Could I request Dehya or Dainsleif with:

❛ you’re a weapon, and weapons don’t weep. ❜

Thank you for requesting dehya for this. I love her sm 🥺

Pure angst

Dainsleif

The man you nursed back to life, meets your betrayed expression with an emotionless face.

"That's it?" You question him in disbelief. "All the days we spent didn't mean anything to you?"

Pain washes over his face. He outstretches his hand to reach your crying form but decides against it.

"I wish to bring you no harm." Dainsleif's usually calm voice is cracking. "I can't take you with me. My journey ahead is far more dangerous. It's best we part our ways."

There's rebuttal in your eyes and he can't stand it. Hell, he couldn't stand you from the beginning.

You saved the dying man. Cooked him food and stayed by his side until he recovered his strength.

The last battle was brutal. He barely survived it. He was so used to his solitary. He doesn't remember the last time someone took care of him.

But now that he had a taste of your affection. It's killing him. He doesn't want to be away from you. He cherished the times he spent with you more than you can imagine.

"I will be going." He whispers faintly before turning his back to you. Every step he takes, gets him further away from you.

"Don't leave me." You scream, making him flinch. Yet, he doesn't stop walking. "Dain.... I love you."

You are sobbing as you watch the love of your life walk away. And it feels like you died a little when he doesn't even look your way.

Your voice gets fainter and fainter until he can't hear you anymore.

Dainsleif was once a feared knight from a nation that is long gone. He's a warrior who didn't need a weapon; he is a weapon himself.

And yet, he lost.

"You are a weapon," he thinks to himself sadly. "And weapons don't weep."

Dehya

She always comes back to you.

Somedays she comes home with little wounds on her body which makes you frown with worry.

"It's nothing." She laughs, trying to reassure you. "It's just a scratch, and the mora I gained from this commission makes it all worth it."

Somedays she won't be home until weeks. You try not to show it really. Yet, the worry on your face is so obvious.

You wait for the knock on the main door with baited breath. It's been so long since you last saw her. So, you pace around the room with both impatience and excitement.

You missed her so much.

When you hear a soft knock on the door, you rush to open it. And before you know it, you are in her arms.

"Dehya," you breathed in relief. "You are back."

You hear her chuckle against your ear. "I will always come back to you."

Although her voice is cheerful, you can hear the hint of something in it.

You lift your head to look in her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing." she says with a smile. "I missed you."

"I missed you more." You tell her shyly.

"It was a long mission." She explains as she took a seat on your sofa. "... and a very difficult one too."

You nod in understanding.

"Were you hurt?"

She shakes her head in an unreadable expression.

"The commission was a success." She continues, her eyes turning glassy. "And, we lost some of our people."

There is a moment of silence. And, then you shuffle closer to her.

Cupping her face you tell her, "It's okay to let it out."

Dehya frowns. Her lips tremble with sadness as she blinks back the tears.

"'You are a weapon, and weapons don't weep' is what you are thinking no?" You tell her with a sad smile. "To me you are only my dehya. It's okay to cry in front of me."

It's like the dam broke. The weight of the mission and its loss finally gets to her. So you lend her your shoulder when she crumbles in front of you.

Neteyam x dead Reader Part 4

Warnings: heavy mentions of death, shit ton of crying, sadness, corpses, mentions of wounds, blood, mentions of knives, Kiri and Jake bonding,

Summary: After Neteyam passed, his family doesn’t know what to do without him.

Note: sorry this is longer than the other chapters guys, I literally couldn’t help myself. The reason I added the Jake and Kiri thing in the middle was because I noticed in ATWOW Jake was always the one who was “strong” and never cried. So he obviously had a reason for that, so I just wanted to show their relationship in this chapter. I really hope you guys like it!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

…

There he laid, his stiff body in his own mothers hands. Her wails filling the tree of souls, her yell’s flooding her surroundings. Her own son was gone, dead in seconds. Tears came down like a waterfall, like a river flowing through the forest. They never stopped, not for a second. The salty liquid coming to trickle from her eyes down to her mouth as it layed agape, while she weeped for her son. The boy she loved before he even came out of the womb, the boy she played with for hours. The young man she had raised for years, her own blood was in him.

A part of her family was gone, and it was by his own accord. By his own will, his own hands. Why? Why would Eywa let this happen? Why did it come so sudden? She blamed herself, she shouldn’t have let him get so low in life. She was at fault for this, she was his mother. Her job was to nurture and care for her children, but she couldn’t even do that. She couldn’t do the one job she was assigned as a mother. Her eyes kept switching from the wound her son made, to his pale face. His handsome face that was once smiling and laughing was now gone, with only a frail corpse being left behind.

She should’ve gotten there sooner, but no she took her sweet time. Now her son was gone, he was with Ewya now. He was with his true love, you. You were the cause of this horrible act. But it wasn’t your fault, you pleaded him not to. But he never listened, too caught up in his own sorrow to think of the bigger picture for once. The blood trickled down his cold chest, his soulless frame. The red ivory covering his mothers hands, her soft hands now painted with death. She needed him back, she was supposed to see him grow up. See him become a true man and build a family, but now that reality was just a delusion. She watched as his chest stayed still with no breath coming out. She stared into him, waiting for him to wake up. Waiting for him to come back and for this to just be some bad nightmare. She pleaded to a dead body to come back to be with her for even just one more minute. Just so she could say goodbye to him, for one more moment with her eldest son.

Hours went by as she sat there with him, sitting with a boy who was no longer there. Her cries slowly stopped, instead she just sat there. Not moving, just breathing alone. Admiring her son she held back the tears, she needed to get help. She needed to tell someone, someone who could help her. Mustering up the courage, she picked his up dying corpse and over her shoulder. As she began to walk, her cries started again, her sorrow never ending as she walked down the trail to the village.

“Help, please help!” She screamed, as she collapsed on the ground. Her sounds drawing attention to form a crowd, she was quickly comforted as she heaved in exhaustion from her journey. “Neytiri!” Her mate yelled, running to see what was wrong. To his surprise he found his wife screeching in agony as her son laid lifeless in front of her. Looking at the scene in front of him, realization engulfed his being as his eyes laid onto the knife jabbed into his sons chest. Coming to comfort Neytiri he darted around the crowd and to his wailing mate. Holding her in his arms, he angled her to his chest so she wouldn’t have to see her dead son. His eyes were set on Neteyam as he moved his hands up and down Neytiri’s back.

What had he done so wrong as a father for this to happen? This wasn’t happening, this wasn’t reality. It was too much to bear, too much for his strong heart to take. What were the kids going to think? Their own brother committed suicide, the Na’vi didn’t even have a word for that. It never happened, it wasn’t Ewya’s plan, the great mothers plan couldn’t be this. His thoughts consumed him as he sat there with his mate.

“No- please no” Jake mumbled, a tear daring to fall from his eyes. Quickly wiping it away, he had to stay strong for his mate and more importantly his people. The crowd was mumbling who knows what, scrambled sorrows and wails across the group as they watched their Tsihak and Olo'eyktan cope with the death of their son.

“Baby- baby” he spoke, bringing her face to meet his. “We have to stay strong, remember?” He asked, staring into his wife’s orbs that seemed to have been drowned of life. “Strong heart” he added, and he was right. His people were watching, they needed someone to guide them. They needed their Olo'eyktan and Tsihak to stay strong. Her mouth turning into a frown as she tried to hold in her tears and wails. Taking a deep breathe she nodded, Jake holding her hand as he helped her to his feet. Her legs were weak, she had walked so far with not just her own body but with another on her back. She wobbled underneath him, but soon she found her balance as she stood up.

Jake let go of his wife as she found her way out of the crowd, leaving him with Neteyam. His eldest son dead, his son who was going to be the next Olo'eyktan, the leader of his people. Standing over his sons body, he bent down to hold him in his arms. Making his way through the crowd, all eyes were on him as his legs guided him. His face was tired, it was pale, drained of any happiness that he had beforehand, his smile turning to a frown as his lips pierced together.

Neytiri called for her children, scared they would have to see their brothers dead body. But sadly she wasn’t mistaken, Tuk had been in the crowd with Kiri by her side. Kiri who had run with Tuk to see what all the commotion was, had turned teary eyed. Covering Tuks eyes she led her away and into their hut. Tuk crying in Kiris arms, sitting in their hut alone with only eachother. Kiri sat there feeling alone, even though Tuk was in her grasp. She felt numb, dead almost, lifeless like her brother. Her body was heavy, her eyelids turned murky just like every other limb attached to her body. This wasn’t happening, her brother couldn’t have done such a horrible thing. She knew he was struggling, by why didn’t he just talk about it to her. She would’ve listened, she would’ve held onto him tight, telling him how much she loves him. Tears ran down her face, her features staying the same as she cried. She was a statue, with a waterfall pouring out of her eyes.

“I- is he really gone Kiri?” Tuk cried, latching onto her sisters knot holding up her loincloth. “I- I think so Tuk” she confessed, did she even believe her own words? Was it really true? She couldn’t imagine a world without him, he was always with her. They were the ones who took care of Lo’ak and Tuk when it was just them. They were the protectors of the family, the duo, now it was just her. A one man show from now on. She held onto Tuk as her thoughts raced through her broken mind. “Kiri, Tuk?” Neytiri spoke, rushing into their hut. She was too late, their eyes had been shown the bloody scene already. The bloodbath her son had made, the agony he put his family through. “Mom?” Tuk asked, looking up at her mother.

