#References to depression

[hithertoundreamtof23]

Summary: Andrew's Spider-Man deals with what to do after Gwen's death.

~~

Excerpt::

It was ironic that the delicate flowers foreshadowed the finite nature of humanity and the lack of immortality in love.

Everything faded. Everything died.

As Peter sat by her graveside, he confessed feelings that were never said. So much was left unsaid. So much would never be said.

Still, he talked to her.

He sobbed to her.

He apologized to her.

~~

Bad Things Happen Bingo- "Don't you Dare Pity Me"

[rosehipandroots]

twilight talks

Twilight's got issues, but thankfully he also has brothers who are willing to walk through hell for him. a Twilight-centric series :)

(works: 8 // total wordcount: 28,593 // ongoing)

read here on ao3!

[onceandfutureclotpoll]

Title: tangled up in your bedsheets (and in your arms)

Author: feuxx, Imagined

Rating: Mature

Summary: Merlin parts the orange in two when he’s finished peeling. The juice streams over his wrist and upper arm, and he licks it off absentmindedly before he hands over one half to Arthur. Arthur hesitates for a moment, something strange flickering over his expression before he takes his part.

“They’re best shared,” Merlin tells him, and puts a slice to his lips.

Or: When PhD student Merlin Wyllt flies to a tiny, faraway Italian town for a summer job with Professor Ygraine du Bois, he finds himself unexpectedly at odds with her son, Arthur.

But not only oranges blossom in summer, and Merlin finds that he and Arthur have a lot to learn from—and about—one another.

[annepi-blog]

A Klaine Story

Hi,

I have written a new one-shot inspired by the German song "Barfuß am Klavier" by the band AnnenMayKantereit. Listening to it sparked an idea that I couldn't resist putting to paper and sharing with you. The story is maybe a bit sad, but it has a happy ending!

Words: 3,025

Rated: Teen And Up Audience

Character: Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson

Summary:

Blaine's fingers danced over the piano keys, his emotions flowing through each note like a river of emotion. The melancholic melody seemed to reflect the storm raging inside him, a storm of uncertainty that had been brewing for some time. A post-canon one-shot that deals with Blaine's insecurities and their effect on his relationship with Kurt. Please read the tags. Happy ending!

You can find it on AO3 under this link:

[kalevalakryze]

Follow Orders

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Ahsoka Series Pairings: Hera Syndulla & Ezra Bridger, Ezra Bridger &  Jacen Syndulla Characters: Hera Syndulla, Ezra Bridger, Jacen Syndulla, Leia Organa, C-3PO, Chopper Warnings: Mentions of Loss, References to Depression, Exhaustion, Comfort Notes: For Whumptober Day 12 This one is also going to be very short, since I; like Hera, have not been sleeping Prompt: “I haven’t slept in days, but who’s counting?” | “I’m up, I’m up.” | Insomnia Word Count: 1,317 AO3 Link: Here!

Hopelessness was not something that had ever been able to sink itself wholly into Hera Syndulla; Ever since she was a child, she’d known of war, sacrifice, and loss; Even the loss of Kanan, while life altering and heart shattering, she still got up in the morning, put one foot in front of the other. Had raised her son and fought in the Rebellion, had balanced being a mother and a leader so smoothly for decades.  

Hopelessness’s icy tendrils had found her heart at the mention of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s return, but there’d been a spark of hope with his name. That Ezra Bridger would return to them, that the empty chair in the ghost would be filled again by the boy’s laughter and antics that had never failed to make her smile. 

Jacen was so much like him, the older brother he’d never got to meet, reflected in whole smiles and brilliant thoughts, in the force and it’s thrum so intricately tied into their beings (She didn’t know much about it, but General Skywalker had assured her that even if Jacen did not know Ezra, he would know enough of the Hero in the stories she shared, and in the memory of the force, if the boy would reach on his own).

When Ezra pulled the bucket off of his head, Hera hadn’t known what she was going to do. He’d grown up so much, a near perfect resemblance of the man in the pictures he’d shown them of his parents. But he’d smiled at her with the awkward easiness of a boy who’d stolen a TIE fighter. 

