black_tulipa Black Tulipa

A tragic past. An unstable present. An uncertain future. Erwin will have to confront the demons of his youth, climbing up his back as they try to drag him into the depths of the abyss. The debris there is a testament to the need to rebuild his kingdom. Overcoming trauma means staring the beast in the eyes. He knows this. But the beast’s eyes are a beautiful honey-brown. Such beauty should be incapable of causing harm, though every rose has its thorns and can prick without intention, drawing blood from a healed wound. That poison might be the cure to avoid true death. Warnings: - The protagonist suffers from severe social anxiety. - Pearlverse story (There is a guide on this in my profile). - M/M. - Death of main characters, dark humor, discrimination, xenophobia, trauma, abuse, violence, gore, etc. - Depression and mentions of suicide. - More action scenes than romance. - It could be said that the first arc is of context, since the protagonist's real suitor appears in the second arc. - Originally intended as a fanfic of Ghost x König, but I changed my mind. Please do not read if you are sensitive or cannot take the narratives here as mere fiction.


LGBT+ 21+. © Black_Tulipa

#happyending # #deathofacharacter #pearlverse #war #military #blood #yaoi #depression #gore #bl #trauma #manxman #distrust
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Arc 1: Ashes in the Abyss

They say that evil must be uprooted, just like weeds in a garden.


The problem is that these parasitic plants cling to the ground more firmly than any other. They manage to hide among the beneficial ones and destroy them. They feed on them. Just as humans do with their peers whom they consider inferior.


It’s no secret that society is full of bumps. Bacteria that greet you at work or some seemingly innocent place, hiding their true intentions behind a perfectly hypocritical smile.


Bad examples are taken as strong.

Victims are reduced to people who didn’t have the strength or courage to fight.


In the end, the residual blame for negative events usually falls on the one who didn’t manage to pull the rope from their neck.


Speaking ill of the dead is terrible.

Turning them into a living corpse is even worse.


Whose fault is it when something bad happens?


God, imposing insurmountable trials on His warriors?

Lucifer, throwing the stone so that when you stumble, you despise heaven?

Humanity itself, conspiring hard to ruin others' lives and not feel so insignificant?

Yourself, letting "I can’t" take control of your actions?


...


These were the kinds of things Erwin questioned as he pulled weeds stuck to the back walls of the military installation, pondering topics for which, no matter how much he reflected, he couldn’t find a wholly convincing solution.


He’d leave that task to the philosophers.


A breeze made his body shiver and drew him away from his concentration, helping him realize that, unfortunately, he was almost done with the thin stems.


He sighed. He didn’t want to go back inside.


No one took on this task because it was monotonous and exhausting, having to pull out those damn invasive plants stuck to the mold on the pavement, especially with the sun baking their backs, but Erwin appreciated the privacy it offered among all the “jobs” at the place.

Having to do it alone was a tiny disadvantage if it meant he could escape the intrusive comments about his physique or personality that plagued him whenever he walked through any crowded hallway.


He wasn’t a goddamn circus spectacle. He wasn’t a phenomenon. He wasn’t-.


He stopped his work after scraping his palm on one of the vines. How curious.

He had never thought to use gloves for smooth, thornless stems. Apparently, he had been overconfident.


He closed his hand, pressing the seemingly superficial wound with his fingers and observing a tiny drop of blood oozing from it.

That was the last vine.


...


He could use a break. To close his eyes and revel in solitude.


He exhaled heavily through his nose, sitting on the ground with his back against the wall and his thighs pressing his torso.


He must have looked ridiculous.


Anyone would wonder why he was there, pulling weeds instead of leading a large-scale military operation, considering he had been training at the base since he was 17 and, at 29 with great capacity, his achievements should be impressive.


Life isn’t that easy, especially for those who are ‘like him.’


Joining the military had been… complicated.


A marsupial bearer was supposed to avoid physical activity that risked their fertility, i.e., no military training, no fighting.

No longer, simple.


Anyway, the rumor that it had been the case before spread and exploded like flammable gas in a closed room.


Who would have so few neurons in their head to allow such an abomination to rise in the ranks?


Apparently, no one.


He was clearly doomed to stay at the lowest rank for the rest of his life, though free food and a place to sleep were worth it.


They didn’t kick him out either because they must have been blind not to appreciate his potential as a human battering ram.


Though he failed in his attempt to be a sniper (which didn’t stop him from ‘gifting himself’ one of the hoods), his strength and endurance were unmatched by other recruits.

Without crossing his fingers behind his back, he could even swear he was the most promising of all.


The problem: His unmanageable social anxiety.


Several times he avoided facing up and demanding a promotion simply because he couldn’t even look his superiors in the eyes. No one, in general.


They tried to solve that issue by transferring him to a higher-status base outside Austria, his homeland, and using dogs as therapy, ending up with him training them to fight subjects of great size.


This only made him isolate himself further from people, as he found comfortable company in the canines.


It seemed impossible to tame that subject.


It was a complete lost cause.


...


Well. Enough rest.


He slowly got up and shook the muddy dirt off his clothes, ignoring how it stuck to the fabric.


His feet dragged with no motivation over the grass, increasing his clumsiness as he reached an entrance.

He calculated how much he needed to lift his legs to ascend each of the three steps without tripping, keeping his gaze down as if the white tiles of the hallway were a work of art.


He clenched his jaw, unwilling to look around, hearing distorted and overlapping voices. The volume rose as he passed the first pair of people, making him dizzy to the point of needing to hold his breath to avoid a nervous attack.