“Oh Tuk” she sighed, opening her arms up. Tuk rushed into them, leaving Kiri bare. That’s what she felt, bare, naked with no one to hold onto. “I am so sorry” Neytiri cried, as if she was the one at fault for this. Her happiness had faded, her children’s laughs and giggles seemed like a reality she could never grasp again. Kiri sat there, her eyelids half open, letting the tears come and go as they pleased. “Kiri?” noticing her daughters strange position. “Hm?” She spoke, turning her gaze to her weeping mother. “Where is Lo’ak?” She asked, worried for her youngest son. What if he had already seen his brother, and had left, too frightened to see one more second of this agony. Kiris head hung low, trying to figure out where he was. But she came up with nothing, no location of where he might be. So she sat there, her silence was the only answer she could muster up, her unknowningness was her last resort. She couldn’t comprehend what was being said to her, and she didn’t need to. She just needed to sit there for as long as she needed to, as long as Ewya would let her.

Walking into their hut, Jake was met with sorrow and tears. His head hung low, passing by Kiri and Tuk. Laying his son’s body on the mat in front of everyone to see. He sat on the edge, just watching, waiting for something to happen. For someone to save him from this hell, something that could take him away. His breathe was hitched and heavy, trying his best to be the strong man his family saw him as. But why? Why couldn’t he let himself feel it, feel the sorrow that inflamed him. He needed to mourn his dead son, he needed someone to tell him it was ok to cry, that he didn’t need to be strong anymore. A sign that told him he could let go and bathe in his sorrows. Kiri watched her father fight with himself, and for what? She’d never seen her father cry, never seen him mourn anything. She noticed how he was always the strong one in the family, the one who could uplift everyone, but was never uplifted by anyone else. She could tell he needed someone, he needed that sign to come soon.

So she decided she would be that sign, she could finally help her father, finally give back everything he’s given to her, she could repay her debt she owed as a daughter. Coming over to sit next to him, she patted him on the back as she joined in watching her brothers body. “It is ok to not be strong” she let out, her gaze never leaving Neteyam. Was she trying to comfort him? That wasn’t how it was supposed to go, she was the child and he was the father, he had to comfort her that was his job. But what was this feeling that grew in his heart? He felt seen, and she saw him for what he was, he was a mourning father who needed an outlet. He was tired of the facade he put up for everyone to see. “I see you Dad” she said, looking up at her father. She brought her hand down to intertwine with her fathers. He smiled at the gesture, a tear coming out. His tears falling one by one in a never ending cycle. He held onto Kiris hand, grasping tightly, scared to be vulnerable in front of his own daughter.

Lo’ak walked through the village, noticing how everyone was giving him weird looks and stares, he couldn’t help but wonder. He knew he was the screw up of the family, but not that much of one. Growing closer to his hut, he picked up the wails of his family. Quickly rushing in he stood there, his eyes widening at his brothers body on the mat, with a knife plunged into his heart. “Mom- what happened” he asked, fighting back tears that fought to come out. “Who did this?” He asked, his voice turning into a huff. Whoever did this was going to feel the wrath of him, he swore it. He ran to his brothers side, mumbling words only him and Ewya would know. A tear dropped onto his brothers frigid body, then another, and another. Till a puddle was created. Lo’ak’s eyes screwed shut trying his best not to let his tears rain down too much. He prayed and prayed for Ewya to bring him back, for relief of some sort. His brother was the only one he could talk to, the only one on this planet that saw him for who he really was. The only one who never judged him for who he was, now who was going to take his place?

Taglist: @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @not-aya @angrypomeranianwifey @your-girl-mj @divineei @yeosxxx @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @dyingofcookies

Stand by my grave and try to weep

I short piece about grief and guilt from the perspective of Scott during 3rd life at the end of episode 7

Scott stood by a grave and wished the events of the last few days hadn’t transpired the way they did. 

A battle in the desert. An expert shot from Skizz. A dead husband. The aftermath. Skizz striking once again. A dead friend–

It was a small grave, in retrospect. 

It was fitting –Grian had remarked when he saw the size of the grave– since “Timmy had left a small impact on the world.”

Scott knew he should’ve disagreed, but he couldn’t think of an example to disprove it at the time, so he had laughed along in agreement. 

He stared at the grave some more. It looked like a picture perfect grave; The stone was perfectly symmetrical, the dirt in front was not too flat–not too messy, the stone was clean as can be. Everything was how a grave was supposed to look; if you asked someone to think of a grave, this grave would be what they’d imagine. 

Scott sighed, he supposed he was a widow now. He had followed the correct steps in order for the widows alliance to be formed. 

But then his fellow widow-to-be had to go and die before her husband, leaving Bdubs to be the widow instead of her. 

So now Scott was completely alone. 

Just him and his husband’s perfect grave. 

This was the part where he should reminisce about the good times he and Jimmy shared. 

Like their first meeting! Or foiling Tango’s cow operation! Or- or…

Scott felt a wave of terror wash over him. Were those two really all the good moments he could come up with off the top of his head? 

He forced himself to take a deep breath. 

No, no. He’s grieving, he’ll remember the rest of the good moments later. 

Cleo would’ve told him it was okay; probably something about how both their husbands’s incompetence clouded the good memories of them. 

Scott involuntarily started to smile. 

Cleo would have built Bdubs a big grave and then joke about how she and Scott switched the graves around. They would’ve known how to cheer Scott up…

Scott’s thoughts trailed off; his smile slipping from his face. 

What kind of widow was he?

He shifted his feet uncomfortably. He felt more sadness over Cleo dying than his own husband.

If anyone were to drop by now, they’d see him not act like a proper widow and judge him for it. 

Why wasn’t he crying? His husband died in front of him. A normal widow would be crying. Why couldn’t he make himself cry?

Why couldn’t he cry? Why weren’t the tears falling? 

Scott wiped away tears that didn’t exist; that should exist, but he failed to actually deliver. 

Maybe he just needed a reminder of all the good times. He should find the poppy Jimmy gave him. 

He turned around before pausing. Where did he leave that poppy?

His gaze turned to the sky, as if the sun or the clouds would answer his silent question. 

But alas, the sky stayed silent. It was probably judging him as well.  

Defeated, he let his gaze wander down. 

Ah, the tears were coming. Finally.

He caught a glimpse of the hill where he and Cleo made the widows alliance.

He felt his nose start to prickle and his eyes sting. 

He quickly speedwalked –not ran, that would look desperate– to the centre of the Flower Valley and plucked the neared red flower he saw. 

He didn’t have the time to get the correct flower; the tears would dry up if he wasn't quick enough. 

He walked back, deliberately slowing himself down, to his dead husband’s grave. He carefully laid the red –tulip, apparently– on the dirt. 

His eyes might have started to water, but no full tears were rolling yet. 

Scott pressed his eyes shut, but there just wasn’t enough liquid to squeeze out of his eyes that way. 

Scott kept his eyes closed though, and thought about happy smile, shared laughter, inside jokes, hair that reminded him of the sunset, skin the colour of grass on a cold day–

He opened his eyes and bit back a sob. Tears finally escaped his eyes and started to roll over his face. 

Now he looked like a proper widow. 

Now he was a proper widow.

Scott stood by a grave and wished the events of the last few days hadn’t transpired the way they did.

Scott closed his eyes again before turning around. 

He couldn’t stand to look at the grave anymore. 

He hopes he’ll start missing him tomorrow. 

@freakyshibs prompt: Can you do one where they're childhood friends who liked each other but lost contact after touya's death. They meet each other again and confess their feelings to one another and you can decide what happens from there on! I want it to be smut but if u arent comfy writing that that's cool!

”touya!” you squealed as he tickled you; laughs filling the air as you both fell over onto the ground.

Touya was a bit older than you, only by a year, but he still was just as childish as you were. His favorite thing to talk about was growing up and marrying you, but even you knew as a kid it was just talk. Nonetheless, he still called you ‘baby girl’, regardless if it was a bit cringe or cheesy.

He would always ebb and flow; sometimes he would be at the park, sometimes not. Often times he would show up with scratches or bruises, but it didn’t stop him from being playful with you.

“where did you get this scratch from?” you would always ask, touching them softly as if he would break as he watched your intently. he would shrug it off and run away, laughing as he teased you.

But one day, he didn’t come to the park. You didn’t think anything of it until he didn’t come the next day, or the next, or the next. you began to worry, was he alright? You were 12 now, and you marched your way down the street like a big kid. this quickly faltered, however, when you saw the ruins of his house.

ash was scattered on the street, the air smelling musky like burning paper. the whole house was black, the occasional red flicker spurring up before dying back down. Fuyumi was standing out front alone, doubled over as she wept to herself.

You stopped in front of the house, eyes full of tears as you watched her cry into the burnt clothing of.. touya. he was no where to he seen, but based on the way the clothes looked, he was long gone.

“fuyumi.. what happened..?” you ask, meeting her pained eyes as she turned around, holding your small waist as she cried into your clothes. you sat down and hugged her back; she was just a child like you, but it still must have been even harder saying that this was her brother.

“he.. he’s gone! All For One took him.. h-he’s..” just explaining this pained you more as she started to cry even more, your grey shirt turning black from the amount of tears falling.

“He’ll bounce back, i just know it.” you say with a weak smile as you wiped your own tears, hugging her as more tears began to fall. you had no clue whether he actually could, you just had to hope.

