It wasn’t quite horns locking, stubborn rams meeting one another on a hilly cliffside. For one, the lighting in here was far more dramatic - dusty windows giving off an ethereal glow that painted everything in floating fireflies of light, a yellow, sallow tint to both of their skin. For another, physically, Vasily would never - had never - been a match for Ivan in a one-on-one.
Any advantage Vasily could’ve pressed had been sandblasted away by anger, adrenaline, drive. The fight had been brief, brutal, and had left both boys panting, puffs of hot air that had skated across each other’s skin, punctuated with pained sounds, grunting efforts.
The result was Vasily’s back crashing against an aluminum and linoleum wall, his body sliding to the floor as Ivan stood over him, heaving long breaths, reaching a sticky arm to wipe sweat and dirt from his eye - as well as a streak of blood, spat there by Vasily himself.
The only other sound in the small cabin was the creak of a rope, shaped into a noose, hanging from the center of the room.
Hang on.
CW: suicidal imagery, hanging
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The Honeless Beard
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Not that it mattered anyways.
The other boy coughed, weakly- nearly unrecognizable, in all honesty, from who he used to be. Mariner’s T-shirt, eyepatch patch ripped off to show a hollow cavity, streaked with blood that, this time, was finally his own. Hair slicked with blood stuck to his face- it dripped, from skin to cloth to ground, mixing with saliva and earth and stone tile.
As if knowing this juxtaposition of reputation and presentation, he turned turned from the camera recording him-
Only to face another. This time, displaying in higher definition the wounds on his earlobes where jewelry once were, ripped out and tossed to the ground. He blinked. He couldn’t escape.
A broken, bloody nail, matching his broken, bloody form reached out. With the intention to- to scratch, to puncture, an eye for an eye, anything, even if it wouldn’t affect the plot at all, just something, anything before he went out like a star burning too bright and too fast-
He collapsed against the wall.. It’s not like it was going to matter, anyways.
The other boy coughed, weakly- nearly unrecognizable, in all honesty, from who he used to be. Mariner’s T-shirt, eyepatch patch ripped off to show a hollow cavity, streaked with blood that, this time, was finally his own. Hair slicked with blood stuck to his face- it dripped, from skin to cloth to ground, mixing with saliva and earth and stone tile.
As if knowing this juxtaposition of reputation and presentation, he turned turned from the camera recording him-
Only to face another. This time, displaying in higher definition the wounds on his earlobes where jewelry once were, ripped out and tossed to the ground. He blinked. He couldn’t escape.
A broken, bloody nail, matching his broken, bloody form reached out. With the intention to- to scratch, to puncture, an eye for an eye, anything, even if it wouldn’t affect the plot at all, just something, anything before he went out like a star burning too bright and too fast-
He collapsed against the wall.. It’s not like it was going to matter, anyways.
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Ivan watched Vasily’s gesture, then inhaled deeply, exhaled some of the panting away. His bruised left hand - from Keegan’s jaw, the evidently failed neck snap - had a mate in his right now, a blocked knee from Vasily that he felt down to the bone. Vasily’s nails had caught the F in his forehead, elongated the bottom so it felt aflame, too large, too heavy.
His head bowed under the weight.
“Vasily,” Ivan said, when his breath returned, his voice low, soft. His throat felt clogged, so he cleared it, tried again.
“Vasily, can you stand up for me? We’re going to walk to the noose.”
His head bowed under the weight.
“Vasily,” Ivan said, when his breath returned, his voice low, soft. His throat felt clogged, so he cleared it, tried again.
“Vasily, can you stand up for me? We’re going to walk to the noose.”
“Bring me up yourself if you wanna do this so much.”
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Ivan sighed, patiently, crouching in front of Vasily, taking him in again. Ripping out some of his earrings had been a little much, but then again Vasily had a few of his teeth rattling around on his person somewhere, if Ivan’s foggy memory served correctly.
Tilting his head, Ivan kept his voice soft, quiet.