He knew he would be scolded if caught with the mask he took, but he really needed to hide his surely embarrassing expression.


Were they watching him? Were they talking about him?


He cursed his height that prevented him from going unnoticed, exhaling through his teeth all the air in his lungs. No matter how much he pulled the cap down over his head, it only made him look more stupid. He needed something better to hide behind.


Why wasn’t he born an ant? He wouldn’t have to think, just work. He would be useful to the ant colony, and no one would pay attention because everyone would be copies of each other.


“Did you know he used to be…”


He tried not to let it show as his steps grew longer and faster, but the watery echo from the mud spoiled his plan.


Why wasn’t he arriving already? Was the hallway intentionally stretching to prolong his torture? He even thought he saw the door moving away, mocking as everyone does.


It’s so funny. A giant terrified of small humans.


He was about to cheer at feeling his fingers close around the doorknob, turning it to the appropriate place with a slight worry that it might be locked and he’d suffer the embarrassment of being left outside struggling.


Fortunately, it gave way without incident, and he didn’t bother to open it fully before entering and closing it behind him, breathing heavily until he calmed down.


The janitor’s puzzled look brought back a bit of his discomfort, which he forgot when the man offered him a small packet of chewing gum as a reward for his hard work.

That man seemed to read his mind, always giving him something edible to lift his spirits.


“I guess you’re done.” The older man assumed, apparently repairing a broom he had in his hands.


Erwin gave a hasty nod in response, avoiding the cleaning man to grab one of the bandages. He turned to him, as if asking with his eyes if he could use it, proceeding when given the nod.

Chewing the gum relaxed him considerably, distracting him from several things.


He ignored when the janitor asked about his constant abandonment of gloves, returning the bandage to its place after using it and saying goodbye with a hum before going back outside.


The cap only allowed him to see the floor and shoes small compared to his.


Didn’t they have anything better to do than whisper in the hallways…?


Or bump into his side, as if he weren’t a giant wall visible from several kilometers away?


“Hey! What’s wrong with you?! Apologize, idiot!”


Erwin turned toward the stairs, downplaying the way that confrontational person threw insults into the air.


Reaching his individual room and closing the door with a lock was always so liberating.

He could remove any garment that restricted his vision, throw himself onto his bed after a long, fruitless day, and reflect on all the answers he could have given in his daily disputes if he had two grams more of courage to do so.

Sometimes, he even entertained himself by insulting himself for hours until he regained his senses from the lump in his throat and the burning in his eyes.


How gratifying.


But no. He wasn’t in the mood for self-destruction. He preferred to reserve that for those times when he really needed a scolding and no one dared to give it to him.


Better to make use of the time and do some push-ups on the floor. The gym was always full, so he had to get used to jogging three hours around the campus from four in the morning and working out in his room to have some privacy.

It would be terrible if he tripped over his own feet and looked ridiculous in front of everyone.


Just thinking about it made him anxious. Just like remembering how he stopped being a ‘kangaroo’...


(...)


How long had he been working out?


He used to get carried away by the tragic movies in his head, but never to the point of collapsing on the floor due to the pain in his exhausted arms and the heat of sweat accumulating on his burning skin from being in a closed space.

He found the trajectory of the salty drops on his contour disgusting, touching him without permission.


He felt an unpleasant shiver, shaking his head to drive away the memory that was about to hit him.


His sorrow increased when he remembered he had to go to the common showers on the lower floor due to some idiots who ruined those on his floor.


He looked at the wall clock, realizing it was thirty minutes until dinner. Maybe this was his chance to go without company.


He grabbed his towel and soap, peeking his head out the door and looking both ways to confirm his theory.



Silence and stillness. Surely everyone was in the dining hall, securing a spot at any table.


Erwin decided to fully step out, shivering at the feel of the draft from an open window in the hallway. The lights on the ceiling cast more darkness outside, but paying attention to the moving shadows would be childish.


Just trees.


He quickened his pace, not wanting to catch a cold and become an easy target.


A long black hair moved down the stairs. It fell. It made no noise. No one fell down these stairs. They were empty. Why would someone be there?


He descended several steps, stopping in the middle of the staircase with his gaze down. His eyes saw a non-existent figure, and he knew it was just a past event.


He wished there was an elevator. It would save him from remembering several things.


“It was an accident.”


...


He sighed, halting any thoughts until he reached the bathroom door.


He pressed his ear to the wood, almost jumping for joy when he didn’t hear any showers running.


He entered, hurrying to the farthest stall on the right, washing himself in under five minutes with warm water and surprising eagerness.


He gasped in satisfaction feeling his body clean, freezing at a growl from his stomach.


He hadn’t had lunch because he was busy with the weeds (and to avoid the crowded lunch hour), so it was impossible to avoid the desire to have something edible in his mouth.


The slump returned as he reached the conclusion that he could no longer avoid it. He needed to eat something.


...


He followed the same plan he always did: grab a tray, serve as much as he was allowed, and eat away from the public eye.


He was doing well until he heard a voice that accelerated his pulse in a bad way.


“Erwin?”


He felt repulsed by the way his name was pronounced, making a great effort not to openly show the difficulty his lungs had in seeking oxygen.


He turned enough to look someone directly in the eyes for the first time in more years than he could remember.


His memory wasn’t failing him. Even with the passage of time, that disgusting voice remained fixed in his memory. It was him.

10 сентября 2024 г. 13:52 0 Отчет Добавить Подписаться
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