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( open and closed starters )
WHO: laurent & friends (questionable).
WHERE: here and there in stygia.
WHEN: december.
WHAT: catch-all for monthly tidings. plotting comment is here.
WARNINGS: mentions of csa and the ongoing trauma surrounding it, bloody violence, angst and general unpleasant fuckery.
WHERE: here and there in stygia.
WHEN: december.
WHAT: catch-all for monthly tidings. plotting comment is here.
WARNINGS: mentions of csa and the ongoing trauma surrounding it, bloody violence, angst and general unpleasant fuckery.
i like how i forgot to warn for the actual violence in that tag... my bad
On the snow, those red flower petals may be the color of Akielon royalty, but to Sasuke they appear the same vivid shade of his brother's eyes. The inherited Sharingan within his own eye. The Uchiha color — every horror of that night lived over and over in shades of red.]
I killed Itachi. [It is a confession wearing no pride. That low, deadened tone carries.] I did this because he was the one who slaughtered our family. Our parents, our entire clan. But his hand was forced. I only discovered this truth after his death. So there is nothing to atone, you can see, and my actions were pointless.
I live with that burden.
[Brought down from the height of his rage, Sasuke closes his eyes — a brief flicker of dark lashes, old wounds made raw. Regret runs a deep river through him while looking at Laurent.]
You fool. In this state, exposure from the cold will kill you before you can return to Stygia. I'll take you.
it's ok i forget to warn for laurent's foul mouth 24/7
something flares violently in his chest when he recognizes the offer of help before him. he needs it. he needed it as a child after auguste's death, drowning in his grief, and accepted it from his uncle. not again. never again. ]
You don't have to live with that burden. [ a vicious darkness twists in his chest, rage rising so quickly it makes his vision falter. ] You could do us all a favor and end your miserable, pathetic existence. But you won't, because you're weak. Because you're holding out hope that one day, the man you want will fuck you. How long are you going to wait? Are you going to watch him take up with that girl as Soulmates? How long before you try to kill him again, too?
[ blood splatters the snow as he coughs, every violent shiver from the cold sending searing pain through his battered body — and yet the thought of sasuke taking him anywhere makes his blood boil as much as he wishes to accept a rare instance of help. he can't. he can't explain that the tiny spark of trust between them has been extinguished, because that would mean admitting to the existence of it in the first place. a mistake. and not even the first time he's made this particular one, with disastrous consequences. ]
Don't touch me. Unless you're planning on killing me now, don't put your fucking hands on me. [ his words are jagged, sharp enough to draw blood, and his expression twists to one of hurt, his restraint breaking. ] You're no different from any of the rest.
[ his hand slides from the hilt of the sword, the strength going out of him as he wavers, the snow cushioning his fall when he collapses. he barely feels the cold, a painful numbness gripping his body, and his vision swims. the snow feels as soft as silken sheets, as downy pillows. he can't move, everything too heavy. ]
No more, Uncle. [ a whisper, his frosty lashes drooping. ] No more.
he comes with a blanket disclaimer
I can't. I made a promise. [Even as the world grows grim and bleak, as Oblivium encroaches upon him, he won't take his own life. If he succumbs in the end, it won't be because he did it to himself. It will be at the undoing of something else, the workings of this place and its illnesses, curses, and Shadows.] I don't hope for anything. I never did. Naruto makes his own decisions. If I try to kill him again, he will stop me. But it doesn't matter anymore in this world. He's gone from it.
[It has begun to snow again, falling white flakes too gentle for this scene, for the blood Laurent spits in those wheezing coughs. This almost confirms to him that the illness is agitated by sentiment — because the ache in his chest is real, and worse than before, nearly suffocating when he remembers Naruto is gone. It's possible he'll never see him again.
Sasuke goes to his knees in the snow immediately at that collapse, uncaring of the bite of cold through his clothes, and he reaches first for his abandoned sword to sheathe the blade. Then, against that warning, he scoops Laurent off the ground with one arm, draping that slight weight over his right shoulder, strength imbued through chakra allowing him to stand without effort, Laurent's blond hair sweeping down his back.]