“You don’t want to do it yourself? I can help you.”
Tilting his head, Ivan kept his voice soft, quiet.
“You don’t want to do it yourself? I can help you.”
“I mean, I’m pretty sure you broke my legs.”
He lifted his leg.
“Wait, no, it’s just really fuckin’ bruised. I’ll-”
He swallowed his blood and fear-
“I’ll try, I’ll try, just lend me a hand, OK buddy?”
Where’s his gun when he needed it? Fuck. Now all he had in his pack are his last meal and some teeth.
Some teeth.
One of them was-
He laughed, mustering one final inch of defiance within him.
Against the game, not the boy in front of him.
“Oh, and your-”
He smiled and pointed at his own teeth- straight, sharper canines than usual, a bit of a gap between the front that’s barely noticeable-
“Your teeth are still in the bag if you want them back.”
He lifted his leg.
“Wait, no, it’s just really fuckin’ bruised. I’ll-”
He swallowed his blood and fear-
“I’ll try, I’ll try, just lend me a hand, OK buddy?”
Where’s his gun when he needed it? Fuck. Now all he had in his pack are his last meal and some teeth.
Some teeth.
One of them was-
He laughed, mustering one final inch of defiance within him.
Against the game, not the boy in front of him.
“Oh, and your-”
He smiled and pointed at his own teeth- straight, sharper canines than usual, a bit of a gap between the front that’s barely noticeable-
“Your teeth are still in the bag if you want them back.”
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Ivan nodded, flashed the spaces in his mouth in a wide grin, standing to his full height.
“Thanks,” he said, raising a foot and pressing down on the leg Vasily just moved with his full weight.
“Thanks,” he said, raising a foot and pressing down on the leg Vasily just moved with his full weight.
What else was there to do but laugh?
Scream, sure, but he wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t fucking screaming. He just bit on his tongue and laughed. He didn’t scream. Not at all. Totally not.
All he did was just laugh and wait for the pain to go away. Absolutely no screaming here. Nope.
(On the camera, he hiccupped brokenly, pain indistinguishable from semi-forced delirium.)
Underneath his eyelid, a thousand lights burst, the bright stares of hundreds of gods laughing at him. He was going to die a twitching pile in a little boat, and he walked right into it. Literally. And now he couldn't walk out. Literally.
“Alright, I- ngh, fuck.”
One arm, less battered than the other, exerted pressure onto the ground.
“Now get me up ‘cause I’m not gonna do it myself.”
“Well, I can’t.”
Scream, sure, but he wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t fucking screaming. He just bit on his tongue and laughed. He didn’t scream. Not at all. Totally not.
All he did was just laugh and wait for the pain to go away. Absolutely no screaming here. Nope.
(On the camera, he hiccupped brokenly, pain indistinguishable from semi-forced delirium.)
Underneath his eyelid, a thousand lights burst, the bright stares of hundreds of gods laughing at him. He was going to die a twitching pile in a little boat, and he walked right into it. Literally. And now he couldn't walk out. Literally.
“Alright, I- ngh, fuck.”
One arm, less battered than the other, exerted pressure onto the ground.
“Now get me up ‘cause I’m not gonna do it myself.”
“Well, I can’t.”
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“It’s okay,” Ivan said, straightening again, walking to Vasily’s side and squatting down again. He draped the less broken arm over his shoulder, tugging Vasily roughly until the other boy was nearly draped over him. When he stood, Ivan took the other boy’s weight with a widened stance and a grimace.
“I got you. It’s okay, I got you,” Ivan grunted, as they shuffled towards the gently creaking, slightly swaying white rope.
“I got you. It’s okay, I got you,” Ivan grunted, as they shuffled towards the gently creaking, slightly swaying white rope.
He stayed quiet this time, letting himself just get tugged around like a toy.
Which, in all honesty… he was just an object for entertainment in the people’s eyes, right?
