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ohtobeleah · 8 months

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Self-flagellation // Tom Kazanksy

Summary: The death of Goose Bradshaw rocks the TopGun class. Iceman struggles with the ideology that his death could have been prevented if he wasn’t sure sure of himself.

Warnings: Suicide attempt. Suicidal tendencies. Depression. Mentions of pregnancy.

Word Count: 3.2k

Author Note: Day Five of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Self-harm. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

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The warm soapy water soothed Tom’s aching muscles as he let himself slide down the side of the bath till the only thing remaining above the water was his head. Notes of jasmine from your scented epsom salts he swore he never indulged in filled the bathroom as the drip from the leaky faucet filled the void, the silent but all consuming void of nothingness that had followed Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazanksy around ever since he saw Nick ‘Goose’ Bradshaw break his neck during a freak accident.

It could have been avoided, the death of Goose Bradshaw. If Tom hadn't been so arrogant, if he hadn't started the chain reaction of events that led to Goose's death by cutting Maverick off—perhaps it all could have been avoided. He was so arrogant and sure of himself that he could get that shot, it was just a training exercise, no one should have died.

The more he thought about it as he sunk deeper and deeper into the water, he knew he should have moved. He knew that it was his fault, his actions, and every choice that led to the death of Goose Bradshaw.

And that was something he couldn’t live with.

“Tom!” Your voice cut through the water like a breath of fresh air as you pulled your fiancé up from under the water he’d sunk under. “Jesus Christ what the hell are you doing?” It was the shock of walking into the bathroom and seeing your fiancé completely submerged and not making any attempt to move or get up that was talking. “Tom?” You asked as you assessed his face with both your hands cupping his cheeks. “What are you doing? What’s gotten into you?” You were in search of an answer that perhaps would have been written in the lines on his face—but when Tom reached up to take your hand in his and kissed your knuckles a few times. You knew something was wrong, very wrong. It was the look of dismissal in his eyes.

The very look you saw from your mother right before she was admitted into the loony bin.

“I’m fine—“ Tom tried to reassure you as you tried to keep your composure. “Totally fine dear, just thought it was real quiet under the water.” Tom wanted to tell you about the voices in his head that he’d been trying to silence. Or about the way the burn his lungs felt as he begun to run out of oxygen made him feel closer to Goose. He wanted to be under that water—if you hadn’t pulled him up he would have truly stayed there. It seemed like a peaceful way to go.

He wanted to tell you that it was all his fault, he killed Nick Bradshaw and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t live with the guilt, he saw that little kid on his mothers hip at the funeral three days prior and ever since he made eye contact with little Bradley Bradshaw—Tom wanted nothing more than to trade places with the RIO he killed with negligent flying.

But he didn’t tell you any of that. Tom Kazanksy wouldn’t let his walls come down for no one. Not even you—he didn’t want to be seen as weak minded. His father had instilled a great fear of being seen as less than man enough if he were to ever shed a single tear. So the idea of crumbling to his knees, holding you tight and telling you he wanted nothing more than to trade places with a dead man was far beyond the realm of comprehension.

“I’m fine honey, I was just in my own world for a second there.” You were completely disinclined to believe what your fiancé was saying. The signs were all there. The warning signals had been popping up for weeks. But all you did to keep the peace was nod in simple silence as you sat on the edge of the bathtub. “I love you, I’m sorry for spookin you.”

“You’d tell me—“ You cooed as you pushed Tom's hair from his forehead. “You’d tell me if you weren’t alright wouldn’t you baby?” The question packed a punch Tom wasn’t exactly ready for. He couldn’t tell you, you’d think he was certifiably insane for having such thoughts. He didn’t want you to worry about him, he was fine, he was totally and completely fine.

So he lied right through those perfect teeth of his. He held your hand back up to his lips and pressed gentle kisses across your knuckles. His eyes told you a completely different story to the rhetoric he was spinning. Tom was going under, he was drowning in his own sorrow and guilt for a man he’d let down, that he’d killed. But he wouldn’t tell you that, he couldn’t bring himself to explain to the love of his life.

So he lied. He lied and lied and lied, hoping that one day soon he’d believe himself.

“Absolutely.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

He didn’t mean for it to happen, Tom Kazanksy never meant for his actions to result in his colleague and friends' untimely death. He didn’t mean to rip a family apart at the very seam.

But he had. And he couldn’t cope with the guilt.

“I’m worried about him, Carole.” You sighed as you walked with the newly widowed woman to her husband's grave. “He blames himself, much like Mav.”

“It’s nobody's fault—“ Carole cooed as she held a bunch of roses in her hand and her sons in the other. Bradkey didn’t understand where his daddy had gone and it broke your heart. “It was just a freak accident—I know my husband wouldn't have put the blame on anyone, and I don’t either.”

Carole Bradshaw was a beacon of hope to all the aviators who had lost a dear friend. She was the very reminder they needed to keep going, to keep her husband’s legacy alive by doing what he loved the most.

“I think you should get him to talk to someone if you’re really concerned, even if he doesn’t think anything’s wrong—it always helps to talk it out.” Carole mentioned as she walked with you side by side. “I talk to a therapist about this new chapter twice a week.” She admitted tentatively. “Sometimes it feels all too much, then I remember I have Bradley.” She smiled softly, looking down at her husband’s surviving son. “He deserves to have a mother who’s as put together as can be.” That’s when Carole looked at you genuinely and wholeheartedly saw into your very soul as you held back tears. “Tom needs to be as put together as he can be, for the little one.”

“I haven’t even told him yet.” You could feel your bottom lip wobbling as you spoke. “I don’t want to overwhelm him.” You were only a few weeks along and hadn’t worked up the courage to tell your fiancé yet. He wasn’t himself, between his need to be alone and his lack of attention to your relationship, you felt as if the news of a child would completely dismal Tom's very delicate mental state. “I’m not sure if he’s ready—“

“Maybe if he knew he’d helped create life then the idea he took it away wouldn’t be as overwhelming.” Carole always knew just what to say even when she was barely keeping herself together. After all, it was her husband's grace you were going to visit—not Toms. “Not that he had any involvement, because it was an accident.”

“How many times have you told yourself that?”

You had to ask. “You know, before you started to believe it?”

Carole let out a deep sigh that sounded like it came from her very soul. She squeezed her son's hand three consecutive times and did her best to keep her composure.

“I tell myself that every day.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Honey?” Days turned into weeks before you had even noticed that the weeks had long since turned into months. Tom was for the most part a shell of his former self. He wasn’t home when all the lights seemed to be on. “Tom baby, are you home?”

You’d gotten a call from Viper halfway through your shift, he was concerned to say the very least about Tom and the fact he hadn’t shown up for work this morning really had him worried. He’d asked the pilot if he was doing okay a few times since the accident—but every time he pressed, Tom did what he did best and shut the very people who cared about him the most, out.

“Tom? Honey it’s me baby—Viper called?” You cooed as you placed your keys in the little dish by the front door. The house was eerily quiet for the mid afternoon. Usually the offshore breeze would be blowing through the open windows, but when the air felt still, stale even. Like nothing had moved since you had left this morning. Like nobody had been home all day—yet your fiancés trunk was in the drive. A dead give away. “Honey?”

It was all very ominous, the stillness of your humble apartment, the ground floor of a four story building on the outskirts of Fightertown. The usually warm and cozy living room felt as cold as ice when you walked on by. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Nothing seemed different or misplaced—but the quiet hum, the bubbling anxiety inside your chest told you something was wrong. Something was off and something terrible was about to happen, or had happened.

You remembered what your mother looked like the night your dad had taken her to the emergency room. Her night gown was soaked in crimson blood that would never wash out. You tried.

“Tom? Honey, are you in there?” The bathroom door wasn’t locked, but it was closed shut. Your hand tightened around the doorknob as you let your forehead rest against the painted frame. “Please just answer me? I won’t come in if you don’t want me to.” You sighed to yourself as you closed your eyes and tried to will away the thoughts of your mother.

You always thought it would be you, mental health instability ran in your family like nothing you had ever seen. But here you were, your fiancé had been suffering and he refused to let you in. He refused to be a burden on you and now? Now you were afraid to open the door, you were terrified beyond belief at what you might see.

“Tom—“ Your feet felt frozen as you turned the door handle, the bathroom door slowly but surely creaked open. Time stood still as your eyes landed on the broad shouldered aviator lying in bloodied bath water that looked as thick as gelatin. “Oh god! TOM!”

The shrill that left your body as you rushed over was a sound so painstakingly familiar that for a moment you swore you had heard your father scream behind you. History had a funny way of repeating itself.

“Tom, honey—open your eyes baby look at me!” You tried to stay as calm as you could. “I’ve gotta call an ambulance.” That was the priority, call for help, stop the bleeding, save your fiancé’s life. You kept repeating it over and over like a mantra that would forever be embedded into your soul. Call for help, stop the bleeding, save Tom's life.”

The home phone was down the hall and boy did it kill you every second you were gone, but when you came back to the bathroom, you brought bandages and gauze from the first aid kit you kept in the kitchen with you.

“I’m here baby, I’m here.” Tom was unconscious but he still had a very weak, very faint, hardly there at all paulse. “Please don’t leave us, we’re right here, please please please don’t do this to us.” Twelve weeks, that’s how far along you were. For twelve weeks you had kept your pregnancy a secret from everyone except Carole Bradshaw. For twelve weeks your fiancé had been so distant and so closed off, disconnected even he hadn’t noticed the bouts of sickness, the fatigue, the way your stomach seemed a little more distended then it usually did. You weren’t showing all that much—but you thought the man you loved unconditionally, with your entire heart, with everything you had and more, would have noticed.

But he didn’t.

“Come on baby.” You tried to move him from the bathtub but the dead weight of Tom Kazanksys unconscious body was far too heavy for you to handle. “Stay with us, please.” Blood threatened to stain all aspects of the bathroom. The tiles, your clothes, even Tom's skin. But you did what you could with what you had to stop the bleeding coming from his wrists. Slashed deep. You had to hold back the nausea you felt as you wrapped both your fiancé’s wrists tight to stop them from bleeding any more, but judging by the amount of blood in the water and on the side of the bath—Tom had already lost a lot.

This wasn’t a cry for help, this was so much more. This wasn’t just to feel something, this was to feel nothing at all.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more observant.” You cried as you kept Tom above the water, his head lulled to the side in your hands as you waited for the medics to arrive. “Honey, oh baby we love you so much, please don’t do this to us, please don’t leave.” You had to keep your fingers pressed against his neck, pressed against Tom’s pulse point to remind yourself he was still with you. “If you leave us so help me Christ Tom I’ll never forgive you—don’t you do this to me baby.”

***~***~***~***~**

“No.” The last person Tom Kazanksy wanted to see was you, but here you were—sleeping in the small hospital chair beside his bed with your hand delicately intertwined with his. “No god no—“ He wasn’t supposed to be here with you. He was supposed to be dead, he wasn’t supposed to be alive where the burden was all too much and the guilt was all consuming. He couldn’t be here. “I’m alive?”

He couldn’t remember what happened after he’d sliced his wrists, but for what he could put together he assumed you would have been the one who found him. He left a letter on your pillow, he wondered if you’d found it.

“A clinician is going to come in and speak with you soon.” Tom looked over at you as you spoke, your eyes were barely open, but when he finally met your gaze he saw the hurt he’d caused in them. “Tom—“

“You should have let me die.” Was all he said back to you. The words he spoke hurt more than he would ever know. “It’s my fault he died.”

“Maverick said—“

“Forget what fucking Maverick said Y/n!” Tom snapped as you readjusted yourself in the chair you sat perched on. “I killed him! Goose died because I was flying recklessly and now I can’t live with the fucking guilt—you should have let me die!”

“There are people who can help Tom.” You were a little more stirn than you would have liked to have been, but your fiancé had just tried to kill himself over his own deep rooted resentment for himself. “God why on earth do you think that killing yourself is the only option here?”