She was torn between meeting him halfway as her blaster was stowed numbly, from watching him, and watching the ramp of the ship.

He’d gotten tall, she could make out that much as he finally got within arms reach. No one came from the ship. “Where…?” Hera’s voice trailed off, and his smile faltered.

“They’re okay,” He promised, his hand hovering hesitantly in the space between them, like touching Hera would break the illusion. “They’ll come home,” He promised, surprise cutting him off as the General through her arms around him, plastoid creaking as strong arms encompassed him.

“Ezra,” She breathed again, fingers burying in dark, curly hair as his head tucked into her neck, arms wrapping just as tight around her as the New Republic soldiers around them started to lower their guard. “I’m so glad you’re home,” She had to focus on the good, and had to believe that Ahsoka would keep herself alive long enough to fulfill her promise. She’d promised to bring home both of her surrogate kids, and that included herself, Hera had to cling to that hope.

//

The Republic became a rush of activity following Ezra’s return, full of meetings, planning, organizing scouts to Dathomir, and finding some semblance of an old normal in having a tangible enemy once more.

The nightmares came after the relief of the first night, after Hera had introduced Ezra and Jacen, and had been granted the relief of watching her family finally form this last, gaping connection. She hadn’t been able to know Ezra when he was Jacen’s age, but seeing the two talk, and Ezra not so subtly passing a lightsaber to the boy; she knew that their similarities had been a strong point in her life to keeping together through it all.

Falling back into habits from the Rebellion was easy, without Kanan, and without Ahsoka around, she found days slipping past without sleep, forcing herself to make time to play with Jacen, to walk around with Ezra and talk about anything but the upcoming war, and to avoid the dreams of heat on her face and a Jedi’s force pressing her back into the Ghost. 

It was on the fifth day of sluggish work, restless naps at her desk, and dozing even while she was watching Ezra and Jacen playing, that she finally found sleep; Head lolled back onto the couch with the sound of Ezra telling Jacen a story and Chopper’s insistent beeps about how the Jedi must have messed something up, that eased her off to a blissfully calm dream.

Weight dropped into her side; The engines were blown, the durasteel siding of the speeder was crushing into her side, flames licking away paint and at the arms of her jumpsuit, she needed to get- Small arms wrapped around her middle as Jacen snuggled into her, getting comfortable as Ezra’s head dropped onto her shoulder. “I’m up, I’m up-” She promised, voice thick with sleep as she rubbed her eyes with one hand, carding her fingers through Jacen’s hair while a yawn split her lips.

“And I’m Jabba the Hutt,” Ezra replied sarcastically, a smile on his lips as he shook his head, pressing his weight back so Hera couldn’t try to get up. 

“Is it working?” Jacen whispered to Ezra as Hera tiredly slinked back into the couch, fingers scraping gently against her son’s scalp as her eyes dropped closed again.

“Shhh,” Ezra put a finger to his lips, though he smiled at the young force sensitive as his eyes flickered to the Twi’lek.

“I’m being ganged up on, huh?” Hera grumbled to the ceiling as her hand fell to Jacen’s back, tugging him closer as he snuggled closer.

“Mom, shh, you’re s’posed to be sleeping,” “Mmm, Thank you, Commander, I’ll get on it,” 

//

The next time Hera’s eyes blinked open, she was curled up on her side on the couch, a blanket tucked carefully over her and a pillow settled under her head. Artificial light flooded in from the kitchen in the quarters, allowing the woman to catch a glimpse of a golden droid and the back of Ezra’s head.

“We have hope,” Ezra was saying to someone further in the kitchen as his arms crossed his chest. “That’s enough to defeat Thrawn,”

“Thank you, Ezra Bridger,” Leia’s voice was soft, toned down for the sleeping woman in the living room. “It is good to have you back, your experience with Thrawn will be invaluable… but Hera’s needed it too,” The Twi’lek started to sit up, blanket rustling as she forced her body to move. “Our galaxy had a severe Jabba shortage, lately, it seems,”

A quiet laugh was shared between the two rebels, though the view was blocked out as another yawn and a sight came from the General as she stretched; When her eyes reopened, a golden head and glowing eyes startled her. “Good morning, General Syndulla;” Threepeio started, drawing the attention of the others in the apartment. 

