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rocorambles · 3 years

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Reminiscent

Pairing: Daichi x Reader

Genre: SFW, 5+1, Soulmate/Reincarnation AU, Angst (there is technically a character death, BUT THERE’S AN ULTIMATELY HAPPY ENDING, I SWEAR), Fluff

Prompt: You woke me up at 3 in the morning for this?

Summary: 5 lifetimes Daichi and you just weren’t meant to be and the 1 lifetime you finally found your happy ending together.

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt. (Masterlist goes live December 1st!)

Tagging @sawamooora since I accidentally scarred her by making her read only the section where there was a character death without the heads up...OOPS, so I guess you can have your happy ending now~

When Daichi meets you in this first lifetime, he can’t help but notice just how different you are from him and he stares at the luxurious fabrics beautifully accentuating your figure, wishing he could wipe off the meticulously and elegantly layered on makeup and see more of your bare face, wanting more than anything to know who you are beneath the graceful and well-mannered smiles and bows you grace the court with. But when he looks down at himself and sees the memories of crimson blood splattered all over his skin and robes, hears the sound of his sword piercing flesh, remembers the way your father enthusiastically thanks him for another job well done as a flash of fear races across your eyes at the corpse of proof he drags in, it’s all too apparent just how different the worlds you live in are.

And really, that should have been it, he should have stopped himself right then and there, stopped thinking about you, stopped his gaze from trailing after you when he sees you roaming around the clan property. But his heart has different plans and here he is, a well respected samurai who works underneath your father, pining after you, a clan leader’s daughter, someone already betrothed to the son of a neighboring clan, someone much too pure and innocent for his blood soaked hands.

He smiles when he sees your posture relax, your body slouch in relief when you think no one is watching you, no pretenses and facades to keep up when it’s just you, unaware of the brown eyes watching you. He clenches his fists so hard his nails threaten to break skin when he hears your secret anguished sobs as he guards your bedroom the night after you meet your fiance for the first time and realize you’ve been doomed to a life with a man who’ll never love you, a man who doesn’t see you as anything more than a political tool. He dreams of a life where he can whisk you away, a life where there would be no consequences if the two of you ran off to live a peaceful, happy life together far far far away from the cruel and cold world of money and power you’re both entangled in.

But there are consequences and he lives with the constant shattering of his heart as he watches the light dim in your eyes as you continue courting your fiance, the cool indifferent look you wear on your face throughout your own wedding ceremony, the way you seem like just a shell of the vibrant young woman he once knew and fell in love with. And yet, he doesn’t do a thing, remaining faithfully by your father’s side and serving your clan for the remainder of his days.

II.

Something jolts inside of Daichi when he sees you in the second lifetime and he can’t help but feel like there’s something familiar about you, something nostalgic about the situation you’re both in as you humbly bow before helping him dress and get ready for the busy day of meetings he has. And you watch in awe as you dutifully trail after him, making sure all his needs are attended to, amazed by just how hardworking, intelligent, and kind the young lord is, so different than the stories you had heard of royals. Not once does he ever treat you as anything less than an equal, not once does he ever lay an unwanted gaze on you, let alone a finger and you find yourself jumping to please him and aid him out of something more than just a sense of responsibility as your heart flutters from just his presence.

You feel honored by how much he entrusts you with when it’s just the two of you in his room and you patiently listen when he throws his disciplined manners out the window, grumbling and ranting about the power-hungry ploys of his fellow royals, the way greed and privilege have corrupted them, how he can’t trust anyone anymore. But when he wonders if he needs to change, to adapt in order to thrive, you surprise the both of you with your vehement outburst as you blather on about how he’s perfect the way he is. And then there’s silence as the two of you look away, both your faces heating up at the hidden message in your words, a message so incredibly inappropriate considering both your positions and the time you live in. But before you can open your mouth and stutter out an apology, you freeze at the warm smile Daichi sends your way, heart racing at the heartfelt, but quiet thank you he utters in response.

Of course nothing happens after that. This is real life after all and Daichi is far too respectful of his family and their reputation, far too noble to smear his clan’s name with taboo affairs, far too kind to hurt his future bride despite the fact that he’s never even met her yet, doesn’t know the first thing about her other than her name, to pursue something just for his own pleasure, his own satisfaction, something that could potentially harm so many others. And you understand. After all, these are the reasons you fell in love with him, and you’re just happy to be able to remain by his side for the rest of your days despite the lancing pain in your chest every time you see him with his wife, with his future children, living a life where you just exist on the sidelines, watching and longing for something you know you’ll never have.

III.

In the third lifetime Daichi meets you in, he can’t understand the regrets of a missed opportunity he feels when you introduce yourself to him, welcoming him to the neighborhood with a basket of freshly baked goods. He knows he should smile, graciously accept your kind (and delicious smelling) gifts and he does, but as he bites into the still warm cookies after you leave, the image of the gold wedding band around your finger is branded in his mind.

In a small rural community like yours, you’re bound to run into each other, especially since your farms are right next to each other and he thinks you look ethereal each morning with the sun rising behind you, a soft golden glow framing you as you gather eggs, milk the cows, and water the crops. But there’s a sense of bitterness he can’t explain when your husband joins you, a hulking stoic figure besides you as he helps you on the fields, and he turns his back on the two of you to tend to his own chores.

There’s nothing “wrong” with your spouse, nothing Daichi can truly fault him for and if he’s honest, if Ushijima wasn’t your husband, he’d have only respect and admiration for the man. He certainly can’t complain about how he treats you and something bittersweet churns inside of him when he sees Ushijima’s usually stern face soften whenever you’re around, when he sees the way Ushijima’s broad shoulders relax whenever you affectionately hold his hand. And although he internally chides himself at night in private when he dreams of what it would be like to be in Ushijima’s shoes, he can’t help but feel relieved, glad that you’ve found someone who loves and treats you well.

But he laughs the silly thought away. Of course you had found someone who loved you. Why wouldn’t you have? And yet that night he dreams of your face, dressed in a beautiful silk robe better suited for the historicals eras of Japan, seated next to someone he somehow knows is your husband, but there’s only loneliness in your eyes and he wakes up with tears in his eyes, unsure why he’s crying, why he’s hoping you never feel alone ever again.

IV.

Daichi should be scared of you when he meets you in the fourth lifetime, but although he’s certainly wary of you, staring at you with his beady eyes from the branches high above your head, he can’t help the curiosity he feels when he sees your small furry body try to leap and paw at him despite how far the distance between the two of you is. And despite all his natural instincts, he feels himself relaxing, cawing teasingly at you as you tire yourself out, fluttering down a few branches closer to you when you give up and just sprawl out on the floor, tail flickering back and forth in interest as you watch him draw nearer. But before he can get any closer, he hears a human voice calling for you and the two of you lock eyes before you rush back to your owner and even after your body squeezes through the little cat door that had been built in the front door, he can’t help but watch your home closely, wondering if he’ll see you again.

To his delight he does see you again, every single day as a matter of fact. On sunny days, he spreads out his wings and swoops down to meet you when you lazily curl up at the base of his tree and sometimes the two of you just lay there together, basking in the warmth of the beautiful day, sometimes the two of you take a stroll together, you trotting down the sidewalk as he flits from tree to tree beside you. He’s learned that rain and water in general don’t sit well with you and on gloomier days he glides over to the outside of your favorite window, peering through the glass and cawing warmly when you jump up and curl up on the windowsill, his beak and your nose pressing against the glass across from each other.

But time is limited, especially for a crow like himself, and as you grow bigger and stronger, he begins to lose his appetite, begins to struggle flying for as long or as well as he used to. And although neither of you can speak to each other, there’s an intuitive understanding as you tone down your playing and spend his last remaining days just laying side by side, his feathered body curled up in the warm plush of your fur, your body and tail wrapped protectively around him until he passes away peacefully.

Daichi only has himself to blame for the fifth lifetime being a complete loss. You had caught his eye in a way no girl ever had before when he saw you skillfully racing across the court at the Tokyo training camp. He can’t explain exactly what draws him to you. Sure, you’re attractive, but he’s been around other beautiful girls before, hell Shimizu is the manager of his team and even she’s never captivated him like this. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t seen many talented female volleyball players up close before? But that can’t be it. No other female player in the room even remotely peaks his interest. No...it’s something deeper than that and he swears it feels like there’s an invisible thread tying the two of you together.

He watches and watches until a lanky arm is thrown over his shoulder, a sly voice purring in his ears.

