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sortofanobsession · 1 year

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Will o’ the Wisp - Ch. 7 (Umbrella Academy WIP) Diego x Reader slow burn

Author’s note: Another chapter. Events of Episode 1x06 The Day That Wasn't. Rough Translations are at the end. Enjoy.

So as it goes, Y/N = your name. Y/N/N = your nickname. Reader pronouns She/Her.

Tag Requests are Open just message me.

Primary Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Female!Reader (Slow Burn Season 1)

Series/TUA Masterlist

Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 8

Word count: 4k+

Content Warning: Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Drugs, Withdrawals, Mentions of Death, Knives, Arguing, Sibling Rivalry, Guilt, Cussing/Swearing, Canon Typical Neglect, Manipulation, Violence, Angst

Chapter 7: Nothing That Matters

“Oh, good,” Luther says as he sees Klaus. “You're up. We need to talk. You, me, and the others. So meet me in the living room. Like, now-ish.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a real rager,” Klaus replies. “But my schedule's already chock-full.”

“Yeah, no time for that,” Luther says. “The world's ending in three days.”

“Excuse me?” Y/N stares at him as Allison gives out the coffee she brought for everyone.

“Three days?” Allison repeats.

“That's what Five said,” Luther tells them.

“The old bastard did mention the apocalypse, come to think of it," Klaus says. “He just left out the part about how soon.”

The glow around Y/N shifts, intensifying before seeming to pull tighter around her. She rubs her arms. She thinks about everything she has talked to her brothers about in the past few days and consciously pulls the Wisp in to try and hide her feelings better than she has in the past. She and Five used to be close. It's not until she feels Diego next to her that she looks at him. “I thought it was drunk hyperbole,” she tells him.

“We all did,” Diego assures her.

“But can we trust him? I don't know if you've noticed, but Five's a little…” Allison asks, whistling and gesturing that he is cuckoo.

“Our little psycho,” Klaus chuckles.

“He was pretty convincing,” Luther notes. “If he wasn't trying to stop an apocalypse, those lunatics wouldn't be chasing him.”

“That's why they were after him?” Diego asks.

“Yeah.”

“What did Five even see?” Allison asks Luther.

Luther hesitates, “Uh... Apparently, we all fought together against whoever was responsible.”

“And he didn’t tell you, Y/N?” Allison asks.

“No, he told me that he had it handled, and he’d tell me if it didn’t work.”

“I guess it didn’t work,” Diego states.

“Okay.” Luther says awkwardly as he stands up from his seat, seemingly wanting to move on. “So, here's the plan.” Luther begins, “Uh, we go through Dad's research…”

“Wait, what?” Allison asks. “Hold on, hold on.”

“Maybe I should try and find those assassins. I can-” Y/N starts.

“We need a plan first,” Diego tells her.

“As I said, Dad’s research,” Luther tries to explain again.

“Wait a tick, wait a tick, wait a tick.” Klaus asks. “What actually happened the first time around?”

“Yeah." Diego agrees. "What are you not tellin' us? Come on, big boy, spit it out.”

Luther sighs and mumbles an answer. “We died.”

“What was that?” Allison asks him.

He coughs and clarifies. “I said, uh, we died.”

Y/N reaches over without thinking and grabs Diego’s hand. He grips her hand tight. It is too quiet as it seems to sink in.

Diego tosses a knife in the air and catches it like a nervous habit behind the bar. Y/N has her elbows on the bar in front of them and rubs at her temples. He watches her closely as she leans heavily against the surface.

"No, we need to figure this out."

"Is it just us?"

"It's everybody."

"In the house?"

"The whole planet?"

"No, outside the house."

"Everyone died."

"Wow," she breathes and startles slightly when she feels a hand on her back. She looks up to find a slightly concerned-looking Diego glancing from her to the entryway where Viktor and Leonard now stand. She follows his gaze and immediately strengthens up. Diego's hand stays where it is. She finds it oddly comforting. She isn't used to people showing up and her not noticing through the Wisp. Her brothers might be right, and she is pushing it too far. She leans into Diego without thinking. He doesn't seem to mind. He just shifts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her in tight against his side. On instinct, she pulls the Wisp in as much as she can to dim her glow and lets Diego sort of shield her from the stranger now in the room.

Viktor gives her an odd look at how she practically shrinks into Diego's side before shifting their gaze to Diego's stern look and then to the others.

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

"What's going on?" Viktor asks.

"It's a family matter."

"A family matter. So you couldn't bother to include me."

"V, we-" she tries but gives up as the others start. She just leans further into Diego.

"You're okay. I got you," he whispers to her, nearly against her temple, before he turns back to watch the rest of the group.

"No, it's not like that," Luther tries.

"We were-"

"Don't let me interrupt," Viktor tells them.

"Wait."

"I'll fill you in later when we're alone," Allison tells her.

"Please, please, don't bother,” Viktor says. “And I won't either."

"Viktor, that's not fair."

"Fair? There's nothing fair about being your brother,” Viktor looks at them all. “I have been left out of everything for as long as I can remember. And I used to think it was Dad's fault, but he's dead. So it turns out you're the assholes."

“Ouch,” Klaus says. They all feel it.

Y/N leans her forehead against Diego’s shoulder and wishes the ground would just swallow her whole. They all feel guilty. Diego doesn’t like that feeling, so he does what he does best, focuses on something else. Something he can do. Like running his hand along her arm to anchor her. To give her something else to focus on too.

“Viktor’s just angry,” Diego whispers. “You always tried, but Dad never let him in on what mattered.”

“Doesn’t matter, V still hates us,” she says, but it comes out mumbled on his shoulder.

"I'm gonna go find Viktor and explain," Allison says.

"No, wait, there isn't time."

At that, Y/N just closes her eyes and basically gives up holding her own weight. She knows Diego has her. The Wisp is still hidden away. And she takes a moment to just embrace the dark. One moment of weakness won't kill her. She misses the confused look from Klaus and the concerned one from Luther. "Get on with it," Diego mouths, holding her tight as best he can with his good arm.

"We need to figure out what causes the apocalypse," the discussion starts again.

"Now, there are loads of possibilities. Nuclear war, asteroids.” Everyone seems to be at least somewhat focused.

She just listens.

“But I'm thinking this is about the Moon."

"Right? Dad must have sent me up there for a reason,” Luther agrees. "And I was giving him daily updates on the conditions, I sent field samples."

"The first thing we need to do-is find his research."