————————<3

11 years have passed now. 11. Touya still hadn’t left your memory in all of these years, but you learned to move on. Well, you didn’t want to, but the weeping led to your parents to get angry with you.

“Move on! Touya is dead for pete’s sake y/n!” your father yelled.

“no he’s not! I know he’s not. There’s no way-“

“forget him or get out.” your father said, pointing to the door with a scowl.

“dad, im 14 years old! I can’t-“

“then leave it alone.”

The words were drilled into your head, but you couldn’t help but choke back a sob when you saw on the news the uprising villian attack.

“and there are also new villians coming into the city. Dabi is who we believe is the new one, and he has already burned down several buildings. If you see him, our only advice is to run and let the heroes take care of him.”

The news reporter seemed scared himself, but come on, this ‘villian’ looked exactly like touya. He would never hurt someone without a purpose.

You rushed out of your room and out of the house, running towards the city as fast as you could. the video on the news showed him alone, maybe this would be your chance to see touya again?

You followed the scent of smoke; your great sense of smell really helped since it was faint. the fire must have burned out, but maybe he was still nearby. your turned a corner to go through an alley way as stopped in your path, almost running into dabi.

you toppled back as looked up in horror, expecting to find a scary villian instead.

“touya?” you asked, although it was more of a whisper, as you brushed the hair out of your eyes.

“hey baby.” the man says as he offers you a hand, pulling you up as you fell into his chest.

“you’re.. alive?” you ask as tears fall down your face and into his shirt, a small kiss being placed on the top of your head as a yes.

You looked up at his face and examined the purple-ish skin. Your hands ran along the line of skin and staples that attached the clear skin to the burnt skin.

“are you-“

“I’m fine. healed if you would.” he interrupts, lifting you over his shoulder with a grin.

“hey! put me down!” you yell, earning a slap on the ass as you yelped and quieted down.

“stop yelling. unless you want to take me right here?” he asks, peering over his shoulder to look at your flustered face.

“who says i want to fuck you at all?” you challenge, earning a deadpanned look from dabi as he shakes his head.

“it doesn’t take a quirk to see your eyes travel down to my zipper before shooting back up, darl’ “ he laughs as he takes off again, slipping a hand up your shorts to tease the corner of your pannies.

“you- ngh- fine. where are we going?” you stutter out as you claw at his back.

“the hq. they know a bit about you, don’t worry.” he explains as he takes another alley way, sighing when shigaraki shoots him a look.

“shig, meet the beautiful y/n.” dabi says as he pats your ass, signaling you to look around. you meet shigaraki’s eyes and shutter; they looked so sad.

“dabi, put me down for a sec.” you say as you hop down, walking over to the man. He begins to protest, but you take his hand into yours with a gentle smile.

“you can touch me, i have a resistance quirk.” you say as you run your hands through his hair. He acted like a cat; melting into your touch.

“alright alright, come onn, give me some of that in my room.” dabi says as he takes you away, sticking his tongue out teasingly towards shigaraki as he walks into the LOV headquarters.

It was nice inside, didn’t seem like a headquarters but rather a bar. Dabi took you past toga and drug you towards the back half of the bar, towards what you assumed was his bedroom. he kicked open the door and pulled you close, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

“you know, i missed you- ah fuck.” he starts, getting cut off when you palm him through his sweatpants. He rested his head on your shoulder as you unzipped his pants, slipping them down along with his boxers to gape at his size. How was that supposed to fit inside of you?

You gulped down as you bent down, taking his dick into your mouth. you were doing something right because this infamous ‘terrorist villian’ had his head thrown back and was releasing the most heavenly moans to ever be made. You wiggled on your thighs, trying to get any sort of friction possible, but it wasn’t doing anything to please you.

You released his dick with a ‘pop’ as you clawed at his thighs, bringing out of his haze to stare down at you with curiosity.

“want it.. now..” you mumble out, too embarrassed to hold eye contact with the man.

“feisty, eh?” he laughs as he pulls you up, throwing your shorts elsewhere and settling you on his lap. he got you ajusted and propped himself up with his hands behind him, opting to watch you do the work.

You looked away with a blush as you buried your face into his neck, only taking him half way before you almost busted in two.

“t…too big.” you moan out as he moves his hips just a little, pushing more and more in.

“come on now, just a little more, yeah? hang on.” he says with a grin as he gives one powerful thrust, shoving all of it into your plush, gummy walls with a loud groan. You screamed out a hearty moan as tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

You sat there with a whimper, waiting to ajust but not wanting him to pull out. It took a while, but you eventually got ajusted and began to move on your own. He places his hands on your hips to stabilize you as you bounced up and down, the grin never leaving his face as he watched your tits bounce.

“geez, you are gorgeous, just for me..”

@kelin-is-writing you might like this too lol

It was always strange, sort of like the world was cracking open again, like all that they’d nearly died for had been for nothing. It was like the ground was crumbling under his feet, like the goddamned sky was falling. His heart thudded away in his chest, painfully hammering, clenching and releasing, clawing at the inside of his rib cage, like it was trying to crawl out of his body.

It was strange, and sort of beautiful, like one of those paintings in a museum that you look at. The swirls of paint are made even more beautiful on account of the fact that you find out the guy who painted it killed himself. And it’s sort of funny, the way that works, the way the art reads like some kind of magnificent headstone, and he figures that he wouldn’t even know what those kinds of paintings were like, if it weren’t for Steve.

His Steve.

The Steve that was calm under pressure, while bleeding himself, who would’ve given his life if it came down to it. The Steve that dragged his half-devoured, nearly-dead corpse out of the gate, who jammed his fists into a shuddering earth and screamed fierce curses at the blood-red sky. The same Steve that returned tears with a sarcastic, utterly bitchy comment, who’d never hesitate to send you one of those wide smiles that made you forget everything.

The Steve that stared death in the face and laughed.

It’s beautiful and tragic, like when the world split open and almost swallowed Eddie with it. And he could stop the world with the way he feels in that moment, he could call himself Atlas, could muster the strength of a titan, with the way he feels like he could cradle the earth if it could make it stop.

But now they’re here, at the edge of the end of the world, surrounded by useless things, just boxes and boxes of nothing, and Steve is crying.

When Steve Harrington cries, the world splits open. It’s like he’s dying all over again, watching his boy sit in a pile of his own objects, a binder full of baseball cards to his left, multiple pairs of swim trunks spilling out from under his bed, dozens of pairs of unworn sneakers laying near the closet door. He’s sitting on a box of something and clutching a pearl necklace in his right fist, there’s pages upon pages of notebook paper in piles at his feet, and tears are streaming down his face.

When Steve Harrington cries, the world splits open. And in that moment, Eddie had never felt more like a damned god, cast to live in the wretched depths of hell for eternity. Like he was Hades, like Steve was his Persephone, damned to weep at his feet, cast out by his loved ones to live miserably within the confines of a future they’d created together.

When Steve cried like this, Eddie wondered if he’d been meant to die that night, if maybe the chasm in Hawkins would’ve sealed itself back over at his offering, if he hadn’t been so lucky. When Steve tried to tuck himself away, tried to lock himself in his room, it was like a part of Eddie died anyway, in that fucking place, where the sky shone red as the blood inside of Eddie’s flesh.

“Steve, honey,” Eddie sobers. “You’ve gotta take a deep breath, sweets.”

Steve throws the pearls to his right weakly, they hit the wall with an unsatisfying crack. He sobs harder, coughing, choking on his own emotion, head down. He won’t look at Eddie.

“Can I come sit with you, baby?” Eddie asks, staying at his perch along the wall.

Steve had said he needed to do this alone. Eddie was inclined to let him, inclined to stay downstairs and mind his own business, but then he heard the sobbing and-

“No!” Steve shouts. “I-I told you to stay downstairs god-goddamn it, Eddie.”

And yeah, a part of Eddie died with Steve that night anyway.

End of passion play, crumbling away - drabble - prompt

Hellcheer prompt - 'Chrissy and Eddie are reunited in death'.

End of passion play, crumbling away And what a fucking way to go. Eddie knew he was dying. Knew that as soon as the demobats’ teeth first sank into his flesh and consumed him piece by piece. It was a pain like he’d never experienced before. The thunder and lightning in the sky above seemed to absorb his screams. It was all very punk rock and metal. As Eddie’s soul trickled out of his body in a curious stream of bright gold light, a lithe figure wrapped in the same blinding light crept towards him. Its steps were soft and deliberate even though the red twisted roots and vines of Vecna could pose no possible danger. It turned its head to peer at him and Eddie recognised with a sudden intensity the graceful line of its body. He knew its gaze.  Eddie found himself trying to speak even though he had no breath left in his lungs. His shredded mouth (once so alive and animated and ready to laugh) lay useless now. Yet he wanted to call out and plead for this angel to come closer. To stay with him. To cry with him. An angel with the kindest and saddest eyes he ever saw.  Did you see that, Chrissy? God damn, that was the best rock show in the history of the world. Better than the Garden.  You were amazing, Eddie. I’m so proud of you.  Her lips never once moved yet her sweet voice was a melody. She was kneeling by his body and he saw that her limbs were smooth and unbroken. Just like she deserved. Something uncurled inside him at the sight of her face, he so glad to see her.  Are we dead? I think so. Yeah. He wanted to lift his ruined fingers to her lips. Even in death Chrissy Cunningham had the most beautiful smile, even if it looked like she was weeping. Every tear that ran down her bright illuminated cheek made him die all over again. I’m sorry I didn’t save you. I was a real fucking coward. It's alright, you saved the others. That’s what matters. Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams He could feel himself sinking further and further back into that gold stream of light as a little more of him faded. But maybe it was okay because she was here. It can't be all bad if he was going to the same place as her. What was left of his scattered thoughts suddenly imagined him and Chrissy in matching graduation robes, grinning as they posed for dumb pictures, and then Chrissy kissing his cheek as they drove away in his van leaving Hawkins far behind. It was too soon. This was too soon. His heart wrenched for all the fucking fantastic possibilities that now lay wasted. They were still kids and they deserved to be more than the casualties of some fucked up game of magic and smoke. He and Chrissy would fade away when they deserved the chance to live, grow, make mistakes. Just like kids were supposed to. But this bitterness wouldn't change a damn thing and he knew it. It was simply too late. So instead he kept his gaze on Chrissy's face and drank her in as his consciousness slipped away. And she made him feel safe. Chrissy, I want to take you on a date someday, you know? Fireworks, the whole lot. I'll make it real special. Just us. Yeah, Eddie. That sounds good. Come on, take my hand. Let’s go… Eddie wanted to grin and laugh and cry as the figure wrapped her lovely arms around him, the cloak of shimmering light enveloping and exhausting him completely.  Never-ending maze, drift on numbered days Now your life is out of season

Inspired partly by the interview with Grace and Joe and Grace says 'they're together now' (in death).

