decades, the blank vision that Iudex Neuvillette wears near his heart has been subject to much discussion in Fontaine. Nobody remembers who it had once belonged to or why the ancient dragon protected it so jealously. It is said that if the Chief Justice would to stare at it for a long while, it would be sure to rain right after. Oh, how beloved that person must've been.

#genshin impact #genshin fanart #neuvillette #visions #wriolette #wriollette #neuvithesley #myart #sorry for the short drabble? #kasndkansd i have emotions over a simple thought i had #the tragedy for someone eternal to fall for someone who's here for only a brief moment eats away at me hhhh #it started with a funny thought of IF neuvillette needs to carry a fake vision for some reason after laughing at the archons for it #and then i remembered how people like kazuha would hold onto their loved one's masterless vision after they died #one thing led to another and now we have some wriolette angst with neuvillette cherishing wrio's masterless vision #after his inevitable passing #and idk if its just the traveller or if its even canon #but i like to think that neuv being a sovereign he would be able to hear the ambition of one's vision and maybe just maybe #he can use wrio's masterless vision to listen to his voice albeit ever so softly

[tsty-brry]

if life were a bit kinder (it would be an actual memory)

#to luo bingge #lookie here i love angst and tragedy but MAN #i stand with shen yuan HE DESERVES THR WORLD #my guy probably HOPED something like this would happen #the FRIENDSHIP ARC #HE GETS NO BREAKS #luo binghe #luo bingge #ning yingying #ming fan #svsss #scum villian self saving system #mxtx

[sunflowerius]

once again thinking about the parallels of Neil going into the Nest over Christmas break for Andrew and Orpheus going into the Underworld for Eurydice. hows your day going though.

#its minuscule and maybe a bit of a stretch but they're one of my favorite Greek myths so obviously i have to connect them #thank God only one is a tragedy though. one can only handle so much angst. #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #riko moriyama #the ravens #the nest #the raven king #all for the game #aftg #nora sakavic #orpheus and eurydice

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

love how Solar Opposites started out as a sitcom about two aliens who can't stand each other, stuck with their teenage clones (whom they also can't stand) & a toddler antichrist (whom they view as a sort of self-sufficient free-roaming hamster?) on a stupid planet they can't stand

and 4 seasons later it's a sitcom about a family of genderqueer aliens, headed by a gay couple in a happy & horny open marriage (with a graphic off-screen sex life, despite their canonical lack of genitalia?) teaching themselves to be okay parents to their 3 kids (whose Sci-Fi Antics now slightly-less-frequently revolve around wreaking havoc on human bystanders, and slightly-more-frequently revolve around alien-clone-sibling-bonding*), to the point that the central plot point becomes "We need to provide our toddler antichrist with a stable home environment."

(also the grumpy alien husband is too busy ingratiating his family with their suburban neighbors to even remember whom or what he dislikes. what is this show)

#*there is still SIGNIFICANT wreaking-havoc-on-human-bystanders. there is still a major Body Count. it's just not the Thematic Focus ok #solar opposites #solar opposites spoilers #i guess? #i'm in the middle of season 4 if u put spoilers in the notes i will HUNT you #ANYway #and then there's the whole B Plot #which is just a casually emotionally-gripping angst-ridden character-driven action-apocalyptic dramatic tragedy #just this masterpiece of emotional turmoil and sci-fi horror that technically is a C Plot to canon #a C Plot at BEST #love this show. try to think about it as little as possible. migraine-inducing #love all these characters. want to snap their necks like a game of musical chairs

[kitamars]

remains

#Oughhhhhhhhh listen. the angst #something something the immortal dying before the mortal #at least they’re be even on something #ACK ACK ACK #i love fokkuro ginhiji……..but also the allure of immortal/mortal romances…….the tragedy……….so good #so much to do with ginhiji #sakata gintoki #hijikata toushirou #ginhiji #gintoki x hijikata #hijigin #hijikata x gintoki #gintama #ok bye

[monacodarling]

Cant stop thinking about how paradoxical Charles and Max are I mean the narrative is there right but

Max growing up in a harsh condition—almost to the breaking point. Wanting nothing but to be the best. Conditioned to be alone. Used to being lonely.