Jacen ran out of the kitchen with the remains of an ice pop sticking to his cheek, throwing himself into Hera’s arms happily. “Mission completed, General Mom!” He started, giggling as Hera chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I always get the job done, Commander,” The woman promised, offering a mock salute when he pulled back.

“Oh this is true, you know,” Ezra started with a smile, “unless-”

“Don’t you dare, young man.”

“Unless a Jedi is involved, it seems, then you go and create your own orders?” Leia poked her head through the doorway, a spatula in her hand as she rested her other hand on her hip. 

“Listen,”

“Ah, nope, no work talk till everyone eats!” Jacen interjected, rushing past Leia and snatching the spatula from her hand before disappearing into the kitchen. Chopper beeped dangerously from further inside, which in turn had Ezra rushing back in to stop the boys from setting anything on fire. 

“When this ship goes down, I just know it’s going to be because of them,” Leia shook her head as she moved to join Hera on the couch, sinking into a cushion and shoving the blanket aside. 

“It… runs in the family,” Hera said sheepishly, enunciated by Choppers whirring and bionic laughter. 

“Tell me about it,”

[solvskrift]

and i'm wondering when it will all collapse | 1.5k | loki & thor

whumptober prompt no. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” | safety net | “How many fingers am I holding up?” also on ao3!

Thor is waiting for him at the kitchen table.

“Morning, idiot,” Thor salutes him, raising his cup of black coffee.

Valkyrie scoffs from the seat next to him and props her feet up on the table with a loud thunk.

Loki grunts as he settles himself gingerly into a chair. Thor nudges a plate of pastries toward him but Loki ignores it, nausea rolling through his stomach.

“Sleep well?” Thor asks drily.

Loki grunts again and swipes Thor’s coffee. He supposes he must look as terrible as he feels because his brother lets him. He takes a tentative sip, wills it to stay down, and wraps his hands gratefully around the warm mug, letting his eyes fall closed.

“What were you thinking?”

“‘Not much’ is what I’d say, personally,” Valkyrie offers helpfully around a mouthful of blueberry muffin.

“Why are you eternally here instead of your own home?” Loki demands without opening his eyes.

Valkyrie laughs and the volume of it makes Loki want to kick her. “Please. You two are so fun to watch! Plus,” she adds, taking an obnoxious sip of her coffee in demonstration, “you’ve always got the good shit.”

“Charming.”

“Knock it off,” Thor tells them half-heartedly, but they both know he doesn’t mean it. “How are you feeling?”

The dish of pastries bumps insistently against his hand again.

“Fine,” Loki bites out.

“Really. How many fingers am I holding up?”

He cracks an eye open to see Thor flipping him off with a pleasant smile.

“Up yours,” says Loki, and nibbles unhappily at a croissant to head off the very real possibility of Thor shoving one down his throat.

“Nah,” Thor says easily. “Not really my thing. And I’m still waiting.”

Loki opens his eyes all the way just so he can roll them at the ceiling. “Enough, Thor.”

“No,” his brother says flatly, and there’s an edge to it this time that takes the warmth right out of the sun streaming through the kitchen window.

Valkyrie very carefully takes her feet off the table and stands. “Think I’ll go see if Heimdall needs any help with that generator,” she says quietly, and pats Thor’s bicep as she goes as if to say ‘take it easy on him.’

Loki scowls.

When the door closes behind her, Thor starts in earnest.

“Brother – ”

And Loki hates that tone.

He stands abruptly, abandoning the croissant and stolen coffee. “I’ve work to do.”

“We’re not done – ”

Loki allows the front door slamming behind him to be sufficient answer.

-------

He successfully manages to avoid Thor all day through a combination of strict calculation, happy accidents, and what he optimistically attributes to the Norns abstaining from shitting all over him for once.