Lyrics are from Puppets

One last time | words: 1003 | angst, death.

the horcruxes. They've been haunting them down since Regulus Black came into the order meeting, soaking wet and told them about Voldemort's horcruxes.

This is the last battle. After this, the war would be over. All they need to do is survive it.

People were shouting and shooting spells everywhere, James send the last spell to the deatheater he was dueling when suddenly, there was a green light on his left, coming to his way. Before James could even process what was happening, a person pushed James out the way and the green light hit them square in the chest.

James sent a spell to the deatheater that cast that spell without a second thought and apparated, taking the person with him.

As soon as they landed, Regulus fell on to James. They were in a little meadow, where Regulus and him agreed to get married and build a home after this war.

James stumbled backwards as the weight of Regulus fell on him. Slowly, James set Regulus on the grass, shaking slightly. The spell was a green light. James knew what it meant. But.. but it can't be. Regulus can't be- he can't- he-

"Reg?" James choked out, his voice breaking. "Regulus, love, please- please wake up" please, don't leave me please. James tried to shake Regulus awake but the boy remain lifeless in his arms.

Regulus's heart was no longer beating, James is sure his heart stopped beating too. Regulus was dead. Oh Regulus was- no no no no no no-

James thinks this is worse than dying, James was close to dying multiple times while fighting in the war. Yet this is beyond any kind of pain.

Please, he thinks.

Please come back, call me an idiot, yell at me, hex me, curse me, hurt me, kiss me, tell me you love me. Please, anything, just one last time. Please-

"Give him back" James' voice was barely a wispier "give him back to me, please" he asked to whoever was listening, the gods above or whoever.

The sun was going down, it was almost dark. James hope the sun will never come back up again. No sun should be allowed to shine without Regulus.

"give him back to me, give him back." James repeated the words over and over again. He doesn't know why he's doing it, it's no use he knows. But he wants his love back, his star, his whole world, he wants him back.

________________________________

James doesn't know much of what happened, he knows someone found him and Regulus. He doesn't remember what happened after. They had funerals, lots of them. But James doesn't remember much of it. He attended some of them but he didn't cry. Not a single tear.

Regulus's funeral came around but James doesn't know what he's supposed to feel. All he felt was empty. Sirius was weeping in Remus' arms, his boyfriend was softly whispering in his ears.

James didn't sob or cry, he just stared blankly into nowhere. They had won the war, Voldemort was dead. They saved the world but James lost his. For James, he lost the war the moment his world fell into his arms

Maybe in another universe he'll still have his world in his arms, sitting on the couch in there beautiful home. They would get married, get a cat and have kids, just like they said they would.

Maybe in another universe, war wouldn't exist, maybe they would be muggles. But no matter what universe it is, James knows for sure that Regulus would always be his. In every universe and every lifetime.

_______________________________

James laid down on their bed, they were just here that morning before the battle. Regulus was laughing at something James said and calling him an idiot. Oh James would do anything to hear that laugh one more time.

The sun goes down and rise up again. But James never did, he went down and never came back up. James didn't have his world to shine for anymore. James doesn't think he'll shine again.

Every day James would come out to their little meadow and wait for his star to come back, he imagine one day Regulus would, he would come back to James, smiling wildly, and they would make up for the days they missed together. But of course, it never happened.

And every night James would talk to his star, telling him how much he misses him and tells him about his day. The star only shines a little brighter in response. But James smiles everytime it did.

Time passed, days to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. But James never did fell in love again, he never felt truly happy, never stopped waiting for his love, ever again.

________________________________

Centuries passed and on a sunny day, a boy that smiles so bright like the sun, and a boy that is beautiful like the stars, walked hand in hand. They came across a little meadow with a house near by. It all felt familiar, they stare at it for a while, and they knew.

"This is it isn't it?" The sun boy asked, grinning.

"We don't even know if it's for sale!" the star boy replied.

"Well I can offer them as much money as they want." The taller boy replied with a shrug.

The other boy just huff a laugh and not long after, they were living in a home with a little meadow near by.

What they'll never know is that centuries ago, two lovers just like them dreamed of the life they were living. But never got it, at least not in that lifetime.

--- In every universe, every lifetime, the sun and the star found each other and falls in love. ---

a thousand and one lives.

I am, shamelessly, back. Where have I been? Won’t say. I will be back? Of course. Anyways, hope you enjoy my comeback with this angst/fluff thingy. Hmmm, crisp. No proof read cuz we die like men. --------- You were frail. They knew that since you’ve arrived and, regrettably, haven’t always treated you as such. But now, you being their greatest treasure, and even knowing that this day had to come they weren’t yet prepared. Some say humans know their time has arrived, they have a so-called gut feeling. But you weren’t supposed to get a hunch like that, ever. You were supposed to... You were supposed to… To stay, with them. That day was unforgettable. A day burned forever into not only their memories, but their hearts as well. How could they ever forget? It was all after celebrating how long you’ve been with them and how long they hope it will continue like that only to be met with such news once the party quieted down. 

“I’m dying. It might be today, I don’t know.” You said something along those lines, or at least that’s how they heard it. The problem was how you said that with such a peaceful smile, so accepting of it, like those words coming out of your mouth didn’t make all of their worlds crash down. The room went quiet and everyone could hear each other's heartbeat, or lack of thereof. Them being them, of course, chaos ensued.

There was a way. There MUST be a way to keep you. You couldn’t leave just like that, could you? But their time ran short and after tears and shout downs at each other and pretty much going through all grief stages in the span of what felt like a minute time passed. You left their world with a smile on your face, what looked like a peaceful smile surrounded by them was nothing but death masked as a dream. You stood there, and they were hoping you’ll open your eyes and exclaim how it was all a prank, your mischievous laugh filling the room and then they can all move on.

But your eyes never opened again. Your laugh wasn’t heard again, neither was the sound of your steps on the House of Lamentations floor. 

You weren’t in the garden, at school, in your own room. They were robbed of you. 

After your death it’d be a lie to say they didn’t hate you, just a little bit. 

Okay, maybe a ton bit. Their anger waving in and out of them, but could they be blamed for that? They lost who had become their everything, their glue, they had lost you. Why, why had you waited to tell them? Was it because you were unsure you would actually die? How long had you had that feeling, then? Some take it harsher than others. Sleeping away the days without you, reading, gambling, working, eating, gaming, partying them away. 

It soon became clear it wasn’t you who they resented, it was rather your fickle life, the curse of loving someone who had to die so soon, fast like a blink to them. They had loved someone whom death could touch and now had to live with the consequences of such, but letting you into their hearts was the best mistake they could have ever made. Like a flower who wilted too soon, you departed nonetheless if they were ready for it or not. A part of some of them, the most naive, hoped at least your ghost could be found around the halls. That never happened. 

Beel would often send you messages, dreaming that you’d answer from wherever you were now. Sometimes funny anecdotes that happened through the day, or memories from the time you shared together. He’d end up crying by the end of it.

Leviathan customized characters to look like you and often adventured with them in his open world games. And, while Mammon said he wasn’t all that faced he named a crow after you, and kept a chest under his bed with all his mementos of you, next to a vault full of the things he wished to give you.

Satan was the first one to find the notes you left, needless to say he ripped it to pieces, anger getting the best of him only to weep once it subsided. You knew, you fucking knew. He hated you and yet longed for you to come back to him. To read with him, write with him, to exist near him. He wept and wept and no one had it in their hearts to be truly mad at him and, by the time he was done bawling his eyes out he realized he wasn’t the only one. Even when Lucifer denied it they could see it, even if it was just the smallest of tears, they saw it.

You helped  make them who they are today and you wouldn’t have wanted to see them like that, they were never quite the same as before, though.

That day Mammon had gone out of a pure whim, nothing less and nothing more, he could have easily ignored them as he had done before. He had no reason to really appear, but he did. Another one of those “cults” to him, if you may. But it wasn’t the riches and shiny things that caught his eye, rather the figure hanging from the ceiling, swinging from side to side. All of his devotees were kneeling, not daring look him in the face but the sacrifice, as they called them, was looking straight at him with eyes wide open. Filled with what seemed like tears, but not a trace of fear. 

