#sorta angsty

Resounding from a very upset Sasha Waybright, her fingers trying to desperately thwack at the pain racing down her back. She doesn't recall falling down or anything similar, hasn't climbed anything since 4 months ago when she had to deal with a runaway balloon she bought for the other two as part of her Valentines Day surprise. Her exercise isn't even that intense on her back these days. Even if it does get to heavy lifting, it's always a tired ache, not this burning. Like it's alive and wants to wriggle out from under her skin, a cut gashing all the way down.

And then she smells it, blood. In a panic, she darts to the bathroom, scrambling about for a medkit, gauze and alcohol on her mind as she catches a glimpse of it in the mirror. Her back, there's... There's no blood. Instead, she finds a scar she could have sworn that wasn't there before, traveling down lengthways and long since healed. Ah, right. She remembers now. The memories of the fight, how she held on and begged for her to come back. How her and Anne never thought their Marcy would wake up. But she did.

She notices the pain instantly dissappear as it wraps up, like a disembodied projector playing a documentary. Now, she had to contend with her walk back to bed being an awkward and embarrassing one. Well, she seems to think so at least. Somehow, the mental anguish in those moments overshadows the searing pain her back felt just then.

But none of that can ever keep her down. Why? Simple. I'm not that person anymore. A contented reminder to herself as she slips back into bed, the lights in the hallway still on like she had left them earlier. Anne and Marcy would be arriving late. Some event that must be, hope they don't miss me too much.

"I've always found your obsession with me rather amusing, my dear villain," the hero sneered, their voice dripping with contempt.

The villain's eyes narrowed, a flicker of hurt crossing their face before being masked by a wicked smile. "Ah, my love, you have such a way with words. It's almost as if you're trying to conceal the turmoil within your own heart."

A flash of anger flashed across the hero's face, but they quickly composed themselves, adopting an air of detachment. "Don't delude yourself, villain. I'm only here to extract the information I need. Our connection is nothing more than a means to an end."

The villain leaned in closer, their voice barely a whisper. "Ah, but my dear hero, if you only knew the depth of my love for you. I would give you the world on a silver platter if you'd let me."

A bitter laugh escaped the hero's lips. "Love? Is that what you call this twisted obsession? You're nothing more than a desperate, pitiful creature clinging onto false hope."

Undeterred by the hero's harsh words, the villain reached out to gently touch the hero's cheek. "You're wrong, my love. I see the pain hidden behind that cold facade. I know the secrets that torment you, the darkness that engulfs your soul. And I am the only one who can set you free."

A shiver ran down the hero's spine, a mixture of fear and undeniable attraction. They slapped away the villain's hand, trying to suppress the surge of emotions rising within them. "You know nothing! Your twisted infatuation blinds you to the truth. I am your enemy, your nemesis. And I will stop at nothing to bring you down."

The villain's eyes blazed with an unholy fire, their voice laced with a dangerous intensity. "Oh, my dear hero, you underestimate the power of love. It can turn even the most ardent foes into passionate allies."

The hero's resolve wavered, a flicker of doubt creeping into their hardened heart. They stared into the villain's eyes, searching for a hint of deception. "Is this some twisted game you're playing? Do you truly believe that love can conquer all?"

A wicked smile played upon the villain's lips, their voice a seductive whisper. "Love is a weapon, my hero. It can mend what is broken or destroy what stands in its way. And in this dance of shadows we've become entwined, love shall be the ultimate catalyst for our fates."

In that moment, the hero felt the weight of their choices bearing down upon them. The line between right and wrong blurred, and they realized that perhaps the greatest battle they faced was not against the villain, but against their own desires. The heart wanted what the mind deemed forbidden.

