#it does something to me that i cannot explain

[nakahras]

᯽ one more hour • chuuya nakahara

synopsis • you finally find out who chuuya is after months of him lying to you. unfortunately, for chuuya, you’re not the only one that figures out the identity of your boyfriend and that makes you a target.

warnings • intentional lowercase, angst, fem!reader, mild/medium language, verbal arguments, depictions of violence/gore, mentions of guns/knives, depictions of panic/anxiety attacks, hospital setting, mentions of injury/blood, chuuya’s an idiot

wc • 6.2k

a/n • i’ve been in the biggest writing funk. ofc this loser ginger was the one to drag me out of it wiriwiieiwieiqi

“how long did you plan on lying to me for? were you ever going to tell me the truth or were you going to hope i just never figured it out and let me live in complete ignorance?” you pace around the ginormous penthouse you find yourself in for the first time since your relationship with chuuya had started.

that was almost 7 months ago now. you can’t believe the amount of times you’ve almost said ‘i love you’ to the man standing a few feet away from you in just the last month alone. it’s comical, actually. chuuya isn’t even that person to you anymore, you don’t no longer even know who he is. you knew him as this above average guy that was an executive for some sort of multinational conglomerate. the adoptive son of the ceo. some form of a nepo-kid. that’s how you rationalized him being so successful at such a young age. 

you didn’t even know he had an ability.

you were delusional to think that this relationship was going so well because you had found the perfect guy. the perfect guy doesn’t lie to you about being a mafioso executive.

you stop pacing. you’re the most idiotic person on this planet. you can’t believe this is your reality.

“god, i cannot believe you hid something like this from me, chuuya. i cannot believe i fell for it.”

you have to give chuuya some credit. while you’ve been pacing and practically yelling at him he has annoyingly kept his composure with a straight face. unfortunately for him, that pissed you off even more. you turn to him finally and stare at the man in silence. his composure doesn’t budge. he gazes back but it’s as if he’s looking right through you. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this emotionless before.

you’re desperate now, trying to rationalize your relationship even after finding out he isn’t who you thought he was. because, for better or for worse, even though you haven’t outwardly said the words to him you had, in fact, fallen in love with chuuya nakahara. 

you feel your stomach churn and waterline burn, you needed him to say something, anything. “are you just going to stand there like a fucking statue all night? or are you going to explain to me what the hell is going on?”

“how did you find out?” his voice is tight but unfeeling, expressionless and cold.

how frustrating of him. instead of answering your questions he asks one of his own. you shouldn’t give him the satisfaction he clearly wasn’t going to give you. you shouldn’t. but you have a bad habit of reacting before thinking about it fully.

“you attacked the armed detective agency at the hospital i work at? how do you think i found out, chuuya? you know how many times you’ve picked me up from there? just because i don’t work in that wing doesn’t mean my coworkers don’t know who you are. they sent me videos of what happened. i had to pretend that wasn’t you. i almost convinced myself of it.” your breathing is becoming erratic and uneven, only shallow and short breaths escaping you.

chuuya looks to the side as if he’s thinking something over then he looks back to you, gaze unchanged. “so other people know?”

“yeah, i’m sure not everyone believed me that it wasn’t you.” you let out a frustrated sigh, “why does that even matter? you should be focusing on the fact that i know.”

“it matters…” the ginger doesn’t give you any further explanation as he pulls out his phone and starts typing. 

you want to pull your hair out. he’s ignoring you almost — actually, you think him ignoring you would be less frustrating. he’s completely dismissing your concerns, questions and feelings on the matter. and now he’s texting someone?

that’s it. you were done with this conversation and you were done with him. maybe for good. you walk away to your belongings. chuuya clearly notices your movement and watches intently as you put your coat back on. 

panic finally settles deep within his chest and his voice cracks with desperation as he asks, “where are you going?”

you notice the change and look back at him from the elevator doors. his face is still expressionless, however, your eyes wander down to his gloved hands and take note of the way he’s gripping his phone just a bit too tightly. you shouldn’t, but you give him one last chance to explain himself, he just needs to give you anything to make you stay. it doesn’t need to be big, it could be the most vague explanation. just something enough that you can grasp onto.

“i’m leaving, unless you plan on answering any of my questions?” you look at him with wide and expectant eyes — they’re hopeful even.

chuuya just stands there, again. his bicolored eyes are filled with regret but he keeps his mouth shut. you let yourself sit in the silence that’s been created for a few moments. letting yourself get worked up. he was really willing to let you go, rather than just tell you what’s going on. 

you let out a shuddered and wet breath, tears welling up in your eyes and lips trembling. “i didn’t think so…”

with that you leave his apartment with a tight chest and damp cheeks.

that was 4 days ago and it has been radio silence on your end. chuuya tried calling you later that night but you didn’t answer. since then, there has been no further attempts on his end either. you weren’t sure if he was giving you space or still didn’t know how to answer your questions, but you think you’d prefer him blowing up your phone with no answers as opposed to nothing at all. you’ve been crying over a quart of ice cream all afternoon. you felt pathetic, sitting on the couch in pajama shorts and a hoodie of chuuya’s that you’re pretty sure was left behind on purpose. 

you lean over to set the now empty ice cream container down on the table of your kotatsu. a whine is heard from your lap and you look down to see your previously sleeping cat glaring up at you with an accusatory look in her eye. your movement had clearly disturbed her umpteenth nap of the day. you look at your little companion with an apologetic smile and pet her as an sorry for moving around so much. the torti is quick to be appeased as she starts purring loudly.

mochi, your cat, was the only thing that got you through this entire debacle. without her, you think you may have let yourself wither away into an empty shell. 

mochi’s ears perk up and suddenly she’s on high alert. the cat leaps off of you and investigates something in the kitchen. you hear her hiss and then a sort of bang. your brows furrow and you let out a sigh, thinking about how she probably just made a big mess in the kitchen as she scurries back in the room to hide underneath the kotatsu, bushy tailed and, oddly enough, growling. 

you shimmy yourself out from under the warmth of the kotatsu yourself and get up to investigate the mess you probably had to pick up. as you near the kitchen you feel a draft — funny, you distinctly remember closing the window in the kitchen. 

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•

chuuya isn’t even pretending to listen to what’s happening in this meeting. he could feel the concerned gaze he’s getting from kouyou but his nerves are far too shot for him to even pretend to care. all he cares about is you. how you desperately wanted him to open up and be truthful, how betrayed you looked leaving his apartment with tears running down your face, how you wouldn’t answer his phone call that night and how you still hadn’t contacted him to make another attempt at getting him to explain.

chuuya would answer the phone in the middle of this meeting if you called at this very second. he had made up his mind when he finally came to his senses later that night. he always seemed to be one step behind when it came to relationships. being one step behind may be enough to ruin yet another relationship that he cherishes deeply.

the executive can’t comprehend what you’ve done to him. he’s felt on edge since the moment you left the penthouse. his fingers twitch in irritation, his skin crawls, his breath feels constricted. it’s like he’s coming down from a long lasting high. he was having withdrawals. he hasn’t felt this tense and unfocused since he tried to quit smoking a few years back when gin got on his ass about finishing a whole pack in one day.

actually, a cigarette sounded damn good right about now. mori would have a fit though, of course he’s always been a doctor to the core. so, the ginger falls back on tapping his foot incessantly and checking his phone obsessively. 

this meeting feels like it’s dragging, time moving in slow motion almost. it’s only been 30 minutes but to chuuya it feels like 30 hours. it’s agonizing to sit here when what he needs is a distraction. a mission where he can let out his frustration on some opposing force. he’s never been one to complain about meetings but it’s never too late to start.

the executive is ready to leave, literally 30 seconds away from standing up and walking out, but then something happens. one of kouyou’s subordinates urgently walks in and makes a beeline for her. an emergency, clearly, because everyone knows not to disturb an exec meeting otherwise.

kouyou’s eyes widen and flit to chuuya. this worried glance is different from her previous ones. it makes the ginger’s blood run cold and hairs stand on end. if he thought he was on edge before — that was nothing compared to this. 

kouyou wastes no time in reporting the issue as she shoos her subordinate away. “there was activity from one of our many opposing organizations. my people are working on pinpointing which one but… they broke into and vandalized several apartment buildings in the naka ward…” 

kouyou looks at chuuya again. her brows are furrowed in concern, it makes his stomach churn. why is she looking at him like that? what did she even say? chuuya wasn’t focused. he was on the verge of getting up to leave just two minutes ago. 

he was going to leave.

he needed a better distraction from his stewing thoughts of you. the longer he sat here the more time he spent thinking about how he should really just show up at your apartment door. surely, you wouldn’t turn him away if he was willing to finally explain things, right?

“they were all within a 2 kilometer radius of the yokohama city minato red cross hospital-“

mori interjects, “you mean the one you all took the liberty of storming while i was ill due to that cannibalism ability?” 

if chuuya wasn’t paying attention before, he is now. he thinks a knife to the eye would be better than this. physically: the executive is composed and stoned faced — but internally? chuuya is sinking in his seat wishing he would simply disappear. they’re all used to mori’s snide comments, his tongue always being quick and made of silver. sometimes, like today, his comments hit a little harder. 

so, even though they all try to stay composed, chuuya doesn’t miss the way kouyou flinches and once again her eyes flit over to him. 

“yes, mori-san, the same hospital…” the woman sounds almost pained as she talks, her internal panic slowly seeping out through the cracks. “most civilians were unharmed… but there were a couple women who were targeted and are now in critical condition at the same hospital. one of them was pronounced dead by the time she got to the hospital.”

mori hums, eyes cutting over to chuuya. “interesting. chuuya, don’t you have a little friend that lives in the same area?”

there it was. the reason kouyou was so concerned and fidgety. chuuya’s heart sinks and stomach drops to his feet. everything unfocuses, his vision going blurry and swirling. the ginger visibly turns pale and his blood runs cold. his whole body twitches, the need to get up and leave far too strong.

chuuya feels physically ill. how had he not thought of you the second kouyou said what ward it was? he was so busy thinking about himself and wallowing in self pity that he didn’t even think to second guess the information he was being fed. kouyou’s glances tell him it was bad too, or worse, she had no information on your status. 

this was chuuya’s fault. he has this sinking feeling that you were the target. he should’ve known you weren’t safe when you told him people at your work had connected who he was. he should have been more insistent on talking things out. he should have had you come over to his and stay over until he knew you were safe. hell, he should have at the very least set up a detail in your neighborhood.

this was all his fault. 

chuuya abruptly stands up, hands slamming on the table. “i should check on the situation. may i be dismissed, boss?”

“i don’t see why you shouldn’t. report back when you’ve got a handle on…the matter.” mori raises his eyebrows, not bothering to hide his obvious amusement at the executive’s reaction.

chuuya doesn’t notice, he doesn’t even give any of them a second glance as he practically flies out of the room to find the nearest exit to this god forsaken building. he finds an open window and easily hurls himself out of it, using his ability to hurdle himself through the sky. chuuya didn’t even think twice about, maybe, taking a vehicle. his mind was far too muddled to even register what he was doing.

this was all his fault.

he wasn’t looking for practicality right now anyway, he was looking at what would get him there the fastest.

“there” being your apartment. he didn’t want to assume you were attacked. maybe it’s just wishful thinking on his part. chuuya makes it to the average looking building in record time — which he’d boast about in any other situation, but now was not the time.

the gravity manipulator is about to circle your apartment to get to the front but notices something odd. the window at the side of your kitchen was wide open. you never did that, you only left it cracked open when you were cooking. chuuya enters your apartment the same way he left the port mafia building: through a window. 

what he sees next confirms his deepest fears. he’s had actual nightmares about this — or at least he thinks he has, having never actually been able to dream. but he’s woken up in cold sweats, throat raw from screaming, and a pit in his stomach with you on his mind. this was more like a waking nightmare, he imagines this is what the ones he can’t recall are filled with. 

there’s blood on the floor and also splattered across the walls and kitchen utilities. broken kitchenware is scattered across the wooden slats, your oven and fridge are out of place too. an obvious sign of a struggle. you clearly fought back. of course you fought back. chuuya had tried to teach you some self defense but with further observation he had learned that you grew up taking mixed martial arts classes. something about letting out your bad temper in a healthy way.

all the fighting skills in the world couldn’t save you from a bullet though. there was one lodged in your fridge and wall. as chuuya nears the other side of your kitchen he notices the front door is also wide open, two holes in it indicating more shots were set off. 

then chuuya sees it. his stomach churns violently, so much so that he almost doubles over and retches at the sight. a trail of blood that ends at the front of your apartment and then…

a bloody handprint.

your bloody handprint.

chuuya would recognize it anywhere. he’s memorized every detail of your hands from the size down to the swirls in your fingerprints. you had to have dragged yourself out of your home for help. 

chuuya is glued in place. he feels like his whole world is crumbling around him. the edges of his vision going white as the color falls from his grasp. his ears are ringing, the white noise becoming louder as his mind runs wild. 

you weren’t here.

there was so much blood.

the smell of iron stuck to his nostrils.

where were you?

did someone take you to the hospital?

the hospital.

one of the women that was brought there was pronounced dead. even if that wasn’t you… all of the other women were in critical condition. he couldn’t imagine you being okay after seeing the scene laid out before him. 

chuuya was going to be sick. a wave of nausea crashes over him. he feels the bile clawing up his throat. he scrambles over to your kitchen sink, almost slipping on your blood. he doesn’t let anything out at first, just gags and dry heaves. then his eyes sting and what little contents he had sitting in his stomach are released. this time he really does vomit. 

the executive's breathing is shallow and labored. he looks down to where his hands are gripping the sink and realizes they’re now covered in your blood. he holds them up and his breathing quickens. his stomach churns and he shoves his gloves off. stumbling back as he stares at his trembling hands. it was too much. this was different from all of the gore and violence that comes with being in the port mafia. 

it was you, you were in danger and he wasn’t there. he couldn’t help you. he should have been there to help you. he should have kept you safe.

the only thing that brought chuuya back to reality was a high pitched mewl that came from further inside your apartment. chuuya would recognize that little noise anywhere. mochi. he whips around to find the small feline peeking out from under your kotatsu. the orange glow indicating that it was still on. chuuya lets out a sort of wet and shaky breath. 

the ginger gently approaches the clearly spooked creature. he’s never been particularly fond of cats but for some reason yours took a liking to him and he couldn’t help but fall head over heels for the torti. much like he couldn’t help the way he fell for her mother. chuuya reaches out a finger and mochi hesitantly sniffs it. her eyes light up at the gravity manipulator’s familiar scent and nudges his finger with her nose. 

after getting the clear go ahead from the cat, chuuya leans in and picks her up. the torti nuzzles into him and she was still shaking — or maybe that was chuuya. he reaches down and turns the flammable item off before straightening himself and greet the small feline.