"Hold on. Hold the phone," Klaus interrupts. "We all died fighting this thing the first time around. Remember?”

“Klaus, shockingly, has a point,” Diego says. “What gives us a win this time?"

"Five. Last time we didn't have him. We weren't all together. This time, we'll have the full force of the Umbrella Academy. That's what we need."

"So, where's Five now?"

"Nowhere I've found," she says as she finally opens her eyes and lets the Wisp form. She attempts to strengthen her resolve. They have too much to do. It’s selfish for her to put all her strength in Diego. He has his own fight to finish.She moves to stand on her own.

"Well, he had a plan to change the timeline," Luther informs. “He'll be back soon."

"I'm going after Hazel and Cha-Cha," Diego says as he pulls away from her now that she has it more together. She smiles sadly. She knew he’d say that.

"What, right now?" Luther asks.

"Hell, yeah. Three days. I'm losing light by the minute."

"Wait, Diego," Luther tries to stop him. "Look, I know you wanna avenge your friend, but we got a bigger problem here."

"She wasn't just some friend. If I'm gonna die, I need to know I killed those bastards first."

"It's not about Dad," Diego says.

"It's not about me."

While Diego and Luther argue, Klaus looks at Y/N

“You okay, Sunshine?” Klaus asks.

“Just a bit tired,” she admits. “How about you? You look a little green around the gills.”

Klaus chuckles. “No need to worry about me, Sunshine.”

“Wanna take a nap like the old days?” she asks.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” Klaus smirks. “But raincheck, there’s something I need to do.”

“Okay.” She huffs a laugh.

"The longer I wait, Hazel-” Diego continues to argue.

“You don't have to do this alone,” Luther tells him. "I know how important this is to you."

"Stop making it about you." Diego glares.

"I'm coming with you," she says since she couldn’t convince Klaus to rest. Maybe she could help keep Diego out of trouble.

"You're staying here," he tells her.

"Not happening," she shakes her head.

"Not up for debate," he insists. "You're exhausted, and you didn't even notice Viktor got here. Your guard is down because you need sleep. Fin de la discusión."

"Klaus? Klaus?” Luther looks at Klaus as he starts to leave. “Klaus!"

Klaus is caught. "Yeah! Sorry."

"So, what?” Luther affronts. “You're giving up on the world, too?"

"Yeah, pretty much.” Klaus nods. “Yeah. Mm-hmm."

"So that's it. You're cool with us all dying in three days? I can't believe it."

"It's just us,” Luther looks at Allison, but Allison already has her mind made up. He can tell she does. “Oh, please, not you, too."

"I have to book a flight back to LA. If this happens I have to be with my daughter, custody be damned. And you said it yourself we need the full force of the Academy to even stand a chance.

I'm sorry, Luther."

Luther looks over at Y/N.

“I’m here, Luther. I’ll help, but Diego’s right. I’m no use to anyone if V and her friend could get the drop on the Wisp. Anyone can. Just give me a couple of hours to rest up, you find that research, and I’ll help you go through it. Or I can search once I’ve gotten some sleep.”

“Fine,” Luther relents.

“It’s a few hours, and then I can get back to going at lightspeed. I’ll be able to literally speed this process up. So, wake me up when Five gets here, or you find anything. Okay, big brother?” She gives his forearm a squeeze to attempt to reassure him.

“Yeah, okay, I will.” He agrees. He notices Allison raising an eyebrow as she gathers her things.

“We get gruff, and she gets off easy?” Allison smirks, but there is a hint of hurt to it. “Since when is she your ‘little sister’? Or is it because you’re Number One and she’s Number Eight?”

Luther is confused for a second by the strange look. “She says it because I’m literally huge now. She thinks it’s funny, and it’s not mean, not the way she means it. It…solidarity? I don’t know. It’s- she wanted me to know I’m not the only that can’t hide who they are. She can’t just turn the glow off. She means well. But that’s not important. She’s right. She needs sleep. She’s the only other person that has been trying to get everyone on the same team. And honestly, she keeps Diego in line better than anyone else. She’s trying to help, probably too much. And that’s more than anyone else is willing to do. That and her plan actually works and could benefit all of us. I don’t see anyone else trying. Or staying.”

“Rude,” Allison says. “But point taken.”

Y/N goes to get something to eat and is absolutely shocked to see Grace.

“Mom?” she smiles.

“Y/N, are you alright? You look tired.”

“I am, but you’re back. That’s great. Diego will be so happy.”

Grace smiles. “How can I help you?”

“It’s fine I was just going to get a snack and take a nap.”

“Sit, I will make you something to eat,” Grace tells her.

“That’s not necessary, Mom, I can-”

“If you truly are tired, then I must insist,” Grace states. “It’s for your safety. Can’t risk our little ray of sunshine.”

She knows better than to argue with Grace. So she sits at the table and waits. Grace starts to make her something to eat. She smiles when Grace sets a bowl of fresh oatmeal in front of her.

“Something hearty that hopefully won't upset your stomach while you rest,” Grace tells her.

“You always know just what we need,” she smiles up at Grace. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime, Y/N,” Grace returns her smile easily. “I am happy to help.” She listens to Grace tidy up the kitchen as she eats.

“I hate this room,” Diego says.

“Oh, it got me high enough. I picked it clean of anything of value after Daddy kicked the bucket.

That's it, tighter and higher. Ooh. Ouf! Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Fine.”

“Ooh! Aah! - Aah!”

“If I see a boner, I'm out,” Diego tells him. “End of the world and you wanna get sober all of a sudden. Don't get me wrong, man. Good by you. But I'd think you'd wanna pop every pill on the planet.”

“Oh, the thought did cross my mind, believe me,” Klaus admits, “but there's something I need to do, and the whole pesky thing doesn't seem to work unless I'm sober.”

“Is this is about conjuring the one you lost? What was her name?”

“His name was Dave,” Klaus says. “We soldiered together in the A Shau Valley in the Mountain of the Crouching Beast.”

“Well, Dave must have been a very special person to put up with your weird-ass shit.”

“Yeah,” Klaus agrees. “Yeah, he was He was kind, and strong, and vulnerable, and beautiful.

Beautiful. And I was foolish enough to follow him all the way to the front line.”

“You fought in the shit?” Diego is a bit shocked.

“Oh yeah, baby.”

“How'd they let you do that?”

“Let me? War couldn't take enough bodies. Please. Including his.”

“Hey, look at us,” Klaus says. “Loggin' in some quality bro time before the end of the world.”

