#it kills me inside

[zu-is-here]

<– • –>

[fagatakonin]

Those places were so magical to me because everything there was rebuilt. It was the resettled people or their families that came back and cared enough to save fragments of their past and salvage them from complete destruction. It's a labor of love... and then there is something so devastating about those places that are remembered by some still but... nothing was salvaged nothing was rebuilt ... there's just two rivers meeting one another by a cliff

[clickerflight]

Voltober 13 - I Laugh in the Face of Death - The Adventurers

Author's notes: Yes, I did cry at work while I wrote this. PLEASE look at the content warnings before reading further. This one really messes me up when I think about it.

Masterlist - Voltober 12

Content: Multiple whumpees, minor character, slavery, severe illness, chronic illness, fear of death, death of a minor, extreme grief

@voltober

Deflecting Concern | Distracting an Ally From Their Pain | Worn Out Laughter

Warning: I have a policy of giving almost all of my POV good guy characters happy endings. Almost. This is the exception to the rule. This story has been making me sad for years now, and without exception makes me cry when I think about it too long. It’s one of those bits of story that I have no control over. I cannot change it or make it better because the characters tell me this is how it happened. I have never properly written it until this moment because of that. Heed the content warnings. While Souka goes on to have a very good life, Ichimaru…..

Ichimaru coughed hard and bit back a whine, rolling over in his thread bare blanket. He was almost too hot for it. But when he took it off he froze to death.

Ichimaru closed his eyes, trying not to think of death. It had always felt close to him, ever since he was a child. Like death was stalking him, just waiting for his conditions to finally win over. His albinism, his propensity for illness, his chronic cough, and everything that came with being a slave.

He opened his eyes. Would he die here? There wasn’t much for him here, but it was terrifying to think he would die. He had no idea what was on the other side. Was there nothing? Would he stop existing forever?

His chest spasmed and he coughed so hard snot bubbled out of his nose, tears leaking down his cheeks. He shivered and huddled tighter under his blanket.

He was so scared. It wasn’t fair. He knew that this day would come sooner rather than later. Like he was one of those doomed characters in the sad stories the older slaves would tell. The ones who fought their fate, but fell to it anyway.

He sniffled, wondering if there would be stories about him. Probably not. The only other person he was close to in this whole world was a semi-mute slave child who looked about as close to the grave as Ichimaru did. It was a shame. Ichimaru knew he looked quite striking under all the dirt. He would be a good character in a story.

He was distracted by those thoughts by a shuffling at the small door that lead to he quarantine room Ichimaru was staying in.

He looked over to see wide eyes, dirty skin, and long brown hair framing a skeletal face.

The young teen, Souka, crawled in and came to sit by Ichimaru, tears already welling in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Ichimaru said, a smile coming easily to his face. “You shouldn’t be in here. You’ll get sick again.”

“I got you sick,” Souka rasped in a whisper, the scars on his throat jumping with the movement of his speech. “I want to help.” His lips kept moving to say like you helped me but his voice gave out. Ichimaru was used to reading Souka’s lips, though, so the message was not lost on him.

Ichimaru relaxed. He had comforted Souka when he was sick, sure that his little friend would die in those long sick nights, but Souka pulled through. Of course he would want to help Ichimaru the same way, though Ichimaru was sure it was not for the same reasoning. Souka was too relaxed. He had no idea Ichimaru was going to die. Ichimaru couldn’t stomach seeing Souka’s hope fade. It was his death day, but he wouldn’t tell his friend that. He was allowed to be selfish today of all days.

Souka got onto the pathetically thin pallet and under the blanket, wrapping his arms around Ichimaru to share his body heat. Ichimaru immediately felt overheated, but he put an arm around Souka in turn, taking comfort in the touch.

“I think I can-” get you more food tomorrow.

“You don’t have to,” Ichimaru said gently. “That’s very kind of you.”

Souka huffed. He cuddled closer to Ichimaru and the older teen sighed, closing his eyes. Souka would be the one to hear his final words. What did he even want to say? What could he say to try and keep Souka’s hopes up after he was gone.

“Do you want a story?”

Souka nodded against his chest.

“Good.” Ichimaru paused, covering his mouth and coughing painfully hard. He wipe his hand on the blanket before Souka could see the specks of blood that came up. “Remember the day we met?”

Souka nodded again. You named me. He mouthed, a faint whisper behind the movements.

