#🞮 ┋ ɢᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ 'ᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇᴅ. ❜ ( kuro // ic. ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forvalor-blog · 5 years

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This is your Sheriff speaking. Or I suppose now your ex-Sheriff. I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this. Maybe it’s because I know that it’ll never actually see the light of the day until I myself stop seeing it. I don’t write. Typically. It’s been a long time. But there’s nobody I can trust in this town. Nobody I can turn to about my problems. I apologise for the poor writing. I’m not really good at anything, you see. Anyways--

There’s something wrong with my head.

No matter what I do or where I go, a shadow follows. I don’t know what it is. A demon? Death, maybe? I don’t think so, though. Not with how long I’ve been feeling this way. Surely if Death had come to take me, He’d have done so already. Not that I’d hate that.

Anyway. I’m writing this unaddressed letter as a testament to my health. I feel like I’ve slowly been going crazy lately. It probably isn’t the best idea to keep such a heavy feeling caged inside. With no friends to speak of and no lover interested in my well-being, my police notepad is the next best place to divulge such a secret.

I haven’t been feeling right lately.

It’s just, recently, I’ve been thinking about my purpose here. In this station. In Huron. In the world. And every single time, I come up short. Most people, you look at and you think, ‘’oh, he’s a family man.’’ or ‘’oh, she’s an entrepreneur.’’. I don’t think people see anything when they see me. A badge, maybe, but not a person. ‘’oh, he’s a police officer.’’ is so much less personal than most things. I’m not a friend. I’m not a relative. I’m not even an adversary ( unless you really hate the police for some reason, to which I say that we probably hate you too-- ). I’m just someone who exists specifically when things go wrong. Until then, I’m a zero; something that isn’t even considered in the grand scheme of things. Unless there is a crime to solve, what is the use for a task force? Unless things have spiralled, I’m not real. Not even as an after-thought-- a blank.

Things are always going wrong for me. Maybe it’s the world’s way of laughing at me. A person who is supposed to solve everybody else’s issues can’t get his own life together-- his own incompetence being the punchline, of course. A twisted tragedy, kind of. Maybe an ironic idiocy. In some light. After all, how can someone whose job it is to help others not be able to help himself?

I don’t really know why I’m here. I don’t know why I took this job, or pushed so hard, or made the choices that I did. Maybe it was to take my mind off of my father’s accident. Maybe it was to try and make my mother proud after her tragic loss. She’s gone now. Not physically, but in all the ways that matter. She doesn’t see me anymore. She’s another scratched out face in a sea of scribbles, so to speak. Which hurts. Terribly. She’s my momma. I must be a bad son.

Maybe I’m just a bad person in general, and this is the world’s way of punishing me. This isn’t a pity-fest. I don’t care about much. Anything, even. I don’t even care about my role as Sheriff any more. I just want to stop pretending. Stop trying so hard. There’s no reason for me to continue propelling myself through strife only to be left hollow and unfulfilled. I’m tired of acting like the world is right for me. Just once, I want to confess the truth: that I’ve given up. And I think, when I realised that the world had given up on me, it was so much easier to admit, even if only to myself.

The thing is, no matter how logically I try to think about things, I don’t think there’s much of a place for me here. I’m nothing of significance. I’m no woman’s husband nor a young man’s wingman; I’m not a child’s father nor a teenager’s role model. Hell, I’m barely even a son at this point. The people that I once had a bond with are gone. Dead, or so heavily damaged that they can’t bear to look at me the way that they used to. I can’t say that I blame them. I’ve lost the ability to look at myself too.

I’m leaving this letter tucked in my holster. I don’t really intend for anybody to see this until I’m dead and gone. Whenever that is. I think I want it to be soon, but the truth is, something stops me every time I go to take care things. I don’t fear pain, or even death. I have nobody to impress and nobody to satisfy by staying here. Yet I never feel completely ready to make that leap; to fire that bullet; to make those cuts. I don’t know what it is. Don’t know why, either. I just hope that my head clears soon. Maybe then I’ll get the courage to take care of the problem. It’d be better for everyone.