Charles growing up in a loving family. Support from the family, having friends, growing up with different people hes still friends with today.

Max growing up under public scrutiny. Nothing like a famous father whose expectations you have to live up to. You can say he was born to race. That was his sole purpose.

Charles growing up wanting to be the best. The adoration and belief and faith from his family.

Max finally drawing boundaries with his own father. Christian and other people stepping in. Years of understanding. Finally in F1 in Red Bull.

Charles and his grief. One loss after the other. Finally in Ferrari, although a bit too late.

Max and his teammates—Carlos, and Daniel, and Pierre, and Alex, and Sergio. Some people he really start to let in, and be genuine friends. People like Lando start to come in. His demeanor slowly changes as people get to know him who he is and his love for animals.

Charles and his teammates—Seb and Carlos. Seb as someone who’s gotten to know what it’s like living with grief. Grief being a part of you. How much promises and faith weigh you down. Charles is very accessible. Kind and open to people. But he holds most at a distance. Like this is only where you get to only know me. This as far as you can go.

Max, doesn’t care what the public thinks, used to him being painted the villain, as someone who is angry and mad and raw all the time. But proves you can be as hungry and greedy as you can be, and only have a few people at your back. He’s fine with it. He’s used to be alone, he’s genuinely grateful of the people who’s been with him through thick and thin over the years. At the end of the day, he does things for himself. Because if being the best is his purpose in life, to make people happy, then that’s what he’s going to be. And if he’s tired of being the best, he can go because he knows there are people no matter who he is, they’ll be there.

Charles slowly suffering with the burden of the tifosi’s faith, his promise to Jules, his dad, to Anthoine. Charles wanting to be hungry and greedy but can’t stand of losing someone, of people abandoning him. Like I feel the more reckless and desperate he gets, it’s because he’s pushed by his own want. Sometimes what he needs to do and who he needs to be versus who he really is messes up his own vision of what he wants. He needs to be the best because it is a debt to be paid. And as long as it goes unpaid, he ignores the blood, he ignores the pain, he ignores the gnawing loss and sadness because he deserves it. He’s not winning, and he keeps on losing, and he is afraid if he’s unable to win, people will leave him. It’s either he leaves first, or he makes people leave, or in the end, he’s sure that people will leave him. He doesn’t know how to be alone.

Max with the faith in himself.

Charles’s faith of others towards him. Never from himself.

And I think that’s beautiful.

#the potential angst #of lestappen #I’m in love #I’m salivating #f1 #charles leclerc #lestappen #max verstappen #I feel if Charles has someone to push him #and challenge him #in good faith #like max or Alex for example right #he’d do so beautifully #but what he gets is muddled politics #and favoritism #and the tragedy of a legacy #cl16 #mv33 #mv1

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

there was no place in nature we could meet ; suguru geto

synopsis; it’s never fun to run into an ex. especially when the ex in question is your unfairly handsome high school sweetheart — who also just so happens to be a wanted mass murderer.

word count; 3.3k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst, exes to [redacted], lots of longing, geto is kind of a cunt but also disgustingly charming, reader is understandably upset, biblical imagery (i just think he’s so serpent coded), curse user geto is his own warning tbh

a/n; i wanted this to be a drabble so bad but it ended up just a little too long for me to get away w it so … :’3 yeah. i hate suguru geto (said w affection)

the moon is out.

in the shadows of the street corner you find yourself in, seated comfortably on the sidewalk, it’s a welcome distraction. something to look at, in the midst of your loneliness; the evanescent glow of the moon, illuminating your solitude.

a solitude soon to be broken. shattered into pieces, battered and bruised beyond recognition, jagged shards littering the asphalt. digging into the soles of your shoes.