And so, they entered into this treacherous dance, knowing that the outcome could only end in bloodshed. For in this twisted tale, love and hatred, trust and betrayal, would collide in a cataclysmic climax, leaving them forever changed.

it was always the worst at 2am.

when you can’t sleep. you’ve been trying to sleep but you can’t. you keep tossing and turning, turning and tossing until your hair’s a mess, your sheets are a mess and you feel like you’re a mess. your mind keeps wandering off to the darkest of places, places where you don’t feel the slightest bit safe even if you know that it’s just a part of your mind, just a figment of your imagination. it brings you (more like drags you) to the darkest times — when you felt you weren’t enough, that you’d never be good enough, you don’t deserve what you have, that you don’t deserve to be here. so much so that you feel like a broken fucking mess, until you’re crying out loud, loud hiccupping sobs echoing around your room. you picked up your phone and called iwaizumi in hopes of him being able to comfort you. you tried to control your sniffling, but as soon as you heard his groggy, sleep-filled voice saying “hello”, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. the thunderstorm flooded the reservoir and the dam couldn’t take it anymore and broke and lay a path of destruction in its wake. he would honestly want nothing more than for you to feel fine again so he’d do his best to make you feel alright again. he would to listen you talk for hours if you want, let you talk it all out of your system— even if he has to get up early in the morning, he wouldn’t bat an eye about staying up to the ungodly hours of the early morning if you wanted to talk. if you wanted to just hear him sleep, he would indulge you and turn on the speaker so you can hear him as he falls asleep, his quiet snores and breaths a lullaby, lulling you asleep until you feel just a bit better and feel up to talking to him about it tomorrow. he wouldn’t even hesitate coming over to your place if you asked, some snacks and a dvd in hand so the two of you can spend a bit of time together watching a shitty movie before nodding off to sleep.

and though 2ams are always the worst, your boyfriend always stormed right in and made you feel better.

Here is part 2 to this drabble. There may need to eventually be a part 3 … not entirely happy with it, but it’s done

I’ve fleshed out a scene already in existence from JFellz - S2E8 (once again). You’ll recognize the borrowed dialogue.