“Mammon!” They chirped before being shushed by the head member of the cult. Feeling the goosebumps all over his body, he soon approached the sacrifice. It couldn’t be.

“O Great Mammon, forgive—” The man was brought to a halt by his fierce gaze. 

“Silence, human.” And he stared at the figure still hanging from the ceiling. “What are you?” His hostile gaze did not seem to face the individual.

“A human, of course!” His anger was getting the best of him, and just before he was turning around to leave that shitshow the human spoke again. “How mean! How could my first man not recognize me? And after all the trouble I went through to become your sacrifice!” 

His mask almost fell for a second. Before showing any emotion to his followers he soon took the hanging person from the ceiling and disappeared. 

Later on, back to the House of Lamentation, and after disappearing for a while he popped up again. Beaming. And just as his brothers were about to get in his case you appeared next to him. Before he even had the chance to explain his infuriated big brother was already going apeshit. 

How dare he? How dare he try to replace you with another human? He knew Mammon as foolish but not this way. This is the angriest he had been since a good while ago. But the human didn’t back up, even more Mammon confronted him in his demon form, too. Confusion and hurt apparent in his face for a split second before the new human got in between them. 

“Luci, you just don’t change. Why won’t you listen to your brothers?” They scolded. Him. Diavolo 's right hand demon. One of the strongest and fearest demons around. Before he could even say any other thing, though, Beelzebub was already running towards the human.

He felt it, too. You, it was you! When the fifth brother held you up into the air your laugh was unmistakable. Features, while different, still resembling you. As they dreamt since you’ve been gone, you found your way back to them. A brand new life, body and life story, yet the same soul they knew and love.

“I promised,” You said, in the middle of the group hug. “That I’d be back, didn’t I?” They did not remember such a promise but it all seemed meaningless now that you were back. For the first time in a long time, they felt complete. 

Life went on, and on, and on. And you died, once again. This time, though as sad as the past one, they felt lighter knowing that you promised to be back again. They just had to wait.

And wait they did, and come back you did. You came once as an old office worker, an overworked woman who had four cats and took a while to remember. Next time you were a handsome man, a model. Sometimes it took you too long to remember and others it seemed like it was your life purpose to search for them. Once they even made a game out of it, turning out Belphegor was the winner, finding you first.

Maybe, just maybe, you were always meant to be with them.

go on, claim my heart: chapter thirty-six

see my masterpost for what came before this.

When Percy returns to his chambers, he is unsurprised to find Vex there waiting for him. Perhaps he should be surprised; there are a great many things for the Captain of the Royal Guard to be attending to at this moment, from the upcoming mourning ceremonies to the following coronation of the new sovereign to a reorganization of the guard following a kidnapping of a member of the royal family. Yet he opens the door, and there she is, sitting on the end of the bed, feet on the footboard, elbows on her knees, exactly where he knew she'd be.

She watches him in silence as he slips out of his shoes, shrugs off his coat, hangs it carefully on the hook by the door. The weapon he keeps at his hip goes onto his desk, and then he sits beside her. Without a word, her arms come to circle his neck, and she pulls him back, so that their shoulders hit the mattress and she's holding him, keeping his face pressed into her chest as he weeps for the second father he's lost now.

They lay there for longer than they should—he also has so many things to attend to, so busy, this time meant for mourning—but Percy can't bring himself to move. At some point, Vex's fingers have drifted up to play with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, and he rather feels like a cat being scratched just so, wondering vaguely if he might spontaneously start purring. The thought, sudden and unexpected in the stillness of the moment, is overwhelmingly comical, and a laugh bubbles up out of him.

Vex pulls her head back to quirk an eyebrow at him. "What's so funny?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. I'm...being stupid."

"Yes, well, I'm used to that." She smiles softly at him. "Did you say goodbye?"

"I did. It was...hard." And he finds that he does not want to talk to her about this, not when he has been so blessed to have had two fathers, each kind and generous and imperfect and wonderful, when she was denied even one who was not craven and heartless.

So instead he tackles the other elephant in the room. "I heard you."

Her breath catches in her throat. He watches her eyes dance between both of his, sees in them the strategizing, questioning whether she can get away with pretending she doesn't know what he's talking about.

She knows she can't. "We don't have to talk about this now."

"Vex'ahlia..."

"We don't. Our sovereign is dead. Keyleth will be crowned soon, if she's even awake yet. Vilya was nearly sacrificed in an immortality ritual not twenty-four hours ago. Bigger things are happ—"

He kisses her, slow but insistent. He then rests their foreheads together. "There are no bigger things. Not to me." He presses a hand flat against her stomach. "I will not presume to tell you what you want. I know that you take great pride in your independence, and if it is important to you, it is important to me, too. But I will say..." Oh, he did not expect this, the closed-throat emotion of it, the hiccuping heart in his chest. "I have been, in my life, so very good at convincing myself that I do not want the things that I want. It is easier, I think, not to want, because if you do not want, you cannot be disappointed.

"But this? I want this. I want you. I want our family, messy and strange and so very, very perfect. Seeing my sister, dying, being lured back to life by the sound of your voice—all of it made me realize that I am a man who wants a great deal, and I will not deny myself that want any longer."

Tears slip quickly and silently along the curve of Vex's nose. "I've been so scared," she breathes, "so, so scared. I didn't know—what if you didn't—what if I didn't—"

He shushes her, pulling her in this time to cry into his shirt. "I'm sorry you've been holding this alone," he whispers into the crown of her head. "I'm scared, too. I think it's safe to say my own relationship to parenthood is...complicated. But Vex..." He gently pulls back to take her face in his hands. "I love you." Her face crumples. "I love you more than I think I know how to say. And loving you is one of the only things in this world that does not scare me."

She kisses him then, wet and hard, and whispers against his lips, "I love you, too."

He holds her close, this miracle woman carrying their miracle child, and focuses on not letting his heart burst right out through his chest. After a few minutes, a thought strikes him. "Wait, did you know about this before you left on the quest for Vilya?"

A prolonged pause. "Um. Yes?"

"The quest so dangerous it got me killed?"

"Mhm?"

"Oh, I am going to be so very, very angry with you later."

"Of course, darling."

.

Vax rests back against the headboard, Keyleth curled into a tight ball in his lap. He's tucked her head under his chin, and now that she's cried herself out, she breathes slowly, in and out, clearly still exhausted even though her eyes remain stubbornly open.

And he can imagine why; what nightmares must await her in her sleep, what horrors, what sorrow, what fear? To travel the continent in pursuit of their stolen child, only to come home, battered but triumphant, and be told that her father, now, is lost forever—what has Keyleth done to earn such acute agony as this?

(Because it is forever, this loss. Vax sank deep into the pool of blood, let it fill his lungs to bursting until he was in front of her, seething, seeing red, demanding the return of his wife's father. His relationship with the Raven Queen has always been tenuous, nebulous, unsure; he will serve her until his dying day, and likely long after, a fitting payment for the gift of his wife's life, but then, what is the point of being her so-called champion if he cannot do even this small thing, restoring a good man to world?)

Keyleth has one hand gripped tightly into the fabric of his tunic, as if she fears she will blow away in the wind if she lets go. He strokes her hair, tangled and soiled from all their time on the road, and presses soft kisses about her temple. From just beyond their bedroom wall, he hears the familiar babbling sounds that he once feared he would never hear again. He is so endlessly grateful for Nel, who has installed herself in this cottage as Keyleth begins the agonizing process of putting her pieces back together again.

Keyleth must hear Vilya's small coos as well, because she murmurs, "I need her."

Vax doesn't need to ask for clarification. He carefully shuffles Keyleth to the side and slips off of the bed, and for a brief moment, the hand twisted into his tunic tightens. Then she lets go, and he quickly leaves the room, where he finds Nel tidying up, the baby snuggled in a woven sling across her chest. Nel looks just as tired as Vax feels—she'd been summoned as soon as they'd arrived back through the cherry tree, and once she'd confirmed that Vilya would suffer no long-lasting effects of her kidnapping, she'd remained to watch her while Keyleth recovered and Vax stalked off to futilely feud with a goddess. As Vax relieves Nel of her burden, he conveys his thanks for her steadfast dedication to his family. She merely pats his cheek with a sad smile and tells him that she will return as soon as she can take a brief nap of her own.

Vax takes Vilya back into the bedroom, where she curls easily into her mother's arms. He sits beside them, an arm around Keyleth, and when he feels some of the tension in her shoulders ebb away, he says, "I hope you know that I begged. I promised her everything I could to get your father back. I'm sorry it wasn't enough."

Keyleth runs a fingertip along Vilya's nose, across her rounded cheek, up to the point of one ear. "It's not your fault."

He hears what goes unsaid in the monotone of her voice. "It isn't yours either, Keyleth. Tell me that you understand that." She doesn't answer, and Vax wants to take her by the face, force her to meet his eyes and believe it, truly believe that she is not responsible for her father's demise.

"What did she say?" she asks instead, still looking only at their daughter. "When you asked for him back?"

Vax runs a stressed hand through his hair. What did she say, indeed? "She said that this was part of her warning, though I cannot possibly figure out how. She claims that the threads of fate are still being pulled. Kiki, I don't know what it all means. I don't know how to make this better, I don't know how to fix what's been broken."

"I need to see him."

