#and even with the years and trauma and hatred they both just stand there staring at each other for a moment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

http-paprika · 6 months

Text

The Deal / Captain John Price

pairing john price x female!reader / wc 1600 / warnings background character death, swearing, brief mentions of depression and trauma from the military, and pregnancy.

summery price had made a promise to keep you safe, but feelings always manage to get in the way.

notes here is the fated price fanfic, not arranged marriage anymore because i hated the first draft (this was take three), but still marriage. similar to my zombie!ghost fanfic, paragraphs in italics are flashbacks/the past. because of that, i put the pairing as just john price x female!reader and not wife!reader because of how the relationship changes.

⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆

In the safety of his warmth and arms, Price watches her sleep, all the stress and burdens of the day having faded away with rest and with her husband’s touch. He lightly touched her face, brushing away the hairs so he could blissfully stare at her soft face while Price waited for sleep to finally find him.

The longer he laid there, sleeplessly, the more his mind wandered and roamed, reminding him of the nights he hadn’t enjoyed. A sting from the memories of their past, their beginning. All the grief and promises he made to her when her father, Price’s commanding officer and mentor, had been killed. The pushing and pulling as he senselessly fought against his own feelings in the name of keeping her safe.

“No, I’m tired of you saying you care but still keeping me at arm’s length, Price!” She snapped at him, standing opposite Price in his office. He’d provoked the outrage, it had been a long time coming. She’d always been kind enough to accept his indifference, never pushing him into the spotlight. It didn’t matter if they were both aware of their feelings towards each other, Price refused to act upon them, and couldn't possibly drag her down to his level. But she’d tired of his behavior. “I don't need you to act like you know what’s best for me. Like I’m a child in need of guidance— I’m not!”

“I know.” He responds back, gritting his teeth and balling his hands into fists. She was right, always right. But Price couldn’t admit it, even as he hurt her further.

“Do you? Because that’s exactly how you’re acting!” She accuses him, a finger pointed directly at him. Price wished that this would be the end, that she’d come to her senses and realize he couldn’t possibly be good enough for her. Couldn’t give her the life and love she deserved. After all the near slips, all the times he almost caved in and ignored his own protesting, how many times he’d almost bent to her will. And it scared him senseless.

“Because I just ruin things, and I ruin people.” Price finally forced out, turning so he didn’t have to face her. The life he’d chosen was a painful gamble, a constant game of making deals and taking lives. Blood stained his hands, death wasn’t a stranger and Price knew he should’ve been the one who’d been buried years ago instead of the countless soldiers who’d served under him. Price swore that it should’ve been him who’d been gunned down and left in the desert instead of her father. “And you— I made a promise to your father before he died that I would keep you safe. But I can’t do that, I’m just going to hurt you.”

Deflated, he finally turns back to look at her. To take in the flame in her eyes and the setting of her jaw. “I mistook you for a smarter man, Price.” Her words and tone were like knives straight to the chest, slicing him deep and open. It was what he deserved,

“I know, I’m—“

“I don’t want your half-assed apology, Price. And I don’t need you looking after me anymore.”

There was a flood of guilt in his chest as she left the room. Bitter hatred towards himself, but he had to do it. It was for the better, Price convinced himself as he lit a cigar and tried not to think of the hurt in her voice. This was the punishment he deserved, and god he hoped she’d get what she deserved, got everything she wanted. Love, a good life, the kids she’d spoken about having before.

Price was startled as his wife shifted unexpectedly, reaching over and turning the lamp on, rubbing her face. His hands moved to hold onto her body as Price watched for any sign of something troubling her.

“What’s wrong, love?” He murmured as she rubbed away the remaining sleep on her face.

“Sorry if I woke you.” She mumbled, hands moving down to rub the growing bump on her stomach. “Just too uncomfortable.”

“Don’t apologize to me about it, wasn’t even asleep. What can I do to help?” He asks, beginning to massage her back, rubbing tight circles to help ease the discomfort.

“Just need a moment.” Price nods, pressing a kiss on her shoulder, enjoying as she lets out a sigh. “How come you weren’t asleep?”

“What?”

“You said you hadn’t been asleep. Why?” She asks, glancing down at him with worry and adoration. He could feel himself practically melting under her gaze.

“Just got busy thinking.” He said, pressing another kiss against her skin. “About us and how good you are at knocking some sense into me. And how foolish I was to deprive myself of you for so many years.”

“Well, you came around eventually.” She smirks as he moves, so his gaze is leveled with hers. “Now look at us.”

Nights had been rough, and sleepless. The guilt had become too much to bear, chewing him up and spitting him out. Those directly under him in his team had begun to notice the change, to question and interrogate him on his behavior and disheveled state. And he didn’t have the strength or humility to tell them the truth.

Eventually, he drove himself out of his office and off base, wandering aimlessly through a nearby park, shuddering against the frosty cold. Burying his hands in the pocket of his coat, he walked along the frozen lake, teeth chattering, head spinning. Then out of the mist, like a bad dream or apparition, Price saw her freeze as she spotted him, wearing the soft leather jacket that used to be his, the one he’d left at her apartment months before when Price left in a hurry.

“Price.” She kept her distance, keeping her gaze cold and fixed on him. Disbelief washed over him as he stared at her, wondering how she could even acknowledge him at this point. His mouth dried up, throat clogged and Price felt like falling to his knees and groveling for forgiveness, maybe if he begged she’d at least come to tolerate him.

“I’m a fucking fool,” Is all he manages to choke out. Price had always had a way with words in the past, but looking at her, craving the feeling of her warmth. It was apparent, clear, his feverish need for her to be by her side. The loneliness he’d felt without the sound of her laughter and voice, or how unsettling it felt to go on runs without her pushing him to go further. “And it’s not fair to you that it took me so long to come to my senses. Or that I treated you the way I did, pushing you away. I was terrified of losing you, and then I still lost you. I’m sorry,”

He almost expected her to berate him, curse his name, and cause him to bleed. She stood silently, facing the frozen lake, keeping her arms wrapped around her.

“Love?” Price stepped slowly over to her, waiting for an indicator that he was making her uncomfortable. But she never flinched away as he reached out, placing his hands on her arms. “Don’t spare my feelings, tell me to fuck off if that’s what you want.”

Looking down at her, Price noticed the glassy look in her eyes, listened to her stifled breathing, and watched the warm air leave her mouth in a puff against the icy cold. Without a thought Price pulled her close to his chest, wrapping his arms around her and enveloping her warmth.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, pressing his cheek against the top of her head, her hands clutched the material of his jacket as she began to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

They’d both settled back again, the worst of her aching having subsided. Price kept his arms wrapped around her, a calloused hand settled on her stomach. “Comfortable now?”

“Much better.” She nodded, pressing her cheek into his neck. Skin to skin, fighting against the cold air as they stayed pressed into each other under the blankets. “You know, I was a bit foolish too.”

“What you? Foolish? Absolutely not, love.” Price argues, not hearing a word of it.

“If I had an ounce of self-respect from the beginning, I would’ve never given you a single chance.” He shook his head, chuckling at her teasing. “I should’ve known a man with a mustache like this was trouble.” She says, her hand coming up to brush the thicker facial hair.

“Oi— don’t bash the mustache, you love it. Like the feel of it against your face when I kiss you.” He said, before kissing her quickly. “And when it’s—“

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Johnathan Price. I’m too tired to deal with it.” She stated, lightly swatting at him as he continued to chuckle and kept pressing kisses over her face.

“Tomorrow then?”

“John,” She groaned in response, trying to pry herself free of his grasp, as he continued to laugh. He presses another kiss on her forehead, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

“I love you.” Price whispers to her, holding her gaze. “I’m the luckiest man for getting a second chance, and for getting to marry and have a kid with you.” There were still days he felt undeserving of her adoration and love. But those days had become less frequent, and Price knew if he ever voiced those doubts, she’d remind him of the truth. Hold him in her arms, pepper kisses on his skin, and remind Price that he was who she wanted. No one else would do. Just him.

#call of duty #cod mw #cod price #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price #captain price #john price cod #poll fanfic #fanfiction

54 notes · View notes

chicken-fifi · 6 months

Text

At Gwanghwamun | Kyuhyun (SuJu)

Pairing: Cho Kyuhyun x Reader

Requested by anon: hello, can i get one with kyuhyun ? he and the reader decide to meet again at gwanghwamun after years of breaking up, and realice they still love and miss each other thanks

Genre: angst

Word Count: 1,152 words

A/n: i did use the english translation of the song since i was motivated to do a song fic for this post. hopefully it was a good one and if you haven't listened to this masterpiece, here you go! At Gwanghwamun by Kyuhyun.

How was your day? There’s still a little bit of summer left For some reason, I had a tiring day When the leaves changed color on the side of the road of Gwanghwamun That was when I finally lifted my head

“How was your day?” Kyuhyun asked after a moment's silence between the two of you, shortly after you arrived at the main square of Gwanghwamun. “Autumn's approaching quite fast this year so I imagine it’s making keeping the kids inside for recess harder-”

“It’s been tiring,” you replied, ignoring his rambling and chuckling at his nervousness.

Why was he the one this nervous when he was the one who originally suggested the possibility of meeting up? Then again, he probably didn’t think you’d agree without an argument. In fact, you weren’t even sure why you had agreed. It’s been years since you last spoke to one another, and you hadn’t ended on good terms to where it would be natural to meet up after all the pain the two of you caused one another at the moment of your relationship's demise.

“Work or life, in general that is?”

You lifted your head from staring at the concrete below you finally meeting his gaze for the first time since your arrival. He’d grown up, although after ten years that was bound to happen. You were certain you also looked different, changed, face painted with the signs of age settling along the edge of your eyes and laugh lines.

Much like how the changing color of the leaves from their vibrant greens to vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges, before dulling into brown, maybe the two of you had changed in more ways than just your physical appearance. The leaves chlorophyll production slows down and then stops and eventually all the chlorophyll is destroyed showing the colors underneath, maybe you guys had grown up slowing down the resentment you’d both held for one another before festering into guilt and shame, the need to forgive and be forgive driving the two of you to change, to show who the two of you were not at your respective stages in life.

“Life,” you replied, not being able to stop the smile that formed on your face as you recalled the good old days when this conversation would normally lead to a night of drinking away the day’s struggles. “But I suppose that’s how it’ll always be. Especially since…”

We used to shine so bright together But now we are strangers In your arms, the world was mine Goodbye to those childish days

“Since things changed,” he finished.

For so long he’d looked back at the memories of the two of you with disdain and utter hatred. Hating the way you’d left so easily, the way you both destroyed each other in a matter of seconds, it was all some form of trauma for him that he never wished to relive. Yet within recent months, he’d begun to remember all the good times, which greatly outnumbered the bad. He was convinced the two of you were twin flames for so long. And then you became a stranger who’s laugh he would forever be able to recognize anywhere.

You’d been his world and he yours.

You were each other's life source. Living and breathing solely for the other. And maybe that’s why it all went to shit.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “That’s probably why.”

Today, like a fool, I am standing at that spot Getting wet in the rain Waiting for you, who won’t come I was happy At the memories of holding hands and walking together, I look back In case you are standing there

As the two of you walked around the square, following the flow of the people doing the same, you kept a respectable amount of distance between the two of you, not allowing your shoulders or hands to brush. It was strange. Under any normal circumstances, two former lovers meeting up and walking around the square they had gone to often as a couple should’ve been awkward and painful to endure. Yet the silence was comfortable. Nothing needed to be said because it felt as though everything was already being said in your silence. Every single apology, regret, sorrow, emotion was being expressed and accepted by the other.

Even when the two of you finally did start speaking, reminiscing about your relationship, nothing seemed strained. The two of you were reliving fond memories, finally glad to be able to see them happily and know that it wasn’t just one of you who still laughed about the one time Kyuhyun got stuck in the bathroom and you had to remove the door knob to rescue him.

That continued for a while before the silence came back, warmer than before. Your cheeks are equally warm and hurting from the smiling you’d both done. Your heart was warm as you walked beside him, much closer than before. Everything was peaceful, if even just for that moment.

I don’t know if living in this world Is just about always looking for another person As I came to this street, filled with the aroma of coffee That was when I finally smiled

The cafe was a nice change from the chilly air. Steam from your coffee wafted up, the ceramic mug warmed your hands. Sipping carefully, you sighed as the hot beverage warmed you up, only to grimace as you watched Kyuhyun take a sip of his iced Americano. He sent you a weird look to which you shook your head not wanting to dwell on the cultural norm.

“I will never be able to understand drinking iced coffee in the cold,” you muttered with a smile. “But I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same just for the heck of it.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat as his gaze wandered the people walking by the window. A family walked past, a small child in between their parents, swinging every other step. The couple’s mouths were open in what appeared to be a laugh before they smiled lovingly at one another shortly before their attention was taken by their joint creation of love.

Would the two of you have kids by now if things hadn’t happened the way they did?

“Kyuhyun,” you whispered softly, looking at the couple as well. “There’s something I think you should know.”

It was the first time that someone made me that nervous You were the only one You were more lovable than anyone else But why did you leave me?

“I don’t think I ever stopped loving you,” you admitted. “I can’t deny that I was angry at you for everything. But we’re both so young and…so naive to think we could take on the world. Just us. And-”

“You don’t have-”

“I miss what we had. And I miss you. But I don’t think I could ever come back to you.”

His eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t want to fall in love with the idea I had of you back then. I don’t want to fall in love with a memory of you.”

He didn’t say a word as you continued speaking. He couldn’t say a word when everything you were saying was valid. Even if it hurts to hear.

“Maybe one day,” Kyuhyun started as the two of you stood outside the cafe. “We can explore the idea of being together again. But if we don’t, just know that the memory of us is something I will always treasure and hold dear to my heart.”

You smiled softly, hesitating before stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him tightly.

“I really do love you,” you whispered, voice cracking. “But I need to make sure that I love you, not the memory of you.”

He held you tightly before pulling away, his heart breaking just a bit, but mending itself even more.

“For the record,” he began, “I missed you too.”

At that place, I get to know How I’m slowly changing every day In the far days ahead, just smile for me I’m happy Because today, this place is just as beautiful as back then

#kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #super junior #super junior masterlist #super junior imagines #super junior scenarios #super junior kyuhyun #super junior cho kyuhyun #kyuhyun #cho kyunhyun #kyuhyun imagines #kyuhyun sceanrios #cho kyuhyun imagines #cho kyuhyun scenarios

18 notes · View notes

drag-on-my-balls-z · 9 months

Text

Determined Rage. Reminisce in the Face of Death!

“Don’t toy with him, Kakarot! He’d kill us all without hesitation!” Vegeta growls out weakly.

There is hot-red loathing suspended in the Namekian air. It encases and smothers everyone in the vicinity. Frieza stands before the Z fighters and Vegeta. They all stare at the ruthless beast as Vegeta sits on the ground with multiple wounds scattering his body. Blood trickles from some fresh holes that have been fired through him. His figure trembles with pain and weakness, but Vesper helps keep him stable.

Using her recently found Ki ability, she flows energy into his small wounds. They repair within a few minutes, but only because they are so simple; not fatal. Despite the care she shows, the prince still acts arrogant to her; swatting at her and pushing. Krillin is watching the display of conflicting behaviors, trying not to get angry. He’s trying not to finish the job for Frieza for disrespecting Vesper.

“He’s nothing but a monster. He did horrid things to our kinds. You can’t even imagine the trauma we’ve gone through because of him.” Vesper says, kneeling behind Vegeta to help keep him sitting up.

“My, my. What praise you give me. I’m flattered that even my traitors know the respect I’m due.” Frieza chuckles out, tail swaying. “Though, I never really did that much to you, Vesper, darling.”

Vesper scoffs. “Bullshit. You erased my entire race. I watched my family die in front of me because of your order. You had the nerve to force me into your crew to be your personal engineer.” She grits her teeth, heat starting to slowly emanate off her battered body. “You refused to let me socialize because you thought it would stop me from working. I made everything you asked, so I wouldn’t die. I was only a child.”

Vegeta grunts in pain. “I never met her while on that blasted ship, but I heard a lot about how smart and efficient she was.” Vesper’s heart skips and her cheeks redden a little. “I didn’t think a single Tuffle would be spared, knowing you.”

“After a few years of loneliness, I finally spoke to Lord Vegeta. He was rude at first…but he was nothing less than a saint once he got over my race. We shared pain; hatred; regret. He made me feel safe.” Vesper starts choking up as tears flood her eyes. “Then you took him from me! You murdered the only person who understood me there!” Her voice cracks as she starts raising it.

Frieza shrugs. “I couldn’t have you two figuring a way out of my grasp. Had I lost that oaf of a monkey, I’d lose everything.”

“Don’t talk of my father that way, bastard!” Vegeta snarls out, but gets shot by an energy blast. “AGH! B-b…bastard…” he covers the new hole in his left arm.

Vesper quickly puts a hand on the wound and concentrates her energy into it, slowly repairing it. “My lord was wonderful. We had meals together and laughed about the past. He practically bragged about his amazing son; saying how he’ll be ‘the best warrior Saiyajins have ever conceived’.” She giggles sadly as she heals the hole in her wounded love’s arm. “I dreamed of the day I’d meet him. I even snuck my own transmission into the Prince’s scouter, unbeknownst to you.”

“Excuse me?” Frieza looks surprised.

“You killed Lord Vegeta. Now you’re trying to kill Prince Vegeta…” she finishes healing him. “I’m not gonna let you take him away. I promised my lord that if anything were to happen to him, I’d make sure his son became the warrior their race needs. I’ll never let anything happe-“

“Whoops!” Frieza condescendingly and dramatically says as he fires a beam into Vegeta’s heart.

Vegeta’s eyes widen at the pain he’s flooded with. “You…just…” he falls over.

Vesper stares in disbelief. She starts breathing rapidly. “No…no, no, no! NO! VEGETA!” She covers the giant hole with both hands, trying to heal it. “Don’t die. DON’T DIE!” She shakes her head. “I won’t let you die!”