... I'm sorry. [Uncle sticks ominously in his mind, territory he should not broach like this, here and now.] I've taken enough lives. I don't want yours to be one of them.
no subject
he tries to make a sound, but it comes out as a mere whimper. one hand hangs uselessly, uncooperative; the other digs into torn, bloodied fabric. everything moves too fast, fiery pain electrifying his senses. he must be dying. finally. he has felt on the brink of death many times before, not physically battered in this way, but pushed to such isolation, such pervasive hopelessness that he could no longer see any semblance of light before him. it’s what he feels now. it’s the same shattered despair that led him to his uncle’s side, hoping that this time things might be different, that this time there would be a balm for his pain.
but auguste was all that he had. all that he ever will have. something jars him again, agony knocking something loose within him as he settles on his back. his one good hand reaches out and grips the nearest sleeve with unforgiving force, his gaze unfocused.
damen. it’s damen who has been by his side during his campaign. bitterness roils in him, rushing forth as if he’s reached capacity and can no longer contain the poisonous ire that’s lived in his blood since he was thirteen. ]
You don’t know what you did. [ his voice is terrible, raw, quiet. his breath quivers, blond strands falling across unseeing eyes. ] You don’t know. When you killed my brother. You went home a hero, Prince Damianos of Akielos, prince-killer, and I — [ that day, the first day of the remainder of his life, a gaping hole of pain. ] You don’t know what you took from me. He was everything I had. You went home and fucked whoever you wanted. So did my uncle, only now my brother wasn’t there to protect me from him.
[ it’s a confession that never would have moved past his lips if he wasn’t sure this was the end. he is hideously exposed. his mouth twists. ]
I hate you. [ wetness springs to his eyes. he wants to kill him. he wants to see him one more time. ] I hate you. I want you to rot slowly and for the birds to pick at your bones. I wish I had killed you on the cross. [ he chokes, turning his head as red petals press against his tongue, shuddering as his body sings with a pain so unbearable that some fraying thread in his mind snaps. ] I wish — you were by my side now. I miss you.
[ he pulls weakly at the sleeve, a child’s gesture for comfort when he doesn’t know how to ask for it or even what he’s asking for. ]
no subject
In that delirious confession, he's found access to the private, deeply buried understanding — the compass behind Laurent's decisions, every incendiary taunt and self-protective enmity. Laurent weighs almost nothing on his shoulder. It's easy to take him across the snow, back toward the meager village of outcasts. No one stops him as he carries his burden toward one of the dark, empty canvas tents; there is little inside but a few cold candles and a bare patch on the ground. He places Laurent down, then spreads his cloak out and rolls that slight, shivering body onto it, wrapping the woolen fabric around him. Except for these near-surgical tasks, he does not touch Laurent more than necessary.
Afterward he lights the candles and sits in the warm light, thinking. Night has fallen on the other side of the tent, but he can hear the snow in a whisper against canvassing as it falls harder now. He should go and fetch his supplies where he left them hidden in the forests of Serene. If he does, however, it's possible Laurent will wake and wander into the cold night to his death. Better to wait. Then perhaps in the morning he can turn him over to one of the Restless here.
Prince Damianos of Akielos. The name is like a shadow, but even that is obstructed by the other one: Uncle. Sasuke feels sick with realization. He forces his thoughts blank, but in his own harrowed state, he can feel himself circling back over and over again.