The words are so quiet Vax almost doesn't catch them. He reaches a hand up to curl over his little girl's soft, wispy hair. There is so much suffering in this world; how is a man meant to keep such pain from his daughter? It is like stemming the tides with his bare hands.

He kisses the shell of Keyleth's ear. "We will go together. As a family."

Keyleth nods, her head coming to rest on his shoulder once more. It scares him, her quiet, her stillness. She may have cried herself to exhaustion now, but he knows that the eye of the hurricane has not yet passed over this house, that winds of grief strong enough to pull the cottage apart stone by stone are still howling in the distance. And somewhere, in the midst of such a maelstrom, she is supposed to become a queen, to lead her people into the next chapter of their story. What terrible things we demand of each other, he thinks as he watches tiny eyelids grow heavier and heavier in Keyleth's arms. What terrible, terrible things.

Second Hand Ideas

Coriolanus Snow is thought to have married Julia Pompey. She is thought to have died from Snow's use of poison. Here is what happened between those two events.

Warnings; canon typical violence, coryo, grief, blood, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation

Julia knew her husband had always been a genius in his own way. He had saved his name and regained the honour of his family. But sometimes, just sometimes, she wondered how much of this was owed to others. How many times he heard something and claimed it as his own when a lightbulb went off above his head.

Julia had accidentally provided her husband with some of his worst ideas. She hadn't meant to do it. An errant comment thrown into conversation, late night discussions with a man who could never have truly loved her.

He hadn't always had the power to act on his ideas, his own inflated self of importance years ahead of how others thought of him. But he had saved them somewhere in the recess of his brain for later use.

Watching the young girl face her audience, watching the grim determination overcome her features as she attempted not to cry. Well it was all just a little bit too much for Julia. She excused herself from the viewing room and locked the bathroom door with shaking hands.

She would die, that little girl. She would die and no one would remember her in a year. No one ever remembered the losers. That was the point. She understood it all. Or at least she had once. She had sat at dinner parties and laughed about it all, like it was trivial. But it wasn't. Those children died.

Julia thought of her own children, her grandchildren. Her babies. Grown as they may be, they would always be her babies. She couldn't imagine the pain that went through the mother's hearts as they watched their children reaped, year in and year out.

Her heart weeped while she attempted to her dry her eyes. He would know she had been crying. He always knew. She suspected he probably had cameras here in this very bathroom. In every room. In every house. District and Capitol alike.

By the time Julia had composed herself and taken her seat the readings had moved on and she watched with an aching heart and a disinterested smile on her lips and children sobbed and volunteered and accepted their faith.

But her mind was stuck on young Katniss Everdeen. Of the blonde haired sister, Primrose, who had been reaped. Of how every slip in the glass bowl had held the same name. Hundreds of times over and they didn't even know it.

An offhand comment, a young girl flaunting the rules, hunting in the woods, selling to peacekeepers. Providing for her starving family. She had no idea what she had been risking. She had no idea how heavily watched those woods had been. No idea about how her father had been killed in an accident that had never been an accident and now her sister's reaping, a freak statistic given she had only been entered once.

"She's protecting her family. Her sister." The beginning of a second hand idea. An off hand comment about the girls derision for the rules made by Julia had accidentally ruined that young girls life.

"She'd break the law to protect her sister. I wonder what else she would do?"

///

Julia had met her husband in a hospital. Not very grandeur or romantic. Just a hospital room with beeping machines, weeping cousins and rattled breathing from an old lady. Coriolanus hadn't cried. Tigris had done enough for the both of them.

Julia had been a medic in training. Assigned the slower cases, the elderly and the terminal. She didn't do much besides record heart rates and administer Morphling. Mrs. Snow had been her patient. She had spent her dying days in the hospital and consequently, Julia had met a young Coriolanus Snow.

She almost hadn't realised his attempt to romance her, as subtle as it was. Romance would be the wrong word. He had a perfunctory plans with which she fit into. She was educated, of reasonable old money, and most importantly, she was pretty.

While Julia had never asked Snow of his past, she had known a substantial amount. She had known of Lucy Gray Baird, the disappearing victor. Snow had loved her. In the only way he knew how. He had, in his own head, owned her.

Julia was young enough to believe that Coriolanus' desire to possess her was love. He was a handsome man with prospects that varied as wide as the imagination. His charm led Julia to believe he could do anything. His vanity led him to believe, and achieve, the same.

They had married quickly as Coriolanus rose in the ranks of game makers, his ideas allowing him to stand out. The renovations of the arena, the victor parades, the primping and beautifying of tributes.

Every suggestion he made was received with praise and rejoicing at the new age of the Hunger Games. By the time the last of their three children had been born, Coriolanus was directly involved with the Quarter Quell. His studies were almost completed and his ideas revered. Every year something bigger and better came from him.

For the Quarter Quell it had to be special. It had to be massive. It had to be his very best idea.

"I just don't think the academy mentors can relate to those children." Tigris had said at tea one day.

And thus the Victors were dragged back to the Capitol kicking and screaming to try and keep those children alive. To fail, over and over in the wider districts because any living mentor from those districts were once offs, lucky escapes and the most fortunate of unfortunate circumstances.

///

By the time their first grandchild arrived on the scene Coriolanus was Head Gamemaker. The second ever Quarter Quell was fast approaching and trouble had been rising in the districts again. It had been making those in the Capitol uneasy and it hadn't gone unnoticed that certain things had become limited such as coal and fruit.

"You can't go back and punish them harder. You can't just make it worse. Is losing twenty four children not enough?" Julia had asked.

The announcement that the victors would be doubled should not have surprised her. It should not have made her gasp. Nothing should have after thirty five years of knowing Coriolanus.

She had learned over and over that truly nothing was below him. She hadn't known everything of course. Not from the beginning or else she was sure she would never have married him. She could've been free. She could've gotten away before she had been dragged under.

She had thought about it once. Leaving. Times had been rough, her marriage on tenuous grounds as her husband's evil began to shine through without shame. He had been a servant, the man who had taught her what love actually felt like.

Her second child had been born only weeks before and Julia associated those weeks and months that followed with a deep sadness. Alarbus had taken notice of her, cared for her when he found her crying. He had tasted the salt on her lips the first time he had kissed her.

Avox's had just began to become common punishment in the Capitol, traitors who lost the use of their voice and had their tongues removed.

Alarbus found out the hard way that it was not a painless procedure. His tongue had been presented in a gift box while Julia had been nursing her daughter. She had almost dropped the baby in shock. Alarbus, who had presented his own tongue under his master's orders, had caught her.

He disappeared the next day, something Julia presumed had to do with the bloody razor left in her bathroom. She didn't know which of her lovers had left it to her, which would hurt more.

///

President Coriolanus Snow. It had been terrifying as his enemies dropped in the months following his Inauguration. No one could argue with him now. Least of all his lowly wife who spent hours avoiding her husband and his greed for more power.

His dinner parties with victors whom he had chosen to be his special pet projects. The young boy with the winning smile, the golden haired siblings, the genius engineer, the razor toothed beauty. All his to keep and show off. Rewards and bribes for powerful men and women.

He ruined everyone he touched. His own cousin had cast herself out, ruining her beauty just to remove association to this monster of a man. A monster she had tried to shelter from the darkness, not knowing it lived within him.

He had brought this darkness onto himself. He had followed his ideas to the end, his weapon had become a double edged sword. Punishing Katniss Everdeen for trying to keep her family alive had brought an end to his reign. The Capitol looked just as it had when Julia was eight and bombs and gunfire were the sounds she associated with daily life.

A full circle had been formed. They had returned to the dark days, all because of her husband's obsessive watch of the District 12 fence. Hoping that one day his song bird would climb it and return. Hoping one day he would get his chance to own everything he had ever wanted.

Instead he had taken her free spirit and accidentally set it alight with the districts.

The last straw had been the song.

Something ticked in Coriolanus' jaw. A muscle, a nerve. Julia didn't know. What she did know was that the end was near. The Hanging Tree echoed beautifully around the empty viewing room. A wine glass sat to Julia's left. A glass that was always within reach but she had never drank from.

Her husband had gotten drunk and loose lipped once. He had told her of Lucy Gray Baird and Sejanus Plinth. So now Julia laughed because she knew Lucy Gray Baird would have. She knew Sejanus Plinth would have. She knew the rebels would.

She lifted the glass while she laughed, looked her husband in the eye and drank deeply.

prompt 44 🥺

44. "I... I think I need a hug." Pairing: Ruth Bihari x Ava du Mortain Words: 634 referencing a certain headcanon by @ava-du-mortain 👀

"...Ava?"

Ruth wrings her hands warily as Ava stares down blankly at the footage Nell had gotten at the Rogue hideout. The guise of meeting with them to discuss grievances had gone over smoothly enough, but there was someone there that Ruth hadn't been anticipating.

"Cecilia du Mortain," says the woman on the screen, smirking as she shakes Ruth's hand. "Call me Lia."

Cecilia — Lia, she'd said — looked almost nothing like Ava at first glance. Ruth hadn't thought anything of the vampire that had come to meet them, other than perhaps that she was very attractive. Tall and broad-shouldered, the woman they'd met had been wearing dark makeup and dark clothing, covered in tattoos and piercings, hair cropped short and dyed a deep shade of black that reflected almost purple in the harsh, dingy lighting of the single, swinging bulb that had hung above them in the abandoned warehouse.

Once she'd introduced herself, though, Ruth had seen the similarities. The height, the beautiful, prominent nose. Her eyes were a darker shade of green than Ava's, but when she'd smiled she'd had the same dimples Ava did.