“Sa’amura. My, my, my. I thought a country bumpkin crow like you would have better manners than to gawk at our pretty Tokyo girls like a creep.”

Daichi scowls at the messy haired Nekoma captain, but his face heats up when he realizes how strange he probably looked just staring at a gym full of female athletes. But before he can spout any excuses, Kuroo hums in interest as he follows Daichi’s gaze to see who he had been looking at so intently.

“Well well well. I guess birds do attract each other. You have some good taste, Sa’amura. She’s a great player, although I personally think she would have been a better fit at Nekoma than Fukurodani. She moves a lot like a cat, doesn’t she? But if you want to get closer to her, try talking to Bokuto. They’re both pretty close.”

A cat? Daichi wordlessly waves goodbye to Kuroo who’s strolling away before turning his attention back to you. And he’s surprised to see that there’s something eerily correct about Kuroo’s observation, something about your feline movements that nags at a deep unconscious thread inside of him, and it’s unnervingly easy to imagine you with a tail swishing back and forth behind you, to imagine you with soft ears and claws. But when he blinks, there you are, completely human once again, celebrating a point your team had scored, no cat appendages anywhere in sight.

He doesn’t take Kuroo’s advice, never approaches Bokuto to learn more about you, and he leaves training camp without even exchanging one word with you. But from time to time for the rest of his life, he’ll dream of you, dream of a friendly cat he feels like he used to know and he’ll wake up with a pang of regret, wondering what would have happened if he had the courage to talk to you all those years ago.

VI.

Daichi groans, nursing a hangover as he groggily sits up in bed and turns off the ear splitting alarm. Thank God for humans and their habits, his brain not needing to work at all as he methodically brushes his teeth and throws on his uniform. But as he makes his way to the precinct, he pauses at the corner of the street, intrigued by the sight of a newly opened cafe. There’s technically coffee at work and the smarter and financially responsible choice would be to just wait and drink the free caffeinated liquid, but something draws him into the quaint storefront and before his mind can even catch up to his body, he’s already pushing open the door and walking towards the counter.

He hears your voice ring throughout the small store, telling him you’d be with him in just a moment and he takes his time to peruse the menu, the soothing scent of coffee whetting his appetite and making the pastries in the glass case look even more appealing. He’s narrowed down his options to either the chocolate frosted donut or the coffee cake when he sees you approaching from the corner of his eyes and he smiles only to freeze when he sees your face.

“Do I know you-”

“You look familiar-”

Both of you start and stop talking at the same time and there’s an awkward silence before you both burst out laughing. As you prepare his order, both of you throw out possibilities of where you may have met before, but nothing pans out, and you both shrug your shoulders as you hand over the paper wrapped pastry and piping hot coffee. It’s a big world with tons of people. Perhaps both of you had met someone who looked similar to the other. But as Daichi sips his coffee and as you wait in the cafe for your next customer, neither of you can stop thinking of the other, wondering if you really hadn’t met before.

And maybe it’s that curiosity that leads Daichi to regularly return to your cafe on a daily basis, that leads you to always perk and brighten up when he walks through your door. Daily morning coffee runs before work is how it all starts, but pretty soon you’re seeing him at all times of the day. Sometimes he pops in to order a sandwich and some chips for lunch. Sometimes he’ll plop down at one of your small tables, plugging his laptop into an outlet as he works for hours on end even on the weekends. And sometimes, when there’s no one else in the store, when you’re technically closed, you’ll join him, sharing a new dessert you’re testing for the menu with him and chatting away into the wee hours of the night.

So really, it shouldn’t be a surprise when Daichi nervously enters the cafe right before closing one day, making sure no other customers are around before asking you out on an official first date. And even though you knew that the day where you two would discuss what your relationship exactly was would come soon, your face still heats up. But you eagerly nod, fingers instinctively interweaving with his when he hesitantly reaches to hold your hand and as the two of you walk hand in hand to the restaurant he’s chosen for dinner, you both can’t help but feel like your hands fit perfectly together, like you were made to be with each other.

Romantic candlelit dinners become more frequent casual affairs after a while and the two of you find yourself cuddled up on a couch in comfortable clothing, eating a meal the two of you had cooked together more often than not. You make fun of Daichi’s bachelor closet, dragging him to go shopping and ignoring his squawking when you pay for all his new clothes while he’s still changing in the fitting room. He teases you for how flustered you get when you see him in his cop uniform, purposefully striking a cheesy pose in the doorway only to bend over in a belly bursting laugh when you just wordlessly gape and stutter at the sight.

But the change that both of you love the most is never having to sleep alone again and your bodies slot together perfectly like two puzzle pieces when you curl up with each other in bed, letting sleep, body warmth, and rhythmic breathing lull you both into the best nights of sleep you’ve ever had.

Well, usually that would be the case.

Daichi grumbles as you insistently shove his body until he begrudgingly sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and batting away your hands that keep on nudging him awake. He looks at you in confusion and maybe the slightest hint of irritation at being woken up at such an ungodly hour of the night, but the bright smile you flash his way softens him and he internally groans about how weak he is for you as he stumbles out of bed, sleepily accepting the bundle of clothes you throw at him and haphazardly throwing them on.

He lets you drag him out the door, shivering a bit as the cold night air wakes him up and he holds you close to him, his cop instincts keeping him alert as he continuously scans the area. You live in a safe neighborhood, but it is the middle of the night and he’d be a hypocrite to not be aware of his surroundings when he’s always warning people not to be out by themselves late at night. But the two of you make it to what he assumes is your final destination unscathed and his jaw drops in disbelief when he sees that you’ve brought them to the neighborhood park.

“You woke me up at 3 in the morning for this?”

You giggle at his outburst, slapping his arm in mock anger as you pull him to sit beside you on one of the benches.

“I checked the weather and tonight’s supposed to have the clearest skies for stargazing! And you and I both have off tomorrow, so it seemed like perfect timing. Don’t be such a grumpy old man.”

And how can Daichi possibly be angry when you’re practically radiant, the soft glow of the stars illuminating your features as you stare up in awe, holding his hand and snuggling into his side as your free hand points at the different constellations you recognize. But the two of you freeze when you hear rustling nearby, letting out a sigh of relief when only a stray cat stalks out from behind a bush and you both watch in amusement as it regally walks towards your bench before plopping down with its stomach bared right at your feet.

But just as Daichi is about to reach down and accept the invitation to pet the furry creature, a loud squawk echoes throughout the area and suddenly the cat is leaping to its feet as a crow swoops down and hops around on the ground just a few feet away. And the two of you watch in amazement as the two creatures play with each other, paws lazily batting at the bird while wings spread wide and teasingly brush against a whiskered face in a practiced friendly dance.

It should be just a light hearted scene, maybe heartwarming at most, but to the two of you it’s more than that and your hearts ache, tears streaming down both your faces in a strange combination of soul crushing sorrow and gratitude for the present. But why is it so sad? Why are you both crying? The two of you shakily laugh, apologizing for your strange behavior as you hurriedly try to wipe the salty streaks away, but they don’t stop, only growing worse and turning into body wracking sobs as pain, loss, regret, and unrequited love built over what feels like multiple lifetimes slam into both of you all at once.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

But like magic it all instantly fades away when the two of you find yourselves tightly wrapped in each other’s arms, your body somehow now in Daichi’s lap as you bury your tear stained face in his chest, his arms wrapped around you in a bone crushing hold as he buries his face in the top of your head. And the two of you just stay like that for a bit as the calming breeze swirls past you, as the creatures and sounds of the night begin to fade away, as the morning sun begins its ascent into the sky, all the while exchanging words of love with each other, words of gratitude for finding each other.

And when the tears have finally all been wiped away and the sun is shining brightly down on both of you, the two of you share a smile before Daichi is ushering both of you back home, jokingly whining about immediately going back to sleep once you both return home, both of you animatedly bantering as you walk away, ignorant of the way the cat and crow lay curled up beside each other, both their eyes never straying from your retreating figures until you’re out of sight.

Neither of you ever discuss that night again. Neither of you ever try to understand and explain the chaotic overwhelming mess of emotions that had bombarded both of you. But every now and then, even after the two of you exchange vows, even after your shared home is filled with children’s laughters and voices, the echoes of that night follow both of you in your dreams and you wake up with tears in your eyes and a lingering ache in your hearts.