“Because I don’t wanna go on living knowing I ruined someone else’s life!” He cried, Tom Kazanksy barely ever cried, in front of people anyway. But here he was, crying in front of you after he’d failed at taking his own life. You’d stopped him. “And if you hadn’t come home I’d be fucking dead! I wouldn’t have to live with myself and I wouldn’t have to look at you and wish you’d stop interfering!”

It hit you in that very moment that when you’d found Tom in the bath he had in fact not been alright, he was trying to drown himself. Only you’d pulled him to the surface.

“I don’t want you around anymore.” You looked at your fiancé with pleading eyes. “I don’t love you enough to stay, I don’t love you enough to keep fighting the fight I know I’ll fucking lose because I’m not strong enough.” It hurt more than anything else in this world. “You don’t need me, you don’t deserve to have to babysit me wondering when I’ll try again, because I will. I’ll try again until I’m dead and gone and don’t have to live with the guilt.”

“Tom—“ Tom Kazanksy was the love of your life. He was once the funny and charismatic man who swept you off your feet. But now as you sat by his hospital bed after saving his life, all he could say to you was why did you even bother. “I can’t leave you after this, you need someone—“

“If you stay I’ll just end up hating you—“ That was the nail in the coffin of your broken relationship. “I’ll hate you for saving me and I’ll hate you forever, so please, just leave, go.” Maverick stood by the door, he’d come to see if you needed anything. He had heard every word Ice spoke and his heart was broken for you. You didn’t see any of this.

This was so much worse than he ever thought it was. Maverick watched as you got up out of your chair, crying hysterically as you held a protective hand over your small but there baby bump. He knew. He knew you were pregnant, Carole had slipped up one night when she was in her own head about the entire situation.

“And don’t think I don’t know either.” Tom added as your tears fell down your face. He watched as you stopped in your tracks. “That baby is better off never knowing me.” He hissed as you kept your back turned, he wasn’t the same man you loved. This was the shell of a man you once knew, a broken man who had pushed everyone, including you away. “If you had bothered to tell me I would have asked you to abort it, saved you the trouble of my burden.” You turned back to face your fiancé as he spiraled further into his psychotic break. “It’s one of the reasons I did it, I don’t deserve to be a father after what I did.”

You took a deep breath as you wiggled your engagement ring off your ringer before you slowly moved back to the bedside. Tom watched you with teary eyes of his own. He couldn’t believe that he was giving up his entire world because he couldn’t handle the immense guilt, the shame, the fear he felt all for kissing one of his friends.

“You were right.” You dropped the ring into his lap, deciding that if Tom Kazanksy had given up on living that he didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve your support, your love, your energy or your child. This was different to what your mother went through, this wasn’t just depression, this was selfishness and cruel behaviour.

And hell—two could play at that game, become why on god's green earth should you continue to try and save someone who didn’t want to be saved?”

“You weren’t worth saving.” You whispered as you turned on your heels to head out of the room as the clinician walked in. Loving Tom Kazanksy had turned into a losing game. But you had just one final thing to say over your shoulder.

“Say hi to Goose when you see him, maybe you’ll believe him when he tells you it wasn’t ever your fault.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#ailesswhumptober2023 #leahs whumptober masterlist #tom kazansky #Tom kazansky top gun #Tom kazansky angst #tw: suicide attempt #tw: depressive episode #tw: suicidal tendencies

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bbcphile · 6 months

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WIP Wednesday

I've finally worked up the courage to post the opening of one of the Mysterious Lotus Casebook fics I'm writing (Li Lianhua/Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing), specifically, from my post-canon fic where LLH's shiniang tried to sacrifice herself to cure him.

Tw/cw: suicide attempt, mention of off-page non-consensual medical procedure, internalized ableism

***

Li Lianhua crashed to his hands and knees on the ground as the last trickle of his borrowed qi abandoned him, the densely-packed sand doing nothing to cushion the blow. The impact rattled through his spine and ribs, shaking loose a bout of coughing that forced him to swallow down the burning flare of copper trying to escape from his mouth. He couldn’t cough up blood now, not here, too many steps away from the water’s reach. It would leave evidence of his route, a trail that his shiniang would undoubtedly follow once she had broken free from the immobilization. He couldn’t let her find him until the job was done.

He pushed himself to standing, his arms and legs shaking hard enough to nearly drop him back to his knees, and he blinked to will the dancing black spots from his eyes. The waves awaited him, and he refused to crawl to meet them. He took a staggering step toward the sound of crashing water ahead of him, far fainter now than it had any right to be, and squinted against the sunlight to get his bearings.

A large gray lump on his left snagged his attention, disrupting the blur of gold and blue that filled up the rest of his view. Why did that look familiar? He took an unsteady step closer, pressing his palm against his chest to convince his lungs to hold back a cough one more time, and the gray lump resolved into a rock.

A rock that had once served as a pillow that was soft only in comparison to how hard the rest of the day had been.

Of course. He’d landed at Donghai beach. He swallowed back tears with a bitter laugh. Never let it be said that the universe didn’t have a sense of humor.

He’d returned after all: three months late for the duel and over a decade late for bringing his decrepit body back to the waves that had so decisively spat him out. But surely this time, with all the mysteries solved and no business left unfinished, the sea would accept the offering of his broken frame. Li Xiangyi was long dead and it was past time for Li Lianhua to follow his example. He was already a ghost in every way that mattered. And this was the only way to guarantee his shiniang would live.

She would be furious, of course, but wasn’t furious better than dead? How could it be unfilial to make sure she lived on? Too many people had died for him; he refused to let her join those ranks. Dying to save her was already a far better death than he deserved.

As for the others, Xiaobao would have his teachings and would be too busy climbing the heights of the jianghu to miss the weak physician he once protected.

And a-Fei—

—well, how could he still fixate on defeating a ghost with Xiaobao shining more brightly than Li Xiangyi ever had?

No, this end was far better for everyone, and best of all, no one would sacrifice their life or be forced to play caretaker to an empty husk of a man.

A familiar chill seared through his veins and meridians, despite the warmth of the fur of his outer layer, stealing away his breath and the amorphous blue blur before him. He took another stumbling step toward where it had been, his heart stuttering painfully in his chest.

Not much longer now. It seemed his frenzied dash here and self-shattered heart meridian were more efficient for what he had in mind than the weight his waterlogged fur coat would have offered.

Perhaps he didn’t need the coat for this at all. His body would certainly float further without it. And not even his shiniang could save him now, so what harm could it do to leave some evidence behind? Xiaobao might not believe the beggar’s words, but surely this fur cloak at the water’s edge would put to rest any lingering futile hopes. And then Xiaobao would tell a-Fei.

And if it brought them peace, if it let them say goodbye, then how could he not leave it behind?

It was decided, then.

He lifted his hands to the coat’s laces, then paused. Were those voices? For a moment, he could have sworn he heard—

—Ah, no, the hallucinations must have started again.

He smiled. At least he had heard a-Fei and Xiabao one last time, if only in his mind.

He untied his laces with fumbling, stiff fingers, and let the coat fall behind him.

His heart and lungs clenched with another spasm, and a wave of dizziness broke over him, threatening to drop him to his knees once more.

He fought against it, muscles shaking as they never had during battles. He couldn’t surrender now; not until he reached the water. He could manage three more steps. He had to.

He tried to lift his foot again.

The world swam before him, and darkness dragged him under.

#mysterious lotus casebook #mlc fic #my fic #Li Lianhua #Di Feisheng #Fang Duobing #Feihua #tw: suicide attempt #the fic will end happily I swear!#This is just about the lowest point for everyone #This is my first time really sharing my creative writing publicly in about 4 years #I am sooooo nervous omg #yay for at least temporarily being healthy enough to write!#wip wednesday #the POVs of the fic alternate between all 3 of the MCs #and they are all unreliable narrators in different ways

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sorio99 · 28 days

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So, I’ve pretty much entirely stayed out of the James Somerton discourse, because frankly, I just didn’t think I had anything that valuable to say. I wasn’t a fan of Somerton’s, I never watched his videos or fell for his lies, the first time I heard of the dude was in HBomberGuy’s video, and the most impact he’s had on my life is encouraging me to watch Todd in the Shadows.

That said, I did have thoughts as things developed, about his “apologies”, about his claims of depression, and even about the “suicide note” he posted to Twitter. But, I really didn’t feel like I had anything to add to the discussion that wasn’t already being said by at least 50 other people.

But uh, I have thoughts. About the latest developments.

One of the thoughts I shelved about Somerton in the past was that I wasn’t sure if the “note” being real or fake was the worse option. I really don’t have much sympathy for James, given some of the really heinous shit he’s said in the past, but I’ve never wanted him dead. I personally wanted him punished for his actions, and then removed from public view; I didn’t think anything he’d done deserved the death penalty.

While I do still think that, him posting a fake suicide note makes me VERY skeptical.

Here’s the thing: I’ve talked before about my struggles with my mental health, with Suicidal Ideation, and just general depression. There have been many times in my life where I have wanted to kill myself, and even one occasion a decade ago where I actively tried.

I’m also not a good person.

A few years ago, I did something bad to someone I cared about. I won’t go into details, for both selfish and non-selfish reasons, but suffice to say, it’s the kind of thing where I think most people would say I deserve some kind of punishment.

And I can say, based on that point in time, based on what I was feeling then, I could very easily believe that someone like James was actually suicidal.

I knew it could still be a manipulation tactic, I knew it probably was one. I even knew that, if it was real, it was still arguably a manipulation tactic. But I genuinely thought there was a chance, even a solid chance, that Somerton had wanted to commit suicide.

That chance has gone out the fucking window.

Let me be clear, also: the fact that James was horny posting on an alternate Twitter account, and engaging with media was not what convinced me that it was all bullshit. As someone who’s used the god damned Professor Layton games as a coping mechanism during depressive episodes, I’ve seen far weirder and worse responses to being suicidal.

It was how he talked about himself, responded to his defenders and accusers. The fact that while people were genuinely panicked at the thought that he might have tried to kill himself, he was purposefully stoking the flames and trying to make himself look better.

James Somerton is a fucking bastard, and I never want to hear from him, or ANY defenses of him, ever again.

#tw: suicide #tw: suicidal ideation #tw: suicide attempt #tw: suicide discussion #james somerton

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smolvenger · 1 month

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The Boat in the Water: A Beauty and the Beast Story (Loki x Stella Ransome, An MCU/The Essex Serpent Crossover Multi-Part) Chapter Four

Summary: Having lost her health and her husband's fidelity and love, Stella has nothing more to lose than her life. Then...she is swept away to another realm, to an enchanted castle. A castle whose master is a god...a god with a striking resemblance to her husband.

Chapter Word Count: 5K

Chapter Warnings: Pregnancy, childbirth, loss of a child, cheating (I play the Will/Cora affair in a negative light, and if that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, this isn't the fic for you), a bit of violence. If I miss something, please alert me so I can add onto it. A cliffhanger bc I choose violence. Some thirst, but no actual smut

Chapter Word Count: 7K (get water and snacks)

A/N: If someone knows or has immediate access or recalls if the Essex Serpent canonically mentions how the two children of Stella and Will died and I got it wrong, please let me know. I just had to guess. Thank you!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @anukulee @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson

They continued to sit on the floor. The fire crackled and Stella found her sandwich was delicious. It was a relief. Some of the dinners could get particularly heavy and would make her stomach hurt if she was not careful. Especially since with the consumption healing, her appetite was returning. This one had the right balance of bread and tomato. Not mushy and with the right crunch of the texture.

Loki looked relaxed. His dark curls had fallen down, they looked as soft as the feathers of a bird’s wings. Or an angel. He tore off the crust and ate it delicately bit by bit. He looked most handsome when he was at peace.

“All of this is hidden with your magic?” she asked him.

“It is the reverse. It is only certain magical elements that reveal it. I managed to control it. It took some practice, but I can open and close the Jotun form. And you think it not frightening? These beings that have done horrible things.”