“My bad. My hand slipped.” Frieza snickers smugly. “I sneezed. Sorry, I’m allergic to monkey dander.” He scowls in disgust at Vegeta.

Vegeta coughs out blood. “Don’t let him…g-get away with this…K-Kakarot.” He hoarsely demands, tears streaming down his face. “He killed every…single one of the Saiyajins…”

“Vegeta, please…don’t talk. You’re expending too much energy and air.” Vesper tries speeding up her healing, but it isn’t doing much to such a drastic wound. “Please, my prince, you’ll die faster. You need to relax and let me heal you.”

“Dammit, Tuffle. Enough…of your foolishness.” He tries to swat her hands away. “I’ll die regardless. Your healing…isn’t strong e-enough…” he coughs a bit more, splattering her with his blood. Her body tenses, but she keeps trying. “Kakarot, you need to kill him!” He croaks out. “He’ll never change his ways, no matter how many times you spare him.”

Goku watches in pain at the feeble attempt to save a life. “Vesper…” he softly says, unable to find the right words to either of them.

“I beg of you…clown. Tear him apart for the sake of our race. The sake of your Saiyajin pride…” he wheezes. “If he kills you, he’ll find your family and kill them as well…”

“No! Even if you two die, I won’t let anything happen to Gohan!” Vesper sniffles. “Not again. That idiot, Raditz, tried once. Gohan won’t be hurt again!”

“Tuffle! You aren’t strong enough.” Vegeta growls out. “If I die to him, you will too.” He looks at Goku. “Do it. Kill him.” He then slowly goes limp.

“Vegeta..?” Vesper stops and looks him over. Everyone stares in shock at Frieza’s remorseless murder. “Vegeta? Prince Vegeta?!” She starts panicking. “No, don’t die.” She starts pumping energy into his wounded heart viciously. “NO! Stay with me! Please,” her voice shrieks in desperation, “don’t leave. Not you too!”

Goku tears up at the frantic CPR she’s attempting. “Vesper, please. He’s already gone…”

She drops her forehead onto his and softly cries. “No…please…” Krillin walks over and gently places a hand on her back. He goes to say something, but he’s blown back by her bursting into rage. “NOOOO!” She screams, extreme heat exploding off her figure, a deep red aura engulfing her. She looks at Frieza. “You killed my prince! You took my love away, you horrid abomination!”

“Abomination?! Watch your tongue, shrimp.” Frieza snarls and hisses out. “I could have you join him if you’d prefer. Scum dies with scum.” He points a finger at her.

Vesper lets out a deep growl and starts to get up. “BASTARD!” She gets ready to pounce. “I’LL RIP YOU LIMB-FROM-LIMB, YOU BASTARD!”

Just as she moves, within an instant it all calms down.

As she’s shot between the eyes.

A collective gasp cuts the air. Vesper trembles and falls back.

“VESPER!” Krillin cries out, racing to her. He slides to his knees and catches her. “Vesper. No…no…” he hugs her barely living body tight. He cries out a heart-wrenching scream. “VESPERRR!”

Just before she dies, she puts a shaky hand on his cheek. She also grabs Vegeta’s hand. They look at each other. He gets one last thing.

A sweet, loving smile.

Vesper’s arm then slips to the ground.

Her head rolls over with that smile.

#dbz oc #dragon ball z oc #dragonball #tuffle #vesper #vegeta #oc story #OC canon shit #sad boi hours #rest in pussy Vespea 😔🙏

4 notes · View notes

niennandil-me-writes · 7 months

Text

Goretober 2: Beaten/Bruised

CN: suicide mention, trauma, cigarette burns

[Marlowe belongs to @arocalyptic. This is set in our Mothership space marine AU that I am kind of obsessed with.]

The room is small enough to drive any normal soldiers occupying them insane over time. They aren’t normal soldiers, though. They are the ones nobody else wants to bunk with, which is how they ended up together. Both broken, maybe irreparably so, but since their malfunctions don’t render them completely unusable, they are kept anyway, despite the quiet protests of their colleagues.

Marlowe is lying in the bottom bunk, humming into the pillow he holds pressed over his face and ears. His body moves rhythmically, like he’s dancing to music only he can hear, or twisting in pain. Teo doesn’t mind him. He’s sitting in the top bunk, his back against the metal wall, cleaning his rifle, like he has been for two hours, tenderly tracing his fingers over the weapon and whispering to it. The weapon answers in a voice that sounds almost, but not quite, like a person that once existed, using words similar to those that person might have used.

“Teo...” Marlowe has taken the pillow off his face.

“Hm?”

Marlowe takes a moment to continue. “It’s outside. Space.”

Teo doesn’t answer, so Marlowe goes on: “It’s making noises again. Too loud.”

It’s silent in the room, save for the humming of electronics.

“Can you... can you hurt me so I won’t hear it anymore?”

A grin appears on Teo’s face. Then he drops down from the upper bunk, Dex still in his hand. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He grabs Marlowe by the collar of his jumpsuit and drags him out of the bed. Marlowe just hangs there in his hands like a doll, as Teo smashes his head against the leader. Marlowe whimpers but doesn’t complain. Hands close around his neck and choke the sounds from him. Marlowe reaches up, claws at the fingers, but that only makes Teo more enthusiastic, his grip tightening.

When Teo finally lets go, Marlowe hangs onto the ladder, half standing, half leaning. Teo grabs Dex with both hands and jabs the butt of the rifle into Marlowe’s stomach. He folds forward, toppling over to the ground, where he’s received with a kick to the back, then a stomp on the leg. Marlowe curls up, whining and screaming.

After another kick, Teo sits down on Marlowe’s legs, hits him on the side of the head with the rifle. Marlowe’s expression has changed during the beatdown, more sober, less tormented, almost grateful, even in his disgust at his bunkmate. Already bruises are forming on his face, his arms, around his neck, and no doubt all over his body beneath the jumpsuit. How much Teo would like to see that. How much he’d love to see something else.

He trains the gun on Marlowe’s face. Finger at the trigger. Marlowe stares up at him, with an expression that isn’t quite fear, but then again, it never is. One forgets what fear is if one has felt space without the safety of a suit.

“You can’t,” is all he says.

Teo grits his teeth because he knows he’s right. He can’t shoot Marlowe anymore than he can shoot himself, as much as he’d like to. It wasn’t a coincidence that he let go of the chokehold just as Marlowe was about to pass out, wasn’t his self-control that prevented any of his bones from breaking or organs from being damaged. Computations and algorithms in his mechanical mind prevent him from destroying military property.

Teo takes the finger of the trigger he can’t pull and fumbles for something in the pockets of his own jumpsuit. “You could, though,” he says, pulling a cigarette from the pack and lights it. He doesn’t smoke, not really.

Marlowe nods. “But I won’t.” Because then I’d be alone on this ship, is what he doesn’t say.

Teo nods as well. He hates him for that, as much as his cyborg brain has a capacity for hatred. They programmed about 500 fighting styles into it, hundreds of years of space battles and their strategies as well as wars on Earth, but human emotion they somehow didn’t find room for.

“I can still hurt you really bad,” he says, and presses the burning end of the cigarette into Marlowe’s cheek. Marlowe twists around and screams, the first loud sound to come from him, which Teo cherishes. He doesn’t let him move, holds him down while he keeps rubbing the cigarette into his face.

Eventually, he pulls it away, tilting his head as he considers the burn, the bruises that become darker and darker on Marlowe’s skin. He’s beautiful like that. He pulls another cigarette from the pack and lights it with his own before offering it to Marlowe, who takes it with trembling fingers. He doesn’t really smoke, either.

Teo stands up from Marlowe’s legs, so Marlowe can sit up on the floor, legs pulled close.

“Space stop screaming?” Teo asks, sitting down next to him.

Marlowe nods. They sit there, silently, as their cigarettes slowly burn up the oxygen within the ship.

#my writing #oc writing #goretober 2023 #teo dagger #marlowe spade #marlowe/teo #dex #gore #violence #can you find the quote in there?

0 notes

mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years

Text

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Six)

AN- Two chapters in one night... hope you like them! Soft Holmes Brothers scene at the end because, especially after the Eurus situation, the boys truly do love and care for each other! Not proof read either of these yet so apologies if there are mistakes!

Word Count- 4405

The younger brother's eyes had flicked over you both only momentarily, the tiniest flick up of his lips at the side of his mouth that disappeared so quickly it could have been misinterpreted for a twitch.

"Ever the delight, Sherlock." Mycroft spoke, standing straighter, his chin poking up a little higher. Sherlock glanced over his posture and rolled his eyes.

"Oh for God's sake don't start that Mycroft. Had I blamed you for everything I can assure you I wouldn't have bothered opening the door, don't make it so obvious that you care about my opinion of you- it's embarrassing for both of us." And with that he spun around and headed up the stairs to 221B, leaving the door to the flat wide open and disappearing into the bathroom.

"Well that was.."

"Easy? I told you that you shouldn't worry." You nudged Mycroft into the building before ascending the stairs.

"Sherlock Holmes, possibly the only man in the world to forgive somebody for nearly killing him in a heartbeat, but held a 6 month grudge when I took the last custard cream from the biscuit jar when I was 12.." Mycroft muttered, making his way into the flat and sitting beside you on the two seater sofa. John walked into the room from the kitchen shortly after, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand as he said his hellos.

"Figured I'd stick the kettle on when you said you were on your way.. Greg shouldn't be long now." He gave a smile, taking his place in his own armchair. "How have.." He glanced at Mycroft. "How have you been? He won't admit it, but Sherlock's been worried about you." Mycroft took a breath, sending a polite smile in the direction of the army doctor.

"Doctor Watson, I can assure you that I am fine and have been perfectly well looked after." His eyes flickered to you for a moment and then back to the doctor. "I presume the pair of you have held up well as I haven't heard any reports of gunfire towards the wall for a fair bit of time." John grinned, casting his eyes over to the smiley face on the wall that had thankfully been left alone.

"Good. Yeah, uh, things here have been.. good.. too." A blank stare matched with a more thoughtful raise of lips. ".. Very good, actually.."

"Catch." Sherlock came stalking into the room, a damp flannel thrown in Mycroft's general direction which he caught expertly, not allowing a single moist patch to appear on his clothing.

"And this is.."

"A flannel? Christ Mycroft has trauma affected your brain cells that much?" Sherlock quipped, flopping down into his armchair and lazily holding his hand out for his tea that was a mere few inches away from his fingers. John placed the mug in his hand without thought or argument, his fingers brushing over Sherlock's slightly before moving away. A biscuit soon followed, John holding out the digestive while Sherlock partly opened his lips, and shoving the food between them. It was your turn to raise your brow now, but you didn't say anything, instead just nudging Mycroft with your knee to make sure he had seen it too. Of course he had. "It's for your face, Y/N's lip balm is all round your mouth and it's making me feel a bit sick." John's eyes widened as he looked between the pair of you. You shrugged your shoulders and smiled, Mycroft simply sweeping away the slightly pink balm from underneath his lip and folding the wet cloth back up to place on the side. At least he hadn't picked up that you did it on purpose. Before anybody else could speak, the sound of someone bounding up the stairs filled the flat.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms Hudson let me in an- what did I miss?" Greg stood breathless at the door, satchel slung over his shoulder and a carrier bag in his other hand, staring at the apparent awkward glances shared between half the room. You stood from the sofa and headed over towards him, swiftly wrapping your arms around him and placing a small kiss on his cheek to say hello. He made his way into the room and perched on the arm of the sofa closest to Mycroft, casting another look at everybody when his question still hadn't been answered.

"Nothing of importance. Mycroft and Y/N have obviously decided to stop moping around each other like lovesick teenagers and finally admitted they've been infatuated with each other for years.. Now you're all caught up, can we get these papers sorted out so I can be more productive with my time?" Sherlock huffed.

"Nothing of importance? Don't be an arse Sherlock, that's excellent news." Greg clapped Mycroft on his shoulder and shot you a toothy grin. "Declaration in the park was it? Might be a good enough reason for me to not punch you for closing off St James'.." John's eyes widened more, if it were possible.

"You just.. closed off St James'? Can you even do-" The look Mycroft shot John made him cut his sentence short. "Right, yeah. British Government." He nodded, standing to go fetch Greg a coffee (yourself and Mycroft still held a shared judgement against Greg and his hatred for tea) and continuing to ask questions about your newly confirmed relationship. Mycroft sat awkwardly through the encounter- briefly talking about his emotions in front of you was one thing, a whole flat full of people was entirely different- so you gave his knee a quick squeeze and answered for him. "Who bit the bullet then?" John sat down. "Christ I know I mistook the pair of you being together when I met you, so surely these two have been waiting longer for you to get on with it." Greg grinned, nodding in agreement at John's assumption. Sherlock, on the other hand, stay lying on his chair completely unphased by the conversation going on around him.

"To cut a long story short, we were watching telly, I said Stephen Fry was a bit sexy, Mycroft informed me that he used to get told he had a slight resemblance to him, I realised I'd stuck my foot in it and had a ramble.. Went from there. Nothing too exciting, sorry." You left out the parts where the night before you had handled a broken Mycroft to the shower, how he had gripped onto you, how you held him as you slept. You also left out the way he had allowed himself to cry, how you held him while he wept- and, for that, Mycroft was incredibly thankful. Sherlock probably knew though, somehow, in his Sherlock way of knowing things- but he was either too kind to announce it to the room, or didn't care enough to waste his breath.. probably the latter.

"That's disappointing. You've mentioned about fancying Stephen Fry for years, this could have happened ages ago." John teased.

"Nothing compared to Hugh Laurie though. I'm pretty certain that I'm straight but I'd let him-"

"The papers!!" Sherlock's shout cut Greg's ramble off, making the silver haired man jump and grab his satchel, handing out the reports in a way that reminded you of a teacher with test papers.

"Right, yeah. Sorry. Basically the proper forms aren't ready for another week or so so these are just a few basic questions- nothing too in depth yet since I wanted to give you guys time to... yeah just basic for now." Mycroft chose to read through all the questions before answering them, whereas Sherlock hastily scribbled his response to each question as he went along- the smaller details in the Holmes brothers' differences are always interesting to stumble upon. As he held the page in his hands, you carefully leant over to have a glance at the questions, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder and your cheek resting just against your fingers- blissfully unaware at the 2 sets of eyes openly staring at your movements, and the one set that watched from the side. Greg was right, in a way, the questions definitely weren't as overbearing as they could be- but that doesn't mean it was an easy task. The questions targeted Mycroft a lot more than it did John and Sherlock, asking things about scenarios and situations that had occured before they were taken, how long it had been since they had any contact with Eurus prior to that evening/ what they discussed, and a few basic questions about any incentives Eurus may have had, and anything that aided her into her plan. Of course the papers weren't labelled with the sister's name, they were generically printed and typically handed out to anybody involved in any kind of criminal behaviours, but that didn't make it seem any less like these were questions that targeted Mycroft in particular. Mycroft took a deep breath and laid the papers back onto the coffee table in front of him, pulling a pen out of his pocket and beginning to write. In this moment you had noticed the small bounce of his left leg, a movement only ever shown by him in times where he had a particularly stressful day at work, or a troubling encounter with his brother- it was a movement that let you know his brain was running a mile a minute and he felt a little more overwhelmed that usual. Without making a point of it, you move your right hand to rest on his mid thigh, allowing your thumb to rub small shapes into his leg to show your support.

Turning your gaze to the rest of the room, you noticed Greg's eyes on you, a grin on his face that practically stretched to his ears. You rolled your eyes at him, using your other hand to flip him off and smiled.

It had taken just under two hours in total for the boys to finish completely (well, an hour and twenty minutes for the Holmes siblings, an extra forty minutes for John whose brain simply didn't work as fast as theirs to convey the information on the paper). The time had passed fairly quickly, with yourself and Greg not wanting to disturb the silence and instead just drinking your hot drinks and stealing a couple of biscuits from the tray. You gave Mycroft's leg one last squeeze before sitting back against the sofa, stretching a little after finally getting out of that position.

"Thanks again for getting this done today." Greg spoke, taking the papers in and putting them in a plastic folder. "I'd better be off anyway, get these filed in." He stood, heading for the front door and tripping over the carrier bag he had brought in with him earlier. "Shit, yeah I almost forgot." He picked up the bag and handed it to you. "Got your coat, and I may have accidentally read your mind if you had been talking about Stephen and Hugh.." You dug through the bag and grinned as you pulled out the box at the bottom.

"You, Gregory Lestrade, are a bloody legend. God I could kiss you!" Your boxset of 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie' rested in your hands and you showed it to Mycroft, beaming at him. His lips raised at your reaction, showing a small glint in his eye, as you explained how now the pair of you would have to binge watch it since Mycroft had never got round to watching them before. Greg barked out a laugh.

"I wouldn't. I don't fancy being hunted by Mycroft's secret services." Mycroft let out a small laugh himself. And with that, Greg was gone and left the flat to the four of you once more.

***

You hadn't stayed at the flat long before you all made your way to Angelo's restaurant, even managing to convince Mycroft to just take a cab rather than bothering his chauffeur for a 5 minute journey.

"Ahhh Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson!" Angelo greeted, pulling the aforementioned men into an awkward half embrace, half headlock. "Back again so soon? I shall get your usual table set up, grab some candles. Anything for you!" The pair of men awkwardly shifted out of the hold and Sherlock offered a smile.

"Not today Angelo, we need a table for four if that suits your capacities here?" Sherlock peered round at the tables inside.

"Of course, a double date, very lovely to see! Come, come!" He led the four of you inside, you grinning at Mycroft at Angelo's casual mentionings of Sherlock and John's usual 'romantic' set up. You were all ushered inside of a small booth and handed menus, the benches were small but tolerable, your thigh just brushing against Mycroft's, him offering a shy smile at the close contact. "You stay here, I'll get to work on those candles. Just for you, Mr Holmes." Angelo spoke again, clapping Sherlock on his shoulder and disappearing into the back of the restaurant.

"He's.. uh.. a bit enthusiastic sometimes." John spoke, his cheeks burning a little at the memories of previous encounters here.