But all it takes is a quick glance to your side, the reassurance that both of you are together, right where you belong, to completely snuff out any negative emotions and you let the comforting warmth of love lull you back into slumber, smiles gracing both your lips as Daichi holds you just a bit closer and tighter to him, as you snuggle just a bit more until you’re firmly tucked underneath his chin.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #daichi x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu headcanons #daichi #sawamura daichi #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu writing

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wherevermyway · 3 years

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beside you in time // seungbin // horror // 16+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

⚠ POTENTIAL TW: READ WITH CAUTION! ⚠ pairing: seo changbin x kim seungmin rating: mature! 16+ warnings/tags: major character death, mental instability, paranoia, insomnia, suicide, character study. word count: 2,148 also on AO3

originally posted: 17 february 2021

"Come back to me."

Things always got bad from hours twenty-four to thirty-six. From thirty-six to forty-eight, however, was more akin to running a chainsaw through an industrial-sized tin of diced tomatoes.

There was always one person that kept Changbin grounded, however.

"Come back to me, Changbin."

And that person was Seungmin. Seungmin was always there to guide him back to some semblance of normalcy.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

“Come back to me.

I just want you to come back to me. Not this shell of you, but the whole you.

The entirety of you. The old you.

Come back, Cha—”

31 October 2005 Monday

—

It was Monday. Monday at midnight. Changbin stared at the bright red of his alarm clock, staring the 00:00 directly in between the empty spaces of the square zeroes.

It was the staring contest he had every night.

Right on schedule, he lifted himself out of bed, sliding his feet against the cold wood of his bedroom floor, careful to not make any noise so that he didn’t disturb his boyfriend. Quietly, he slipped his way around the floor, out of the open doorway and into the kitchen. He flipped the switch on the wall, the halogen lamp flickering four times exactly before its sickeningly bluish rays illuminated the off-white kitchen walls and the grey cabinets.

Changbin took a step forward: the sink on his left-hand side, the stove on his right-hand side. He stared at the white wall in front of him, his expression empty as he stared at twenty-nine red Xs marked through each day prior. His left hand reached out to the drawer, not breaking his gaze from the calendar as he rummaged through until he recognized the way the red permanent marker felt in his hand. He continued to eye Sunday, as if it was prey, and his permanent marker was the hunter.

He licked his lip, biting it as he removed the cap from the marker, taking a few steps forward until he was face-to-face with his archnemesis: the constant reminder that time was limited, that he couldn’t even fucking remember what day it was without the stupid fucking calendar staring at him in the face.

Two diagonal lines from end-to-end of the damned square.

The 30th of October could join the twenty-nine days prior in hell.

Changbin paced around the living room, his footprints brushing over the rug in the middle of the room, leaving worn treads in its fabric. This was his routine as he waited for Seungmin to come home. He wasn’t able to focus on anything for too long before—

Time, time, time.

“Would you fucking shut up? I just told you to leave me alone.”

Before the voices came back.

Changbin knew he sounded unstable as he shouted to himself in the empty living room. He couldn’t stop it, though. The words always left his lips before he could stop himself from saying them.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Things always got bad from hours twenty-four to thirty-six. From thirty-six to forty-eight, however, was more akin to running a chainsaw through an industrial-sized tin of diced tomatoes.

“Just stop, just fucking stop.”

He knew eyes were watching him, he could feel the stares boring into the back of his skull, eyes running all over him. Changbin gripped at the tops of his shoulders, repeating to himself that he wouldn’t turn around — he couldn’t turn around.

“Go away,” he whispered into the crooks of his elbows as he embraced himself, “go away, just go away.”

Why are you here? Fade away, Changbin.

The creaking of the floorboards startled him, unsure if it was his mind lying to himself, creating something that wasn’t there.

Tick—

“Changbin.”

But there was someone there. The energy that came from the words was different, warmer than the way the other voices that circled his mind. The voices floating in his head were never so—

“Come back to me, Changbin.”

There he was, right in front of his face. Seungmin was tangible, unlike the hallucinations in his head. Changbin hadn’t slept in days, yet Seungmin somehow looked far more fatigued than him.

“I’m so sorry, Seungmin, I just—”

“I know,” Seungmin sighed, gently dancing his fingertips against Changbin’s clammy skin. He was gentle as he pulled the shaking man into his arms, and even gentler as they sank to the ground together. “We need to get you back on your medication. Get you back to who you used to be before everything got bad again.”

“No,” Changbin shook his head against the younger man’s chest, “you know what happened the last time they put me on those fucking pills. I can’t lose myself again.”

Seungmin gently stroked the top of Changbin’s head, shushing him and rubbing small circles in between his shoulder blades. “Okay, okay,” he relented, his voice quiet and calm. “We can talk about it more later. Does that sound okay?”

Changbin nodded once, grabbing at Seungmin’s woollen sweater, hiding his face away from the world. “I just don’t want you to leave me because I’m losing it.”

A quiet chuckle came from Seungmin before he pressed a quick kiss to the top of Changbin’s head. “I’m never gonna leave you, baby. I love you. I’ll be here with you until the end of time.”

“You promise?”

“Always.”

14 November 2005 Monday

—

Until the end of time. Always.

Seungmin’s voice was soft as it echoed in Changbin’s head, pulling him from the darkness.

It was Monday. Monday at… nine in the morning?

Time, time, time.

Changbin rubbed his eyes, starting to hyperventilate as he stared at the clock. He turned to the side of his bed, expecting to see Seungmin there, but there was nothing but wrinkled sheets in his place.

“Work,” he muttered to himself. Seungmin had to be at work. It was Monday, which meant that Seungmin was back in the clinic. His breathing calmed down as he mentally prepared himself for another day. He would get through the next few hours until Seungmin got home.

Changbin haphazardly made his way to his feet, his footsteps padding against the cold wooden floor. His footsteps were so loud, echoing against the empty walls of his apartment. He flipped the light switch at the entrance of the kitchen, letting the halogen lamp flicker four times before it steadied itself.

No.

Changbin’s eyes went wide as he stared at the calendar, red Xs missing from the days prior. He stared over the entire month of November before he ripped the calendar off of the wall, rapidly flipping through every page of every month, trying to check for the marks through his days.

Nothing.

From January to November, there were no marks, not a single mark through any of the days he had lived through.

Tick, tock.

Changbin dropped the calendar, letting it collide against the floor as he ran to the landline they kept in the living room. Seungmin would reassure him that, yes, the marks were on each day, that this was just his brain playing tricks on him yet again.

His fingers trembled as he entered seven digits into the phone, the number of Seungmin’s clinic the only thing he could keep memorised after all of these years. Changbin called him at least twice a day whenever Seungmin was at work, often many times more.

The number you have dialed is no longer in service.

“What?”

Changbin shook his head, staring down at the phone as a dial tone filled the air. It was possible he had made a mistake, sure, fumbled with the wrong numbers since his hands were shaking, but—

The number you have dialed is no longer in service.

It had to be a lie.

The number you have dialed is no longer in existence.

The tick you have tocked is—

He threw the phone at the wall, the cheap plastic shattering as it collided against the drywall. Changbin screamed at the top of his lungs, tears falling from his eyes as he tugged desperately at his hair.

Why wasn’t Seungmin’s line working?

He needed Seungmin, but he couldn’t—

“I love you, Seungmin,” his own voice echoed in his ears, the voice trembling and shaking like a small child.

“Seungmin, come back to me.” Changbin blinked once and saw a wrecked car in front of him, blood splattered against broken glass.

He stared at the accident, the car totalled up against a brick wall, another severely damaged car in the distance. The car he was staring at was familiar, the shouting of the voice haunting him as he approached. With his breath hitched in his throat, he stepped closer and closer to the front of the car, each step allowing him to make more and more sense of the wreckage behind the spiderwebbed windshield.

“Come back to me,” the voice pleaded again.

Changbin’s voice. Changbin’s very broken, raw voice.

“Seungmin, please, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see—”

Blood. There was so much blood all over the inside of the car, all over Changbin and all over Seungmin. He stepped backwards, nearly colliding against the asphalt as he recoiled in terror, the memories of that day flooding his head.

Can’t go through this again. Can’t.

Changbin looked down to his hands as he shook in fear, his hands caked in rapidly-drying blood that was turning from crimson to brown. The scent of copper lingered in his nostrils as he shook his head, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Again.

Come back to me, Seungmin.

Let me go, Seung—

Changbin blinked his eyes rapidly until he was back in his apartment, warm arms wrapped around his torso. He stared at the broken plastic littering the floor and simply felt nothing, like the switch to his emotions in his brain had been turned off.