“Humans have done horrible things too,” she said.

He hated he was right. Hated she was right about everything she said. It made him silently angry. And yet silently awed. He just wanted more. To hear her speak. To know how she came up with this, and what made her conclude this.

“What other kind of spells can you do?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. She set down her sandwich, her eyes dipping down. The nice sky blue ballgown she had on. The skirt was wide enough to balloon around her as they were sitting down.

“Let me see…”

She began to count on her fingers.

“You can make duplicates, control shadows, change your form...”

Loki wiped off the crumbs from his leathers.

“I can travel across worlds. Create illusions. Bend things to my will. I can read the memories of people, on special occasions,” he listed.

“Memories?” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“Have you already read mine?” she asked nervously.

“Oh, no- I only watched in my various forms what was happening. It was how I knew about the boat.”

She felt her face burn, but not from the fire. What was it- shame, perhaps?

“I know you must…must pity me. Think me a weak, silly woman,” she added.

“Yet something happened that woman was left to think that was the only action she could take…” he replied.

She looked up. Her plate was already left empty. She didn’t know how she could express it all. Say a word of what occurred in Aldwinter. There were so many words she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to say it in the right way. Or in a way that her weaknesses would get a better hold of her and cloud her judgment. Or say something unfairly ill of someone. But a memory- that would be a better, more unbiased way. To have him see everything that happened.

“What is it like? I am only curious… and I feel…you would…would understand everything more in-depth than me telling you,” she prodded.

She thought she saw his lips curl up just slightly.

“Oh, you would like me to read your memories, little star?” he asked.

“Yes, yes I would, please. I won’t mind it. But will it hurt?” she asked.

“No, not at all. All I need do is touch your forehead,” he instructed.

“Alright. You may read my memories Loki.” she permitted.

He set down his place. He nudged closer to her.

“Just one? Or any of them?” he asked.

“Whatever you can find. It won’t bother me.”

“And what if… I see you and your Lusty Vicar in a moment that was…intimate, shall we say?” he teased, a little laugh in his voice.

“Then please don’t dwell on it and move on!” she insisted. Her face was a little red.

He laughed.

“Oh, how I love watching you squirm! Alright…let me try…”

With his long fingers, as lightly as if she were the most valuable porcelain in the palace, he touched her forehead.

Taking a deep inhale, he began to search through. He found not just one memory, but a lot of them.

He saw Stella was a young woman. A rosebud amongst the clergypeople at church one Sunday morning. He felt her heart racing as she noticed the handsome young curate with curly hair and hints of a beard, and could feel the warmth in her cheeks whenever for a split second their eyes met. She would return down demurely. But when they went back up, he was still staring at her. As if she was the only one in the cold, grey church.

Then another. He bent his head as he stepped into the house. In his vest rather than his black and white. He had a bunch of flowers in his hand, which he offered to her. It was his second visit. And he brought flowers then too. All throughout tea, he still had that gaze at her.Like she that he was a predator and she was prey. She would blush and pretend she didn’t notice.

He then saw the heartbeat out of its cage as he confessed his feelings. “I love you, Stella.” He went on, though she was too astonished to speak. Praising her beauty, kindness, and virtue. She was crying happy tears. He asked to marry her to follow God’s path for them together and how eagerly she said yes.

He then saw an evening in her room. Her mother was behind her on the bed, combing her hair and rebranding it. And talking.

“The first time it happens, you will bleed. He might be large and it will hurt when he goes inside you, which he will want more than anything else to do. That or to have to pleasure him with your mouth. That’s what all men want.”

He could feel the gasp that couldn’t get out of her and how she felt so hot.

“I wish not to shock you, Stella. But for you to be ready to be his wife. Even if he is a priest, he is a man. It’s what men are. You cannot close him off. Much less on your wedding night. The one thing all wives must do- we must consider our husband’s happiness, not our own. It was what God designed us to do- to submit. You must think of that, and fulfill your duty to him once he is your husband. It is not for pleasure, but for duty” while combing her hair.

“What if I can’t…please him?” she asked.

“Then…the truth is, they will find someone else who can,” her mother informed her.

He saw a town hall decked with flowers. Saw flower petals being thrown all over. People dancing. A tuxedo and Stella being spun around, laughing and smiling. Will took her arms and spun her in her wedding gown in the hall, almost childishly. But the adoration and laughter on his face made her forget her anxieties about that night.

He saw the aftermath of the night. He was over her, on top of her. His curls over her face. His pants. And then kissing her, asking her if he hurt her. She said he didn’t. But all Stella could think about was how this was the closest she ever felt to being in heaven.

He saw a peaceful evening, Will sitting and reading as she sewed by the fire. It rained and it was very cozy.

He saw her first pregnancy. Their gasps of surprise. The baby forming in her belly. She felt a little sick, a little dizzy, but thrilled. But how it was excused as she had to go and vomit in a washbin.

He saw the first childbirth. The pain splitting her apart. Her tears, asking for her mother who was there, holding her hand. Then the endless joy as the baby was brought out to be held.

He saw the second pregnancy. She was cramping badly. Sighing as she made another cup of tea. Grateful her maternity corset had the laces on the side. There was going to be a meeting with the deacons soon and she would hear all about it. But what should she make for the women’s bible study? She couldn’t decide. She felt sick again- and the baby was still sobbing in the cradle, a red face and hair with chubby arms and legs.

She felt the cry stir her, but she rocked the child. She hoped the baby wouldn’t cry during church. Eyes would all go to the front row and she would have to excuse herself out to rock the baby as they all listened to her sermon. Whispering about her. Being a vicar’s wife was being a bug beneath a looking glass. Or the audience for a tightrope walker at a circus. Waiting for the moment she would slip and fall and be disgraced forever. Especially for a small, conservative town. One wrong move from her, or even from her children, and her husband’s ministry and position was done for.

The second childbirth. She was scared, there was pain. The cramps, but worse. Pushing, confused. The faces and voices. There was blood. Then a delivery. Relief flooding through her and happy tears poured down her face.

Then later- there were two little girls tucked into their bed from Mama and Papa. As they slept as sweetly as cherubs, Will would wrap her in an embrace.

“I live for you, for us, for what we have. You are my life, Stella. Before God, I have you.”

She would smile and kiss his cheek, his beard scratching her.’

“And I for you, my darling,” she replied.

The third pregnancy. It was at the church's Christmas Eve service. One where after his sermon, he went down to sit next to her as the choir sang. The baby began to kick for the first time. She put Will’s hand on it and they smiled.

The third childbirth. Pain and blood. It was a long labor. She wondered if she was going to die.

Only it wasn’t her who emerged dead. It was the baby.

Then, the next year, she entered the nursery one day.

The cloth draped over the little bed. The shape of a child’s body beneath it.

Stella nearly fell down. She felt a sound escape her mouth.

They were going to take Julianna Ransome away. Take away the child…only that wasn’t a child anymore. That was a body. The soul was with God. She had already held her…her last moment, the last thing she ever did, her last embrace and moment of earth was in her mother’s arms as she kissed her forehead.

Will would rush up, and put a hand on her shoulder.

She went up, wishing to kiss the forehead- tell Julianna that Mama loved her one last time, even if she wasn’t here to hear it.

But the men were coming to dress the body and prepare her for the funeral.

She felt one rough hand from a man push her away roughly. Will held her back as she sobbed. They already had a casket prepared. They lifted the little girl and put her in. Stella couldn’t speak. She couldn't go, clutch protectively over the child.

They carried the casket and left the room and the house.

The second her husband’s arms loosened, Stella felt herself crumple onto the floor. Sobbing violently. Sounds coming out of her that weren’t human. Will over her, a hand on her back and shoulder. He then held her as she sobbed for the daughter they had and lost.

The Fourth Pregnancy. She was craving things but fought them. She had to remain slender somehow. She was always tired. Her feet almost were too swollen for her shoes. She was always tired, trying so hard not to doze at church when Will wasn’t speaking.

The Fourth Childbirth. Blood and pain. It was a breech. The feet was coming out before the head was- and that would stifle her and Will’s child. They had to move it in her belly. Then delivery. The little boy was brought forth safely.

Jo was starting to walk. Will held her hands as she took her first steps. Stella opened her arms as she walked right to her mother. Then she rocked John in his cradle. A healthy, happy baby having his first laugh. She never thought a laugh would sound so beautiful to her.

Another night of coital bliss. Ecstasy spinning in Stella’s system as Will panted beside her in that bed. She was so glad that her mother was very, very wrong.

The fifth pregnancy. The baby was kicking like a horse. She was feeling sick all of the time. The doctor advised Will to be careful. She needed some rest after this one. It was taking a toll.

The fifth childbirth. Push, push, push. The baby’s head had retracted back in, so she had to push him out again. She was in pain, splitting her apart. This was ten times any cramp she had during her courses. There was so much blood. She thought this was her end.

But the baby arrived. He already had dark, curly hair and she loved him more than anything, holding and kissing him. Calling him the name she and Will decided on if it was a boy.

“Hello James, I’m your mama,” she cooed to the tiny face.

Years later. John and James were in the church playing leapfrog after one service.

Then he saw Jo collecting books and getting bigger. Claiming she was now a grown-up at the dinner table. Saying she wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer at dinner.

Then…the dead body was discovered on the beach- the second one. The horror of the town in their stillness and big eyes. People crossing themselves. Whispers of a Serpent. One that would even abduct children…perhaps one of their own, Stella feared. She could only hold her husband's hand. She remembered those words- “It’s God’s punishment, but we’ll get it through together.”

Then a dinner. She wore her nice pearl earrings and a nice dress for a guest.

“My husband will not judge you,” she assured the guest.

A woman with blonde hair, round cheeks, and squinty eyes, but slim and pretty. Who ate beside a young boy with dark brown hair. In the dim light of the dark house, one could see streaks of red in the woman’s astonishingly golden hair.

Her husband looking at the woman intensely. Hypnotized. Like he couldn’t tear his eyes off. Like she was art.

Once upon a time, he looked at Stella like that.

But she would not say anything. She cut up her meat in delicate, small bites and ate slowly. Listening to the woman discuss science.

Then another. Will in a tuxedo. He was dancing with that woman. She could only watch from the corner as everyone stared at them like they were a fairytale.

She didn’t matter anymore. And she would learn to accept she didn’t matter anymore.

Then a bed. Her bloody handkerchiefs. Nothing but a room full of blue crosses and her blue bed. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

He was done. There was no doubt where he was.

She could sense it and she would not stop it.

Will told her God wanted him to lie with Cora.

I’ve done my duty, God. I’ve done my duty, mother. My time is done. God is calling me and I must follow Him without question. She thought.

All as her heart still beat.

Loki let go. He had seen so much. He retracted his fingers and found himself in the present.

She was crying a little.

“- I-I’m so sorry…” he apologized. He conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her.

She shook her head, accepting it.

‘No, I’m glad you saw. So you would understand just a little.” she recalled.

“You saw it?” he asked.

“Yes…” she confirmed. She wiped a few tears, doing her best to gather herself.

“I do understand. Everything,” he said.

She took a deep breath. She had purged her memories, her past. Just a mere few of many. She then extended her hand.

“Lok….let us dance now in that ballroom. I’d like to dance a waltz with you, please…”

He cocked his head. His old mischief returned to him. “A waltz? Well, Little Star, we haven’t waltzed before! A waltz is….it has an interesting history of being a little bit scandalous because it involves…”

“I would like to waltz with you, Loki.” she interrupted.

He led her to the ballroom. There were candles lit around the wide space to make it brighter, the pale, hard floors echoing beneath her steps.

He wrapped her in an embrace.

“Loki, I have one more request. Could you do it?” she asked.

‘Why, that depends on what the request is.”

“You’ve seen so much of me, but I have only seen so much of you. Loki…could I dance with you in your form?”

‘I am in it.’

“Your real form.”