“hey, sweet girl, you scared for your mama too?” chuuya’s voice cracks and he knows he needs to get to the hospital but he feels a little guilty just leaving mochi here in this disaster of an apartment.

chuuya sighs and let’s the torti down. he pulls out his phone and sends out a quick message to kouyou, asking her to send a cleaning crew and to pick up the small creature and take her back to the gravity manipulator’s place. her response is sent mere moments after his own. he doesn’t bother responding. 

the ginger strides over to the front door. he makes sure to close it behind him so mochi doesn’t get out then makes a beeline for the hospital.

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽��᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•

”i’m sorry, sir, i pulled up her chart but you aren’t on her contacts list. unfortunately i’m unable to give you any further information.” the patient services rep behind the counter holds firm on her statement by giving the man a tight lipped smile.

chuuya’s bicolored eyes narrow in frustration. he knows, he knows, that the lady is just doing her job but she’s doing it so infuriatingly well. he’s desperate to know your status and his sanity is slowly losing its grip on him, he’s slipping away with each obstacle. as if answering a silent plea, a tap on his shoulder catches his attention.

the executive swivels around and is met with the sweet old lady that lives next door to you. she was always checking in with you. making sure you had enough to eat and were getting enough rest. you once compared her to your own mother, who is no longer with you but even when she was it was nothing like what the older woman does for you. when you introduced the woman to your boyfriend she was awfully judgemental of him at first, she was making sure he was good enough for you. he didn’t think so but apparently your neighbor thought otherwise, seeing something in him he didn’t see himself.

her usual smile is replaced with a furrowed brow and downturned lips. she was frowning at chuuya, something akin to scolding. the ginger felt oddly accosted by the woman standing before him. she’s never looked at him with so much contempt before.

she folds her arms across her chest and she lets out a huff, “what are you doing here, boy?”

chuuya flinches at her tone like she had just physically slapped him in the face. the ability user quickly recovers though, realizing if she was here that would mean…

you had to be here and you had to be alive, if not your neighbor wouldn’t be standing here in front of him scolding him. no, instead her face would be filled with grief. this was a good thing. 

you were still alive.

“where is she? i need to see her.” chuuya lets out a breath he’s been subconsciously holding in. 

the old lady bristles at his blatant disregard for her own question. “and why should i tell you? y’know, she’s been miserable the last few days because of you? she wouldn’t tell me you were the reason but i could just tell. what did you do to her? is this all your fault?”

chuuya actually takes a step back at her words. he felt like the woman had just punched him in the gut. the older lady packs quite the punch for how small she is, not even standing at 5 feet tall. she’s right, of course, this was all chuuya’s fault. 

it was all his fault.

”i didn’t mean to… she was supposed to be safe. i didn’t tell her anything to keep her safe.” he was rambling now, desperation seeping into his voice. “i just need to see her. please, please, ma’am, you have to tell me.”

the old lady falters, her scowl dropping and a pang of pity spreads across her chest. it doesn’t last long though. the implication of chuuya’s response, meaning he did have something to do with the fact you were in emergency surgery and would be in there for a few more hours.

you’d been rushed to the hospital. thanks to your neighbors, you assailants were scared off by the ambulance and police they called. after the first gunshot went off they were quick to make the call. 

you were brought in with a plethora of injuries. blunt force trauma to the head, 3 gunshot wounds (2 of which were still lodged inside of you), and several lacerations littering your entire body. all of which resulted in severe blood loss and unfortunately for you, since you weren’t the only one to sustain these kinds of injuries, the hospital was on a low supply of blood by the time you came in. 

the old woman is winding up to scold chuuya some more but she’s interrupted by a nurse walking up to her. the woman in scrubs looks exhausted, she must have been in the operating room with you. the nurse also looked worried, she must be a close coworker. 

“nakamura-sama? the surgeon wanted to give you an update…” the nurse’s eyes trail over to chuuya and her demeanor goes from concern to nervous, she nods at chuuya quickly, “please excuse us… nakahara-san…”

oh. she knew who he was. had she been one of your coworkers that he knew? chuuya’s guilt grows as he thinks he should remember who this woman is. this was all so frustrating. no one would tell him anything even if they knew who he was. the executive desperately wants to argue, to stand his ground and find out what was going on.

something occurs to him in that very moment. is this how you felt that day? when chuuya wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t tell you anything. shutting himself off. this was some sick and twisted karma. the universe was laughing in the ginger’s face and he only has himself to blame for it. 

a man’s voice speaks up, “the boy can stay. now why don’t you tell my wife and i how our dear granddaughter is doing?”

the nurse hesitates, looking to the older woman for guidance. mrs. nakamura squints at her husband for an uncomfortably long moment. however, the older man doesn’t seem bothered at all, he must be used to this type of scrutinizing glare from his wife. if chuuya wasn’t so distracted by your status he would be able to acknowledge that he wants that. he wants a future with you and he may be willing to give anything up for that.

mrs. nakamura clicks her tongue. “fine. the boy can stay.”

the nurse eyes chuuya for another moment before explaining your situation. she explains the injuries you sustained. that you’re still in surgery and probably would be for at least a couple more hours. you were doing surprisingly well, a fighter. of course you are. a warmth pools in the ginger’s chest. it was pride. 

“we have hit a small road block. due to the multiple victims being brought in… the blood supply is in the reserves. we have contacted other hospitals in the area and they’ve agreed to deliver us their extra supply. but it’s a process and it may take hours to receive any of it. do any of you know if you’re a match or a universal donor?” the nurse looks at the 3 of them hopefully, her gaze drifting to chuuya more than the other two.

chuuya freezes. he knows that he has type b blood, that’s not the problem. the problem is that he has no idea what your blood type is. he should know that, right? he’s sure you know his, sure you’re in the medical field but it’s common to know your partner's blood type. he should know this. 

he should know this. 

hanged, drawn and quartered. maybe a firing squad or even the guillotine. chuuya lists the ways he thinks he should be executed in his head. he’s had his head so far up his ass with trying to keep you in the dark about who he is that he hasn't even learned the most basic things about you. does he even know your favorite color? your favorite meal? your favorite song? 

this was the most criminal act he’s ever committed and that’s saying something considering the horrific things he’s done for the port mafia. this was bad. unforgivable even. this was all his fault and he couldn’t even tell the damn nurse if he was a match for you or not. 

what the fuck.

what the fuck?

what the fuck was wrong with him?

what does he even say? how does he tell the nurse and the old couple standing next to him that he has no idea if he’s a match for you? he supposes he can play it off. plainly state what his blood type is and leave it to the nurse to figure it out. maybe that could work. it would have to, he doesn’t have another choice. 

but before chuuya can even open his mouth the older man speaks up first. “i'm a universal donor, young lady. you can take some of my blood, i can’t possibly be using it all, i’m sure i have some to spare.”

the older man tries to lighten the situation as he chuckles at his own joke. his wife isn’t amused and even whacks him on his bicep with the back of her hand while clicking her tongue again. the nurse let’s out an uncomfortable laugh and looks to chuuya one last time. of course she would want to take a donation from a healthy young man. 

chuuya shakes his head and hopes to god he’s right when he says, “no, i’m- i’m not a match.”

”i see. mr. and mrs. nakamura, follow me please.”

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•

your head feels light, like a morning fog had somehow managed to roll in and settle in your mind. everything was so numb and heavy, your entire body felt like lead. you wanted to keep sleeping. you wanted this annoying light behind your eyelids to go away. who the hell left the lights on?

did chuuya forget to turn them off again? why were they so bright? these weren’t your lights at home, they couldn’t be.

where were you? 

why did you feel like you got hit by a bus?

most importantly, where was chuuya?

…chuuya…

oh. 

you remember now. chuuya was an ass. he told you a sugar coated version of his truth. twisted who he was to fit your ideals even though you had never asked that of him. then he ignored you, refused to tell your anything and left you to the solitary confines of your apartment. and then…

your eyes fly open and you gasp for air. you were assaulted in your own home. someone had broken in and attacked you. they had guns and knives. you were shot. 

where were you?

did they take you? no, they were trying to kill you. you’re sure of that. if it hadn’t been for the sirens that scared them away, you’re sure they would have finished you off.

mochi. your poor mochi. she must have been terrified. oh god, they wouldn’t have…she hid right? she was safely under the kotatsu. she had to be unharmed physically. she had to be. you couldn’t be here right now, wherever you were. you had to get home and make sure she was okay.

distantly you hear this annoyingly incessant beeping and… someone's voice? what is it saying? are they speaking to you? your name. they’re calling for you but- 

who is it?

no. it wasn’t anything intelligible, it was screaming. it was your screaming. you were screaming. why were you screaming? 

a wave of fatigue crashes down on you, drowning you in darkness as you sink back into the depths of slumber.

the next time you wake up, you’re less confused. whatever anesthesia you were previously under obviously had worn off by now. the fog was certainly lifted and you were thinking much clearly now.

you haven’t opened your eyes yet but just by hearing the beeps coming from the monitors next to your bedside, you could piece together you are in the hospital and therefore you are safe. more importantly you’re alive. you try to bring your hand up to rub at your eyes but there’s a weight holding it down.

your brows furrow at the restriction. you stir only slightly, any movement you made right now was agonizing. you let out a grunt as a shooting pain courses through the entirety of your body. this wasn’t good, something like this was going to take a lot of time and physical therapy to recover from. 

how frustrating-

“are you awake?” his voice is gruff, filled with exhaustion but it was clear who was speaking to you.

you could pick out his voice from millions others. even worse, his voice never fails to soothe your soul. instantly your body relaxes from whatever tension it’s been managing to hold onto. traitor. you’re supposed to be upset with him. you should yell at him, kick him out. 

but… he stayed. he was here, he found you and stayed. how unfair. you’re tired, too tired to deny yourself the comfort he brings you. because despite everything, it’s still him. 

you think it will always be him.

so instead of crying or yelling or getting upset you simply give in. “yeah. i’m awake.”

you open your eyes, finally, to look at him. he looks like shit, it would be funny under any other circumstance. his hair is a mess, clearly he had been tug at it, nervously running his fingers through it. his usual under eye bag had bags. the dark circles a stark contrast against his porcelain complexion. 

if it weren’t for the fact that you were the one in the hospital bead, you’d think you two were here for him. after you examine him you look at his expression. it’s grim, he looks truly pathetic. you can only describe it as being akin to a wounded puppy. 

you let out a sigh but before you can even get another word out, he’s speaking. “i should have told you. i wasn’t thinking about you- i know i wasn’t but i convinced myself i was. i convinced myself that i was keeping you safe by not telling you but- i was a damn fool for that. this is all my-“

”chuuya, shut up.” this was so painful, you didn’t want to hear any of this. 

you are tired. you just want him to be there for you. you want him to comfort you. you just want your boyfriend. at this point you couldn’t care less about the bullshit he kept from you. at the end of the day it was his character you’ve fallen in love with and that was more than enough for you.

chuuya looks at you stunned. his words catch in his throat and he thinks he might actually cry. it’s been a while since he’s had the urge to cry like this. was this it? he almost lost you to death. now he was going to lose you in another way and he only had himself to blame. 

the ginger can’t even blame you for your decision. 

after all, this was all his fault.

“i don’t give a shit about who you are. tell me. don’t tell me. whatever. you found me and you’re here now. i just need you to be here. i-“ you choke on your words, you hadn’t realized but you’d started crying and it hurt. “i love you. i need you to not blame yourself for this because you need to be here for me and show me you can do this. please show me you can do this, i wont ask for anything-“

you can’t finish your thought. your lungs are constricted as you're held in his vice grip. you missed him. god, you missed him so much. his embrace is home. he’s your home and that’s terrifying. despite what you said you still have so much to learn about him. chuuya scares you but only because you feel so incredibly safe with him. 

you’ve never had that before and something tells you he’s never had that either. 