”hey.”

for a second, you think you must be dreaming.

the figure obscuring the light of the lamp post in front of you is familiar. too familiar, a little too dear for your liking. as you grasp your shitty cup ramen, seeking the warmth seeping through the polystyrene, all you can do is stare. blinking dumbly, drowsily.

geto looks something like a bad omen.

sharp facial features, even sharper eyes. so dark they almost shift from an amber-tainted cedar into an obsidian black — two abysses, staring into your soul, beckoning you closer. they were always enchanting, but now you think they look almost hypnotizing. not at all in a good way. dark hair frames his face, cascading down his back, longer than you remember it being. and he’s wearing robes.

still has those fucked up bangs, though. of all the things to keep.

the gears of your mind turn, endlessly, untangling the mess of thoughts inside your brain. ensuring you that no, you are not hallucinating, and no, you didn’t fall into a deep slumber somewhere between the moment you exited the convenience store and sat down by one of tokyo’s empty street corners. this is real. a reality you can’t comprehend, can’t even begin to process.

what stands in front of you is a ghost. but ghosts don’t exist, can’t be seen, can’t touch the living.

(so how is he able to haunt you like this?)

what eventually jolts you out of your silent stupor is not the questioning tilt of his head, nor the suffocating sensation of your heart crawling up your throat, but the feeling of soft fur against your leg. the stray cat you met further down the street meows at you, sweetly, trying to get your attention. you think she must be asking for more grilled fish.

so, completely ignoring the apparition in front of you, you turn to reach for the little plastic bag you bought as a midnight snack — digging out a bit of fish for the kitty to enjoy. she seems happy, settling down by your feet. purring softly.

geto watches, eerily silent. 

(maybe he’s upset that you’re ruining his dramatic entrance. you hope so.)

finally, you have no choice but to look at him. a lump forms in the back of your throat, clogging up a little more for every second spent falling into the trap he’s laid out for you, trailing over his moonlit features with your tired gaze.

mouth full of noodles, staring holes into his attire, you narrow your eyes. suddenly disgruntled.

his lips quirk up. ”something the matter?” he asks, and you can’t even begin to describe how much you hate his voice. how devastatingly deep it is, during the late hours of the night. even deeper than it was back in high school. 

slurping up the soggy noodles, you lean back a little, licking some broth off your lips. finally meeting those abyssal eyes. 

”… i was gonna say those robes look like shit on you,” you exhale, weary, ”but you actually kinda pull them off. that’s…” 

a beat. you struggle to find the right word. 

”annoying.”

geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, and you find a hint of familiar amusement in the vague crinkle of his eyes. barely visible crows’ feet. then he’s moving — plopping down right beside you, robes fluttering with the breeze.

”thanks,” he hums. crossing his legs.

the silence that festers around you is odd. not quite suffocating, nor especially fragile. definitely not comforting. it’s familiar, yet different, and it hurts a bit more than it should. but you choose to look at him, out of the corner of your eye, and he looks right back at you. still smiling. 

when your eyes settle on the particular cloth wrapped around his torso, you just barely manage to bite back a taunting chuckle.

”a gojo-kesa, huh?” you grin, and geto doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t miss the meaningful glint in your eyes, either. almost satirical. ”you miss him that much?”

”just a coincidence,” is all he answers. smiling, but you think it looks a little stiff.

your grin widens, for a second, before settling back down. a sad transition. you let it go. 

”whatever you say, geto.”

at that, he visibly reacts. barely noticeable, but it’s there — a twitch of his lithe fingers, an unknown something that flickers through the scope of his iris. when he looks at you, a neutral smile is playing at his lips. 

