Major Character Death - Blog Posts

When was I ever good enough for you?

Langst

(Sexual Inferences, manipulation, depression, suicidal thoughts, major character death, Lancelot, Klance)

It was silent in the castle and Lance is missing, and they had no lead on where Lotor had taken Lance nor what he was to do with him. They didn’t talk too much and none of them wanted to until they found Lance.

-meanwhile-

“Shit!”

The Blue Paladin was thrown onto the floor with no defenses other than his armor once again. Eventually hung left waiting to be questioned. Lotor thankfully chose to train Lance himself. No one tried to interfere with the ‘training’. Lotor rather took Lance to his room and put Lance on a collar and gave him beautiful golden chains and jewelry training him but it was all mental.

Manipulating his mind to feel intense hatred for Voltron and his place on the team. It was probably a week of torture till Lance finally let Lotor hold him and twirl his hair. Soon leading to long nights of warm baths and tending to wounds from physical training. Drowning in pits of water letting the burn slowly become craved sensations. Sleeping together became natural with tangled limbs on the covers and gold flakes everywhere.

The two had just gotten out of the shower from training, Lance throwing on a tight jumpsuit designed specifically for him to be an assistant during training. Lotor was sitting in his chair brushing out his long locks as Lance made his way over to braid his hair.

“Lotor guess what?”

“What Lance?”

“I can make things now!”

Lotor smiled as Lance sat on his lap hands linked around Lotor neck,” Look.”

Lance winked and a beautiful flower appeared in mid-air soon transforming into a flower crown placed on Lotor’s head.

-Meanwhile-

Team Voltron finally had tracked down a base with a lifeform matching Lance’s figure and Blue along with Red urged everyone he was there. The Blade good with stealth came along on the mission in case this was going to harder than it already seemed. Keith, Krolia, and Kolivan were sent. The 7 rushed in undetected Pidge tracking Lance’s location in the base. They passed and checked every room as they raced through the halls.

-Back with Lance and Lotor-

Lance got up gold dangling from his forehead and ears, his beautiful designs were gorgeous. Lotor got up from his seat lifting Lance holding him. Lance, who of course kissed the Prince holding him wrapped his legs around Lotor’s torso. Lotor supported Lance by holding his backside and twirled him around, singing the melody an old Altean tune.

“Bedtime.”

Lance quickly curled into Lotor as the lights dimmed. Within what seemed like a minute the ship alarms were set off.

Lotor immediately grabbed two weapons handing one to Lance, “Lay down if they come in we can catch them off guard.”

Laying down the gunshots rose along with the noises of grunting.

Within 3 minutes there was slamming on the door and with seconds the door was down. The Paladins walked in to see the two cuddling.

Lotor squeezed Lance's thigh alerting him to attack. Lance gets up holding his gun and shoots at Kolivan who takes the chest shot. Everyone froze.

“Lance, what the hell?”

“How do you know my name?!?”

That’s when everything spun. Krolia sent a bullet flying towards Lotor and a scream shocked everyone as the bullet froze along with everything else.

Another shot fired hitting Lance in the abdomen who didn’t even flinch yet Keith shouted.

“Lance!”

Rushing over he picked up Lance, “Hey look at me.”

“Keith?”

Keith smiled tears falling suddenly shocked when a hand came up and smacked him hard, “Get the hell out of here. Don’t be stupid. Now, please.”

The Paladins and Lotor were holding aim at one another and Lance pulled out his gun and shot everyone’s weapons out of their hands including Lotor.

Within seconds Lance flung his arms and sighed his gun right in his hand the backside of the gun resting on Lance’s forehead as he shook his head, “God fuck this stupid war! Like honestly what does ruling the world solve, no one is a slave and no one owes anyone anything. Lotor your parents fucked with shit they shouldn’t have which should’ve resulted in their death. And no the planet should’ve have been destroyed but it came down to it. Why can’t you find quintessence without killing?”

The room grew quiet again. Lance dropped his gun and gripping his wound while still holding his composure.

Everything happened in a flash, Pidge and Hunk teamed up Hunk grabbing Lance while Pidge shot Lotor and everyone else running. Lance screamed. Cried. Fought. The sound brought everyone to their own tears filling their eyes, and the atmosphere grew unbearably heavy. Lance refused to eat or speak, told to hate Voltron he was utterly bewildered finding out he was a Paladin.

Sitting in his observatory with a blanket wrapped around him he struggled to wrap his head around what had happened. How has Lotor wipes all memory of him being a Paladin?

Coran opened the door, “Hey my boy how are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling? I feel like shit. I’m recovering from being shot and almost dying while having to push through the fact I fell in love with a guy who got killed right in front of me. I gave him my first. And I’ve been manipulated for months and trained and brainwashed Coran. So you wanna know how am I fucking feeling?”

Coran quietly and quickly wrapped his arms around Lance holding him tight.

“I’m sorry we didn’t find you soon enough, you didn’t deserve any of this.”

Lance felt tears whelm up and he just sobbed holding Coran tightly the entire team hearing the conversation felt an overwhelming amount of shame and remorse for their teammate as well joining the hug all in a pile. The BOM isn’t happy with Lance but understands the circumstances of what occurred.

-Weeks Later-

I still am trying to bond with the team but it’s difficult. I miss Lotor every day but Keith seems ten times better. Caring and deep down a good guy with a hard past who I can relate to.

Shiro helped me as well.

I’ve bonded with Hunk already and we are close once more.

Pidge and I are iffy we will talk but we’re nowhere near as close friends. She killed my first real love.

Allura didn’t talk to me the first two days but eventually, she hugged me and we sat down talking about everything that I went through.

Coran and I are as close as can be and I constantly go to him for guidance.

I feel better but still, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from something like this. Maybe I’ll kill myself, I know that’s something apparently I wanted to do back on Earth.

Blister & Blood

Event: Angstpril 2025 ; hosted by @chaos-company Prompt: Day 5 ALTERNATE—Major Injury Fandom: Arcane Ship: Silco x Vander | Vanco Rating: M Tags: MCD, anti-Vander. No, seriously. Bad guy Vander. Vulnerable Silco. Canon Divergence.

Silco looked at the drawing he made of him and Vander, smiling down softly at their colours melding into each other. It was one of their better days—coming up with their Blister & Bedrock mantra. A vow to create a safe space for all the children, and their children. But, those days started getting fewer in between.

When Felicia died, so did the goodness between him and Vander, until one day.

Vander was on something that Silco couldn’t identify, at the end, he could just have started hating Silco. As if it was only Silco’s job to keep Felicia safe. All he knew was that Vander blamed him. And one day. Silco decided to fight back.

He decided to stand up for himself, to say that it wasn’t only on Silco and that it wasn’t right for Vander to keep fucking blaming him and reminding Silco of everything that they had lost.

He very quickly realised he made the wrong choice when Vander pushed him up face first against the wall and ground his head into the jutting brick. He tried to close his eyes but he could feel the pricks of the brick against his face before he could fully manage it. He felt something wet roll down his face, but he knew he couldn’t be crying—the other option seemed too harrowing to accept.

Vander pressed his pelvis into Silco’s back, and he could feel his entire body get crushed against the wall. It stuck through his clothes, and tore the more sensitive fabrics, and Vander just pushed his head further into the wall before leaning closer.

“Where do you get off telling me it’s my fault? Telling ME that I had to do MORE? You’re just a sniveling goddamn brat that didn’t get enough attention in this godforsaken place. You’d be nothing without me.” Silco could hear the sneer in Vander’s voice, and it broke small parts of him that he wasn’t sure had existed anymore. The abandoned boy inside of him cried out in pain and fear.

“I…didn..I didn’t say. You..” He couldn’t find his voice. Couldn’t keep it even.

“YES YOU DID! My fault that Felicia died? God,” Vander’s chuckle was hollow, “I loved her. I would never have let anything happen to her.” There was a sick satisfaction in Silco’s chest. Confirmation on something that he had suspected for years. That Vander only started dating Silco to get closer to Felicia, and since she died. Vander didn’t care about him anymore. 

Silco knew that Vander’s temper was short, and that it snapped because the next moment his face was being crushed by the wall. Vander held Silco’s hair in a tight grip and started smashing his head against it. 

Silco couldn’t feel the pain anymore, but he felt a sharp burning in his abdomen, but he couldn’t place if it was a blade or not. He could start to see little orbs of light floating in his vision. Looking like specks of dust but in a rainbow of colours, and he almost gasped at the beauty.

All in all. He had an extremely good life. He had morals and he was at the forefront of a revolution. Two little girls who he could hold when they were sad, and sometimes help them to feel better. His vision went black, and he could feel his breathing shallow out while his body was being used like a ragdoll for frustration.

It’s enough that it’d been good.

It had to be enough.

When it all comes down

Event: Angstpril 2025 ; hosted by @chaos-company Prompt: Day 4—"I trusted you" Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Ship: Bakugou Katsuki x Midoriya Izuku | BakuDeku Rating: M Tags: MCD

The fight was nothing that Bakugou had ever seen before. It took everything he had not to run into the fray, but he had strict orders to stay on the sidelines. The villain that they were apprehending had a multiplication quirk. Multiplying every attack thrown his way. And if Bakugou got involved, everyone in the surroundings would be in danger. His explosions would burn everything in the surroundings to the fucking ground, and it was driving him insane.

De—Izuku was there. In the middle of all of it. Their relationship wasn’t common knowledge, but it was something big and important enough for Bakugou to feel that his entire heart and soul was out there on the battlefield.

He was supposed to do recon and catch any flyaway villains, but his eyes were glued to the intense battle in the middle of the city block.

Izuku was chosen because his quirk wasn’t natural. He was chosen for his. And it was the one loophole they could find where the villain’s quirk wouldn’t work, but it didn’t help that the villain touched everyone he could to get to Izuku.

He was pacing, and he had enough of their friends watching him from the corner of their eyes, confused at his actions.

He couldn’t care about their questioning glances, or the theories running around in their minds, until… the villain threw Izuku with strength akin to Gigantomachia’s. 

He fell from the sky like a ragdoll, and Bakugou’s mind completely blanked. He didn’t think about the other Heroes, or the civilians, or even the fucking Villain that put them in that position to start. He used his explosions to fly to Izuku, but he wasn’t fast enough. He heard the sickening crack on the sidewalk and he faltered. That second of fear was enough for him to lose his momentum and fall close to where Izuku did.

It felt like the whole world was on fire, but Bakugou army-crawled through the debris to get closer. The villain was busy breaking everything down. Buildings were on fire, and crumbling, but Bakugou got to him.