If you’ve found this, please just burn it. You don’t need to spare me a second thought. Someone else will take my place as chief of police and the world will continue moving as if I never left it. So will your life. You don’t need to feel guilty, or as if you owe me something now that I’m dead and gone. You don’t. You never did. Nobody ever did. I’m just sorry I couldn’t do better, and that it turned out like this. I did so badly want a redemptive arc of sorts, but I don’t think I’m cut out for one.

I just hope that shadow dies with me. I couldn’t bear the guilt if it attached itself to some other poor motherfucker in my absence. I don’t think it will though. I think it’s a problem with me. When I’m gone, the issue will resolve itself. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.

K. Braav Huron’s ex-Chief of Police

#🞮 ┋ ʜᴇ's ᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ❜ ( kuro // main. )#🞮 ┋ ɢᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ 'ᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇᴅ. ❜ ( kuro // ic. )#🞮 ┋ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀ ɪᴛ ɪꜰ ɪᴛ ɪsɴ'ᴛ ɪɴᴠᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ. ❜ ( kuro // headcanons. )#letters *#long post *#kuro? keeping a lowkey suicide note on his person at all times?#you bet lol

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forvalor-blog · 5 years

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He’s finally free, and he’s with you as he said he’d be. After taking a moment to glance at the short but present line, he raises his eyebrows in brief surprise. ❛❛ Well, thanks fer outtin’ yerselves. Bless yer souls. Y’can leave now. ❜❜ Click goes his office door.

#🞮 ┋ ʜᴇ's ᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ❜ ( kuro // main. )#🞮 ┋ ɢᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ 'ᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇᴅ. ❜ ( kuro // ic. )#/ iM FU CKING CACKL IN G #KURO: ARRANGES A LINE JUST TO SEE WHO'D ACTUALLY JOIN IT

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forvalor-blog · 5 years

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❛❛ Yeah, I’ve seen some weird shit in my time. ❜❜ Working as a police officer doesn’t often go hand-in-hand with paranormal experiences, but even somebody as smart and logical as he is can admit that there are some things beyond comprehension. ❛❛ Some ‘’spooky’’ stuff, I guess y’could say. ❜❜

#🞮 ┋ ʜᴇ's ᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ❜ ( kuro // main. )#🞮 ┋ ɢᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ 'ᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇᴅ. ❜ ( kuro // ic. )#🞮 ┋ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʀɪsᴋ ɪᴛ. ❜ ( kuro // opens. )#LET A BITCH TALK ABOUT WEIRD SHIT HE'S ENCOUNTERED ON THE JOB

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forvalor-blog · 5 years

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🞮 — There’s a girl who keeps growling at her game console. He’s staring, bewildered by the fact that she would do this in public. Why do some girls do this?

#🞮 ┋ ʜᴇ's ᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ❜ ( kuro // main. )#🞮 ┋ ɢᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ 'ᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇᴅ. ❜ ( kuro // ic. )#Y-Y'KNOW WHEN SOMEONE IS TRYING SO HARD TO BE CUTE AND IT'S JUST LIKE----- WHY U DO THAT THO #S ME RIGHT NOW IM SCREAMING IN MY BEDROOM RN #why my sister like this..........

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forvalor-blog · 5 years

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The Murphy Orchard has always been one of the most lucrative pieces of land in Huron. Rows upon rows of trees grow all year round, fruit bared like stars as the seasons roll by. With no Winter to kill them, they remain in endless bloom, fruit ready for picking at the drop of a hat. To make things better, the land has blessed them with varied saplings. If a particular fruit doesn’t bloom in Spring, they have other trees to harvest from instead. It’s simultaneously the richest and luckiest place in the world.

Kuro has become accustomed to helping Murr pick the fruit for a small amount of pocket money. All but conjoined, their parents get along well too. When Murr goes over to Kuro’s house and helps cut the wheat, his father rewards him with tractor rides and small bags of candy. Kuro receives coins ( like a grown-up, it makes him feel mature ) and a second home. As attached as they are to their own families, it very much feels like they both have two sets of parents.

At some point, they finish their rounds, tired but satisfied, and Murr dumps his basket unceremoniously in the field and flops down onto the grass. It’s thick and soft, but he still folds his arms behind his head, sighing softly as he stares through a myriad of leaves and up into the early evening sky. His bushy hair spreads around his head like a haphazard mane, and he isn’t surprised when Kuro lays down and copies him.