“i’m here. hell and back, i will always be here for you.” it wasn’t a direct admission but you don’t question it. this is the closest you’ll come to a declaration of love from chuuya for now and you’re okay with that. truthfully, you didn’t expect him to say anything.

you try your best to return the hold chuuya has on you. you get an arm around him loosely and rest your forehead on his shoulder. you’re still crying, like a baby. it would be embarrassing if it was anyone else. his hand is holding your head gingerly. it’s comforting and you manage to calm yourself down. you pull back, still sniffling but eyes no longer producing tears. 

your eyebrows furrow, something pressing returning to the forefront of your mind. “did you stop by my apartment? has anyone checked on mochi? is she okay?”

chuuya finally smiles for the first time in what feels like days — it might have actually been days since he last did. he pulls out his phone and produces a picture of the torti that kouyou had sent him. he hands the phone to you and you smile fondly as you let out a small puff of air, relief spreading throughout your chest.

“i asked kouyou to bring her to my apartment for the time being. i think she’s taken a liking to it.” 

you look at the picture then back up at chuuya, entirely unamused. “have you seen your apartment. i could fit like five of mine in it? of course she likes it there.”

something warm spreads across chuuya’s entire being. this scene is oddly familiar. reminiscent of the older couple from earlier. this was pure happiness, this is what it felt like. 

chuuya was going to make sure to cherish it deeply and keep it safe at all costs.

[swordsandholly]

Across the Way

Chapter 4: New and Old Problems Alike

Retired!Ghoap x Fem!Fat!Reader

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

MDNI | cw: fainting, some medical inaccuracies

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

You haven’t texted them, even three days later. That little sticky note haunts the surface of your kitchen counter. It taunts you - tells you that you should text them and at least give them your number. That you’re being a terrible neighbor. They might need you too, after all. Even though you can’t figure out why they might for the life of you. On the other hand, you can’t help but feel wary about it. Men don’t take an interest in you - people in general rarely take interest. It’s hard not to feel suspicious, as pure as you’re sure their intentions probably are.

More so than any of that, you don’t know what to say. If it had been day one you could have just put your name, but now you feel like you need to explain. Or at least be funny or something. Tossing and turning on your designated rest day about what the hell you should do.

You’re overthinking it. You know that. You can’t stop, either.

They just seem so cool - so put together. So unlike you. You want to impress them. You don’t want to ruin the first possibility of friends in this new life you’re building for yourself.

Eventually you work up the courage to send off an initial text to each of them. Just to give them your name to save if they so choose - plus an extra thank you to Simon for giving you their numbers in the first place. Something simple and borderline cold. Too cold, maybe? Maybe you sound irritated. You hope not. You just want them to like you. Friends in new places are hard and to have someone around you who gets how it feels to need accommodations would just feel so… lovely. Your phone may or may not go flying onto your bed while you bury your face in your hands out of sheer nervousness.

You don’t expect it to chime about a minute later. Right as you’re staring to calm down, of course. It sends your heart violently pounding all over again.

J >> Bonnie lass!

J >> So glad u texted!!

>> Sorry it took so long lol

Oh, you could just slap yourself. You don’t have anything better than that? At all? Christ.

J >> Nah Nah

J >> No worries

J >> Actually I was wondering if u would mind if I came by tomorrow

J >> Just to chat

J >> need an excuse to get out of the house

“How the hell does he type that fast?” You scoff to yourself.

>> Yeah, come by anytime.

>> totally

>> yea sounds cool

>> rad, man

A message from Simon pops up mid your internal battle with how to respond, replying with a simple thumbs up. Very in character, you think. He knows how to be nonchalant. What would Simon say? Something casual, maybe a little formal.

>> If you like. You’re always welcome.

Okay maybe that was too much like Simon. You sigh heavily m before adding,

>> I’m trying out a new blueberry loaf

>> If you want to test for me :)

Better. That’s a little better. With another heavy sigh you decide to drop your phone into your nightstand for the rest of the day. Your heart really cannot handle this much emotional pressure.

~~~

You sort of end up just forgetting about the texts. With your phone out of sight and out of mind upstairs in your apartment it almost catches you off guard when Johnny comes striding through the door just before close. He’s dressed more casually than the last couple of times you saw him - having broken out the summer shorts and a graphic tee for some band you don’t recognize. It suits him, though.

“Hey, bon.” He grins.

“Hey.” You smile back, finishing with putting up your stocking baskets before dusting off your hands and turning around. “Simon closing up?”

“Aye.”

You hum. “Come on back, I’ll get you a slice of that loaf I mentioned.”

Johnny follows you quietly. Uncharacteristically quietly. That’s okay - you don’t have a problem with hanging out in silence. It doesn’t feel tense, surprisingly enough. He leaves Riley out front again. Should you get her a dog bed? Maybe if he comes by consistently. That would be nice. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“It’s sort of a pound cake but fluffier. I might make an icing for it but I don’t know if that would be too sweet…” You trail off, focusing on plating up the piece. You’re not sure what compels you to try and make it pretty for him. Probably something you could blame on your grandmother. She did have an obsession with presentation.

Johnny hums loudly after taking a bite, talking around the mouthful. “Y’should totally make an icing.” He swallows roughly. “Si would go crazy fer this.”

“Oh?” You smile. “I’ll send some home with you.”

There’s a lapse of silence while Johnny chews on his slice of bread and you pack up some in a paper bag for him to take home. The only sounds in the room comprised of your cutting and folding and the hum of the cooling oven.

“You’re being weirdly quiet.” You blurt, immediately covering your mouth with your hand. “I, uh, I mean that isn’t a bad thing! I don’t mind… I just, uh, was… sorry, never mind…”

“Well I did come wit’ a bit of an ulterior motive…” Johnny admits, glancing off to the side shyly. It’s a show, you think. Johnny doesn’t seem the type of man to have felt shy a day in his life.

You tilt your head. “Oh?”

He dusts off his hands and grins. “Let us take ye out! In celebration of yer first full month.”

Has it been a month already? “Oh - no, no you don’t have to-“

“C’mon! It’s a big accomplishment.” His smile is so bright that you almost believe his idea that you’ve done something great.

“…alright.” You give a tentative smile. It’s hard to believe they like you enough to want to hang out casually in the evening. Hard to imagine anyone liking you that much but you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“There’s a pub down the street - the one on the corner. Want tae meet us there around six?” Johnny gives you that lovely smile. How could you ever say no to a smile like that?

“Okay.”

You spend far too long changing in and out of clothes and fussing with your hair. Up-do’s and buns and braids. A tank top then a sweater then a t-shirt. There’s no reason to feel this stressed over it. It’s not a date or anything. Besides, it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Either way you look like a frumpy dumpling. Eventually you land on jeans and one of your designated ‘going out tops.’ At least it’s a good excuse to wear something other than work clothes or loungewear.

Excitement and anxiety thrum under your skin like electricity as you make your way down the street. You feel painfully nauseous - stopping once or twice just to make sure you aren’t about to throw up for real.

The pub is surprisingly quiet when you enter. Obviously somewhere only real locals hang out - there’s no theme or really any decor in general. Just a bar, some booths and a couple pool tables. You scan the floor a few times, not seeing either Johnny or Simon (not that they would be hard to miss). Eventually you just grab a soda from the bar and slide into one of the booths closer to the back. A quiet spot facing the door where you can easily watch for them.

As time ticks on you begin to grow increasingly nervous. Did you get the time wrong? No, no you triple checked. You even wrote it down in your planner. Your leg begins to bounce furiously, heart nearly beating out of your chest. Did they decide to ditch? You wouldn’t really blame them. They’re way out of your league when it comes to friends. Maybe Johnny had an emergency? Should you call Simon? If he had an emergency it would make sense that they would forget to notice you. What if something really bad happened? What if-

The front door opens and Simon’s wide frame strides through, holding the door for Johnny and Riley to come in behind him. You let out a quiet sigh of relief, willing your leg to stop bouncing with a pinch to your thigh. Why are you always so damn dramatic?

Johnny lights up with an ear to ear grin when he spots you, bee-lining for the booth while Simon casually walks up to the bar. It’s almost comedic, the way he dwarfs the counter. Johnny leans on the side of the booth, waiting for Simon, you think.

“Glad ye could come out.” He looks you over, eyes flicking from your plain top to the very practical, not at all stylish up do that you landed on for the evening.

You do your best not to squirm under his gaze. “Me too…”

Simon comes back with two beers in hand and slides them onto the table. He scoots into the inner booth to give Johnny the outer edge. Riley happily sits beside his leg and practically grins at you in a near mirror image of Johnny’s. You’d never do it while she’s on the job, of course, but part of you wants to give her a pat on the head and coo at her for being so polite.

Johnny gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry we were a bit late-”

“Johnny redid his hair about five times.” Simon butts in, not reacting at all to Johnny’s sputtering protest. He glances at your half-drunk soda. “Want me t’ grab you a beer?”

“Oh, no, I’ll just stick to coke.”

They blink at you. Simon cocks his head slightly. “You sure?”

You chew your lip. “Uh, alcohol tends to aggravate my symptoms is all...”

“Then why’d ye agree to drinks? We coulda gone somewhere else.” Johnny frowns.

You shrug. “I don’t mind. I… maybe this is over sharing but I’d rather go out and be kind of normal than just… not ever. Y’know?”

His expression softens. For having such icy blue eyes they are so, so warm. “I get it.”

“How’d you two meet anyway?” You blurt, taking a left turn to get the conversation off of you. It’s the first question that comes to mind. Maybe it’s rude - maybe you’re prying too much already.

“Military.” Simon grunts. “SAS.”

“Si retired wit’ me after I was discharged.” Johnny points to his scar the same way he did when you first met. “Russians scrambled my egg a bit.”

“Couldn’t do the time apart…” Simon murmurs, eyes locked on Johnny’s face. It’s vulnerable. More than he’s used to - you can see it in the way he tenses after saying it.

Something passes between them that a deep, wounded part of you desperately wishes to understand.

You can’t help but start giggling to yourself. They both give you an incredulous look. “Sorry, sorry - it’s just, that’s like… totally a romance book premise. It’s sweet. Really.”

“Och, aye. Wouldn’t know it t’ look at him but Si’s a real romantic.” Johnny bats his eyes at the other man, who just rolls his in response. The corner of his scarred mouth quirks up subtly.

“SAS…” You repeat, staring at your drink. “That’s like Navy Seal shit, right?”

“We worked with them a few times, yes.” Simon nods. There’s an air of ‘do not ask anything more specific’ in his voice.

“Huh.” You take that for what it is and sit back, squinting at them. “You don’t look it, honestly.”

Johnny laughs. “Tha’s just cause ye havennae seen Simon with his gear on. The Ghost.” He wiggles his fingers along as he makes a stupid, spooky sound effect. “I domesticated him.”

Simon scoffs but doesn’t deny it, just takes a quiet sip of his beer.

“Riley’s a vet, too.” Johnny pats her head. “Got too skittish around loud noises but she transitioned into a service dog nicely.”

“Now she’s just spoiled.” Simon rolls his eyes in faux annoyance. You get the strong feeling that he’s the one doing the spoiling.

You find yourself relaxing as the night goes on. Slouching in your seat rather than sitting ramrod straight and nervously twiddling your thumbs. They never press you to drink, never insist that you’ll be fine with just one. They take your statement as fact and it isn’t brought up again. That shouldn’t be as significant as it is, now that you think about it.

Johnny’s words begin to slur a little bit on his fourth, no maybe fifth, beer. You aren’t sure. It’s very cute, the little blush that forms across his cheeks. Simon loosens up, too. He slings an arm around the back of the booth and Johnny readily tucks himself into the open spot. You find yourself wondering about their military career again. You can’t picture either of them committing violence - especially Simon. Sure, he’s big and gruff but he looks at Johnny so, so softly.

Simon is the one to call it a night - though you have a feeling its because you nodded off a couple times. Not out of boredom, you try really, really hard to pay attention to Johnny rambling about the chemistry of different explosives. He makes it interesting, somehow. Really it’s just that you’ve been awake for… holy shit almost twenty hours!

“D’you need a ride?” Simon asks as you exit the pub, hands firmly shoved into his pockets.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know how to interpret the look he’s giving you. It’s intense, but not annoyed or displeased. He has such a weird knack for unreadable but distinct expressions. You wonder if you’ll ever get close enough to get good at deciphering them.

You jump when Johnny takes both your hands in, kissing the backs of them with a sloppy, drunk smile. “Thank ye fer comin’ out. “

Somehow your face feels hotter than a damn oven. You tuck your hands to your chest, kicking shyly at the sidewalk. “Th-thanks for the invite. We, uh, we could do it again sometime?”

You glance up hopefully, praying that you didn’t misread the situation. You’ve done that before - thought people liked you more than they did. Johnny just grins wider somehow and nods excitedly.

You watch them walk off in the other direction, hand in hand. Johnny giggles about something loudly and you can see Simon’s shoulders shake with a far more silent laugh. All the way until they disappear down the street.

The sheer amount that the image hurts your heart makes you feel evil.

~~~

The pub changed something. What, you don’t know. Either way, you fall into an easy pattern with Johnny and Simon over the next couple weeks. Exchanges of food, leftovers or morsels about to turn, little visits back and forth between your shops. Johnny continues to stop by after close, just hanging around with you while Simon closes up shop.

You can’t deny how much you look forward to hearing that door chime followed by a too-loud greeting from Johnny. How your heart flips in your chest when those bright blue eyes peek around the corner into the back room or light up while trying a new recipes you’ve been testing. You’re still a bit awkward - unsure how to react when he throws an arm around your shoulders or listens oh so intently while you talk about nothing important.

Things can’t ever be all sunshine and rainbows, though. Not for you. A new problem has arisen as summer truly sets in - the comfortable spring breezes giving way to nothing but bright, unfiltered sun. One you didn’t expect to impact you this much living this far north.