“Yeah, might as well.” Diego admits. “Everyone I like is already dead.”

“Ah, yes. The lady cop.”

“Yeah.”

“Mom, too. I let them both down. So here I am. Alone with you.” Diego pats Klaus’ shoulder.

“You still have Sunshine. Doesn’t Y/N count?” Diego doesn’t answer. He just turns to leave.

“Ah, shit!” Klaus curses.

“What?” turns around to ask.

“I need to pee.”

Y/N changes course on her way to her room when she hears voices in what is usually just a quiet storage area of the house.

“You know, no, I,” She hears Klaus say. “I think I think this was Whoa. Wait.” She hears when she is closer to the door. “I think this was a bad idea.”

“What is-” she asks herself but stops.

“I just I should have had just one last hit to ease me into it. That's all I need.”

She sighs.

“No, no, no.”

“I'll be right back,” Klaus says.

“I don't think so,” she hears Diego say.

“That's not how it works, Diego.”

“Nope,” Diego's tone confident. “Sit down.”

“Diego, listen,” she hears Klaus beg. “Just listen.”

“Sit.”

“Just listen.”

She moves closers when she hears Klaus coughing and groaning.

“Sit your ass down. Sit down. Sit down.”

“Nope.”

“Stop it!”

“Nope!”

“Get off!”

“Get…Get off! Get off!”

She couldn’t stand it anymore, she rushes in. “What the fuck?!” She stares in shock at the scene before her. Diego is tying Klaus to a chair.

“Sunshine!” Klaus shouts. But Diego doesn’t stop. “Damn it, Diego! - Damn it! Stop it!” Klaus puts up a fight. She goes to stop him.

“STAY PUT!” Diego shouts at Klaus. She slaps Diego across the face the moment he turns to her so he can explain. Both Diego and Klaus freeze, stunned by what just happened.

“EXPLAIN NOW!” she demands.

“He asked me to!” Diego shouts as Klaus goes to get up. Diego moves to stop him.

“STOP!” She shouts. “Just…stop.”

“Tell her,” Diego demands of Klaus.

“Sunshine, I-” Klaus starts. He eyes the angry red tint of the Wisp.

“The truth,” Diego instructs. When Klaus doesn’t say anything, she looks at Diego.

“He asked me to tie him up so he could sober up and would be able to summon the guy he lost.”

“And he changed his mind?” she asks.

“I’m right here,” Klaus grumbles.

“He’s an addict, of course he’s going to fight it, he-”

She held her hand up to stop him. “Okay, just…” she weighs her options. None of them seem anything short of painful or distressing. “And you both agree this is the only way?”

“He said it was," Diego explains. "And he agreed the first time I tied him up. Then he had to pee.” She sighs and rubs at her temples. If Klaus had admitted that this is how it needs to be. It might be true. She knows how he is with these things. She gets why he asked Diego. He knew she wouldn't have done it. She caves too easily when Klaus begs. She just hates to see her siblings suffer.

“Okay,” she relents and waves at Diego. When it’s clear she might actually let Diego finish, Klaus starts begging again.

"Seriously?" Klaus stares at her. "Come on, Sunshine, please."

"If you told him this was the only way," she says. Diego takes it as the go-ahead to keep tying Klaus up.

"Don't you love me?" Klaus tries, his eyes on her.

"Of course, but if I-" she starts, but Diego isn't having it.

"Don't put this on her," Diego scolds. "You asked for this. She offered you a nap and probably cuddles like when you were kids. You said no. You said it has to be this. We already went over this."

“Listen, listen. Listen to me. Listen to me. I can conjure her for you,” Klaus tells him. His sister gapes in shock. “Patch! I can-”

“Don't use her name like that, okay?” Diego half snaps. She looks between them, unsure if she should step in and just end this entire situation.

“Sunshine, please,” Klaus looks up at her.

“Diego, maybe-” she starts.

“We all know he can't conjure shit until clean,” Diego says to her before turning back to Klaus. “I don't wanna see her until I can tell her that I buried the bastards that killed her.”

“Please. Please, Y/N, Diego. Please. Please.” Every alarm is going off in her head to help him.

“Trust me, Luz, this is probably the safest way to do this. He can't hurt himself this way,” Diego tries to assure her before again turning to Klaus and holding up a bucket. “This is for next time. Puke, pee, whatever you need. Multipurpose. See?”

“Diego…” she starts, but he stands up and grabs her wrist, and tugs her towards the door.

“He’ll thank us later.”

“Y/N! Diego! Guys, please come back! Diego! You prick!”

Diego doesn’t let her go until they can’t hear Klaus shouting anymore.

"Luz," he starts as he sees her looking back the way they came. "You have to trust me. Trust him."

"Maybe I should use Wisp to-" she starts to walk back, but he cuts her off.

"To what? Make sure he stays in the chair while he begs and prods at your psyche. He will say anything in that state. You heard him. He already questioned if you loved him. And we all know you do. Because you have always looked after him. He will tear you down, and you'll end up hurting. And he'll sober up and then feel bad, I would hope. He'll apologize, and you will forgive him, but ultimately, you'll both be more broken and worse off than you started. Or you cave, he gets high, he still ends up hurting you, and none of us can do anything. So I'm going to stop you now because I don't want any of that. Not for you. Not for him. This is what he wants. To see Dave, to be able to use his powers for something other than the shit dad made him do. I know you are used to saving him, but if we survive all this, he needs to be able to do this all on his own." She looks back down the hall.

"But he-"

"Hey," he grabs her chin gently with his good hand and turns her to look at him. "This sucks for you after what happened. You thought you lost him. I know, but it'll be good for you too. You won't have to worry as much if he is sober and can handle things better."

"Okay," she agrees.

"Good," Diego pulls her into a one-armed hug.

"But are you okay?" She asks when they pull apart.

"What?" He looks at her. "He didn't make it easy to do one-handed but-"

"He brought up Patch, and earlier, you said-"

"I just want to find the assholes that killed her-"

"And shot both of us," she adds.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten," he grumbles. "And we don't have much time to do it."

"Want me to look for them?"

"Not yet, but if it comes to it, I'll let you know."

"Okay."

He makes sure she actually goes to her room before he heads downstairs to leave. He is shocked when he runs into Grace.

"How are you walking around?" Diego asks Grace.

"One foot in front of the other," she replies easily. "Why? How do you do it?"

"Mom, I - What's the last thing you remember?"

"Oh, let's see," she begins. "March 21st. Sunset was 7:33 p.m. Moon was waxing crescent. Dinner was Cornish hen, rice, carrots."