❛❛ Hope that wasn’t too painful fer ya, ❜❜ Murr says with a grin. Kuro shakes his head in response. He’s always been quiet. It’s never been something that bothered him. He can talk enough for five people, nevermind two. ❛❛ Ya know, ya don’t have ta keep workin’ like this just ‘cause my mama asks. She’ll understand if ya don’t wanna. ❜❜

❛❛ I like helpin’ yer momma, ❜❜ Kuro replies, rolling onto his stomach. Though he’d gone to copy Murr because he thought he looked cool, the late evening sun was steadily beginning to irritate him. Too bright… too loud. ❛❛ Besides, I get t’work with you. ❜❜

❛❛ Aww. Yer like a dog, Kuro. Maybe I should start callin’ ya Ku-roh. ❜❜

He listens as his friend snorts. It’s a sound that doesn’t escape him often. Though he’s a perfectly happy child, he’s also an incredibly stoic one. It’s almost as if he’s too afraid to let others know how he feels. Murr doesn’t understand why he’s so closed off, but at the same time it fills him with joy. After all, he gets to hear him laugh when he tells stupid jokes; he gets to watch his face light up when he lets him tag along with him, wherever he’s going; he gets to see the true Kuro, the one he typically keeps under lock and key. Everybody else can go to Hell. Kuro is my friend.

❛❛ Hey, ❜❜ Murr starts, forcing himself to sit up. His small body aches but he doesn’t mind. ❛❛ Let’s do somethin’ fun. Huh? We’ve been workin’ all day. ❜❜

❛❛ Okay. What d’y’wanna do? ❜❜

❛❛ Hmm... ❜❜ He makes a show of stroking along his chin, eyes rolling skyward as he thinks. ❛❛ I know. Let’s climb the Big Tree. ❜❜

❛❛ The Big Tree…? But it’s so… big. ❜❜ And your momma told us not to.

❛❛ Well duh. ❜❜ He climbs to his feet, stretching his legs before he begins to march forward. ❛❛ C’mon, Kuro, don’t be a chicken. It’ll be fun! ❜❜ Without another word, Murr begins to run, hurtling down the hill. It’s as if the wind carries him along, jacket flapping behind him like a pair of makeshift wings, hair wild, eyes alight. Kuro stands up, chasing after him. He’ll always follow him.

They dash through a low-cut field of weeds, small yellow flowers turned high towards the open sky. It’s like running through a tunnel of sunshine, and by the time they begin to charge up the hill where the Big Tree stands, Kuro starts to feel exhilarated. He isn’t scared of much in truth, but this tree is something he holds a healthy level of cynicism towards. It’s abnormally large, branches spanning over the length of the hill like a collection of gangly arms reaching desperately towards the heavens, and from where they stand beneath it, it’s so tall it seems to disappear into the sky.

From their places below, they think about how best to proceed. Its trunk is thick but gnarled with age. Plenty of footholes, Murr thinks. Ever the after-thinker, the eldest of the boys jams his foot into one of these spaces and begins his desperate shimmy up the weathered bark. He slips and slides several times ( at one point he even ends up falling down, landing on his rear with a disgruntled cry ) but eventually he reaches the branches. From here, it only gets easier to scale.

❛❛ Aha! ❜❜ Murr cries victoriously, arms extended high over his head. He wobbles, teetering on the wide branch he’s found purchase atop, and he cautiously throws his arms around the trunk to steady himself. When he’s sure he won’t fall, he continues, one shoulder raising in the form of a lofty shrug. ❛❛ See? Piece’a cake! ❜❜

❛❛ Y’fell though, ❜❜ Kuro points out.

❛❛ ONLY ONCE-- ❜❜ Murr huffs indignantly. ❛❛ Yeesh… ya really gotta critique my every move? Just get up here, dummy. ❜❜

He watches as Kuro stares up into the sea of bark, clearly wondering whether he should. He’s a small boy. Trying to tackle something so big might just be a bad idea. Nevertheless, he wants to seem cool to his best friend. Murr is effortlessly so, and he wants to emulate that. Murr doesn’t think too much, so neither should I.