"Quite. Seems a pleasurable fellow." Came Mycroft's response, glancing over the menu. It had taken no time at all for the restaurant owner to appear back with a handful of small tealight candles in glass jars, and a single flower resting in a vase to lay on the table, taking everybody's orders and leaving once again. Then as the food turned up, Sherlock began to prod at the chips on his plate with his knife.

"What are you doing? Eat your bloody food, Sherlock." John quipped, elbowing the man to his side.

"Don't want it.. whoever decided that dessert was only customary after a meal? I'd much rather wait." John gave Sherlock a look and he spoke again. "Don't give me that look, this was your idea. Who even suggests 'late lunch' as a valid meal time? It's impractical. I didn't eat breakfast because we didn't get out of bed until well past the respected breakfast hour.." 'We'.. you didn't press. "So I had a sandwich at lunch which has ruined my appetite for this. Then I'll be hungry again later, but later than dinner time because of how late this lunch is." Sherlock childishly squashed his chip with his thumb. "It's just ridiculous.. they keep adding new names for new meals at new hours, I feel like we're becoming Bobbits."

"Hobbits, brother mine." Mycroft corrected, the faintest smile playing at the side of his mouth as Sherlock's words sounded alarmingly like the ones he had told you only this morning- it was nice when they just got along.

"That's what I said."

"No, you said Bobbits."

"Boys!" John warned, and you broke out into a small fit of giggles.

"We really can't take you anywhere, can we?" You chimed in. Sherlock just huffed, stabbing a chip and eating it as John gave him a stern look. It was quite sweet, actually, watching them be all domestic. By the time you'd finished your meals, yours and John's plates were clear, Sherlock's leaving only a few chips and a mouthful of burger as he found, after starting to eat the food, that he really enjoyed it and wanted more. Mycroft, on the other hand, had managed to leave little over half of his spaghetti bolognese, making comments about the pasta being far too rubbery, or the sauce being too thin, crossing the cutlery over in the centre and making a dismissive comment about making something to eat when he got home- you all knew he wouldn't.

Sherlock had practically jumped for joy when Angelo came out with a tray of chocolate fudge cake, offering slices around the table which you all, bar Mycroft, accepted happily.

"I shan't spoil my appetite for when I get home." Was his small excuse, raising a hand to prevent Angelo from spouting his claims that he had the best cake in London and that he must have a piece, and instead asking for a coffee. Without words being spoken, John cast his eyes over to you and you offered a small sad smile. Nobody had told John of Mycroft's past, but he was a doctor and always knew when signs were displayed. You had taken an extra fork from Angelo just in case and took a small bite with your own fork, unable to let out the (embarrassingly erotic) moan that had escaped you.

"Christ he wasn't lying, this is incredible." You praised, taking another small piece on the second fork. "Mycroft please give it a try." You offered your hand out towards him, the sliver of cake resting on the tip of the fork's prongs. He looked over at it, his mind telling him to give it a go, at the very least because it had been offered by you, but the image of himself in the mirror this morning came back to mind. He declined the offer and you sighed. Mycroft truly did love cake, and any sweet things, so it was heartbreaking for you to see him turning it away because of the thoughts that ran through his brain. Sherlock had already cleared his plate by this point and stood up abruptly, hoisting his coat back over his shoulders.

"I'm going to go out for a cigarette, care to join me Mycroft?" He had asked, walking past the table. Mycroft creased his eyebrows into a frown.

"Sherlock, the pact? I haven't smoked for three years."

"Neither have I, let's go." Sherlock spoke back quickly, hoisting his brother from the booth and taking the pair of them outside. You raised a brow at John who simply shrugged his shoulders.

"I stopped questioning the pair of them and their motives a long time ago." He reasoned, the pair of you turning your heads to see the two Holmes boys outside resting against the restaurant's window.

"I try my best to.. they just still fascinate me." You spoke back, your eyes lingering on Mycroft a little longer before turning back to the table.

"So.. you and Mycroft. Going well?" John asked, his mouth raising in that side smile he often displayed when he was teasing somebody. "I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen Mycroft Holmes smile in a non-threatening way, and over half of those were from since you walked into the flat earlier. I think I can only just about count on two hands times where he's pulled an expression that isn't stoic and emotionless."

"Yeah.. I didn't expect it to happen, if I'm completely honest with you. We've spent so many years just avoiding the subject, but after.. Eurus.. I don't know. It flicked something in Myc that made him regret not doing something about it sooner." John nodded, understanding where you were coming from. "You also don't give him enough credit. Everybody just assumes he's this 'iceman' persona, but it's all a front.. I've watched him laugh so hard that tears fall from his eyes, he's one of those people who throws their heads back and lets out an absolute belter of an infectious laugh. I've seen him get angry at the telly if I came over and some stupid reality show came on the telly.. He shouted at Kim Kardashian once on there for some reason or another. I've stayed up all night with him after he had gruelling days at work, him offering to do the same for me if I had a bad case and couldn't sleep. And then, very recently, I watched him cry." You continued on. "Mycroft Holmes is one of the most emotional, caring people I've ever known, he is just incredibly particular at who gets to see it. You're a doctor, John. You know how experiences in life can shape one's emotional stability, how it alters their mental health. Had you grown up without very many people being kind to you, you'd be scared to let somebody else in too." You finished.

"Sorry.. I didn't mean it to come out in a bad way.. I just meant.. It's nice. Seeing Mycroft acting like that, it's.. nice." He apologised. You waved it off. You knew John didn't mean any harm.

"Mycroft and I are old news anyway.. What about you and Sherlock? When did that surface?" You asked, beaming at the deep red John's face had become as he choked on a sip of his drink. "Oh come on, don't act like that. We've all been waiting for this one to happen since you moved in."

"I.. I don't know what you-" Glaring at him, he stopped himself. "Yeah fine, okay. When we got back to the flat that night we went into the front room and Sherlock lost it. I'd never seen him anything like it before, he just.. he just sobbed into a heap on the floor." He explained, the nervous tapping of his fingers against his glass trying to distract him from his eyes watering. "I didn't know what else to do, so I scooped him up and put him in his bed. He begged me to stay with him and I did. Then he apologised to me, for dragging me in all of that mess, for almost getting me killed and he just wouldn't stop apologising.. So I stole the stereotypical movie move and kissed him. Just kind of went from there. I think that night made us realise that beating around the bush all these years wasn't helping either of us, and the thought that we could have lost the other only a few hours beforehand woke us up." He coughed, his voice breaking slightly.

"God look at us.. All the people in the world and we've landed with the Holmes'" You grabbed John's hand from across the table and laughed. "Makes you feel quite special though, doesn't it? That, equally, there were all the people in the world and they chose us?" John grinned, giving your hand a squeeze.

"Could never tell them that though, their egos would go through the bloody roof."

***

"They're talking about us." Sherlock mused, breathing in the London air.

"It seems people do little else." Mycroft returned, casting his glance to you smiling with John at the table.

"She really does like you. I've spent years deducing everything about her to make sure she wasn't a secret Russian spy sent with the motive to kill you." The younger spoke playfully. "You could have eaten the cake."

"Hmm?"

"The cake. I know you wanted it, but you're going back to how you used to be. Now that you're together, you're nervous." Sherlock's voice was nonchalant, simple observations, which didn't ease his older brother at all. "It's pointless. She's entirely infatuated. I thought the childish doe eyes disappeared after being attracted to somebody for a few weeks, but she still looks at you like I look at a triple homicide."

"Resulting to similes now?"

"You need to stop that too. Dismissing it whenever somebody is trying to be... kind... to you. That's just annoying and not a good defence mechanism for insecurities, like a mask made of clingfilm, it's too obvious." Mycroft didn't speak in turn and Sherlock huffed. "She worries for you, she seeks for you to be comfortable in trialling situations, her eyes do that little light up thing every time you open your bloody mouth. Since standing here she's looked over 3 times and smiled to herself seeing you stand here with me without us arguing. I caught her 4 times on the way to the cab from the flat looking at your arse and your legs in that damned suit. You don't have to worry about anything with her- the way she looks at you is so lovesick it makes me queasy."

"And you know this how, Sherlock? Or is this another one of your cruel schemes to embarrass me?"

"Because, Mycroft, it's the same way you've looked at her for as long as I can remember you knowing her. Jesus, Mycroft, I haven't seen you smile this much since we were children.. before we did everything that led us to believe we were any better than anybody else, that we deserved more than sentiment. And it's the same way I.. the same way I look at him." Sherlock's eyes now locked onto John.

"Always did say there would be a happy announcement between the pair of you. Good to see I'm correct once again." Mycroft mused. He remained stoic, but his brother's words were whirring in his brain, leaving him in a state of shock at the curly haired man even displaying this form of kindness towards him.

"You told me once that caring isn't an advantage. But these last few days, no matter how short it has been, have already led me to believe that caring is perhaps the greatest advantage of them all. And I strongly believe you feel the same way, no matter what bull you make up to argue against it." The pair of them watched through the window once more, the image of you and John laughing at whatever joke had been shared between you. "We both have wasted many years fighting against this, and I don't want you to screw yours up. Y/N will remain by your side and feel the same way towards you, whether you wear a bin bag, lose your job, put on weight- she's in it for the long haul. She's spent so many years pining after you that she deserves the best from you and to be happy. And you, brother mine, have been through enough with not good people; you deserve the happiness too." Sherlock trailed the last sentence. It's incredibly rare for them to show it, but Sherlock and Mycroft would always have a particularly close bond, they've been through too much together not to- and so times like this were precious to them. Mycroft simply let out a small cough, reaching his arm over to rest on his younger brother's shoulder to give it a quick squeeze, before patting it twice and letting his arm rest back by his side.

"Sentiment appears to be dwelling well on you." Mycroft spoke, heading back to the door of the restaurant to head inside, holding it open for his brother.

"As it is on you, brother. As it is on you."

178 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Would lowkey kill to see Kauri attempting to write poetry in his relationship with Jake era (omg Jake helping him/being the one to write it down) I always forget that he was a writer and loves poetry and I love him 10 times more every time I remember

CW: Some references to past trauma, forced illiteracy, some brief internalized victim-blaming/slut-shaming, Kauri’s low self-esteem

Takes place after Worth the Risk and Kauri’s first glimpse of his own past

“This is fucking stupid. I can’t fucking do this.” Kauri picks up the notebook, hard-backed blue with little golden stars twinkling on the cover, and throws it full-strength across the room until it smacks into the wall and drops to the ground, open to his own scrawling, struggling handwriting.

Chris, wrapped in a big fuzzy blue blanket and curled up in an armchair playing a game on his phone or texting Laken or maybe both, flinches and looks up. “Kauri?”

Kauri looks away from the earnest concern in those huge green eyes and kicks ineffectually at the coffee table, hissing when he doesn’t actually miss and his toes connect with the hard wooden leg. “Fuck. Fucking-... bullshit, I’m an idiot trying to do this, just-... god damn it. I should know better.”

There’s a silence, and then Chris asks, softly, “Know better than, than... than to what? What were you, um, you doing?”

Kauri’s jaw is set and for a second he considers lying. He’s a good liar, after all, and Chris is always so ready to believe him, he wouldn’t even question it. Safer to lie, hide the ideas inside his head, talk instead about something soft and surface-level.

Safer to be stupid, always.

But he’s trying not to do that anymore.

He’s trying.

“Writing,” He says, finally. “I was... trying to-... write something.” The words are ground out of him nearly against his will. He glares at the notebook lying open on the floor, the scrawling handwriting of the fucked up slut still thinking he can be anything else. Looping and childish, too big almost to fit within the lines.

“Oh.” Chris pauses, and then brightens, setting his phone aside and straightening up. “You, you sad you think that you used to, to, to, to write, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Kauri’s head hurts, a sharp punishing ache. How dare he think in metaphor and simile, how dare he try to build the villanelle, how dare he remember vaguely arguing with someone in a coffeeshop over old poetic forms being superior to poems that don’t even try to fit within a rhythm, and he just-

This is so-

He’s so stupid, thinking he could just pick it up again like it hasn’t been a decade or close, like he’s still whatever stupid shit lived in his body before he-

signed up for this-

followed a fucking hot guy outside in the dark and got thrown into a van and made into Kauri.

“Well, my... my professor for, for, for, for Playwriting says... says writing is a muscle. You, you have to exercise. And you can’t do the, um, the, the, the-the heavy weights until you start with, with small ones.”

Kauri snorts, derisive, but it’s not because Chris is wrong - of course he’s not wrong. Part of Kauri knows it, too, that he used to write all the time, around the pounding inside his skull he knows that he used to scribble lines on napkins and paper towels and the margins of his study books, bringing together the poem itself only later, usually alone or with a boyfriend on the other side of the room. He used to be able to do this.

He used to do this all the time.

“I wish Owen had wanted someone who could write a fucking poem,” Kauri says, voice breaking on the tears that threaten. “Maybe then I’d still be able to.” He pushes himself to his feet and stomps over to scoop up the notebook almost violently. “Why are you taking Playwriting, anyway? I thought you wanted to do set design.”

“I, I do.” Chris shrugs, eyes on Kauri, watching him walk back towards the doorway that leads to a hall and then to the kitchen. “But I thought-... I, I, I figured-... maybe if I learn how to, to write a play, it would help... visualize. For, for, for set-building. You, um. You know?”

Kauri exhales, slowly, and then nods. “Yeah. I get it. That’s a good plan - I mean, not that I would know, I’m a college fucking dropout, right?” He laughs, bitterness in every word, in every sound.

“No,” Chris replies, simply. “You, you were... abducted. We were, um. We, we, we were stolen. Your words were, um, were stolen, too. That’s what Dr. Berger-”

“Fuck Dr. Berger,” Kauri snaps, and leaves the room before Chris can make any more sense and possibly break apart Kauri’s determined self-loathing while he still wants to soak in it.

Hating himself for what he can’t do - or what he’s been told he can’t do - is so much easier than trying to do it anyway.

Everything was easier than trying to get better.

So why is he still trying?

Notebook clenched in white-knuckled hands, Kauri climbs the stairs like a man moving to the gallows, one by one, his thoughts a swirling morass of self-hatred, and then he moves into the bedroom he shares with Jake here and stares at the rumpled covers on the bed.

He sleeps here every single night, wakes up to the same face pressed red on one side from the pillow, hears the same deep voice rumbling good morning, feels the same arm slide over his waist, the same scratchy stubble rubbing his jaw when he’s kissed.

I have generally found, in my work, the fucking therapist’s voice echoes inside him, that when you begin to do the work to rebuild, you will find yourself dedicated over time to reconstructing not just a room, Kauri, but the entire city that was once leveled. Does that make sense?

He’d told her it didn’t.

Kauri spent years dodging therapy whenever Nat didn’t talk him into it, and he hates going. He hates having to spill all the darkness inside him to someone who never stops being so goddamn calm.

But the first time she’d said, have you ever heard about the effect that solitary confinement has on the human mind? He had told her he didn’t know, but he’d started crying, too, and hadn’t been able to explain why.

Part of you knows, Dr. Berger had said gently. Part of you always knew.

He had never really wanted to know the person who had inhabited this skin, or try to be him again. But standing here looking at the evidence of the life he is slowly building - his clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor by the bed, his toothbrush in the little cup in the bathroom, a picture of he and Jake in a frame by the bed now, the very small silver ring he wears sometimes even though they’re not and they probably won’t but it kind of feels good to wear it sometimes...

He wonders if Liam Harker wanted a life like this one.

---

“It’s really dumb,” Kauri mutters, pulling the pillow over his face, burning red with embarrassment. “I didn’t even really mean for you to see it-”

“It’s not dumb,” Jake says, gently. Kauri feels the dip in the mattress as he sits down, feels the warmth of his hand resting on Kauri’s thigh through the blanket. “I’m sorry I read it. I didn’t know what I was looking at. If it was supposed to be a secret-”

“No. I didn’t. I forgot I left it out on the dresser. It’s not your fault. It’s so fucking stupid. I don’t know why I even-”

“Kauri.” Jake’s voice sharpens, a little. “Stop. Stop calling yourself stupid. You’re not, and you never were, and you don’t have to repeat what that asshole told you about yourself anymore, remember?”

Kauri swallows, hard, a lump in his throat he can’t quite breathe around. “When does it stop being his voice,” He asks, muffled, “and start being my own?”

“When you let it,” Jake says, rubbing his leg soothingly. “Just like my dad’s voice. You’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met in my life. I’m sorry I read it, but that’s because it wasn’t mine to read, not because it was dumb, or bad. It wasn’t.”

Kauri hesitates, then pulls the pillow to the side, looking at the sincere affection in Jake’s face, his slight smile. “Yeah? You’re not just-”

“Saying that? No, I’m not. I mean, I’m not, like, a poetry person-”

“It’s not even a real villanelle, anyway.”

“I have no idea what that means. I just... I thought it was pretty good, actually. When I realized-... I put it down when I realized you were writing about-... you know. Yourself.”

“Liam,” Kauri says, hoarse, barely able to pronounce the name. “I wrote-”

“Yeah.” Jake takes his hand, pulls it to his lips, presses a kiss to Kauri’s knuckles. “I know. It’s really good, Kaur. You should keep writing. I promise I won’t look at any stray papers I find anymore, yeah?”

Kauri takes a breath. He feels almost dizzy, in a way that is both terrible and wonderful. The way you open yourself to the people you love is a horrible, amazing risk. The way you spill the darkest parts of yourself, not things you’ve done wrong but the things you are afraid of allowing back into the light, in case it washes them all away again.

But the light he lives in now isn’t cold, and it isn’t taking him away from himself. The light he lives in now is sunlight.

“What?” Jake’s eyebrows raise slightly. “What’s that face for?”

“Jake. What if-... what if I ask you to? Read them?”

Jake’s lips press together, and he nods, smiling slightly, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Kauri’s hand. He’s always warm, Jake, even on the coldest days. He’s always warm. “I’d be-... be fucking honored, or something that sounds less bullshit than that, but I mean it. I’d be... I love you, Kauri. Seeing inside your head is what I want to do for-... for forever.”