”ah. i take it we’re not on first name basis anymore, then?” he asks, jovial. hiding a tinge of something mildly displeased.

a shrug. you pick at what’s left of your ramen with your chopsticks, a little too nauseous to enjoy it. ”call me whatever you want. i just don’t see suguru when i look at you, y’know?” leaning forward, you begin to pet the kitty by your feet. ”he was sweeter.”

geto smiles. almost a grin, but not quite there. a chuckle spills out from his lips, and something about it irritates you. ”was he?”

”yeah,” you nod. without hesitation. a summer-stained memory blooms behind your eyelids, but you try not to look at it. all you catch is a glimpse of cherry blossoms. ”you just seem bitter.” 

the grin that finds its way onto your lips is self-deprecating. a shadow falls over your face. ”guess we’re similar in that way, huh?”

a hum buzzes in his throat. he casts a meaningful glance towards your hand, scratching behind the cat’s ear. ”oh, i don’t know about that,” he drawls, smile growing. ”.. you seem just as sweet as always.”

to your grave annoyance, you can’t control the way your face changes at his words. a twitch of your lips gives away your discontentment, and something sour settles on the tip of your tongue.

(your blood begins to boil, beneath your skin.)

geto sighs, suddenly, filling the tense silence surrounding you. a little theatrical. ”ah, but that’s a shame.” he turns to you, soft pout playing at his lips. ”i was hoping i could hear you call me suguru again…”

”— i was hoping you’d come back.”

a beat.

(somewhere outside your vision, a crow takes flight into the night sky. swallowed by the darkness, melting into the sea of black. no longer perceivable, by you or the world.)

”but you never did,” the polystyrene of the plastic cup crinkles beneath your fingers. your eyes look dull. ”so what the fuck do you want, exactly?”

…

”i heard.” geto rests his jaw on the heel of his palm, gazing at you with those piercing eyes. like he’s trying to see inside your brain. ”.. about your decision.”

”ah,” a grin splits across the curve of your lips, showing off the white of your teeth. ”of course. that’s what this is about, huh?”

with groggy movements, you throw away your nearly-empty cup of noodles, haphazardly aiming towards a trash can across the street. it bounces off the steel cover, landing on the ground with a soft thud. leftover broth spilling out across the pavement.

(geto doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, lips twitching upwards as one of his curses goes to pick it up. you furrow your brows in embarrassed annoyance.)

a moment passes, and something in you knows that he’s waiting. it’s like you can practically sense it, like it’s etched into your bones. the same way you always knew exactly when he would begin to get impatient during your nightly convenience store runs in high school, after you had spent about five minutes struggling to decide what kind of chips you wanted. 

”what can i say,” you lean back, palms against the rough concrete. breathing in the midnight air. ”you inspired me.”

geto tilts his head. smiling. always, always smiling. he smiled at you the day before he massacred that village, too. ”oh?”

with a deep breath, cool air courses through your body. burning your lungs. ”i realized being a sorcerer is completely fucking meaningless,” you exhale through your nose. ”and that trying to change that fact is even more meaningless.” 

a wicked, rueful grin rests on your lips. ”so i left.”

geto doesn’t say anything, so you continue. voice dripping with venom.

”i’m a civilian now,” you purr, mocking. a sardonic coo cast his way. ”does that bother you? feel like killing me?”

…

his smile looks a little off, now. tilted in a direction you don’t want to recognize. you don’t care to examine it further, don’t care to figure out if it might look just a little bit sad, because that’d only hurt more.

so you look away.

a click of his tongue. then he speaks, with that honeyed voice, raspy and husky. almost a groan. ”well, i can’t say i approve.”

he’s looking at you. sharp eyes digging into your skin, dissecting you, a million words he expects you to grasp from that look alone.

”you’re better than them,” he states, and you try not to squirm when his eyes trail over your features. ”worlds better.” his voice sounds almost motherly, a twisted concern that makes you cower a little. like he’s scolding you. a crease between his brows.

”i don’t like the thought of you surrounded by these animals.”

a huff pushes past your lips, but it sounds shakier than you’d like it to. you hope he just chalks it up to the chill of the air. then again, when has he ever made anything easy for you?