“Come back to me.” Seungmin’s voice was so gentle, so soft in his ear. “It’s time for you to wake up and come back to me, Changbin.”

The switch was ripped off of the wall, there were no emotions to feel anymore.

“Let me go, Seungmin,” he weakly whispered, reaching up to the arms that weren’t there, yet still felt so real.

“Come back to me,” the voice was louder as Changbin lifted himself up off of the floor, haunted by the way that the ghost of Seungmin’s touch lingered on his skin.

He slid his feet against the bare wood floor, unable to register that the smooth texture was cold, only recalling it in memory. Like an empty shell of a human, he drifted into the kitchen, where Seungmin stood in front of the wall, calendar in his hands.

“It’s Monday,” he whispered, pointing at the date. “The thirteenth of November. You wondered why there were no marks, right?”

“Leave me alone, Seungmin,” Changbin’s voice was weak, his voice expressionless as he stared forward.

“It’s time to wake up, Changbin. It’s not 2005.”

Can’t go through this again.

“You know it’s not 2005. You’ve been wading through this year like it didn’t exist.”

Life and death, teetering on the edge of it for a year straight. It was ironic, really, that Changbin only slept on the anniversary of the day that he killed Seungmin.

It was an accident.

“It was an accident. You should have been on your medication again.” Seungmin repeated, as if he could hear Changbin’s thoughts. “But every action has a reaction. You know this. You cost me my fucking life.”

Changbin snatched the calendar from Seungmin’s grasp, ripping each page from the calendar and letting them scatter about the floor. Alone he stood, like some fucked up sculpture in the midst of chaos — the chaos of three hundred and sixty fucking five days staring right back up at him, laughing and taunting and driving him insane.

“Come back to me,” Seungmin took a step forward, grabbing the sides of Changbin’s face and pulling him in to kiss his forehead. “Wake up and come back to me, Cha—”

Changbin reached his right arm out, until his hand wrapped around the handle of his chef’s knife, pulling it from the block.

“Make it all stop,” Seungmin taunted. “Come back to me, be with me forever in time, right where you belong, and it’ll stop.”

A tear rolled down Changbin’s empty face as he stared forward, at the empty wall. Seungmin wasn’t there, but it felt like he was there. “I’m so sorry, Seungmin. I loved you so much, I loved you and I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

A cold hand wrapped around Changbin’s hand, helping him bring the knife to his own throat. “I know you are,” his voice was soft, soothing. “And I still love you. So, make it stop. Your time is running out.”

Time, time, time.

“Tick, tock, Changbin. Make up your mind.”

Sweat started to bead in Changbin’s palm as he whispered endless apologies. Tears streamed down his face, his eyes clamped tightly shut as he quickly undid the flesh of his throat with the knife in his hand.

Come back to me.

There was a thud.

Come back to me, Changbin.

The white wall of the kitchen was stained in splatters.

Come back—

The days of the calendar were finally marked in red.

“Changbin—”

Keys fell to the floor.

#beside you in time #skz fics #horror #skz horror #seungbin #seo changbin x kim seungmin #kim seungmin x seo changbin #changbin x seungmin #seungmin x changbin #wherevermyway

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starl1ght-child · 4 years

Text

Enthralled

Rezyl Azzir x F!Non-Guardian OC

Chapter 11 : Purpose [ WC 1.2K ]

masterlist

He found the nightmares he had been looking for. Hordes of them hiding in the shadows. A witch at their command, cruel and enticing, and her consort at her side, a knight with a mighty broadsword. Her dark magic restrained him and crippled his Light in the dark, but he emerged the victor. Not even these monsters in the dark could smother his Light or break him down.

Rilea was right, he thought. I am too stubborn to die.

It had been two days that he spent in the Hellmouth, fighting off hordes that tried to smother his Light, his Ghost waiting from the safety of the surface. When he finally emerged from the dark depths back into the Light, he told his Ghost everything. About the witch, the hordes, the knight and his battle. They had to warn the Vanguard. If the Hive were this prevalent here, they wouldn’t stay on Luna forever. They would come for Earth eventually, it was only a matter of time. But at least they could have time to prepare.

He brought home with him a trophy of his victory: a piece of bone from the witch’s consort, her champion. Her champion that he had defeated. He grafted this trophy to his Rose while they took the long journey home, adorning his piece as if it were a crown. He sent a message ahead to Rilea, telling her he was coming home. That he had found his answers.

He came clean to Rilea after he gave the Vanguard all the information he knew. She was upset that he didn’t tell her the truth, and even more upset when his Ghost revealed that he didn’t follow Rezyl down into the darkness. But her anger didn’t last long, and eventually embraced him. He was alive. He was the victor. He came home. That was all that mattered. But to never do something so foolishly stupid again.

An invasion came faster than anticipated. Rezyl didn’t follow them into battle this time, he was out on another mission to hunt down more Fallen, to try and thin their ranks before they could plan another attack on the City. The battle had just ended when he returned home. People were calling it Burning Lake. Their victory was mere inches away from a loss. And he could hear Lord Shaxx’s outrage from the postmaster when the Vanguard announced they were going to launch a counterattack on the Moon.

Over five hundred Guardians stormed the moon to establish a beachhead, but they were hopelessly outmatched. A mere few of them survived when the Vanguard called a retreat and declared travel to Luna forbidden.

Rezyl thought what he had encountered in the depths of the Hellmouth was bad. This—this was bad. The Consensus thought they could combat and defeat whatever was hiding on Luna and they were terribly wrong. Even Rezyl had tried to warn them of the potential threat they actually faced, that it was so much deeper than what he had witnessed. He had barely scratched the surface of the Moon. And now hundreds were dead because of the Consensus’ arrogance.

The Vanguard was a joke. They thought they could defeat the Hive on Luna when they barely won on Earth. They didn’t understand this enemy, what made them think they could beat it?

He made it his responsibility to thin the herd. Every day he went on solo patrols to hunt down the growing numbers on Hive on the surface and beat back the Fallen. Maybe if he cut down enough Hive, he could find a weakness in them. Something to use against them. Something to defeat them. In his mind, he couldn’t trust anyone else to get the job done right. And he was steadfast in his resolve. The more he fought, the closer he was to keeping Rilea safe. He came across new settlements of people every now and then, people tired and weary from living in constant fear of Fallen invasion. He did his duty and led them to the Last Safe City, where they could live out the rest of their lives in peace. Winter had come and gone, and it was spring again.

There was another Guardian protecting the little town he just came across, but she was Ghostless. The Fallen had gotten her Ghost on their last attack.

He was quiet as she recounted the attack. How it was almost over when an Arc-charged blade cut through her Ghost. The last Fallen left standing had ambushed her from the shadows. She threw a knife through its brain and crushed its ether mask with the butt of her gun.

“You do what you must to keep people safe,” she told him. “But I’ve only got one more life to give. We’ve been slowly moving towards the City, but…” She pushed aside the cloth on her stomach, a bullet wound in her side. “Those damn things keep catching up to us. Lost a few people along the way.”

He offered to help her escort these people to the City, and she thanked him for his help. When they arrived, Rilea helped them all get settled and helped Rezyl bring the injured Guardian to the hospital for treatment.

The two of them sat quietly on the porch that afternoon. Rilea held his Ghost in her hands, her thumb tracing the edges of its shell. Amit made small, delighted chirps in response.

“Where do you go?” She asked him quietly. “When you go out on these patrols, where do you go?”

“Wherever I can help,” he responded. “What happened to the sensor grid project?”

“It’s, uh… it’s been put off for a while. I’m sure you heard that the Hunter Vanguard went missing last year. Until they can fill the position, the project is on hold. He was the one who was going to initiate it.”

Rezyl scoffed at the thought. “The Vanguard should be doing whatever they can now, more than ever, to protect the City.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But, like you told me before, it’s politics. The Consensus will focus on filling the gaps instead on updating the grid. It’s just how it is. Besides, there hasn’t been a direct threat to the City since Six Fronts.”

“Doesn’t mean something won’t happen.”

Rilea didn’t know how to respond, so she remained quiet. As much as they both hated politics, Rilea kept up with it. There hadn’t been any Fallen threats to the City since Six Fronts, so the Consensus assumed they had given up. But she wanted to get the grid project going. The sensors didn’t give them enough leeway before to be prepared for the last attack. If the grid was updated to have more range, they could know about approaching threats sooner.