“Maybe I’ll ask then,” Kauri says, and pulls Jake’s hand and then Jake himself, the taller, larger man settling on top of him, holding himself up on his elbows, careful not to rest all his weight. “I love you, too, you know.”

“Yeah.” Jake kisses the tip of his nose. “It’s pretty fucking great.”

Kauri’s eyes glimmer, but he closes them so Jake can’t see, and kisses his forehead. “It’s nice to think that I’m lucky and mean it.”

“I think you should read your poem to Dr. Berger,” Jake says, and when Kauri groans, he pulls back. “I mean it. She should know.”

Kauri wants to argue, but he looks into Jake’s eyes, and sighs, and says he’ll think about it.

---

AN APOLOGY

I am built from the hollow air left after your heart stopped beating

Your hands still gripped tight to the life they were ending

I know you thought of home but I don’t know where your home is

The sound of my voice is a green valley that only sends back screaming

Covered in smoke and dust that I told myself smelled like cologne

Pathways that remember your laughter silent in the years that followed

Have I done enough to build a life you would have enjoyed living?

I am built from the hollow air left over when your heart stopped beating

The heat of their hands as inevitable as a river tore down every foundation

Their cruelty buried you so deeply that only I remain

I don’t deserve the love that should have been yours to receive

The sound of my voice is a valley echoing back your screaming

I owe you an apology for walking around inside you

Crumbling ruins with my touch and calling it preservation

I’m sorry for every blade of grass growing through our bones

Am I nothing but hollow air from when your heart stopped beating?

Wildflowers grow inside me from soil windswept over ash

Is that life worth everything not quite dead so deep below?

Is Kauri Grant good enough to make up for Liam Harker’s loss?

In the valley of my body, does anyone but me still hear you screaming?

I owe you an apology and have to hope the life I live provides it

I wish I could ask for forgiveness from the shape of you

We’re both ghosts, in the end, mosaic pieces shattered in shadows

I’m sorry that I’m all that’s left.

I built myself from hollow air in the shape of a heart still beating

The sound of my voice will always carry the echo of yours screaming

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @orchidscript @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @moose-teeth @whumptywhumpdump @wildfaewhump

206 notes · View notes

forgiveness-in-the-misery · 3 years

Text

Toki’s Psychological State Through the Seasons

Toki is by far for me personally the most interesting member of Dethklok; I know to some degree he’s deemed as a potentially over hyped character by fans and even the show itself, but there’s countless reasons why people cling onto that character, and they’re good reasons. Even if said reasons just come down to “I think he’s neat.” that’s valid.

For me I am so fascinated with his character development, personality, and the varied chunks of background information we get about him throughout the series. A big part of this character is that when you look at him in season one compared to season four he is very different or at least he appears to be much different. Season one does establish that Toki does have a childish personality, his bedroom looks more like a room for a kid than one for a guy in his 20s. Season one establishes those basic facts about him that do heavily carry out through the show, but also increase as the show goes on.

Toki goes from immature but not overly immature to....a complete fucking wreck by the finale of season four (before Doomstar) and the reason for it is simple; it’s trauma.

Toki starts to act differently in season one after the Dethfamily episode; he spends practically that entire episode in a catatonic state, his parents always looming nearby like figures of danger and doom. After this we do get to him being bitter about being seen as immature and seen as the kid of the band (despite the fact he was barely 16 when he joined Dethklok) and when a charity informs him that a dying girl wants to meet him he turns into a complete prick. He finally comes out of that when he sees a video the kid made of herself singing a song about death and hatred, with that scene we see a small flashback of Toki’s childhood; him about the little girl’s age standing out in the snow staring up at his parents looking confused and a moment later he’s being smacked across the face.

We could already gather beforehand when we found out he came from a very devout religious sect outside of Lillehammer that his childhood was sketchy, plus how he locked up when around his parents, but seeing the flashback of him being hit as a little boy.....Answers the obvious question of “did they beat him?”

Season one is the least eventful of the seasons. Season two is when shit begins changing drastically.

Season two Toki receives a call to inform him that his father has cancer and is on his death bed, the family and the church wants him to return to Norway to see his father. He acts completely fine about this initially, the phone conversation and the way he announces his father’s terminal illness to the band is as if somebody just asked to borrow his car. When it gets close to time to actually go and when they are in Norway it’s different though; he becomes anxious and clearly uncomfortable, in Norway he stays in town mostly, stalling around places he went to as a kid and a teenager before he ran off to America.

He does handle his father’s dying well once he finally convinces himself to go inside his house and see him then follow through with his father’s dying request to carry him up to his old childhood home (which goes wrong because his friend’s are dicks.)

I am not going to go into personal detail at all and my situation was nothing like Toki’s (it’s incredibly rare to hear situations like that anymore), but Toki handling his father’s passing freakishly well kind of was a red flag for me, because I know from my own experiences that when you find out something complicated like a terminal illness or the death of your abusive parent theres’ a chance you may respond way too calmly to it, and then later down the line days or months or years later something will trigger a big reaction to it. Which is what happens.

After handling his dad’s death well we get the most iconic scene involving Toki at that point and honestly still the most iconic; he beats a man to death with his bare hands. The thing that triggers this is a hallucinated image of a rabbit, an animal he associates both with his father and his childhood, the image of it triggers him to fly into an insanely feral blind rage taking it out on a guy who had been annoying him all night. Toki has always throughout the entire series shown signs of being a tad violent, but never THAT bad. Sure he shot down a plane and had accidentally caused a death or twenty (the whole band is, it’s part of the sacrifices to the Gods deal) but we had never seen him before or after that moment beat somebody to death. That is new and it came from a place of pent up....shit. Shit he never worked through and even after that continued to not work through.

Because after this we lead into him worsening further; he begins drinking. A lot. The band consist of dudes with addiction issues, mainly alcohol, but Toki never seemed to drink quite as much as them until after he went feral on that straight edge guy.

Toki deals with his childhood trauma in several ways:

He drinks. A lot.

He focuses on fantasy and daydreams to keep himself from focusing on his past.

He spends a lot of time with Dr. Rockso who takes advantage of his kindness often, he also spends gross amounts of money bailing his clown buddy out of jail. Constantly.

He occasionally gets violent, but never to the point of manslaughter.

Seasons three and four are when we get fully introduced to Toki acting like a kid more than a guy in his 20s and it makes sense. Toki didn’t have a childhood; we learn that his parents essentially made him into a slave at a young age having him do pointless “chores” like sweeping snow during a storm, carrying stacks of wood much too heavy for a small child, etc. and when he failed to work quickly enough or failed a task they punished him. They punished him by locking him in a shed, they punished him by chaining him up like an animal, they punished him by smacking him, by beating him with a bull whip, and worst of all (who knew it could get worse) they would force him to stay for long periods of times in a deep hole dug into the ground. A hole where he hid a clown doll made of twigs and straw, the only friend he had as a little kid.

From all that we can gather through the show he didn’t exactly have a social life of any kind until his teens, the older he became the braver I think he became, and that was responded to with worse violence from his parents. I think the statement in season one about a vision of father killing son wasn’t totally off, I think if Toki had never run away from Norway that his father would have murdered him. I think his parents knew somehow that he isn’t entirely human, they knew he was something else, and I do think his parents had plans to kill him before he could become “too powerful”.

That aside though.....Once we the audience as well as his friends find out far more details about his horrifying childhood Toki changes. A lot. He’d already been immature and a tad bit off but he regresses further after that, more prone to depression and outbursts, clinginess, and a need to feel like he’s loved by pretty much anybody.

This is a dude who is about my age that came to the horrid realization that any person or animal he loves will die because that’s his “gift”, the gift of death. He works his ass off to repress and rationalize a brutally nightmarish childhood, and the guys he’s in a band with who he loves and sees as his family....are dicks. We know that when he joined Dethklok before they got famous that they were all close, but when they began becoming popular and became immensely wealthy the others became more focused on self indulgence and power, less focused on this still a child who desperately just wanted a family.

I think a key factor with Toki being the way he is comes down to the band’s “no caring” rule. A rule that only existed because of Magnus. Toki is the baby in a group of people who have known each other for a good while, people who came to an agreement to not give a shit about each other for a reason they never explained to him because it’s too painful for them to think about. I think he always tried to live by that rule of not caring, he tried to bury all the shit wrong with himself the best that he could but he was never good at it. It’s also clear they all care about each other and they definitely care about Toki; Nathan and Skwisgaar often being the most protective of him.

In season four aka the season where the show becomes less of a comedy and more of a drama with stunning animation. Toki is immensely more immature and awkward, he’s clingy with the band especially where Skwisgaar is regarded. Near the end of season four he’s completely fucked up; he splits his time between Rockso (his comfort object) and Magnus (a father figure to replace Nathan) in the dinner episode which has so much going on in it. So much. Toki is at his lowest point in the series; he shows up late, drunk as fucking hell, shirtless, and covered in bruises and cuts. Rockso is with him and when Charles tries to tell him Rockso shouldn’t be there Toki goes into a full fucking anxiety attack until Charles tells him it’s fine to have the clown there. Toki’s heavily dependent on Rockso by that point; his found family is quickly falling to shit. God knows what kind of shit Magnus might have been feeding him about the band at that point.

Toki’s entire thing from day one/the pilot of the series is that he just wants a family. When he feels like he doesn’t belong in the one that he found and was taken in by he searches for family in other places, when he can’t handle the memories of his childhood he spirals hard. I understand that the guys didn’t really know how to handle it after they heard about Toki’s childhood so I can’t fault them completely for just.....shoving him off onto Rockso after that, but I still think they should have tried to be there for him more so, more directly. I think an outlet that isn’t a drug addled clown might have helped him in some way, I think if when he’d been a teenager if one of them had found out about his upbringing and just pointed out “that isn’t okay, at all.” then things might have panned out differently.

Mental regression isn’t uncommon when it comes down to victims of trauma caused by extreme abuse. Especially considering his trauma all occurred basically from the get go; he was a child slave, the closest I would guess he ever got to having a childhood when he was a kid was seeing other kids childhoods. Going into town and seeing kids playing, sneaking into birthday parties just to be around other kids his age, etc. and he definitely was childish as a teenager, but I think he tried to bury that side of himself when his bandmates started teasing him or pointing out how unmetal it all is.....But then a douche bag journalist brought his parents to America, a little girl died, his abusive father died horribly (as he should) in front of him, he beat a man to death (allegedly), etc.

He spent a lot of years away from all the trauma and the death and the bull shit then suddenly it started piling on top of him again and his escapism was fantasy, clinging onto a junkie clown, partaking in childish hobbies.....because why not?

Each member of the band suffered some messed up shit when they were kids and it shows in different ways, this is Toki’s way of dealing with it....or not. I’m not entirely sure what his psychological state would be post Doomstar; the way he bounces back from immense trauma makes me think that he would be okay given some time and that’s a safe assumption to make, especially now that his bandmates/family will be there for him the way he needs them to be.

I want to tag @theidiotwiththepaintedface who hopefully will enjoy this painfully long deep dive into a character’s psychology lol.

#metalocalypse #dethklok #toki wartooth #character analysis #tw: child abuse

106 notes · View notes

dangerouslyallaboutdraco · 3 years

Text

Story of us

A/n: Angsty, post-Hogwarts and slightly r13 towards the end.

The history between Y/n and Draco was... complicated. There was something between them that their friends just couldn't understand. On paper there was no reason for them to dislike each other as much as they did, she was a pureblood Slytherin who grew up very similarly to him and also had to change her views like Draco did after the war.

They shared trauma and multiple parallel life experiences but they just didn't get along. Pansy and Daphne never got it, why Y/n had that look of disgust on her face once Draco finished talking.

Blaise and Theo thought it would get better after they left Hogwarts and didn't spend all their free time together, but still, Draco rolled his eyes whenever she walked into the room.

Now they were adults in the wide world, jobs, partners but the tightknit friend group stayed close. Friday nights were always time they spent together, reserved for clubbing or a pub night out or even sitting on Blaise and Pansy's living room floor.

Tonight it was the latter. With a G and T (her favourite muggle alcohol) in her hand, Y/n sat on their couch next to Pansy who had had a lot more than her to drink.

Just as the boys had taken out their hidden stash of weed, Y/n spoke up. "I'm going to go outside." It wasn't that she was opposed to weed, she just didn't like the smell and the boys always insisted on smoking so much they couldn't see out the windows.

Blaise and Pansy's apartment had a beautiful wrap-around balcony. While Y/n and Draco were both fair wealthier, they both received substantial graduation gifts that went a long way to getting an apartment in a good part of London.

They had been together since the last year of Hogwarts, all of their friends watching them slowly grow closer over the year until they realised they were in love.

It was beautiful and while 17-year-old Y/n envied them, she always wanted to speak at their wedding.

As soon as she opened the balcony door the still night air hit her. While it was colder than inside, the sweet smell of the summer air made it a nice contrast.

The sun was just setting in the distance and the sky was the most beautiful golden, pink colour. It was the time Y/n always liked to look out her window at during the war, knowing there was peacefulness at the end of the day always made the long days feel slightly better. The way the warm light danced over the water, dancing on the walls of the usually dark dormitory.

Standing out on the balcony, where the world was right and falling into place felt a lot better. Like nothing could get her down.

She was off in her own world, not noticing when Draco opened the sliding door and walked out next to her.

"Shit Draco!" She shrieked once he put his hand on her lower back. She ignored the tingling feeling in her stomach as she glared at him.

Draco stepped closer to her, maybe too close for her liking. "You could really do with some weed to chill out." He told her, holding the joint closer to her face. "This stuff is the shit, just fresh from my guy." He continued to tell her.

Maybe she would have been interested in Draco if he were less cocky, less rude and a bit more sensitive. Something in his bad-boy image had developed over the year that meant she liked him less.

"Do you always insist on speaking like a druggy?" Y/n asked him, watching him carefully as he looked over the railing with his joint.

He retaliated quickly. "Do you always insist on being such a tight ass, Miss Goody-two-shoes?" He couldn't understand why she always seemed to spoil their fun, ever since they were sorted into Slytherin.

She just rolled her eyes at him and stared out into the distance. While he was no longer disturbing her silence he was still disturbing her peace and alone time.

She didn't feel like arguing with him either, it was just too much effort. Draco stood there, smoking his joint while Y/n gazed at the skyline.

“Why are you even out here?” Y/n snapped at him, suddenly feeling annoyed by the smell of his smoking.

“Because I can be, what even is your problem with me?” He was definitely going to find out how she felt now, pushing her to the limits made her snappy.

She rolled her eyes at him, obviously annoyed. “We faced pretty much all of the same challenges in life, but you just became a failure and it really annoys me.”

“Well, you’re just a slut who hooked up with several guys at school, none of which liked you for any reason other than your body.” Draco’s words did hurt her quite a bit, it wasn’t like she didn’t know he hated her but hearing him say that the people she’d been intimate with never actually cared for her hurt.

“Fuck off, Draco.” She told him, carefully.

The look on his face showed her that he was not going to stop for a second. “Just because you don’t like the truth, bitch.”

“Just leave me alone.” She told him, turning away.

Draco couldn’t stop winding her up now, it just brought him too much amusement. “Or what, Y/l/n, will you sleep with me like you did every other guy?”

Y/n turned around and put her hand up to slap Draco’s cheek. It wasn’t as hard as she could have hit him but it was the hardest she ever hit anyone. There was a loud sound as her palm contacted his face.

Still stunned and with her hand in mid-air, Draco snatched her wrist. There they were standing in a face-off, Draco’s slim finger wrapped around her wrist and suddenly there was not one sound. Both of them staring into each other’s eyes. Although Y/n felt threatened, never one to back down from a challenge she scrutinized his eyes.

Draco was seeing red, his least favourite of all the colours. He was like a bull staring down where he was going to charge. The colour of hatred, blood, anger and passion.

The passion she felt for him, it was surging from where he was touching her. He was the energy source that filled her usually with range but now it was amour fou.

In a moment Draco released his grip on her hand and moved his hands to her cheeks. Unlike his prior roughness, his thumb stroked along her cheekbones softly and carefully like he was afraid to break her as he lay his fingers under her jawline.

His softness was a complete shock to Y/n who was still gazing into his eyes. The cold fingertips were more gentle than she’d ever expected, dancing across her jawline with such care. She wasn’t sure she’d ever experienced a touch this delicate.

There they stayed for a few moments, taking each other in. Both of their minds were on the other, brains frenzied trying to figure out how this had happened. Draco was sure he was infatuated with her perfume, obsessed over the perfect blend of coconut and vanilla that was all he could focus on.

Before either of them could think about the consequences their lips were pressed together in a heated kiss. The passion radiated off them, electricity circuiting through them. And it finally felt, for both of them, that every little puzzle piece fit.

Eventually they lips parted, their eyes flickering open. Draco was an inch from her face, not believing just how beautiful she was. He held his hands on her face tighter not wanting to let her slip out of his grip.

“Draco Malfoy, I am 100% in love with you.” Y/n slowly let out. She’d just kissed her arch-enemy so there was no point in not being truthful.

He smirked, that cute little smirk that had only ever annoyed her from across the common room. “Damn it, y/l/n!” He exclaimed with mock anger. “Now we’re going to tell our kids that mum said ‘I love you’ first.” It was odd for Y/n to see him like that as they were usually at each other’s throats. And now he was thinking about their very distant future.

She smiled to match his. “Just tell me it back, you dork.”

“I am 110% in love with you.” Draco counted. “Do you want to come back to my place?”

Y/n’s face turned to worry. “This isn’t a joke, is it?” Usually, this isn’t the type of shit he would pull but she’d never know.

“No, no, no.” His fingers were back stroking her cheeks. “I am really sorry about what I said, believe me, I’ll never say something like that again.”

Something in Y/n knew he wasn’t lying. There was no chance he didn’t feel the same passion he did in the kiss. “Well, you could take me to dinner before you try and get into my panties.”

Draco let out a light laugh, blowing air right onto her face. “Whoever said I wanted to do that, you flirt?”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to fuck me.” The chemistry between them was electric and hot. The pair looking into each other's eyes with desire.