The sight was one that Bakugou had seen all through their High School career. Izuku broken, in pain, and bleeding. But this time. Something was different. People were starting to crowd around them but Bakugou threw indiscriminate blasts all around them to keep the onlookers away. 

“Izuku? Baby, please…” He whispered, but. There was no reaction. Izuku didn’t suddenly start breathing, or open his pretty green eyes to stare at Bakugou and ask what he was on about.

Bakugou tried to do CPR, but he couldn’t focus long enough to do it properly. He just ended up punching at Izuku’s chest trying to get a reaction…any reaction. But nothing was working.

He couldn’t end this way. It.. couldn’t. Him and Izuku were still figuring out their lives, trying to get it on track. They. Wanted to work on their issues to the point where they could tell their friends about their relationship, but they couldn’t get it right..not yet.

He tore open Izuku’s stupidly complicated Hero costume, but even then, he had no idea where to go. He wasn’t a medical Hero. He wasn’t someone who knew what to do.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME, IZUKU. YOU CAN’T… LEAVE.” Bakugou put his ear to Izuku’s chest as he pushed his fingers against the pulse point, but there was nothing. Just a straight line of zero activity. Bakugou also couldn’t feel any breath release from Izuku’s mouth or nose.

Everything around Bakugou was crumbling, just like the buildings in the city block. He was being pelted with debris, and when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he sent another blast. He heard a small yelp, and he was just glad that the person was moving away. Disappearing from his bubble.

“YOU FUCKING DEKU. YOU BETTER. JUST…” His throat was raw from the yelling and he was getting tired. He was… giving up.

He rolled onto his knees and held Izuku’s tattered costume in his hands.

He could feel his eyes welling up, but he looked into the sun to try and keep the tears at bay.

“I trusted you. I trusted you to stay. To build a life with me. To,” stay. He couldn’t say it out loud, because. Izuku was supposed to be different. He was…supposed to be the one.

Bakugou got pulled away from Izuku’s body and he was swarmed by other Heroes. Some were glaring at him, others just looked at him and he could see the questions in their eyes.

Izuku was taken away from Bakugou.

And the further away he got. The more Bakugou broke.

Everything…was gone.

Planning on writing a Slowburn fanfic, but i wanna make 1st Person POV & 3rd Person POV. Yet I also want to gain readers but I know some people don’t prefer the other

When the worst comes to pass (Part One: Johnny)

WARNINGS: Reader dies! YES, there will be written gore and YES, the boys will be very sad. (vomiting, bleeding, guts, choking, drowning, all of it) Hurt/no comfort.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Everything hurts. That's the first thing Johnny notices when he manages to open his eyes, flat on his back on a cobbled road, smeared with blood that isn't just his.

When his mind comes back to him, Johnny feels his stomach both drop and slingshot into the stratosphere.

Fuck. The building, the objective, this was bad.

He scrambles to his feet so fast that his head pounds that he nearly misses an incoming transmission on his radio. It's Ghost, roaring into hie ear as he runs somewhere.

"What the hell was that, MacTavish?! The rookie's in there!"

Everything in the world quiets for a dragging moment as those words finally make it to his (probably bruised) brain. The rookie. How could he have forgotten the rookie was in there? Oh god. The rookie was in there. He hadn't known that when he blew that shit sky-high to finally clear it out.

Still, when he looks to the steaming rubble, so hot that some of the glass is melting, he knows it's a hopeless endeavor.

He knows it's hopeless, but that doesn't stop him from screaming your name, callsign, anything, trying to get a response.

Even as Ghost yells his ears out over comms. Even as Price joins in. Even as Gaz reports that he's at exfil, injured but okay, shaky-voiced like he's barely holding it together.

His knees sizzle and burn when he's on all fours, hopelessly scraping at the concrete and steel, overturning everything he can in some prayer to a god deaf to this moment to find you.

You, who'd stumbled ass-backward into this team and managed to root yourself down like a dandelion, so tenacious that even the usual harsh treatment had been anything more than an obstacle, another checkpoint in the game-ified quest system that you used to organize your life.

You, who'd been the first person to grab Johnny by the collar and scream so loud his ear had popped when he had knowingly slighted you to look better at the end of your first op.

You, who made him work for your time, who hadn't been scared to tell him straight to his face that you hated his guts.

You, who warmed up slowly.

You, who had become Johnny's very closest confidant, because you weren't afraid to call him on his shit, but always tried to understand.

You.

And now, like always, Johnny has done something too fucking rash. Made the wrong call, blew the bomb too soon to keep himself safe and now you're under the rubble of his mistakes, being crushed under the weight.

But he'll fix it. It doesn't matter that his skin is peeling back and singing off in his hands, or that one of his nails was pulled all the way out from a burr in the steel getting caught on it. It doesn't matter that Johnny knows he smells too much burnt flesh for it to just be his own. It doesn't matter that he can't see your form yet, because he knows that if he digs long enough, you have to be in here. And you'll be hurt.

But you'll be okay.

You'll be on his ass about this for years, and you'll chew him out when he patches you up, but you'll be okay.

He's not sure how long that frenzied state lasts. Not really, but he knows there's a hand on his shoulder when he tears a window from it's frame, cutting his hands.

It's Simon, standing over him. Johnny doesn't look back, but he knows, because it's too quiet.

"...Johnny. Exfil."

His voice is mercifully soft. Gruff, but soft, because Simon knows this stings Johnny far more than it does him. You'd been... good. He didn't let you close, but he knew he wouldn't have regretted it if he had.

You would have been a good soldier. Much better than him or Johnny. Fuck, maybe even better than Price if you really buckled down like you wanted to. You had been smart, just stubborn enough.

Kyle was already a mess in the helicopter, halfway to snapping as Nikolai talks him back down. Johnny was far more stubborn.

"No. M' gonna find 'em, Simon, m' gonnae fuckin' find 'em because they've gotta be in here somewhere an' I cannae just leave them behind-"

It's now that Johnny realizes he's been crying. The drops are fat and heavy, rolling down dirtied cheeks and cutting clean pathways, drawing lines of his own tanned skin.

He hears Ghost sigh, and a loud crack as the butt of a pistol is slammed into his head, and his thoughts are cut off.

I’m sorry. This is a spite piece for my instagram. Follow me @peanut_and_butter_artistry there.

Love and Nature

Osdea, the god of love, fell hopelessly in love with the god of nature, Ezella. Osdea tried everything she could to have the indifferent god acknowledge her, but Ezella never gave her the time of day. Osdea tried helping the flora and fauna, hoping to appeal to the god of nature through kindness. She tried befriending the different nature spirits, attempting to learn anything about Ezella. She tried just being in the same area as Ezella often, so maybe they'd take an interest in her, like she had in them.

Finally, when Osdea had given up hope in all else, she brought Ezella a small bouquet of flowers, ones she had seen them care for, and tried talking to the god. Ezella curtly turned Osdea down, but Osdea saw this as progress, for she had finally gotten Ezella to acknowledge her! And so Osdea brought another bouquet of flowers the next day, with the same result. She continued bringing flowers every day, each time with the same result.

On the fourth day, Ezella, growing steadily losing what little patience they had left from the frequent irritations said, "Every day you cut and bring me flowers that I have grown. Every day I turn you down, but that still does not seem to dissuade you. Your young naivety seems to know no bounds, so let me put this as plainly as possible. For as long as you continue bothering me and cutting the flowers I have grown and calling it a gift, I will never return your affections."

Osdea, stunned, watched as the god of nature swiftly turned and walked away, her eyes never lingering from their back, not even when her face grew warm or when the world in front of her clouded too an unrecognizable blur of colours. Only when Ezella was long out of sight was Osdea able to move, collapsing to her knees, and crushing the flowers.

She didn't even remember dropping them.

Hastily, she tried straightening the broken stems and rightening the misplaced petals, but the tears and her shaking hands only worsened the damage until her lap was covered in flower petals and leaves. She held the broken and baren flower stems to her chest, head in her lap and arms wrapped around her trembling body.

Gradually, slowly, her tears sprouted new flowers, wrapping first around the edges of her feet, then her dress and legs, her torso, her arms, her neck, her hair, her head. Oh so gradually, the suffocating pain in her chest took on a new shape; a shape that made more sense. Oh so slowly, her tears did dry, and the flowers clinging to her form began to bloom.

The forest nymphs were the first to find her. The rising sun painted her skin a brilliant golden colour through the shadows of towering trees and their vibrant green leaves. The delicate white of fresh blooms sparsely covering her form seemed to sing at their first sight of light. The god's chest rose and fell slowly as she laid sprawled across the forest floor, as if asleep. The nymphs, simply relieved that the poor god was no longer weeping, left her to sleep.

Osdea was not asleep. How could she sleep with the ceaseless, creeping pain inside her chest?

As the nymphs left, tears escaped and trickled down their familiar path over her skin and in between the delicate flowers.

The nymphs returned at sundown, the god's chest still steadily rising and falling, eyes closed to the world. The white flowers from before now more thoroughly covering her, and new flowers blooming at the edges of her face, there was very little of the god that was left untouched now. Small pin-pricks of blood scattered across her body where the flowers weaved their way through her skin.

Still, the nymphs left Osdea to her slumber. Still, Osdea was not asleep. She was paralyzed, as if the flowers had taken root in her muscles, rendering them completely useless. If nothing else, the whites and greens of the flowers and their stems, set against the dimming light of the falling sun brought some small glimmer of happiness to the sorrowful god.

'Perhaps,' thought the god 'this is the true nature of life; holding onto the smallest glimmer of hope and joy, no matter the cost.' Tears welled along her eyes once again, now hidden beneath a thin layer of foliage.

The petite white flowers weaving and sprouting through her skin were not what troubled Osdea. What troubled her was the feeling of small, sharp barbs being dragged through the inner linings of her being. Treacherously slowly, the talons clawed their way up her chest and into her throat. Every tentative rise and fall of her chest, every movement, no matter how small, pressed the stabbing blades in further.

Osdea learned what she could and could not do quite quicky. Movement was strictly forbidden. The god was still allowed to breathe, but gradually even that privileged had been restricted until her breaths were slow and shallow and her head grew light. She was not allowed to speak. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to croak out even a single word. But she was fine with that. She had no one to listen to her words anyways.

The stars above shone so brightly. Somehow, they seemed brighter than usual, almost as if they wept for the god, their small lights ever so slightly growing before trembling and shrinking again. The stars and their weeping slowly began to fade away as dawn drew near, and clouds covered the sky like a heavy blanket. Osdea could feel the plants blanketing her body still in anticipation. The world around her seemed to hold it's breath as she swam in and out of consciousness. She could still breathe. She didn't know why she was struggling. Her head felt so heavy.