“This is my real form. If you wish to dance-”

“Your Frost Giant Form, I mean.”

He transformed. He was blue and with red eyes His skin chilled her touch, sending shivers down her spine but keeping her awake and alert.

With a nod of his head, there were violins playing a song in three-quarter time. They began to move into a square. She kept her eyes down a little to watch her feet. She could feel a stiff silence in Loki- as if she was now afraid of his Frost Giant form. But keeping her eyes away, it made the words pour out of her mouth easier.

“He was my entire life and I didn’t satisfy him. I didn’t make him happy…so he looked elsewhere.… I failed my duty.” she mourned.

Loki tightened his hold on her and nearly swung her into the next step.

“Don’t say that! You never once failed in your duty, Stella!”

She perked up as he said her name. There was an added fierceness that the bright crimson of his eyes made apparent. Though the music was playing, Loki’s voice could easily be heard over it.

“I have seen your life. You are anything but a failure. You never failed the priest. He failed you as a husband, have you ever considered that?”

“No,” she replied.

“You love. Intensely. Fiercely. More than anyone knows. More than anyone I have met. I have nothing but hate inside me, but you have nothing but love inside you. But you shouldn’t let that love allow others to treat you like you’re their servant and not an equal to them…”

“It’s…it could be sinful,” she replied meekly.

“Your mortal ways and faith. Is saying no a sin? Is being angry that you were mistreated, taken advantage of a sin? Is it a sin to fight back? To protect yourself? I can tell you, here there is no such thing!”

“I don’t want to complain or be ungrateful.”

“You never did! But keeping it inside and letting them torment you will kill you, Stella, faster than that mortal illness ever could. Fight. Fight, Stella. Fight back. Be furious. Sob. Scream. But fight.” he insisted.

She stared up at him in wonder, though they continued to move.

“I was always so ashamed after I cried after I fell to anger…” she confessed.

The music continued. She heard a violin trill.

“I’d rather you feel the pain than not feel at all…do you feel any pain now?” he asked.

“No… I don’t…”

He gave her a smirk,

“Good,”

“Do you feel any pain, Loki?”

“No, because you are an excellent dancer…”

They walked for a few minutes in silence. It sounded like the song was going to end. She leaned closer. There was a last chord in major that resolved, the echoes of the strings melting away.

“Loki…the music is over, but…hold me. Please. Just for a little.”

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. She hugged him back. He felt cold, yet she held on. She then heard a sound like a ruffle of feathers and from the corner of her eye, there was a green light. He changed to his form with pale skin. How…warm he felt compared to the ice. Soft and comforting. She rested her forehead on his chest. For a god, he felt so human, so real, so comforting. She felt his long arms wrap around her, envelop her as if they were wings. She nestled further. Enjoying the closeness, the tenderness of his touch.

She held on as long as she needed to. And then she let go.

“You just wanted an embrace.”

“Yes…”

“I’m glad you asked. Don’t be afraid to,” he said.

“I…I won’t, Loki,” she replied.

He escorted her to her room.

“Loki I….” the words came out of her. He tilted his head.

She restrained herself. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She’d be as bad as her husband.

“I hope you sleep well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my little star.”

She felt herself blush at “my” as she closed the door.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The next morning, Stella woke up. She felt oddly refreshed like a weight was lifted off of her.

She went down to the piece of paper on the vanity. She began to comb her hair. Looking a the bed, she admitted that last night…the temptation was there. She admitted it silently to herself. She was a few steps away from the precipice, asking Loki to stay with her in her room for the night. Just to hold her, talk to her, and…no, what if it progressed? What if he kissed her? What if he- she couldn’t even name what else her weakness would have let her do! Only glad her strength prevailed.

But…she did like that song from that one time. When the illness attacked her and he sang. If only she could understand the words!

She looked down at the paper.

“Hello there. I know it’s been a minute. But, what were the words of the song Loki sang to me? The night I got sick?”

The words were listed there.

“Which one was the part he sang lower at the beginning?” she asked.

It shortened to the lyrics. Though she liked the two words that read as “Star Mojen.” It sounded like “star maiden” which was a pretty image in her head.

Then…it struck her…the hand kiss. That was the very line he kissed her hand on…

“And what do they mean in English?”

The translation appeared.

““In stormy black mountains

I wander alone

Over the glacier I move forward”

She found this meaning in the line with the star maiden line.

“In the apple orchard stands the maiden, so beautiful.”

Warm tingles appeared all over her. That was the line he dedicated to her! He was making her the maiden in the song.

The rest of the translation of that bit appeared:

“And sings, ‘When will you come home?’”

She looked about the place. Once, she longed to be back in the white house on the marshes again. But now…the longer she stayed there, the more she was home. And the more being with Loki felt like being home.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He only appeared at dinner that time. Wearing a grand cape with yellow on the inside. She noticed how long he had grown his hair. His dark curls were falling down to his shoulders.

“I wanted to thank you for last night,” she began once he sat down.

He conjured himself a glass of wine. “Oh, really I should be the one thanking you.”

“I wish I had your boldness, your confidence, Loki,” Stella replied. She got out her knife and fork and began to politely take small bites of her roast chicken.

“And I wish I had your heart. I don’t think at times I could ever forgive my father…” he said.

“Your father? What did he do?” she asked.

He took a sip as if for liquid courage.

“Well, he was the one who plucked me as an infant from Jotunheim. He brought me to live in Asgard in the palace. As the second-born son to the throne. The runner-up. Second best. But not the favorite, as my dear brother is,” he hissed bitterly.

She spoke no words of judgment. Only wiped her mouth with her napkin before placing it on her lap.

“Well, he was always letting Thor do whatever he wanted and letting him be his heir and me the unequal. Oh, and did I mention, he kept me being a Frost Giant as a secret until I found out by accident!” he vented.

“Oh, Loki, he shouldn’t have,” she commented.

“And do you know what he said? He said my birthright was to die! And that I should be grateful!” his face colored bright red and his eyebrows furrowed.

“A parent shouldn’t say that to a child…” she agreed.

“At times, I wish I could shove him off of the rainbow bridge, I would, and I-”

“Loki, how is containing all of this anger and rage going to make you any happier?” she asked.

He silently fumed. Two hands over his cup of wine.

“You have to talk to him. Tell him that you were hurt. If I hurt my John, I would rather him tell me than silently hate me.”

“All I can think of now is how I will get the throne to be my own-”

“Loki, did you know your brother came by and asked for you?”

He blinked.

“What?! That dolt of a brother arrived here?” he asked.

“Yes! He has been looking for you! He loves you and misses you! And your mother worries about you…Loki, tearing yourself away from people who care about you will only make things worse. If you let your hate for Odin consume you, eat you away…how will you see all the people who love you who are willing to help you?”

“Thor is arrogant and dangerous-”

“You can be jealous of someone and love them too. You can be angry at someone and love them. And sitting down stewing in fury and doing nothing isn’t going to solve a wit of your problems.”

He looked at her. She, who had been through so much, who was loved and thrown to the side like a child’s toy. Yet she still loved people, cared for them, and had hope, had kindness inside of her.

“It…it won’t solve anything…” he agreed.

“You can tell someone how they hurt you. And you can love someone the same, and treasure what love you have in your life…” she said.

“My Frost Giant form though…that is a sight some of them will have to get used to.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” she said.

He cocked an eyebrow. He then got up. He used magic to conjure his chair to be next to her.

“Oh! A Frost Giant- beautiful, you say?” he asked.

“You’re…well, beautiful in every form,” she admitted, with a shy glance down at her napkin.

He paused. He drank her in. Her ballgown. The soft blonde of her hair and sweet eyes.

He couldn’t help himself. He added in-

“As are you.”

Her eyes went big. Her hands clenched where they were laying on the table. She looked back down.

“Well, I have, I have marks on me from the pregnancies and I am not Mrs. Seaborne, but-”

He cut her off. He went to her, even closer. She felt her breath catch as he cupped her face, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“Stella are beautiful in your nightgown. You’re beautiful in your gowns. You were beautiful when you were swollen with child. You were beautiful when you brought each child out. You are beautiful with your hair free and undone. You’re beautiful when you braid it. You are beautiful when your hands and skirt are dirty from the garden. You’re beautiful when you sit and sew without a speck of dirt on you. I will never be worthy to even be seen standing next to you, and anyone who sees us will ask questions about what a great beauty like you is doing being seen next to me. Just because you are alive and here- that is what makes me think of nothing but you, because you are the very stars in your name. Internally and on your person.”

She was frozen for a minute. Processing it all. Her mouth lowered and could only release a little air. She could see the blue of his eyes, the soft elegance of his features.

Then, at last, she said, “I haven’t been called beautiful for months.”

Loki’s eyes turned shiny

“What…really? You should be called beautiful. Every day,” he said.

Her breath returned to her. She smiled.

“Loki, if you are a monster…how could you come up with that? You have more goodness in you than you think. I…I…thank you,” she continued.

They danced something other than a waltz. Loki was glad. He didn’t want to hold her in his arms again. Every time he touched her, he wanted more. And every time she got close, he didn’t want to let her go.

“She’s just a mortal. One of a million. Who am I to get involved with some lowly mortal woman? And that’s not to mention she isn’t free,” Loki thought, scolding himself.

Those thoughts dissipated as the music ended and they bowed and curtsied.

He only wished her goodnight. Still…part of him hoped she would weaken. Give into temptation. Ask for him at night. To lie with him, be with him…He felt something stirring in his groin at the image of her naked in that bed. He hated himself for it and increased his pace further from her room.

But he knew her better than that. Part of him wanted to curse and throw something. Her husband could roll about in the grass with a hundred women and swim nude in the sea and even touch himself in its waters whenever he wanted- but she couldn’t!

He said nothing but clenched his fists tight. He then stormed off to find another room to douse himself in cold water.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Stella sat Writing more letters to her family one afternoon. She set them on the chest in her room and it vanished to be delivered to them.

She missed….she thought she missed them, but she missed people. Having someone, anyone to talk to during the day. It then struck her how lonely she was. Loki had appeared only sometimes during the day. Would he appear before dinner like he sometimes did with the sheep episode? Then they’d eat and dance. Then he was gone. Did he even sleep here? Considering how big the castle was, he might have been in some secret room.

Her life was always busy, for there were three children, a dog, a church, a village, and a husband to keep up with. When it was declared she was sick, everything was so quiet. There was nothing to do but lie in bed and wait to die. She would spend whole days alone in that house, on that bed, with no energy except to sometimes ask for visitors to see them again and to stare out the window at the marshes. And pray for God to prepare her to enter heaven.

Now there was no longer a threat of death. She was due for a visit to the healers today to check on her. But as used as she was to being alone…she felt lonely. If only Loki could be there to conjure some trick or say something to make her laugh or blush. She…she missed him.

And why should she sit around waiting in an enchanted castle like she did every day here? Even cleaning and gardening was getting tiresome. As she looked around, she saw there was a shining golden city. And the carriage was going to take her to the healer's cottage for her appointment today. The city was just outside of it…but the city itself was only a ten-minute walk from their cottage.

What was Asgard like? And the people too…how different were they from Midgardians?

She waited for the carriage. It took her to the appointment in the healer's cottage. They declared she was improving after a few tests. As she stepped out, she looked at the nearby gates and the tops of the buildings peeking out.

Besides, she couldn’t help but be curious.

She went down to the cottage and sat in it. But instead of asking it to return, she knocked on it’s ceiling and asked aloud:

“I’d like to visit that city over there, please!”

It took her down, further to Asgard. A shining city full of people going about with long robes for clothes and elaborately braided hair. White birds flew about looking for crumbs that grandmothers tossed to them. Children ran about and played without any fear of a serpent lurking anywhere to eat them.

Stella stepped out. She felt a little embarrassed in her day dress of light blue still having puffed sleeves and petticoats compared to everyone else. She noticed a dress shop on one corner and walked to it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You…you spoke with who again?! There are too many names, just how many friends did you make?” Loki cried.