She reached over, took one of his hands and he intertwined their fingers.

“Do you ever think about throwing in the towel?” She asked quietly.

Rezyl raised his eyebrows and looked over at his partner. He tilted his head at her. “No… why?”

“I have…”

“How come, I thought you enjoyed life here, what you do.”

“And I do… It’s just that… I don’t feel like I’m helping anyone anymore. It’s not like I’m a young captain anymore, out there in the wilds protecting a small village of people. I’m already thirty years, Rezyl… Almost thirty-one.” She sighed heavily and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I just wonder how much longer the Consensus will keep me around. Of everyone on the board, I’m one of the few mortal people involved in the City’s infrastructure. I guess it’s only a matter of time before I’m replaced by a Guardian, just like the rest of my coworkers.”

“Rilea…” Rezyl looked over at her sadly. “I know it’s been hard for you… I know you don’t like it when I’m gone for long periods, but I go out there to keep our enemies at bay. Anything I can do... Is there anything I can do to make this easier on you?”

“It would be nice if you were home more… I know you’re trying to make things safer… but I miss you around here. It’s lonely without you…”

The Titan sighed and pressed a small kiss to her forehead. “I’ll do my best.”

Something deep down inside of him was screaming. He knew that what he said was a lie.

Tag List : @mail-me-a-snail

#destiny #destiny fanfic #destiny fanfiction #enthralled fic #dark age destiny #rezyl azzir #non-guardian oc #my oc #my writing #enthralled

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silvertonguedslavicwitch · 5 years

Text

Πειρασμός | Peirasmós

Chapter 16 : Let Me Go

As soon as she entered her tent, she placed a hand over her chest, rubbing it intently a few times as she lets out a somewhat strangled breath. She struggled to even take a seat on her bed. The princess would never admit it but what happened earlier had scared her beyond oblivion. It frightened her. Growing up, Erika understood the price placed above her head. She wasn't supposed to live, no. There were never supposed to be living heirs to the throne. When her parents were assassinated, she was supposed to go alongside them, with her younger brother following suit. Closing her eyes, she could feel all the past memories flooding in to attack her. The recent incident had been a trigger to her.

A catalyst.

Her breathing became very ragged and moved at an uneven pace, so much that Erika struggled to maintain her control over her own exhalation. A moment later, she could feel her chest tightening as the airflow were cut short and her windpipe felt crushed. Everything was closing on to her. Dragging herself to the corner of the space, she began to sob silently. Erikaterina doesn't cry often. There were three rules she had abided since a child.

One, don't ever cry in front of anyone else.

Two, don't ever show your weakness in front of anyone else.

Three, wake up, you're still alive.

Clearly the poisoning attempt had made her rethink her choices. She thought she was free from it when she left Wessex close to eleven moon ago. There was no assassination attempts while she was in Algeciras too. Neither did she have one while residing with the Northmen. Could you blame the poor girl getting paranoid from everything that is associated with her supposedly ‘friends’ if she kept being bombarded with such attempts on her life?

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When Aethelwulf stepped inside, his eyes searched wildly for his friend, who he then found leaning by the corner with a tear stained face and a hollow look adorning it. Sighing to himself, he made his way towards her slowly as he kneeled down to greet her level and took a seat next to her. Poor girl was traumatized. Again.

He had wondered when it would stop for her. Unlike him, she had every reason to doubt everything and everyone. She did not grew a healthy life. But no one seems to see that. Nor do they seem to try and understand it. Memories of her past and the mysterious shroud she wore around her like a cloak, not one soul knew with the exception of Ecbert and his son, Aethelwulf. A secret passed through generation. A secret that his sons would one day possess just as well.

Because there is more to Erikaterina than what meets the eye. No ones knows but that's exactly the reason that drove them into trying to seek out the secret, which never ends up well for them. What was it about the Russian princess that the two generation of Saxon Kings kept from everyone's knowledge? What was so important that not one survived to live the next day if they had tried to pry in to find out? It seems that no one would know, unless it was spilled directly from the source herself.

“I'm sorry..” Aethelwulf started off by apologizing to the princess, who still had a hollow look eating her soul away. Her hues were emotionless and void of anything. It was like she was glass. A non-animated thing. A non-living thing. Soulless. Dead.

“I could've died today.. I could've died a painful death,” she trailed, her every words being slurred purposely. “I. Could. Have. Died. Today. And it would've all been because of you. You, who are supposed to protect me.. Dead at the hands of the person who knew everything.” Her voice got louder as she then laughed. The sudden change of mood surprised the Saxon King, who turned to face her. But then her laugh stopped. “You know I will never escape from this.”

“We'll find a way. We always found a way-”

It wasn't long after she had interrupted him by snapping. “Yes. A way that extended my surviving odds by what- three or four more moons? A year or two?! How long, Aethelwulf?! You tell me! How long do I have to keep living in constant fear?!” It saddens the King to see his friend breaking down in front of him. She's never had a meltdown such as this. At least she's never shown it in front of anyone. And for once, he wasn't sure what to say. He didn't have anything to say that will assure her in any way.

She then got up and started making sure all her daggers and sword were there, trying to get out but was stopped by him. “Let me go, Aethelwulf. I'm tired of running like this.”

“If you are tired of running, why are you doing the very thing you wanted to stop doing?”

Scoffing at him, she shook her head before lowering her hand that held her sword. “I'm going back to where I belong. With my husband. At least during my time with the Northmen, all I had to worry was if someone was going to kill me directly, instead of worrying if I will die after eating something. I will not die due to an assassination attempt.” The raven haired princess gritted her teeth as she clenched her jaw, once the words were uttered. She wasn't going to die like that. Her life wasn't supposed to be like that.

“And you will not. You did not undergo all the hardships of being trained and prepared your entire life for nothing, Kat. You think you might never become a Queen because your brother will take care of it. But no, you are the rightful ruler. You've always been that. You will die your own way, may it be of old age or a defeat on the battlefield.” Grabbing a hold of her shoulders, she looked up to him, who gave her a reassuring smile. “You are strong. Your weapon is your ambiguity. The mystery that shrouded you, that is your weapon. Use it.”

He was right. Erika wasn't a warrior queen like Lagertha nor was she a smart queen who relies on her wits like Aslaug. She wasn't a benevolent and kind queen like that of her late mother; who was known during her lifetime to be a graceful compassionate queen. No. She wasn't a queen. She was just a princess, who just so happened to be given the wrong unfortunate life. She had nothing to showcase other than her status and blood. Which is why, she was prepared for any possible outcome by Ecbert from the moment she came as a small child of 6. Unlike the known queens, she didn't work her way to her title. She was given them, and she has made good use of it. Her identity is all that she has.

“As much as I am glad to see you finally letting the shell broke, you're not going anywhere. You'll stay here as we march onto York the next morning.” The sudden statement had caught her off guard, to which she offered him a confused look.

“You're still going with it.” Aethelwulf nodded and led her back to her bed, where he sat next to her and caressed her dark locks and pecked her forehead. Until she felt a warm sensation gracing her wrist. Ropes. There were ropes tied around her wrist tightly, but not too tight to cut her circulation off.

“I love you Kat, but I can't trust you that you won't do anything foolish. I'll come back after the attack.” With that, he left her to struggle with her own self. She had let herself be fooled and caught off guard by her own friend. For the next hours, she had mumbled words of profanities towards herself as no one is allowed to visit her the entire night.

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She was woken up by the rustling sound produced from Alfred's boots. He entered the tent alongside his older half brother, Aethelred. Possibly to bid her farewell as he marched into this pointless life sacrificing battle he didn't need to indulge himself in. Erika was still mad at Aethelwulf for bringing his sons with him, it was a suicide note. Why would you ever bring your legacy somewhere you might die together with? England still needed to repair themselves and rise again. That was what Ecbert would've wanted. It was what she wanted for them.

Crouching before the princess, Alfred gave her a small smile, reassuring her that he will survive this and come back to resume their pending stories together. Soon enough, the youngest Saxon prince took his leave, leaving the firstborn son with her. “Aethelred. Please, let me go. Let me tag along at least. You know it's very unlikely for you to come victorious from this. You will get yourself killed. And I don't want that to happen to any of you.” However many time the Russian pleaded, Aethelred shook his head every time and just gave her a reassuring smile. But shortly before he left her tent, she called him, telling him to loosen her ties as it was quite tight for her, fearing that it would cut her circulation, especially given her current status.