”what, you got a problem with cats now?” you reach for the little furball licking grilled fish off the concrete, picking it up. cradling it close. ”gonna go on a cat-killing spree?”

an amused exhale. geto narrows his eyes. ”funny,” he hums, but his eyes say you know what i mean.

it takes you a moment to regain control over your breathing. there’s still something tense in your shoulders, and your heart still feels a little like it might jump out of your throat and crawl into his lap. the stray cat slips from your grasp, moving towards geto, curiously sniffing at his robes. he looks at it with no ill intent, and it puts you at ease.

”well, i appreciate the concern, buddy,” you pat his back, trying not to flinch at the contact. trying to appear relaxed. ”but frankly, i don’t give a shit. i actually like my job, unlike literally every single sorcerer on planet earth.”

geto stills.

”.. buddy?” he echoes, ignoring every other bitter word you just graced him with. for some reason, he actually seems visibly bothered. ”i’m buddy now?”

you click your tongue. muttering, tiredly. a little exasperated. ”.. what else would you be?”

and then he smiles, again. only this time, it looks oddly genuine. the same as you remember, framed by cherry blossoms and the fizzle of youth.

his movements are smooth. like he’s completely unguarded, like this situation doesn’t bother him in the slightest. elegant, in the way he leans back, palms on the concrete to support his weight. keeping eye contact with you, all the while.

when he speaks, his voice has a sweet tinge to it. nostalgic, maybe. wistful. if you hear a touch of longing, you choose to ignore it.

”i seem to recall you calling me baby quite a lot,” he hums, and you stiffen. gritting your teeth. eyes darkening, but he continues. ”what else was there? angel, i think… it was sweet.”

then he’s leaning forward. scratching the cat under its chin, gently. ”ironic, though.”

an inhale. then, an exhale. they’re a little shaky, a little meek, but at least they make the lump in your throat feel less like it’s blocking your windpipe. air fills your lungs, but it tastes like nothing at all. 

something like sorrow simmers in your eyes. or maybe more like fatigue. god, you really want to cry.

(you wonder if he gets some sickening satisfaction out of seeing you like this, out of breaking you. maybe it just makes him feel rotten. you don’t know what you’d prefer.)

”suguru,” you murmur, at last. voice dripping with exhaustion. defeated, the sigh that flows from your lips. ”why did you come here?”

…

”join me.”

the words spill out into the open air, slicing the silence in half. heavy. a request, not a question. against your better judgement, you turn your head to meet his gaze.

”we could use you,” he says, and there’s hope in those keen eyes. he maintains his distance, but for some reason you still feel like prey being sized up by a predator. like he’s weighing your value.

a chuckle slips from your lips, but there’s no humour to it. ”use me…” you echo, a tired murmur under your breath. ”you're just straight up admitting it, huh? kinda refreshing.”

”that’s not what i meant.”

he inches closer. slowly, as if trying not to scare you. reaching out, to brush through your bangs, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. tangling them between your locks, inserting himself into your space. testing the waters. 

you don’t look at him, completely still. barely breathing. like a wounded animal.

”i want you there,” he says, and it comes out almost as a whisper. ”with us.”

unable to resist the temptation, you indulge in a single brief glance his way. his eyes look warm, and his lips look soft as they part.

”with me.” 

there’s a devotion to his voice when he continues, one he’s always had. one you thought you’d always be able to trust. ”i’ll create a world where you can be happy,” he vows. ”i swear it.”

a moment passes.

(you swallow thickly. it takes everything you have not to burst into tears. when you remember how he brushed you off, back then, it gets a little easier. when you remember all the skipped meals.)

”.. like you give a damn.”

geto smiles. you loathe how soft it looks, how similar it is to the one suguru always had. when you used to eat your ramen too quickly and started choking on it, and he brought a palm to your upper back, patting it gently. he’d chuckle, and tell you to slow down, and the softness of his smile would almost be enough to distract you from the amusement in his eyes. 