Heat.

It’s hard to breathe in the back room while you’re baking. Hard to keep your water and salt intake high enough to compensate for how fast you lose them. You might as well get a permanent saline drip attached to you at this point. You definitely didn’t google if that was physically possible. Your budget for liquid IVs and other supplements nearly doubles. Standing over the massive oven in the back room has your head swimming a few times. You end up resting longer on your weekends, unable to keep up like you could in cooler weather.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, the summer here isn’t like back home. It will pass quicker. Plus, you at least have methods of dealing with it now other than crossing your fingers and praying.

“Bonnie!” Johnny suddenly appears in your doorway - that charming smile splitting his face from ear to ear. “Ye made it up Main Street yet?”

“No?” You tilt your head and try to ignore the way your vision spots momentarily at the motion. “Why?”

“Ye dinnae hear about the summer festival?” He leans on your counter. You shake your head. “It’s a yearly thing. Not that big a deal but they have some fun games an’ it’s nice tae see everyone out an’ about. Si an’ I are about tae head down. Come wit’?”

You hesitate. The exhaustion in your body tugs at your spine. Your limbs feel heavy. This morning really got to you - out of towners who must have come for the festival flooded your shop the moment it opened on top of your Saturday regulars. Not that you’re complaining, really. It’s easily your best day so far. You want to go with them, though, despite the ache in your back and the sting in your joints. It sounds so fun and it’s never a bad idea to take part in your new community’s festivities.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” You smile. You can tough it out for an hour, then come back home. Yeah, just an hour. You’ll be fine.

You hadn’t noticed Simon leaned up at the entrance to your shop. Your eyes lock on his arms. This is the first time you’ve actually seen him in short sleeves. You can’t help but stare at his half-sleeve tattoo - all skulls and bombs and other military motifs. Faded and sun worn. Yeah, if you’d seen that sooner you definitely would have picked up on the whole military thing. You bite your lip to keep from snickering about it.

You can hear the music drifting from the speakers down the street. A few kids run by with balloons and cheap carnival prizes. It almost reminds you of the Spring Fling back home, just missing the extreme American flag theming across every booth and vendor front. Now that you’re looking around, you can actually see several booths that have been sponsored by various businesses in the area. Even the post office has a snow cone stand. The deeper you get into the event, the more flamboyant the decor becomes. Multicolored streamers and pennet flags connect stands, creating an almost canopy effect.

Simon stops rather abruptly at a booth, waiting behind a few teenagers tossing rings onto bottles. You stop with Johnny about two feet away. What’s he thinking? Simon doesn’t seem like the type who would be too entertained by basic carnival games. Even so, he steps forward and passes over a couple bills to the vendor as soon as the teenagers leave.

“Si’s really good at these. Watch.” Johnny grins beside you.

“Aren’t they rigged?” You raise an eyebrow.

Johnny doesn’t answer, eyes locked on his husband as he lines up one of the rings. You have to lean slightly to see around the breadth of the man - the multicolor rings almost cartoonishly small in his hands. Cute. Your eyes get impossibly wide with each toss, every single one landing comfortably on the bottle necks as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if this isn’t one of the most commonly rigged carnival games.

“Holy shit…” You mutter, still staring.

“Aye, tha’s a SAS sniper for ye.” Johnny laughs. “Glad tae see it still comes in handy.”

Simon huffs out a quiet laugh at that. Almost more of a sigh if it weren’t for the shaking of his shoulders. You love it - their little dynamic. The bond between them that’s so strong it’s almost visible.

“‘ere.” Simon turns to you suddenly, holding out a cheap little carnival prize. You can’t even begin to decipher what it’s supposed to be - some sort of furry puff ball with big, embroidered anime eyes and two felt antennae sticking up out of it’s purple head… body… thing…

Your face heats. “F-, uh, me?”

He shrugs. “Suits you. Riley will just chew it up if we take it home.”

“Aye. She’s so good with everythin’ but cheap plushies.” Johnny snickers.

You glance down at the dog in question - her dark eyes glued to the toy in Simon’s hand. Her tail thumps against the ground where she sists dutifully, but you can see the desire to snatch the thing away in her twitchy ears and pleading eyes. You snort, taking the stupid thing and tucking it under your arm with the prayer that they don’t notice the heat now spreading from your cheeks to your ears.

“Thanks…” you murmur, already mentally deciding where to add it to the mess of stuffies covering your bed already.

Somehow you end up walking between them down the street - Simon on your left and Johnny on your right with Riley in tow. You stop at a few other games here and there. All pretty basic. Johnny absolutely kills at the dunk booth.

Simon tires his hardest to help you with your terrible aim, “Just visualize it. Y’have t’ account for the arc.”

You get to the point of sticking your tongue out in concentration. Even so you only manage to knock down a couple of the wooden ducks at the ‘Dunk-A-Duck’ stand. You do, however, win one of those rock candy sticks at the guessing booth. You just hand it off to Johnny. It’s probably not best to load up on sugar in your current state.

Johnny excitedly points to different buildings giving you a rundown of the history of his hometown as you walk. Simon seems to barely be listening. He’s probably heard this a thousand times. Prattling on about the old town square, the church bell that a bunch of teenagers spray painted one time (Johnny was not involved, how could you accuse him of that?)

You find yourself focusing on your feet - keeping each step even and fast enough to remain on pace with them. One, two, one, two, one, two. The air begins to thicken. Muggy and heavy on your skin. Your breaths become shallow and fast. You can’t catch it, the air seeming to get stuck in your throat rather than reaching your lungs. Spots begin to dance across your vision. You stumble over nothing.

Not now! Come on! You’ve been doing so well!

Riley presses against your leg acting as a counter weight. Your body moves on instinct to grab whatever you can - hands wrapping around something strong and covered with cloth. An arm solid as rebar. Hopefully it’s someone you know. All you can see are colorless shapes.

“Gonna pass out - don’t freak!” You gasp before your legs give out.

It’s not that you go entirely out - it’s rare that you fully black out. It’s more like being stuck. Limp and fuzzy and confused. Almost like sleep paralysis. There’s voices and people moving around you. Someone has picked you up, you think, based on the swaying motion and the passing shapes around you. Maybe that’s just vertigo. A door bell chimes.

You finally begin to really come to when something icy is pressed to your forehead. It couldn’t have been more than a handful of seconds that you were gone, but it takes much longer for the world around you to come back into focus.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, eyes stinging. Even after all these years it’s so damn embarrassing. You blink, the distinct mural that decorates the ceiling of the post office slowly coming into view. Johnny said a big time traveling artist painted it back in the nineties.

“Ye alright?” Johnny murmurs, crouched down beside you. Riley sniffs at your hand, seeming satisfied when you finally move it on your own.

You nod slowly. “Overheated…”

“Give her this.” Someone says. An event medic, you think. The boys must have flagged them down. Fingers press to your pulse point, a light shines in your eyes and you follow it. A quick check of vitals. Johnny shoves a water bottle in your hand as soon as the medic decides you’re fine to move - the contents distinctly murky from some sort of electrolyte pack that’s been shaken into it.

“Up y’get. Slowly does it.” Simon helps you sit up with a hand on your back. It’s so gentle. You don’t miss how he cages in your body the way only someone intimately familiar with caretaking might. Fully ready to catch you if you go limp again.

You sip slow, eyes glued to the ground. You feel so fucking stupid. Can’t even walk down a street without creating some sort of scene. They’re never going to want to hang out with you again, are they? You can’t go out drinking, can’t walk around a festival for longer than a couple hours. You distracted Riley. What if something happened to Johnny while you were having your spell? She might not have alerted correctly because of you. She might have gotten confused and then he could have gotten hurt. He might have-

“Ye really should drink tha’ instead of glarin’ at it.” Johnny pulls you from your thoughts. He’s now sat with his legs crossed beside you. Riley’s head rests in his lap. She seems calm. Content now that the emergency is over and happily lying on a cool floor.

You hum, chugging the last bit of it quickly. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Simon says curtly. “Does this ‘appen often?”

You shrug. “Not as much anymore… usually my medication keeps me stable.”

“Do ye need a doctor?” Johnny tilts his head slightly. There’s no judgment in his tone - in either of their tones. Just calm concern. It probably shouldn’t make you want to cry as much as it does.

You shake your head. “I’ve got liquid IV at home. Just need to sleep it off.”

Hopefully. In reality, a pain flare up is inevitable now. You just won’t know how bad until you’re fully in it.

“Let’s get ye home.” Johnny says, knees popping as he stands.

“I-I’m fine!” You insist, mentally preparing to get yourself up off the floor. “I can get home on my own - I don’t want to ruin your time.”

Johnny levels his gaze onto you, so serious it almost looks angry. It doesn’t match his face. “We’re not leavin’ ye tae get home alone like this.”

You’re caught off guard when an arm slides under your back and another under knees - lifting you like you weigh half of what you do in reality. Like you’re a paperweight instead of a boulder. You blink up at Simon, far too surprised to be embarrassed. At least at first. You splutter out a poor attempt at convincing him to put you down. Excuse and reason after reason and excuse. They roll off him like water off a ducks back. Your face burns as he steps out of the post office with you neatly tucked against his chest - Johnny and Riley in tow.

If you allow yourself to be honest, to give into that weaker part of you (or, at least, the part you consider to be weak) you could possibly admit that this feels nice. Being cared for feels nice. Having your body up against someone else feels nice. It’s been a long time since anyone touched you outside of a polite handshake or accidental bump. You sink into it despite yourself - relaxing against Simon’s chest. They were right, you wouldn’t have made it back. Your head is too fuzzy and there’s that telltale pain in your shoulders radiating up to your neck that signifies an oncoming Bed Day.

It doesn’t take long with Simon’s lengthy strides to get back to your building. You probably wouldn’t have been able to keep up to that running. Well, you can’t really run much at all so you definitely wouldn’t. A stupid, muddled train of thought that melts into the hazy bog of your current mental state. Even Johnny trails a few feet behind. Neither of them speak, marching in determined silence. You attempt to subtly check their faces for any anger. You’d understand if they were angry. Most people would get angry. You interrupted their day out with your useless drama. All you get is a wide, bright grin from Johnny when your eyes eventually meet his.

Simon puts you down with all the care in the world. As if you’re made of fine china. His hand stays on your upper back - planted firmly between your shoulder blades and ready to catch you if need be. Your vision swims a bit, your joints feel like jelly but you manage to dig your keys out of your pocket and unlock the door.

“Here.” Johnny plops the puff ball back into your hands just as you turn to say goodbye. To say thank you - to apologize profusely.

Your brows raise. You completely forgot about it while swimming around in a sea of embarrassment - he must have picked it up for you. You hug it to your chest with a quiet, “Thanks.”

You shift your weight side to side, psyching yourself up for the crawl up the stairs. Probably literally. You don’t think you could stay upright if you tried to walk them like a regular day, or even with an aid. Like a regular or semi-regular person. Fuck.

Johnny follows your eyes up at the staircase. He must sense some hesitation in you. “Do ye need help up?”

You bite your lip, staring at the ground. Standing in one place seems alright, but the thought of climbing is so daunting, even with the cane you have stationed at the bottom of the steps for that exact purpose. It’s embarrassing. You’re young, you should be able to walk up some damn stairs. It isn’t even that many. It’s barely a full flight. Just one story of stairs for fuck’s sake.

“Hey.” Simon touches your cheek, the action snapping your eyes to his in surprise. “It’s okay. C’mere.”

He picks you up again in the same fashion with barely a grunt, taking his time up the steps so as not to jostle you. How many times has he done this with Johnny? you wonder. That’s the only explanation for how good he is at keeping your equilibrium so even. You wonder if he practiced - if he took caretaking classes. He probably did. Does he keep up at the gym just so he can take care of his husband? Simon might be quiet and a little formal, but he exudes dedication.

“Sorry it’s messy…” You murmur when they reach the top of the steps. Glancing behind you, you see Riley sitting patiently at the bottom. Johnny must have told her to stay. “Haven’t gotten to fully unpack…”

You’ve been spending too much time in bed on the weekends. Fucking lazy.

Johnny just laughs. “Ye shoulda seen the first place Simon an’ I had.”

“Wasn’t that bad.” Simon argues, carefully setting you down on the couch. His hands hold your waist to steady you. They’re so warm… It feels wrong to be disappointed when he lets go.

“We hadnae figured out a system yet.” Johnny huffs, hands on his hips. “We ended up hirin’ a specialized maid service the dishes got so backed up.”

You scoff, laying back against the couch with that stupid carnival prize still in your arms. Like it’s the only thing grounding you to reality. The tears that have been stinging your eyes this entire time continue to threaten to spill - a myriad of blinks and careful breaths the only thing keeping them back.

Johnny sits beside you slowly. You can’t meet his eyes. “Do… do ye want tae tell us what it is? Ye donnae have tae - it’s up tae ye. Just if somethin’ happens again…”

“We’d like to be prepared.” Simon jumps in where Johnny trails off.

You chew your lip, still staring up at the ceiling. It splits and that coppery taste coats your tongue for a moment. “I, uh, it’s called POTS. There’s different types but basically my body can’t regulate blood flow and pressure right…” You shrug. “Like I said my medication usually keeps me mostly okay.”

It’s the pain that really gets to you usually, but you don’t need to start dumping on them about that. There’s no reason to spill your guts about things they can’t fix.