Oh, and S2 Robert is definitely depressed… we’re all in agreement there, right?

~~~~~~

#8 - Things You Said When You Were Crying

O’Brien had changed her nightgown for her. He noticed that now. She was dressed in a looser one, a cream-colored cotton gown, one with crocheted lace around the neck and shoulders, and not stains of sickness and sweat through the silk.

Though that didn’t matter. Her illness was still all too evident in the dark circles at her eyes, the pallor of her cheeks, the oily matting of her curls that stuck to her throat and forehead. An inner voice whispered how beautiful she was, and Robert had to clench his jaw from saying it aloud. Now was not the time.

He watched her from the chair beside her bed. He watched as Cora’s tired eyes met his own, as she peered down at his hands that he held in his lap, and then back up at his face.

He’d told her she was a sight to gladden his heart, and it had been the truth. Well. Mostly the truth. For while his heart leapt up in thanks at her being here, alive, his soul was heavy and he knew that Cora sensed that.

Of course she did. She knew him.

There was a small movement then, a decided one on Cora’s part, when she let her hand fall from the resting place of her middle and to her bed. He moved his eyes from her face and to her hand, her offer softening the moment, and he exhaled.

He slid his palm against her smaller one and grasped her, but the warmth he thought he’d feel at touching her, the warmth he always felt when he held her hand, was overshadowed by her sigh.

No. Not sigh. It was a small shudder of breath, a sound that felt both like relief and yet like pain. It was a sound so heavily laden with emotion that it drew a tight knot inside of his throat. For Cora did not often show her weaknesses.

Oh, just as Cora knew him, he knew his Cora. He knew her perhaps even better than he knew himself.

No -- especially better than he knew himself.

“We're all right, aren't we Robert?”

He forced himself to look up at her, at her frightened words, the brave verbiage no mask for the doubt he heard in her voice and saw in her lovely face. It was the face he had pictured as he bowed his head, praying in his chair in her room; praying as Doctor Clarkson confessed last-ditch efforts to help her.

My God, please, do not take her from me.

“Of course we are,” he heard himself reply, and he wanted to mean it. Yet another desperate prayer.

Cora lifted her chin slightly. He saw as her eyes began to glisten, as she began to blink heavily, and a creeping feeling of alarm burned up his back and chest. She was crying. And he knew why.

She loved him.

Yes, he knew she loved him, but perhaps recently it had only been a fact, not a feeling. And the confirmation that she still felt such love for him — this woman who said she loved him in touches and glances and flirts but who had said the words aloud only a handful of times — it prodded the hollow, aching places inside of him.

Her voice cracked when she spoke, “Only I know I got so caught up in everything, I think I neglected you, and if I did, I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize to me.” A command, and though quiet, perhaps harsher than he meant. But his heart was bleeding behind his ribs.

He watched her still, as she stared at their hands. And he watched her as she moved her weakened fingertips against his skin. He felt every year of their life in her touch: the way she had looked peering up at him on their wedding night, the overwhelming joy he felt at Mary’s birth, the grief they’d shared at Papa’s death. He didn’t want the memories to end.

He needed her.

He needed her, and he felt humbled that she was just there, caressing his hand.

For the first time in years, he felt it again. It was the feeling he felt when he first realized he loved his wife: Awe. Awe that she wanted him next to her. Awe that he was allowed to touch her, to be with her, to speak to her. Awe that she simply existed. How could this person possibly exist?

But alongside the awe, there was despair, because unlike before, the awe did not bring with it euphoria. And he hated himself for not allowing his love for her — this all-consuming love for her — dissolve any of the sadness he felt. Not sadness at what he’d done. Sadness at something he couldn’t explain. He had no right to this sadness, and it had no right to him. And yet … it remained.

And guilt. But he deserved this guilt.

“I think I’d like to rest.”

He watched her as she spoke, as her voice caught in her throat, as a tear escaped her eye. But she didn’t look up at him. She only held his hand, batting her lashes, trying to stem the tears he wished she didn’t shed. He was not worth her tears.

“Of course.“

“Will you stay here? Please.” A hoarser whisper, and her eyes met his. “Just for a little while.”

He felt her use all her strength to squeeze his hand, her thin and rattling chest heaving beneath her gown, her red-rimmed eyes searching his. The blues of them bright, and lovely. Achingly lovely.

He felt the burn in the bridge of his nose, the flare of his nostrils, the unwarranted wobble of his chin. And his shoulders shook with his breath. He nodded and tightened his grasp on her fingers.

Or Angsty Outnumbered Wanda and Vision??

I haven’t done angsty yet, so here’s a quickie drabble of a some Outnumbered angst for ya! Tumblr only exclusive!

****

“What’s her name?” Wanda demanded, pulling herself up from the couch and storming after Vision. 

“Whose name?!” Vision asked, hands up in the air in confusion. “I don’t know who you’re talking about!”

Tommy got up from his place on the playmat and toddled over to Wanda, throwing himself around her leg while Billy stayed put at cried over raised voices. 