”my love.”

you flinch. breath drawing back at the base of your throat, heart screeching to a halt, and some part of you emerges; the shy, sweet kid you used to be. hanging on to his every world. like he was your sun, your guiding light. back when that purr of my love had you blushing furiously, not choking back a string of curses.

it’s sudden, and you can’t react the way you want to. you want to kill him for calling you that. for thinking he has any right to call you his, anymore.

but that sweet, naive, innocent little kid still exists. even if you want to pretend otherwise. it’s there, somewhere, that part of you — peeking out from behind the curtain. and it stops you from saying anything that might hurt him.

(it’s so hard to hate him when he calls you that.)

if geto notices your inner turmoil — he must — then he doesn’t mention it. you don’t say anything, but you hope the amused, harsh exhale you partake in is signal enough for him to cut it off. now.

yet he continues. there’s love in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. if he’s trying not to hurt you he’s doing an awful job.

”… i never stopped thinking of you,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it. ”not once. i left for you, not just for myself.”

and, despite every part of your being resisting it, a sweetness settles on your tongue. so sweet it’s sickening; the thought that maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe he really has been thinking of you. maybe you’re more to him than just a means to meet an end, or a memory yet to be buried.

geto looks at the moon. bathed in moonlight, he looks a little like a god. like something reverent. his voice is honeyed. low, like a secret.

”this world doesn't deserve you.”

silence.

a subtle anger trickles through your veins, a kind of fury, subdued, carefully tucked away. sparking to life inside the depths of your eyes when you look at him. bitter, given everything. but your voice still comes out sounding something like a plea.

”and you think you do?”

another smile. this time, it looks a little sad. remorseful, maybe. ”… let me prove myself.”

his touch burns. the pads of his fingers against your cold skin, cupping your cheek. slithering down to grasp your hand. and you’re pliant, unable to react. just sitting with that aching hollow feeling in your chest.

”i wasn’t worthy, back then,” he hums, bringing your hand to his lips. ”but now…”

a kiss to your knuckle. featherlight. reverent. you try not to shiver, but when he says your name, dragging each syllable out, like they belong on his tongue —

a chill runs down your spine.

when he speaks, you feel his warm breath on your skin. it’s dizzying. ”i’m not the same suguru you once knew,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. and devotion, frighteningly sincere. ”unlike him — i’ll never let you go.”

what a twisted desire. he wants to take you with him, drag you down to hell. the suguru you knew wouldn’t put you through that. but maybe you’re even more twisted, for wishing he had; for wishing he had taken you with him, ten years ago, instead of leaving without a single goodbye.

geto’s voice is soft. coaxing, like he's handling a frightened mouse. join me, he whispers, and you think of eve. when you look at his mouth you think you see serpents’ teeth behind his lips.

(you're almost sure he notices it. and you're almost sure his smile widens, lips curling up, as if preparing to open his maw and swallow you whole.)

a sickening sense of resignation roots itself somewhere in your gut. 

you pull your hand away, and he lets you. the loss of warmth hits you like a freight train, but you aren’t sure you could think clearly with his skin on yours. when you part your lips to speak, only air comes out, just barely forming a sentence. like there are no more words to say. like the world stopped spinning around you both a lifetime ago.

”i don't love you.”

…

for just a second, his smile falters. 

”.. no?” he hums, and you wish it didn’t hurt so bad to see him hurt. his eyes carry a kind of patience, something gentle. ”it’s fine… these things take time.”

a bitter chuckle. ”like you’d know anything about waiting,” you spit, and it comes out sounding venomous. a phantom ache sprouts in the spot where his lips touched your skin.

geto closes his eyes.