“Let’s go before I do you right here.” Y/n looked at him with challenging eyebrows. “Do you need me to prove it?”

Y/n pulled back from his grip on her face, leaving Draco standing there like an idiot. “Hurry up then.” She said, looking back over her shoulder with a smile as she went to open the patio door.

104 notes · View notes

hypnomicimagines · 3 years

Text

In Another Life [Jinguji Jakurai]

You don’t know what you did to end up on the receiving end of a knife.

You had been peacefully slumbering, your parents in the next room over having finally quieted down after an extended fight that you hoped would lead to a divorce. It was a bit dark to think such things but you were a teenager now, you were beginning to understand adult issues and you could tell that there was something hovering over them causing these outbursts. Perhaps separating wouldn’t be in their best interest but you were simply tired of the yelling, of the constant negativity, of the inability to exist in your own house without having to be stressed about when the next fight was coming.

You fell asleep thinking about them but your dreams had been far more pleasant, a technicolor daydream of another life, one where you were unapologetically happy.

And then you woke up to a knife to your throat.

Your eyes met your attackers briefly, a chill coursing through your veins at that complete lack of emotion in them. You were used to being surrounded by anger and hatred, but there was something foreign about this look. It’s like his eyes (you thought it was a man, a boy, but it was rather dark) were devoid of any emotion, telling you ‘this isn’t personal’; luckily you were feeling enough emotions for both of you but remained too afraid to move, frozen in place as you lock eyes with your attacker.

What were you feeling now? Acceptance? You wished you could say goodbye to your parents. Would this mystery man at least let you do that? There are a thousand thoughts running through your head but you notice as time ticks on that he’s unmoving, that he can’t seem to tear his eyes off of you. You almost want to ask if he’s okay despite how nonsensical it would be to do so flinching when he finally moved. The knife is no longer pressed to your throat and as he’s pulling away, a sliver of moonlight drifting in through your window reveals that his hands are shaking.

Was he as scared as you were?

Was he feeling regret?

You don’t get an answer, your vision blurring before you’re left alone in your room once more. You almost think that he was simply a hallucination before you feel something wet sliding down your neck, fingers coming up to curiously feel around the area, stained red with your blood. You sat up from your bed and ripped the covers off, running screaming down the hall for your mother as you suddenly realized something bad had almost happened. The rest of the night is filled with your screams, your tears, life as you knew it ending.

You didn’t think much of it now that you were an adult.

You had a fulfilling career, owning a club of your own in Shinjuku where you often hosted costume nights and other little celebrations to give people a respite from their boring day jobs. You loved greeting all types of customers, making long-lasting friendships that might benefit you in the long-run, working until the wee hours of the morning when you finally dragged yourself home (though there was a backroom at the club that you sometimes made a temporary place of rest as you got too exhausted to walk back to your apartment). Your life had been on a steady track for such a long time you didn’t think anything else could possibly upset it, after all, what could be more senselessly tragic then finding the dead bodies of your own parents?

You had run into their room that night and thankfully, the carnage had been mostly hidden by the dark but the scent of copper hitting your nose made you realize quickly what had happened. Had that same person who ominously loomed over you killed your parents first? Or had it simply been a job done by multiple people at once? You didn’t want to think too deeply about it, for the sake of your sanity you knew you couldn’t play detective, but for many people it left a pressing question in the back of their minds.

Why did it happen? Why were you left alive?

All you knew was that you were alive. You had lived through that night, being shown some odd sliver of mercy from that dark, emotionless figure, and you weren’t going to squander what you had been given. You would live your life, unquestioning, mourning your parents but doing your best to live a life that would make them proud.

You met him one cold December night, walking down the street with an unfortunate number of shopping backs in your arms. They weren’t difficult or too heavy for you to hold but you were looking forward to being home, hoping that you’d get there soon so you could decorate your home with the new decorations you’d had. You were deep in thought when you’re suddenly bumped into by a gaggle of squealing women, eyebrow raised as you hear them speaking of some type of rap battle going on. You had been curious about the upcoming DRB, of course everyone and their mother had been talking about Matenro in Shinjuku, but you found yourself too busy to look too far into it.

But there they were.

The blonde was the number one host in Shinjuku, you’d passed the billboards countless times, and the other one was the most exhausted looking office worker you had ever seen. At first their leader, the one with long flowing hair adorned in a doctor’s coat, had his faced turned in the opposite direction, politely greeting some fans that had the courage to approach them. His mannerisms made him seem polite enough but those women were swooning, leaving you curious as to what he looked like. He had to be a bombshell, right? No one acts like that for some average joe.

And then he turns toward you, his eyes drifting through the crowd until they meet yours.

You’d recognize those eyes anywhere.

They’re different for sure, they’re no longer blank but filled with an emotion that you’re not aware of. You are, however, aware of how hard this man is staring at you now and as confident as you are in your looks, you’re pretty sure he’s recognized you as well. For a second you have to wonder if this is the end of the line, if this man is about to actually take you out since you know some rather scandalous information about him, but then again how could you ever prove it? It takes all the will power in your body to tear your eyes away from him, pushing back into the crowd that had slowly started to form around Matenro until you’d managed to sneak into an alley.

Your night continues unimpeded, thankfully no man is standing by your bedside when you wake up the following afternoon; you’re almost a little disappointed as he looked far more beautiful after all these years, you certainly wouldn’t have minded getting a house call from him. The trauma you had gone through was really rearing its ugly head with your sense of humor but it was amusing in the end to see that your potential assassin had turned his life around into not only becoming a doctor, but also a famous rapper. You almost wished you had approached him just to see what he would say, what he would do, but that plan had officially been canceled as you suspected you wouldn’t see the man again for a very long time.

That night was when he came for his first visit to your club.

You spot him sitting at the bar and he’s rather hard to miss, not to mention he’s so recognizable that you’d have to be blind not to realize who he was. Doing a quick internet search helped you refresh your memory on his name, Jinguji Jakurai, and there were quite a few articles about what a skilled doctor he had turned out to be (as well as his past experience being in a famous rap group which was often compared to the group he was part of now). Did his teammates know who he was? Did they know what he did? Or were they just as blissfully unaware?

“Did you come back to finish the job?”

You shoo away the bartender before speaking with Jakurai, knowing this is a conversation you’d like to deal with one on one. The club wasn’t technically open yet but he must’ve talked his way inside by flashing a handsome smile; you could only imagine all the things that smile of his could get him. You don’t get to see it as he doesn’t find your joke nearly as funny as you do, almost flinching as you bring up a past he likely wants to forget about. You have to deal with the reality of that past though and so does he, regardless of how you both personally feel about it. But you’re curious as to what this visit is about, ready to call for security at any given moment should things go south.

Jakurai takes a few moments to respond, taking a sip from his grapefruit juice (you noticed the lack of alcohol in his drink right away) before he responds.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” His hands remain wrapped around his glass, Jakurai casting a contemplative glass at its contents.

“That’s fair enough because I can say the exact same thing. But… Why are you here, exactly? Did you want a thank you for not killing me? Because like thanks and all, but you still got my parents so we’re not exactly even in my book.” Another wince of pain, but he takes your shot with grace, nodding his head as you continued on. “I’m glad to see life’s been treating you so well, Doc, but mines been a mess. So what is it that you want?”

“To apologize,” Jakurai stated firmly, eyes coming to meet yours. “For all the pain that I have caused you.”

“Your apology isn’t accepted.” He’s not at all surprised which sort of pisses you off, of course this assassin rapper man has it more together than you. There are long buried emotions beginning to bubble to the surface and you consider grabbing his glass to dump the contents all over him, Jakurai removing his hands from it as though he had read your mind. But as quickly as the anger bubbled up it simmered down, your heart still hammering in your chest as you tried to regain control of your emotions. “Can you at least tell me why? Did you… Were you the one who did it?”

“…I didn’t. I don’t believe that would make you feel any better about what happened but I… You were the first person who made me truly believe that I could no longer live the life I was living.” Jakurai’s voice softened, “You were like a light in the darkness, too bright to look at yet I couldn’t bring myself to look away. I wanted to thank you as well for all that you’ve done for me but it didn’t seem right to do it in the same breath.”

“You… I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to think of this. You’re thanking me? You didn’t kill my parents but you were definitely about to kill me but you… stopped because I was some light to you? Some person who made you realize killing other people was wrong? You know how that sounds, right?”

“There’s a lot in my life I wish to atone for.” Jakurai flashed that handsome smile that had gotten him into your club early, “I don’t expect your forgiveness but it wouldn’t feel right to be reunited with you without expressing my regrets.”

He stood from the bar and placed money on the counter, straightening himself out and brushing his hair from his shoulder as he prepared to leave. It felt wrong to leave it there, to allow him to exit your life once again as quickly as he had entered it, especially when you felt you were still owed something. You reached across the bar to grab at his sleeve, tugging on it and watching as Jakurai turned around with a surprised expression on his face.

“Just.. come perform here or somethin’, okay? Get me some business and maybe I’ll start to think about forgiving you. Maybe.”

Jakurai smiled but this time it was more amused in nature, as if he didn’t expect something like that from you.

“As you wish.”

And your wishes were fulfilled.

You met Hifumi and Doppo through Jakurai, listening to them both speak highly of their leader and all that he had done for them. For all intents and purposes, it seemed he truly had turned over a new leaf, as far as they knew anyway. He hadn’t really given you any reason to doubt his change in character, even now when you look into his eyes you could tell something had changed within him, and Jakurai did uphold his promise to have Matenro perform. He even came back whenever the three of them weren’t busy, increasing publicity for the club further as now it was assumed you were good friends of the three rappers instead of just a one-off gig.

You could say that was very close to what was happening.

You were fond of Hifumi and Doppo, you always threw free drinks at poor Doppo who came in to complain about his boss and laughed at all of Hifumi’s stories that were at Doppo’s expense. Chatting with them had been much too fun for you to cut it short so you spent your nights at the club with them at their VIP table, Jakurai quietly watching the interactions between the three of you with a content expression on his face. You didn’t know how happy it made him to see the three important people in his life getting along well, you probably hadn’t even guessed how important you truly were to him just yet.

“I still see you as that light,” Jakurai confessed one night after the club had closed, not a hint of shame on his face, “However, now that I’ve gotten to know you… You’ve become so much more to me. It feels out of line to say such things after all I’ve done…”

“Yeah, it sure does.” You feel a little awkward now because you felt the exact same way, completely fascinated by this man, enamored with him like a lot of the women in his life seemed to be. Yet you were the one who got to be close to him like this, who got to sit face-to-face alone with him while he wasn’t on the job, and that had to count for something. “But you… You mean a lot more to me now, too.”

This is the first time you’ve ever seen a look of genuine surprise on his face but you quite liked the way his eyes raised and the corner of his mouth twitched, not sure if he should smile or frown at your statement. He let out a sigh but he it was out of relief more than anything, knowing he didn’t deserve even that out of you after what he had done. To find love with the one target he couldn’t kill… How many sleepless nights had he spent thinking of you, worrying over what might have become of you?

“This is like, kinda fucked up, you know? Like what type of weird way to meet is ‘I almost killed you but realized I couldn’t and now we’re in love’? Like seriously, there’s gotta be like ten trashy, poorly written romance novels about-“

You continued to ramble on nervously, knowing this hardly made sense but at the same time who cared? This was your life after all, and if you wanted a pretty doctor to kiss you to make you feel better, then you would get it! Past be damned, you were going to take this God given gift of a man and use him for all he was worth.

Jakurai’s fingers gently touch your face, running along your jaw towards the small scar, the scar he had made, before he suddenly shied away. But you don’t want him to leave, you crave his touch now, putting his hand right back where it was and looking up at him with pure determination. There were heavy sins weighing him down, resting on his shoulders, but he had only been a child himself, something that made forgiving him a little easier to swallow. You believed him when he said he hadn’t been the one to kill your parents and you believed him when he said he was remorseful for the lasting impact he had on your life.

“Jakurai, I’ve come up with a way to forgive you.”

“Is that right?” Jakurai’s smiling his beautiful ethereal smile that always causes your heart to skip a beat, “How might I be of service?”

“Kiss me.”

“I have a lifetime of mistakes to make up for,” Jakurai whispered against your lips, hands cradling your face in a loving manner, “I don’t deserve you.”

“You say that yet…” You reached over to run your fingers through his silky hair, twirling a strand of it around your finger, “I can’t account for your other mistakes but that doesn’t matter to me now. You’ve changed for the better, you save lives every day, so as long as you keep doing that… I think that I… I forgive you, Jakurai. So please, accept my heart and protect it.”

Those words he never thought he would hear finally reach his ears and he’s so filled with joy he could hardly contain himself, brief tears gathering at the corner of his eyes before he leans in to press his lips against yours. You want to pull away, to tease that he had only kissed you now because he was trying to hide the overflowing emotions he was currently dealing with, but it felt far too good to leave Jakurai’s embrace now.

If you could help it, you’d never have to live without his embrace again.

#Jinguji Jakurai #Jakurai Jinguji #Hypnosis Mic #Hypnosis Microphone #Hypnosis Mic Imagines #Hypnosis Mic x Reader #Hypnosis Microphone Imagines #Hypnomic #Hypmic #Jinguji Jakurai x Reader #Jakurai Jinguji x Reader #Scenario

72 notes · View notes

industriallyinsecure · 3 years

Note

How would yandere La Squadra go about their darling being extremely paranoid... maybe even an abduction survivor? Like, they won't drink or eat anything that's not sealed or prepared by them, they won't go anywhere without telling a loved one or friend where they are and where they're going. They only use their own car or commute with ppl they are close with, their door has several locks and bolts, the windows have special locks and they have a hidden weapon on their body and know how to use it.

I apologize for the long wait!

Sorbet and Gelato don’t care. Gelato is audacious enough to keep testing your boundaries by inserting himself into your life as mere coincidences. Sorbet is the only one keeping you safe, in a strange way. He constantly has to talk Gelato down with kisses and promises of taking you soon. Even if you pulled a weapon on them, there’s two of them. Your odds wouldn’t even be that great with just one of them pursuing you. The only problem is orchestrating the whole ordeal just right. With the constant paper trail you left, it would be difficult to just snatch you up and make you disappear off the face of the earth so suddenly. They have to strike in the golden hour, which, much to Gelato’s displeasure, means they have to leave you alone. When you stop frantically updating your friends and family, Gelato kicks in your door and Sorbet restrains you. Of course, when you wake up in an unfamiliar place with two men sandwiching you, the carefully crafted walls you put up to protect yourself from your past abduction come crumbling down. Gelato feels the tiniest bit remorseful and tries to kiss it better, but nothing works and they end up having to knock you out. Sorbet scolds Gelato for his hastiness while they cuddle on the chair across from the bed where your sleeping body whimpered and twitched. It would take some time to help you rebuild from your trauma, but the Milk and Milkless Dessert couple weren’t known for giving up easily.

Risotto is the same way. It’s part of the reason he was drawn to you. After researching about a hit and discovering they had kidnapped and held someone for ransom unsuccessfully, he felt it necessary to check in on the victim to see if there were any connections between them and Passione. More accurately, to see if the victim would cause any problems for Passione. When he first seeks you out, he’s not surprised about your demeanor. But something about your mouselike timidness drew him in. He knows he has to measure his steps carefully if he wants to get close. There’s a lot of methodical planning involved to make sure he doesn’t accidentally scare you off. He attempts to insert himself in your life subtly, appearing in places you go but not engaging you. When he was finally bold enough to seek you out in your own home, he finally saw the extent of your trauma. Metallica made it easy to bypass the many locks on the door, but it was a chore to do. Finding you waiting behind the door with a gun drawn was certainly a surprise, though. Seeing your perpetual eyebags and frowning features so frightened made his heart ache. It’s too bad you were close enough for Metallica to work. He’s positive you would’ve put up a good fight. But for now he’s focused on getting you tucked in. There was no reason to whisk you away when it was clear you were smart enough to be scared of the world outside.

Ghiaccio always has to be in the right, no matter the situation. He doesn’t care that you have trauma that makes your day to day hell or that his constant presence makes you wary and weary. His needs and desires come first at the cost of your comfort. He only compromises on his yelling when he notices he makes you flinch. Other than that, he’ll pester you nonstop. It’s a mystery how he is always where you are without fail. At a certain point, you refuse to leave your home because of it. Ghiaccio isn’t understanding of this and nearly breaks down your door and sends you into a panic attack. Seeing you scream and shield yourself with your arms makes him hesitate. What breaks him is when you plead for him to leave you alone and to not hurt you. It’s a rare moment of clarity in his obsession addled mind and he tries his best to calm you down, even though his touch makes you flinch away. In the middle of his attempt to soothe you, he ends up covering you in frost. The effects of White Album make your reactions sluggish and weak, but you have plenty of time to consider how you got here as he hefts you over his shoulder and buckles you into the passenger’s seat, wrapping the seatbelt around you several times.

Melone honestly has an Obsession of the Week™️, which more than half the time is just for scientific purposes. He likes to psychoanalyze random people he sees, just for funsies. You, on the other hand, were far too interesting to just dissect mentally and move on. He tuned in when you asked for a drink that was from an unopened case of products, and his interest only heightened when he saw you take a very calculated path through the lounge area. He noted you made sure to move in the blind spots of the windows and cameras before nestling safely in a corner where you could see the whole room, all the while peeking over your shoulder. At first, he thought OCD or some other disorder. It made sense, but he watched you timidly flick your eyes around as you uncapped your drink , sniffed it, and took a tentative sip. Melone is already mentally logging this information, creating trials and assessing variables as you sip away at your beverage. Of course when he went to pursue you after you left, he didn’t expect for you to pull a knife on him and threaten him with wide eyes to stay away. The reasons you gave were conjecture, though. He could see that you weren’t quite sure of your choice to confront him, the minuscule shaking of your hand only proving it. It’s laughably easy for him to disarm you, even if his thievery skills have gotten rusty from his transition from petty thief into assassin. After his civil approach, by his own standards, you're toted off to a nearby safe house where he could keep you while he arranges for your accommodations elsewhere.

