#traumakilled

[inasphyxia-blog]

“what about all of this is funny?” / @maddie from min

perhaps she doesn't mean to laugh ,   but everyone in that meeting room knows otherwise. it starts with the slight lift of her lip, curling upwards in a smile as he continues to speak. he’s standing there, in front of everyone, but madeleine can’t seem to meet his eyes -- in fact, she has continued to look lower and lower. smile turns into a slight giggle at what she’s spotted, which turns into her praying that she is able to stifle her laughing before someone notices. however, their connection from japan seems to see where her eyes have wandered to. when he begins laughing, it’s only quick that others notice as well. 

&  when minjaes eyes fall on her, it’s too late to try and stop laughing. when he speaks, madeleine finally lets her eyes drift up to meet his; a delicate hand is placed over his, bringing his knuckles up to her lips as she breathes out  -     ❛    you have hot sauce on your shirt, love.  ❜

[inasphyxia-blog]

❝ Giving him a name makes him human. ❞ / minjae @ madeleine

and she knows.    if anyone knows about humanity, it’s her. his breath is fanning against her lips, his hands snugly at the small of her back -   comfort. it feels like home. his voice is soft  ( it’s rare ) , and she knows he’s trying to be gentle with her. she’s fragile; so many people have been killed in the past week alone, that she can feel her hope slipping from her. the way his lips brush against her brings her thudding heart to a slow, slender fingers curling into his shirt. she plays with the buttons  ( one comes undone, then the other ) , a nervous habit of hers that she’s developed. a sigh slips past rosy lips, and his fingertips dig into the small of her back. 

  ‘   i know that full well, my love,   ‘  she whispers, eyes fluttering shut. his lips brush against her forehead, and it draws a soft purr from her lips. his hands move down a little more, and she can’t help but giggle. the way his hands move makes her forget about the problems momentarily; it gives her peace, makes her feel as though nothing exists outside of that room. she knows that she is giving him a human personality, she knows that she’s no longer leaving him at just a criminal  ( a traitor ) . something stirs in her gut; she can’t possibly kill somebody. 

  yet she says nothing, and leans into the embrace of the man who holds a gun like it’s an extension of himself.

[wildechaya]

however  brash ,  however  aggressive ,   ever - present  and  unabashedly  loud ,  she  is  no  fool .   gussie  needs  no  gifts  now ,   here  on  the  densely  packed  street --  the  fine  hairs  on  the  back  of  her  neck ,  raised ,  do  the  trick  nicely .  senses  refined  by  years  of  living  in  a  world  full  of  threats ,   it’s  second  nature  to  recognize  when  she’s  being  followed ,  being  watched .  once  in  a  week  may  be  normal ,   yet  this  is  the  second  occurrence  in  as  many  days     (   she  had  dealt  with  the  thugs ,  and  she  would  deal  with  this  as  well   ) .    the  crowd  is  thick ,   and  it  would  be  hopeless  to  spot  her  companion  in  it .   perhaps ,  years  earlier ,  she  might  have  disappeared --  faded  away  into  the  open  storefronts  or  retreated  to  the  safety  of  her  car .   she  feels  little  fear  now --  only  a  surge  of  adrenaline  from  the  promise  of  confrontation .   

and  so ,   she  slips ,  noticeably ,   between  two  brick  apartment  buildings .   she  doesn’t  hide  in  the  alley ,  she  waits  there ,  impatient ,  that  energy  within  her  tensed  to  spring .   a  form  turns  the  corner ,   and  the  energy  flows   before  her  eyes  can  process  an  inch  of  him .    his  legs  move  with  her  will ,   push  him  back  against  the  alley  wall ,   and  as  her  fist  opens ,  fingers  stretched ,   blood  leaks  from  that  slender  nose .     ❝    who  the  fuck  are  you  and  why  are  you  following  me ?  ❞

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