“Thanks fer tellin’ us.” Johnny smiles. You stiffen slightly when he reaches out to tuck some hair behind your ear. You tilt your head, still resting on the back of the couch, to meet his eye. “Get some rest, yeah? We’ll lock the knob behind us. Call if ye need anythin’.”

“Okay.” You nod, keeping your eyes down and picking at your nails. “Sorry… about all this… I didn’t - I don’t… I’m sorry.”

“Donnae apologize.” He says softly as he stands. “Never apologize. We’re your friends, aye? Friends help friends. Tha’s all there is to it.”

Simon gives you a discerning nod behind him, expression both soft and deeply serious.

Friends? They consider you real life proper friends? Really? You can’t help but beam up at him. “Yeah.”

A/N: I’ve re-read this chapter so many times that it’s total mush in my brain which tells me it’s time to be done with it.

Bonus: I made a Pinterest board for this fic

[vibratingskull]

Hello ☺️

I love your work, your stories. They are absolutely amazing. 🤍

Could I request a story with Samakro x reader (female)? Something about the way he falls in love with her.

Thank you my dear, have some Samakro the ride or die man ❤️

art by @jun-c

Samakro x F!reader

“You are a human, you are feeble, you are weak.” Samakro hisses. 

“I am... not weak.” You respond back, completely out of breath, sweaty, and hands on your knees. 

“You are weak. You cannot even last a training session.” 

You straigthen your back and crack your neck, getting back into position. 

“I am not weak!” You repeat with more force and anger in your human eyes. 

“Prove it to me.” 

You launch yourself on Samakro again, punching and kicking his gloved hands as he showed you too. 

“Harder!” He orders. 

You increase your strength, hitting away as hard as you can, as fast as possible. 

“Keep going.” He demands, “Harder!” 

You feel your lungs burning and your muscles screaming in pain. You are not used to such intensive exercises. You are a civilian, not a military member. But the rules are simple: adapt or get debarked on the first planet you come by. 

You don’t know why Captain Thrawn is imposing such rules on you, but since they found you wounded and drifting in space he dictates your life and you have no choice but to abide by his rules. Mid-Captain Samakro is now your new tutor on the Springhawk, spying on what you do at all hours of the day and night. He is merciless, imposing the strict Chiss military lifestyle no matter how tired you appear. 

“Again!” He hisses. 

You give him two powerful punches and a spin kick right into the targets he’s holding. He seems taken aback for a split second before recovering his hard expression. 

“Better. Give me more of that human.” 

You throw your last strength into it until you hear the liberating timer.  

“Time out.” Samakro announces to your relief. 

You fall to your knees, drenched in sweat and without any more breath. You cough painfully, feeling on the verge of passing out after such intense exercises.  

“Hey!” Samakro calls for you. 

You raise your head towards him only to receive a towel in the face. 

“Do not stop like that, it is recovery time. Go on the treadmill.” 

You groan, painfully raising on your feet and leaving the ring to hop on the treadmill. You feel your pounding heart pumping blood furiously and painfully. You hold the two bars on the side so as not to fall as Samakro hops on the treadmill beside you. 

“You did a good job today.” He lets you know after five full minutes of complete silence. 

“Thank you, sir.” You nod. 

“Do not forget to take out the electrodes and the monitor once you’re done.”  

You nod again. You jump off the treadmill and take off the monitor's electrodes off your chest and stomach. You turn to Samakro for further instructions. 

“You have the rest of your day.” He simply announces not even looking at you as he keeps walking on the mill. 

“Oh... Thank you sir!” You answer joyfull and heads toward the communal showers. 

Samakro keeps walking rapidly on the treadmill until he hears Thrawn’s steps pattern entering the gym of the Springhawk. 

“What are the results today?” Captain Thrawn asks evenly. 

“Let’s discover it.” Samakro responds. 

The two men approach the laying monitor and plug it into a questis, running the data on the screen. 

“This is her results on her first session and here is her progression’s curb.” He explains to his Captain. 

Thrawn remains mute, observing the data on the screen, detailing every high and low, the picks and the depressions. 

“Fascinating.” He finally lets out, “Almost the same as a Civilian Chiss curb.” 

“Indeed, the results are uncanny.” Samakro adds, scrubbing his face with a towel. 

“And what of her mental? Her dispositions?”   

“She did not understand the necessity of the exercises at first, and I think she still does but she submits to it.” 

“Do you push her to her limits?” 

“Yes. She doesn’t like to be looked down upon, it gives good results.” 

“Do not destroy her mentally. I have more tests to run on her.” Thrawn advises. 

“I am careful, she seems to hold on well.” 

Thrawn looks back at the results with interest in his inquisitive red eyes. 

“Humans... Fascinating.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Samakro silently looks at you over his questis. You are fully focused on your test on your own questis. 

Obviously, you don’t know Cheuhn, but you are proficient in several trade languages and writing systems the Chiss use outside of their realm and displayed your polyglot talents early on. He concocted a series of tests to measure your mental plasticity and  I.Q. And you’ve been going at it since 6 am. 

Some maths and logic problems with dissertations in different languages, a philosophical question, and a moral dilemma. 

It is actually an IQ test that the entire Springhawk crew had to take at some point in their career, he simply translated it into a trade language and script and took the liberty to take out the General Knowledge questions about Chiss culture and literature for obvious reasons. 

He is already checking your responses from this morning, comparing them to the average Chiss responses. 

Your I.Q. is average, nothing really special to note, but your way to the responses is truly... alien. You are coming from a completely different thought system and it shows, you are creative in your responses in a way that the Chiss test has difficulty measuring. Your responses to the philosophical and moral dilemmas are completely misaligned with Chiss values but are terribly interesting if they are standard for your human species. 

When he thinks back Chiss and Humans used to trade and exchange millennia ago and everything stopped after the supernova explosions, erasing all hyperspace lanes of the Chaos and cutting all communications.  

How did humans evolve deprived of the wisdom of the Chiss? 

“Five minutes left.” He announces. 

You grumble, taking your forehead in your hand, he can almost see the smoke of focus escaping your ears. He should compare your responses to the archives about humans they have, Captain Thrawn will also be interested. 

Samakro wonders for a second what was his results for those tests, they never communicated them to the candidates. If he reached the rank of Captain it means he must have done good. 

You would never reach the rank of Captain. You are not made for war, neither in body nor in mind. You would surely be a good historian or archivist, a scholar career where you classify data seems perfect for you. 

But on a Chiss warship, you have little to no value. The only civilian job in it is caregiver for the skywalker and they surely won’t let an alien approach their precious little girl any time soon.  

He keeps looking at you discreetly. He remembers lying to you, telling you that if you didn’t obey they would debark you on the first wild planet they found and leave you to die there. 

Which is obviously false for several reasons. They are not barbaric monsters and mostly Captain Thrawn and the UAG are terribly interested in meeting a Human after so many millennia. All your test results are sent to the UAG  for them to get a foretaste of what they will work on once they send you there. 

But you refused to obey and sit down and he had to resort to menace to force you to submit. Are all humans that rebellious? Do you all have problems with authority? A Chiss would have never posed such problems... 

If the current mission wasn’t capital for Chiss security, Thrawn would have ordered the Springhawk to go back to Csilla to offer you to the lab as his new catch. But fortunately for you, they must keep going, you escaped the rat lab existence. 

But for this time only. 

The scientists of the UAG are drooling at the idea of studying a human after so much time and they keep sending them new tests and procedures to experiment on you. Samakro doesn’t understand this fascination for aliens, for him they are all the same: 

Not worth his time and attention. 

But Thrawn thinks differently and locks himself with you in his office for long discussions every day. He is learning the maximum he can on this “new” species, evaluating the level of threat you will pose or not. He is less invasive in his questions and remains courteous with you but you shouldn’t get used to it. 

“Time is over.” Samakro says. 

You sigh and fall back in your chair with a defeated look. Visibly maths is a serious adversary for you.  

“May I go now?” You ask, visibly tired. 

“No. Remain.” He orders sternly. 

He looks at your new results while you are forced to wait in silence. It is obviously another test, how well do you do when things don’t go your way?  

He takes is sweet time comparing the results with the archive and while he isn’t a scientist something is very clear to him. 

You’re going to be a problem. All humans will. 

You are unruly and disorganized, messy and libertarian, prone to rebellion. 

He hardly sees what good would come up for the Chiss to align themself with humans.  

You’re just going to be a pain in more ways than one. 

He now knows how humans evolved without Chiss’ wisdom... 

“Senior Captain Samakro? (Y/n) (L/n)?” Thrawn enters the little conference room, “I need you.” 

Samakro jumps on his feet, ready for action while you look put out, only wanting to enter your bed for a good night’s sleep. 

“Is there a problem, Captain?” Samakro inquires. 

“We crossed paths with new aliens. I would like to have a word with them to test the water.” 

Samakro frowns turning his head to give you a look. 

“Is her presence necessary?” He asks in Cheuhn, earning a bad look from you. 

“Indeed. She is more fluent in their language than I am and I would like to observe their reaction to a near-Chiss individual.” Thrawn responds in the same language, “Who knows, maybe humans already are in contact with this species.” 

Samakro nods obediently. 

“Follow us (F/n)” He orders you. 

You sigh but obey. 

“I need your talents in a specific language.” Thrawn lets you know in a trade language. 

“Other humans?” You ask, accelerating your pace to place yourself next to Thrawn. 

Samakro fights the urge to grab your shoulder and yank you backward. Nobody walks alongside a Captain, even his bodyguards remain two steps behind. But Thrawn doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.  

So Samakro remains silent but mentally adds “Impertinent” and “unable to follow protocols” to his list of cons about humans. 

“Unfortunately no. A group of alien nomads of whom our archives are incomplete.” 

“Nomad? Are they numerous in the region?” You inquire curious. 

“Indeed there are a few clans. Most of them are bounty hunters and mercenaries, selling their services to the most generous.” 

 “Oh... I mean... Should I really be here?” You worry. 

“Everything is going to be fine. I simply need you as a translator no harm will come to you.” 

Samakro remains silent. A group of mercenaries with whom the alien they happened to have rescued and helped can speak with? The timing is a bit suspicious. He received the orders to tutor you but he also had to honor his duties as Mid-Captain, who knows how efficient the officers he gave you to were in their surveillance? 

Did they invite a snake in? 

Thrawn must also have these suspicions and take the opportunity to test you. 

You all enter the new conference room where the Aliens are waiting. Samakro remembers reading some archives about them but they are quite obscure, but he remembers them being known to undergo heavy surgical operations to make their entire bodies a weapon.  

And evidently, Thrawn lied to you. He mastered this language years ago, Samakro heard him use it so many times as he is himself quite fluent in this one. It allows them both to fact-check what you are translating to them and to the Aliens. 

Hum... 

Up until now, you have diligently reported the correct info, not trying to subtly twist Thrawn’s words or veil info from the aliens... But that is not enough to erase suspicion. 

As for the aliens’ pretense as to why they are on Chiss territory, it is clearly a lie. Those have something behind their minds. Samakro subtly caresses his charric at his hips. They took out the Aliens’ weapon but something in his mind was telling him to be cautious. 

“They ask if you could draw them a safe route for their travel. Their navigator died.” You explain. 

Bullsh... 

But Thrawn takes out his questis where a map of the Chaos appears. He hands it to Samakro to give it to the Aliens that are on the other side of the room, a long table separating them from the Chiss. Samakro takes it and heads toward the group.  

Suddenly, when he is mid-way through and away from Thrawn the aliens jump on their feet with their hands in their mouths, dislocating their jaws in an impressive fashion, to take out hidden miniguns off their throats. 

And fires. 

And in a flash, it is over. When Samakro recovers his senses he has his fuming Charric pointed at the now-dead aliens, the questis now exploded on the floor. 

A suicide commando. Surely the Grysks. 

A good chance Samakro and Thrawn’s bodyguards are fast. 

He spins towards Thrawn to see if he is all right. He discovers him kneeling with you in his arms. 

“What happened?” He asks kneeling next to his superior. 

You have been hit, the smell of burning flesh rising to Samakro’s nose. It is not pretty. They both lay you down on the ground, Thrawn taking his comm to call for the medics while Samakro applies pressure on your bleeding wound. 

Warrior, if they lose the UAG’s new toy... 

If they lose you... 

“She took the fire for me.” Thrawn explains. 

Samakro freeze. 

You what? 

He raises his eyes to his Captain, incredulous. 

“An alien did that?” 

“Apparently. Keep applying pressure Mid-Captain.” 

Quickly the medics comes to take you away in the medbay, leaving Thrawn and Samakro to investigate the scene. 

But Samakro’s mind keeps coming back to you. 

Why did you do that? 

It doesn’t make any sense. 

Why would an alien risk its life to save somebody else? He wouldn't have taken a fire for an alien. 

“Mid Captain, you are not listening.” Thrawn’s voice calls Samakro back to reality. 

Samakro shakes himself. 

“Sorry Sir, you were saying?” 

Thrawn lets go of the alien’s shoulder he was holding to get a closer look at their face. 

“Go to her.” He simply orders. 

Samakro raises an eyebrow. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because you are evidently disturbed and unfocused on your task.” 

“I am mostly disturbed I wasn’t able to protect you.” 

“You shot them. You did your job.” 

“An alien had to protect you and this is a failure.” 

This time it is Thrawn who raises an eyebrow. 

“After all this time you are still calling her an ‘alien’?” 

“This is what she is.” Samakro responds, not understanding his superior puzzled expression. 

Thrawn tilts his head. 

“Is she now?” 