His luck runs out eventually, as it always does.

It’s easy to spot Thor climbing the hillside out of the corner of his eye, but Loki doesn’t bother to move. His fingers tighten in the grass, gaze glued to the waters of the fjord down below.

Thor plops down next to him with an inelegant ‘oof.’

“You didn’t check in at the healing halls today,” he begins casually.

Loki doesn’t look at him. “I’m not injured.”

“Not injured anymore,” Thor corrects. “And Fulla said the real concern was your lungs, after the burns.”

“You truly need a hobby.”

“I’m serious, Loki.”

Loki lets out a long-suffering sigh and pins Thor with a look. “I assure you, if I begin coughing up any internal organs, you’ll be the first one I inform.”

“This isn’t a joke!”

There is something like fear glinting in Thor’s eye, wild and desperate, and it’s such a naked expression Loki has to look away.

A hum vibrates through the air and brings with it the faint smell of ozone.

They’re both silent for a long moment.

“I know what you are thinking,” Loki murmurs finally. “And I am not trying to die.”

“Aren’t you?”

The words are bitter, and brutal, and they hit Loki like a punch to the gut.

But more than anything there’s anger.

“Perhaps next time you’d prefer it if I let the building burn down while I pour myself some wine and watch?”

“That’s not what I – ”

“If I don’t help, I must not care. If I do, I must be trying to kill myself - make up your mind.” Thor moves at the edge of his vision but before he can say anything, Loki goes on: “What do you want from me, Thor?”

It comes out far closer to a plea than he intended, and Loki shuts his eyes.

“I want you to stay,” Thor tells him, voice wavering. “I want to know you are safe.”

Loki huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

He says nothing, and when Thor speaks again there’s an anger in his voice, too. “Do you truly wish so badly to see Valhalla?”

This startles Loki so much he opens his eyes and looks over at Thor. Now that is funny.

“Frost giants do not go to Valhalla,” Loki says, tone dripping with disdain. “And even if they did, I have not exactly put together a compelling application for it, now have I?”

Thor looks stricken. “You don’t really believe that…” he asks. “Do you?”

He sounds thoroughly wounded, and there is a vicious part of Loki that is glad.

“Stop being a child, Thor. It’s not something either of us can change, and it is not simply what I believe. It is true. You should know - we were both raised with the same stories of the Jotnar…”

Loki digs his fingers viciously into the cool earth.

“We were raised to believe many things,” Thor says quietly. “Many of them have turned out not to be true.”

Loki doesn’t reply, willing the subject to drop.

Thinking of the frost giants too deeply always makes him feel like he’s crawling out of his skin.

“Why didn’t you call for help?” Thor demands after a pause.

Loki bristles and allows his next words to sound as dangerous as he feels. “Have you forgotten what I am capable of?”

“No,” Thor counters, “I haven’t. Which is why I’m left wondering why you went inside that building at all.” His gaze is hard, jaw working and shoulders drawn tense.

“I assumed you’d prefer it if the town hall was still part of the town,” Loki deadpans.

“Stop it, brother - you could have put out that fire with a thought! Or else if you were too spent one of the Vala would have aided you. If Heimdall hadn’t seen – ”

“And I’m the one who’s called dramatic – ”

“STOP! Just - stop.”

The smell of ozone sharpens and the hair on the back of Loki’s neck stands on end. There’s an audible crackle in the air. Thor doesn’t rise, but there’s something about it all that makes him appear larger all of a sudden. As forbidding as - or perhaps more than - Odin ever had been.

Loki is reminded all over again why he has always, in one way or another, feared his brother.

It’s only after several heartbeats that Loki realizes his own hands have started to rise in defense, faint trails of green swirling around his fingertips.

Thor sees this and presses his lips together, his good eye widening a fraction before he forces himself to calm. The crackling fades. Loki warily lowers his hands to his knees, eyeing Thor who appears tightly strung as a bow pulled to the end of its limit.