The clouds were painted a brilliant ruby red, painting the forest in hues of pink. Osdea had never seen a sky quite like that, and she knew she never would again. A faint smile spread across her lips. This much she was still allowed.

She couldn't breathe.

The world fluttered in and out of existence, as if a butterfly were sat on her nose.

She was okay.

The sun began to crest its head over the horizon, vibrant scarlet to match the clouds above. The birds did not sing, nor did the deer begin to stir. The nymphs would not visit this morning.

She would be okay.

In and out, the world faded and re-ignited repeatedly. Dark crimson shadows fell over the forest. White flowers were painted pink.

It would be okay.

The world of reds and dark shadows swam in front of Osdea's eyes. From the darkness, her eyes landed on one figure, slowly approaching. The darkness encroached and consumed her vision. She pried her eyelids open, even if only once more. She would not let herself be robbed of her sight. Not yet.

She was out of time. She was not okay. She didn't want to die.

Light returned to the god. A soft face filled with love and sorrow stared down at her. For a moment, Osdea forgot about the tearing thorns in her chest, about the flowers covering her body, about the air missing from her lungs. For a moment, Osdea felt like she was dancing through the forest again, wanting nothing more than for Ezella to turn their attention to her.

Osdea watched as Ezella's lips moved, but no sound ever reached her ears. Why couldn't she hear the god? Why couldn't she hear the one person who's voice had rung through her head for days now?

Osdea opened her mouth, but the words she wanted to say were torn apart by the thorns within before they ever knew the breath of life. The scene before her clouded to a blur of reds again with only Ezella remaining in focus.

Ezella leaned down, filling Osdea's vision. Soft lips found her forehead, as if the flowers had parted specially for them. A drop of water rolled down her temple. It was warm. It was cold.

The clouds faded from her vision, and the thorns in her lungs disappeared. The god of love no longer felt the pinpricks of flowers weaving through her skin.

The god of nature rose with the rising sun, and began their daily care for the earth and its creatures.

The sun rose on the second morning. Where had previously laid Osdea, the god of love, now laid a beautiful flower bed, alive with dusty blues and pure whites. Sat in the center of the bed was a bush of roses, petals and thorns dyed the same blood-red colour.

good omens hunger games

Oneshot -Killing Butterflies

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Ships: Aether x reader ; Childe x reader ; Childe x Zhongli

TW: Aether x reader ; reader x Tartaglia ; Tartaglia x Zhongli (if you squint) ; Major angst ; character death ; hurt no comfort ; Aether loves reader, reader loves Tartaglia, Tartaglia loves Zhongli ; reader dies ; implied death ; gn reader-no gender is given to reader

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This is a whole bucket full of angst so have fun lol. Also, for context i would recommend reading this post of mine. Anyways enjoy reading! (*^▽^*)

Aether couldn't bear to see you like this. To watch you through yourself at him when he no longer loved you. It was pitiful really. How you begged for him to stay. You were attached to him while he moved on. Tartaglia didn't hate you, he simply didn't love you anymore. Tartaglia moved on and fell in love with someone else; his best friend. You couldn't do anything about it but simply accept what had happened. Though you could never move on from him as he had done.  

And so Aether watched as you fell deeper into despair. He tried to lift you up, to show you how much you were loved and that you didn't need Tartaglia to feel loved, that there was someone else who loved you dearly. You were too blinded by your sorrow to notice how Aether thought of you.  

As much as Aether wanted to do more for you he couldn't and so he let himself be a shoulder to cry on for you. Hoping. Praying. That one day you would see how much he cared for you. 

You had been going to Aether nearly every day for about a week just to cry. He was your dearest friend after all.  Until one day you stopped.  

Aether thought you simply needed a bit of space to get over your heartache.  

That was a week ago though. 

It had been two weeks since he last saw you, and he was getting worried.  

He stood outside your home, knocked, telling you it was only him and that he was worried because he hadn't saw you in two weeks. 

Silence 

He knocked again. 

Nothing 

He wasn't fond of entering without your permission but he had to make sure you were alright. He needed to make sure. 

He went to open the door to find it was unlocked already, though it wasn't uncommon for you, it seemed to unnerve him for some reason. Your home was dark, the curtains were all closed and no light was on. The lack of light only made him worry more. You always had light in your home whether from open curtains or candles lit at night so for your house to be so dark in the middle of the day was worrisome. He walked around your house looking for you until he came to your room. 

The door was closed and at first it seemed deadly silent from within your room as it was in the rest of your house. He stood there silently until he heard what sounded like a sob come from within your room. He opened the door to find you curled in on yourself in the corner of the room on your bed.  

"Y/n are you-" 

However you were surrounded by butterflies. 

Red butterflies. 

Blood Red butterflies 

"Aether?" 

He knew what was happening. He had seen this before. A friend from another world had died the exact same way, but he hadn't heard of it happening on Teyvat. He didn’t think it was possible here. He didn't want to believe it.  

"How long has this been going on for y/n?" Aether inquired while walking over to your side. 

"A-about two weeks now," you paused, taking a breath. "Aether do you know what's wrong with me?" 

The look in Aether's eyes told you the answer to your question. It hurt Aether to see you like this, to hear you sound broken. It seemed that at the very least the disease wasn't well known in Teyvat if at all. 

You didn't have much longer. It was obvious with how pale you were and the number of butterflies around you. Most people barely survived a month with the disease. Typically the victim died within three to four weeks of obtaining it. So it was easy to tell you would be dead soon. 

He stayed by your side, tending to you as you slowly grew weaker and couldn't perform simple tasks let alone even walk. The only time he left your side was to inform Tartaglia of your condition and what was going to happen as well as ask Albedo if he knew anything of the disease. 

Aether was told that while it did exist in Teyvat, it was extremely rare. 

The moment Aether got back he was immediately by your side again. 

You died in his arms five days later. 

He laid you down on your bed as the butterflies landed on and around you to rest peacefully alongside with you.  

Aether sat on the ground next to your bed, closing his eyes only to start coughing. He looked at his hand only to be met with flowers. 

Red flowers. 

Blood Red flowers. 

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I've come to realize that while I'm not the biggest fan of reading angst, I sure do love writing it.

I know that 3rd life's already been over for a long time, but I couldn't resist drawing heavy angst of my two favorite boys :)

Spin this wheel of ~300 AO3 tags three times.

loss of mein liebe | könig x f!reader angst (lowercase intended)

TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, severe angst, torture, blood, weapons, mentions of sexual assault (does NOT actually occur), NOT CANON AT ALL, NOT EDITED VERY MUCH, written at 3 am so probably incoherant at some points :p

2,000 ish words

it had been two weeks since she had been taken. kidnapped by the russians after a failed mission. neither kortac nor the 141 (who ironically were working together on this mission) had any idea where she could've been. that was until they had received a small parcel (addressed to konig). inside were her bloodied dog tags. konig immediately threw the items across the room and began researching where the package came from until finally, he was zeroed in on the location. somewhere in liski, russia. immediately, he called an order to drop everything to go save his little liebe.

a few days later, he now found himself alone in the basement of the warehouse, while the 141 scouted the rest of the building. konig walked around the dark, dingy spaces, looking for anywhere his little prinzessin could be. the building was suspiciously empty, the 141 reported, but konig was too focused on finding her to notice how strange it was. after stumbling upon a multitude of empty rooms, he finally came to the last room at the end of the basement hallway. peering inside the small window, he spied his liebe.

bloodied. beaten. unconscious.

he kicked the door open, forgetting all protocol. his liebe was more important. not that it was important anyway. other than konig and his princess, the room was empty.

her wrists are bound by rope and tied to the ceiling, caked in blood as they were too tight. a fresh scar dragged from her eyebrow to her cheek, caked with blood. her feet were an inch off the ground as she dangled from her wrists. her clothes were torn and bloody and her hair matted and dirty. she was hardly breathing. a dirty, bloody cloth was stuffed in her mouth, gagging her, perhaps to muffle her screams while she was tortured. a small, broken camera was attached to the corner of the ceiling.

“nicht schlafen, meine prinzessin…” könig murmured softly in german, softly patting her cheek. he felt his whole body tense up as he came near her--but then, he relaxed. noticing her ragged breathing, he cut off the rope with his combat knife.

placing her onto her feet, he held her steady and gently wiped her scars with his gloved hand. “please. open your eyes…” he whispered.

she stirred gently, opening her eyes and seeing konig. but she didn't see konig. she saw another man - coming to torture her. perhaps kill her. from behind the gag in her mouth, she began screaming and crying, the salty tears stinging the scar on her cheek. she kicked at konig, trying to save herself from more pain.

“schatz! it’s me!” könig cried, pulling her into a comforting embrace. “it’s me! i’m here to save you!” könig loosened her gag and gently pulled it from her mouth as her screams continued. “it’s your könig, your darling, your love… I’ve come to save you--” but her screams continued.

“i’m getting you out of here,” he assured, carefully picking her up and cradling her in his arms. “we have to go, my love. we have to go now.” but she still was in hysterics. flailing, screaming, kicking, crying. so hard that an old stab wound on her stomach began bleeding again. so much that her wrists began to drip blood onto the cold concrete floor.

“stop,” he said calmly in german, attempting to silence her by hushing her into his chest. “sweetheart, calm down. i’m here to save you, and you know it. i know it. but i can’t get you out of here unless you keep quiet.” he took his white handkerchief and carefully covered the wound on her stomach, trying to slow the bleeding. “you have to be quiet for me, my beloved, okay? i know you’re scared, i know i’m the last person you’d ever expect to see right now.”

she tries to talk from behind the gag in her mouth but all that can be heard are muffled cries.

“shh,” he repeated in german, shushing her into his chest once more. “my love, you know i’m the only person who could rescue you. you trust me, don’t you? trust that i’ll keep us both safe and that no harm will come to you while i’m here.” könig gently traced her face with his gloved hand. he carefully removed the gag from her mouth. “i need you to be quiet,” he said one last time.

"please… please don't hurt me." she whimpered.

“shh…” he gently shushed her again, using a finger to silence her. “i haven’t come to hurt you--you know that. i would never hurt you, not on purpose. i just need you to stay quiet while i get us out of here, okay, liebeling?” könig glanced to the door of the dingy, dark, dirty cell, and began planning their exit.

"who… who are you. please i want to go home. please i dont know anything" she begged, still not in her right mind.

“ich bin könig,” he said softly in german, placing a protective arm around her as he spoke softly to reassure her of his presence. “i know you’re confused, my love. i know you’re scared, and that you want to go home. and I’m going to take you home to your safe, warm bed, i promise. i just need you to help me out and stay quiet, okay?”

könig gently caressed her cheek, running his hand through her hair before kissing the top of her forehead.

her eyebrows furrowed. no torturer would kiss her forehead. finally, she looks into his eyes.