She smiled. She sat proudly in her cerulian Asgardian dress she bought. Her shoulders were exposed and her hair in its side braid.

“Oh, Audur!, she’s delightful. She is a new mother and I was glad to give her some advice and help her with the baby- she had the sweetest little boy, he hardly cried and he’s so small! Oh, and there’s the shop Seigfriend owns- I felt odd going about in these clothes, but I find the Asgardian fashions fascinating. He managed to give me this one on sale. Oh, and I also saw a temple and was curious- your people do make offerings and they vanish! How fascinating! A priest named Tristan said he would explain more to me. I was invited to a little book club and sewing circle by Brunhilde and a few other ladies who sensed I was new and wanted to welcome me-Oh! And these!”

She reached into her pockets and pulled out the pebbles, pure dark blue with sparkles inside them.

“I found these just on the ground! They’re beautiful! Like gems! Isn’t it like the night sky?” she boasted.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Why aren’t you amazed?” she asked.

“Little Star, They’re ordinary! They’re everywhere in Asgard!

“Oh, but you can find so much beauty and meaning in the most ordinary of things, Loki. You just have to look…conjure my box, please.”

He did as she requested. She opened the lid on the table, digging about. Then she brought out a seashell. A conch that curled into itself with a hole. She held it over to him. He felt the edges.

“It’s beautiful. Like a piece of art,” she said. “Do you see the little edges? And how smooth it is. And this was not made by man…nature made it. It did that naturally. Why is that not amazing?” she asked.

‘It is..” he admitted.

She then handed him the blue stone.

“And this one…we have the whole sky above our heads. But here, we can just hold it in our hands easily. Isn’t that beautiful in itself? I know you’re a god, Loki, but when I merely cup this, I feel like a goddess myself. I feel what it is like to have a whole thing, a whole existence just in your hand…”

He ran a thumb over it. And then he returned it to her hand. Their skin brushed against each other.

“Could I invite Brunhilde and a few others over to the palace?” she asked.

Loki grinned. A mischievous light in his eyes.

“I tell you what- we should throw a ball!”

“A ball?” she repeated.

“Would you like that? To invite your friends? You will be in charge of invitations! I don’t think you’ve ever been to a grand ball before, Stella. I’ll make sure everything looks up to par and that there’s enough food and your friends can all enjoy themselves?”

Stella’s eyes beamed. Then she released her hands from his. She set the pebbles in the box and closed the lid.

“I will on one condition…you be there. You go too, as a guest. You are the first I would like to invite.”

Loki put a hand to his chest in fake surprise.

“Why! I would be delighted! We should take a bit of time to plan, and then we can set a date. Until then, we better brush up on our dancing, don’t you agree, little star?”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Will knelt down to pray that evening. He couldn’t sleep. He was still clothed, pacing about the bedroom. Everything suddenly felt empty- as if she was dead and buried already. His mind reeling.

He knelt next to that bed.

“Dear Lord…bring her back to me. Keep her safe.” he prayed.

Whoever this “Loki” was as he called himself, he was keeping her safe and had apparent access to a cure. He wasn’t sure if this was the man he saw. He wasn’t sure how he and Stella managed to vanish in the blink of an eye or how. Or even where this city called Asgard could be found…or if she would return. He could only pray and wait.

Then, he jumped. His jaw went slack, for there was something there he had never seen before.

A portal opened. The rim was green and had golden light glowing from it. He heard music and laughter. Inside, he thought he saw a ballroom and a crowd of people.

Crossing himself, he walked through.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Meticulously as they planned it, the ball began smoothly. Stella’s friends in Asgard invited their friends and then their friends. For they heard of an enchanted castle and wanted to see it, as well as hear and see the famous trickster god reappearing among them.

Stella wanted to somehow invite the royal family. But the guards would not let some puny mortal pass as much as a letter through their gates. Perhaps there would be another time.

The Aesir in their robes were all gasping at the sight of the palace. It had an older, even Midgardian style to the place. Audur went up and greeted Stella. Saying how glad she and her husband found a babysitter for the night. Brunhilde embraced her as if she had known her for years. Music was already playing, not that it stopped all the chatter.

The violins had settled. Loki appeared before her. His curls were washed and looked soft and beautiful. He dressed in his finer robes. He wore no cape, but his black and green had hints of golden armor. Stella herself was wearing a gown that was more Asgardian in its longness and simple sleeves, its exposed neck. It was a pastel blue as if she was the day sky melting into the night.

“You are radiance itself today,” he said.

“My, how gallant of you!” she replied at him.

There was a starting cord.

“I must tell you, I asked them to give us the first dance…shall we do it together? Or, would you rather the others partner up?” he asked.

He held out his hand.

“Oh, that is nothing I cannot take. We can dance, Loki,” she replied.

She touched her hand on his. With a grin, he led her onto the floor. There was a clearing and here they were in the center.

They got into position. He lifted her hand up in the air, their fingers intertwining.

Loki saw Will out of the corner of his eye. There in the crowd. Stella was clearly oblivious to him, for his plain vest blended amid the Asgardian colors.

Loki put his hand on the small of Stella’s back and pulled her in tighter.

Stella was starting to shiver again. She nearly forgot the steps. Something about Loki being close…and everyone watching, watching them embrace. She clutched onto his arm as if he were a raft keeping her above the water.

The music began and they waltzed.

He was smiling. And for once, a large, happy smile was on her face as well. She didn’t want to look away. He was so beautiful. So real. And there.

They covered more ground. Going a little faster. She kept up with his steps well. She felt like she was truly flying, her blue skirt swishing about.

She looked at him, and she broke into a smile so big, she bared her teeth. She felt a small laugh break out from her in her happiness.

Loki relaxed his posture and smiled softly at her too. That look on her face, the pure joy on it…

She was all that made sense. All that was real and true and good in the world. He could have held her and danced for eternity.

Stella went to Loki and locked eyes. It was a waltz. They did it before. But he held her tighter.

Will stood there, watching helplessly. People smiled as they watched. He could only see the look of adoration in Stella’s eyes to this man. Her eyes were so bright, her happiness beaming across the room like light. This was not a smile she would reserve for anyone.

It then hit him, His wife was dancing with a man she was in love with.

Loki couldn’t help but force a smirk at bay as he felt Will’s presence in the crowd. His portal worked as planned. And the vicar was there to seep in the rich, rich irony of it all of his own medicine being fed to him in a big, hearty dose.

As the music rose to a crescendo, Loki then grabbed his hands around her waist. Stella gasped. Then easily, he lifted her up and twirled her around, her skirt flying around her like a water painting. But she only laughed in delight. He then set her down as the final chord resolved.

The crowd applauded. There was going to be another dance in a few minutes. But Stella went away to talk to some friends. They led her off to the table to enjoy the delicacies that was served. Excitedly chatting away as they went over, blending into the crowd.

Loki was catching his breath when he heard a voice. A voice just like his own say-

‘Pardon me, sir!”

Will went forward to him. Loki felt his whole body tighten. Loki wasn’t sure to be excited, miserable, angry, thrilled all at once. Despite the similarity in their features, people hardly glanced at them. For one had dark hair and the other auburn-blonde-brown, no one would notice their similarities unless they looked closer and heard the voices.

“Sir- where is Mrs. Stella Ransome? Do you know where she went?” Will asked.

Loki frowned. He glared down at the man with as much intimidation as he could. He responded with the same voice.

“Then answer me this- why should I take you to her? Why should I let you in the same room she is in? Why let you look at her and hear her voice when you aren’t worthy to as much as kiss the ground she walks on? Why should I let you as much as lay your filthy hands on one hair on her head? Why should I give her to you?” the god demanded.

People were starting to turn heads. There was silence, for the music could not even play as people quieted to watch.

Stella turned around. Her eyes took in long, curly hair. A wisp of a goatee. A vest. High cheekbones and blue eyes.

She dropped her plate to where it dropped her salad onto the floor. She began to tremble. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.

Will held his ground. He looked directly into the god’s eyes.

“Because she is my wife.”

There was a pause. Only a flicker of a second too long for anyone to intervene.

Loki got out his dagger and stabbed Will.

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imkumichan · 1 year

Text

Call of Duty x Dazai!Reader

Call of Duty x Makima!Reader Warnings: MC's personality is based on Dazai Osamu's characters from Bungou Stray Dogs. suicide attempt.

Took place after modern warfare 2022

It was almost midnight when Soap and Ghost were sitting on a rock before each other near the riverside under a bridge. It was a perfect location for them since it was easy to look out for anything from their place, but It's been days since they went on a mission together to gather more intel regarding Vladimir Makarov. But they still have almost no information about where he is right now. So they decide to take a rest for a bit before going back to the safe house. And everything is normal until Soap managed to see a young girl on the bridge.

Soap can't really make out the girl since it's quite dark and high from where he was sitting. She stands atop a bridge abutment without anything supporting her. Soap knows that his face must be so easy to read because he could see the lieutenant turn his head to see whatever caught his interest.

Then, he saw her fall.

Fall into the river.

She's falling from the top of the bridge to the river below it. head coming down first.

And Soap could see the girl keep falling without screaming, almost like she was accepting her fate, and he can feel something throbbing inside his chest. Then, everything feels like slow motion just like in the movie. And without taking his eyes off of the girl who is still falling, he starts running toward the river as fast as he could. He can hear his lieutenant shout his name but it doesn't make him stop, even after he saw the girl already fall into the river and her body could not be seen anymore, Soap jumped into the river, hoping he could save a life without the needs to pull a trigger of his gun.

Soap brings her in his arms as he walks towards the riverside before putting her on the ground to check her up. He was still on his knees when he could see someone walking fast toward him from the corner of his eye, but his attention was still on the girl in front of him. If before he can't make out what the girl looks like, now he can see her clearly.

The girl probably is no older than 20. She wore a long white shirt and black long pants. Her shoes are also the same color as her pants. But what caught his eyes the most are the bandages that wrapped around her hand and neck. He could only see her palms and her face. Which concerningly looks so pale right now. Soap's hand was reaching her chest to give her CPR if he needs to, but he was startled slightly when the girl suddenly opened her eyes and sat up right away.

"Ah, i made it"

a feminine voice filled with a bit of annoyance reached his ears and Soap was expecting any reaction but this.

"Are you the one who interrupted my drowning?" she asked without turning her head to face him.

"What?" 'Did he hear her right?'

"I was trying to commit suicide"

"What?"

So, he did hear her right since it was Ghost who asked her this time.

"yet, I did trouble you, so it is my fault at this point" as if it explained anything to them.

She was quick to stand up and look around her surrounding. Soap must admit that he was lost of words. But before he can say anything, the girl, once again opened her mouth.

"Since i troubled you, i'll help you out with something 'kay? but don't get used to it. I'm still pissed because you ruined my suicide"

The girl has the audacity to cross her arms on her chest and speak to them as if everything was their fault. And soap would be laughing if he wasn't still in shock from the girl. Even Ghost seems uncertain about how to handle this situation.

Then, the girl turned her back, walking away in the opposite direction from where they come. Her wet clothes are still clinging to her body but that was not something that make him and Ghost gripped their gun tightly, ready for action.

"I'll tell you where Vladimir Makarov's gonna sleep in the next few days"

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #call of duty mw2 #tw: suicide attempt #i miss dazaaaiiii #but i dont think he will show up much in this current season

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michael-the-morningstar · 1 month

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HEAVY TW: mentions of SH, suicide attempts, blood, mentions of drowning, mentions of walking off a cliff (😭), self loathing.

Tell me if I need to add any other trigger warnings.

500 years ago, The Void Room

All he could see was black. Well, except his own spear-tipped tail, that glinted from the light of his halo. His halo. His fucking halo. The thing that marked him to be above others, above his own twin brother. Oh how many times he tried to break it, yet only ended up cutting his hands. Not like that bothered him, he already had plenty of scars from other cuts all over his wrists.