Samakro opens his mouth to close it back immediately. Where is Thrawn going with all of this? 

“How curious... I thought your relation deepened after all this time.” Thrawn ponders. 

“She hasn’t been here long.” Samakro argues. 

“She has been with us for 8 months.” Thrawn informs him. 

8 months?! 

No. 

Impossible. He feels like they discovered your ship three weeks ago, how has it been already 8 months? 

Samakro remains mute in shock, taking the info in. 

“Time flies in charming company, does it not?” Thrawn notes with a tight smile. 

Samakro exhales though his nose. Ridicule! 

Absolutely ri-di-cule! 

“She is a task you gave me, nothing more.” 

“I asked you to look over her not send me an extensive list of her food’s likes and dislikes.” Thrawn says almost mockingly. 

Almost. 

“I thought you would have appreciated to learn humans’ nutritional habits.” Samakro defends himself. 

“I would have simply asked her, Mid-Captain.” The Captain tries to gently guide him to the obvious conclusion. “I also heard you kept deterring colleagues from her.” 

“I was not going to let them defile themself with an alien sir!” Samakro explains like his outrage made sense. 

“Why immediately assume they had a romantic or sexual interest in her?” Thrawn asks more and more amused. 

This is a new side of his Mid-Captain he is discovering, and he is terribly curious. 

“Because she....! Because...” Samakro tries again to justify himself only to have no sound arguments. 

Indeed, why his first fear was that his Chiss colleagues would be interested in her? For what possible reason? Why did it displeased him so much he had to push everyone, male and female, away from you? 

Samakro stretches his lips in a thin line at that bomb, trying to make sense of all the moments he had with you.  

Could he...? 

“Go see her Mid-Captain. I can investigate the scene by myself.” Thrawn finally says, turning his back to Samakro signaling him that his words are final. 

Samakro bows and leaves the room. 

He entered confident and exited it in shambles. 

Obediently, he goes to you, trying to silence that little voice bugging his mind. Of course, he isn’t smitten! That’s ridiculous! What does Thrawn even know about love anyway?! 

He enters the med bay ready to chastise you for merely existing and being in his way but he looses all of his energy seeing you in this state. 

You are dressed in bandages, lying on a bed with a painful expression on your face. 

Maybe... this is not the right time for chastising. Later. Yes... later. 

Surely... 

You wave at him forcing you to smile through the pain. He comes close, sitting on a stool next to you. 

“Why?” He asks. 

“Why what?” 

“Why protect him? Why not let him die?” 

You look at him confused. 

“Isn’t it your job too to protect him? Why are you mad at me?” 

“I am not mad. I am trying to ... Understand.” 

You shrug like he isn’t making any sense. That’s the second person looking at him like that today and one was already enough... 

“Do I truly need a reason to save someone in danger?” You ask him, genuinely confused. 

“We are not the same species. You had no interest in protecting one of us.” 

“I don’t need to be part of the same species to empathize. Captain Thrawn is an honorable man, it would pain me if he died.” 

“Really? Would you have done the same for any of us?”  

“Why not?” 

“Even... me?” 

“Yes. Every life deserves to be protected, alien or not. Do you not think the same?” You look at him with a clear gaze. 

He purses his lips. No, he doesn’t think the same, he is a warrior, a cannot fodder meant to die in battle, Thrawn too.  

But you’re a civilian.  

You’re what they die for. So why put your own life on the line for them? The roles are reversed. 

Does he have to add ‘selfless’ to his list of pros for humans now? 

“We are soldiers. Dying is our job.” 

“Your job is to protect, not die.” You counter with a soft voice. 

“Easy for you to say.” He grumbles. 

You take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it with a contrite smile. 

“Yes, I would take a hit for you, Mid-Captain Samakor.” You repeat. 

He snarls a scoff, incredulous. 

Why would you do that? Since the first day he had the bad role, ordering you around, forcing you to obey him, imposing you a lifestyle different than yours, prevented you from forming meaningful relationships with others. He is a jailor, your torturer. 

You must hate him. And he is fine with that, Thrawn ordered him to look over you and he will do it even if you despise him. 

And then... 

Your hand releases his to cup his cheek gently, inviting him to raise his head and look at you. 

“Come on now. This is not you Mid-Captain Samkro.” This time your smile is wide and franck, “Where is your Chiss attitude?” 

He can’t help but chuckle before quickly hidding  his mouth. 

“You call that an attitude? I call this honor.” 

“Meh. I’m not big on the military things. Call it what you prefer.”  

He should push your hand away, not tolerating a single act of promiscuity or even friendliness. 

But he likes the warmth of your palm... It is incredibly soft and smooth. 

When was the last caress he received, and when was the last tender act toward him? Long ago in his childhood. 

Maybe he will not add “selfless” to the pros human list, but yours. 

And this one is longer... 

@bluechiss @Thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil_urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @leo4242564 @davesrightshoe 

[bloody-bee-tea]

June of (minimal) Doom 2024 Day 5 - It's not as bad as it looks

Suguru feels sick to his stomach. He knows he should help Satoru, should help him get up, should get him to Shoko somehow, but his hands shake and the rest of his body feels as if it’s frozen in ice.

“Suguru, a little help here,” Satoru says, his voice tight with pain as he holds out his hand.

Suguru is supposed to take it, to haul him up and then help him walk but he can’t do anything.

Except stare at Satoru’s leg, at the angle it’s in and the only thing he can currently hear is the awful sound it made as it snapped.

It shouldn’t have.

Satoru is supposed to be invincible; he’s supposed to be untouchable.

He’s not supposed to break his leg.

“Suguru,” Satoru snaps now, clearly more annoyed than in pain and Suguru jerks. “Help me up, goddamit,” Satoru grumbles, waving his hand around and glaring at Suguru. “I’m not going to get up by myself, so please.”

“Satoru, I—” Suguru starts, unsure how he’s going to explain that he doesn’t feel stable enough to support himself, less alone Satoru.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Satoru grumbles, leaning forward to take Suguru’s hand in his own when he doesn’t move to help him and even that movement makes him hiss in pain.

Suguru’s heart misses a beat at that and he stumbles when Satoru tries to pull himself up with the grip he has on Suguru’s hand.

“Suguru!” Satoru yells and it makes Suguru blink. “I need to get to Shoko already. She’s going to fix me right back up, okay, so would you just—” He tugs on Suguru’s arm again but the only thing that does is make Suguru fall to his knees.

“You have RCT. Heal yourself,” he says, begs almost, because he cannot continue to stare at that leg of Satoru’s but Satoru only huffs.

“Well, it turns out that pain makes it really difficult to concentrate and apparently instinct doesn’t kick in if I’m not in a life or death situation.”

Suguru almost gags at that; he still remembers the pool of blood at the top of the stairs, still hears Satoru almost gleefully describe just what gruesome injuries he survived and it’s all going to make him sick again.

“Suguru?” Satoru asks, more careful this time and clears realising that something is going on, but still, Suguru has a hard time shaking himself out of those memories.

His own injuries were almost laughable in comparison, and he isn’t as hung up about them as he is about Satoru’s injuries.

“Hey, Suguru, come on now,” Satoru says, much softer now. “Let’s just go see Shoko okay?”

“Sure,” Suguru forces himself to say because Satoru is in pain, can’t heal himself because of it, because he’s hurt and Suguru has to do something about it. “Up you go,” he says, tries to make his voice light and cheerful in hopes to distract Satoru from his behaviour, and for now it works.

Probably only because Satoru has to concentrate on getting up without putting any weight on his injured leg but Suguru is going to take it.

“Alright, onward!” Satoru yells out, as if Suguru is his noble steed that has to be steered on and even though it makes Suguru roll his eyes, he does start to walk, mindful of the way Satoru has to awkwardly hop next to him.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, you know,” Satoru says when they are maybe a quarter of the way to Shoko and Suguru presses his lips together.

It’s exactly as bad as it looks, Suguru thinks, because it looks like a broken leg and that is what it is. In the grand scheme of things it might not be much—especially compared to the injures they sustained before—but it’s an injury nonetheless.

It shouldn’t leave Suguru reeling like this, but that is a thought for another day.

“Whatever you say,” Suguru belatedly gives back and then stops when Satoru almost stumbles. “This would be faster if I could just pick you up,” he says, turning his gaze towards Satoru.

“Piggy-back? Sure, if you think you can carry me all the way,” Satoru glibly says, clearly not believing that at all and Suguru bites his tongue.

Satoru untangles his arm from Suguru, evidently expecting him to crouch down so Satoru can climb on his back, but Suguru simply bends down and picks him up in a bridal-carry.

“Suguru!” Satoru shouts out, flailing around in a way that almost makes Suguru drop him.

“Stop it,” he admonishes him as he starts to walk. “I’m going to drop you.”

“That’s why it should have been a piggy-back ride,” Satoru heatedly gives back and belatedly slings his arms around Suguru’s neck. “Don’t you dare drop me.”

“I won’t,” Suguru confidently says, because for all that Satoru is tall, he’s also lanky as hell. He’s actually not that heavy to carry.

They make it to Shoko in record time and with minimal grumbling from Satoru which Suguru takes as a win. He makes sure to keep his step light and even and to not jostle Satoru at all, so he doesn’t worsen his injury.

“What is this now?” Shoko asks when he walks into her work place and gently lowers Satoru on a chair.

“He broke his leg,” Suguru says, the sound of it now back to playing on loop in his mind and Shoko frowns.

“With Infinity?”

“Well, excuse me, but Infinity only protects me from outward forces.”

“So it’s useless against stupidity,” Shoko sums up and Satoru makes an outraged sound.

Their bickering is so painfully normal that it’s a balm to Suguru’s still shaken nerves and just like Satoru predicted Shoko has him healed up in less than a minute.

“There, all better now,” Shoko says and then taps a finger against her lips as she thinks. “You know, you really have to make healing yourself an instinct, even when your life is not in danger. That’s probably something you have to work on.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” Satoru asks and just going by the downright wicked grin on Shoko’s face Suguru knows that he’s not going to like what’s coming next.

“I could inflict some minor injuries and make you heal them over and over again,” she gleefully suggests and when Satoru doesn’t immediately protest it, Suguru has to turn away.

“I’m done, good night,” he decides, even though it’s the middle of the day still and before Shoko or Satoru can say anything he marches out on them, almost fleeing back to his room.

He’s still shaken up, more than he’d like to admit or would be able to explain, and he thinks being away from Shoko and Satoru might help in getting himself under control again.

Suguru saw that Satoru was fine after Shoko treated him, saw him stand and walk around, so there’s really no reason for him to still feel as panicked as he does.

He just needs to breathe. In and out, just like Shoko has taught him and then he’s sure things will be fine.

Eventually.

Suguru is still in the process of convincing himself of that when Satoru barges into his room.

He stands firmly on his two legs, clearly has no problems whatsoever walking around and it should put the last bit of worry in Suguru’s mind at ease but it’s not working.

It’s not working because Satoru got hurt and Suguru wasn’t able to prevent it. It’s not working because Satoru is supposed to be invincible, untouchable and yet he got hurt.

Suguru’s breath is becoming increasingly short and fast and Satoru is at his side a moment later.

“Breathe, Suguru,” he coaxes him, puts Suguru’s hands on his chest and takes exaggerated breaths himself.

It takes a long while for Suguru to calm down again and in all honesty it’s not even because of the rhythm Satoru has established. The one thing that really helps is feeling how Satoru breathes, knowing that he’s alive and safe and unharmed.

“Are you feeling better now?” Satoru asks once Suguru’s breathing has returned to normal and Suguru is beyond embarrassed that Satoru had to see him like this so he turns around.

“I’m fine. Just tired. Thanks.” He tries to make his voice as dismissive as he can but of course it has absolutely no effect on Satoru.

“Sure, I totally believe that. What’s going on? It’s not like you to be this shaken by a little injury,” he says and flops down on Suguru’s bed.

“Your leg was broken. That hardly counts as a little injury.”

“It wasn’t life-endangering, so I’d say it was,” Satoru carelessly gives back and even that little comment is almost enough to send Suguru spiralling again.

“Don’t talk like that,” he hisses out and Satoru is visibly taken aback by his vehemence.

“Suguru—”

“Don’t ever even joke about that,” Suguru goes on, not letting Satoru talk. “After Toji—after everything that happened you don’t get to talk like that!”

“I was fine after Toji,” Satoru gives back, sitting back up, clearly noticing that this is more than just a little friendly talk. “I’m fine, Suguru.”

“But you weren‘t,” Suguru presses out. “Gods, Satoru, do you even know how much blood you lost? How much blood I had to find? You were not fine. You died!

“Almost,” Satoru interjects but Suguru barely even hears him.

“And now you have RCT and permanent Infinity and you’re not supposed to get hurt, not anymore, not ever again, I can’t find that much blood ever again, I can’t,” Suguru gasps out, all his careful breathing exorcises from before for naught but Satoru is at his side again a second later.

“I’m fine, Suguru,” he whispers, taking Suguru’s hands and putting one to his chest and one to his throat so he can feel him breathe, so he can feel his pulse and then he stays quiet until Suguru breathes easier.

“But you weren’t,” Suguru repeats and Satoru presses his lips together as he nods.

“I wasn’t, that’s true. But I’m better, I’m good, I promise. Today was—unfortunate,” he says and it’s ridiculous enough to make Suguru huff out a little laugh.

“You could say that,” he mutters and drops his head to Satoru’s shoulder. “You scared me.”