Ava still hasn't moved since she'd first played the clip some fifteen minutes ago now.

"Ava," Ruth tries again, moving closer and sliding her hand gently up her spine. "You're scaring me. Please say something."

Ava finally inhales a deep, sharp, shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut as if fighting off a migraine.

"I..."

Nothing. Her voice breaks and she shakes her head, gripping the tablet so hard that the screen begins to crack a little. Ruth reaches out, smoothing her hand over Ava's wrist and squeezing.

"I don't know..." she tries again, voice barely more than a quiet rasp. Her eyes open again and her lower lip trembles as she looks down at the screen. Ava shakes her head again. "I don't know."

Ruth nods, squeezing her wrist as her other hand comes up to brush a loose piece of blonde hair behind Ava's ear. Ava sighs, leaning into the touch, trembling faintly. Encouraged, Ruth presses closer still, until she's pressed right up against Ava's side, running her hand up and down Ava's back.

"What can I do, dove? What do you need?"

The pet name seems to break something in her. Ava almost flinches, tears finally dripping down her cheeks as she bends a little, curling in on herself with a ragged gasp. Ava laughs miserably as Ruth curls around her, one arm around her shoulders and the other hand brushing her hair back from her face.

"I... I think I need a hug?"

It's half a laugh, the words coming out stilted and unsure, but Ruth doesn't need anything else as she steps in front of Ava, wrapping both arms around her neck so that Ava's face ends up buried in her shoulder. She squeezes her tight as Ava's arms wrap immediately around her waist and tighten before they both go still. Ruth tries to focus on her breathing — tries to keep it steady and slow as Ava's body heaves with a silent sob. Her shoulders begin to shake, though no sound leaves her chest (the worst kind of crying, she thinks distantly — the quieter the weeping, the more painful it is) and Ruth just holds her tighter, trying to hold all the pieces of Ava's shattered heart together until they can start to stitch themselves back into place.

She's not sure how long they stay like that. It could be minutes, it could have been an hour. Eventually, Ava will be able to take a slower, deeper breath. Eventually, she'll pull away with a stoic expression fixed into place once more, ready to try and face this new development head-on.

But, until then — Ruth will keep holding her until she can hold herself once more.

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 - 𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐨 | 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

ꜰᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

⇢ ꜰɪᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀɢʀᴇᴇᴠᴇꜱ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⇢ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ » ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴀɴᴏɴ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ

October 1st 1989:

Cries and shouts echoed through the house if people actually cared they would have mistaken these cries for someone in desperate need of saving. But nobody was in need of rescue, except perhaps the poor women on the floor of her husbands house giving birth to a baby nobody had been expecting, how could anyone expect a baby to grow in the womb within seconds.

“Alright love, you can do this I know you can” your father not by blood obviously whispered out to his wife in reassurance not only to for her but so that he wouldn’t start panicking.

“Shit! This is your fault always saying how much you wished we could have a child” your mothers British accent coating every word that slipped from her mouth. “now my bloody vagina is going to be ripped open because I have to push an actual human head through it” she growled gripping his hand tighter, if it were possible.

If the situation wasn’t so serious the doctors would have left out a laugh even a small one, but seeing that if they didn’t get this baby out in time it would cost your poor mothers life.

“Mate you need to keep her focus strong, we might lose her” the doctor called out to your dad over the yelling coming from your mum “and Miss we’re going to need you to push harder”

“Harder?! any harder and I’ll end up shitting on your face”

“We are really sorry Miss but if we don’t deliver this baby now, we might lose you”

Your fathers cries and shouts filled the house for the rest of that day, not your mothers I mean how can she cry? The dead don’t weep, and luckily for Mr. Celestyn you didn’t cry all that much you were a peaceful baby, he wanted to blame you, to hurt you, to scream at you… but how could he you were the only thing he had left and you deserved a chance it wasn’t you fault, nobody had expected you it was a freak accident.

He was determined to protect you, to give you love for it had been your mothers dying wish, to raise you as you were his blood, the minute she saw you all the pain she felt was worth it, worth holding you and staring into your white eyes even if it were for a second it gave her peace to know that she would die bringing life into the world, the life of someone extremely important even if she didn’t know that… you were her blood, her child nobody could take that from her she wasn’t going to give you up.

Three days later several knocks were heard from the front door causing your father to pause at feeding you as you both directed your attention to the door. “Weird, right kid?” he muttered to you smiling when he saw your toothless grin. Another knock was heard “Yeah we should get that” he said walking to open the door with you in his arms.

“Good morning, are you Achilles Celestyn” a weird guy with a monocle asked. 

Monocle? who the hell wears a monocle?  those were the first thoughts in Achilles head “me? oh- uh yes” he stuttered looking down at the man “sorry who are you? and what do you want?”

“I am Sir Reginald Hargreeves and what I want, I think that’s better discussed inside” the man introduced himself. “Oh of course? Come inside Sir” Achilles invited the man in and lead him into the living room. “Sorry about the mess” he apologised for the Chinese food he’d been ordering for himself so he wouldn’t starve to death.

But instead on dismissing the smell, Hargreeves ignored it by seating himself on the couch that looked the cleanest. “Straight to business shall we?”

“Uh yeah”

“I want to adopt your child, seeing as they have caused you enough pain with losing your wife. I am willing to pay you for them” Hargreeves stated with no hesitation and a hint of boredom in his voice.

“No”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no”

“Listen Mr. Celestyn”

“No you listen here Mr. Hargreeves,  you can’t come into my house talk about my wife and offer to pay for custody for my  kid and I swear if I see you coming back here I’m gonna take that axe” Achilles hissed out pointing at the axe above the chimney “and I’m to take your head off with it, do you understand?”

“Yes quite, I think I should be leaving now. I’ll show myself out then”

“You do that, bitch” he muttered the last part to himself, his grip on you tightening in a protective manner, making you giggle and smile at him. 

“You’re lucky I love you kid”

ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ: @smol-book-nerd

© ᴜɴᴏꜰꜰɪᴄɪᴀʟ-ᴊᴀʏᴛᴏᴅᴅ-ᴡɪꜰᴇ. ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ/ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ/ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ

Idk man I'm writing what I think happened with Noah in IOTS and after y'know.

Tw for d..th (e,a)

@eavee-ry manifesting that you see this😿

Part 1

"We should go left," I said, shaking my head. Duncan snorted

"No, we go right! Right is always right!" He argued, his fists clenching and his teeth gritting. "Noah, you're an idiot! No wonder you-"

"Shut it, Duncan! You volunteered to lead a group to be 'brave'!" I hissed. "You're pathetic, thinking juvie toughened you up! Maybe, but, who knows, you parents aren't proud- they're disappointed. I mean, who would be proud their child is in juvie? Not me."

At this point, I realised my fate was sealed. Duncan was fuming, and if this was a cartoon, he would've turned red and had smoke coming out of his ears. Alas, this, was not a cartoon.

"C'mon guys, let's go. Noah, you're not going." Duncan turned his back, and the others did too. Except Cody, who mouthed 'I'm sorry', and left.

"Wait, guys, please don't leave me!" I smiled, in an attempt to regain my confidence. "I didn't mean all that! Haha! Very funny guys..."

There was no one.

The bushed rustled, and the noise of heavy footsteps was heard. "Guys..." I backed away slowly "Guys..?"

And then I saw him. His skin was pale, and he had a strong, muscular build. His face was mean, with beady, rat-like eyes. I backed up more, and I laughed a little bit.

"You're really going to kill a teen? How pathetic are you to think that murderer is a valid entertainment?"

He didn't like my comment, from what I assumed, and he pulled out a rope, and while holding me against a tree. He tied the rope to my neck, and pulled it. I struggled to breathe, and as fast as it had started it, he untied the rope.

I breathed, gasping air, but, of course, it wasn't over.

He pulled a knife out and drove it right into my shoulder. I bit my tounge to prevent myself from screaming. I knew I was going to die.

He grabbed me by the neck and walked towards the lake.

"Co- dy- Ow- en-" I screamed for the two people I was closest with, but they weren't there. It was futile.

The killer threw me into the water. I was weak, and I couldn't fight my way to the surface of the water. Eventually, I stopped fighting, and everything went black.

I woke up, still in the lake. Cody was weeping on the dock, and I shook my head.

"Cody! Cody! I'm still here!" I exclaimed, trying to reach for him. "Come on, help me out."

He didn't seem to see it. He looked behind him, it was Duncan.

"If it isn't the twink and his boyfriend. Looks like he wet himself!" He laughed mirthfully.

"Shut up, Duncan!" I clenched my fists, and I looked below me.

Oh.

My body was in the water.

I was dead.

"Little twink, crying over his boyfriend!" Duncan sang.

"Sh-shut up Duncan!" Cody shook violently, and turned around, his fist swinging right into Duncan's nose.

I watched him, mildly impressed by his strength, as Duncan's nose started to bleed.

Cody scooped my body out of the water. "We promised we would get off this island together, Noah..."

He didn't know what to do next, so he gently left me in the water again. I tried to follow as he walked away, but it was like the water was keeping me in.

I sighed. "Cody..."

-

Incantatrice

Chapter 11

Cw: inappropriate drug and alcohol use, miscarriage and grief

Taglist: @zablife @thegreatdragonfruta @wandawiccan60 @babayaga67

Gif by @twvstedsouls

The Eva that left New York is different from the Eva who comes back from Italy.