The tip of his tail was so sharp.. The thought seemed suddenly appealing.

It’s not like he hadn’t tried before.

He jumped into a river, keeping his head underwater till he saw dark and woke up on the bank three hours later, with no damage whatsoever done.

He walked off a cliff, freefalling till he hit the ground. He broke a leg and most of his wings, having to limp to Raphael for healing. Thankfully his brother asked no questions.

But maybe.. just maybe… it would work this time.

Maybe he could rid this world of a monster. A mosnter that nearly killed and banished his own brother.

Lucifer…

Oh how he loathed himself for that.

And surely, the others hated him too.

“I’m sorry…”

He pressed his tailtip against his chest. He could feel the sharp edge through his shirt. He always kept it sharp. Just in case.

The air seemed to thicken in anticipation.

Then he drove the speartip deep into his flesh.

—————

Uriel found him sobbing, about to pass out, on the floor. He woke up the next day to see all of his remaining siblings gathered around his bed.

“Why?”

#lore #hazbin hotel #hazbin roleplay #michael hazbin hotel #tw sui #tw suicide #tw suicide attempt #tw: suicide attempt #tw: sui #tw: blood #tw: mentions of sh

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enqmind · 25 days

Text

As ever, I accept payment in kind words and follows.

Ghost/Female Reader WC: 1.8k 18+ content

Warnings: Suicide attempt by reader, gaslighting, manipulation, Local Manc has worst possible reaction to a suicide attempt, ~*self indulgence*~

Reader notes: Thin enough to fit into a standard bathtub, light enough to be lifted from a standard bathtub by Ghost, mentally ill, pale enough for noticable blushing (feel free to ignore), atheist (it's now plot relevant, but I'm not your dad), ≥ 5' - < 6' tall (by Ghost's estimate)

One Man's Treasure III

Previous Next

The idea that she’d recognise him just hadn’t occurred to him at all.

He took great pains to cover his face so much of the time, after all. Surgical masks in the warmer months, balaclavas and scarves in the chillier ones.

When could she have seen his bare face?

Her surprise melted away into despair.

“Oh, this is part of the punishment isn’t it? A constant reminder of my cowardice.”

Yes, all those times she looked like she wanted to ask him something but didn’t.

“Go on.”

“I wanted to get to know my neighbours, but it never seemed like the right time.” She stared at his covered chest. “I just couldn’t stand to be a bother, you know?”

The look on her face was all too familiar. She’d learned not to be a bother, probably the hard way.

“Despite always covering his face, he’d seemed somehow more approachable. Like there was space in his life for a new friend. I was just always too scared to make that first move.” A sigh. “C’est la vie. Though not anymore, I suppose.”

There, an in.

“If he always covered his face, how do you know what he looks like?”

A weak smile.

“Happened to spot him when he was getting his post in the dead of night once. He looked exhausted, so I let him be.”

Sometimes you were so tired that you’d dream of doing the rote thing that you did all the time. Unthinking action becoming nothing more than subconscious thought.

It was really his bad luck that his neighbour happened to see, and a huge problem that he didn’t notice her.

She started to pull away.

Ghost put his hand on her back and stopped her.

No, I’m not angry at you.

“I, er… need a wee,” she mumbled.

“Go ahead then,” he replied, removing his arm. “But come straight back, I don’t want you wandering around.”

She nodded and shimmied her way off the bed.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

They’d have to move. He couldn’t keep her around her own flat, she’d want to get stuff from it.

He pulled his phone from his pyjama pocket and texted Price.

-I need extended leave and a house-

Ghost would have to make an itemised plan and shopping list.

As nice as her roaming around his house in his clothes was, she’d have to leave the flat eventually and she’d need her own clothes for that.

He’d have to find a storage place to put her stuff until he figured out what to do with it and break her lease.

Oh, right.

He’d need to find out what her name was. That would be easy enough, she’d have post in her place.

The sound of bare feet on carpet caught his attention.

She was swimming in that shirt, he couldn’t even see the shorts. Just a very nice pair of legs cut off by his shirt. There could be anything or nothing under there.

“Um…”

His eyes snapped up to her face.

Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips as she sat on the edge of the bed, twisting toward him. Hands toying with the edge of the shirt.

“I’m hungry, can I use the kitchen? Please?”

There was nothing in there but a half empty tub of LoSalt.

“No. What do you want?”

Her brow furrowed in mild confusion.

“Um, anything will do. I can throw something together.”

“We’re getting takeaway.”

Her eyes widened.

“I really don’t want to be a bother.”

You’re not being a bother.

Women liked Starbucks, right?

He pulled up his app of choice.

“Ham and cheese toastie.” He peered at her worried face. “Caramel latte?”

“You really don-”

“There’s no food in the kitchen.”

There, that stopped her.

“Oh. Yeah, that sounds fine.”

He glanced at her.

“And get in the bed. You’re cold.”

Her arm went over her chest and she turned red.

Ghost tugged at the duvet.

“In.”

She climbed into the bed, teetering near the edge.

He patted the bed next to him as his phone pinged.

-Elaborate-

-Somewhere quiet with good transport links to Johnny’s-

She shimmied closer.

Yeah, somewhere quiet ought to make this whole thing easier to believe.

Easy access to Johnny’s meant there’d be a good shot of his Mrs being able to check in on her. Which Mrs MacTavish would do, since she still cared about Ghost despite the fact that he knew that she knew that he was making faces at her under his mask. She had his number, and he respected that.

He lay down his arm behind his neighbour, which caused her to pause for a moment.

She stared at it, then lay down with his bicep as a neck pillow. Stiff as a board.

Not the most comfortable position, but he could make it work. He bent his arm and rested his hand on her arm.

It could be nicer, but this was nice enough for now.

His phone pinged again.

-Why?-

“You’re really comfortable,” his neighbour mumbled, turning her head and smiling. “I was led to believe you’d be a lot bonier.”

“That was before I started working out.”

The smile turned into a full grin and she relaxed.

-Suddenly gained a dependent-

He felt a gentle touch on his side, her hand tentatively resting on him. He stared at it as it stood stark against his t-shirt.

Ghost put his phone on his chest and immediately entwined their fingers.

God, her hand was so small in his. He could crush the bones with little effort. Had women always been so delicate, or was this one special?

She swallowed spit nervously.

“Why-”

His phone pinging interrupted her.

Terrible timing.

-How big is it?-

-5 foot something-

Now the phone was ringing.

“Should I go?”

He shook his head.

“You stay, I need to turn the heating on anyway.”

She sat up, releasing his arm without being asked.

Thoughtful little thing.

He briefly rubbed her back as he got up and answered the call.

“What do you mean ‘five foot something’?” Price demanded.

Ghost watched her roll into the warm path he left and snuggle under the duvet as he shut the door.

“Didn’t ask her height.”

A loud sigh came out of the phone as he went to switch on the boiler, pushing the temperature up a few extra degrees. Women ran cold, afterall.

“There’s a limit to what we can sweep under the rug, Ghost. If you’ve kidnapped someone-”

He half tuned Price out.

Was this a kidnapping?

Arguably he had taken her from her home without her consent; but, since she hadn’t yet attempted to leave, it was a moot point.

He did want to think about her trying to leave.

“I found her bleeding and about to drown in a bathtub,” he interjected. “A suicide attempt.”

Silence.

“Fourth or fifth try, she says.” He turned and stared at the bedroom door.

Silence.

Then, “you don’t sound like you’re in a hospital.”

“Didn’t take her to a hospital.”

More silence.

“She’s in the other room and we’ve got breakfast coming.”

“We need to talk about this.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s her name?”

“Dunno yet.”

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed. “Tell me the second you know, get all the information you can. I’m running a background check.”

Ghost sighed.

“You don’t need to, I-”

“This isn’t a favour. It’s an order.”

There was no arguing with that.

No matter how unlikely it seemed, you could never be too safe.

“Affirmative.”

Another, brief, silence.

“Don’t lose your head.”

“I won’t, sir.”

They ended the call, and Ghost leaned on the wall.

Maybe he already had.

---

Breakfast was about ten minutes away when he went back into the bedroom.

His neighbour was wrapped up like a jacket potato. It was… cute.

“So, what were you going to ask?” he prompted, sitting on the edge of the bed and resting a hand on what he assumed was her hip.

Her lips pursed for a moment, but then she gave him a nervous smile.

“Um, why does this place have the same layout as my flat?”

Shit. He’d lucked out before, but— yes. He’d lucked out, and still was lucking out really.

“Where else would your neighbour live?”

Her brows drew into a frown.

“I… suppose?” she paused. “...Am I doing this?”

“Doing what?”

She wriggled out an arm and motioned around.

“Making it like this?”

The suspicion in her voice was worrisome, but nothing a simple lie couldn’t cover. Even if he would prefer to avoid actively voicing them.

“What were you expecting the afterlife to be like?” he questioned. He’d have to fit her beliefs as much as he could, afterall.

She looked at him with less confusion and more like he was a bit thick.

“Nothing. I’m an atheist, remember? This is all a surprise.”

“You really have no preconceived notions of the afterlife?”

“Now you’ve taken hell off the table? No.”

Did that mean he could tell her whatever he wanted… and she’d believe it?

“I don’t know much myself,” he began, gently rubbing her hip through the duvet. “Normally when I take people to the hereafter, it’s a swift affair.”

“Tha-that sounds about right,” she agreed, not a hint of suspicion in her.

Yeah, the truth was the best lie, wasn’t it?

“But what I do know is that when someone dies by a human hand, their afterlives are picking up where they left off.”

Data point of one, but did that really even matter? It was true, his truth.

Fear hit her like a tonne of bricks, eyes already beginning to get shiny with tears.

She sat up in a scramble and grabbed at his t-shirt.

“Please don’t. I’m begging you, please don’t send me back.”

The punch to his gut of guilt took him by surprise, forcing an instinctual response.

He wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to his chest.

“Never.”

She sniffled into his shirt.

“Promise?”

He pulled back and tipped her chin so they could meet eye to eye.

“No need. You don’t want your life, but I do. And I don’t give up what’s mine easy.”

It was as that statement left his mouth he realised how fucked up it was. How it would scare her away, back into a life she hated.

His arms twitched, ready to pin her to him at the slightest sign of an escape attempt.

She stared at him blankly for a few moments before she broke into a nervous smile.

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, I suppose.”

Relief washed over him and he allowed himself a small smile.

“That’s right, you’re my treasure.”

A nervous smile became an embarrassed blush.

“But… I don’t even know what to call you.”

What should he tell her to call him? Because whatever it was, it would be forever.

There was really only one option.

“Simon.”

#cod fic #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x oc #tw: suicide attempt #tw: suicide #tw: dark fic #he said it he said the thing

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 1 year

Text

Whump Prompt #1081

TW: Suicide Attempts

Anon asked:

How are you with the prompt of a character... almost committing unalive before being stopped by somebody?

I think about this a lot. I’ve for sure written scenes like this (posted under the cut). I sort of live vicariously through it; it’s cathartic almost to receive the non-judgemental help from fictional characters when you yourself aren’t doing too well sometimes.

So prompts-wise:

Your character is embarrassed when they’re found. They’re so open and vulnerable that they can’ t help but feel awkward and uncomfortable when they’re found.

Is the caretaker angry? Are they shouting? Does this make your whumpee even more embarrassed?

Is the caretaker quiet - almost too quiet. Are they scared? Does your character feel shame for this?

Do they pass out before help arrives? How does the caretaker find them? Are they bleeding? Are they seizing? Are they choking? Are they drowning? Does the caretaker administer CPR?

Who sits in the waiting room? Who is kicking themselves thinking: “How the hell did I not see this?”

Instead of screaming “why did you do this?” your caretaker, with a sad amount of understanding, says “I’m going to help you.” They’re resolute. They don’t want your character to feel even more of a burden.

Does your character leave a note? Or do they just... get up and leave without the intention to harm themselves, but find that that’s where they’ve ended up.