And now he was broken. Just like Ivan. And just like his fucking leg, which Ivan fucking STEPPED ON, AFTER HE SURRENDERED because he’s that much of a fucking SADIST and-
Anyways. Anyways. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. No use getting angry when he was going to die anyways. Deep. Fucking. Breaths. It wasn't like the two were that different.
Every step hurts, like he’s never hurted before. He didn’t even know it was possible for people to feel like this, but here Vasily was, suppressing his groans as he was literally marched to the executioner’s block.
Except he wouldn’t even get the benefit of a visually distinctive death like decapitation. No. Ivan had to be an edgy bitch, and he had to use a noose, and if he had any spare anger Vasily would’ve complained about how this scene would be milked by the fans for edgy bullshit fanart, but… but that’s the legacy he’s built, wasn’t it? All his edge and darkness (fashion-wise, more than anything,) all these personas he’s built around himself, it’s all optimized for maximum fan value. Because the world was a show for him and he was a performer and now that he’s here he needed to survive instead of perform and he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t fucking do it, so he’s here being marched to a fucking noose and-
He almost collapsed, but his weight was too light to drag Ivan down. The two stumbled in tandem.
Which, in all honesty… he was just an object for entertainment in the people’s eyes, right?
And now he was broken. Just like Ivan. And just like his fucking leg, which Ivan fucking STEPPED ON, AFTER HE SURRENDERED because he’s that much of a fucking SADIST and-
Anyways. Anyways. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. No use getting angry when he was going to die anyways. Deep. Fucking. Breaths. It wasn't like the two were that different.
Every step hurts, like he’s never hurted before. He didn’t even know it was possible for people to feel like this, but here Vasily was, suppressing his groans as he was literally marched to the executioner’s block.
Except he wouldn’t even get the benefit of a visually distinctive death like decapitation. No. Ivan had to be an edgy bitch, and he had to use a noose, and if he had any spare anger Vasily would’ve complained about how this scene would be milked by the fans for edgy bullshit fanart, but… but that’s the legacy he’s built, wasn’t it? All his edge and darkness (fashion-wise, more than anything,) all these personas he’s built around himself, it’s all optimized for maximum fan value. Because the world was a show for him and he was a performer and now that he’s here he needed to survive instead of perform and he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t fucking do it, so he’s here being marched to a fucking noose and-
He almost collapsed, but his weight was too light to drag Ivan down. The two stumbled in tandem.
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“Easy now, Vas,” Ivan said softly, righting them as the other boy crumpled, “it’s okay. You’re okay. Almost over, just a few more steps. Watch the gap, easy does it. You’re doing so, so well.”
It was difficult to get a person with a busted leg onto a chair, and it was definitely not dignified. Ivan stood in front of it for a moment, the dead weight of Vasily pulling at his bad shoulder, but he rolled it, shrugging Vasily back up.
“Doing so good for me, Vas. I’m going to lift you onto the chair, and then I’m going to do whatever you want when you’re gone. As a reward.”
Ivan began to lift Vasily up.
It was difficult to get a person with a busted leg onto a chair, and it was definitely not dignified. Ivan stood in front of it for a moment, the dead weight of Vasily pulling at his bad shoulder, but he rolled it, shrugging Vasily back up.
“Doing so good for me, Vas. I’m going to lift you onto the chair, and then I’m going to do whatever you want when you’re gone. As a reward.”
Ivan began to lift Vasily up.
He felt small. So, so small. Like Ivan could just envelope him and hide him from view, and he’d just be gone. There was this childish wide-eyed fascination that came with staring at death itself, semi-metaphorically. And he was small, really- he always had been, but sometimes he felt like he was never small enough, never fragile enough, and he wasn’t sure if it was the dysmorphia or if he just wanted to be little and worthy of love again.
But he wasn’t little, really, and he wasn’t worthy of being loved at all, so he just let Ivan drag him onto the chair without a word, small, pained whimpers emanating from his mouth, hot breath on Ivan’s shoulder.
“I-”
Anything he wanted. Anything…
He looked Ivan in the eye.