The ascent is difficult. However, after a lot of determined wriggling and a hand up from his companion, Kuro stands atop the same branch he does. Heights have never bothered him really. Even though they’re a short ways off of the ground, a decent few feet between them and the grass below, he feels decidedly neutral about it. What if I fall? is not a question that exists in his head. Instead, he tilts his head up as Murr begins to climb higher.

❛❛ C’mon! ❜❜ he calls from a branch or two above. ❛❛ Hard part’s over now! ❜❜

The dedication with which they scramble upwards is admirable but wasted. With nobody around to witness their bravehearted efforts, it becomes an odyssey fit only for two. However, the ascent in itself is rewarding. As they scale branches as easily as they do stairs, the sun beginning to peek through as less and less obscures it from view, excitement begins to pool in their stomachs. Just one more branch is an incredibly addictive mindset once you’ve already committed to the climb.

At some point they begin to slow down-- not out of fear but out of necessity. The branches are getting thinner and thinner, more resembling twigs than safe places to stand on, and it begins to hinder their expedition. Murr stops incredibly close to the top, trying to lean his body upwards so that he can attempt to break the surface of the leaves. When he hears part of the branch crack under the strain, he hurriedly resets his stance, begrudgingly accepting that this is as high as he can go.

❛❛ So! What do ya think? ❜❜ A glance is cast down to where they started. All the way up here, locked away in a cocoon of wood and blossom, they feel untouchable; as if they’ve found a small slice of another world tucked safely in the trees. ❛❛ Not so bad when ya conquer it head-on, right? Hey, we could set up a base here! Nobody’d find us up here. ❜❜

❛❛ Yer momma might get mad-- ❜❜

❛❛ What she don’t know won’t kill her, ❜❜ Murr replies, shuffling down a short ways to be level with his friend. The branch he stands atop isn’t thick, but it doesn’t groan under his weight either. He thinks that means it’s fine. ❛❛ Besides, she’s been lost ta the government already! We’re out fer ourselves! ❜❜

Kuro will be the first to admit that he doesn’t really understand the games that Murr plays with him sometimes. They’re always ‘’running from the government’’ or ‘’hiding their thoughts from aliens’’; making silly hats made of foil in barns and building ‘bunkers’ out of hay in fields. They hide from what Murr insists are spaceships whenever they see lights in the sky and build multitudes of small houses in bushes so that they’re ‘never in one place for too long’. He goes along with it because it seems to make Murr happy. He doesn’t mind playing with him, even if it can be difficult for his brain to keep up. It’s fun. It gives him a thrill, even if none of it is real.

❛❛ What would the Government want yer momma fer? ❜❜

❛❛ Probably fer her cookin’, ❜❜ Murr replies idly as he begins to snake his way back down. ❛❛ Secret agents get hungry too. ❜❜

❛❛ That makes sense. ❜❜

He makes a comment about the High Court using her for her Wednesday Hot-Pot and Murr snorts with laughter. That’s the best feeling in the world: making Murr laugh.

❛❛ Now yer gettin’ it, ❜❜ Murr tells him through a snicker, the footfalls beneath him starting to get bigger as they make their way back down to the bottom. ❛❛ ‘s like yer in my brain. ❜❜ There’s a pause then, an accusatory glance thrown over his shoulder. ❛❛ Yer not in my brain, right? ❜❜

❛❛ No. ❜❜ There’s a pause as Kuro threads his body between two branches before he continues with: ❛❛ But if I was, I wouldn’t tell y’. ❜❜

❛❛ … yer good. ❜❜

They’re about halfway down when Murr begins to play the fool. He starts pretending that he’s going to slip, kicking his feet up, throwing an arm back whenever he doesn’t need to hold on as much, and every time Kuro feels his heart leap into his throat. They’re nowhere near as high as they were, closer to the ground than the sky, but that doesn’t mean that he wants to see him get hurt. At one point he yells at him for being reckless - and that’s when he himself loses his footing. It’s a minor blip in his concentration, but he feels his boot slip on the mossy finish of a branch he’s stood on and his sense of equilibrium is thrown sideways. For just a moment, Murr thinks he’s joking, opening his mouth to make some smart comment, but all that escapes him is a cry of Kuro’s name as he realises that his friend is for real.