”.. you don't need to love me,” he says, finally. kind. you hate that he still sounds so kind. so understanding, like nothing you do could be wrong in his eyes. ”as long as you're beside me, that's enough.” 

he turns to look at you, and his smile looks very real, for a moment. impossibly fond. ”i have two daughters. i’ve told them about you,” he smiles. ”my family… you’d like them. i know they’d like you.”

dark clouds cover the moon, suddenly, and a shadow falls across you both. illuminated only by the streetlight. in the distance, you hear a car whooshing by.

”don’t stay at the bottom,” he beckons, and your name slips from his lips again. soft, his tongue bending around the vowels. coaxing. stirring your heartstrings like a puppeteer.

then he’s standing up, dusting off his robes, large hands smoothing down the fabric. turning around, towering over you; obscuring everything else. all you see is him, under the glow of the lamp post. a halo of artificial light.

”come. let me show you the world we can create.”

he gives you a sweet smile, two abysses gazing at you. the promise of something, something twisted. something new. forbidden. you think of red skin, yellow flesh. the bite of sin.

and for a second, you see it. the world. a world where laughter comes from the bottom of your gut, and the trees are always ripe for picking, red apples hanging from the branches like glowing rubies. 

paradise.

geto stretches a hand out towards you. fingers unfurling, one by one, like a blooming camellia. close, right there in front of you, so close that you’re tempted to take his hand in yours, let him carry you away. burn everything else to the ground. 

(you think of the serpent. you think of god.

only one of them banished eve.)

”so,” he smiles. ”what do you say?”

#i just think curse user geto is soooo …… #hes so. hes just so #he has this undeniable softness and hes genuinely a very sincere man. but he just comes across as extremely insincere #n kinda.. suffocating? like just one look from him to you makes u wanna hide. even though hes so coaxing and gentle and eager to care for u #he just has that ’doomed by the narrative’ swagger yknow? the ’distinct air of tragedy’ charm #anyways im completely obsessed and i fear i would fold instantly rip to all non sorcerers #title taken from ’half-light’ by frank bidart btw read it its so good . very stsg coded #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #geto angst #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

[ello-ol]

Gojo didn't confess to Geto because he thought they had more time.

Megumi didn't confess to Itadori because he knew they didn't.

#the same tragedy in different fonts #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #satosugu #stsg #angst #itafushi #gojo satoru #geto suguru #yuji itadori #megumi fushiguro

[rcreveal]

Wasteland

Summary:

NanoMutt Prompt a Day Challenge Day 26: How you said I love you: Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave Sorry, it was a harsh prompt and brought out a harsh what-if story. This is also inspired by the Season 2 unused concept art where the Bookstore is the only structure still standing in a burned out London. https://64.media.tumblr.com/4303df11b63a05d8a29785bd0ed0ec19/aab3247c31088bc8-8d/s500x750/2db5926947409d03934bf1f950f9904c1ff85538.pnj Trigger warning -graphic radiation injury imagery   What if Aziraphale did complete the Second Coming from up in Heaven (nuclear annihilation of the whole world like in the S2 Armageddon slide deck that Gabriel rejected) and Crowley stayed on Earth the whole time? What would it take to break Crowley's love?

Work Text:

Aziraphale steps out of the portal to Heaven into the Soho Bookshop.  Inside is whole and secure, but outside…

Outside is a wasteland.

The Bookshop is the only building standing for miles.  Burned piles of brick, rubble, and twisted girders meet Aziraphale’s view under a sullen, red-orange sky.  He is already hurrying out of the Bookshop to where he knows he will find, can already feel the presence of,

“Crowley!”

The lean figure standing dressed in smoke and grime-darkened clothes seems chiseled now, all softness gone.  Crowley turns his head from looking out on the wasteland that was London, was the whole world, and Aziraphale sees a desolate, haunted look shadows his eyes.

“Angel,” Crowley replies in leaden tones, and goes back to staring at the husk of the world.

“Crowley, it’s over!  The Second Coming is over!  We can be together now…” Aziraphale says excitedly.