Write that character spiralling. They go from numb to their skin prickling with overwhelming emotion.

How scared is your character when they inevitably wake up? Are they confused? Who do they wake up to?

If they’re found before they try anything; perhaps the caretaker takes them to a nearby restaurant; to get them food and out of the cold. Maybe this is where your character finally opens up.

This is an excerpt from my WIP book Hologram that I wrote a few years ago now. TW again for attempted suicide.

If anyone’s every interested about my OC’s feel free to ask...

"Is this it?" A voice from beyond the door questioned.

"Yes, but sir..." the doctor hesitated. "Just remember what we told you."

"He's not in his mind. I know."

"Just pretend you know what he's talking about, it'll make the transition smoother. We'll be down the hall if anything happens." A third voice warned, the tone of which Mitchell recognised as his doctor. The door opened and a figure stepped in.

The visitor had been warned about his friend; how he was no longer in his mind, how he'd been kept in a vegetative state for thirteen years... they warned him about how he'd look, and the visitor had steeled himself to stomach the image of his friend laying prone on the bed. At worst he expected a tube to be shoved down his throat: for his body to be corpse like and attached to a range of alien machines... hell he'd even pictured the idea of Mitchell's body carved open and stitched together under bloody bandages, his thin, pale white skin stretched over his skeleton and protesting against every flex of muscle.

Perhaps he anticipated a disturbing stillness that accompanied a person close to death and on the brink of collapsing into their own mind. After the initial explosion; when the visitor had to be hospitalised they told him they never found the body. He begged and cried but they insisted that his friend was gone; well and truly disintegrated into clumps of viscera that were washed away when repairs inevitably began on the building. He cried some more when they lowered an empty casket into his grave, he wasn't there, no, he was still laid up in hospital, but his absence then just sparked the desire for his presence now.

He had to be there for his best friend; he was the last tie to sanity he had.

So when he rounded the door into the private room, anticipating an older, corpse like version of his childhood friend, his heart sank when his expectations weren't met.

Instead, the events before him were so much worse.

See, when the short British man slithered into the room... he did not expect to see his own friend preparing to slice the veins on his wrist with a scalpel.

At his gasp, Mitchell's head swooped up and he faltered, staggering back so his bare skin was touching the plated wall. All wires had been disconnected, and hung loose over the edge of the bed. The scalpel remained firm In his shaking grasp. The Child’s eyes darkened as the visitor spoke, choking on his words at the fragility of the man before him.

"Hey Mitch." He stammered, paused just a few feet from the hunched over frame. Mitchell closed his eyes and huffed through his nose and angling his head away. The blade didn't move from where it was poised over his pulsing, black vein.

"Oh fuck off!" He groaned, "for Christ sake I thought this shit would stop after... for fuck sake, please just go away."

"Good to see you too." The brown haired man swallowed.

"You always see me, you won't leave me alone." Mitchell's sentence gave him pause.

"What do you mean?" He asked cautiously.

"'The fuck d'you think? You're dead and my fucked up brains been manifesting you and whoever else as a way to torture me. We had this conversation before, you dumb fuck!"

"Oh..." the short man sighed, "Oh man..."

He'd been warned about the simulated dreams, though no one knew for sure what occurred in them. Their heart shattered upon the realisation of the emotional torture Mitchell must have suffered as a result. When the fabric of reality is torn from underneath you like a rug... it was no surprise that Mitchell was grasping at threads; desperately trying to tie knots with his shaking hands.

"I just want it to stop." He uttered pitifully, the grip on his knife tightening further as he brought it closer to the blackened vein beneath the pale skin of his wrist.

"I'm sorry, but it all just needs to stop."

Out of options, and knowing Mitch wasn't the negotiating type, he didn't hesitate to dive forward and get a secure grasp on his arm.

And Mitchell stopped.

He stopped moving. He stopped breathing. His blood ran cold and his body turned rigid as though his joints were replaced with concrete. With wide, grey eyes he stared at the intrusive hand as though it had grown more fingers, he exhaled, shaky, as though terrified of moving. His face contorted in an expression of horror and bewilderment.

Mitchell could feel him. He could actually /feel/ him on his skin.

And he wasn't just a mental presence, his calloused fingers added a welcome texture, his skin was clammy with anxiety and uncertainty, and the grip felt tight and reassuring. The blond had to physically force back the tears as this - this was all real. Static crashed against the walls of his skull, sloshing and frothing as though trying to escape but he held on tight. He held on tight to the feeling and the reality he had been presented with. When his mind cleared a little, he uttered the first word that fell onto his tongue, the word that hadn't left him; the name that was always in his mind.

"J-Jack?" He stammered.

"Yeah?" The visitor ventured. "It's me, Mitch."

"You're alive." He stated, bewilderment thoroughly overtaking his grief stricken features.

"Yeah." Jago ‘Jack’ Davis said with a light scoff, his nervous energy forcing him to find the tragic situation humorous. "So are you."

"You're not dead. you're- you're actually real."

"Yeah, mate."

Mitchell launched into a bone crushing hug, scalpel since discarded on the tiled floor. It fell with a clatter that neither man heard.

"You're alive." He continued to babble. "Holy shit you're alive."

"I know, I'm here, god I missed you..." he said into Mitchell's tangled hair, wrapping his arms around his trembling torso.

"I missed you too." Mitchell said, returning the gesture as the floodgates opened and he allowed himself to sob un-apologetically.

"I missed you so fucking much." He hiccuped.

#tw: suicide #tw: suicide attempt #tw: self harm #tw: self destruction #caretaker #angst #hurt #comfort #writing #prompts #whump #vulnerability

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cavinginhisfvce · 30 days

Text

They Never Want To Discuss What Triggered You. Just How You Reacted. | Angst.

Before I get into the fic, this is a story I’ve written for a different fandom, I just changed things to work for The Usos. If you spot any errors/continuity mistakes please let me know! This is a CodyJey story, but it’s not the main focus.

Nobody notices the way Josh seems largely put off by every meal. They don't see the disgust that courses through him with every bite, through every uptick in his calorie intake.

They don't see when he finally dips off to the bathroom to ralph every morsel he possibly can.

Nobody hears his cries over the rush of shower water, they don't hear him shouting to be seen, heard, and held.

They don't see the drops of red that mix in with his shower water as it trails down the drain.

What they do see is Josh’s unbridled anger. His hair triggers for any and all things. They see bruised knuckles, and split lips in place of his oh so evident pain. They see a nuisance, an unreasonably angry boy. They take what they see at face value, nobody digs further. Josh doesn't ask them to.

Nobody witnesses the days Josh can barely drag himself out of bed. Nobody sees the days where he's so tired, every movement feels like a war on his body and mind.

There's always a hidden layer of fatigue beneath his skin, some days it's easily ignored, while others it demands to be addressed.

No one is around to watch as Joshua Fatu becomes a shell of his former self. Not even Jon. Only Josh and the four walls of whatever room he's holed up in.

Nobody sees the papers that litter Josh’s bedroom, or their contents. They don't see the "Dear Jon’s" and the "I'm sorrys".

Not until it's too late, anyway.

Now, Jon watches, horrified as Cody Runnels, and his father alternate between applying pressure to Josh’s wounds, and checking for a pulse.

It all seems so hopeless. Their mother tries, and fails to shield him from seeing the panicked attempts at keeping Josh alive. The paramedics aren't too far, Jon can hear the blare of their sirens, even over Cody’s rushed words of, "stay with us, Josh. Please." "I got you, please."

Please, please, please.

Jon wonders if he's pleading with Josh or with the universe. He hopes it's both.

When the EMTs finally did arrive, Jon watched with tearful brown eyes as they carted Josh off and into the Ambulance. He watched as their father slipped in before the doors shut. He watched as Cody dropped to his knees and began to sob, his clothes ruined from the blood that was all over their living room floor. He doesn't know if he should comfort him or leave him be.

Jon didn't understand why Cody was crying. Was it because the situation was traumatic, even for them? Or was it because somewhere along the line, they'd become friends or something like it?

Sadly, Jon wasn't able to wonder very long before his mom was guiding him back into the house. She tried to rush them past the spots where Josh’s blood pooled the most, tried to keep the red stained floors from view, but Jon had already seen. Jon had already seen the state his brother was in when they found him. Had seen the lifeless tint to his skin.

He thought for sure Josh was gone, but somehow, in spite of his own attempts, he was still fighting. Still alive.

Weak, but alive. If the EMTs were to be trusted when they told him and their mom that Josh would be okay.

His mom tells him to pack a bag, one for himself and one for Josh.

He obliges.

When his own bag is packed and resting at the foot of his bed, Jon hurriedly slips into Josh’s room.

He ignores the knowledge that he hasn't been inside of his twin brother’s room in almost a year.

He pushes past the visible signs that his brother had been spiraling. There's beer cans littering just about every flat surface. There's papers everywhere, some ripped, some crumpled.

But, worst of all? It's significantly empty, all his posters are gone, leaving his walls bare, lackluster. His records are almost all missing. Which is a worrisome thing in itself considering how hard Josh worked to find them in the first place.

Hell, Josh doesn’t have a single trinket laying around his own room anymore. It looked as if he were just someone visiting, and that left a sour taste in Jon’s mouth.

His once extensive record collection has dwindled considerably. He barely has six left. Jon notes that almost all his favorite ones are gone, the remaining six are the ones he too found himself enjoying. Back when he and Josh still hung out. Before they moved, before Josh changed.

His clothes are all packed away in plastic crates, the kind meant for long term storage.

Jon doesn't let himself consider how long Josh had been planning this. If he did, he’d probably see all the signs he laid out for somebody to acknowledge.

He had long since swapped out his short-sleeved, tight shirts, for layers. His jeans followed the same fate, and were replaced by sweatpants and loose jeans. At the time, Jon assumed the cold had finally gotten to him. He thought he was just conforming to a life in their dull little town, the same as he did.

Instead of packing a bag, he reaches down and swipes up a piece of paper. It's crumpled beyond repair, but legible nonetheless.

"Dear Jon,

I'm sorry. For everything. I wasn't a good twin brother, and you deserved better than that.

I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from him, any longer. Please don't hate me for this, Jon.

If you have to hate me, hate me for how I treated you. But please don't hate me for this. There was no other way out for me,"

The letter gets cut off there, Jon guesses he wasn't pleased with how it was coming along.

Jon drops the paper with a soft gasp, his eyes filling with tears once again.

He had so many questions. Like who the person Josh was talking about in the letter? Who couldn’t he protect Jon from?

A feeling in his gut tells him it has to do with the way he limps home after spending the day with Joe, or the busted lip and black eyes he sports all too often. He was never that close with Joe, but Josh always was. Now though, Jon can’t help but wonder if they’re only close because Joe is forcing it. Forcing Josh.

He wouldn't cry though. Because Josh was going to be okay. He was going to get better, and Jon could be the twin brother he's always needed, and in turn he hopes he will at least try to be a proper brother to him. How he let his brother go on hurting this way will never sit right with him, but at the very least Jon can help now. He can fix things, even just a smidge.

He wants to read another unfinished note, but it feels like an invasion, because Josh might've been addressing him, but the letters were still in his possession.

Jon never hated him. Jon just followed the tune he played, it was better if Joe thought they were against one another. Even Jon knew that without needing to be told. There was always this controlling nature to him, this possessive attitude when it came to Josh.

But this whole situation? It changed the tune of the song, whether Josh intended for it to or not, Jon was no longer following his cues. He didn't need to, because when Josh came home, they'd write the song together.

With that in mind, Jon sets to pack his bag. It was easy, considering the way his clothes were packed up.

Jon, despite his protests, was sent to stay with Joe and his family for over a week. His aunt and uncle seemed genuinely concerned for their nephew, but Joe was just mildly put off that the twin he didn’t really associate with was the one staying with them.

Usually, staying with his uncle was a blessing, because Jon got to learn the things about wrestling their father couldn’t teach, but this time it was a dreadful affair.