“I’ll tell you what I want you to hear, first.”
It hurted to breathe.
“And then I’ll tell you what I want you to do.”
The ghost of a smile graced his lips.
“Can’t you do that for me? I’ve been doing- ugh,” he grunted, hand pressed against a black and blue abdomen, “So well, won’t you just hear me out? You and I both know that I’m dying. And it’s not like the rest of my fucking gang are going to live to see it on TV anyways.”
(But the audience were, and they were already mourning.
Somewhere online, a girl frantically looked for a song to cry to.
And a sister started typing.
But he wasn’t little, really, and he wasn’t worthy of being loved at all, so he just let Ivan drag him onto the chair without a word, small, pained whimpers emanating from his mouth, hot breath on Ivan’s shoulder.
“I-”
Anything he wanted. Anything…
He looked Ivan in the eye.
“I’ll tell you what I want you to hear, first.”
It hurted to breathe.
“And then I’ll tell you what I want you to do.”
The ghost of a smile graced his lips.
“Can’t you do that for me? I’ve been doing- ugh,” he grunted, hand pressed against a black and blue abdomen, “So well, won’t you just hear me out? You and I both know that I’m dying. And it’s not like the rest of my fucking gang are going to live to see it on TV anyways.”
(But the audience were, and they were already mourning.
Somewhere online, a girl frantically looked for a song to cry to.
And a sister started typing.
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Ivan’s eyes narrowed as he finished hauling Vasily onto the chair, one hand keeping the other boy steady atop it as his other curled, relaxed, curled at his side. After a long moment of watching Vasily, Ivan nodded, his left hand moving in a circle at the wrist, a motion to carry on.
(The noose kept swinging back and forth between their faces, cutting off their eye contact briefly every half second with the same quiet sound, a metronome keeping time.)
(The noose kept swinging back and forth between their faces, cutting off their eye contact briefly every half second with the same quiet sound, a metronome keeping time.)
Deep breaths.
“Alright.”
…
“I’m fucking tired of it. I don’t know why, I- Listen. I like- I liked Fisk. He was a good egg. But for fuck’s sake, the plan’s never going to get pulled off in the beginning. The moment he decided to give us an edgy name and to hand out the fucking klan masks I knew it was going downhill.”
''And he told me, he confessed to me, that he was terrified. He spilled his deepest fears and insecurities to me, and all I did was just hold him and make it all worse by giving him all the wrong answers until he cried.''
Deep. Fucking. Breaths.
“I’ve been avoiding facing the fact that it’s never gonna go right in the beginning and now you’re here, and they’re not here anymore, and all that I feel like is somebody being played for a fool and-”
“And part of me just want to die here, with you as myself, then with them as a teammate. I don't hate them, I just… I love them and I wished that it could've gone differently.”
…
“Yeah.”
“I know I’m fucked up.”
“But you are, too, so…’
He leaned into Ivan. Close. Real close. Just two boys caught in a situation they had next to no say in. And he couldn’t really help that part of himself, the child within him, that wanted so badly for everybody to be happy, to love each other, to not fall victim to this, but he’s tried to kill that part so long ago that he couldn’t remember what it felt like anymore.
He put a hand on Ivan’s shoulder. Gently, slowly, all hostility flowing off of him. The arm wrapped around Ivan’s neck, all hug-like. He had to get a bit on tip-toes to look into Ivan’s fuckin’ eyes.
“I wonder what it felt like,” he muttered.
“Killing her? Giselle? Did it feel good? Did it make you feel fulfilled? Are you happy with what you’ve done?”
The other hand wiped a lock of hair away from his face. It came off streaked with blood.
(Get out of my head.)
No.
(He wondered if this was really all that his life was working towards. A shitty death, blatant character assasination (character suicide?) and semi-obscurity. Didn’t feel right, didn’t feel like it was him- but he wasn’t himself. The Vasily that he showed to the world would like to die guns ablazing. The Vasily that wasn’t wearing a mask would like to turn the gun on himself before he turned it on anyone else.)