“I know,” Satoru apologetically says and reaches up to undo Suguru’s bun so he can card his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” Suguru gives back because he knows that much at least, no matter how irrational he is about everything else. “I just—I can’t have you hurt like that again. I can’t. I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

“Hey, you’re not losing me any time soon,” Satoru tells him and slings his arms around him. “And even if something were to try and take me away from you, I wouldn’t let it. I’m not leaving you behind, it’s you and me after all, right?”

“It is,” Suguru agrees, slinging his arms around Satoru in turn. “Satoru, I—”

He doesn’t know how to say it, how much this means to him, how much further his feelings go for Satoru, but when Satoru presses a kiss to his head he thinks that maybe he doesn’t have to know the words for it.

Maybe this is enough.

“I know, Suguru, me too,” Satoru softly says and it’s enough to almost make Suguru sob with relief. “That’s why I’m never leaving you, not ever. But the same has to go for you, you know.”

“I’m not the one who nearly died,” Suguru replies and Satoru chuckles.

“Fair,” he agrees and squeezes Suguru tight. “But I’m not going to do it again and you’re not going to leave me and things will be fine like that.”

Suguru has to admit that Satoru might be right; Satoru didn‘t die even though he should have and when Suguru was about to leave him, slaughtered village and abducted kids and all, Suguru didn’t do that either, because the thought of leaving Satoru pierced through whatever haze he had been in at that moment.

And if neither of those things could do the trick, then surely nothing can.

“Okay,” Suguru nods and brushes his lips over Satoru’s throat. “Okay.”

Satoru doesn’t verbally reply but Suguru can practically feel him beam down at him and with Satoru that close, it’s easy for him to breathe easy, to believe everything Satoru tells him.

Things will be okay. With them together, there is simply no other way after all.

[twistedastrology]

i got beef with earth signs

----------------------------------------------------------

this is 100% gonna sound insane bc i know EEEEVERYONE loves their earth signs but good fucking GOD!!!!!!

lemme explain to u what is up. But also first i need u to know that if ur an earth sign, DO NOT TAKE THIS PERSONALLY 💔💔💔💔 there are many other factors at play here i dont just outright hate earth signs instantly but im not. Fond of them. the shitty ones anyway

ok so for starters, i have less than 1 earth placement in my whole chart (sun in 29° taurus that is Obliterated by the rest of my chart and made into 100% gemini), so im already not a big enjoyer of earth ofc

But lemme explain real quick-

capricorn is the most respectable earth sign to me, i generally love capricorns- virgo is 2nd place, they're usually chill- Taurus is 1,467,892,682,257,109,067th place.

so to be fair i mostly have beef with taurus But the other earth signs i got beef with too if they're garbage enough-

AND IK PPL ARE GONNA COME FOR ME so let me clarify immediately that i KNOW GOOD TAURUS PLACEMENTS- there are totally some tauruses that are super fucking dope, this is just a very broad statement im making n i am aware of that but Hear Me Out!!!!

i have pulled like a billion charts by now and ive noticed that people with serious issues, especially issues surrounding their self, have Mostly taurus placements.

these issues can be just about anything but it's Usually around their own psyche, like they dont know themselves fully and they lack drive or willpower.

and i know someone's gonna be like "well u just said ur sun is in 29° taurus" Ok well here's what's up- Im talkin abt taurus stellium kinda stuff, but in my case with my singular taurus/earth placement, yes i did actually have a period in my life where i didnt know myself and lacked drive, but i powered thru it God bless my saturn in 1st house 🙏🙏🙏

so ive begun to believe that where ppl love to say saturn is the great malefic, Taurus is actually the great malefic because it grounds an individual So Much that they cannot find themselves.

not to mention that earth isnt even a primary element- in the entirety of the universe, earth is incredibly finite and rare. it doesn't create itself, it's created by everything else like fire, water and air.

so this has actually sparked a theory in my head that i have put to test multiple times and it has held up every single time-

earth placements are like outlines waiting to be colored in by the rest of the chart.

what i mean by this is if you're a capricorn rising, but say you have like 1 billion aries placements, your capricorn will be colored in by aries, so you end up an aries-influenced capricorn (some of the best ppl btw)

or on the flip side, if you're a cap sun/mercury but you're a cancer rising, you're a cancer-influenced capricorn (also some of the best ppl when worked on bc ofc there's oppositions there)

this applies to all earth signs, but capricorn seems to be the most like- Easily influenced, probably because the cardinal energy makes them less stagnant.

as such, virgo is also influenced pretty easily because they're the mutable earth sign.

whereas taurus is much harder to influence because it's double earth (fixed + earth).

i think this is where the issues are with mostly taurus placements. if you have, say, sun, moon, mercury, saturn and maybe even uranus, all in taurus, the rest of your chart won't have a whole lot of room to influence the earth enough to make it like. Normal.

plus, earth is the only element that literally Does not move. earthquakes and landslides? Generally caused by activity of the other elements.

earth cannot move on its own, it just. Sits there.

water flows, wind blows, fire spreads, earth just... is.

plants Grow, yes, but only with the help of the other elements.

this is why i say you NEED placements in one of the other 3 elements in order to color or Activate your earth placement to make it Do Something, otherwise too many earth signs (very specifically taurus) in a chart and you might find it very difficult to Move in life, to find drive to do things, etc.

taurus is literally the epitome of an Obstacle. (again im talking about taurus the Sign in a Planet, not People who have taurus placements)

and i saw something a bit ago that said the worst sun and moon combo to have is earth sun, water moon- And i have either that, or double air- But the absolute WORST sun and moon combo in terms of Signs??? Taurus sun, cancer moon. Because that is literally immovable object vs unstoppable force.

to reiterate, i have seen plenty of healthy and lovely taurus placements, Melanie Martinez has her sun, mercury and maybe moon (bc it's 0° and im not sure if the time i have for her is super exact) all in taurus and i love her sm- but she's also a scorpio rising and has pluto in her 1st house which totally outweighs a lot of that taurus energy and transmutes it into what it should be.

to me, she is totally what taurus energy Should be. very artistic, gentle, slow-moving yes but not lacking drive or anything.

on the opposite side of the coin, we have jojo siwa, yknow Kammrmas a BICTH!!!! I SHOulda KNOWN EBTETETT!!!!! IF I HAAD A WIUSH I WOUDLEVVENEVVER E F F E D AORUDNDN!!!!!

she has sun, mercury, venus and north node all in taurus with her moon and chiron in capricorn, and she's a solid of example of what excessive taurus/earth placements Can do to someone- she clearly doesn't know what She wants because unfortunately she didnt get to be her own person because she grew up a child star- she grew into what her mom thought the people wanted to see, and now she can't get out of it

so she's trying to startle us with this whole karma rebrand fiasco because her jupiter is in leo and her rising is in aries- two fire signs, but not enough to outweigh the earth, especially because leo is fixed.

and with mercury in taurus, she literally cannot think about how to get out of it properly, she can't think outside the box because taurus is the box that mercury Despises.

i know all of this sounds a little (or very) biased or just dumb, but this is what I've legitimately observed in unevolved taurus placements-

earth signs as a whole ya im not a Huge fan of, but my mom is an aries influenced capricorn so id be lying if i said i absolutely hated all of them

and ofc awsten knight is a taurus rising with 99% capricorn placements, but his moon and saturn are both in air signs (gemini and aquarius respectively), and since saturn rules capricorn, that gives all of his cap placements an air/uranus influence (which explains why he's so peculiar sometimes but he's silly so it's ok)

jonathan davis is a sun/mercury capricorn and saturn in taurus, but he has so much of like every other sign that it gives the earth plenty of other elements' influence.

and again, these are mostly capricorns im talkin abt- If u wanna talk abt taurus specifically, my dad is a cap rising, taurus sun/moon/mercury, and he is the spitting image of everything i have talked about so far. he legitimately has no idea who he is or what he wants out of life, he has No driving fire.

so my bad if this came across as me just straight hating earth signs, i definitely dont, i just hate the super unevolved ones, especially the super unevolved tauruses 💔

and i say it almost every post But this is all my opinion, if u aint agree with it that is 100% fine, i got no beef with u fr, im doin my thing, u do ur thing, we do our own things separately n in our own lanes n we never bother each other 🙏

[backsideattackkkk]

do you feel that people in the tcc are more likely to put a lot of focus on the 'e&d were bullied' thing to try and justify their feelings for them?

yes

I think it's a brought up point a-lot, other points I've seen are:

failed by the system (society that ignored 'obvious cries of help') - the post of eric crossing out his struggles in the diversion papers is brought up a lot

failed by the school (faculty looking the other direction when bullying happened)

failed by the parents (neglecting of red flags)

I had an anon ask me once why do I think people condone, I don't, so my opinion, is just inference and speculation (hence why I want to make a google form survey, as much as I don't agree, I still want to understand.) but based on what I've gathered from reading posts/comments I gather this:

"The argument, especially with those who condone the columfags is “well they were bullied”. They didn’t even kill anyone who bullied them, “oh, years of torment”, now I won’t parade around and say those who were bullied them were in the right, no, but to say bullying justifies killing isn’t something I align with. My first point being, I think condoners are lying when they say they condone because the dipshit duo killed because they were bullied. They didn’t kill anyone who bullied them, if you wanna spew that bullshit, at least do it right. There’s plenty of shooters who killed their bullies, sometimes those were the only ones they killed, but you don’t defend or celebrate them. Mostly because their kill count wasn’t ‘high’ enough. People condone them because they think they’re cool, it does fall under ‘they wanna be edgy’. Let me explain, those two faggots have been romanticized to no end. Put on a high pedestal, you wish they had their so called ‘highness’, well with the videos, the journals, the so called ‘meticulous’ planning, you think they’re original. They’re really not. In the basement tapes the two inch bitch face may deny this, but in the end, that’s what they wanted, but they tell themselves it’s not because that’s not ‘cool’, that doesn't raise adrenaline, that doesn't make you excited to pick up a gun and 'kick-start a revolution'. That's why they stick with the whole ‘we’re godlike’, and that’s what these condoners want, because most of them went through similar situations, they want to also put themselves on a high pedestal. All these condoners just have the ‘make others see what you want’, and they want to be seen as someone above, because in real life all they are is stomped on."

I think bottom like when it comes to "justifying feelings for them", it is mainly because they relate to the loneliness and the rage that follows, not necessarily only because of bullying but because of just overall feeling that "you are left on your own".

now of course, my above statement is of condoners, but there are also empathizers and pity.

statement, again opinion, could change:

"It is, openly possible to understand how someone has suffered, to understand their pain, and still not accept what they did. To still see that, you were wrong. You were. I know you suffered, I know it was painful, you’re still not a victim, not anymore at least. We cannot cater to every person who has suffered, who then commits a tragedy just because they were abused, just because they were too sensitive, I know that seems cold. However, let’s say we did, “yes the shooters are just as much victims as the people who were shot and killed” oh but what does that teach those who are suffering now? Yes, kill those people, then people will see you’re a victim. To me, you are a victim up until you commit the crime,  because the same way with a child rapist, I’m sorry you were raped as a child, and that changed your mind and the series of events that led you to also rape a child. The child who was raped was the victim, you WERE one, but you aren’t anymore. You just became the very thing that caused pain to you, you would not call your abuser a victim."

people who empathize or pity more likely due so because they have read from other's perspectives, weather that be from sue klebold, or eric's friends from plattsburgh, they are from people who knew these two in real-life and loved them. so we share a certain empathy for the killers because we know they weren't born this way.

final statement: I think people in the tcc use bullying, neglecting (weather from parents, school or the system) as ways to justify their emotions, it's them showing "well they were people too" - there is of course a spectrum (condoning their actions to feeling pity for the people who were close to these killers).

to answer your question: that being said, like I said before in another post "I don't think bullying was as big a driving force as people paint it as", so I think people latch more to the bullying because that makes the hatred more digestible.

it's very hard to explain loneliness, it very hard to explain what feeling nothing is and how that makes you feel numb and spiral, but it's a tad easier to explain revenge. "you have hurt me, so I'll hurt you back" - "beaten dogs bite" - "hurt people, hurt people" - though, it is in this case, mostly they hurt themselves, but it's easier to explain simply just "fighting back".

[vcrnons]

woozi being literally heaven-sent in all my love.

[eileensdress]

A rare gift I’ve given you. But you didn’t want it.

The Knife, Mary Oliver/Hannibal NBC

[bunnyreaper]

oh i love soft domestic kitchen dancing! imagine johnny and his love making breakfast and dancing to the radio (or alexa playing an oldies station lol) on a sunday morning making pancakes for the babies who love when mom and dad are like mushy and in love but giggle and scream “gross!” when they kiss so johnny dramatically kisses her multiple times a minute to entertain the kids 🥹

aaaaaaaah with their babies!!! literally melting at this, you know johnny would still be so in love with you after all the years and knows he needs to set the best example for his babies so he's always worshipping you and loving on you 🥺

[beetlevsboy]

I want to preface this post by saying that I love the cat king as a character, especially one that has such a major impact on Edwin and his relationship with his queerness and learning to be okay with it; HOWEVER, I also believe that everyone that genuinely believes he should be a love interest for Edwin should read this. (Also if you just like the cat king as a character and want to understand his character better and why his and Edwin’s relationship is not something that would be healthy or “real” for either)

[ijustreblogstuff-i-like]

Finally after a million different designs I’ve finally settled on one that I like for my Lies of P OC

I’ve been working on her since the demo dropped but I wanted to wait until the game came out before I made a ref sheet for her in case I got stuff wrong

There’s probably a lot of stuff still wrong but I’ll just fix it later

You can read more of her info here and down below ⬇️

Before the Puppet Frenzy she was a very talented Stalker — reaching almost legendary status.