"k-konig?" she asked, tears streaming down her face as she remembered her beloved. "how did you find me? you have to go! they'll kill you! please! leave me!"

“no,” he whispered firmly, “i’m not leaving you here. you know i’d never leave you here. ich liebe dich. i love you too much to let anything bad happen to you. and you know that.” he stroked her dirty hair. “we’re leaving together,” he continued, “just please stay quiet. i promise you— you’ll be okay.”

and suddenly, an alarm rings out. they know he's here. they knew konig would try to save her.

it was a trap all along. konig's eyes fill with fear. his little liebe begins to cry again.

“scheiße,” könig swore under his breath, hearing the alarm ring out and the clanging of men’s feet as boots rushed towards the door.

he quickly pulled her into a protective embrace, holding her close to him, trying to think of a way out. there was only one exit in the room and only one way out of the dingy basement hallway. in an attempt to quiet her sobs, he put a gentle hand around her mouth.

“just stay silent, princess,” he murmured in her ear while the soldiers rummaged around. “it’s fine… we’ll be fine.” he promised as the sound of kicked-in doors began to grow ever closer.

even with his hand silencing her, another sob rings out.

“Nnein, nein, meine liebe… du tust mir so leid,” he whispered in german. he sighed and hugged her tighter, burying his face into her shoulder. “alles wird gut sein, nur halt ruhig.” he urged, trying to calm her.

könig held her close to him, trying to reassure her that it would be okay, even if it was a lie.

"well, well, well." a voice rang out. they had been found. the leader of the russian military walked in, a smirk on his face. "we knew you'd come for your little liebe konig." he explained as eight men raised their guns towards konig and the love of his life, who was still bleeding and crying in his arms. her tears doubled after realizing they had been caught. they were gonna die. she knew it.

“tch.” könig narrowed his eyes at the smug bastard standing in his way, clutching the love of his life tightly. he wasn’t about to die here, not when so close to his princess. not when she needed him. and he damn well wasn't going to let her die. that was never an option.

“i don’t care how many men you have, you’re going to have to pry my princess from my cold, dead hands,” he sneered, standing tall and pulling the knife from his belt. Two can play that game.

"hm. so be it! MEN! bring me the girl!" he called. four huge men with even bigger guns rushed forward, ripping the girl from konigs arms, pointing their guns at him to make sure he didnt move. konig raised his arms in defeat. one man escorted her back to the russian leader.

"well. it seems you have lost again, konig. it's a shame i have to kill your little princess in front of you. she is quite delicious" the russian man says, sniffing her neck creepily. she lets out another cry. "shut up!" the russian yells and slaps her across the face, splitting her lip and causing her to fall to the floor. he drags her up and holds a knife to her throat. "any last words, konig?"

"nein! nicht meine prinzessin! take me instead!" he snarled, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. he had to get the girl out of this alive. even if he had to die in her place. the russian man simply laughed.

"oh too late, my boy. i might even keep this one for myself. she's so young and easy to break" he licked her neck, causing her to flinch. "i think i want to make this slow and painful. for both of you," he says cockily.

"nein! ich tue alles was du willst! schatz, lass mich die nehmen, bitte!" könig begged in german, looking around at the four men holding guns to him with a pleading expression. he wouldn't die for nothing, not without trying to save her. he had to try.

"maybe i'll make you watch as i take her. and then i'll make you watch as each of my men take her. only when i'm finished, will i make you watch as i slit her pretty throat and watch her bleed out like the swine she is." he spits.

“du verdammte arschgeige!” König swore in a growl, anger flashing across his face. he wouldn’t be powerless against a man who would harm an innocent girl. with his free hand, he threw his knife at the leader, aiming for the throat. the man simply sidesteps and the knife hits the concrete wall instead, clattering to the floor.

the leader laughs at konig's futile attempt. "well, have it your way. men! restrain him! he's going to watch as the life drains from her eyes." the eight men tie konig up, the same way he had found his princess. hands in the air, feet barely touching the ground. no matter how much konig tried, he could not escape.

"bitte, ich bitte dich! ich will sie nicht sterben sehen! ich liebe sie!" in his panic, könig forgot all of his english lessons and reverted back to his mother language in a desperate and emotional tone. He wouldn't let his girl die! könig struggled as the eight men tied him up, gritting his teeth and letting out frustrated growling noises as he tried to escape.

the russian leader only laughs. konig's princess lets a tear drip down her face.

"konig." she calls. he looks at her, his cerulean eyes full of tears. "it's okay konig. it'll be okay." she says with a knife against her throat. she smiles sadly. "i love you. i loev you so much. never forget that." she said trembling.

könig roared, desperately straining against the ropes that tied him up. tears streaked down his face as he watched helplessly.

“don’t talk like that!” könig cried, his voice cracking. "im going to get ou out of here!"

“ws ist nicht zu spät, schatz, ich liebe dich!” he pleaded, shaking violently and pulling desperately at the ropes. “don’t say it’s okay… ich liebe dich noch mehr!”

"say goodbye to your little liebe, konig!" the russian yells. his eight soldiers all release a booming laugh at konig's desperation.

“du verdammter arschgeige!”

könig threw his head back and thrashed wildly against his bonds, his voice growing hoarse and desperate as he yelled at the leader in a fit of rage.

“ich werde dich ficken, und deine verdammte arschgeige!” he roared, spitting as he shouted at the leader.

the russian man only laughs as he presses the blade into her throat harder and drags it swiftly across, cutting into the girl's jugular. he laughs as she holds her throat and blood spills out. he laughs as she drops to the floor, gurgling on her blood. he laughs as the life begins to drain out of her eyes. through all the blood, she looks to konig and lets out a gurgling "i love you." before she stills.

“nein! nein, meine liebe!” König pleaded desperately. "bleib bitte bei mir! ohne dich kann ich das nicht schaffen!"

but it's too late. konig's libeling is gone. the russian men laugh and walk out of the cell, locking it behind them. leaving konig alone with her lifeless body.

a dark, ominous feeling flooded the air and enveloped the room like a fog as if it were the embodiment of the very hopelessness that hung heavy in the air.

könig fell silent, tears freely flowing from his eyes as he looked down at his princess.

his mind went blank as he stood, bound and helpless, next to the body of his love. her dark brown eyes were still open and her blood ran from her mouth, filling the crevice the scar in her cheek had left.

finally, the ropes gave under konig's constant thrashing. immediately, he ran over to his little liebe.

könig held the body of his princess close to him, weeping silently as he cradled her lifeless body in his arms. the loss of his love felt like a stab to the heart, piercing his chest with such an unbearable pain that he thought he was never going to feel anything again. könig's sobbing continued, drowning in grief and sorrow that was as deep as the very oceans.

suddenly, ghost and the rest of the 141 kicked the door down, guns raised only to be met with the scene in front of them. they were too late.

ghost stood in the doorway, his heart dropping at the sight in front of him. "könig." he said, stunned and hurt. könig looked over at ghost with pained, tear-filled eyes, his arms wrapped tightly around the body of his princess, who lay lifeless in his arms.

"she's gone…." konig said, a tear dripping off his chin and landing on her cheek.

ghost walked over quietly , kneeled down next to konig and reached his hand towards her face. konig, thinking he was going to hurt her, pulls out a gun and holds it to ghost's face. "mate…" ghost says sadly. ghost reaches over to the girls face and closes her gentle brown eyes. "look. now she's sleeping." he said softly. the rest of the 141 boys were quiet, faces downcast, unspeaking.

tears filled könig’s eyes as they watched ghost close the girl’s eyes.

“she looks so peaceful…” könig whispered. He continued to hold the body close to him, a part of him not wanting to let go.

“thank you….” he muttered, lowering the gun.

"mates.. we have to go," soap said to ghost and konig. "we don't want to be here when they come back to find konig."

a dark silence filled the air, the only sounds being the soft crying and sobbing of könig.

könig looked up at ghost, his face contorted with anguish and pain as he sniffled, wiping away tear trails with the sleeve of his shirt.

a nod was the only reply könig could give, and he allowed ghost and soap to lead him to the exit.

konig looked back, hoping that maybe the world was playing some cruel joke on him. hoping that his little liebe would put on her perfect smile and jump up saying "just kidding." pull another one of her silly jokes that konig rarely found funny. but she never did. and she never would.

with the weight of a mountain on his shoulders and pit the size of an ocean in his chest, könig followed ghost and soap as they walked out the door and into the night.

the weight of the world felt like it was pushing down on him, threatening to tear him apart. but the weight of the ring box in his pocket seemed infinitely heavier.

könig's world had been shattered by the loss of his princess, and a piece of him died with her. a piece he would never get back.

i am

so sorry?

for my bad writing

for the scenario :)

Yeosang pouted, ignoring Seongwha when he sat next to him on the bed.``Come on, Yeosang, are you rot going to get ready? We're going to be late, and you know tonight is an important night! You're supposed to…” He doesn't get a chance to finish because they were interrupted by Hongjoong, knocking on Yeonsang's bedroom door.``Are you guys ready to go? Could we have a drink before we head to the party? We are going to need it!” He says as he hands the other two shot glasses and pours them a drink. As they down their shots Seongwha again tries to convince the younger to dress up and wear a mask. "Come on, Yeo! It's just a company party! It won't be that bad!"Mingi chime in. Yeonsang huff; by this point, Seongwha's grown so annoyed. And decides to take matters into his own hands by picking the younger up and carrying him to the limo.``You're going!”So help me, Yeonsang “Songwha chides as he puts the other in the car and gets in

“ Bored” would be how he described his feelings, as he sits at the bar trying to find some distraction to pass the time. As he readjusts his mask, for what seems like the millionth time, he thinks, “Geez, another boring New year's eve party that his parents were throwing!” Disappointed, knowing that besides Yeosang, there would not be anyone here to keep his interest. And he wasn't even sure the other would come?”He thinks as his best slips into the seat next to him.”Find anything or anyone that has caught your attention? You know since you seem so delighted to be here?”He teased as he ordered himself a drink and waited for Wooyoung's response.``You know I can't play this game! I'm supposed to meet Yeosang tonight, and my parents will kill me if I fuck this up.” I'm offended you would think so little of me.``I was going to suggest that you slip behind the bar pretending to be the bartender. When he spotted a man's face that has been in his mind since he had found out about the arranged marriage, however, when the other approaches the bar, Wooyoung smiles and winks as he asks him,” Can I make you drink, your hundredth patron, so your drink is on the house?” He jokes as Yeosang rolls his eyes. Wooyoung could not help but laugh at the brunette sassiness." Sorry, I'm not interested! In whatever game you're trying to play! I'm supposed to meet someone!" He hears the other confess with a slight tone of annoyance. A few minutes later when the brunette looked down and noticed the drink in front of him. Unapologetically, the other says. “Ummm, what is this? I know for a fact that I didn't specify what I wanted to drink? So what is this??” You have So many questions! That I might have the answer to, "Woo says. "While you wait for your date, how about we play a game? For every question that I answer, you have to answer one of mine, okay?" He suggests hoping that the other takes the bait. Thankfully after a few seconds of thinking, “ Okay, but only till my date gets here.” The other buffs as Wooyoung smile. "I'll go first! Now to answer your first question, the drink I made you was called "Love potion!"TIn other words, Yeosang spits out his drink.”I should have known; you would say something stupid! And totally. "He sighed. Without giving the other a chance, surprised when he hears Yeosang fire a question at him "So What is the name of the person you're supposed to meet tonight?"He curiously asked, even though he already knew the answer. " Umm, he's my boss's son, and his name is Wooyoung." The other says Woo noticed the other being hesitant about the information to a stranger. It's funny because Wooyoong knew the answer, yet to hear those words made this whole thing real. Now feeling impulsive, he ran around and took the other hand."Your board: I'm bored. We both know this party is lame, and you seem nervous and uninterested in meeting ”Wooyoung'' so let's go make our party?" He suggests before the other could answer him,m he was in the elevator taking it to the rooftop.