“Yes. I named you. I still can’t believe you hadn’t heard the story of the hero Souka before we met.”

Souka cleared his throat, wincing in pain, and rasped, “The Slave Freer.”

“The Slave Freer,” Ichimaru echoed warmly. “He was like us, once. Getting sick, sneaking extra food for friends, working his butt off for the masters during the day. Just like you.”

Souka nodded excitedly and Ichimaru was surprised. In the past when he had told this story, there had always been doubt in Souka’s eyes. But now, he seemed eager to drink up and believe every word that Ichimaru spoke. Ichimaru had a sinking feeling in his stomach beyond the emptiness and nausea.

“He promised he would get free, and when he was strong, he would be back to free the slaves. And he kept his word, coming back and freeing all of the slaves, holding back the masters while they all escaped. He gave his life for their futures. The others are afraid to-” Ichimaru broke off, coughing hard into his hand again, knocking Souka off of his chest with his seizing.

Souka put a hand on Ichimaru’s chest, worry and fear in his eyes. Ichimaru forced himself to recover quickly, laughing weakly. “Sorry. Umm…. Oh the others are afraid to speak of him. They’re afraid to hope that there is a way out.”

Souka nodded, settling back in. “Like Old Jassy.”

“Yes, like Old Jassy.”

Jassy shut down any talk of Souka, hope, or freedom. She thought that it was cruel to give any of the slaves hope, instead focusing on the joy they had where they were, few and far between it may be. She had been very angry when she found out Ichimaru had give the name Souka to his previously nameless friend.

“And one day, Souka, I know you will be better than him. You will get out and you will free everyone here. And you’ll do even better than the first Souka. You will live to see it all! Maybe you’ll even end slavery!”

Souka’s eyes seemed to glow at the idea, putting his heart and soul into believing it for the first time since Ichimaru had known him. “And you will be there with me. I can’t do it without you.”

Ichimaru smiled, trying to keep the pain and sadness out of his eyes. “Yes. I will be with you, every step of the way.” Even if that was only in spirit. There had to be something after death. He needed to be there for Souka, even if it was in an intangible way.

Souka hummed and closed his eyes. Ichimaru put a hand on Souka’s head and said, “Good night.”

Souka nodded, mouth moving, but Ichimaru couldn’t see what he said.

Ichimaru waited until Souka had relaxed, his chest moving smoothly and calmly before he blew out a sigh, closing his own eyes.

He was so scared. He could feel death settling in, taking his limbs. He could feel it’s cold breath on his face. He was so scared. He was so terrified and he didn’t want to go. He wanted to live. He had to take care of Souka. He had to make sure he didn’t lose hope.

Ichimaru was still so full of hope himself. He needed to believe there was something better for him. This couldn’t be the end. His life had been so unfair. This couldn’t be it!

Silent tears made their way down his cheeks, but he didn’t even have the energy to wipe them away.

He was cold. His chest hurt. He was fading. He was scared. It was too much! It was too fast! He should have said more. He should have told Souka he loved him! Ichimaru should have told him he was dying. He should have given Souka a proper chance to say goodbye!

His breathing was getting shallower and shallower, his vision leaving him, and just as he felt the fear and pain would consume him and make him mad just before death, a small voice seemed to whisper to him, dispelling all of the fear and anguish.

Come, Ichimaru. Come home. He will not be left alone. He will be loved. You have done what you can.

Ichimaru’s last breath came out as a sigh of relief as the pain and regret left him, and he did as the voice asked.

…………………………………………………

Souka opened his eyes, becoming aware before becoming fully awake. He was sore and cold. Ichimaru was…..

Souka sat up quickly in the darkness, reaching for the old mage light kept in the quarantine room, tapping it to turn it on again.

Ichimaru’s glassy eyes stared blankly ahead, limbs stiff and cold.

Souka stared down at the body, uncomprehending and terrified.

He shook Ichimaru and his heart dropped. No! This couldn’t be happening! He sobbed, hand on Ichimaru’s chest. He began mouthing quickly, but his voice wouldn’t come. It wouldn’t voice what he desperately needed to say. This wasn’t fair! It’s not fair! He knew Ichimaru was fragile, he knew that he got sicker quicker than anyone else. He knew he should have pushed him out of the quarantine room when he came to cuddle with Souka when he was sick.