"Mom, that happened over a week ago," Diego tells her. "Do you remember anything else?"

"No. Not until I made breakfast earlier for Y/N," she admits before adding. “I suppose that's odd.”

“You made breakfast for Y/N?” He asks. His sister hadn’t mentioned it. Then again, she had been focused on Klaus when she found them. He can’t really blame her for not mentioning it. But it was odd.

"She looked so tired, but she was headed off to her room to rest when she finished. Is she not there now? I should check-”

“No, Mom, she’s there. I just left her there.”

“That’s good. She needs her rest,” Grace says before shifting the topic. “I wonder what the weather is like today. It would be nice to go to the park."

"Dad, never let you off the grounds," Diego tells her. Grace grips his good hand.

"Your father isn't here anymore," she says, hinting she knows more, but Diego doesn't notice, or if he does, he doesn't care.

"You can do whatever you want, Mom," he states.

“Unless you’d rather wait for your sister?” Grace offers.

“No, no…she needs her rest,” he nods. “Let’s go.”

He takes her for a walk in the park, where no one can hear them.

"Dad was wrong for keeping you locked up all those years. I should have said something. We all should have."

"There's something else that needs to be said, Diego. Pogo and I, we've been lying. Lying to all of you."

*Five resets everything, and it’s back to earlier in the day, 8:15 a.m.*

Diego keeps Y/N tucked into his side and ignores the odd looks he gets from their siblings. He really doesn't care.

"We all died fighting this thing the first time around." He feels her tense against him as Klaus reminds them. "Remember?"

"Klaus, shockingly, has a point," Diego says. "What gives us a win this time?" He moves to block her from the violent swirling portal and pulls a knife to face any threat that comes through. Five drops out of the portal and onto the bar with a briefcase. Diego feels her grip tighten on his shirt.

"Je-Jesus!" Allison startles.

"You guys, am I still high," Klaus asks. "Or do you see him, too?"

"Five?" Y/N asks as she moves out from behind Diego. "What happened?"

"Five, where have you been?"

"Are you all right?"

"Who did this?

Five steals Allison’s coffee after getting down off the bar.

"Irrelevant." Five says. "So, the apocalypse is in three days. The only chance we have to save our world is, well, us."

"The Umbrella Academy," Luther adds.

"Yeah, but with me,” Five states. “Obviously. So if y'all don't get your sideshow acts together and get over yourselves, we're screwed."

"Who cares if Dad messed us up? Are we gonna let that define us? No." Klaus shakes his head, seemly agreeing with what Five has said. Five continues. “And to give us a fighting chance to see next week, I've come back with a lead."

"I know who's responsible for the apocalypse,” he tells all of you. “This is who we have to stop."

"Harold Jenkins?” Allison reads.

“Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?" Diego asks.

Translations:

"Fin de la discusión." End of discussion.

4 notes · View notes

intotheelliwoods · 9 months

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This is part 2! Part 1 can be found here~

Masterpost

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kitkatscabinet · 7 months

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Whumptober - 03 Withdrawals

Simon Riley x gn! reader

Warnings: mentions of substance abuse, opiate withdrawals, vomit

Simon was concerned, he'd been concerned since the bullet tore through the meat of your thigh. He’d been the one to pull you to cover, it had been his hands staunching the blood flow and it had been him you’d leaned on during physical therapy.

Even when the medics had prescribed opiates for the pain. He’d swallowed his discomfort attempting to keep a close watch over you and your usage. You’d seemed fine, seemingly as off-put as him by having to rely on such addictive substances in order to stave off the pain.

You’d seemed fine.

Your recovery was going well, the doctors, physical therapists and psychologist had all seemed optimistic that you’d be field-ready in near record time.

You’d seemed fine.

How had he failed to notice? He’d seen it before in his father, in Tommy. In hindsight, all the signs had been there. You’d tired more easily, were calmer - lethargic even and your attention span was even shorter than usual. You’d waved it off as the effects of vigorously throwing yourself in training, wanting to get back to your peak physical form.

Simon had ignored the signs, desperately not wanting to admit that another one of his loved ones had succumbed to the addictive effects of prescription drugs. He’d ignored the signs until it was too late, until he’d found you slumped over in a hallway shivering and covered in sweat. You don’t even notice his presence, not even when he hauls you into his arms and starts running down the hallway all the while trying to shake you back into consciousness.

It’s not until he deposits you under the cold spray of a shower that you start to stir, moaning in confusion as you attempt to orient yourself. You try to move but Simon has you locked against his chest, his arms the only thing keeping you from collapsing onto the tiles.

“Wha?” you slur, blinking lethargically as you struggle to keep your eyes open. Vaguely you recognise the voice of the person holding you, but you struggle to make out any of his words. Your head is so heavy, chin resting against your chest, giving you a close-up view of a familiar tattooed arm. “Simon?”

The man grunts his affirmation, one hand moving to sweep the hair from your face. You don’t get to appreciate the gesture for very long before you’re slumping to the side as far as you can within the confines of his arms and emptying the limited contents of your stomach. It burns your oesophagus, choking you as you attempt to breathe through the bile. Tears spill from your eyes from the pain and embarrassment.

Simon doesn’t comment on it though, simply continuing to hold you up and whisper words of encouragement. You’re uncertain as to how long you stay under the cold spray but at some point, you close your eyes only to wake up in another room, a towel around your shoulders as Simon attempts to dry you off.

“You need to get out of these clothes love, can you do that?” Giving it a few seconds of thought you nod, waiting for Simon to reluctantly turn around. It’s a struggle but you manage to wriggle out of your wet shirt and dry your torso enough to slip on the shirt Simon had laid out next to you. It’s a long and tiring process and more than once you��d had to reassure Simon you were still ok.

Though you were quickly forced to admit that you needed help, all of your muscles shaking uncontrollably. “Si, I need help” you quietly admitted. Turning your head to the side in shame, closing your eyes so wouldn’t see his disappointment. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Simon is infinitely respectful, averting his eyes to maintain as much of your modesty as possible.

His touch is gentle, though every slight brush of fingers on your skin burned. He continues to act in silence, bundling you up in what you now recognise as his blanket. It’s enough that the dam finally breaks and you start sobbing earnestly, chest heaving for air as you lay shivering in his bed.

“‘M sorry.” You moan unable to articulate your shame in any other way as you continue to apologise over and over. Simon doesn’t offer a verbal reply but he does take a place by your side, smoothing his hand through your wet hair.