His small body goes hurtling towards the ground, and when he lands in the grass he isn’t sure how to feel. A flash of searing pain burns through his right side, hot and heavy before it dissipates into alarming numbness. Stunned, Kuro doesn’t move. His breathing is shallow, afraid to upset the temporary reverie he’s found in the blissful static that has consumed his arm. For a short while, he hears nothing but the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears, elevated heartbeat seeming to hammer in his temples.

Am I dying? How high did I fall from? I wasn’t even paying attention to myself--

❛❛ Hey! HEY!! ❜❜

The sound of Murr’s voice brings him back. At some point, the boy had struggled his way down the tree, dropping safely into the grass below before dashing to his fallen friend. When Kuro makes hazy eye contact with him, he realises that Murr’s are full of tears.

❛❛ … yer cryin’... ❜❜ It’s all he has to say.

He watches his friend’s face, first a picture of horror and fear, dissolve into one of great relief. There’s no blood… no gruesome wound he’s going to have to heroically seal shut with his favourite hoodie; just a dazed Kuro laying in the grass, bleary-eyed and blank. Murr uses the sleeves of his jacket to wipe his eyes, a laugh full of both mirth and derision escaping him as he hovers over the other. It’s the first time Kuro has seen him cry. Though he knows that Murr is a softie beneath it all, he’s never let himself shed a tear in front of him. It’s just part of his cool-guy routine.

❛❛ Screw off... ❜❜ he mutters fondly, reaching down to pat at his friend’s body, checking for damages. When he reaches his arm, Kuro hisses, writhing in pain. It’s the most emotion he’s shown since he fell, and Murr can’t help but be thankful for it. His friend sometimes comes off as a robot. He’s happy with his life yet unable to show it clearly, and Murr can’t for the life of him understand why. Every day that he spends by his friend’s side is a day he wants to scream about from the rooftops. ❛❛ A-Are yer legs okay? ❜❜ He watches as his friend bends them slightly, then nods. His jeans are slightly ripped down one side, having caught a branch on his way down, but aside from a superficial scratch there doesn’t seem to be anything of note. ❛❛ Yer made of steel, I swear ta Raku, ❜❜ Murr jokes with a feeble laugh, eyes shining with comfort as he watches his friend weakly smile back at him. Kuro has such a quirky smile, barely there but full of warmth regardless.

He slinks around to his friend’s other side, beginning to help him to his feet. Kuro stumbles a little, ankles clicking under the weight of his unbalanced body, but no strain on his right arm renders him able to at least walk the short distance home. Small fingers clutch at the broken appendage as if it’s going to drop off, and every so often as they descend the hill he stops and hisses, the decline in terrain sending small shocks of pain through his injured limb.

When they get back to Murr’s house, they both receive an earful about listening to Murr’s mother. However, both parents are quick to relent, walking Kuro home and explaining to his folks what happened. His mother is quick to coddle him, arms thrown around him before she realises she’s hurting him. His father tuts at him, but in the fond way he always has. ❛❛ Dumbass, ❜❜ he says, lightly ruffling his hair before guiding him out of the house. Perhaps there’d have been more commotion had their son been visibly distressed, but his impassive disposition lends them all a pang of reassurance.

As much as they try to get Murr to go home, to convince him that once Kuro sees a doctor he’ll be fine, the boy refuses to stay behind, accompanying his friend to the local office. They sit in the waiting area together while his father requests assistance from the receptionist. So quaint and peaceful a place, Huron’s emergency services are never that pushed for space. The majority of the time, it’s possible to simply walk in and request aid, especially if it’s for something dire. Though Kuro doesn’t appear to be in much pain on the surface, a broken bone is still something of discernible gravity.

❛❛ … ya didn’t cry at all, ❜❜ Murr says quietly, nudging Kuro’s foot with his own. ❛❛ Are ya sure yer not a drone from outer-space? ❜❜

❛❛ I’m quite sure, ❜❜ Kuro replies, head bobbing once in vague affirmation. It’s quiet for a few seconds before he carries on. ❛❛ … I was okay ‘cause y’came t’get me. It hurts a lot, but just havin’ y’here with me makes me feel better. ❜❜

His friend scoffs at him gently, his elbow knocking against his ( thankfully ) good arm. With a warm smile: ❛❛ Of course I came t’get ya. I’ll always come fer ya, Kuro. ❜❜

❛❛ Always? ❜❜ ❛❛ Always. ❜❜

They both straighten up slightly as Kuro’s father emerges with a doctor by his side. He wears a friendly smile that goes nicely with his pale coat. He asks if Kuro is ready to see him and the boy nods his head, stopped only by Murr getting up and defensively standing between them.