“It’s okay, buddy,” Wanda soothed, running her hand down Tommy’s head. “Mommy is ok.”

“Wanda,” Vision asked evenly. “Please tell me what you’re talking about.”

“I get the kids, you can have the house,” Wanda threatened, picking Tommy up from her leg and carrying him into the living room with Vision following after.

“I don’t understand what’s happening right now,” Vision pleaded, grabbing the crying Billy on his way in. “You’re scaring the boys.”

“I’m scaring the boys?!” Wanda said incredulously. “Maybe you should have thought about your boys while you were talking to her!”

“Who’s her!?” Vision asked again. “There is no her!” 

“Then who has been blowing up your phone at all hours?” Wanda demanded, looking at Vision’s pocket where he kept his phone. 

“Wanda,” Vision said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Please go through the messages.” 

Wanda snatched the phone away and scrolled through the messages, reading each of them before a rosey hue flooded her cheeks. 

“What do you see in there, Wanda?” Vision asked. 

“It’s... about me.” Wanda answered, handing Vision his phone back. “A surprise baby shower?”

“Correct.” 

“There is no other woman?”

“Correct again,” Vision said, shaking his head. “You are the only one for me, Wanda, you should know that.”

“I should know that,” Wanda repeated, pulling Tommy closer to her. “I just... can I blame hormones?”

Queens: Katherine Howard and Anne Boleyn

Kitty shook her head softly. For the third night this week, she found herself comforting Anne. Anne sniffed and let Kitty play with her hair. “What’s the matter, Annie?” Kitty whispered, not expecting an answer. It was late, and although they both knew no one would be up, they still whispered. Anne blushed slightly as she spoke. “I think I’m in love. And not like before, I mean genuine love” Kitty sat for a moment before responding. She hadn’t managed to get a response the last two nights, and this wasn’t what she expected. “Okay? Why are you crying though, Annie?” Kitty stroked her cousin's hair gently as she spoke. “I can’t tell her, Kitty. I’m in love, and I can’t even tell her” Anne whispered, fresh tears forming in her eyes. “Oh, Annie. Why can’t you tell her?” Kitty whispers. Anne shakes her head gently. “Annie love, you can tell me anything” Kitty reminds her cousin. “It will ruin everything if I tell her. I love her, and I know I shouldn’t” Kitty hugs the sobbing queen closer and hums a song in Anne’s ear, praying she’ll calm down. 

Anne buries her head in Kitty’s chest and sobs for a while. Eventually, she looks up at Kitty and whispers “I love her Kitty. I do, and I don’t know what to do about it because the second I tell her everything could fall apart and right now my life is pretty great”. Kitty strokes her hair and whispers “can you tell me who it is Annie?”. Anne inhales deeply and plays with her fingers nervously. “Cathy” she whispers “it’s Cathy” Kitty fights the urge to gasp and whispers “please tell me you mean Parr”. Anne nods. Kitty smiles and hugs Anne close. “We can figure this out, Annie. It doesn’t have to ruin things I promise” Anne shakes her head at Kitty’s words. “I can’t tell her Kitty, and I shouldn’t even have told you” Kitty winds her hair around her finger and mumbles something under her breath. Anne hears this but doesn’t question it knowing Kitty does this a lot. Instead, she chooses to stare into nothingness. 

John can see you’re almost trembling, your poor thing, and he assures you they won’t hurt you. The first night he brings you to a beautiful bedroom with the softest bed sheets you’ve ever touched. You feel... safe, even though you’re in a strange castle with strange men. John stays by your bed, waits until you fall asleep to leave. Before he does, though, he places a gentle hand on your wrist. Feels the warmth of your skin, the steady flutter of your heart. Watches your chest rise and fall with every soft, sleepy breath you take. 

More than anything, he misses being human like you. 

Huh, this isn’t the type of request I’d think to get but I love it, here you go:

After The Immortality Change Commences:

- For an uncomfortably long time, they’re still desperately clinging onto some humanity of their former selves

- And it’s driving them insane

- Their brain was focused on nothing but you for an entire year. They were unbearably depressed, and being given the “talent” of lacking sense of emotion to have a much greater power streak wasn’t helping over time

- Months would pass and it would still feel like the day they discovered your disappearance (highly suspected death)

- They eventually became in total denial of your death. They refuse to believe you’ve passed, you’re just missing! They need to find you is all!

- They know better than that however. They don’t go looking for you. Deep down, Valdemar knows that they won’t ever find the one thing keeping them grounded.

- And boy does the pain and realization effect them in the long run

- Later on they started gradually denying your existence entirely. Who is this mystery person they keep thinking of? They’ve never met such a being by that name.

- This continues on for literal years. The constant on-off denial is never ending for seemingly forever.

- Until the day your existence is nothing but a total shadow of the past to them. You only existed to their past self. You mean nothing to them now.

- Convincing themself of this was the only way to help them move on rather than falling down a continuous void of blaming themselves for your death

- Plus, there’s so much more to life than dwelling on a former lover.

- Such as unnecessary surgeries on patients already approaching death, making their life less valuable to them specifically