Once they reached the roof, he laid his jacket on the floor,or and he gestured to the other to come over laughing when the other looked annoyed but still joined him. The two of them could hear people counting down the whereas 2 minutes till midnight. " So if we're telling the truth i,'m surprised you came with me! Especially since you're supposed to be meeting some?"He confessed and got nothing but a noncommittal nod leaving them in silence that lasted a few minutes. " 10, 9, 8, 7, 6,5,4,3 2,1! Happy New year, Yeosang!" The words slip from his mouth and quickly kiss him as they get interrupted by someone clearing their throat.” When were you going to tell me who you were?” Yeosang asks, clearly feeling betrayed

And that's when he hears someone behind him.” Excuse me!!We were in the middle of something," Woo says as he looks up and notices it's his best friend.” Don't hi, me? You left and I had to cover for you! It's 9 am and if I don't get you home,you won't have time to change before your dinner date with Kane's "He jokes as he guides him out the door and into his car.

Whumptober Day 3 - Isolation

"..He was so tired..Maybe if he just rested his eyes for a second, he’d wake up and someone would find him."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50547979

Song; 'Aeroplane Over The Sea' - Neutral Milk Hotel

I have a few characters in mind.

I love lots of good, heartbreaking, absolutely traumatising angst with a smol fluff scene at the end. LOTS of angst, mind you. But major character death? :,) WHYYY

Pain

Word count: 422

He thought he knew what pain was.

God knows he had experienced enough of it. Whether it be physical or psychological pain, it was as if the universe decided that there must be one person who'd be destined to collect all the different types of pain and suffering like other people collect stamps.

But the pain he felt the second he saw the bullet hammer into Soaps head, life slipping out of his eyes in the fraction of a second was nothing he'd ever known before.

In the second it took for Soap, Johnny, to fall to the ground, a vivid image flashed through his mind. Not of the things that were, but of those that could've been. Their eyes locked onto each other, hands entertwined, lips pressed against the other's. A ring on his finger.

The amount of regret that filled his body was unbearable, it felt like flames burning through his skin and into his bones. He regretted so much. Things he never dared to say or do, out of fear of allowing himself to feel again, feel vulnerable for loving someone. It seemed so foolishly insignificant now. He'd do and give anything to hear that stupid scottish accent and see that stupid smug grin again. To get a chance of telling him what he meant to him. That he was the only good thing he had. That he had a reason to return from his missions.

That he loved him.

But now, it was too late. He wanted to rip the skin off his bones in despair.

His body was on autopilot as he made his way towards Soap, the black fabric of his mask wet with tears. "Johnny!", he yelled, voice straining, trying to contain the raging sea of emotions that flooded every fiber of his being.

He held him in his arms, and for the first time in a long while, he screamed out in his mind to God, pleading, begging for a pulse. For a shaky, unsteady breath. For his Johnny.

But nothing came.

The highlands were as beautiful as Johnny always said. The sunset bathed the landscape in a golden light. As they poured Johnnys ashes from the cliff, letting the wind carry it away, his mask was soaked with tears.

The one thing he wanted, craved, the only man he ever loved, was reduced to nothing more than ashes.

It cost him every ounce of self restraint not to throw himself after those ashes.

What was his life worth, if Johnny wasn't in it?

WHY....just why you made me cry..... God why it's like hanahaki disease whyyyyyy

Unrequited love, any ship, that one where a song starts playing in someone's head once they fall in love and will keep playing until the person goes insane or until the person they fell in love with confesses, but they kill themselves before the other one gets a chance to?

Just an idea

do it or you're white

A/n: Hey, it didn’t take her months after the last one this time! I still apologize though ‘cause I know this was still sent in so long ago. Also I may have gotten carried away uhhh. Safe to say, I loved the prompt and my head and fingers went brrr. I apologize in advance. Hope you like it, fam!

Too Close, Too Late

Warning/s: Major Character Death, suicide, mention of suicide attempts, suicidal ideation, self-harm, figurative mentions of sharp objects, panic attacks, unrequited love, please please tell me if I missed anything

Pairing/s: Unrequited Analogical (Virgil x Logan)