❛❛ ‘n’ how do I know yer a real doctor, huh? Ya could be a voodoo practitioner. ❜❜ He listens as the older man chuckles gently, pointing to his uniform, then to the official Huron embellishment sewn into his breast pocket. Only licensed professionals have those. He’s seen police officers that have the same emblem faithfully stitched into their sleeves, too. This guy’s the real deal. ❛❛ Hm… okay, but ya’d better be nice ta him. ❜❜

❛❛ I assure you that I will be, ❜❜ he replies, a gentle hand placed on Kuro’s uninjured arm, beginning to guide the boy into his office. Despite his hardy exterior, Murr feels worried. The anxiety he feels when they’re apart is intense, even with his young age. His friend’s father’s hand lands gently on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze as he moves to sit down again. It’s alright, he tells him. He’ll be alright. It ain’t yer fault.

It might be, Murr thinks to himself. It very well might be.

_____ 【 🞮 】 _____

It feels like forever goes by before Kuro finally re-emerges from the room he entered. Murr had fallen asleep in his seat without realising, waking up to the gentle nudge from his friend’s father. When he sees his friend standing in front of him, sporting plaster and a somewhat dreamy expression, he can’t help but leap up, checking extensively for wounds that he didn’t enter with. After feeling certain that he’s fine, he flicks lightly at the cast.

❛❛ Y’know, when I said we should get matchin’ sleeves when we got older, this ain’t quite what I had in mind. ❜❜

Kuro laughs. ❛❛ Damn… I kinda like this thing. ❜❜ ❛❛ Yer crazy. Kooky Kuro has entered the stadium. ❜❜

Kuro immediately whistles the beginning of the Passcode theme in response. That gets Murr going, a boisterous bout of laughter escaping him as he re-enacts some of the song’s greatest dance segments in full right there in the waiting area. That makes Kuro laugh too, though shorter, and his giddy display is interrupted by his friend thrusting a pen and a lollipop at him.

❛❛ The doc said that friends should sign the cast. ❜❜ As an after-thought: ❛❛ I also convinced him t’give me two candies so you could have one. ❜❜

❛❛ Yer the best, ❜❜ Murr chants, plucking the pen from Kuro’s fingers and signing his name in big bold letters across the length of the cast. Perhaps it’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t want to see anybody else’s name on this short expanse of pot. He’ll draw all over it if he has to. In fact… ❛❛ Hey! I’ll draw ya a sleeve on the other side! Then ya’ll look cool! ❜❜ He pouts, though only playfully. ❛❛ Can’t believe ya’ll have a ‘tattoo’ before me though... ❜❜

❛❛ If y’go break yer arm as well, I’ll draw a sleeve fer you too. ❜❜

Murr snatches his lollipop from him then, sniggering to himself. ❛❛ Screw off, Kuro. ❜❜

#🞮 ┋ ʜᴇ's ᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ❜ ( kuro // main. )#🞮 ┋ ɢᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ 'ᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇᴅ. ❜ ( kuro // ic. )#drabbles *#/ IM GAAAAAAAAAY #NGL I LOVE EVERY SECOND OF THIS DRABBLE

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forvalor-blog · 5 years

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❛❛ I need help-- ❜❜

Kuro has long since given up on the supposed ‘’therapist’’ he tried to make work for Nana’s sake. To him, there’s nothing cathartic about sitting in a room and being prodded. The woman asks too many questions; attempts to dig too deeply into things he’s left buried for a reason. He isn’t fragile, but she had made him feel so, and that’s a sensation he detests.

Alas, he stands in her office doorway now, dishevelled and pale, heaving for air that his lungs don’t want to accept. Panicking-- he’s panicking and he knows it. His head is just so fucking loud, trying to get him to do something-- the one thing-- that he refuses to do.