Time becomes meaningless after that and all you know is misery. Your body fluctuates rapidly between hot and cold flushes that have you attempting to escape from the cocoon Simon has you trapped in. Yet the hulking abomination won’t let you move, even as you snap and scream at him. He’s not even phased by the intense nausea, placing a bucket beneath you just in time as your traitorous stomach continues to expel bile even when your stomach is beyond emptied.

He wipes your sweat and hydrates you, taking your hurled abuse stoically, never once blaming you. He maintains his silent vigil, sacrificing his own sleep to watch over your own incredibly broken slumber. Much to your own horror he even escorts you to the bathroom, never more than a few feet away. It’s a new level of mortifying, the entire experience frays your nerves down to nothing. Yet no matter what you throw at him, Simon stays.

“Why are you helping me? You should’ve handed me off to the med bay. ‘Ts not your job to clean up my fuck ups” you whisper. The question comes a few days into the torture, you’ve regained some clarity but the hellish symptoms showed no sign of improving. A few minutes ago you’re pretty sure you’d even called him ‘fuckin cunt’ when he’d refused to give you any sort of medication. He pauses in his movement of using a wet cloth to wipe the sweat from your forehead, barely taking any time to think of a response.

“Do I need a reason?” There’s a heaviness to his words that you don’t quite understand and he doesn’t elaborate. How could he explain to you, the sheer terror that had grasped his heart when he’d found you slumped over? The self-loathing he’d been battling since he’d come to terms with your affliction?

“No… but I’d like one. I’m pretty sure I vomited on you a few times and you didn’t even complain. I’d have decked you for that.” It’s an attempt at a joke but it evidently doesn’t land, his hand stilling in its path as he seemed to have some kind of internal debate.

“I care about you, that’s reason enough.” He offers no further elaboration and you sense that you’d already pushed far enough for the moment.

“Well now I just feel like an arsehole” you mumbled, trying to lighten the mood. Luckily your remark gets a light chuckle from your brooding companion as silence descends once more. A wave of exhaustion suddenly hits you and for once you don’t fight its pull, though you vow the next time you wake to grill Simon even further. Before you fall asleep once more you manage to mutter, “I care enough about you that I’d let you vomit on me too.”

The last thing you hear before the darkness overtakes you is a laugh, the first genuine laugh you’d heard from him in days. It’s a small victory but you take it, allowing yourself to finally feel just a little bit of hope.

#x reader #cod mw x reader #cod simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost #whumptober #tw withdrawal #tw substance abuse

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 month

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ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

#whump #ptsd tw #alcholism tw #withdrawal tw #alcoholic whumpee #recovering whumpee #recovery whump #vincent shield is not a hero #erase to control #since kauri makes an appearance #jameson bb #box boy universe #drunk whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #briefly and not on purpose

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 4 months

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Whump Prompt #1332

TW: Substance Abuse | Overdose

Anon asked:

Do you have some prompts for a whumpee struggling with substance abuse after some bad things happening in their life, and their friend / caretaker supporting them through it?

A few:

Maybe the caretaker notices erratic behaviour and decides to address it gently. This could lead to a discussion, or even an argument if the whumpee tries to deny it despite the evidence being clear. (Why do they try to deny it? Are they ashamed? Embarrassed? Worried about what people are going to think?)

The caretaker could find out about the abuse when the whumpee hits rock bottom. They could get a call from the hospital/a concerned friend etc. Maybe they haven't heard from the whumpee in a few days, so decide to do a welfare check of sorts. They could get there just in time to witness the whumpee overdosing.

Does the whumpee relapse? Do the caretakers threaten to give up on them?

^ I like the idea of the caretaker saying that in private, but the whumpee accidentally overhears.

During recovery they celebrate small victories - a day sober, three days sober, a week sober etc etc. It becomes tradition to get a cake for every milestone. Maybe at a longer milestone - when the whumpee as gotten much better - it's not until late at night that they realise it's a milestone day. Their only option is to go to a gas station to find a cake, but their only choices are the questionable hotdogs, flowers, a chocolate bar, or even more questionable sushi.

At first the whumpee rejects professional help, but seeing the strain it puts on the caretakers, they decide to seek out a therapist.

Don't forget the withdrawal symptoms.

What kind of coping mechanisms do they put in place? Chewing gum? Knitting? Folding laundry?

On the emotional side - the whumpee has to work very hard to repair the relationships they damaged.

#whump #writing #prompts #angst #ideas #withdrawal #drugs tw #addiction tw #substance abuse tw #overdose tw #comfort #recovery #worry

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neuroticboyfriend · 6 months

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hate when people talk about addicts in withdrawal seeking meds as if meds are purely optional and they should just be forced to suffer through it. as if it isn't a gnawing and painful and scary experience. as if it doesn't kill people or at the least make them wish they were dead. do you have any idea how taxing even "mild" withdrawal is. there is no sickness like withdrawal sickness.

if someone isnt ready for other options, medicine or otherwise, i am begging you to just let them have drugs. forcing people to be clean isn't "saving them," it's forcing them to suffer and denying them autonomy. you might even be killing them. it's not just a "oh you feel unwell, you'll get over it." people have seizures and fevers. they stop eating, vomit, and get dangerously dehydrated. they experience severe mental health complications, including suicidality.

like ultimately. if you would rather an addict be dead from withdrawal because you couldn't stomach letting them make their own choice about their own body... consider maybe you are being a bad person. even if drugs end up killing them, that is their action to take. their fate should belong to them and you are not meant to be a savior (whether withdrawal would kill them or not). you are one person and can only do so much, without hurting someone else.

disclaimer obviously yes it is good to encourage people towards recovery but forced treatment or denying treatment is not that. forcing someone into withdrawal is definitely not treatment either. that is not at all the same. it's just a human rights violation.