This is a problem for Prosciutto. He and Formaggio are the most social creatures of La Squadra (Melone is well… social in a different way). Prosciutto loves to be seen. He likes going to the opera, to have someone on his arm dressed almost as finely as he was, to go to art auctions, to go out to a restaurant where the prices were high and the portions low. So your paranoid personality, while understandable, poses a problem for the fantasy he made within five minutes of seeing you shuffle around the market in what he would describe as “bum clothes” (aka sweatpants and a baggy shirt). He notes that every step you take is deliberate, every move calculated and determined beforehand. With his years of stealth training, he trails you for a while to fully observe you. One thing that stuck out to him was that you were always in public places, among crowds with just enough people that you would be missed if you were swept off your feet by a dashing blond in a finely pressed suit. Prosciutto is a fixer. He lives to nitpick and improve and fix everyone he cares for, and you are no different. Soon you’ll find yourself in the company of the handsome blond you’ve seen around town, whether you like it or not. He takes it upon himself to interject and speak over you when it comes to certain things, stating how you should’ve handled a situation. Your paranoia is soon taken advantage of, with Prosciutto feeding into it by isolating you and forcing you to depend on him. Not that he minds. He loves to help people improve. On his terms, of course.

Illuso takes it as a challenge. He’s very reserved as well, and when he observed you for his own interest, it was kismet. Illuso is great at playing the long game and letting his opponent’s psyche get the best of them. With your ‘weakened’ mind, he could play around with you as much as he liked. Tapping on your (barred)window, the mirror, moving stuff. Your own personal curator of hell. He never once feels bad, but he wondered why he didn’t stop playing poltergeist after his usual week or so. Soon he found himself just…staring at your permanently furrowed brow and frowning lips. Maybe if he isolated you in a place where he knew there wouldn’t be anyone, he could get something out of you? Secretly pulls you into the mirror world and observes you. He lets you sit in the comfort of assured solitude before making his grand entrance. Of course he didn’t expect to get punched in the gut and to have a knife pulled on him. He might boast that Man in the Mirror is the strongest stand, but stands are pretty much useless when you’re taken by surprise by someone you underestimated. For a moment, he can’t decide if this makes him like you a lot more, or if you deserve a kick to the gut. Maybe both.

Formaggio firmly believes in the ideology of “take no shit, give no fucks”. He may be social, but he’s not exactly socially intelligent. Case in point, he didn’t understand that his social butterfly-ness might be a huge turn off for some people. So he’s pretty much at a loss for what to do. His previous flings loved it, but you, well, you wanted nothing to do with him in any capacity. Formaggio was supposed to have been scouting his hit, but he was mostly checking out the Milfs, Dilfs, and Pilfs (parent) that passed. And when his gaze finally fell on you, sitting by yourself, he had to swoop in. Similar to how he reacts to Narancia, he’s very affable when you pull your weapon on him and threaten him with very serious eyes, even joking with you playfully when you ask him what he thinks he’s doing. I love him dearly, but Formaggio is a dumb man. He can’t read social cues and probably just thinks you’re playing hard to get when in reality you have trauma. But since he hides all his trauma and self hatred behind jokes, it takes him a while to fully realize that you’re broken. And what do you do with broken things? Why, stick them in a doll house and provide for them, of course!

#la squadra di esecuzione #yandere la squadra #yandere sorlato #yandere risotto nero #yandere ghiaccio #yandere melone #yandere prosciutto #yandere illuso #yandere formaggio #la squadra x reader

124 notes · View notes

hotpinkrathian · 3 years

Text

20 Years Ago Pt 1

(Kyalin)

Kya stood back with a grin. She did it. Despite her mother's doubts she had successfully pulled off the perfect highschool reunion. People were chatting, dancing and congratulating her.

"Well Kya, you did it." Her bother said, standing beside her with a glass of punch.

"Don't drink that," she said, "it's spiked."

"How do you even know that?" He asked looking into the cup.

"Waterbenders intuition." She lied. Truthfully, she had been the one to spike it.

"Look," Tenzin said, gesturing to the door."

"Hmmm?" She turned her head, her brows furrowing. Lin Beifong.

"What is she doing here?" Kya asked, she knew for a fact she didn't invite her.

"I asked her to come," Tenzin explained, "she doesn't get out a lot and well, I thought it'd be nice for you two to see each other." Kya rolled her eyes. She had no business with Lin, and the idea her brother thought otherwise was stupid.

"I have nothing to say to her." Kya stated, taking his cup and downing it.

"It seems like you do." Tenzin replied, letting his sister walk away.

Kya huffed, sitting down at her table, two cups of punch in her hands, both of which were for her. It seemed everyone here was having a good time, except her. She couldn't help it, Lin's prescence set her off.

"How am I supposed to enjoy myself when she's lurking around?" She spoke to herself, taking a drink from the left cup.

"Still talking to yourself, I see." Lin said, sitting next to her.

"Still condescending, I see." Kya mocked, finishing one of her drinks. Lin reached a hand over, grabbing the other one.

"Thats mine." Kya said. Lin raised an eyebrow, keeping eye contact with the older woman.

"Then take it." Kya looked at her quizzically, Lin had a sadistic grin on her face, like she was enjoying Kya's anger.

"No." Kya replied, "you have it. On me." Lin smirked, placing her lips to the cup and downing the whole thing her face unraveling in a look of disgust.

"Thats so sweet." The metalbender groaned.

"Some people like sweet things." Kya retorted. Lin sighed, glancing to the stage.

"You know, we're kind of old to be doing this." Lin said.

"I think I know how long to hold a grudge." Kya replied, refusing to look her in the eyes.

"Raava, Kya do you even remember what you hate me for?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

"Then enlighten me."

"It was my senior year, you promised to come with me to prom, we had it planned and everything. Then someone started dating my brother and ditched me to give a blow job behind the bleachers. I had no other friends Lin, everyone hated me for... well, you know, and you just... you left me alone. To be ridiculed by my entire grade. I had to leave out the back door because by the end of the night I was covered in punch and didn't want to be seen by the cameras."

"Okay, wow. First of all, it wasn't a blow job." Lin started, "second of all, I didn't mean to leave you. I just didn't know how long it would take."

"Oh my God, Lin, do you not hear yourself?" Kya asked, "you left me alone on my night to fuck my brother. Dick move, by the way."

"I wasnt fucking your brother!"

"Right so he let everyone believe that you and him fucked for the rest of the year?"

"Yes!"

"Really? You think I'm that stupid?"

"Kya, ask Tenzin. We didn't do anything that night, I didn't have the guts too. I never intended for he and I to do anything but he got ahead of himself and told all his friends so I told him not to worry about it." Kya looked away in disbelief.

"If that was true, why didn't you tell me?"

"I tried, you were so upset and 'banned me from the island. I asked that idiot arrowhead to talk to you but I guess he never did." Kya stared at her, unsure of what to make of this. Lin had lied before, but she seemed so sincere... stop. Remember how you felt.

"I'm not listening to this. I have a speech to give." Lin slammed a fist on the table and let Kya go. The watsrbender made her way to the stage, motioning for the crows to gather.

"I just want to say how happy I am everyone could make it today." She began, "it's been a long time since we've seen each other and I have to say I'm absolutely thrilled with the people you have all become."

"I'd like to say something!" Kya looked down at the speaker, he had a hat on, a jersey for some pro bending team and awfully greasy shorts. Roy Cavanaugh. The idiot who had splattered her with punch on prom night.

"Well I'm not really-"

"Roy! Roy! Roy!" The crowd chanted.

"Fine," Kya caved, "come here." He climbed onto the stage, taking the mic from her and holding it a little to close to his mouth.

"Can I just say," he started, "had I known you were gonna look like that when you were older I would've been nicer to you." Kya pursed her lips.

"Thats enough-"

"With that being said, are you still a dyke? Because I'd like to show you my-" Kya took the mic from him, staring at him angrily. Laughter mixed with awkward silence. She stared into the crowd, their familiar beady eyes focusing on her. Passing their judgment and she realized then and there she didn't want this reunion to see people, she wanted closure.

"Roy," she said, "you're an idiot. You always will be. Maru," she directed to his wife, "he cheated on you. Multiple times with Christine. Blonde hair, two girls down. Yeah that one." Roy looked at her, his eyes begging her to stop.

"Also," she said, "we all know it was you who shit on the floor during gym class. Everyone did. Just some of us were decent enough human beings to spare you that guilt. Now get out of my party." He jumped off the stage, his friends no longer sticking beside him, his wife ignoring his call.

"Oh to answer your question," Kya called before he left, "I am still a dyke. And that's not going to change for any of you." She smiled, satisfied with herself. She caught a glimpse of Lin who had a look on her face that resembled a smile. She dropped the mic, marching down the stage steps with gusto when she fell backward and collided with the steps.

"Kya. Kya. Kya, wake up." Kya's eyes batted open, pushing past the pulsing sensation in her head.

"Where am I?"

"The school gym."

"Why?"

"You slipped. Hit your head pretty bad." Lin said, pushing her down when she tried to sit up.

"Wheres Tenzin?"

"Jinora got sick, he went home. He sat here with you though, for an hour."

"How long was I out?"

"Three hours."

"Three hours?!" Kya tried to sit up, but her head refused her.

"Stop moving so much, just lay on this." Lin took off her coat, bundling it up and placing it under her head.

"Where is everyone" Kya asked.

"They went home. After your speech and... trip, I guess they decided they didn't deserve to be here." Kya snorted, taking the water Lin offered her and holding the freezing ice to her head.

"That works too," Lin said, moving beside her.

"Why did you stay?" Kya asked, moving her eyes to Lin.

"I am a police officer, it wouldn't look good if I left an injured person here."

"Oh." Kya said, trying not to sound disappointed.

"But also... I wasn't done talking earlier."

"You? Lin Beifong had more to say. I'll be damned." Lin laughed slightly before taking a deep inhale.

"I'm sorry, for everything." She said, "what I did to you that night, it wasnt fair." Kya smiled reaching her free hand to Lin's and holding her leg.

"Can I be completely honest with you?" Kya inquired.

"Of course."

"I think I over reacted, just a bit."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, now shush. I... I had feelings for you, back then." Kya admitted. She felt herself blush, and immediately regretted everything she had said.

"Kya, I know you won't forget that night and the trauma it caused you, but you shouldn't know I never meant to hurt you. I didn't go because I was scared. I made these other plans because I didn't want people to see me with you and-"

"You were embarrassed of me?"

"What? No, God no... Kya I didn't want people to see me with you and talk because I knew that if we danced, or shared a drink, I'd have to confront the part of myself that liked you, too. And if that was true then what other rumors were?" Kya looked at Lin in disbelief. All this time, all this hatred she had kept for Lin when the true enemy was fear. She pushed herself up, leaning against the wall and putting the ice next to her.

"Lin," she spoke softly," I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to feel that way. If I pressured you or-" before she could finish, Lin's lips met hers. She was taken aback by how soft Lin's lips her. The Beifong kissed with so much emphasis and emotion Kya had to pull away for a moment.

"Lin..." she whispered, "you have no idea how many times I thought of this moment."

"I think I do," Lin replied, "I thought of it everyday for the last 20 years." Kya grinned, pressing her forhead against Lin's before wincing in pain.

"You're in pain." Lin said, pulling away.

"No I'm fine just a little headache." She winced again and Lin moved to her knees, standing up and offering her hand.

"Come on." Lin said.

"This unnecessary really Lin-"

"You can't stand, can you?" Kya shook her head. Lin side, bending down and reaching one hand under her shoulders and the other under her hips. She pushed, taking Kya in her arms with a grunt. Kya blushed when Lin met her gaze, doing her best to keep her head up.

"Are you going to carry me all the way back to the island?" Kya asked.

"Maybe. I was going to put you in the back seat of my satomobile."

"That works." Kya replied. Lin carried the Waterbender out of the highschool gym, Kya stifled a chuckle at the disaster her party had turned into. At least she'd missed most of it.

Kya had fallen asleep on the drive over to the docks, waking up briefly to get on the ferry before passing out again on the railing. Lin must've carried her all the way to the temple because when she finally came too, she was on the couch in her childhood home.

"Well, she might not remember that part." Kya blinked her eyes open, seeing her mother and Lin sharing tea over the coffee table.

"Good morning." Katara said, getting up and putting a hand to her daughters head.

"What time is it?"

"Six."

"In the morning?" Kya exclaimed. As if on cue Lin opened the blinds, revealing the sun as it peaked over the horizon.

"Lin caught me up, dear," Katara said, "you had a minor concussion, nothing I couldn't fix. But please take it easy okay?"

"Yeah, thanks, Mom." Kya pushed herself up, accepting the cup of tea Lin handed her.

"So, how big of a fool did I make of myself?" Kya asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Eh, I've seen worse. If they didn't remember you before, they do now." Kya sighed, taking a sip of the tea.

"Well it is what it is." She whispered. They sat in silence for a moment before Lin stood up.

"Where are you going?" Kya asked, motioning to follow her.

"Relax," Lin said, pushing her back onto the sofa, "I'm just going to bathroom."

"Oh."

"Was the whole night not enough time to catch up?" Lin asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well no, I was passed out for most of it." Lin chuckled slightly and Kya blushed again.

"Then I'll be right back."

"Okay." Kya watched her go with a longing look in her eye. She looked back to her mother who shook her head with a dumb grin.

"Oh stop." Kya scolded.

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

"She stayed awake the whole night you know." Katara said.

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Whatever you say, dear." Kya pursed her lips, looking back in the direction Lin had disappeared to.

Well shit.

#legend of korra #lin beifong #kyalin #avatar the last airbender #suyin #kya ii #kyalin ff #enemies to lovers #soft at the end

82 notes · View notes

imayjinmin · 3 years

Text

Dazed Ⅱ

Vampire prince Enhypen x Shadow fairy princess reader

Word count: 2.2k

Playlist here

Synopsis: Shadowfen was a normally a peaceful place consisting of shadow fairies. The city was beautiful beyond belief until Grimmingthorn invaded. Vampires now overpopulated the city. Both of the Queens being pregnant they decided on a deal of which they live together. Making the new fairy princess and vampire kings grow together. Leading with a lot of obstacles on the way of childhood.

Warnings: Angst, trauma, manipulative themes mentioned, PTSD

Waking up, he was surprised to see two guards at his door. Coming fully to, he sprung up to his feet. “Where’s Y/n?!” The two guards continued staring forward without a sound. “Answer me!” Still not receiving a reply he shoved at the guards. Grabbing his shoulders the two guards finally looked at him.

“This is for your protection. There is a hunter in the castle. The queen gave us demands to not allow you to leave.”

“I don’t care what mother wants! I want to know where Y/n is! Is she okay?! Tell me!” Shoving him lightly, the guard scowled at him.

“We are not allowed to answer that. Go sit down kid. Also do you really believe she would be alive after that?”

“She has to be alive! She wouldn’t leave me alone.” Dropping to his knees he started bawling. “Please just tell me. I won’t tell mother anything. I just need to know if she’s okay.”

Laughing amongst themselves the two watched him. “Fine you want to know...”

“Please...”

“She’s dead.”

Feeling his world crumble and start to collapse from under him, he stopped everything. Figuring he does not have a purpose anymore if she was not alive. Standing to his feet, the two froze. Confused as they watched him pace to his bed and sit down.

“Are you okay kid?”

“I’m fine, at least now I can be who I truly am.”

“Huh? Do you understand him?”

“Not really. I thought he loved her.”

“Me too. Kid, why are you so calm?”

“She wouldn’t allow me to do what I want. Didn’t want me to hurt anything. I’m free to do whatever now.” Still watching him walk over to his desk tensed. Opening the drawer, pulling out his family heirloom he was gifted. “Mother always said I was to use this when I felt it was threatened. She would understand when I tell her the guards hurt me.”

“Kid put that down. It is not to be played wi-” His words were cut short as his blood hit Heeseung’s face.

“Listen kid, you don’t need to do this.”

“But I do.” Swinging the sword through the air once more as the other body hit the floor. Dropping to the ground as well, he started crying hysterically. Feeling his soul leave he passed out.

⨶⨶⨶

Ten years have passed as the seven princes were becoming young adults. The Shadowfens still wondering what happened to their soon to be princess. All that was known was that the same night she disappeared, a blood bath occurred in the kingdom. Told simply that a deranged hunter got inside the castle. Now with the princes ranging from fifteen to nineteen soon to be twenty years old many things have changed. Especially the oldest prince. He is known as the most heartless and ruthless being to exist. Fearing even simple eye-contact with him became normal. Fearing that he would murder anything that looked his way, no one dared to initiate with him. Having heard the rumors that he went on a killing spree that dreadful night in the kingdom. The many times someone was harmed by speaking his name was worrying. Even his own family stayed beware of his presence. He was always surrounded by his brothers who were just as ruthless as him. Getting the nickname the dreadful seven for many reasons. Grimmingthorns started to become weary of what would happen when the new King was crowned. Rightly so, as it was only three months away from the coronation. Still there was no new word on where the princess was. The poor queen was caught bawling on multiple occasions. The princes were asked if any of them could remember that night, but every time it was the same answer. ‘No, we were all in our rightful rooms’. Many thought the answer did not add up to the events that were previously told by their mother. Stated on numerous occasions, that there was a hunter, and the princes were scattered throughout the castle. She answered that she cannot remember once putting the seven princes in their rooms, but in fact keeping them out of them for safety. The more their stories collided the more people started to worry. If the princes and the queen were that easy to lie about the murder of a princess how easily would they lie about another. Many believed the oldest son, Heeseung preformed the act. Guards saying that on occasion he would become too protective of the princess. Some even saying he threatened them for being close to her. Hatred was thrown onto the four oldest princes Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon, while pity was thrown onto the youngest. Many felt bad for the three princes that grew up in a sad city because they were so young when the event occurred. None of them answered the questions when asked because they did not know. This affected them in Charter School, which is where a lot of questioning came along. Jungwon was known as the target of most issues. Being the smallest prince led to a lot of jokes, most being that he was going to be a joke of a prince. That was until she arrived. Walking by shoving her shoulder into one of them as she walked by. Going to find her only for her to already be gone. Jungwon wanted to thank her but could never find her. None of the seven could. When the story of her broke throughout the school many believed that she was an in-school bodyguard. Denying it to be true for the very reason that all of their guards were knights. A woman was not to be allowed the position of a knight. She would always appear when she was needed as if she was summoned. When Jay almost tripped down the stairs, she grabbed his shoulder telling him to watch his step before it even occurred. When Jake was attacked by a hunter, and she saved him. When Niki was down because of the training to become a prince, she lifted his chin high telling him to get back on his feet and that he was destined for greatness. The most shocking one was when Heeseung got shot by an arrow. Witnesses saying that she treated him with no hesitation muttering something about returning a favor. Some quoting the exact phrase, “This is returning the favor. Thank you, Hee.”. No one knew what it exactly meant, but many said his face dropped at her words. All color leaving his face when the syllables hit his ears. From that day forward nobody was able to find the mysterious woman. There was no trace of her ever, no footprint, no scent, no hair, nothing. She was conned the name pretty stranger. Known only for her pretty appearance and bravery. As time got closer and closer to coronation she appeared more frequently. Puzzled people that saw her started sketching he to hand out papers with her face, hoping someone knew something. Still nothing came up on the pretty stranger.