And he fell for it. He loosened up the ties before exiting the tent. That had given the princess an advantage to get herself out of the ties that had bounded he expressed over a night. After making sure they have left to March towards York, she wiggled herself out and succeeded. The raven haired princess rubbed and caressed both her wrists gently before sneaking out with a quiver strapped and her sword with her. She made sure no one saw her leaving camp, which was easy because everyone obviously had forgotten what it feels like to underestimate her.

She climbed over the walls that they had gone through the first time and saw the Saxons rejoicing in their ‘victory'. The whole town was deserted and it didn't make any sense for her. Why would Ivar leave like this so easily when it was clear the victory on within their grasps? It could only mean one thing and it did not take her long to understood his tactics. It was a trap. Again.

She perched herself on to one of the roofs and stared at the situation under her scrutinizing gaze. Where were the vikings? Where have they gone? Better yet, where were they hiding at? Her eyes wandered wildly as she tried to pinpoint their exact location, until her gaze falls onto the rats skirmishing the town. Wait, rats? Above?

Of course.

Ivar was a strategist in the making. He's already proved himself more than once, this wouldn't strike her as a surprise. She knew it by then, that the crippled Ragnarsson had opted to put the sewers underground to good use. It makes sense why the rats are coming up instead. She was the one who told him regarding the sewers in the first place. By the time she had figured it slowly, she saw the stones covering or barricading the small entrance from the sewers were removed and the vikings started to pile up, charging on the Saxon soldiers who were still in confusion. Hiding herself in the plain sight, she lowered her body and watched as one by one of the soldiers get slaughtered by the savage Northmen.

Erika tried her best to locate the two princes and only saw Alfred who was struggling to keep his stand. Aethelred can handle himself, she thought. Alfred, on the other hand, needed all the help he could have. In the main alley, she saw Alfred fighting off a few vikings. This had caused the Russian born woman to take one arrow from her quiver and notch it on her bow before carefully aiming. As time went by, she began to pluck one by one of the vikings from above, making sure Alfred wasn't a target for more than two people.

Until she saw Hvitserk, of course.

The sight of her husband being covered in blood and fighting like the berserker he was, she cursed silently as she made her way down carefully. She needed to take care of herself more now. She was caring for two more little humans inside her. The flaxen haired prince was a savage when it comes to such combat, befitting his viking nature and heritage. Yelling out in anticipation, the adrenaline that drove the prince had resulted the death of multiple Saxon soldiers. She also happened to catch the sight of Hvitserk fighting with Aethelwulf. Dear God.

Erika rushed over toward their direction but made sure not to be involved directly as she etched herself towards the wall, watching as the scene unfolds before her. Thankfully, Aethelwulf evaded successfully and some of their own had separated their own rivalry. But of course, Hvitserk probably had a lot to vent to. Aethelwulf was the reason he had to leave his wife and the reason why he was humiliated; resulting the belittlement by his youngest brother, Ivar. He was as prideful as he can get, much like his wife as well. She saw a rather big Viking charging towards Alfred after crushing a few others.

“Come on, Erika. You can do this.” Slowly unsheathing her sword, she tossed the end of her cloak's hood go veil herself as she hurled herself into the fight, killing three vikings like it didn't bother her; let's be honest, it really doesn't. She didn't exactly grew fond of them overnight. But before she could get to Alfred, she was pushed towards the wall by a viking, who took the hood off her thus revealing her identity. But the man didn't have the time to say any time to accuse her of her traitorous act because she had drove her sword into his torso, bleeding him out as she left him there and went towards Alfred.

Again, another obstacle stood before her. But it was a way too familiar obstacle she wasn't sure she could go through. Before her stood Eron Sivgny, her own lieutenant, his face and armor tainted with blood of his enemies. “Eron-” However, before she could have the chance to even say anything, the Russian male dragged her with him into a much more secluded and deserted place, preferably inside an inn of sorts. Closing the door with a huge slam, he pushed her gently inside.

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“What was that, Erika?! Why did you throw yourself in battle, killing your own people?!” It was clear that the male was frustrated at his commander's reckless actions. Just wait till he gets ahold of her pregnancy news.

“I was trying to get to Alfred.”

“Not today, Rika. You're staying inside here. Until I say otherwise,” he grumbled and gave her the look that said there was no point in fighting him on this. “That's final, princess.”

“Am I not supposed to be your commander and liege? Why does it sound like you're following my husband's orders instead of mine,” she rebuffed, obviously showing her discontentment over this matter. Well, she is under a lot of emotional strain lately.

“This is not about me following his orders. This is me protecting you. And when it comes to this, protecting Princess Erikaterina comes with the description where it also meant keeping you from being your reckless self. You're a remarkable person, Rika. But you're also very unpredictable and reckless. Let's not let that interfere for this situation, alright?” It never ceases to amaze Erika how Eron still managed to make sure everything was alright with her. Being stern but still redundant and caring at the same time.

“But Alfred-”

“I will make sure he gets out safely, don't worry.” With that, the tall bulky Russian male left without another word being said, leaving the princess in her own solitary confinement again. Sometimes she felt lucky having him by her side, but as she grew up, she hated the feeling of being so dependent occasionally. It was growing to be a pain towards the raven haired woman.

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But of course Erika being Erika, defied the very instruction her own friend had given and sneaked out right after he left. It wouldn't be the first time, so she doubted Eron would actually find it in him to feel surprised when he comes back only to find her gone. It wasn't that she does not trust him; she trusts him with his life. He was probably the only person she allowed herself to be casual with, without any care in the world. But it still does not change the fact that in the many responsibilities that had been bestowed upon herself, keeping Alfred safe from harm’s way was one of them.

By the time she got to him, he was escaping with a fellow soldier. Not the best person she'd trust him with considering even she could defeat him easily and whilst she's a formidable opponent, she wasn't the most strongest or a warrior hardened person. Her strong points had always been underlying the battle strategies and tactics, alongside the political statesmanship and alliances. The only reason why she became their commander was because she needed to establish her root of power back then, since she was only regarded to be nothing more than a princess from title. A decoration of sorts.

She hurried back to the camp and straight up confront the Saxon King as she stepped into his tent, pulling the hood off and flashed him a disapproving look his way. “I told you it was stupid. But no, you didn't listen. Like you always did. And I will always have to prove my point every time. Does my say mean nothing to you? We've been working together for years long, Aethelwulf. But every time I thought up something, I can't help but to see how I had to work and show it despite knowing fully well it was viable.” It might have been the whole pregnancy signs where her emotional state is a little bit more wrecked on the inside. But she had always been placed aside like this all her life, it was starting to get to her as she grew up.

“I don't want to talk about this-”

“No, you don't. But since we don't always get what we want, you're still going to hear it.” She pressed and took off her cloak before tossing it aside, frustration radiating off her. She was beyond livid. “You risked the lives of your countrymen out there. Because of your ignorance. Now I might not care if you end up becoming a good king or not, but I know what I do care. Your sons’ well-being. Their health. Bringing them with you, I cannot fault you there. But to bring them again into a battle you know just as well that you might lose, now that is absurd and ridiculously stupid. Even for you.”

“Don't ever put your children's lives in danger again. If you cannot be a good King, the least you could do is be a decent father.” Not long after that, Erika stormed out, huffing as she got rid of all the venting she needed. She felt slightly better. Only then was she reminded that Eron was probably looking for her and was worried sick.

That night while they were eating dinner, she saw the tense looks on everyone's faces. They weren't telling her something. “Where's Bishop Heahmund?” The sudden question from Erika had made the silence more impregnable. It was an uncomfortable silence. “He didn't make it out, then.” As easily as the words came out her, she dismissed the topic of the Sherborne Bishop with a sip of her drink. Shame, Bishop Heahmund was a very great warrior. To lose such person so easily, was certainly a frown. “With that being said, you realize you shouldn't keep me here any longer, Aethelwulf. I don't know about Ivar, but Hvitserk is very adamant when it comes to getting what he wants. I wouldn't put it past him to let his wife go so easily. If Bishop Heahmund is still alive and held captive, you can exchange me with him, a far better selection of person you needed.”

“What is that supposed to mean.” The accusatory tone that laced her voice surely has managed to send the signals to the petulant King, who stopped every movement as his eyes glazed over to her.

Shrugging casually, she hummed. “We all know who's more helpful in rebuilding your foundation when you return to Wessex. You can't have me there too for there is no place for me. I was the treasonous traitor. As you accept your defeat with a heavy heart, you would rebuild Wessex to its former glory to keep the legacy going. While I, will return to where I actually belonged.”