Then Thor goes slack, the fight going out of him, and he slumps forward to drop his head into his hands. He breathes like that for a while, deep and even, while Loki watches and wishes to be anywhere else.

After long minutes in which the only sound is the lapping waters of the fjord, Thor lifts his head to meet Loki’s gaze. His eye is glassy, his voice thick as he pleads, “Tell me how to help you.”

Loki swallows, fighting the numbness creeping up through his fingers and toes. Tries to make his throat work.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits on a whisper.

He has never even been able to understand how to help himself. How to fix whatever it is inside him that twists up and turns inward like a viper striking its own hide and makes it so all he can hear is I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

Thor does not look surprised at his answer, but the lines of his face seem to deepen. Cautiously, he reaches for Loki and settles a warm hand at the back of his neck. Squeezes gently.

Loki’s eyes burn. He wants to throw the touch from his skin. He wants Thor to promise never to leave.

“Will you come back to the house with me?”

Loki breathes in through his nose. His feet are cold and half-numb, and he doesn’t think he would mind sitting here forever at the top of a cliff.

“I’ll make dinner,” Thor promises, “and we can have a drink.”

Loki takes another breath.

Slowly, he nods.

“Thank you,” says Thor, the thread of relief unmistakable.

Loki allows his brother to pull him to his feet and they set off together down the sloping grass toward their village.

Loki will walk back home.

He will let Thor make him a meal.

That is all he needs to do for the moment, he assures himself.

For now, this is all he needs to do.

[naoa-ao3]

It Never Rains in Southern California

Termination was an ugly business.

Ugly for the one getting the sack and the Watchers Council had little use for drawn out or contested terminations.

Wesley had gotten a letter and a phone call.

The letter had been from the Council and the phone call had come from his father. Both had been brief and each had left him with an empty pit in his stomach and no uncertainty of his own worthlessness.

His disgrace with the Council was so great that they hadn't even sent him a ticket home and he had been stuck between the rent on his leased place and affording a plane ticket.

He hadn't even asked his father for help. Hadn't gotten in more than a few mumbled words on the phone. There had been a lot about his failures and the disappointments and shame he had wrought. That had been the bulk of it.

With the Mayor defeated and the children graduated time seemed to have come to a stand still.

Cordelia had left Sunnydale almost immediately and with the school gone the others were no longer forced to include him in their meetings.

Wesley had eventually decided to leave town too.

He'd thought of stopping and speaking to Giles but in the end he hadn't seen much use in it. Giles hadn't particularly liked him and he supposed now that some of that had been his own fault. He had been pompous and rude but then they hadn't exactly made things easy for him either and Giles had been there the whole time making sure no one took him seriously.

The battle with the Mayor had been hell on earth but it had prevented a more real kind of hell from spreading and shamefully he couldn't say that he remembered more than the beginning. He'd been knocked unconscious almost immediately.

And now he was on the road, no money to rent a car and crammed onto a buss with fifteen or so other people.

The truth was he did have some cash but with no employment in the foreseeable future he was choosing to be careful with it. A bus was cheaper than a car and easier for him too at this point.

He slept most of the way and woke up outside of Los Angeles to the sound of people clamoring off of the bus.

It was dark out as he checked his watch and squinted through the grimy window at the world outside. The city was in the distance so why had they stopped?

He looked around and saw that it was just him and an old woman on the bus. Everyone else was outside.

"Have we broken down?" He asked her.

She looked at him, wrapped in a coat that didn't agree with the weather outside and didn't answer.

Curious, he rose and exited the bus, looking for the driver in the small throng of people. There was no smoke coming from the bus and he saw now they were parked outside of a small rest stop.

People were lighting cigarettes around him and stretching their legs but he couldn't tell which was the driver and it made him uneasy stopping like this. There were too many things in the night the others weren't thinking of.

The bus driver is smoking and so he heads to the rest stop and it's bathroom, ancient linoleum cracked under foot and sink hazardous to touch.

He feels humbled in a way. Like someone in the movies catching a bus into L.A..

It's not where he's ever seen himself ending up but here he is.