Word Count: 6898 words

Song: Too Close by Alex Clare

~~~~~

You know I'm not one to break promises

I don't want to hurt you but I need to breathe

Virgil drags out a breath as he plops backward onto his bed, eyes closed and headphones over his ears. Thomas has gotten attached to this one particular song lately -- “Too Close” by Alex Clare. Virgil doesn’t understand why Thomas suddenly grew a liking to it. The song was released ten years ago, and it was hardly a masterpiece. But Thomas likes it, ergo, Virgil does too, much to his dismay. 

It’s catchy, though. He’ll give it that.

He’s put his playlist on shuffle for the past few days to try and get the song out of his system, but for some reason the darned thing just keeps popping up, and Virgil never has the will to skip it.

It isn’t that the song is terrible, it isn’t the opposite either. It’s that it reminds him too much of a certain side; a side he’s been avoiding lately, one who’s started noticing.

It reminds him of Logan.

At the end of it all, you're still my best friend

But there's something inside that I need to release

They’ve always been close. Roman and Patton’s undying, exuberant energy was too much for them, while Janus and Remus’ chaotic antics didn’t always sit perfectly with Virgil or Logan as well. They both grew to find indulgence in harmless little debates, peace when they sat in silence on the couch reading books, company in the way they made coffee together, calling each other out for their drastically different tastes. 

He dared to call Logan his best friend, and Virgil was stupid enough to fall in love.

He knew he was truly, deeply fucked when his chest ached in warmth and his eyes stared in wonder every time Logan talked about the universe and the heavenly bodies it contained. He knew it when his breath hitched every time their hands brushed as they hunted for books in the mindscape library. He felt it when Logan left them in Patton’s room once when they were all drowning in nostalgia and no one had listened, the empty space beside him too obvious and too real. 

He realized it when Logan gave him that audiobook gift card for Christmas and they spent the whole afternoon browsing through catalogues and listening side by side. He confirmed it when he stayed with Logan through a stressful week, getting him to smile for the first time in days, keeping the beauty of his laughter all to himself.

He falls in love with Logan a little bit more each day that it hurts to even just be near him; close enough to touch, but never daring to. 

Which way is right, which way is wrong

How do I say that I need to move on

You know we're headed separate ways

Logan is the sun-- dazzling, bright, and radiant in all the magnificence of its rays, but scalding,  deadly, dangerous once one veers close, lest they desire to suffer ‘till their forms are reduced to nothing but ash.

And maybe Virgil is already burnt, walking Thomas’ mindscape as ash, wanting to drift through the breeze if only to graze Logan’s brilliance at a microscopic scale, forever fearing the possibility of disintegrating into anything further.

He wants to stay friends, he really does. Every second he spends in avoidance of Logan is a thorn to his chest, and he pretends not to notice the lack of luster in Logan’s voice when he declines yet another visit to the library earlier that day. He feels awful subjecting his best friend to this isolation, and it feels just as excruciating for Virgil to lock himself away like this.

When he thinks of being with Logan, he thinks of how he relishes in his presence, how he feels so much at ease, how he can be himself, how he treasures every star they’ve counted and every song they’ve listened to. But he also thinks of how much he longs to linger in his arms, how he wishes to cup his face in his hands, how he yearns to link his fingers with Logan’s, to trace every fine line in his features, drink in his every word and cherish his every breath. He thinks of how he wants more than what they have, what they are.

Then, as the song comes to an end, he thinks of how he cannot have that, and he thinks of how it hurts.

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

There's nothing I can really say

I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more

Roman invites him out of his room later that night to join them for dinner. Patton always tries to rope everyone together with different activities. None of them mind the efforts; in fact, some of Pat’s pursuits were well received and appreciated, becoming habitual and routine. It’s just that each of them were all so different, too diverse for these events to come about naturally.

Virgil remembers the last time he declined one of Morality’s little get togethers and has well-learned from it. 

He doesn’t know whether it was by chance, fate, or choice that the empty seat laid out for him happens to be beside Logan, but he notices how Logan’s eyes are locked on him as he approaches, and Virgil decides to be courteous enough to look at him back and shoot him a smile. 

Already he feels the rapid beating of his heart, the overwhelming rush of emotions, the falling of his guard. He reminds himself that Anxiety is not supposed to feel safe. His entire facet pivots around emergency exits, towering walls, jolts of fear, and guards paying vigil. Yet as his elbow brushes against Logan’ sleeve sitting down, he feels the trust and tranquility hidden beneath the friendship and infatuation. He fears it, tries to clamp down the feelings rising in his chest, and eats in silence.

Got to be true to myself

The whole table settles into light conversation. Every time Logan talks Virgil’s cheeks grow the slightest bit hotter, yet he remains unspeaking. Logan tries to spur Virgil into joining the talk, tempting him with mentions of double-edged song lyrics and book titles; but he only replies with halved answers and carefully guarded words. If he cannot distance himself physically, then perhaps he can still do so in other ways. 

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

Then he hears it. It’s soft, and almost unnoticeable, but Virgil hears it. His neck snaps to the side right in the middle of Logan’s sentence, trying to look for the source of that same song.

“Virgil? What’s wrong?” Logan asks, and Virgil’s eyes flit towards him, ears still picking up on the faint sounds of the song.

“Don’t you hear it, Lo?” It feels new to be talking to Logan again like this, but he pushes his former agenda aside, if only to at least find the source of the music.

Logan looks around, fork hovering over the food and neck stretching to listen. “I do not hear anything, Virgil.”

Virgil looks to the rest and finds them listening in as well, only for them to confirm nothing but the sounds of cutlery and breathing. As he takes another glance at Logan’s familiar, worried face, the song seems to resound louder.

So I'll be on my way

“Virge? What are you hearing, kiddo?” Patton inquires, napkin clutched loosely in his hand.

Virgil’s fingers shake around his silver utensils, spooked and confused at the premise of no one else but him hearing the recognizable riff. He considers telling them, but anxiety makes him dread what they must think of him once he reveals his plight, what Logan might say upon knowledge of his ridiculous predicament.

So he doesn’t.

“Sorry, uh… it was nothing, probably. Just thought I heard something from the imagination. Maybe I just need sleep or whatever.”

The line works on most of them, sending them into a cascade of reminders for Virgil to take better care of himself, and a few teasing words from Janus and Remus. Logan stays silent, and from the corner of Virgil’s eyes it’s hard to miss how Logan’s brows furrow, before it smoothes again into the usual stoicism he holds often.

The song comes to an end, and Virgil thinks his suffering ends there.

From beside him, Logan stands abruptly. He thanks Patton for the meal, places his dishes in the dishwasher, and retreats into his room. His absence both relieves and disappoints Virgil, bringing him back to when he’d usually follow suit with a half-coherent debate topic on hand, ready to get verbally beaten by Logan in a light-hearted battle of wits.

He doesn’t expect the song to start again.

You gave me more that I can return

Yet there's so much that you deserve

He’s mostly kept to his room since the dinner. He spent the entirety of that night hunting for the source of the music. He checked his phone, his speakers, his headphones. He ventured through the mindscape to relentlessly hunt for where it was coming from, only to come back defeated, tired, and losing his mind over hearing the song for more than ten times in a single night.

He concluded, as he stood in the middle of his messy room, that it was coming from his mind. He didn’t sleep that night, and he still can’t now. It’s grown a bit louder over the days. He tries to ignore it, blasting louder music to drown it out or occupying himself with watching conspiracy videos and writing half-assed poetry until the sun rises yet again without his knowledge. 

But the song’s ceaseless beats continue its tune, like a broken record left to play for eternity.

Nothing to say, nothing to do,

I've nothing to give

He finds his answer at the one-week mark, after scouring countless of articles on the web and timing his visits to the library at times when no one, especially Logan is around. It’s an odd ordeal being in a library when Alex Clare’s voice is playing over and over in your head at a certain volume. He reads about a thing called Musicalia and how this curse happens when one falls into the unfortunate circumstance of unrequited love, only ending once the love is finally reciprocated. That is, assuming the individual has not lost themselves to insanity yet.

The words brand itself in his consciousness, mingling with the notes and lyrics on-repeat. Virgil shuts the book close with trembling hands and heaving breaths, panic threatening to take him over. He tips his head back and breathes, trying his utmost best to keep a steady rhythm despite the confusing tempo in his ears. Images of Logan find its way into the forefront of his thoughts, memories playing out in time to the song, biting Virgil with every lyric and moment his brain throws at him.

He recalls the number of times Logan had emphasized how he did not feel things and how Virgil always corrected him after, telling him to quit denying the fact and spending whole nights in Logan’s room trying to prove to him that he does indeed have the capacity for emotion. 

Though Logan never believed it, Virgil always did-- still does. However, the prospect of Logan harboring feelings for Virgil? It was more impossible than a rock growing wings. Virgil desperately tries to stop the tears from flowing once he thinks about how Logan may never see Virgil the way he sees him, how there is nothing about himself Logan or anyone can possibly love beyond friendship, and how Logan will only ever see him as that. A friend.

“Too Close” restarts again, and he yells, hoping the echoing of his screams will be enough to scare away its taunting notes. He yells as he thinks about how he might have to live with this song trapped in his head forever. 

He cries as he realizes he may not even have forever.

But he can stay sane. He will stay sane. For himself, for Thomas, and for Logan.

I must leave without you

You know we're headed separate ways

He knows he cannot hide in his room forever, and circumstances where he is forced to leave the comforts of his room are unavoidable. None of the sides can control when they are summoned, so Virgil learns to divide his attention. He trains himself to push the record player to the back of his mind to listen to what the rest have to say. He grows accustomed to hiding the twitching of his eyes, the throbbing of his head, and the gritting of his teeth. He clamps down pained groans in front of the others and manages to hold conversations without looking off into space too often.

He still talks with Logan, albeit professionally. They discuss the advantages and disadvantages of attending a social gathering, right times to hold livestreams, mistakes and inconsistencies in their scripts. Virgil sees how the wonder in Logan’s irises have diminished, how the words have lessened, how the cadence of his voice has flattened. And Virgil aches to reach out if only to see Logan’s smile again, to laugh with him until their stomachs hurt, to wear his tie and have him wear his hoodie, to have things back to where they were before.

But every minute he spends with Logan is another notch higher in his curse’s volume, another hit on the replay button, another shard in his head and a thorn in his heart. So he swallows his yearning and keeps their acquaintanceship as a forlorn shot at dwindling his own suffering. 

Sometimes, Virgil thinks if he should instead go the opposite route and restart the fire; mend their friendship and hope for it to grow into something beautiful, something that will throw him out of this endless loop. But every time the suggestion comes to him, the insecurities and the anxiety attack ten-fold, reminding him that Logan never will, especially not now. And he again chooses to instead see how far he can push the fragile threads of his mind.

How long can he last in this never-ending nightmare?

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

There's nothing I can really say

It gets louder with each passing day.  He is not sure how many weeks or months have passed, but to him it’s been eternity. 

Other times he gives in, hopelessly singing along and tapping his palms and fingers against his desk with nothing to do but ride along the song’s sickening, lively beat. He’s memorized it by now, knowing every rise and fall of the singer’s voice and every pitch of the synthetic accompaniment. He doesn’t even register any longer when the song has ended and when it’s started again. 

Most times he’s frantic and furious, exhausted and desperate to have one minute of silence. During those days he loses his control over his body and he lets rip the loudest, ear-curdling screams into the expanses of his room as he throws everything he can lay his hands on. He digs his fingernails into his scalp as if tearing open the skin there will release the song from its cranial prison. He helplessly runs his hands across his face, nails dragging against pale skin, breaths loud and heavy.

All the while he can only think of Logan, the very virus who caused him his anguish and the only person who can cure him of it. Logan, the beacon in the night he blindly flew into, like a moth drawn into the brightest flame in the sky. 

I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more

Got to be true to myself

He’s on his bed hugging his body tight one night, tear stains still fresh and lips mumbling the godforsaken lyrics when it happens. 

He almost doesn’t hear it over the deafening sound waves of the cursed song, but there’s a knock.

He hauls himself out of bed, does a quick check in the mirror, wipes his eyes and dabs powder over his face to give a semblance of stability, and breathes deep as he opens the door.

The volume hikes up again once he sees who’s behind it, his heart hammers in his chest, and it takes all of his strength not to wince from the sheer loudness of the song.

