memori3s: (51)
minato arisato ([personal profile] memori3s) wrote in [community profile] peacockstop 2025-03-21 01:48 am (UTC)

cw light suicidal ideation closes my freaking eyes

[ His lips part ever so slightly, a puzzled look surfacing from the sea of gray-blue. Akira wasn't asking him how it worked physically?

Minato falls quiet. While this "will of rebellion" sounded entirely different from the nature of SEES' own awakenings, he realizes... perhaps they're not actually that dissimilar. The physical manifestation of one's choice to fight: hadn't that been the same decision he'd made on the rooftop of Iwatodai's dorm? A decision sealed with the pull of that trigger?

Akira's eyes open again; Minato meets his gaze. Each time he pulled the Evoker's trigger, he felt: ]


...peace.

[ He felt no anger, no flames of rebellion to dance around his heart. ]

I felt peace.

[ Tranquility. Acceptance. Finality. The reassurance of that definite end, the placation of one's soul in knowing that the unknown would become the known. Minato mirrors Akira's gesture, raising a hand to rest over a newly-beating heart. ]

...my mind is quiet. Nothing else matters in that moment.

[ Perhaps Akira would never understand, based on the explanation of his own power. Perhaps he would never understand the reassurance, the knowledge that all things must come to an end. And because all things must end, wasn't that what made them worth fighting for while they lasted?

Perhaps Akira would never understand. He doesn't have to.

His gaze strays from Akira's as it fixes itself heavenward. ]


It's my resolve to never take anything for granted. Something may be here today, but gone tomorrow.

[ It's the only way to take one's final breath without having any regrets. ]

Post a comment in response:

This account has disabled anonymous posting.
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.
More info about formatting

If you are unable to use this captcha for any reason, please contact us by email at support@dreamwidth.org