He watches as she stands up, moving to meet him, and for once he doesn’t flinch when she puts her hands on his shoulders. He’d battled vehemently against that gentle contact when he’d first entered that office, telling her that it filled him with disgust, but now it acts as an anchor. He may not want to be touched, but at the very least he can be. It proves that he isn’t completely useless-- that he hasn’t been so weak as to give in to his head just yet.

❛❛ Come and sit, okay? ❜❜

It’s all she needs to say. He lets her shut the door behind him, enclosing him in this quiet cocoon of a room. He finds the couch, laying down without her having to suggest it, and he listens as she files back behind her desk, organising papers and putting something away in a drawer. She brings her chair close to him then. He doesn’t have the energy to demand that she stops looking at him.

❛❛ What’s the matter? You look awful. ❜❜

❛❛ I ain’t crazy, ❜❜ he blurts, trembling fingers moving to cover his face. It feels easier to breathe when he doesn’t look at her. She’s so imploring, so gently curious, and it drives him insane. I don’t want to talk-- I just don’t want to do something stupid. ❛❛ I just-- feel like I’m spirallin’ outta control. ‘n’ I need a place t’go befer this feelin’ decides my fate fer me. ❜❜

❛❛ Kuro, ❜❜ she cuts in softly, one hand raised in the form of a meek surrender. A silent extension of an olive branch. ❛❛ I don’t think you’re crazy. I never have. But you’re clearly distressed and I want to help with that, but you’re going to have to talk. ❜❜

A tense silence follows, heavy and hard. In his brain, he’s debating whether or not he should leave. I can’t leave. If I leave, my head might win. I might hurt Nana. I can’t go home. I can’t tell her. I can’t seek comfort from her. I can’t do anything--

❛❛ I just... feel myself sinkin’. ‘n’ I can do nothin’ about it. I can’t do anythin’. I’m tryin’... so hard, not t’let that darkness get t’me... but it keeps findin’ its way in. I was out of it fer a while. Not completely, but enough. My head had finally broken the surface, ‘n’ now it’s back under. ‘n’ I don’t know what t’do. ‘n’ I don’t... I don’t want t’talk anymore. ❜❜

❛❛ Kuro-- ❜❜

❛❛ STOP. Just STOP bein’ so FUCKING LOUD. ❜❜ In the moment, it feels good to shout. Even if it accomplishes nothing, it still fills him with fleeting relief. He even takes some amount of pleasure in the way the doctor flinches back, the silence of the room golden. For just a moment, he can see things clearly. The fog in his head dissipates. The weight in his chests lessens. He doesn’t feel quite as heavy. In a surprisingly composed voice, he continues on: ❛❛ ... I ain’t wanna talk, Doc. Alrigh’? I just-- don’t wanna throw myself off a bridge. Because it’d hurt my wife. I just need someone t’keep an eye on me, t’make sure I stay here ‘n’ not somewhere dangerous. Get it? ❜❜

He watches as the woman nods at him, resigning herself to silence. With that, he re-shields his face with an arm, refusing to look at anything again. For hours, he simply lays on that couch, feeling only marginally better than he did when he first stumbled in, but the quiet that surrounds him does wonders for the blooming headache in his temples. At some point in the early morning, he feels sound of mind enough to leave, apologising briefly for the fuss before exiting. She says goodbye but he doesn’t reply. She anticipated as such. It isn’t something she holds against him. Kuro is a very difficult person to get through to. All she really thinks about is how far he’s come. Would he really have tried to stop himself from killing himself a few decades ago? She highly doubts it.

What went on, Kuro? You were doing better. What happened to tip your world upside-down all over again? I do wish you’d talk. It’d be so much easier to help you if you’d just open up.

Ultimately, she knows that she can’t force him. She just has to continue to be available to him - even if he doesn’t believe in her abilities.