Logan looks like a deer caught in headlights, as though he was not expecting Virgil to open the door. He’s carrying a tray with a plate of Crofters-filled pastries and two glasses of juice, standing slightly awkwardly in his place. Virgil stands just as rigidly, fingers in a death grip on the door knob.

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

“Oh, uhm, hel--salutations, Virgil,” Logan begins, face back into a neutral expression while his arms shake ever so slightly. “Janus and Patton tried their hand at baking a while ago and requested me to bring some in for you. They’re asking for a sort of ‘peer review’ on their work, if you don’t mind.”

Virgil’s grip on the doorknob tightens while his fight or flight instincts try to kick in. His hands then quickly fly out to quite clumsily take the tray from Logan, the slight brush of their fingers intoxicating.

“Cool. I’ll tell them how it is later. Tell them I said ‘thanks’ for me, Lo.” Virgil begins to move the door closed with his foot. “Now, uh, if that’s all--”

“Wait!” Logan sets a hand on the door from his side, keeping it open, eyes wide and staring into Virgil’s intently. “I have also been meaning to discuss something with you, if I may.”

Their eyes stay on each other through the small opening, the tray shaking slightly as the song continues to blare through his mind, and Logan speaks again.

“Please.”

Virgil swears he hears so much emotion in that one word that he double checks to see if this person in front of him is actually Logan. Despite the loud alarms saying otherwise, he finds his walls crumbling once again in front of this man and before he knows it, his foot is nudging the door open.

“Okay. Come in.”

Logan does, and the emotion is expertly wiped off his face. “Thank you.”

Virgil sets the tray on his desk as he sits on his swivel chair, and Logan silently asks permission to sit on his bed. Virgil gives him the ‘go’ signal in the form of a nod and a pained smile. The moment feels wrong. Both of them are too silent, too distant, yet the music in Virgil’s mind is too loud, too alive.

“So, what did ya’ wanna talk about?”

Logan looks down for a bit before looking back up at Virgil. “I only want to know how you are fairing, Virgil. It has been… a while since we last held proper conversation outside of work.”

Virgil feels something in his chest grow heavier. Instinctively, he grabs a pastry from the plate, leans back against the chair, and takes a bite; a false display of laxness and soundness. “Thanks for the concern, pocket protector, but I’m doing a-OK. Honestly don’t know why you’d ask that.”

“Maybe I asked it because you are obviously not.” There’s much more of a bite now in Logan’s tone, and Virgil knows him well enough to be wary when his voice shifts in this manner.

“What are you talking about, Lo? I’ve been attending the meetings, I show up fine when summoned. Hell, I’ve never missed one of Pat’s little ‘family nights’--”

“Let me rephrase the question, then.” Logan clears his throat and the quickest burst of emotion flashes through his features; gone as quick as it came. “How are we fairing?”

The pastry stops short of his mouth, and the song reaches another verse. “Pardon?”

Logan visibly breathes, chest rising and falling asynchronously to Virgil’s personal jukebox. “Virgil, if you need space, then that is respectable. If you wish to have time for yourself then I cannot say or do anything against it.” Logan’s hand goes to his tie, moving as if to adjust it but ending up crumpling it in his grip. “My only request is that… if I have done anything, anything at all that has caused you this distress, anything that may have caused you to disengage from our usual routines together, please tell me.”

Logan keeps face, but the slight gleam in his eyes gives him away. The energy of the song ruins the moment but it doesn’t make the emotions between them any less real.

“Logan… it’s-- it’s not that--”

“Then what is it, Virgil? The easiest course of action for me to take would be to accept your answer, rid myself of unnecessary guilt, and let you be. But these previous months I cannot help but notice how your approach towards me has changed along with a decrease in our customary activities together. I’ve noticed how you have been avoiding me, Virgil, and if I have done anything erroneous at all to bring upon your behavior then I ask that you tell me, so I may make my amends.” Logan’s lips tremble after his words and he waits for Virgil to speak.

Virgil merely stares right back, heart about to beat out of his chest and temples about to burst from throbbing. “Logan, you’ve done nothing wrong, I swear--”

“Then what can I do?” His voice shakes and the neutrality of his features are gone, his most raw emotions lain bare for Virgil to see. “I want what is needed to be fixed, fixed. I want to help you, Virgil. I want us to be okay. I want you to be okay; because I--” Logan pauses, then visibly gulps. “--I am your friend.”

There it is. Friend. The word mocks him, reminds Virgil of his place. He feels a piece of his heart shatter while the song blares even louder, a possibility he wishes never existed.

“Is this not, by definition, what friends do?”  

A sticky concoction of emotions and panic lodges itself in Virgil’s chest, and his next words slip out of his mouth before he even has the chance to think about it twice. 

“No. Friends are supposed to not snoop around and milk answers to wash the guilt out of his hands. Friends are supposed to understand when the other doesn’t want to say shit. And friends leave the other alone when he wishes him to.” Virgil barely hears himself over the thunderous tune, but he is aware of how much he is shaking, sees how uncomposed and trembling Logan is in front of him.

It doesn’t suit him.

So I'll be on my way

“Do you… do you wish for me to? Do you want me to leave you alone?”

No. Virgil’s head and heart both scream “no,” but he is reminded of the dangers, of the pain he might cause both of them if he drags this on any longer. His lips move on its own accord.

“Yes. Please.” It’s barely a whisper, but the pain in Logan’s eyes tells him that he was heard. 

A single tear rolls down Logan’s cheek, but he irons out his features, acting as though the answer doesn’t hurt him. He stands up, smoothes the creases of his tie and shirt, and takes one last look at Virgil. 

“Then as your friend, I will gladly oblige. Don’t forget to send Patton and Janus your thoughts on the confectionary. Good day, Virgil” Logan is out of the door in a few quick strides; pastries and drink forgotten on Virgil’s desk.

So I'll be on my way

The panic finally dislodges itself from Virgil’s throat, and he lets go. He shakily moves to his bed and hugs his knees close to his chest, breaths painful and heaving, cries bouncing off his walls. He regrets every word he said as it replays in his mind, an incoherent mix of his own and Alex Clare’s words fighting for dominance in his head. The music continues to mock him, his hands coming up to once again claw at his scalp and pull at his hair in the midst of his attack.

He knows he was wrong. Oh, so wrong. But it is too late now to do anything. He’s too far gone. The derisive replays of both the events from earlier and the fucking song tortures him, digging figurative daggers into his brain, leeching the sanity out of him. He does not even notice when he begins banging his head against the wall, eyes closed, jaw clenched tight, groans and screams falling out of his lips.

He only stops when he opens his eyes to see red on his bedroom wall. 

It takes a while for the panic to settle down and even longer for him to be coherent enough to tend to his wound. 

As images of Logan flood his mind, the song ends and starts again.

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

They never talk again after that, save for when the circumstance gravely requires it. Eventually the amount of scabs on Virgil’s scalp, head, and face along with the grave repetitiveness of the music make it near-impossible for Virgil to come out and face anyone. He spends most of his time hysterically trying to drown the musical noise from within him. The bags in his eyes are enough to fool anyone into thinking it as eyeshadow, his pallor a ghostly white, cheeks sunken, and eyes deeply haunted.

He whiles away the hours pacing his room, lips mouthing the lyrics, fingers picking at the threads of his jacket, feet tripping over each other as it treks through his wrecked quarters. He hopes, wishes and prays for it to stop. He’s grown addicted to the few seconds of silence brought about by the song’s ending, slowly fading out into tranquil nothing, and he finds himself chasing it ‘till it restarts. 

He cannot remember the last time he’s slept, eaten, or opened his door for anyone. If they had knocked at his door, he would not have known. He hears nothing else anymore; nothing but the music’s unending harmony.

There's nothing that I can really say

In the violent waves of his cursed melody, he still sees Logan. Often he lays in bed, staring at his black ceiling fan, allowing his memories to play out as movies before him. His exhausted form luxuriates in images of the two of them laying in Logan’s room, watching the constellations on his ceiling dance above them. He relives how Logan named each one, telling Virgil of the myths behind them and the stories they bring. He remembers how he’d tease Logan with astrology, waiting until Logan scrunches his nose in distaste of such “fallacious predictions.”

Often in his maddened state, his thoughts tread further. He thinks of how he wants to keep his hand in Logan’s, how he longs to card his fingers through his soft locks, aches to count every dip of his face and every spot on his skin, wishes to lie side-by-side and face-to-face, forms locking together like jigsaw pieces, yearns to memorize the feel of Logan’s lips on his own.

He misses him, cares for him, wants him, needs him. He loves him.

His tangled thoughts bring him back to when he first read about his condition in the library. There are only two ways to end this loop. Either Logan reciprocates his love, or he shuts down the very source of the music -- himself. One of those two are more improbable, more impossible than the other, and Virgil dreads to think that it might be the former.

I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more

He’ll be lying when he says he hasn’t thought of it before. There have been multiple days where his brain cracks under the pressure of the song’s torturous tones, where the invitation is all too tempting, the thought of release too sweet to resist. But he’s stood strong, still here and alive with countless scars and painful memories to prove it.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can stay that way.

It’s a daunting thing to realize that this song may stay in his head forever, that he may have to live with this for all of Thomas’ lifetime. But he’s so, so tired. He just wants the song to end. He wants the instrumental to fade out into nothingness for one last time and to never hear it fade back in again. Is it too much to ask? 

Now, as Virgil fruitlessly fights to claw the chorus out of his skull, there are only three things in his mind. The motherfucking song, the love of his life, and how badly he wants to end everything.

He drags himself to the mirror with a pained sigh and runs his eyes over himself. He traces every wound, scab, and scar on his face and body with his hands, fingers moving along to the relentless beat. Tears flow from his eyes yet he laughs. Virgil cackles as he counts every mark dotting his sickly skin. His nails drag across every one as he giggles and gasps out the lyrics, body swaying out of rhythm, arms reaching up to the imaginary constellations in his ceiling. He keeps his head tipped back, eyes straight north as he loudly sings along. 

Got to be true to myself

He twirls, and twirls, and twirls until he falls onto the ground, a non-existent phantom of Logan catching him, lifting him up and setting him down onto his bed. He feels wetness seeping out the back of his head and remembers when Roman brought them all into the Imagination, where Virgil had pulled Logan out of the shade and into the rain. Logan had taken his hand and led him into a dance, and they laughed and spun ‘till the sunset shone through the droplets.

The manic laughter dies down slowly, and in its place he’s thrown head-first into the first real taste of fear he’s had today. His thoughts veer into dangerous territory yet again, and Virgil finds himself staring once more at the steady spiraling of his ceiling fan. His gaze drifts off and lands at the top of his cabinet, where a roll of rope peacefully sits.

Fatigued and deep into the inky depths of insanity, Virgil breathes; then he makes himself a deal.

If the song starts again, that’s his final straw.

A dazed smile creeps on his face as he sings the last chorus, waiting for the inevitable way the last bit of instrument dies down. He closes his eyes and listens. It fades in, then--

You know I'm not one to break promises

His eyes snap open, and he snickers. The snicker turns into a giggle, and soon he’s cackling, chortling to the emptiness of his room. That was his signal. It can finally be over. Logan should be proud of him for coming up with this solution on his own.

He leaps up and almost falls out of balance. He mouths the words as he drags a chair to his dresser, climbing up and grabbing the rope. Before he does anything else, he pulls out a letter pressed between the pages of his and Logan’s favorite book. It’s creased and not so purely white anymore from how many times Virgil had considered ending his suffering, chickening out at the last minute every time.

But not this time. He is a man of his word. He places the envelope with a neatly-written “Logan” decorating it back down on the book.

The next steps are easy enough, and the killer tunes make everything much more fun. He feels silly placing his head through the clumsily-tied noose while standing on a rolling chair. He closes his eyes, conjures the beautiful image of Logan to the front of his mind, and kicks.

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

So I'll be on my way

The rope is rough on his neck, itchy and uncomfortable. The panic settles in quickly, just as fast as the breath is knocked out of his lungs, denied a way of re-entry. He spasms and fights for air, body looking for anchorage he’ll never have. 

Knock knock knock.

His eyes widen when he hears it, almost missing it through the unbearably loud chorus playing in his head. He shoves his fingers between the rope and his neck, a final fight for life just to know who it is.

“Virgil?”

So I’ll be on my way

He gasps as he recognizes the voice. The knocks continue its ministrations as Virgil’s vision blurs further and further around the edges. His lungs begin to burn, punishing him for the lack of oxygen as his legs continue to struggle for footing.

The knocks grow louder and more frantic but the door stays closed. He’s too late, Virgil thinks. He whispers an apology to his room, hoping it might relay the message to Logan for him once he’s gone.

A tear falls from Virgil’s eye as he feels the last huff of breath leave his lungs, vision going black and eyes rolling to the back of his head. He closes his eyes to the dazzling imagery of Logan’s smile, the sound of knocking, and the fading of music.

So I’ll be on my way

It doesn’t start again.