On the outskirts of a glowing monolith, L.A. with her Boulevards and Rows. Her Hills and Valleys.

He's too ashamed to go home.

He washes his hands despite the hazardous sink and stares at himself in the dirty mirror.

He's fucked up. He's fucked up so bad and the worst part is he'll think it again in the future and it will be much worse but right now this is the most he's ever fucked up and he feel's sick with it. Stepped on.

All of his school down the drain. . . years of studying and researching. . . of trying to prove himself and be good enough. . . he'd never felt good enough and now he knew he wasn't.

He didn't even know what he was going to do in L.A..

He doesn't dry his hands on the towel that's got what looks like a few years on it already and shakes them out as he leaves the bathroom.

Outside he doesn't see the others and looks around, feeling a tingling sensation creep up his spine.

It's dead silent out and there's no wind.

He pulls his jacket around him, finding it more suitable for the climate now and returns to the bus, seeing no one on it.

The he looks down spots a cigarette butt still glowing in the dirt. . . there's a few of them. . . all glittering like little stars.

He looks up and feels his skin break out in goosebumps as he steps onto the bus.

The old woman is still there, sitting in her coat with her hands in her lap, clutching a handbag that's nearly as old as she is. "

"What's happened to everyone?" He asks.

She looks up and shifts slightly, pointing out the window. "They all went out there." She say's in a croaked voice.

He looks where she's pointing.

Where the cigarette butts are laying.

"I afraid I just came form out there, are you alright?"

She shifts again and lowers her arm, looking at him with ancient eyes. "You're the last." She breaths.

He blinks and then realizes he very much does not want to be on the bus at this moment.

He stumbles backwards but she's rising out of her seat, coat rustling as she stands impossibly tall in the cramped, little, bus.

The doors open and he falls into the dirt and the cigarette butts, scampering away and to his feet and noticing a strange kind of blackness on his hands as he runs.

It's a demon. It's some kind of demon and it killed everyone else on the bus.

He runs for the rest stop and flings himself into the bathroom, chest heaving and heart hammering.

He doesn't know if the old woman has followed him yet but he'll need to know in a second.

Think, he tells himself. . . willing the gears in his mind to work. He knows what this is. Yes it's a demon obviously but he knows. . . he's read about this.

It's a Resamun. . . it eats travelers. . . it's a shap shifting demon. . .

He can almost picture the text book, the pages. . .

It's usually noncorporeal except when it eats. . . it hides in groups of travelers. . . it's vulnerable to Iron and. . .

Or did it haunt rest stops and places like this?

Maybe it could do both. . . he'll look it up after he remembers what it's vulnerable to.

This is a basic level demon.

He was just unprepared.

Like he'd been the entire time in Sunnydale.

He shuts his eyes and thinks hard.

The demon is weak against water. People can't travel in the rain and so neither could it even if the times had changed that some but this is Southern California. . . it never rains here.

He stares around him and his eyes land on the sink. The thing will dissolve if he get's it wet, maybe even die.

He has to get the water to the demon and his mind works furiously to devise a way. He has to act soon. The thing will be after him.

He's the last one.

He thinks of the cigarette butts in the grass and wonders if he should have known sooner. If he should have guessed at all. If those smoldering butts are all his fault.

He finds a bottle of cleaning solution under the end sink and dumps it down the drain, refilling it with water and stepping back outside.

The old woman is in the bus door, impossibly tall in her coat.

He straightens his shirt and walks towards her. "You're a Resamun demon." He says, lifting his chin slightly.

He has the upper hand now.

"You absorbed all of them, didn't you?"

The old woman steps off the bus and seems to grow a little as she shuffles towards him but she's slow and so he opens the jug.

He could warn her, tell her what he's going to do but he doesn't.

He's tired and he's fucked up again.

He throws the water on her and she stops, look of shock on her ancient face before she shivers and turns into a cloud of steam.

He's alone again and this time the wind lifts his hair.

The city is in the distance and the sun is coming up too, far away.

The butts aren't glowing in the grass any more.