#softspoonie #addiction #addict #ableism #addiction recovery #recovering addict #withdrawal #sanism #death tw #mentally ill #mental illness #mental health #mental disorder #human rights #bodily autonomy #body autonomy

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heartnosekid · 4 months

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hey friends, i wanted to share some things that are going on in my life right now. mostly for possible support, since it is really difficult going through this right now and i wonder if any of y’all have been through the same.

in july, i had three psychogenic non epileptic seizures (PNES) which required me to go to the hospital. they were caused by extreme nervous system stress, i.e. ptsd and panic attacks combined with the fact i was trying to self medicate with cbd and delta 8. super scary, never experienced a fear and strangeness like that before.

since then, i have had like. no full seizures but instances where i felt like i did before the onset of having the three in july.

i am now coming off cymbalta, the second SNRI i have had to come off in the last three years. i am experiencing pretty intense withdrawals and i was wondering if anyone else has had experience with cymbalta withdrawal as well and if anyone could tell me what their experience was like.

essentially my withdrawal symptoms are feeling similar to how the onset of the PNE seizures felt, and i am kind of just. i guess super scared. i have a support system IRL, but regardless of that, whenever i have these symptoms, i feel so alone and isolated. not necessarily in a lonely way, but in the way that i feel the extremest thing is going to happen and no one will be able to help me, if you know what i mean.

so yeah. i’m sorry to vent here, health problems have really been kicking my hind-end in recent years and now the seizures and withdrawals on top of it has really made things more complicated. and i wanted to know if anyone else has any similar experiences, because if someone has shared my experience, it will somehow calm me down. i will be responding to all comments left on this post btw.

as always, i love you all. very very much. if i miss any trigger tags on this post, please let me know and i will fix it accordingly.

- ish 💕

#ish talks #mental health #medication tw #withdrawal symptoms #PNES #cymbalta #drug ment tw #health problems

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nanomooselet · 3 months

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My Brother's Keeper (V)

This whole memory retrieval/assimilation scene is interesting for a number of reasons (putting aside the continuous wails of agony emitted watching it; I know I discuss it calmly, but that's because I'm a wizard I compartmentalise/modulate my tone in text. Hooray for incomplete degrees).

In the score, this bit is called "The Memory World of Knives" - these are Knives's memories, ones that he can share with Vash for whatever reason. By that token, then, it's how you can figure out which incidents Knives has direct knowledge of and involvement in.

He remembers the blood-soaked room of withered Plants, of course. Doubt he'll ever forget it. Not because of the Last Run, but because it's when Vash turned on him and their confrontation was put on pause - up until now.

Vash fleeing the SEEDs wreckage in ep 1/8 then entering the Plant room in ep 9, Knives withdrawing, then showing up at Jeneora Rock in ep 3, then finally Vash entering Knives's piano room in July at the end of ep 10, and the confrontation/manipulation/awakening/battle over 11 and 12. It's all a single argument/fight split into parts, separated by over a century.

Funny that the only thing Knives seems to truly regret about it is cutting off Vash's arm. Maybe… maybe because it's the one wound even he can't lie to himself about inflicting. I wonder, does he believe it was his one mistake? If he'd found another way, Vash wouldn't have stuck a gun in his face? Which makes him trying to "fix" it being what clues Vash in that he's being lied to some sublime irony. Vash doesn't trust a world where his brother never hurt him.

Anyway, Knives was obviously there in person to destroy Jeneora Rock, so he remembers that. Knives definitely intended Rosa's rejection to happen when he left her alive (interesting that he only uses her voice, not her appearance. This man has a problem with women) and he would have learned about Tonis's injuries from Zazie via the cage of bug-Worms.

Then comes the crashed ships and the vanishing reporters. Roberto and Meryl don't do anything but stand there looking blank, and that's because Knives doesn't have anything to do with them. He doesn't care to learn what they mean to Vash, so he doesn't bother to twist it. He goes for “oh they'd hate you if they knew about what you've done”, and as Vash's shame makes him vulnerable, he rips them out of Vash's head. That's them disposed of and he doesn't think about them again. (More fool him.)

The guilt that Knives planted in Vash is his primary weapon. Remember that it was his guilt that made Vash want to die in the wake of the Fall. Knives is using it to chip away at his will to resist; every time Vash is reminded of it, he reels and his defences weaken.

Similarly, it's why we don't see that much of Rem and nothing of her post-Tesla except her running into the fire. What we do see of her makes her look rather one-dimensionally nice, well-meaning but suspiciously secretive, and Vash food-obsessed, dorky, clingy, insecure and oblivious. Meanwhile Nai is very clever and perceptive and handsome and perfect and amazing with his super cool powers, just like Rem said. But she didn't actually mean anything to him.

It's conspicuous that he also doesn't actually talk at all about poor Tesla and tries to dismiss her significance ("she was but a grain of sand in the desert of their misdeeds" is a banger line, by the way; the English localisation is always excellent but goes off as the series draws to its climax, and it don't stop 'til the credits roll on the finale). These are the rare points you can find honesty in anything Knives says: via what he omits.

You have to keep in mind throughout this entire sequence that besides the geranium petals and Vash cuddling Rem in the fields of geraniums, Knives is in control. This is his world, and these are his memories that he's using to infiltrate and tear Vash's memories apart. It's not objective - there's no context, for one - nor is it complete. Vash's perspective is absent.

It's actually a bit surprising how rarely Vash's voice comes through in the series. From what I can tell it's mostly Knives's perspective that's assumed.

But oh yes, Knives knows all about the Punisher. He built the Eye of Michael, after all, and Dr. Conrad works for him. Rollo crying out to Vash for salvation that he never received probably came from Dr. Conrad, as well as that it was Wolfwood in the end who killed Monev.

And here we are at last. The dreadful cost and hidden purpose I mentioned all the way back in Part I comes due. Wolfwood's purpose, the poison lacing Knives's helpful gift. He's the viral shell carrying Knives's infection. Because Vash opened his heart to Wolfwood as a friend, he also opened it to Knives.

And so, from the inside, Knives begins inexorably to devour his brother alive.

Knives-the-person wearing the Punisher's face to fire Punisher-the-weapon and kill Rollo/Tonis, the child Vash couldn't save, is his most perfectly constructed and vile feat of manipulation below I did it all for you./Everything I did was for you. It has an almost perversely admirable precision.

Silly Vash. Did he think he'd made a friend in the Punisher? Brought out the goodness in him? The Punisher is a monster, a killer, a weapon and what's more, one who was always being wielded by Knives. He betrayed you; he isn't a good man and he'll never change because humanity never learns. Just like Knives told Vash all those years ago. Was it really "Wolfwood" who Vash loved, or was it only the part of him that was shaped by his real brother? (It's the former because Vash clocked him from the start and could tell Wolfwood never wanted to be the Punisher, but even if Knives wasn't gleefully monologuing he'd never hear it. I hate how much he's enjoying this.)

Everywhere you turn, Vash, and no matter far it is you run, I'll be here for you because I love you. (I won't let you get away.)