~~~

Finding Virgil’s body was the most horrifying experience Logan could have ever subjected himself to. He had cradled Virgil’s lifeless form back then, his fingers horrifically running through every uneven mark littering his ghastly skin, tears falling onto Virgil’s hoodie and cries billowing around the room.

It’s Remus who had handed Logan the letter with a sorrowful look on his face. Logan had torn it open then and there, with Virgil’s hauntingly light form still limp in his arms. All reservation for emotion had been thrown out the window once he finished through it, his chest aching and entire body trembling once Virgil’s entire explanation, story, apology, and confession had been laid out for Logan to take in.

Virgil loved him. Virgil suffered through that maddening condition because he loved him. Virgil is dead because he loved Logan.

He’s dead because he thought Logan did not love him back.

And for a while Logan thought the same thing. For so long he had denied his capacity for emotion, pushed down any and all indications of romantic affections, made way for objectivity and logic.

But he loved Virgil-- loves Virgil; and he was too caught up in his role to admit it. He was too late.

He supposes he deserves the pain he’s harboring now. Virgil in his letter had told him never to blame himself, that he’d come back to haunt him if Logan ever does. And Logan tries. He does not succeed all the time, but it’s a valiant effort. 

He is still Logic, and so he does what he knows best -- he plans. The next best step would be to move on from the depressing event and carry on with their respective responsibilities. It’s a difficult task to execute given how his memories with Virgil invade his every sleeping and waking moment, but he desperately convinces himself that he has to.

It’s what the others would have told him. It’s what Thomas needs. It’s what Virgil would have wanted. 

They all wait. Anxiety is still a crucial part of Thomas’ personality, and it is only a matter of time before the mindscape conjures up a persona to take Virgil’s place. Logan thinks it’s better this way. This will be an entirely different individual, one he holds no emotional attachment to, one that will not discredit his unbiased facet, one that is not his best friend, not Virgil. 

Logan does not know whether it’s a good or bad thing that the new Anxiety comes late at night, when Logan goes to refill his coffee mug, standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. Logan’s breath comes out shaking as he drinks in the same jacket, same purple shirt, ripped jeans and purple-laced shoes. The facet meets Logan’s gaze, looking lost and scared, and Logan swallows when he sees the same black eyeshadow under his eyes, the same tufts of hair that fall in front of his face, and same terrible posture.

But his pallor looks a healthy color, not a single mark mars his skin, and there is no recognition behind his irises. Logan reminds himself that this is not his Virgil, evens his breathing, and does what is expected of him.

“Salutations. I’m Logan, Thomas’ logical side.” Logan begins his introduction, cautious to keep his distance from the obviously confused side. “Apologies. It appears you have materialized at a late hour, when everyone else is asleep. May I… may I have your name? If you feel comfortable doing so, of course.”

The side twists his fingers in his hoodie strings, an action that screams too much of Virgil. It takes his entire willpower not to break down then and there.

“I’m Virgil, Thomas’ Anxiety, I think.”

The name has Logan’s breath catching in his throat. Suddenly, he’s filled with the overwhelming urge to cry, to envelope this side in the tightest hug and not let go, to tell him how much he loves him and mutter unending apologies ‘till his lungs hurt. But his rationality still takes the upper hand, and he exhales, adamant on keeping his professionalism, set on carrying out his duties.

“Welcome, Virgil. There is already a room set for you in the corridor. I can escort you there right now if you wish to. After all, rest is a requirement to maintain optimal heal--”

“I’m, uh, actually not tired right now,” Anxiety says, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I dunno if this is an effect of just having been born but uh, yeah. I don’t feel tired at all.” The side huffs out a single laugh and looks at Logan.

Logan wants nothing more than to retreat into his room and prepare himself for the surely torturous days he will be having ahead of him; but he knows to be courteous and dismisses his own selfish desires. “Ah, of course. Then would you like to remain here for the time being? I, myself, am not feeling fatigued yet.” Logan pauses, watching as the new side hops up on the counter, swinging his feet and looking around at his new environment. “In fact, I was just about to make another cup of coffee. Would you like some?”

Anxiety’s eyes light up and he nods. Logan obliges and makes drinks for them both. He doesn’t realize that he’s just made Virgil’s exact coffee mix, brown and creamy with just the lightest bite of bitterness. The mug is already in New Anxiety’s hands before Logan can realize the fact. 

The side thanks him, takes a sip, and closes his eyes with a hum and the softest smile on his face. He leans back until his head rests against an overhead cupboard before taking another sip out of the concoction.

“Logan, right?” He asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Correct. How’s the drink?”

“It’s perfect. Just how I’d like it.”

Logan does his best not to choke on his own mug. 

They slip into light conversation after that with Logan remaining standing, hip leaning back against the counter only a few inches away from where Anxiety sits.

As the hours drag on, Logan internally gasps in anguish at how achingly Virgil this new side is. He’s got everything down to his smirk, his manner of speaking, choice of words, the way his hand clasps over his mouth in laughter and how his voice drops lower in teasing.

Every second he spends with the new side twists the figurative stake already lodged in his chest. They talk for as long as they can hold their eyes open, going into topics he and Virgil once talked about under the starry night sky. For a second, Logan thinks this may be his Virgil, yet he’s reminded by the way this side has no memory, no knowledge of the library’s awaiting secrets nor of the constellations’ mythical stories that he is indeed, not.

It hurts, but Logan stays. He stays by this facet’s side until he is tired enough to settle into his room, leaving Logan to gasp for air in his own quarters; mind going haywire at the prospect of him having to deal with a Virgil he can reach with his very fingertips, so painfully real and close to the love he once knew, but never being able to touch him.

Logan misses him, and this new, living, breathing reminder that he is still very much in love with someone he cannot have burns him like a hundred lightning strikes at once.

You know I'm not one to break promises

I don't want to hurt you but I need to breathe

At the end of it all, you're still my best friend

But there's something inside that I need to release

The song starts.

~~~~~

I hope y’all can forgive me for that. Don’t hesitate to hit reblog and hmu if you want to be added/removed from the tag list! Keep hydrated and safe, loves! <3

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Call of abyss

Warning: religion, violence implicite, murder, platonic relationship, limb amputation, main character death, post-manor.

Since you were little you were always told that there was only one God, that there was no one else but him and that all the other gods that people praised were pagan gods, beings that did not really exist and that they were blasphemy and those who believed in other gods were sinners . It sounded so stupid, people who believed in the existence of other gods.

Wouldn't they think the same of the beliefs of others?

You know why they told you about that, they didn't want you to believe in another god, specifically the supposed goddess who lived in the same town, Grace, the adopted daughter of a family.

From the moment that Grace had arrived in town, the drought had ended, at that time you were not yet born.

You had watched as a group of children chased after a girl, Grace, maybe a year or two older than you. You watched from the legania, as they were sneaking out, with morbid curiosity of how all this would end, you decided to follow them.

You hid behind some trees, analyzing the situation, it seemed that Grace had gotten into a lake, the children who were chasing her were on the shore, telling her things that you were not able to hear from a distance.

You waited a long time, until they left, leaving little Grace alone. You watched a little longer, waiting for her to come out of the water but she just didn't.

"If you don't get out of there, you'll shrivel up like a dried fruit."

Grace turned towards the shrill voice, looked at another child, somewhat younger than her.

She just watched, didn't say anything, just watched the child carefully.

"Can't you talk?" Asked.

She did not answer.

You analyzed what you got to see of his appearance, his wavy hair with a strange color, but not only that was what caught your attention, but also the gills on his neck.

Grace noticed that you were looking at her gills, she quickly hid in the water up to below her nose.

"If you think I came to bother you like them, no, I was just curious to see you."

Her eyes widened, somewhat surprised.

"I heard from my parents that most of the town believes that you are a deity or something. They want me to stay away from you." You looked down at your tiny feet. "It's kind of silly, isn't it?"

You didn't know when, but Grace had come to the edge of the lake, curious as to what you had to say.

You looked her straight in the eye, making her a little nervous.

"Want to be friends?" You extended your hand to her, expecting her to take it.

Grace looked doubtfully at your outstretched hand, it was like that for a long time. Maybe she didn't want friends and she preferred her solitude, you were about to lower her hand when she took it.

You looked at her with a big smile.

Since then, you and Grace would see each other secretly from your parents, you knew what would happen if they discovered you.

At first Grace kept a distance between you and her, she still didn't fully trust you, it was understandable.

You were trying to gain Grace's trust through gifts, things you found around that were interesting to you and so you thought that maybe Grace would be interested in it.

Perhaps a flower, a dead insect or an object that people threw away because it no longer served them.

To Grace, you were someone… weird, and she liked that.

"What do you think Grace of this?" You showed him a butterfly, perched on your ring finger, with slightly torn wings.

Little by little, your relationship with Grace was improving, she already had enough trust in you.

And with that, the years passed, Grace was already bigger and her beauty stood out.

There were still people who saw Grace as a miracle child. And your parents still believed that she was blasphemous.

Everything had gone normally during those years, until that day came…

Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end.

It started when the drought started once again, I was seeing shortages in fishing again and people only saw one person to blame, Grace.

Everyone turned against her, the people who believed that there was only one God, including your parents, excused that the drought had returned since they had made the true God angry and he had punished them for such an offense and that the only way that this will forgive them was to give him a sacrifice, to the false goddess, Grace.

You put yourself in front of the scared Grace, she had been caught in a fishing net and she couldn't escape they were completely surrounded. It only remained to try to make people see reason, but they did not want to listen.

They called you an accomplice of the false goddess, they decided that God needed not only one sacrifice… but two, the false goddess and her blasphemous companion.

Your parents did not object, they saw with absolute shame how their own descendant had decided to choose to follow the fraud and that you deserved the same punishment as her.

People did not hesitate, they threw you to the ground, they took out a butcher knife with a worn and rusty edge.

"No! No! No! ” you shook desperately, trying to free your limbs, they held tighter. You watched in fear as tears fell along with the cold sweat on your body as the weapon was raised.

"We will start with the blasphemous companion, so that the phony can see what awaits her."

“Grace! ”

The butcher knife hurtled down toward your feet, slamming into the bone, shredding the meat in the process.

A cry of pain escaped your mouth, you jerked faster, just like a fish out of water, trying to jump away.

From the small space that allowed you to see the bodies that supported you, you saw Grace. She cried, seeing how you suffered, without being able to do anything.

"Grace-" Another blow from the knife to your feet made you yell louder. Losing eye contact with Grace.

It went on like this over and over again, until finally your feets were ripped off your legs, following these, they shredded them until they were completely useless.

At some point you stopped feeling pain, you could hardly hear anything and your vision was blurred by tears.

Your suffering was not enough for people, they took your face in their hands forcing you to see how they did the same to Grace.

Everything was so unlucky, why? God, if you exist… Why do you allow this to happen? What fault do we have? Do we not matter to you? You are so cruel…

At some point, they had tied you and Grace to an anchor, you couldn't think what they would do anymore. Why an anchor? What will they do?

The strong impact of the water hitting your body and Grace's awakened your senses one last time, the cold water sent chills throughout your body, your amputated legs left a trail of blood in the water, the contact of your wounds with the water it burned It was extremely irritating, you just wanted it all to be over at once.

You felt the water in your lungs, slowly losing consciousness and the last thing on your mind was Grace, you couldn't see her, only her hair moving in the water.

Your hand trailed towards Grace's hand, trying to intertwine your fingers with hers.

Slowly everything turned black, it was cold, too cold, that annoying beep intensified and you didn't feel anything. Unfortunately you didn't feel how Grace's fingers joined between yours and little by little they began to change…

It was fun while it lasted.