He just wanted to go see Josh in the hospital, but he kept being told it wasn’t right to see him that way. As if he hadn't seen his brother lying in a pool of his own blood.

When Jon was able to go home, Josh still hadn't been released from the hospital. At dinner, he finally asked why that was.

Their dad seemed to tense up at the question, his fingers clutched his fork so tightly the metal all but bent at the action.

"He's not well, Jonathan. The doctors just want to keep him there a little longer to make sure nothing like this happens again." His mom's voice cut through the silence that followed his question.

Jon, feeling pissed off, and put out for some reason, just nodded and went back to eating his dinner.

Well, he tried at least. Most of it was burned, or just too bland.

Her mom was never a good cook, not like Josh, who would always manage to save their dishes in some way. He always caught them before they burned, or snuck in extra seasoning whenever their mom would turn her back.

It was another two weeks before Josh was meant to come home, only five days before it all, their father had taken off in the dead of night. He didn't leave a note, didn't even say goodbye. Jon can’t help but suspect that his father knew about whatever was happening with Josh, but had refused to be of any help to the boy who so clearly needed it.

To Jon’s knowledge, their mother hadn't cried when she realized her husband wouldn't be returning. She blared the music he often complained about, Josh’s favorite genre of music, and skirted around Josh’s bedroom. She had Jon help her unpack his belongings, his clothes returned to the closet, his scarce record collection was put into a proper display.

Cody even came by and hung Josh’s mirror up behind his door. To Jon’s surprise, he'd also replaced the posters that once covered the walls. He even went as far as to add additional posters, ones from bands Jon knew Josh enjoyed. He just didn't know why Cody also knew which bands he favored.

The day they set out to pick Josh up from the hospital, Jon had been buzzing with excitement. Three long weeks of not seeing Josh was finally coming to a close.

He couldn't remember the last time he had been so ready to see his twin, he thinks it might've been when their parents were only taking them individually to see their cousins.

They still lived in California, they still got along back then.

However, on the ride over, Jon was starting to regret agreeing to come along. He initially thought Josh had been in the Memorial Hospital, it was nearby, and equipped to take care of him.

But, when they drove beyond the town's limits, to a hospital in the next town over, Jon had thrown his head back with a groan.

Cody, who had offered to drive him and his mom, just laughed and glanced back at Jon when they pulled into a red light. "It's a long drive, right? I've made this drive at least six times this month."

Again, Jon was left to wonder just how close Cody and his brother had gotten without his knowing.

This time, however, he voiced his question to him.

The elder seemed to pause, his hands freezing in their place on the steering wheel. He was almost dazed until their mother laid a hand on his arm and whispered something Jon couldn't catch.

Whatever it was, was apparently enough to have him nodding his head and breathing out. "We're dating? He's my boyfriend, I guess. I mean, it was purely physical for a long time, but..."

Even though he sounded unsure, and was probably scolding himself for oversharing, Jon detected the smile in his voice. He was shocked, for a multitude of reasons. But, mostly because Cody was dating his brother. The mere thought had him gagging out loud, his face scrunched up in obvious displeasure. He was shocked his mother knew, but that was a topic to broach on a later date.

"Okay, chill! I got it, I ain’t need that last part, Uce." His mom was the first to dissolve into giggles, but both Jon and Cody were quick to follow suit.

It took almost thirty minutes before Josh was crossing the threshold of the hospital he'd spent nearly a month in. When he spotted Jon, his mother and Cody, it was obvious they hadn't seen him yet. So, Josh did what any sensible younger brother would do, and snuck up behind Jon. His eye caught Cody’s and he motioned for him to remain silent, before he was placing both hands on Jon’s shoulders and leaning into his space. "Hey, shitbird!"

Jon, who almost jumped out of his skin, turned around and flung himself into Josh’s arms. "Asshole!"

The latter caught him easily enough, his arms winding around his twin brother, both of them ignoring their mother’s gentle scolding.

It was at least a minute before Josh was playfully shoving him away, his face twisted up in mock anger, "alright enough, you're getting little bitch all over me!"

Jon just kissed his teeth before slapping his arm, his lips forming a light pout, "stop being an ass, I missed you!"

Josh just smirked at him, clicking his tongue as he glanced up at Cody, then at his mom.

There was a mischievous glint in his eye, one familiar to all of them.

Cody was the one to groan, "Josh, no, don't."

But, his plea fell on deaf ears, because two seconds later, Josh was saying, "You act like I almost died, Uce."

Again, Jon slapped his arm, this time with more power than the first one. "Don't joke about that, Josh!!"

His body seemed to betray his demands, because he was then giggling madly.

"Only you two would find this funny." Their mom just shook her head, her disappointment overshadowed by the fond twinge to her tone.

On the ride home, Jon and their mom both sat in the back, allowing Josh the opportunity to sit in the passenger seat.

He tried convincing Cody to let him drive, but he was quick to decline. None of them were too keen on the motion sickness that came with Josh’s fast, reckless driving.

Every time Cody glances in Josh’s direction, Jon can't help but to wonder if he's seeing the same image that flashes occasionally in his own mind.

Josh, not breathing, bleeding too much for any one person, he was thinner than Jon could recall.

It was like Josh had been replaced before their very eyes. Only, nobody noticed the way his cheeks seemed to sink in, or the way his eyes always held dark bags, even after hours, and hours of rest.

Once upon a time, Jon would've praised himself for how well he knew his twin brother, but recent events proved he knew very little about him. It had taken him nearly dying for him to see his pain. For anyone to see his pain. Jon wishes he would've seen Josh changing from abrasive to withdrawn for what it was. A cry for help. Instead, he wrote it off. He wrote Josh off.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

8 notes · View notes

ohtobeleah · 7 months

Note

How do the rest of the daggers react to Hollywood and Jake’s deaths?

Bruises // Jake Seresin

Hollywoods (Reader) Death

-> Hangman:

Absolutely destroyed. There’s a deep sense of guilt imbedded into him that he should have done more.

He goes between believing you did it on purpose to believing wholeheartedly that it was just an accident.

Jake never recovers, he ultimate ends up swallowing his entire collection of pain killers to be with you again.

-> Rooster:

Takes it on the chin.

He’s used to people he cares about leaving him.

Sure it hurts for a while, you left a deep impression on his heart just from your ability to still have empathy and understanding for others after what you went through.

Rooster doesn’t cry, but he mourns you. He cleans out your locker on behalf of Jake.

-> Phoenix:

Is in utter disbelief at first. She doesn’t understand how you survived so much and died besides the man you loved.

Helps coordinate your funeral.

Cries whenever she’s alone but never around Jake or Bradley. Bob sometimes catches a glum but Phoenix is usually pretty good at keeping her emotions in check.

-> Bob:

Like Phoenix, his initial reaction is disbelief.

Bob cried for days. He doesn’t understand any of it. He rings his mum to tell so someone, just anyone who will listen because your story makes him queasy his religious beliefs. He doesn’t believe a god worth serving would put someone through what you went through just to take you in your sleep.

-> Fanboy:

Cooks meal after meal after meal.

He knows Jake won’t be doing well so decides that cooking for him would be the best way to help.

He organised for the Daggers to hold a small celebration of your life down by the beach before the funeral. It’s casual, there’s drinks and Jake gets so drunk out of grief that Fanboy has to carry him home:

-> Coyote:

Doesn’t have a single word to say.

He found out while driving and had to pull over to throw up.

At the funeral his knees feel weak. He doesn’t have any words to describe the feeling of grief that he feels so deeply. His bones feel like they ache at the thought of you possibly giving up the good fight.

-> Payback:

Immediately believes it’s a tragic accident.

Doesn’t want to even consider that you did this on purpose.

Understandable though he knows what trauma does to a person. So the more he finds out about the situation, the more he realises that maybe, just maybe, you did it on purpose.

Makes sure to remove all the hard liquor from Jake’s home.

-> Mav:

Questions why someone who he once considered a friend would send their only daughter on a mission he knew was a suicide mission.

Jakes Death:

-> Rooster:

He’s the one who finds Jake. He tried to save him by shoving his fingers down this wings-man’s throat but it’s to no avail. Jakes gone.

He’s mad. So mad it consumes him.

Rooster goes the rest of his life believe Jake Seresin was a coward.

-> Phoenix:

When she’s first told the news, it’s denial at its finest.

Phoenix doesn’t believe Jake would do that, but when Rooster stares her down and physically starts to sob? She knows it’s true.

Helps coordinate the funnel.

-> Bob:

Understands why Jake did what he did the minute he found out.

Feels conflicted. He once again questions his belief systems and wants answers to questions he can’t ask because the people he needs to ask those questions to are gone.

Swears blind he sees Jake at his own funeral. Lingering around the coffin like a lost soul.

-> Fanboy:

Cooks for the entire squad. Organises for everyone to stay together at Hakes house the days following his death.

Tells Rooster that he’ll contact Jakes family to see how they’re going.

-> Coyote:

Can’t process the idea Jake Seresin isn’t on this earth anymore. He doesn’t feel whole anymore.

Goes through all their old photos and recounts memories for months after his friends death.

-> Payback:

His immediate reaction is that at least Jake is with you, where he needed to be.

Has a reoccurring dream about you and Jake on a farm somewhere he doesn’t recognise.

-> Mav:

Two losses from the same squad is enough for him. He mourns Jake like a son.

#bruises // jake seresin #tw: suicide attempt #tw: death

21 notes · View notes

aftgficrec · 8 months

Note

Hey! I love your page and getting fic recs! Do you have any fics where Neil goes or agrees to go to therapy? I’m good with Bee or someone else as the therapist too. It can be canon or an au. Thanks so much! :))

I was pleasantly surprised by how much we found for you! -A

previous recs:

‘another life to live’ here

‘Oakland’ here (completed)

‘you’ve been locked in here forever (and you just can’t say goodbye)’ here (updated)

‘If it means protecting you (I’ll pay my dues)’ here (updated)

‘Interlaced’ here (updated)

‘Regrowth,’ ‘To Be Close With You Is To Be Close With Myself,’ ‘I took a breath and took the knife,’ and ‘flashes of intimacy’ ch 4 here

‘call me in the afternoon’ here

‘The Wild Fox Den’ and ‘Roses Grow Between Bone’ here

‘(My Heart) Pierced By a Pin’ here (completed)

‘The Sun Still Rises’ here (updated)

‘day by day’ here

‘the shuffling of cards’ here

‘Ain’t it fun’ here

‘Breathe, idiot’ here

‘Healing’ series part 1 here, part 3 here (completed)

‘The Fear of Being Known’ here

‘That one party’ series and ‘keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)’ here

‘Affection can be shown in so many ways’ here

‘Ghost of You’ here

‘Make This Leap (Geronimo)’ here

‘Tenuous’ here

‘There is Nothing You Can Say’ here (completed)

‘of ice blue eyes & twisted veins’ here

‘don't break the glass’ (completed) here

‘Bad Apple’ here

‘Phantom Pains’ here

‘Therapy’ here

‘Birds of a Feather’ here (updated)

‘In which Neil had Aspergers and Andrew finds out.’ here

‘For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry’ here (updated)

‘I Wanna Get Better’ here

‘on the tip of my tongue (say something)’ parts 6 & 8 here

and more:

‘Ember’ here (completed)

‘leave the room (with a little dignity)’ here

‘Art Hoe’ here

‘Blame It On My Youth’ here (updated)

‘Black as is the Raven, He’ll Get a Partner’ (here)

‘Our body’ series, part 1 here, part 3 here, part 5 here

‘and all the roads will disappear’ here

‘crossed out’ here

‘Double Trouble’ series here

‘i had a dream (where you couldn't hear me screaming)’ and ‘hold me close, in fact bury me’ here

‘Just closed eyes with nothing behind’ here

‘doubt thou the stars be fire’ here

‘SCAR TISSUE’ here

‘Lighter Fluid’ here