How foolish you are, little brother, to have your hopes kindled because you "saved" a monster. One only lives if another dies - and a monster would rather die. You should let it happen. It's a necessary sacrifice. It's mercy. Death is a wonderful thing. (Death is a mercy Tesla never received. And perhaps still hasn't.)

You're too weak to give it to them. That's why they'll never love you as I do. You make the false promise that is hope for salvation, and inevitably you fail to fulfil it, and they will always turn upon you in their despair. (I am the only one who will protect you.)

There is a single promise that you can always keep. Your real purpose. The reason you exist. What a weapon is for. Have mercy. I will wield you. You need not continue to suffer. Don't fight. Submit. Give yourself to me. Let go. Unleash your power.

By the way, literally every single one of the things he's using to heap blame on Vash is Knives's fucking fault and he is the worst brother ever of all time forever and ever amen. And a liar. Knives can never forgive humanity, he says, because only he loves Vash enough to protect him from humanity. Even a human's love, he says, is a leash; contingent upon Vash's charm and usefulness and indistinguishable from hatred...

Knives either lives on opposite planet or he's secretly human.

And still. And yet.

I pity him.

(Okay. We're in the home stretch now, guys - and believe me, I deeply appreciate your support - but you might want to brace yourself.)

(Part I)

(Part II)

(Part III)

(Part IV)

(Part VI)

(Part VII)

#trigun stampede #trigun meta #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #millions knives #tristampparty #waffled a bit on the imagery but yeah actually knives IS a pathogen #bacteriophage bombs etc #his blades make him look like a paralysis tick #once he withdraws them vash drifts downward. empty #it took a lot of willpower to avoid typing “you dick” over and over in allcaps throughout most of this #i hate him #terrible terrible plant man #tw abuse #so much abuse #meta: my brother's keeper

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befuddled-calico-whump · 2 months

Note

putting one more Cinderglass drabble request in your askbox (i am so sorry for the spam but i’ve been thinking about them nonstop aghfsk). again, feel free to ignore this!

i‘d love to see Sarah help Lex work through a panic attack or a traumatic flashback! maybe either so that he doesn’t have to drown himself in alcohol about it or she’s helping and calming him down while he’s drunk

Wildefire Masterlist

cw: alcoholism, emeto, hallucinations, withdrawals

He'd been sober for thirty seven hours.

Not long at all, really, but it was something, and he was trying, and it was fine.

Well, it was fine for thirty seven hours.

Outright quitting was the only thing Lex dared to do. Trying to just cut back wouldn't work, because what was cutting back? He didn't keep track of how much he drank anymore, he just drank until he felt like it was enough. Even just trying to regulate himself to one a day seemed risky business. Would he be able to stop, once he started?

He didn't want to find out.

Lex didn't tell Sarah, didn't want her saying it was a bad idea or insisting on staying with him. It was a rough ride ahead, and he didn't want to somehow hurt her in the throes of his panic or sickness. He... He didn't want her to see him like that.

So he locked himself in his room, told her not to bother him this week, that he'd be busy. The safehouse was old and decrepit but huge, and his room had a small bathroom attached, something he was doubly grateful for now.

He stocked his room with water bottles. It was impossible not to think of Sarah whenever he looked at their plastic cases now, Sarah staying up until early daylight, because she was worried. That was good. He could use his guilt there as a reminder; a reason to hold out.

He sipped at them and stared at the wall, every light in the room on, the old radio Sarah had gotten for him positioned at the foot of his bed. She'd given him a battered CD case with it, packed full of a few dozen discs. A Guns n Roses album was currently in, playing just loud enough to pull his thoughts.

She's got a smile that it seems to me, reminds me of childhood memories

By now, Lex was pretty good at doing nothing, letting himself sink into the thankfulness that nothing was being done to him. Even a year after the Tower and weeks free of Uriah, the talent hadn't faded. Day one turned into night, and he didn't dare fall asleep. Just swapped one CD for another and let his mind cling to the lyrics.

Too late, my time has come

Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time

It was around hour twenty two that the headache started, and it only got worse from there. Not long after that, Lex was clinging to the toilet bowl, heaving up the half-dozen water bottles he'd drank throughout the day, his head swimming, the pit in his stomach insisting couldn't he just do this later? Would it hurt to have one drink, to get rid of this shitty feeling?

No. All or nothing.

He moved the radio to the bed, putting his ear to the speaker, trying to drown out everything else. The album came to an end, and he replaced it with another, as quick as he could without scratching the disc with his stupid metal fingers.

Suddenly someone is there at the turnstile

The girl with the kaleidoscope eyes

Fuck. He just needed to hold out, just for a few days, and this would be over. A little self control, and maybe he could call himself worthy of the people here. Not a loose end. Not an ex-enemy or a liability. Something better.

Lex wrapped the sheets around himself, held the pillow over his head to try and ease the pounding in his skull with the pressure. It didn't help. He almost fell asleep, but the nausea pulled at his stomach and his skin was crawling and too hot, and then he was throwing off the blankets; stripping down to his boxers in an effort to ease the heat.

Exhausted but unable to find sleep, he sat with his back against the cool wall and sipped water, trying to find the lyrics again and hold them.

I don't really want to stop the show

But I thought you might like to know

That the singer's gonna sing a song

And he wants you all to sing along

It didn't help, it wasn't enough. His own body was fighting him, roiling nausea and sickness insisting all he needed was one drink and it could all go away, it could all be okay (fray, gray, stay).

The radio hummed as the CD came to an end, a few seconds passing before the album began again.

What would you think if I sang out of tune?

Would you stand up and walk out on me?

At long last, his own exhaustion was catching up to him, and he dragged himself back onto the bed, the heavy feeling in his chest spreading to his eyes and mind, as the music faded to a buzz and sleep overcame him.

He woke in the Tower.

It was impossible, he knew it was, but the fear seized him all the same, the crushing weight of walls he couldn't escape, the knowledge that this time, there would be no one to free him; this time he was here for good.

And the floor was wrong and Lex knew there was never music, but he fucking knew where he was.

He sat up, wincing at the sharp pain that rang through his skull at the movement, forcing down rising nausea. No one here cared if he was sick, if he was hurt, they'd hurt him more anyway, they'd do what it took to keep him down, keep him in line. He wrapped his arms

(Arms? It's wrong, stop, you aren't---)

around himself, squeezing his torso with a pressure that wasn't comforting. He felt shaky, blurred, weak. Had they drugged him?