“Oh.  It’s over , alright.  Your Second Coming saw to that !” the venom in Crowley’s voice is like nothing he’s heard before.  The haunted eyes turned on Aziraphale are burning in the gaunt face.

Aziraphale tries to explain, “But we won!  And the good people got their just rewards, it’s all sorted now.  We don’t have to…”

“We?  What we , Angel?” Crowley rounded on Aziraphale, fists clenched, jaw tight, voice low and cutting, “Where were you when the bombs fell?  When the people cried out in terror and despair knowing there was no safe place to go?” Aziraphale hypnotized by the orange snake eyes can see the bombs and the flames reflected in them.

“Where were you when I dug through the rubble of the coffee shop and the record shop, the music shop, and the magic shop?” Crowley’s voice starting to rise, “Look what happened to your neighbors, Angel!  People, families, you’ve known for generations! ”

“WHERE WERE YOU!  when I found Nina and Maggie, burned unrecognizable from the bombs, their ragged lungs still drawing breath in desperate, wet, rattling gasps, unable to see or speak, but still screaming ?”

Crowley points an accusing finger at Aziraphale, voice hissing, “Where were you when I tried to lift them from the rubble and their burned flesh came away in my hands, Aziraphale!?” 

Arms thrown wide, taking in the neighborhood, the city, the whole world,  “WHERE WERE YOU WHEN MY MIRACLES COULDN’T PROTECT THEM, COULDN'T HEAL THEM AND ALL I COULD DO WAS GIVE THEM MERCIFUL DEATH!!?”  Crowley’s jaw muscles tense and he swallows down bile, and now Aziraphale realizes what he has been smelling: the burned bodies and putrification of the dead.

Aziraphale, hands out placatingly, pleads, “But Crowley, that was just brief suffering.  It all makes sense when you look at it sensibly!  The good got eternal bliss in heaven, the bad died forever.  Trust me, it’s sorted.  Now, finally, there’s time for us ,” he’s begging now.  Begging for understanding, for the easy acceptance they once shared with one another.

Crowley snarled at him, “I thought you were supposed to be the Guardian Angel!  What have you been guarding?  A tally sheet?  How good was good enough, huh?  100% good, 90%?  A breath over 50%?  The few I could save, I brought to the Bookshop to shelter.  I cared for them while the radiation poisoning killed them one, by one, by one.  You cared for your precious poll numbers !” Crowley spat.

“But it was important to know whether Good or Evil triumphed in the end!” replies Aziraphale, stung.

“Good or Evil? What bloody difference does it make when THERE’S NOT A BLESSED LIVING THING LEFT ON THIS BLIGHTED PLANET!” Crowley staring fiercely into Aziraphale’s eyes sweeps an arm in a full arc behind him before letting it fall to his side.  

Turning away he says, “I’m off. There’s no one left I can help or protect, what little good my protection ever did, but at least I tried.”

Aziraphale sees that he means it, means to leave, and never come back.  Desperately, he grabs Crowley’s tattered sleeve, “Crowley, I love you! Stay with me!”

And cowers back from the look the demon levels on him now,  “You’ve taken EVERYTHING I’VE EVER CARED ABOUT!” Crowley grips Aziraphale’s grasping arm painfully,  “And if you think I’d EVER love one of the butchers that did this…” he wrenches his sleeve out of the angel’s grasp and shoves him away with both hands, to sprawl in the dust.  “Then you’ve never known me.”  Standing over Aziraphale, Crowley’s wings spring open and he leaps towards the dull reddish sky.  But now Crowley’s wings are not merely black, they hold the cold blackness of the depths of space.  He has become like Azrael, the angel of death.  The last look he gives Aziraphale is through a face turned into a death’s mask and the clap of his wings brings the darkness of utter despair.

And in the darkness, Aziraphale doesn’t know, can’t remember, is this a nightmare or a memory?

#good omens fanfic #nanomutt prompt challenge #short one shot #protective crowley #angst and tragedy #hurt no comfort #what if