“You belonged here. You've always belonged here. This is your home,” he pressed firmly, as he too was very adamant into getting his way. He lost a lot, but he wasn't about to lose her in the heaps just as well.

“I'm carrying his child.. Children, Aethelwulf. You cannot separate a cub from their mother and father. You know that.” It was one thing that Aethelwulf could fight against, for he deeply knew somewhere in him, that was the truth. He could never keep her here against her will. He couldn't bring himself to do it. King Ecbert's words rung in her ears every time; that Aethelwulf would always forgive her, despite everything.

“But I won't lose you.. I can't.”

“You never have. And you never will. You know a part of me will always be here. I grew up here under your wings. You moulded me into the person I am today. All the knowledge I gained and received, was an entrapment I relished in here. But you also knew, that one day you'll have to set me free. You took care of an injured bird, but alas, you know one day you will have to set it free. How can I fly when my wings are clipped and tied?”

Whilst it seemed like he was in a deep thought, she took it as a chance to reconcile and set their differences away as it does seem like it was going to be the last time she actually sees him. “You don't even have to send me back to my husband. But you have to let me go. Send me back to my brother in Russia, or even off to Sicily; even though that option is very hazardous to my current state,” she chuckled softly, clearly finding the joy in this. “But you know deep down where you should send me back to. All my life, people have conspired against me, Aethelwulf. Men have conspired against me. They don't like the fact that I hold more power despite not wanting it. My birthright is a curse. Powerful men such as them can't afford to lose to a girl, they say. You know that.”

Leaning forward to face him, her facial features softened and she sighed. “'I can't keep living like this. I can't be sheltered every day. I need to survive. For my brother. And for my people's sake. I may be fragile, but I fought wars with you despite having only half your number and you taught me how to wield a sword as early as 6. Your father taught me all the arts I needed to procure and master since a child. I won't die so easily, my friend. But you have to let me go.”

“Fine. I know I cannot keep you here against your will no longer. If I don't let you go, you will find a way to let yourself go. I don't want you to leave without saying your goodbyes.”

“It won't be a goodbye. Goodbye means I won't come back. Which I don't think I can help myself with.”

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#hvitserk x oc #Hvitserk #vikings #Bjorn Ironside #ivar the boneless #ivar #ubbe #peirasmós

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pinkletterday · 6 years

Text

The Universal Constant

Pairing: Gen, Barry Allen/ Iris West

Rating: Teen

Characters: Barry Allen, Joe West

Tags: Pre-series AU, Grief, Bereavement, Wrongful incarceration, confrontation, junk-adjacent science, Not any junkier than the show though

Warnings: Death, Graphic Description of Murder, Discussion of Intimate Partner Violence

Summary: When Henry Allen dies in prison, Joe goes to comfort his foster son. He's unprepared to confront Barry's hard truths.

A/N: One author's determination to shove the Savitar storyline and its perversion of who Barry Allen is where the sun don't shine, thanxkbai.

Read on AO3

To say Henry Allen's funeral had been sparsely attended would have been to understate the case. His friends and family had all cut ties with him over the decade he had spent in prison, so that when the casket was lowered to the ground, only his son stood over it, flanked by Joe and Iris in silent support.

(Joe would later discover that Henry's cellmate had appealed for furlough to attend the funeral but had been denied.)

Barry had walked through the entire affair as though in a dream. He had stood at a remove from the proceedings, staring sightlessly out into the sea of headstones dotting the green through the pastor's generic eulogy, and then at the dirt trailing through his fingers as though analyzing the soil composition, ignoring the coffin it fell upon. The only point he had been adamant about when Joe and Iris had handled the arrangements was that his father be laid to rest beside his mother. They had expected nothing less, even though Joe knew Chyre and a few others in the force thought it perverse that the man be buried beside the woman he had murdered.

He had been equally adamant on not having a wake ("Why? Who else is mourning him?") so when the pastor had taken his leave, Joe turned around to find his fosterling missing.

Barry would need space right then, Joe knew, but he was also worried about what he might take it into his head to do if he was left alone. Joe had despised Henry Allen since he had first drawn back the plastic sheet over his wife's face to shield the young shell-shocked eyes of their son, but the man's death could not have come at a worse time for Barry. He was almost done with his CCPD internship, so close to graduating and joining the force with Joe where he could keep him close but behind the scenes. Where he could slowly experience for himself the inevitability of the evidence that condemned his father and finally move on with his life.

Instead, Henry Allen had died protecting another prisoner in a riot and martyred himself forever in Barry's eyes.

Despite all the interactions he had seen betweeen them giving every appearance of selfless devotion, Joe had never been able to figure out whether Henry really had loved his son as much as he seemed (hadnt he also seemed a devoted husband till he murdered his wife?). But now it was a moot point, as he had died letting his son believe the lie of his innocence. It was the worst kind of cruelty to the boy, and Joe feared that the boy's obsession with proving the impossible would now carry him further adrift than he or Iris could ever reach him.

He finally found Barry sitting in the second pew inside the empty chapel. His back was still held in that unnaturally ramrod line, staring at the kaleiscopic pattern the afternoon light cast on the limestone floor as it filtered in through the stained glass window. A sunbeam from another overhead arch slanted over his head, illuminating the dust motes dancing around him, bringing out the mahogany burnish of his hair. Taking in his pale composure, tie loosened under his Adam's apple and blazer outlining the breadth of his sloping shoulders, Joe could still only see the little boy of ten years agone, uncomfortable as a penguin in his starched Sunday suit, holding his and Iris's fingers in a death grip in front of his mother's coffin - a small, terrified but brave David facing his own Goliath of tragedy.

Joe shuffled himself over next to him, the honeyed oak seat sliding solid and polished despite the clear scuffings of age. Barry's hands rested on the back of the pew in front, long fingers unfurled as if to catch the light on each tip. Joe didn't know what to say, so he said nothing and simply sat, the ache in his heart heavy with the storm he could sense within Barry's.

"Do you know who I love most in the world, Joe?"

Iris. He had always known that. He suspected most people who knew Barry knew that; those expressive eyes always so unknowingly worshipful of her since they were kids.

Still, he wasn't sure he was supposed to know, so he stayed silent.

"It's Iris," said Barry. "Always has been. She's - to me, she's everything."

Joe nodded cautiously, wondering whether Barry meant him to interpret this as a platonic love or if it was a tacit confession.

"Do you ever wonder about the inconsistencies in my mother's case?"

Joe blinked, unprepared for the subject change. Then sighed deeply. So we're doing this again.

"Barry, your father was found-"

"Over her body with the knife in his hand, no sign of break in, yeah I know. But what about the autopsy report?"

Sharp projectile thrust diagonally through the 2nd rib, two inches to the right of the heart, penetrating the upper ventricle and top of the left lung. Projectile embedded five inches deep stoppering blood flow without immediately rupturing the organs. Impact has failed to shatter rib but penetrated cleanly without laceration. Slow haemorrage took approximately three minutes, victim likely in shock but maintaining blood pressure for approx 60 seconds before bleeding out. Cause of death: aortic rupture

"It was a deep stab wound."

"Yes it was," said Barry, distant yet conversational. "It was just a paring knife, not a meat cleaver or fish knife. She was cutting an apple. The blade was slightly curved, the sharpest edge along the side and not the point. It would have needed a huge amount of force just to drive it into five inches of muscle....but it also went through bone."

"The bone should have slowed the knife's downward thrust, but it didn't. He had to have pinned her down and held it right over head while she was looking up at him. And then, instead of jamming it into the join between her neck and shoulder - the most vulnerable place she had from that angle - he drove it into her heart...and missed."

Joe tried not to at cringe the dispassionate way Barry rattled off the facts. It was a testament to how long the boy had been analyzing every gruesome detail inside his head until the most traumatic event of this life was nothing more than a breakdown of physics and anatomy, detached yet frustrating as constantly fiddling with an unsolvable Rubik's Cube.

"My father was a surgeon, Joe. He knew exactly where the ribs are in a body. Why would he miss the heart and try to go through a rib instead of over or under?"