For one, Eva comes back officially pregnant and happier than she left.

She loves waking up beside him, to feel him there with her, to hear his heart under his chest.

To know she is not alone anymore is the greatest thing of all.

Audrey and Vincente have left and she is relieved. Even more so when learns Audrey has not told anyone about her episode before the wedding.

“Mm, why do you, why do want to know why that bitch talked to me about you, Evuccia?” he asks drunk on cheap wine and high on the cocaine she used as an anesthetic to patch him up.

Luca had gotten cut up badly and the doctor who normally did this was unavailable. Eva had developed a talent for these things and provided her the opportunity to get him to talk.

He avoided giving her a real answer when he was sober, no matter how she tried to get it out of him.

“Just curious.” She lied as she bandaged his torso with great care.

“She said you were bad luck; told her I’d be the judge of that.” He said with a smirk.

Maybe you will be proven wrong, the witch thought.

“I love you, in good luck and bad luck, Evuccia.” He said high and drunk and trying to kiss her.

“Tell me that tomorrow when you’re sober, Lucito.”

----

It is two months later when the chill of death returns.

“I love you,” Luca had kissed her goodbye after breakfast and then the cold and evil wind sets in her bones like a bitter winter.

Eva stops by the wooden ships that remind her of the one she had as a little girl when the chill sets in her bones and before she knows it, she is bleeding on the floor and crying because she knows her baby is dead.

Leonardo Changretta, they had decided on the name this morning as they’d dangled Luca’s wedding band over her belly and saw it was a boy.

He was dead before her body expelled him in the hospital bed after the doctors and midwives tried everything to stop it.

He was dead before she even woke up in an ambulance rushing to the closest hospital.

He was dead before she even had a chance to tell anyone else, she was pregnant.

“I’m cursed.” She weeps into Luca’s shoulder and tells him it’s her fault that their baby is dead.

“You’re not, these things, these things happen to everyone, Evuccia.” He said being strong for the both of them and holding her until she feels like she has run out of tears.

Eva had thought her tears gone, when she buried Gabriel in Chihuahua in 1916 and her eyes simply refused to cry as she walked into the desert with the intention of dying.

Now, she feels like she might drown in her agony.

“There will be others.” He kissed the top of her head.

But never Leonardo, never the baby boy with olive skin and laughing green eyes and Luca’s smile.

She comes home the next day, but she is not the same woman he left after breakfast yesterday.

Yesterday she had been filled with life and now she is empty.

Yesterday she had seen her little Leo fit in the hand of the midwives as her body expelled him from inside her.

Yesterday she had set out to begin decorating a nursery for the perfect baby boy she’d have.

Eva had already chosen the theme, how she would remodel the room and find a way to get a skilled woodworker to make a toy ship like the one she used to have as a girl.

And now that will never happen.

She could have a thousand little boys with Luca’s eyes and smile, but they will never be Leonardo. She will never be able to hold him or see him grow or hear his first laugh.

Eventually the bleeding stops and her body has seemed to have healed, but her heart hasn’t.

Days turns to months and Eva hates how people want her to try again because somehow that will make it better.

Eva hates the pity and those stupid sayings like God wanted another angel. She hates that women aren’t supposed to even acknowledge their pain because you weren’t supposed to be so attached to something not yet born.

Luca had made it worse by having the housekeeper just lock up the empty nursery so she won’t have to see it.

Easier to move on if you can’t see it.

But that isn’t her way, her way is to be confronted with it, to know it happened and to live with it.

This morning Eva steels herself and goes into the nursery.

It’s empty, with only a few dressers and the half-assembled crib that had arrived that day.

Even in its emptiness it hurt her like knife to her heart. It is plunged deeply into her, something she can never get out of her no matter how much people think she can.

Eva falls to her knees and for the first time in ages, lets herself grieve for the baby that would never be.

“It wasn’t your fault, Evuccia,” she doesn’t hear or feel him come in, its only when he comes and holds her on the dusty rug as she cries that she knows he’s really there. “These accidents happen.”

Eventually it will pass, she knows this, there will be good days and bad ones, but it will pass.

And it does, in 1921 Eva finds herself hopeful and swallows the feeling of doom down with Luca’s wine and tells him she wants to try again.

But the evil chill she felt on her wedding day and that damned day at the shop doesn’t leave even after she gives birth to the perfect son she had dreamed off, it lingers there like a shadow.

A shadow only Audrey sees as she holds baby Leonardo Gabriel Changretta nine months after.

“I pray your curse is satisfied with the dead bambino, strega.” The woman says, gently rocking the baby boy she has claimed as her grandson even if he has not a single drop of her blood. “To lose one child is punishment enough.”

But Eva isn’t hurt by her words.

She sees her boy live and grow into a man, takes after his father, same green eyes, same smile, but none of the blood and violence of Luca.

“Leo is destined to live, Audrey, he will be everything we have dreamed of and more.” Eva said filled with hope and joy as she ignored the shadow only the two women see.

The Queen of pink parchment sits in the den of Faye parliament debating the politics of all existences, and touching on the temperament of small human infants.

How adorable, and unpolluted, soft heads that smell like peppermint and lemons, at least that how she imagines, how their tiny fingers flex and grab tightly at any digit they might see.

How their faces wrinkle like angry old men when they are crying, but when they laugh like the Faye younglings do even fairies in the wild can’t help but smile.

How so many keep dying, their potential lost particles just turned to ash when bomb blasts flash, or when they are starving to the point they can’t even manage to cry out.

The Queen of Pink Parchments can’t help at marveling at the ineptitude and cruelty when clearly she can see little limbs that once waved chaotically trying to figure out their functioning, dying like drying leaves crumbling, awaiting the winds of Spring to come back in again and make sure this stops happening.

From the otherside of dreams, in the early waking as humans leave the land of unconscious playing, she frequently weeps and screams as another little visitor disappears never to return.

She yearns to reach out and burn the violent, and sickeningly greedy. who torment tiny human children,

If she had power over other planes, she would reach out and make evil people feel a mother’s pain, forcing them to face all the real horrors that they dealt, by taking every inch of agony into themselves.

Though long lived she does not have all the time she needs to manage that. She must attend to other duties that the Faye court requires, and perhaps that is why she does not completely breakdown and die inside.

-2024

HELLO i have been largely incoherent for like a month but uhhhhhh have some final limited life angst ________________________

And it's a fist shaken up at the sky.

And it's glaring in the eyes of those who you can't see, but see you.

And it's an armor set still strapped to your chest.

And it's the final breath between the three left.

"Like our forefathers before us," Scott laughed. Right. Honor in death and dying, honor in laying down your weapon and facing your opponent with a faded, yet determined smile, and letting the swing of a fist determine the "winner" from weeks of hell. Impulse was content with it, too.

Martyn could Hear them, Hear how they waited with baited breath for the final round speeches, of good bye and good game, of clarity. Like our forefathers, god. What a joke.

"What Scar and Grian did wasn't fair," Martyn thought. To hold each other in that burning desert, and weep for what could not be avoided, building up the drama until it choked them out, until nothing but bloodied fists and broken bodies remained.

They held onto love until it broke them. Until there was nothing left. And They loved it. They craved more, They would put them into this hell over and over and over again, starving for new ways to prolong the agony. Hungry for new betrayals and new loves, never satisfied.

Those two had sealed the fate of the rest of the players with not a kiss, but with broken teeth and cactus spines.

Martyn would not participate in the drama any longer than he had to. There was only thirty minutes left for them, and he had no interest in dragging things out, leaving it up to chance.

Impulse and Scott were armor-less. The sword in Martyn's fist was heavier somehow, as thought the universe itself was hanging onto the blade, arguing with him. That this would not satisfy Their hunger, that he would be causing a new pain in this betrayal.

What would Ren think?

"Ren's free," Martyn thought. At least, he hoped as much. He hoped that those who had not returned to play once more were on their home worlds, safe and sound and galaxies away from these horrors. He needed that to be true, that they weren't waiting in the void for another round of death, that Ren was safe.

That feeble belief was enough to bring the blood pounding in Martyn's ears back into his hands. It made it easy, then, to reach for the lava bucket at his side, and douse his longest ally this time around in flames, striking Scott down without second thought.

(In a way, Martyn knew Scott didn't want to win again. Double life had shown his as much.)

Impulse was more fiery still, because he had something to life for. Impulse grappled for his own sword, exhaustion betraying his clumsy motions. Maybe it was a kindness, Martyn slaughtering them both so quickly. Maybe it was a kindness to avoid a final dance, and put them to rest all at once.

Martyn was shouting, but the words sounded like nonsense to his own ears. Something about alliances, something about pissing Them off, something about not having enough time. He was screaming, fresh blood clinging to his clothes and drenched along his blade, and there was so much noise.

There was cheering, and crying, and anger, and it made his skull into an echo chamber, endless voices demanding a replay, a new dance, a new game… and those who were delighted all the same. Those who had championed him as their hopeful winner, those who were so pleased that he had come out on top…

Martyn sank to his knees in the sand, panting. His voice was hoarse, and his eyes watered. It would never end. This would never, never end.

Somewhere in the air above him, Martyn could hear someone whisper about ending the game.

"Ren," Martyn thought, his bloodshot eyes drifting shut. "Ren... I'm sorry."

AAAAH welcome back to coherencey for this amazing ficlet

GODS- Martyn just will never be over Ren. He'll never escape the death games hell