⨕⨕⨕

“Heeseung, have you gotten one of these papers yet?”

“No, wait what paper exactly?”

“The one with her on it. They are everywhere now.”

“Oh, yes. I got three of them yesterday. Why do you ask, Jay?”

“Well, who do you think she is? I mean you know everyone in this city. How could she come from nowhere without you knowing?”

“I don’t know how she did it. May I ask you a question, Jay?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you remember what Y/n looked like? I know you were young, but something has to have stuck with you.”

“No, no, I remember her clearly. You don’t think?”

“I do.” Staring at Heeseung for a moment, before rapidly pulling a chair out beside him. Sitting down loudly, still staring at him with wide eyes.

“Why? How? How could that be her? I thought she died that night ten years ago?”

“So much is leading back to her. Her scent is familiar, practically the same. Her eyes, they hold so much in them. They pierce into you in a different way. Her presence is dominating. She is what I would have expected Y/n to be like when she grew up.” Getting up, he ruffled his hair while pacing to the window. “Jay...do you really believe she died that day? Honestly?” Peeking over his shoulder, seeing his brother gapping like a fish a few times before dropping his head.

“I-I don’t know what I believe. Mother said that she died, but I don’t remember her ever being attacked like Mother said as well.”

“That’s because she wasn’t! She was shot! An arrow went straight threw her chest! Jay, nobody can get past those gates without being let in! Mother had to have opened those gates. She had her shot! She planned it! I saw it with my own eyes! There was no hunter! At all!”

“Calm down, Heeseung.”

“No! Mother is lying through her teeth! And you’re believing it! Everyone is believing it! They pulled me away from her Jay! Did you know that?!”

“I didn’t.”

“Exactly! Mother told me that night that it was for my own good! That she was dangerous! How?! How?! How was she dangerous?!”

Watching his brother scream as his emotions took over. Hearing footsteps as the other five came in. Stopping by Jay’s side as Heeseung let out everything that was bottled up over the past ten years. Crying, screaming, dry heaving was on the low scale of what was happening. None of them got near him because they knew of the consequences that would happen. It hurt them to watch, he was the strongest, the oldest, the brave one. He was letting every wall he had built fall. He was vulnerable, but not gullible. Most of his emotion was anger, no hatred. Aimed mostly at the woman he had to call his mother. Anything she tried to tell him, he ignored. He would sit back and watch his brothers get spoon fed lies. The only thing that she did not know, was that the boys followed their older brother over everybody. When he started showing hostility toward her so did the rest. Especially Sunoo, Jake, and Niki. The rest already had their individual reasons for not respecting her. Jay’s sprouted from constantly having to rebuild his brother because of her. Kneeling in front of his brother wrapping his arms around him, feeling him trembling. Feeling his brother shove his face into his chest, grabbing his shirt roughly. Yanking him forward a few times before slamming his fist into his chest. Wincing as he grabbed his fist. Opening Heeseung’s fist, while places his head on his shoulder. “Stop. Stop this. Don’t let her get this satisfaction. You are showing her that she is getting to you. You don’t want that.” Standing up, watching his brother slouch on his feet. “Get up. I said get the hell up! Are you weak? Do you belong on the ground?” Hearing a faint no, he repeated himself. Getting a louder response the second time, he leaned down wrapping his arms under his shoulders. Making him stand. “You don’t deserve this. Stop letting her get to you. You are stronger than her. Better than her. You are the new king.”

“But Y/n is gone. She killed her.”

“Heeseung, do you honestly believe she is dead?”

“I don’t know what I believe.” Sighing, Jay turned to his brothers. Zeroing in on Jake.

“Jake, did you meet her yet?”

“Pretty stranger? Yeah...more than once actually.”

“What did you sense from her?”

“There wasn’t anything that came up when I met her. However, there was a barrier put up.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is this block put up around us, when she gets nearby. It’s hard to describe. If I said a dome...would that make sense?” Pausing to hear some conformation, he continued. “There is a dome over us, not her. When she gets near us, there is a sense of familiarity. Our conscious recognizes her, but our brain can’t seem to remember her.”

“So you’re saying we do know her?”

“Exactly. She has history with us somewhere. Our paths have most definitely crossed at one point.”

“If we did then why can’t we remember her?”

“I already said why. Our memory was basically erased with anything that was about her.”

“Do you think it could possibly be Y/n?”

“I’m not saying yes, but it’s not impossible either. I would say to ask Heeseung because he was the closest with her, but also had the closest encounter with the pretty stranger. I don’t believe that would go well though seeing as he is a slobbering mess.”

“I’m not a mess.”

“Yeah, and we’re not princes.” Sunoo scoffed at Heeseung’s words. “Do you ever think you will get over her? This happened years ago and you’re still not over it. I get you were in love with her and all that but come on. You weren’t the only one of us that was affected. We all were. You are a selfish, mopping mess. Do you think Grimmingthorn will survive with a King like you? One that is so emotional that they break down at the mention of her name.”

“I do not break down at the mere mention of her name. Right now however, I am upset that there is a possibility of the pretty stranger being Y/n. Not her particularly, but us for not realizing it earlier. Next time you see her, stop her.”

Taglist~ @neptuniees

#enhypen #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #fantasy #prince #princess #fairy #vampire

41 notes · View notes

onceupona-chaos · 3 years

Text

Elain's trauma + (another) lightsinger theory

(This theory is about Elain)

This post was supposed to be just about Elain's trauma, but I decided to use it to share with you one of my theories. So, buckled up, because this will be long!

Warning: This post will be a little about Elriel, but my focus is Elain. If that's not your cup of tea, be warned! Also, as usual, English is not my first language, so forgive for any mistakes. Be kind always!!

So... since I was reading ACOSF for the very first time I noticed how many times Elain's trauma was brought up, especially that time when the Cauldron kidnapped her. I strongly believe that we have enough textual evidence that points to the next book being about her, so I want to talk a little about that trauma and then share my theorie.

Childhood

I'm not going to talk much about it because there is this incredible post right here where the author did an amazing job. But I’ll briefly talk about it just to make sense.

If Nesta was raised to use her "maneuverings", her talents, her dance, Elain was not raised in the same way (not that was good for Nesta, I'm not saying that).

Elain was raised to look pretty, to please others, to not speak up, to get marry using her pretty face, to be a proper lady: a perfect doll.

So she acted like one.

It simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.

Elain would put on a hat and gloves and kneel in the dirt, weeding. She acted like a purebred lady in every regard but that.

Her mother raised her like that until she was at least eleven years old. This is enough time for her to internalize how she should behave.

This is what SJM is trying to tell about Elain:

"I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she'd disappoint you all"

(Again, check this post for more details, this is just a scratch in comparison)

How this childhood reflects on Elain

Strength:

So, Elain was raised to be passive.

I'm not trying to justify her neglect towards Feyre. Elain has flaws just like any other character. But there's a reason why Feyre and Nesta was filled with rage when they lived in the cottage, and Elain look at it in a different way:

"A shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me. She had looked at it that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger."

Since Elain was raised to be passive, her strength is different from her sisters. Her strength comes from her heart, from her kindness. But mostly from her hope. The book tell us that:

"Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind."

My point is: her strength is different, not weaker. She is a different type of character, one that a lot of women relate to. Her strength isn't brutal. Her strength is hope. In her book, she will look at an indescribable horrible situation that seems to have no way out and will choose not to despair.

Beauty

She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers.

Elain's mother saw her for her beauty and only that. Now look at this:

Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it.

She was several years older, and I’d never done anything to provoke her hatred, but I think …”

“She was jealous of your beauty,” Amren said, an amused smile on her red lips.

Elain blushed. “Perhaps.”

In my opinion, Elain has been seen as beautiful and only beautiful her entire life. It's not that she doesn't realize it, but she doesn't want to be reduced to that.

“Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty"

"They say your sister Elain is the beauty."

"They." Elain's beauty is known across Prythian, Eris said that twice in the series. She is so beautiful, that it seems like this is the first thing everyone will say about her.

That's why she wishes to be seen:

"No one ever looked —not really.” A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. “He did. He saw me. He will not now."

She is described as the most beautiful among the sisters, and one of them is High Lady. So everyone looks at her. However, she wants more than that.

For her, it's vital to be seen.

She wants someone who loves her for who she is. That's why she hoped Graysen would still love her even after she turned Fae.

Trauma

Now that we understand what it means for Elain to be seen, to be loved, can we please stop reducing her trauma to a breakup?

She was: kidnapped from her bed, throw into the Cauldron (we saw what a nice experience that is), changed into something she feared, exposed to all the guards laugh at her and mated to a male who conspired to all of that happen.

Not only that: for months she was lost in her own visions. She didn't even know what was reality anymore:

“I think I was dreaming,” she murmured. “I think I’m always dreaming these days.”

"I hear her—her screaming. With rage. Utter rage…” She shuddered.

And when she was able to understand what she was, a Seer, and "wake up" from whatever "murky realm" she had been, the Wall came down. Which means she faced the Graysen.

Elain genuinely hoped he would love her for who she was despite being Fae. She looked at that situation with the same hope she used to look at the cottage. And how that turned out:

“You belong to him.”

“I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”

Graysen’s face hardened. “I don’t want it.”

He would have been better off hitting her, that’s how deep the hurt in her eyes went.

And then she was kidnapped.

Elain is captured by the Cauldron

SJM used ACOSF to remind us of events that are going to be relevant for the next books and Elain's trauma was repeatedly brought up in ACOSF:

But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

“Elain was right. We’ve become so focused on how her trauma impacted us that we forget she was the one who experienced it.”

(...) he understood that Elain had spoken true, claiming the trauma of that memory.

Now, look at how many times Elain being captured by the Cauldron came up.

Elain had been stolen. By Hybern. By the Cauldron, which had seen Nesta watching it and watched her in turn.

Do you not remember the Cauldron kidnapping you, bringing you into the heart of Hybern’s camp?

The Cauldron looked at her. And then took Elain.

“Bad things happened the last time. The Cauldron looked at me. And took Elain.

“I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.

He’d gone with Feyre into the heart of Hybern’s camp to save Elain—he knew the risk.

These are just a few examples to say: Sarah is setting up her next book by remind us again and again how deep her trauma is.

Now, how did the Cauldron kidnapped her in the first place?

Nesta was already moving, sprinting for where we’d heard that voice. Luring Elain out.

I knew how it had done it.

I’d dreamed of it.

Graysen standing on the edge of camp, calling to her, promising her love and healing.

Graysen promising love and healing: everything she had hope for.

Now, who rescued her?

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

And we have this reaction:

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

I don't believe it's coincidence that the Cauldron used Graysen's image to lure Elain out, and Azriel was the one who got her back. (I'm dying to get into her head and see her feelings about all of this)

And ACOSF reminded us of this as well:

Azriel stiffened. "I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.

Repeatedly. We don't know how this characters felt at that moment, we don't have their POV's, but after ACOSF I do think this was a crucial moment for both of them: Elain and Azriel.

Lightsingers

“There are lightsingers: lovely, ethereal beings who will lure you, appearing as friendly faces when you are lost. Only when you’re in their arms will you see their true faces, and they aren’t fair at all. The horror of it is the last thing you see before they drown you in the bog. But they kill for sport, not food.”

"Hunt the kelpies or lightsingers without provocation and you might find yourself trapped here.”

When Cassian explains what is a lightsinger, the book has already remind us again and again the Cauldron took Elain.

We know Nesta fought a kelpie. But what if the reason why we didn't see a lightsinger is because Elain will be the one who will face one?

Lightsingers lure people, appearing as a friendly face: this is exactly what happened when Elain was captured by the Cauldron, when she saw Graysen. We know that was very traumatic for her - she told us that herself.

Elain already experienced what is to be lured, so if anyone could face a lightsinger and survive is her. She wouldn't make the same "mistake" twice.

Graysen standing on the edge of camp, calling to her, promising her love and healing.

There are lightsingers: lovely, ethereal beings who will lure you, appearing as friendly faces when you are lost.

Elain was lost, the last thread that connected her to her humanity had been cut off. The Cauldron used her love for Graysen, her deepest wishes, her hope for a future and turned it all against her.

But when a character is developed, they learn with their mistakes, they get stronger. What it was once a weakness might become their greatest strength, which is something very present in SJM books (The Nephelle Philosophy?) .

Elain's strength comes from her hope, she looks at the darkness of the world and sees the light. If the Cauldron used it once against her, maybe that hope would be precisely how she could break through whatever luring spells lightsinger cast.

There's a reason why SJM remind us again and again about that specific moment, which was without a doubt one of the most important ones between Elain and Azriel, and possibly because we are going to see Elain dealing with her struggles.

But what if there's more? What if that trauma would be the reason why Elain can face a lightsinger and survive?

What if what was once a weakness may become... her strength, her survival?

#pro elain #acotar theory #pro elain archeron

62 notes · View notes

belit0 · 3 years

Text

Commission for @GlitterBomba!

Part 2 of this!! I don't feel it's as angsty as it should be, but for some reason, my creativity wanted it that way? It's been a long time since I've last written, and this was definitely a challenge... First part was produced way too long ago, so it was also challenging to connect with what I felt when I wrote it! But here it is, and I hope you like it, GlitterBomba. Thanks for trusting me!

My Ko-fi page~ Buy me a coffee if anyone wants part 3 ❤（っ＾▿＾）

It took you days to awaken from your deep sleep, days which became weeks, and weeks transformed into months. There was no hope for your life among the healers, but the tenacity and insistence of those elders who saved you forced them to continue providing methods and energy, herbs, talismans to keep you breathing.

Impossible to explain how that mortal blow did not steal your last breath, not when the perpetrator was the greatest tyrant in the current world, the monster everyone learned to fear and flee from. In the small place where you are kept hidden, rumor has it the treacherous one repented as soon as his hand affected your body, causing you not to succumb immediately.

It wasn’t until after he vanished, shrouded in lightning and hatred, when one of Ashura’s subordinates came upon the scene of your sad fate. A pool of blood acting as a bed over a pale body, devoid of any warmth and life. Everyone was quick to write you off for dead after such an event, and only when one of the village elders took your pulse did he find your incredible attempt to resist despite all odds.

Keeping you along with the new leader and his people would not be a good idea. Not when you barely escaped with your life from the beast. In case he came back and besieged his younger brother, it would be better if he didn’t find you there. That man proved to have an unquenchable thirst for revenge.

Tempting fate once is more than enough.

That led a group of elderly men, those who defended your slight pulse when everyone thought you were dead, to ask Ashura’s permission before disappearing and taking you to a safe place, making use of some of the village healers to ensure your health. 8 men of different ages vanish with you, swearing on their lives to do everything possible for you to open your eyes again.

Winters turned into warm seasons, and autumn leaves were waning. Two whole years quickly go by before your consciousness returns. The world is different. You understand through your guardians that life passed with you as a ghostly presence, a bedridden legend they fought all this time to preserve.

No one mentions what happened to you, though. No one names him.

To everyone’s surprise, you don’t really ask about the village; you don’t ask about your birthplace and your home. You don’t ask... about him.

Your healers discover you memory was damaged after exhaustive examinations beyond your comprehension. Theories why this happened are various in your little home; some argue the loss of blood hurt your brain, others believe the trauma of that betrayal forced you to block it all out, and there are those who think maybe you ignored the past on purpose.

Still, there is an unspoken rule forbidding the mention of what happened, of the village, of those two brothers. After experiencing hell, what would be the benefit of forcibly bringing you back to that horrible past? In this remote place, you have the chance to start from scratch, and your rescuers believe it is the least you deserve.

Little by little, you gradually learn everything all over again. Your own name, your age, information about those around you. You ask with animosity about everything you don’t understand, and the only thing there is reluctance to answer is when you want to know about who you were before... this.

Healers get the problem off their shoulders, rushing you to ask such questions to the older people. They shoo you out of their humble hut with nervousness and red faces, panic in their eyes.

Seniors sigh as they stare into nothingness, sadness and nostalgia, painting their countenances with something you cannot grasp. Some even drop a couple of tears to the rhythm of a depressing whisper, “oh poor child...”

The scene makes you feel so guilty you end up consoling them, assuring it’ s not a big deal and you don’t need to be told. That your life in this small place with them is all you need to be happy, past or no past.

Regardless, it is the scar monstrously painting your stomach which makes you uneasy. While tracing the edges of that sensitive skin with your fingertips, you feel its reason for existence is on the tip of your tongue. As if reminders of what happened to you are lingering there, buried in your head, but creeping closer to your memory every time you look at your navel.

What happened? What terrible thing could have left such an enormous mark on your skin, but not in your head?

It’s frustrating.