The old fatigue sank like a stone inside him as his breath escaped in an even deeper sigh. He had tolerated and fielded a barrage of questions like this for years after Barry had come to live with them, usually culminating in Joe sharply ordering him to his room or Barry storming off in tears. But after that last terrible fight during his senior year of high school, the boy had finally realized the threshold of Joe's patience and the cross examinations had stopped. Something had broken between them in the aftermath, some strand of hope and trust forever retracted from Barry. Joe had balanced out his irrational guilt with the sheer relief at the tenuous peace he thought they had forged - till now.

"Barry, stabbings are usually not premediated," he said, dusting off the same old, well-worn arguments in resignation. "In the heat of the moment, people forget who they are, much less their training."

Barry nodded complacently. "Yes. It must have been the heat of the moment. No one ever saw them fight before it happened, did they? My Dad's lawyer tried to use that. Usually before a crime of passion happens there's some sort of tension, some background that leads up to it. But no one ever thought my Dad had anything but love for Mom, and there was never any evidence of money disputes or cheating. Heat of the moment...with no fire behind it."

But you can never know what happens behind closed doors, thought Joe. Sometimes our own love takes terrible faces, especially when betrayed.

"But you can never really know someone, can you Joe?" said Barry as though he had read Joe's mind. He examined the texture of the aged oak pew under his hands with distant interest, fingertips trailing lightly over the slight cracks and grooves. "You only assume that you know them, until you don't, isnt that what you always say?"

"Everyone assumed my Dad loved my Mom till they assumed he drove her to her knees, braced her shoulder with one hand, and plunged a fucking paring knife into her chest, somehow passing through bone without crushing it. That should be impossible, Joe. There were no lacerations. That bit confused the fuck out of three separate medical examiners and what the defence lawyer tried to get to stick before the proesecution decided that the knife being the murder weapon was enough. He was precise and powerful enough to somehow incise through bone from and he still missed the heart." Barry's hands gripped the wood convulsively, gaze now fixed unseeing over the altar.

"A longtidunally oriented stab requires an axial force of over nine hundred Newtons. That's for an overarm stabbing. For a light handled knife to be embedded five inches deep into the body, clean through both rib and lung, you need a whole lot more. He'd have had to lay her down on the floor and sit on her chest before driving it into her heart with both hands, which at that angle, was not what happened. At that angle, for that depth, you'd need far more than twice that power."

"When a person sees something bearing down on them, they turn their face away. The knife had to have come down on her from roughly two to two and half feet from her face, giving her enough time to flinch away. But the blood splatter pattern indicated she never had."

Joe couldnt take it anymore. "Barry, please..."

The boy ignored him and pushed inexorably on, reciting his well-learned catechism of facts. "For her to not have had enough time to turn her face away, at the force of roughly 2000 Newtons wielded by a 200 pound man the knife should have come down at an acceleration exceeding -"

"People arent physics, Barry!," Joe burst out in frustration. "They can do things in an adrenaline rush that shouldn't be possible!"

The kid's posture suddenly relaxed. "Yes. Again. 'The heat of the moment'," said Barry, still with that light, eerie pleasantness. "An unlikely knife and lack of reflex, an entry point and angle that makes no sense, an unbelievable force, a completely unexplainable wound and the "heat of a moment" no one ever saw coming."

"Unexplained but not impossible," said Joe gently. "The paring knife was the murder weapon. Your Dad's prints and Mom's blood were all over it."

Barry's face looked more angelic than ever as he continued gazing thoughtfully at the resigned countenance of Jesus on the cross, the marble head bowed in an eternity of disappointed, weary love.

"Not impossible," he acquiesced. "Less impossible than a man in a ball of lightning that only a frightened child saw. Less impossible than someone else having broken in, knocked out my father, killed my mother and left without leaving a trace. Less impossible than a fruit knife that can cut through a bone without shattering it or crushing the muscle underneath, clean as butter."

"What's your point?," said Joe, patience too frayed to keep the bite out of his tone.

Barry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the front pew, trailing steepled fingers over his face to rest under his chin. "Tell me, Joe," he said, "How impossible would it be for me go home today, and become so angry at Iris that I would push her to the ground. How mad would I have to be to look her in the eyes, the ones I can never say no to, and plunge a knife into her beating heart, nearly to the hilt, with enough force to break bone? What in this world could she do that would make me do that?"

He could see it all too clearly, his baby's eyes glassy and vacant, the blood seeping down her chest, the dusky brown skin ash-grey under the blue plastic tarp...

"That's it," the sudden chill in his bones burned away as he rounded on Barry furiously, trying to pierce through this terrible, impassive veil and rip out his son who was bleeding underneath. "Don't think I dont know what you're trying to do, Barry, but you are not him! You are not your father -"

"But I am his son," he said calmly, "the son of a murderer who has defended him all his life."

"You're my son!" said Joe angrily. "You're the boy I raised! I know you!"

"And I knew my father, Joe!"

He got his wish when the unnatural stillness was shattered by Barry's shout, a thunder clap in the high enclave. The fury Joe had sensed seething under the surface was finally unleashed, teeth bared and eyes streaming, his face a rictus of wild anger he had never seen on Barry before.

For a strange, unforgivable moment, Joe wondered whether this was the same kind of ferocity that had ended Nora's life.

"I knew my father! I saw the way he looked at my mother the first decade of my life! The way he held her hand, the way he kissed her hair, the way he smiled at her - I know what that feels like, because its the same thing I've felt in me for Iris since I was ten!"

The tears drowned Barry's eyes and voice even through his yelling, but he leaned away from Joe when he tried to pull the boy to his chest. "I couldn't do it, Joe! I could never hurt Iris like that, couldnt ever even dream of hurting her, there's nothing in the world that she could ever do that would make me so angry, no heat in the world, Joe!"

"I know that," Joe finally managed to grab him by the elbows, forcing him to look at him. His own vision was blurred with tears now, desperate to get through to Barry, to make him understand how much Joe loved him, trusted him - "Barry, I know that! I know how much you love her - I've always known!"

"No, you don't!," Barry cried, struggling against him. "You don't know. Because if you did you'd at least believe I know what love feels like! You'd believe I saw it in my father! You'd know how impossible it is to love someone so much and ever - ever -,"

He crumpled with a suddenness that caught Joe so off-guard that he barely caught him when he fell forward. A keening wail burst from Barry's throat that he tried to bury too late in Joe's shoulder, slender frame shuddering and wracked with an anguish still too towering for his young body to contain. Joe could only cradle the back of his boy's head and wrap his arms around him, as tight as he had when Barry had cried for his parents after Nora's funeral, holding him as close as when he had found him huddling in the dark, tear-streaked and terrified from his nightmares. He simply held on, anchoring him through the storm, murmuring comfort into his hair.

Gradually, the violence of his sobs subsided. Barry drew away and wiped his eyes, neither of them caring about the wet patch left on Joe's coat.

"And if I ever - Iris - if that ever -," he stuttered, determined to finish saying his piece even with his face damp and averted, tremors still running through him, "- I wouldn't be able to lie, Joe. I wouldnt be able to live with what I had done. I'd...I'd kill myself too. Because, she is... she's everything to me."

"I know, son, I know -," Joe kept up his low, soothing litany.

"Do you really? Do you really understand?" Pleading, desperate, searching eyes pierced into his own. "We can disagree about what things are impossible in this world but not that. That is the only impossible thing I could never become. It's because I know that to be true...that's why I don't doubt my father."

"A man that's faster than lightning may be impossible," Barry slumped against the pew, head bowed low, his face bathed in both tired, resigned grief and the rose-gold of the dying light, "but it's less impossible than that."

Joe held onto the boy's limp hand. "I know," he said helplessly, "I understand."

The two of them sat in silence, Joe rubbing the aftershocks from the line of Barry's back. Eventually as the shadows of the pews lengthened, the boy stopped shaking, instead leaning listlessly against him, head flopped on Joe's shoulder, completely worn out and drained. He slid an arm under Barry's back and helped him up from his seat then, almost carrying him out of the pew and along the aisle, a mess of heavy, hollowed-out limbs. Joe chivvied him outside in front of him and turned around to close the heavy chapel door.

The jeweled light now lay at the feet of the Saviour, His body limp with agony and exhaustion but his face still gentle with love - patient, forgiving, inexhaustible.

"Barry, look at me. Look at me! Now, Joe's gonna look after you till I get out of here. You just - be the good boy your Mom and I know you are."

"I love you, son. You hear me? I will always, always love you."

#myfic #fanfic #the flash #westallen #genfic #au #barry allen #joe west #grief #mourning #bereavement #violence tw #domestic violence tw #death tw #religion #junk speedforce physics

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