Most of the work she did for Geppetto was simply just acting as a bodyguard for him and escorting him to and from places. She was recommended to Geppetto by her parent’s.

She briefly left the Stalkers and joined up with the Black Rabbit Brotherhood as an act of rebellion against her parents. She regrets some of the things she did during her time with the Brotherhood.

Her time with the Brotherhood was brief, only lasting a couple of months. One of the members she was closest to was the Battle Maniac. They would often spar with one another and eventually their friendship evolved from simply platonic to something more romantic. Neither of them ever acted on their feelings, and when the puppet frenzy began they would never get the chance to.

When the city of Krat fell into ruin she parted ways from the BRB when they refused to put their stalker training to use and help those in need. Ever since then she’s been on her own, saving any survivors left despite her own body slowly decaying from the petrification disease.

Before she became a Stalker she wanted to become a painter, but her parents didn’t allow it. She still continued to paint as a hobby but had to stop once she lost her eyesight.

Her biological parents immigrated from another country back when Krat was still a fishing town. They both passed from an illness shortly after her and her sister were born.

Her sister was adopted and then experimented on by alchemists. She was able to escape and now resides at the cathedral.

Despite her parents being close friends of Geppetto’s she was only acquainted with his son Carlo. She never got to be friends with him because she was too focused on her Stalker training to form friendships with anyone at the boarding school.

She was around when Geppetto was still making P. She thought it was disturbing that he would make a puppet of his dead son but she kept those thoughts to herself.

Her friendship with P began when he helped her defeat a frenzied puppet that nearly killed her. Since then she has tried her best to help the puppet in any way she can. Assisting him with fighting frenzied puppets, the Black Rabbit Brotherhood, and many more. She knows he’s a puppet, but also knows that he’s different so she helps him try to become more human and understand his feelings and emotions. At first, she is only nice to him out of obligation for saving her life, but as time goes on she starts to think of him as a dear friend that she would do anything for.

Her sister comes first and foremost though, and she’d do anything for her sister even if they go against her own morals and beliefs.

— Random info that isn’t super important —

Right handed — is still a good fighter despite missing her dominant arm.

Her eyes used to be dark brown.

Really likes cats, loves petting Spring the cat whenever she stops by the hotel.

Tries to avoid Geppetto when she’s at the hotel. She doesn’t hate him but she can’t help but feel uneasy in his presence.

Often asks Eugenia to make sure her weapon is up to snuff since she has difficulty repairing and sharpening it herself.

[greatmuldini]

The Iron Harp

We’re all in prison together, Johnny, one way or the other.

Act 1

Outwardly, Joseph O'Conor's play is a simple tale of love and loss in times of war: set in rural Ireland in early April of 1920, the action takes place on the property of an English industrialist whose mansion has been taken over by a contingent of IRA volunteers. Their leader is Michael O'Riordan, a gifted poet-musician in civilian life and conveniently the peace-time manager of the Englishman's estate. Michael has recently been wounded in action; now blind as a result he is no longer on active duty but still responsible for an English prisoner of war. Being a man of his word, Captain John Tregarthen has made no attempt to escape, earning Michael's trust and eventually his friendship. He also earns the friendship and love of Michael’s cousin Molly Kinsella, with whom he spends long days roaming the extensive grounds of his idyllic prison. Dreaming of a future life together, the lovers are oblivious to the feelings of their “best friend” – who ends up sacrificing his love for Molly in what he hopes will be a lasting gesture of selflessness only to find that Fate intervenes, with devastating consequences for them all.

Completing the quartet of characters is the dark and “indistinct” figure of IRA commander Sean Kelly, a dark and "indistinct" figure who emerges from the shadows to immediately assert his authority not only in military matters but - crucially, and disturbingly - in those of the heart as well. Specifically, it is the heart of Michael O’Riordan that Kelly claims to know better than O’Riordan himself. As a flesh-and-blood character Kelly is difficult to pin down: cold and calculating by his own admission, he expresses admiration for Michael's hot-blooded fighting spirit. Michael's own startled response to Kelly entering "like Nemesis himself" is ambiguous at best, and even his description of Kelly as a “good friend” comes on the back of a warning to Johnny that "he won't like you."

When Kelly tells Michael that he has never been wrong and does not know what it means to feel regret, the sense of foreboding is inescapable, yet Michael never seems to give in to the negativity emanating from his old wartime comrade who admonishes him to see his friends “as they really are” and not as “you want to see them.” Ironically, Michael refuses to see an enemy in John Tregarthen, but he is equally stubborn in applying the same criteria of honour, loyalty, and friendship to Sean Kelly, who seems troubled by this flaw in Michael’s character: "you love people too much."

Michael's emotional warmth stands in stark contrast to Kelly's impersonation of infallibility - which Michael seems to accept as a token of his friend's unassailable integrity. He continues to defer to Kelly's judgment when a messenger arrives with bad news from the front: three IRA fighters have been killed in skirmishes with British forces, and reprisals must be carried out. Twisting the metaphorical knife in the very real emotional wound, Kelly as the commanding officer nominates blind Michael to be the impartial instrument of God's justice. Forced to select three victims for execution, Michael all but collapses when one of the chosen names is that of Captain John Tregarthen.

Act 2

After he has persuaded Johnny to flee the country and reunite with Molly back in England, Michael is left alone to guard the now empty house. Blind and unable to defend himself, Michael is powerless against two marauding Black & Tans who break into the property and proceed to taunt and abuse the solitary occupant. It does not take them long to realize their victim is an IRA member rather than a civilian enjoying certain protections. Further violence is prevented only by the surprise return of Captain Tregarthen, armed and in uniform, who holds the attacker at gunpoint until Kelly and his entourage arrive to take the men away. Where any other human being would have expressed relief or gratitude at the discovery that the life of his friend has been saved, Kelly’s reaction is characteristically impassive, betraying, if anything, a degree of irritation at the unforeseen complication that has shown the condemned prisoner – the enemy – to be capable of compassion and self-sacrifice in saving the life of his friend. Human qualities that Kelly explicitly claims not to possess. As if to prove the point, he responds with the formal announcement of Tregarthen’s impending execution.

The order is to be carried out within three days, enough time for Kelly to travel to headquarters - and return with a firing squad. But first he must interrogate the captured Tans. While Kelly is thus occupied, Molly manages to convince the love of her life to take her with him. Johnny only agrees to the plan on the promise that Michael will convince Kelly to rescind the execution. If Johnny and Molly can make their way to Belfast on the early morning goods train, and from there to England, all will be well. Michael knows how to distract the guards, and Molly can bribe the train driver to let Johnny jump aboard. Three loud whistles will give the all-clear. With hopes of future happiness rekindled, Molly and Johnny each rush off to their respective tasks, and Michael is left alone with three empty glasses that he cannot see – a detail that does not escape Kelly’s notice as he re-joins Michael to formally accept his plea for clemency. Which he says he will duly submit to "the general," but in his estimation the chances of success are slim. "For God's sake, don't build up hope," he tells Michael before agonizing – to himself – over how to soften the blow for Michael: by bringing the execution forward and keeping it secret, he is certain he can spare Michael the pain and the guilt of having to witness the event.

Act 3

In the pre-dawn hours of the following day, Michael and Johnny are wide awake and waiting for the sentries to change and the train to whistle. Thinking the house empty and their enemies far away, they pass the time in a dreamlike state of high anxiety, reciting heroic poems and melancholy songs in whispering voices, so as not to miss the stroke of six to mark the end of their nightmare and the beginning of a new life – only to see Kelly standing in the door, with orders for Johnny to be executed at dawn, 24 hours earlier than they were told originally. Michael's world is falling apart, he pleads with Kelly, he begs him to show mercy, but an almost equally distressed Kelly reminds him that "I have never promised you hope." Johnny declines the comfort of a priest or minister and is led away to meet his fate offstage while, also offstage, Molly will be waiting in vain for the love of her life to board a train that will never arrive.

Left on stage for their final confrontation are Michael and his Nemesis, both knowing full well that nothing they can do or say will change what Kelly might term the preordained outcome of their efforts. To Michael's accusation of "trickery" (by which he means Kelly's surprise return before the agreed time), Kelly offers no subterfuge, no defence, and no evasion. Instead, he says, Michael’s agony is self-inflicted: it was, in fact, his own stubborn insistence on hoping against hope that has now led to anguish and pain. The only way for Michael to end all suffering, Kelly explains, is to give up hope. Unless he manages to see past the private pain of the moment and becomes a distant observer, Michael will forever be "tortured by hope."

Here Kelly is borrowing from the Conte Cruel tradition made famous by Edgar Allan Poe but named after a collection of short stories by the French symbolist writer Auguste Villiers de l'Isle-Adam. A useful definition of the genre is that it concerns "any story whose conclusion exploits the cruel aspects of the irony of fate." Not only does Kelly borrow the concept, and the title from Villiers' tale, The Torture of Hope, he even recounts the plot to underline his point:a hapless victim of the Inquisition escapes his prison cell only to stumble into the arms of the Chief Inquisitor. The lesson for Michael is that, like the victim, he keeps on hoping for release only to suffer defeat over and over again. There are no similarities, however, between himself and the sadistic Inquisitor, Kelly says: his mission is to ease Michael'ssuffering, not to prolong it.

We are given no reason to doubt Kelly’s sincerity, but neither can we reconcile the apparent contradiction between his declared intention and putting Michael’s best friend before a firing squad. If Kelly wants to end all suffering, as he says, surely, a good start would be to save Captain Tregarthen’s life? It is the argument that Michael himself is trying to make, by reminding Kelly of his god-like powers. Michael’s understanding of those powers differs fundamentally from Kelly’s own. Michael’s life-affirming principle of hope and Kelly’s seductive all-consuming fatalism are the two opposing philosophies that take centre stage in the final scene – while John Tregarthen dies a largely symbolic death offstage.

Johnny’s death is symbolic in that it is not the tragedy at the heart of the play. Michael O’Riordon is the conventional male protagonist whose existential crisis we are witnessing; Michael is unable to prevent the execution of his best friend; and to make that very point, his best friend must die. Michael’s blindness contributes to this failure in the course of the play but read as a metaphor it turns Michael into “one of us.” His blindness leaves him vulnerable to attack and it echoes our own sense of powerlessness in the face of an overwhelmingly hostile universe. The reverse, however, is also true: being blind, and being a poet, puts Michael in the illustrious company of the Blind Bard, an archetype of Western literature since at least the (mythical) time of Homer: the blind singer/seer whose “inner vision” surpasses that of sighted humanity. His Irish equivalent – and explicit model for Michael - is the (dwarf) Harper of Finn, whose iron-stringed instrument has the power to move its audience to tears. Michael O’Riordon is both vulnerable and endowed with the superpower of emotional insight – fundamentally human qualities that Kelly admires in Michael, and which he admits he does not possess.

Kelly is an abstract concept in human form; even while he is evidently the cause of human suffering, in his denial he appears to be channelling the sadistic Inquisitor. The apparent contradiction is of our own making, though: Kelly is Cruel Fate personified. He represents that which we like to imagine as the source of all our woes - the betrayals, the injustices, the disappointments which inevitably end in what we define as tragedy and what to the rest of the universe, that hostile universe, is of no consequence whatsoever. If we substitute “hostile” with “indifferent,” then Kelly becomes the antithesis to Michael’s humanity – his indifference is as inhuman as the infinite, indifferent universe. Conversely, Michael is not concerned with an infinite universe; his frame of reference is on a human scale, and very finite. Finite. When Kelly challenges Michael to take his place and adopt his abstract, God-like perspective on life, death, and the universe, Michael does reject the responsibility – but also the indifference required for the position. If the promise of a pain-free existence did not convince Michael to abandon hope, Kelly's failure to shame him into admitting defeat is a testament, at the very least, to human perseverance: we will forever be prolonging the agony to delay the inevitable. (1/4)

[mihrsuri]

I keep trying to write an update and then being embarrassed about it and feeling like I’m trauma dumping on people by updating and I just..I know it’s on me to manage my crap, I know. I am trying (not very well but I’m trying) and it’s just…I don’t know. I don’t even know.

[nilesmoon]

this is going to be a controversial opinion but. while I think that ryoko kui has great character designs, she did take the cowards way by not giving dwarven women beards

[bonnieisaway]

seven's the best protag ever because i could make a million "get you a man who" jokes about him. get you a man who looks at him the way thirteen does. get you a man who has undefeated whimsy and love for the world like seven. get you a man who holds his friends above everything else. get you a man who'd rather go broke and hungry rather than tear apart the bonds between people. get you a man who'd get himself killed for someone who barely knows him. get you a man who'd get himself killed for an island which he's barely familiar with. get you a man who'd dress up as you and settle the arguement between you and your girlfriend including a really long serenade. get you a man who could both save the girl in white like that and also let thirteen save him like that. get you a man who's driven purpose in life is loving others

[vala-dreams]

Y'all ever realize that you're not actually shy and for some reason your whole life everyone called you shy and introverted and your mother berated and compared you to your father for it but you're???? not even shy????????

Like I talk so much to my two friends and I dump information about shit I like or know about to other people and I can refuse to take flyers from people handing them out on the street I literally talk so much,,,,,like I'm not shy why did everyone tell me I'm shy I feel like I would talk to so many more people if everyone hadn't told me I was introverted