Eventually, curiosity to explore beyond your own narrow world peaks. It’s quite natural, considering four older men and four medicine buffs rarely make for an interesting group of company. Older men drink tea most of the day, when they’re not napping in the sun, of course. The rest read rigorously and debate among themselves about their newly gained knowledge.

Getting permission is a complicated task. They are terribly afraid of your departure, scared of your fate, frightened of what dangers you might encounter.

But how to keep you there forever, when you have seen the vivid movement the closest town has?

Perhaps it was your rescuers’ mistake for allowing you to go exploring within the boundaries they considered safe, yet you inevitably discovered such a place, so close and yet so far away, so full of people and... life. Persons of all ages walking from one side to the other, food you never saw before displayed in various stalls, children playing with each other, unaware of the surrounding universe. Everything looks completely natural, as if folks are used to this kind of lifestyle since long ago, and you wonder if you ever lived in a similar environment.

Just what hides in your past?

After insistence and great pleas against the overprotection imparted on you, they understand it is simply hopeless to make you give up your idea unless they expose all those shocking events, unless they explain from what kind of danger it is necessary for you to hide, from whom it is imperative you escape.

No one knew anymore about that demon after his disappearance the same day, and it is uncertain where he is. Whether he is hiding or far from your current home, it is unknown to anyone, and it would invoke bad luck if your guardians expected you to meet him face to face once you get away from them.

Preparation of weeks and many directions, you finally depart from your unnoticed hideout in the world, leaving behind anxious seniors and worried healers.

It was agreed you could explore for a couple of months, but your eventual return is a binding closure on the deal you reluctantly struck. Each new destination brings with it new discoveries, tastes, experiences. You always find charitable souls willing to help when you are short of food, water or shelter, people who offer to give directions when you get disoriented, people who share stories with you on lonely, nostalgic nights.

With each step you take in the outside world, less you understand what your guardians are afraid of. Everyone is well meaning, and no one seeks to take advantage of your innocence. It is incomprehensible why this was denied to you for so long, and every time you think of your precious little home, an emptiness grows in your heart.

Weeks slowly pass, and having experienced so much in such a short time, you find the need to recount it to those you consider your family. As initially agreed, it may be time to return, to prove the world is not as terrible as they feared.

A few miles from homeland, just as you feel you are walking the grounds of your family again, you stop at a stream to get a drink of water, determined not to slow down until you reach your destination. It is too much of a thrill to witness those 8 insane people bickering and arguing. You absentmindedly smile as you rinse your face.

In your distraction, you cannot hear footsteps approaching at your back. It’s not like you would have detected them if you were paying attention either, for the person stalking you is deliberately careful, calculating.

Turning, your face affects directly into a solid mass of muscle, sending you tumbling down the riverbank again. Any woman would have assumed the worst when connecting glances with a man who invades her personal space unannounced, but from your mouth comes a concerned “Are you okay?”

The man, who is watching you as if a ghost were sitting next to you in the water and you were unaware of it, bleeds. Profusely, indeed. Both of his hands are deeply cut, distinct wounds on his palms dripping thickly to the ground.

There is no answer to your question, and the man’s countenance is difficult to decipher. His eyes glow a red which fades too quickly to analyze, his complexion is completely pale and unhealthy, his hair points in all directions, forming a long brown tangle which you deduce has not been combed for some time. For moments, it is as if there are words trying to pierce his lips, but the stupor of the individual continues.

“Your hands... we really should take care of them, shouldn’t we? Aiya, let this humble one help you heal.”

There is no reaction as you stand up and take him by the arm, guiding him to a large rock away from the water and helping him to sit up. His gaze is still completely fixed on your face, searching for something you’ re oblivious to. His mouth opens and closes rapidly, agitated breaths accompanied by sounds resembling syllables.

“Look at this mess alone... sir, you should be cautious walking along the bed of these waters. They are treacherous, hm?”

Ripping off one of your sleeves, previously dampened when you fell into the water, you use the cloth to clean his wounds. There’s not much you can do here, out in the open and in these conditions, but judging by the man’s appearance, he was probably recently attacked. When you mention your little home a few miles away, the man doesn’t refuse or accept.

Still, when you head back to the road, you find the fellow following you from behind, head down and staring at the ground. In his hands he tightly clenches the cloth of your sleeve, and blood stains the fabric completely at this point. You talk about the healers in your place, and how they can help him get better, but no matter how much you try, the man never responds. You ponder whether, perhaps, the situation he experienced before he ran into you may have been intense, and you attribute his perturbation to that.

After walking without pause all afternoon, your silent companion always keeping your own pace, your destination appears in front of you. From afar, you can see the elders sitting on the engawa of their cottage, sharing tea and quietly waiting for dusk. All is silent, and your announcement of arrival is the only thing disturbing the atmosphere.

Your arms wave vigorously to catch the attention of those you regard as family, a splendorous smile planted on your face, walking at an increased speed to catch up with them. An extended curtsey bow is given before them, and only after raising your head you dare to give them all a group hug, false formality forgotten as much as your guest.

The man slowly approaches this scene and analyzes the faces of those present as the embrace takes place. Had you not been turning your back on him, you may have noticed the change in his countenance, coldness creeping over his features from one moment to the next. None of the elders noticed his noiseless presence, not even having sensed it to begin with, and it is not until one of them finishes smiling and opens his eyes to come face to face with their worst fear.

Suddenly the hug is interrupted when this old man lets out a shriek, trying to back away and losing his balance. You follow his line of sight while turning, and find that innocent-looking stranger again, disoriented. There are screams all around you. Seniors are horrified and collapse on the floor next to each other, completely surrendered to the gaze of the demon fixed on them.

“Don’t behave like that! It would appear it wasn’t you guys who taught me manners... I’m so sorry, sir, they’re not used to dealing with travelers, let alone wounded ones... if you’d be so kind as to follow me?”

Throwing a withering glance at the group of elders, you direct your guest to the house the healers occupy. True, your little family is not used to encountering men in the state this very one is in, but you never expected such an exaggeration. A bit of unkempt hair and blood, pale skin, and they’re all screaming on the floor?

The reaction of the healers is not much different, and after reprimanding them for behaving so shamefully, you get them to treat the man’s hands. Leaving them alone so as not to disturb the setting, you make your way to the third and final cottage, your own. Since the other houses occupy four people each, it would be problematic to ask them to accommodate your own guest, and you take your time assembling an extra bed, improvising with blankets.

Nighttime is delightfully quiet, and as the door opens without warning, you greet the individual with a smile. Elders have taken the trouble to bring food for both you and him, announcing neither they nor the healers were in the mood to share dinner together.

The man’s hands are bandaged, his palms completely covered, and his thumbs trapped in the wrappings. He looks uncomfortable, and it shows in his inability to do anything on his own. His chopsticks are impossible to hold as he kneels on the floor and tries to eat, and after many urgings from you, he nods silently and almost imperceptibly, allowing you to help him.

“You see... you’re here, eating my food, under my roof, safe and comfortable... and I still don’t know your name...”

Teasing is imminent in your voice, hoping to relax him, if only a little. As he takes another bite and chews, his eyes are fixed on the table, like trying to hide from your presence.

After analyzing the end of your day alongside this presence, you assessed this man must be terribly shy, perhaps someone properly introverted. Still, observing his features, you get a strange familiarity, a feeling making you let your guard down and relax in front of him. A secret knocking at the door of your mind, demanding to burst in front of you but being invisible at the same time.

“... Uchiha...”

Without expecting an answer anymore, after several minutes, his voice surprises you. It sounds like that of someone who rarely uses it, raspy and rusty, as if it had been forgotten long ago, and not even the man himself remembers its ringing.

“Um?”

“Lord Uchiha...”

His name, you realize. Formal, a title.

Lord Uchiha continues in the same position, just like his words had been an illusion. It is impossible to keep giving him food, his attitude surly and refusing, and you wonder if he plans to spend the entire night in the same position if you allow him to.

Demandingly, you get him up and offer him your bed for the night.

He tries to take the spot you set up on the floor, and displays physical strength far beyond what you thought he had. There are firm muscles hiding under his stained white tunic, and they flex slightly every time he tries to change the course you both walk. He is probably holding back, you realize, for the way his forearm tenses. The stubbornness of this individual… as if he were someone unaccustomed to taking orders, leading rather than listening. Either way, he ends up tucked inside your room, buried under sheets and quilts so he doesn’t get cold.

You find your own resting place after closing the door and leaving your guest. There is not much room inside your small home, and yet, the greatest comforts are offered to those who really need them.

That night, a fearsome nightmare assaults your dreams. A pitch-black claw pierces your stomach from both sides, long nails tearing through skin and tissue like cloth. Blood pools at your feet, solidifying and making escape impossible. You feel your lips move in a choked scream, and a single word escapes your throat along with another red waterfall.

“... Indra...”

#Indra #otsutsuki indra #indra otsutsuki #otsutsuki clan #naruto #Naruto Shippuden #indra x reader #indra otsutsuki x reader

30 notes · View notes

redsbrainrot · 3 years

Text

Gruvia Week Day 6 - Agony

warning: mentions of blood

_ _ _

"Juvia, what're you doing up again?"

03:30 in the morning, Gray caught his wife of six months pondering around the kitchen, dressed in his shirt and nothing underneath it, other than silky underwear and knee-high, odd, socks covering her porcelain legs. Her hair had been in the same messy ponytail for the past two days; bumpy and greasy. She hadn't showered in almost a week.

She glances up at her Gray-sama, the portrayal on her face remains bleak as she blankly shrugs, "Can't sleep."

"Again?"

It'd been five days. Five days since the agonising, tragic loss she never even dreamed of having the trauma of going through. Awakening one day to buckets of rain dripping down the window, stomach cramps the same pain rate as being stabbed by a steak knife, and later that day her sheets are stained with blood dripping between her legs, followed by screams so harsh she'd lost her voice.

Juvia shakes her head at Gray's questioning, breaking the simple eye contact and continuing to circle around the central counter.

Gray forces her aimless pondering to stop as he takes her hand. Her eyes dart from the light grip on her hand to his eyes, hers narrowing in annoyance.

Gray couldn't bare it. Juvia never looked at him with such hatred. She can't control the way she's feeling right now, and he's aware that anything she may spit at him won't be from her heart. It's not her, he had to remind himself. She's suffered a loss, and he has too. Her end is only much, much more painful, as she was the one who had to experience losing her unborn child.

The two hadn't been married for long, and after Juvia discovers she's pregnant only five months into their marriage, she was delighted with excitement anyway. They never discussed exactly when kids could go on the table, yet the surprise out of nowhere was bliss.

Juvia would go day and night protesting she needed solitude, and begged him to take a job request. On the verge of accepting, he changed his mind in an instant and stayed for her. Gray couldn't control his thoughts and his worst fear was that Juvia may do something stupid to hurt herself.

She snatches her hand out of his grip, turning away and continuing to dawdle, "Juvia, can you come back to bed?" She shakes her head, "Please?" Another objection as Gray follows her circular path.

"Can you take a shower then? I think it'll do you good."

Her head shakes roughly this time, and Gray manages to catch a brief sound of sniffling, her feet remaining fixed on the floor.

"Bath?" Gray suggests, keeping his distance in case she slaps away his touch once more, "It'll make you sleepy."

With a release of an exhausted sigh, she agrees. "Fine." Juvia's never so blunt in her words.

"I'll run it," He leaps in front of her before she can enter their bedroom, "Lie down for a minute, okay?"

Juvia obliges, carefully placing herself on the edge of the mattress, not lying down, instead slouched in her seat, her fingers fiddling and pulling with the ends of her socks. Anything for a distraction.

Gray was still in surprise of how the girl hadn't yet fainted. She'd lacked in both sleep, and eating. Truthfully, he can't remember the last time he saw something enter her system. She hadn't dropped by the guild since before the incident, refused to allow people inside the apartment, including Gajeel, and had stop using the terms "Gray-sama", when referring to her beloved husband. Gray may have found it irritating way back in the day, but now it's just not the same. He can't stand watching her suffer. What struck him down most is that he may have been trying his best to make life easier for her, however nothing was helping.

The only other person aware of their current situation was Erza. She advised Gray he just needed to give her time, she'll come around eventually. Her biggest concern was Gray's wellbeing. He's gone through hell, and this time instead of moping around, complaining about life and frankly wishing he wasn't around anymore, he wasn't letting himself cry it out. He desperately wanted Juvia to at least smile. Her smile is what keeps him going. Without it, what's the point?

Honestly, all Gray needed right now was to weep his depressive thoughts into someone's chest. Only this time, he can't to Juvia. She's already killing herself with guilt.

Juvia dismally thanks Gray for running her bath as she enters the bathroom, her shirt already undone and the shoulders draping down her arms. Gray choses to leave her in peace, about to open the door and wait eyes open in their bed for her. Until Juvia latches her hand onto his, tugging him back inside. "Can you stay in here with me?"

Juvia swirls her hand around the decently heated water, while the other is in Gray's hand as he is sat on the floor next to the tub. Her hold was weak, but at least the two were touching each other, even if it was only a hand hold.

Neither of them spoke. Sitting in silence with each other was enough for now.

"I'm really sorry." Juvia startles Gray as her voice cracks, breaking the silence.

"For what?"

"The past few days," Her hand swirling ends, looking up with her watering eyes into Gray's, "I've been really cold to you. I'm not making this any easier."

"Nothing about this is easy, Juvia," If anything, Gray's wishes were the opposite of her sincere, unneeded and unwanted apologies, "You don't have to apologise. You don't need to," He lifts his hand from hers, brushing it down her dampened hair, caressing her cherubic cheeks, "It's only your way of coping. I know you don't mean anything you say."

Juvia appreciates nothing more than her darling's kind words. Even though no smile was emitted, he knew she took his words to heart as her hand placed on top of his, turning her face slightly and planting her lips on the corner of his palm.

Unfortunately, his light touches and sweet words weren't enough for her to keep back a gush of tears. Her gloomful teardrops splatter into his hand, whimpers and sniffles following.

_ _ _

Juvia pleaded Gray to leave her in peace in the lukewarm bathtub after her flood of tears had escaped. Gray was unsure of what to say. All she needed from him was brief contact, and of course an immediate change of heart occurred as her drops of sadness had faded.

Gray left behind another one of his shirts and some clean underwear for Juvia. He refused to acknowledge his exhaustion and remained awake while patiently awaiting Juvia's return to their bedroom.

Almost 04:30, Gray peeps up at the door as it creaks open. Juvia tiresomely walks through, the drips in her wet hair seeping through her braids, and the buttons on her shirt done up in the wrong order. It didn't bother her, though. She probably didn't even notice.

Gray opens up the covers for her side, the eye contact absent as she crawls in beside him, switching off the lamp as she does so.

Juvia lays on her side, facing Gray yet not exchanging any form of contact with him. Gray desperately wanted to pull her close to him, cuddle in their sleep and once again be comfortable with one another. She craved the space, though.

"Juvia," He breathes, trailing his hand towards hers, implying a moment of contact, which thankfully she agrees to, "I hate seeing you beat yourself up."

Silence.

"Tomorrow will you at least go outside? Even if it's only a small walk."

Her grip in his hand loosens, thinking it over. "I don't know..."

After picturing the absolute elation portrayed on her face, spectating her suffering was agonising for him.

At first, she was panicky, anxious and frightened of what Gray would think of her pregnancy. On the outside, she remained mature and adult-like, keeping the situation and her emotions under control.

"Gray-sama?" Juvia starts as she's sat on the bathroom counter, Gray opposite and leant on the wall with his arms folded, "What if it really is positive? What will we do?"

Juvia had been concerned whether she was pregnant or not for about four days. She first noticed her period was late, but that had happened before. Her cycle was up and down, so the notice in change wasn't a first sign of pregnancy.

"What do you want?" Gray wasn't sure at this point.

Gray was the one who proposed taking a pregnancy test just to make sure, as much as Juvia objected that she couldn't possibly be.

"Well, would Gray-sama mind if Juvia is pregnant? Would it bother you?"

Gray's response is quick with a head shake, "To be honest, no." Juvia peers up with her teeth nibbling her lip, "My main concern if you, Juvia. If you don't want to have a baby right now, that's your choice. This isn't really mine to make." Gray's tone had always been bland and he's a closed book, making their moment difficult for Juvia.

"I want your opinion, Gray-sama."

He tilts his head for a moment, what did he really think about this?

"I..." Gray questioned his possible skills as a father, already wondering whether he made a good husband before hand, "We've been married for almost six months, and these months have been the best of my life. I like having fun with you, when it's just the two of us. I know you want kids at some point, and so do I. So... if you wanna have a baby now, I'd be happy with it."

Juvia profoundly smiles at his honesty. She'd enjoyed her relationship with Gray-sama before they were even in one. She's loved him for years, and being pregnant with his baby would make her happier than ever. Even if it's sooner than she thought it'd happen.

She realises the timer had ended, and takes the test behind her, hovering her thumb over the result before taking a look. Gray steps closer, grabbing her hand while staring down at the test. Trembling, she slips her thumb aside to see two red lines, indicating a positive test.

"Juvia, I'm back." Gray announces himself as he enters their apartment.

As he closes the door, he quickly takes note how it's suddenly began to pour rain from outside. The windows are drowning in the water, and only a moment ago the sun was out. He hadn't seen rain like this in god knows how long.

"Juvia?" He calls again, after no response.

After searching the kitchen and living room, he heads to their bedroom. He opens the door to notice ruffled sheets, and towards the edge of the bed, a puddle of red was sinking into the mattress.

Gray catches the sounds of whimpers coming from the bathroom. Struck with confusion, he storms inside and witnesses his wife on the dark towel covering the tiled floor, dressed in one of his shirts. For support, her arms depended on the edge of the bathtub, while her face dug into her arm, soaking with tears.

Gray drops to the floor, gently shaking her arm in attempt to get words out of her. She refuses, shaking her head over and over again as her whimpers become cries of distraught. Finally, Gray notices a gush of blood between her legs.

#gruvia week #gruvia week 2021 #fairy tail #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #writing #gruvia angst

89 notes · View notes