(just one drink and this all goes away)

He tried to reach for the techniques he'd used to get through the days, tried to remember the things he'd done to stay sane, to stay alive, but any useful memory fell through his hands like sand, leaving nothing but the shadows, the nightmares (snares, glares, spares).

He knew what happened here, in his cell (hell). He knew what was waiting to spring on him at any moment, what would surely come for him if he let his guard down (drown), if he fell asleep, if he---

"Morning, scum."

Lex froze as the door swung open. Morning? But it was so dark, but it was always dark, the light never hits you here, and when it does there are worse things waiting---

"I knew you'd come crawling back. This is where you belong, it's home."

He could hear the voice clear as day, but couldn't see its owner. It didn't sound like Wade. It almost sounded like...

"Alexei. Did you really think you could hide from me?"

Uriah Fox stood over the bed, a smug smile plastered on his face.

"No," Lex choked out. "Y-you can't--"

"You always knew it would end this way."

(Fray, pray, stray)

He climbed onto the bed, straddling Lex, easily pinning him despite being so much smaller, despite Lex being so much stronger, and he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe---

"Lex."

The pressure in his chest faded, and he gasped for air, squinting into the dim light, unable to make out anything. A hand fell onto his shoulder, giving it a light shake, and he flinched back.

"Sorry."

Sarah? He forced himself to breathe deeply, ease his eyes open. Her silhouette was blurry above him, and it was only then that he realized he was crying.

He brushed the tears away hastily with the back of his hand. "You... You should go," he managed to say.

She sighed. "I'm sorry if I scared you, I just... I heard you... screaming. Not loud or anything, but..." She tapped her earlobe. "Can't get much past these."

He swallowed, trying to push himself into a seated position, but his shoulders shook, his stomach twisting, and he fell back onto the pillow.

"Lex..." She bit her lip. "You could've told me. You know you don't have to do this alone."

He almost laughed out loud at that. What other way was there? It was his body, his choices, his mistakes. He'd drowned himself for too long, hoping it could save him, knowing it never would. He was reaping his rewards. No one else should have to deal with the mess that was him.

"I'm not your problem," he murmured, letting his eyes close again. What could she do, besides be there to fill the silence when music wasn't enough? Besides grounding him and telling him it wasn't real, he wasn't there?

"You're not a problem, Lex," she said, her voice serious. Tired. How late was it? Even trying to be fucking better, he was still screwing up her life.

"I just want you to take care of yourself, okay?" She kicked at an empty water bottle. "Is this the best way? I'm glad you're trying, I am, but don't you think it'll be easier on you if you come downstairs and hang out?"

He didn't want any of them to see him like this. "What good would that do?"

"Distract you, for one. For another, it'll be easier to remember meals. When's the last time you've eaten something?"

He sank further onto the bed, his gut twisting again at the thought of food. "I don't know."

"And have you been drinking anything besides water?"

"No, that's--that's the whole point, I'm not---"

"That's not what I meant. Electrolytes? A protein shake, maybe?"

"No," he answered after a moment.

She dropped her eyes, a grimace tugging at her mouth though she seemed to be trying to hold it back.

"Do you not think I can do this?"

"I think you're punishing yourself," Sarah said. "And I think you should stop."

Was he? His head spun almost too much to think about it. This wasn't self-inflicted punishment, it was cause and effect. It was something he had to get through if he ever wanted to move past the Tower.

"It'll be over soon," he muttered, and he hoped he was right.

She dipped her head, pressing her lips together tightly, and pushed off of the bed, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor.

"Sarah..."

"Look, I don't wanna push your boundaries, but I can't leave you like this. It's not safe."

"It'll get worse from here."

"Which is why I'm staying." She gave him a stern look. "If you want to be alone, I'll leave, but I'll be right outside your door."

Lex clenched his jaw. "I'll be fine."

"You're detoxing. You're already feverish. What if you start seizing up?"

"Then I've already dug my own grave."

"Lex." Her expression darkened. "You can't keep doing this."

"This is the only time--"

"Not this. Self-destructing. You..." She did grimace then, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You keep hurting yourself, and I can't keep watching."

He pressed his cheek further into the pillow, knees drawing to his chest. "Then why do you?" he said. "Why haven't you thrown me out yet?"

The words came out too angry. Accusatory. His own fault. Any filter he had was lessened by the pain in his head and the nausea and the fucking exhaustion. He didn't want her to throw him out, he... he needed her. Not in some bullshit emotional way, but as a reminder that there were still good things. Things worth fighting for, worth living for.

"I'd never throw you out," Sarah said, her expression turning to something that bordered playful. "I like you too much for that, you know. I just..." She exhaled through her nose, pushed soft dark hair over her shoulder. "I want you to try, okay? Can you agree to try to do what's best for yourself? To stop taking the harder path just because?"

Could he? Even if he wanted to? The harder path was what he was used to. Less traveled, less trapped. Suffering for a goal was a habit. Muscle memory.

Would the path to freedom be as clear if there was no pain to pave it?

Still, something in her voice pulled Lex to nod against the pillow. "I'll try."

Her smile shifted to something more genuine. "That's all I'm asking." She began to push herself up. "I'll, uh... I'll be in the hall then. You are eating breakfast in the morning, mister."

"You... You don't have to do that," he started.

"Do what? Bring you food? Or stand guard? I already said I'm not leaving you alone--"

"You don't have to stay in the hall." Lex swallowed (followed), and it took him a second to form the words. "You can stay here. If you... If you want to."

Her expression softened. "Yeah. I do."

She found a spare pillow and blanket in the room's closet and began to settle down on the floor beside him, picking out a new CD to start the music playing again.

While we're on the subject, could we change the subject now

"I'm here if you need me."

"I know." I need you.

It was a paradox. The easier path to recovery, to a clear head, to control being the more difficult one. Because it was untravelled. Because he almost felt he didn't deserve it, that he should bear the punishment for his own vices.

But even if the path was unchartered, he had a guide. For once, he didn't have to walk it alone.

oh, and we carried it all so well

•°•°•

Tag List:

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams , @whumpwillow , @honeycollectswhump , @snakebites-and-ink

#you don't know how long i spent finding lyrics #im not even fully satisfied with the ones i went with because they aren't -perfect- but ive spent too long scrolling through playlists lolo #wildefire #cinderglass #tw alcohol #alcohol whump #emeto #hallucinations #withdrawals #angst #anon #so sorry this took forever #anyway this may be a little cheesy but lex needs some sappiness in his life #I STARTED WRITING THIS IN NOVEMBER HOLY SHIT FSJDBSKKD

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