Souka threw back his head and wailed in anguish, the sound stuttering, airy, and broken. He had killed his best friend! He had killed his brother! The person who had given him a name, a purpose, and a hope was dead! He was gone forever and he left Souka behind.

Souka bowed over Ichimaru’s body, pressing his head into Ichimaru’s stiff chest. He had dared to hope, dared to believe Ichimaru’s words as though that would help him recover. As though his hope would be enough to get Ichimaru through this and protect him. As if it would protect Souka from the sorrows he had been faced with in his whole life.

He sobbed loudly, clutching at Ichimaru’s ragged clothing, begging him to come back.

“I can’t-” do this on my own! I can’t! PLEASE.

Old Jassy found him hours later when the supervisors noticed he was missing, curled around a corpse staring blankly at the wall. She sighed, rolling up her sleeves in preparation to peel him off of the one person who had well and truly loved him in his entire life.

VTB Part 14

The Adventurers

[ask-artsy-oncie]

I'm just so sick - I'm fucking ill.

I just want someone to look at me and see a man. Please. Even if it only happens just one more time.

Is that really too much to ask for?

[karmaislost]

You mischaracterized my boy so badly i think this is not my boy anymore

[here-and-queer312]

I fucking hate when my PE teacher separates us by male/female

[ptsdickgrayson]

Does anyone have that panel of one of Bruce’s kids saying “you’re a difficult man to get close to, Bruce” ? Cuz I need it

[milkamel]

"The One Who Understands"

(I can't get over this episode omg it's beautiful, everything I wished to see and more)

[sir-walton-goggins]

"Arthur Morgan would shoot you just for breathing around him"

Arthur in the game:

[made this compilation for myself as a bday gift but y'all can have it too]

[oornithologistt]

vultures amirite?

og image below the cut

[phannieadeux]

i love this dynamic

[seoksoonwoo]

"such strong youngest child vibes"

[fishcake05]

People seems to really like my inside out art so here’s more :) and even MORE JOYNESS !!!!!! And angfear I think

[voidcat]

the intimacy of taking a bath with someone

doesn't matter if it begins to be something hot and sexy with a certain goal. to take care of them, to be at the other party's hands at your most vulnerable. to tend to someone when they're helpless and sick, cannot move a limb on their own, reliant on your help.

gently massaging the scalp to your perfect liking and need. finding the spots that make you melt, ones that make you contract your whole body, applying perfectly calculated pressure to spots that each need it.

dragging your nails down their body, feeling every little bump of prickly skin, their curves, dips, fat and flesh as your finger tips graze against their skin. how they get goosebumps at certain spots and shiver at others.

gently scrubbing their skin, feeling them ease into you, melt into you slowly. water pouring down on the both of you and the temperature is a long forgotten convern whether its 'perfect' to one's liking or not. all the coldness they require comes from your lithe touches- all the warmth you need is provided from their body. all the barreers down, relaxed and easing into one another, not a worry in sight, still a little flustered. hands roam and massage long enough that this feels like the only moment the two of you have ever existed, a small moan escaping their lips.

for all the things you've done, can done or have fantasized on doing so-- something far too innocent feels too much to handle. to see each other so vulnerable, bare and without anything to hide from one another. and when a hand reaches out to cup the other's cheek, it's inevitable to pulled by each other's gravity, until one of you feels warm, wet lips placing a chaste kiss on the other's corner of lips, your breaths mingling and hitching.

[sapphoherselz]

goodmorning andrew falling asleep w two fingers pressed against the inner side of neil's wrist so he can check on his pulse after baltimore

[babybluebanshee]

hey. hey c’mere.

what if the argument between Dipper’s parents he wasn’t supposed to hear was about him because his egg had recently cracked and their “daughter” has started dressing more masculinely and Mabel helped whack off “her” hair one night in the bathroom with craft scissors and “she” has started saying “she” likes names like Tyrone and Mason and “she” is getting picked on for it and the Pines parents have been getting called into school and don’t really know what to do with their trans preteen and they’re stressed and Dipper’s problems at school were the straw that broke the camel’s back and even though he was just the topic and not the cause of the argument, he can’t help but feel like he might be driving his parents to divorce simply by trying to be himself because he’s a ball of anxiety and even though he sees a summer with his weird great uncle in a town where no one knows him as the perfect opportunity to experience some gender euphoria for the first time, he still feels guilty for being a source of tension, and that guilt manifests as delicacy around his perceived masculinity. Do you guys ever think about that?