He leaned back a bit, struggling.
“It can be a rhetorical question if you want it to be. No pressure.”
The throbbing in his head was pushing thoughts out of the way, filling the holes where rationalization should be with foggy confusion.
“Alright.”
…
“I’m fucking tired of it. I don’t know why, I- Listen. I like- I liked Fisk. He was a good egg. But for fuck’s sake, the plan’s never going to get pulled off in the beginning. The moment he decided to give us an edgy name and to hand out the fucking klan masks I knew it was going downhill.”
''And he told me, he confessed to me, that he was terrified. He spilled his deepest fears and insecurities to me, and all I did was just hold him and make it all worse by giving him all the wrong answers until he cried.''
Deep. Fucking. Breaths.
“I’ve been avoiding facing the fact that it’s never gonna go right in the beginning and now you’re here, and they’re not here anymore, and all that I feel like is somebody being played for a fool and-”
“And part of me just want to die here, with you as myself, then with them as a teammate. I don't hate them, I just… I love them and I wished that it could've gone differently.”
…
“Yeah.”
“I know I’m fucked up.”
“But you are, too, so…’
He leaned into Ivan. Close. Real close. Just two boys caught in a situation they had next to no say in. And he couldn’t really help that part of himself, the child within him, that wanted so badly for everybody to be happy, to love each other, to not fall victim to this, but he’s tried to kill that part so long ago that he couldn’t remember what it felt like anymore.
He put a hand on Ivan’s shoulder. Gently, slowly, all hostility flowing off of him. The arm wrapped around Ivan’s neck, all hug-like. He had to get a bit on tip-toes to look into Ivan’s fuckin’ eyes.
“I wonder what it felt like,” he muttered.
“Killing her? Giselle? Did it feel good? Did it make you feel fulfilled? Are you happy with what you’ve done?”
The other hand wiped a lock of hair away from his face. It came off streaked with blood.
(Get out of my head.)
No.
(He wondered if this was really all that his life was working towards. A shitty death, blatant character assasination (character suicide?) and semi-obscurity. Didn’t feel right, didn’t feel like it was him- but he wasn’t himself. The Vasily that he showed to the world would like to die guns ablazing. The Vasily that wasn’t wearing a mask would like to turn the gun on himself before he turned it on anyone else.)
He leaned back a bit, struggling.
“It can be a rhetorical question if you want it to be. No pressure.”
The throbbing in his head was pushing thoughts out of the way, filling the holes where rationalization should be with foggy confusion.
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Ivan opened his mouth, then closed it, twisting it downwards, away from the rest of his features.
“It felt…” he said, trailing off, searching for the right words.
“I’m fine with that choice,” he continued, “with killing her. Giselle was one of the worst people I’ve ever met. She was a hypocrite, a sociopath, a complete piece of shit. Of all you - all six of you - I built her up to be the worst. Fisk, well - I tried to kill him first. Bacchia was just following the lead, and Keegan and James were essentially useless during all of it. You, I lost for a while. Emmy actually tried to protect you when I asked her who did it.”
Ivan plugged his left ear with his free hand, released it. No change in hearing. With his right hand, he straightened Vasily out as the other boy began to list to port. “But Giselle needed to go. I’m glad she was first. It made this… easier.”
“It felt…” he said, trailing off, searching for the right words.
“I’m fine with that choice,” he continued, “with killing her. Giselle was one of the worst people I’ve ever met. She was a hypocrite, a sociopath, a complete piece of shit. Of all you - all six of you - I built her up to be the worst. Fisk, well - I tried to kill him first. Bacchia was just following the lead, and Keegan and James were essentially useless during all of it. You, I lost for a while. Emmy actually tried to protect you when I asked her who did it.”
Ivan plugged his left ear with his free hand, released it. No change in hearing. With his right hand, he straightened Vasily out as the other boy began to list to port. “But Giselle needed to go. I’m glad she was first. It made this… easier.”