Unable to find peace in the attempted meditation, he shifts over and removes Laurent's injured arm from the cloak — and while Laurent is somewhere else in his own mind — snaps that socket back into proper place. This much is within his ability.]
no subject
a sudden grind of pain shocks him to the surface, his breath ragged and his eyes blinking rapidly to clear the film from his vision. he comes awake in the silent, wordless grip of panic, his mind fluttering uselessly before he forces himself to think. a voice in his head screams in uncontrolled hysteria. he cuts its throat, then takes stock of his surroundings. a dingy tent. he's injured. the pervasive cold still permeates the air, but his clothes are damp with sweat. he's wrapped in something. there's someone else here.
laurent's gaze flickers to sasuke and holds, now clear-eyed, flinty. sasuke's fingers just barely brush his arm, his dislocated shoulder now back in place, the sharp ache fading to a dull throb. laurent does not move, but where his body had previously been limp with unconsciousness, he now lies rigid with tension.
he looks more like the boy who'd treated his wound in the streets, who'd shown him how to use a washboard, who'd promised to show him more. but laurent has already been bitten, and he knows the serpent's name now. ]
If you're still here — [ slowly, never taking his eyes from sasuke, he rises on one elbow, his injured wrist cradled gently against his chest. his voice is cold, smooth, perfectly in control despite his haggard appearance. ] Either kill me, or fetch me a horse. Express haste with your choice. We will not be spending the night together, I'm sure to the disappointment of your poor, virgin cock.
no subject
You can't ride a horse in your condition. And I will not kill you. [Laurent is watching him like a wounded animal, addled by injury and possibly fever — letting him leave unsupervised is a negligence as severe as killing him all the same.] I understand both of these realities are disappointing.
[For the first time, those vulgar words successfully disturb Sasuke's composure. He's frowning deeply, brow furrowed, and his eyes flinch off of Laurent at poor, virgin cock. It has nothing to do with his own lack of experience and everything to do with what he's just learned.]
I'll leave the tent, but I'm going to remain outside of it. You need a healer.
no subject
Don't worry. These realities are not as disappointing as you have been. [ he says it with a light inflection, as if it's nothing more than a joke, whatever thing previously budding between them now easily discarded, forgotten. ] Naruto is still gone. Nothing has changed for you. You're not fooling anyone with this act. It’s very pretty, though.
[ but there's something... misplaced about this moment, laurent's carefully scrutinizing glare picking up a thread of discord he cannot quite trace the origin of. he struggles to stay upright, unwilling to succumb once more to the rest his body desperately craves. if only sasuke would leave. if only he’d never met him in the first place. something aches in his chest, unrelated to his injuries. ]
If you call a healer in here, even better. They can get me a horse. [ slowly, painstakingly, he rises to his knees, calling on every ounce of his own discipline and fortitude. his face is ashen, the candlelight casting the lines of his cheeks into something sharply fragile. still, he pushes himself up to sit, pulling the cloak around his shoulders with his one hand, arranging himself as if he’s been invited to tea. ] Let’s chat a moment. I never wish to see you again. I won’t speak of what happened here if you and your miserable Shadow stay out of my sight. Go rot in a hole somewhere, preferably, or go ruin someone else’s life for fun. Those are my terms. If you don’t abide by them, everyone alive or dead, drunk or sober, and with or without ears will hear of your indiscretions. I will wreck your life in ways you cannot imagine. If you want to play this game with me, you will lose. You are good only for violence, not thoughtful warfare. So agree to my terms, fetch me a healer, and leave with your tail between your legs. Or kill me now.
no subject
Nothing has changed, and Naruto is still gone. The likelihood of his Shadow making more violent appearances is certain now. He needs to accept this fact and move himself away from Stygia as a protective measure until his eventual end. If it isn't Oblivium, it will be the illness of his unreciprocated feelings; both are a suitable fate.
Laurent might have become a friend. Only the second of his life that he's attempted on his own grounds, with intention. Perhaps his goal of atonement is unreachable in this bitter and meaningless afterlife.]
Don't worry. I would never abide that game. [He stands, finally, at Laurent's height but unwilling to meet his eye. Every piece of discipline is gathered, and he speaks in a flat tone.] I understand your terms and accept them so long as you remain here until the night has passed.
You won't see me again.
[He slips silently from the tent, into the cold, cloak abandoned where it was left on the ground. Moments later, one of the local Restless appears to prevent Laurent from exiting if he tries — they are a voluntary healer on duty to attend to those whose Shadows, like many others, have begun to slip.]