#🞮 ┋ ʜᴇ's ᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ❜ ( kuro // main. )#🞮 ┋ ɢᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ 'ᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇᴅ. ❜ ( kuro // ic. )#narrative *#/ this fucking sucks ass really bad but :shrug:

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forvalor-blog · 5 years

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❛❛ Listen. If I laugh at somethin’ once, do not fuckin’ repeat it over and over again. I will come t’find it un-funny ‘n’ hate you fer the rest’a time. ❜❜

#🞮 ┋ ʜᴇ's ᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ❜ ( kuro // main. )#🞮 ┋ ɢᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ 'ᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇᴅ. ❜ ( kuro // ic. )#/ kuro is still the best most reliable vent piece and i love him

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forvalor-blog · 5 years

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Since he was rescued, he hasn’t really felt present. Though he’d been quick to shower and collapse into bed, it hadn’t taken long for him to wake up in a cold sweat. A pit has formed in his stomach since he was cuffed in that basement, one that specifically houses vomit, and it’s catapulted out of him the second something reminds him of the trauma he endured.

Why is it this bad? It’s never been this bad before. I’ve dealt with traumatic things left, right and centre, haven’t I? My father’s impromptu death; my mother’s disconnect; the death of my squad; stab wounds and bullet holes-- the whole nine fucking yards, so why is this hurting me so bad--?

Reasoning with himself never works. He ends up in the same position every time something upsets his conscious state: hunched over the toilet, or the sink, or the bin, throwing up next to nothing. He can’t eat, he can’t sleep-- all he can do is dive into his work, barely aware and yet all too focused all at once. His results don’t suffer despite the fact that he does. Case after case is cracked. He loses himself in ‘solved’ stamps and crimson string, telling himself that if he chases facts then the fiction he supposedly endured will fade into obscurity. There’s no way that what happened really happened. He imagined it; he dreamt it; and yet he recalls her battered body all too well whenever he blinks.

❛❛ -------- Sheriff!! ❜❜

He’s brought back to reality from the shout of his deputy. Rigsby is a fairly shy man. Though he’s able to hold his own on the field, in social situations, he fades into the background. A wallflower-- or an outcast. Either one is accurate, and either way, Kuro doesn’t look down on him. He too likes to remain quiet in most situations, despite being a leader through and through.

❛❛ ... uh? ❜❜

He watches as the man entirely composed of static fumbles at the door of his office for a few moments before he huffs quietly, shutting it behind him as he moves in close. Taking a seat without invitation surprises Kuro. It isn’t even that the other needs one, he just always waits for one. Another product of social anxiety, perhaps.

There’re an awkward few seconds of silence before the man reaches into his pocket, retrieving an item and placing it down on Kuro’s desk. The Sheriff blinks at it, surprised to see it again. ❛❛ ... she took yer pocket watch for some reason, most likely as a keepsake. I found it elsewhere after we turned the place upside-down. I thought y’might... want it back. ❜❜

He does. This is the only piece of his father that he has left, and though he hasn’t been all too lucid lately, he’d still briefly lamented the loss. Eyes slowly blink as he pulls the item close to him, inspecting it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket. Thank you, he thinks, though all he can bring himself to do is nod. I’m sorry, kid, I’m not with it

❛❛ S-Sir-- please-- ❜❜ The younger man takes a breath, as if afraid to continue. ❛❛ -- please get some rest! Y’look like yer about t’drop dead, ‘n’... everyone is really worried about you. Please let yourself... lean on yer team! ❜❜

He stands then, as if he expects to be kicked out. Despite his kind nature and his brittle backbone when it comes to confrontation, Rigsby is far from a fearful child. He respects his superior, is in awe of his abilities, but he doesn’t fear him. He’ll say whatever he thinks, and he’s come to realise that Kuro has always encouraged that, unlike his old bosses. It doesn’t matter whether they agree, whether it sparks a debate or a fight, Sheriff Braav has taught him to be diligent and put his foot down.

❛❛ I’m goin’ home now. It’s late. Y’should... go home, too. ❜❜ He hovers briefly as Kuro parts his lips to speak, though when nothing comes out he knows that it’s time to leave. His boss isn’t in the right mind to be having a conversation with him right now, and that’s okay. He simply never would’ve forgiven himself if he hadn’t at least tried to tell him to take care of himself. ❛❛ I’ll see you tomorrow. ❜❜

❛❛ Yeah. Tomorrow... ❜❜

Please don’t mention ‘’tomorrow’’. I can barely get through today.

#🞮 ┋ ʜᴇ's ᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ❜ ( kuro // main. )#🞮 ┋ ɢᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ 'ᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇxɪsᴛᴇᴅ. ❜ ( kuro // ic. )#narrative *#long post *

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