His last stop before L.A. and he supposes that at least he did get the demon in the end.

He wishes he could feel good about it as he get's his bag and leaves the bus and rest stop and everything else behind.

Later, when the sun is fully up he'll find a car dealership and buy a bike and no longer footing it he'll pass into L.A., heading towards more than he can imagine.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

If There's Nothing Missing In My Life...

Fandom: DC Comics, Superfam

Summary: Newly-emancipated popstar and child actor, Conner (screen name: Lucky) navigates high school and stardom on his own.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Conner Kent, Lois Lane, Roxy Leech, Rex Leech, Lois Lane, Clark Kent, Hillary Chang

Additional Tags: Highschool AU, Celebrity AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Exploitation, References to Depression, Conner Kent Needs a Hug, Conner Luthor, Lex Luthor is Conner's Parent, Childhood Trauma, Self-Confidence Issues, Teen Angst, Angst, POV First Person, No Powers AU, Conner Kent-centric, Bisexual Conner Kent, POV Conner Kent, Protective Lex Luthor, Child Celebrity AU

Chapter One: Dear Diary

"You are gonna kill this whole high school publicity stunt thing!" Rex exclaimed while I sat on my balcony, soaking in the sun. I hadn't broken it to Rex that I'd actually enrolled in a real public high school. Rex would've blown a gasket if he knew, so I decided to wait until after my first week to tell him. "What are you gonna wear? Have you come up with a caption for the Face-sta-gram yet?"

"Please never say that again... And I haven't decided yet. I thought I'd keep it caj and wear board shorts. The weather's gonna be nice. Clear skies," I replied. Someone stood, blocking the sun, and I snatched off my sunglasses. "What gives!"

"Lucky, you've gotta take this seriously. Board shorts? Are you out of your mind? You're peddling unattainability. Any high school chump can wear board shorts on their first day. You've gotta go big or go home," Rex chastised me. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

I put my sunglasses on and tried to regain my cool. Sometimes I wished Rex would shut up and find someone else to bother, but I think I was his only client. "Can you move this lecture like three feet to the right?" I asked.

"You mean the left, right?" Rex questioned. I grinned. "Oh, so now you're a comedian?"

I chuckled and gave him the finger because he hated when I did that. The sun hit my skin as he stormed off. He finally let me be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes, and I started feeling homesick. I wanted to call my dad and talk to him, but that's what he was waiting for. He wanted me to give him a reason to think I regretted the emancipation proceedings. I didn't. I only wanted to hear his voice. He was my father, after all. It wasn't like I got emancipated because he was stealing from me or abusive. He wasn't any of that. I got emancipated because I wanted to go to public school and stay out late on the weekends. It didn't mean I didn't miss him. I teared up under my sunglasses and used my face towel to wipe my eyes, pretending I was dabbing sweat from my cheeks. I always thought he'd eventually break and take me to my first day of public school. Dad always told me it was too dangerous to go to public school. Instead, I'd be taking myself.

The sunlight and cool ocean breeze put me to sleep. Rex woke me up to get me out of the sun and bothered me about my first-day outfit. "Rex, go home. I will pick a fit so sick your grandchildren will print pictures of my student ID on t-shirts," I lied in the hopes that I'd be able to shower and work on one of my songs in peace and quiet. It worked.

I got cleaned up, sat in front of the muted tv, and screwed around on the guitar. Everyone decided pop would be my sound. I didn't have a choice because they thought I was too young to get into heavy sounds. I argued with them for weeks, but my dad said pop was safe, and I got stuck with the genre. I still wrote my own stuff when I got a moment to myself, but I never showed anyone out of fear they'd say I was a bummer. Most of it was my way of venting out all the negative emotions I felt that weren't profitable. In the words of my ex-publicist, whenever my dad wasn't around, "Depression doesn't sell." A few hours passed, and I went to my closet to pick out something for my first day to appease Rex. I picked a fitted white t-shirt and a pair of powder blue splash pattern wool trousers and sent him a picture. He was so nitpicky about everything, even though fashion wasn't really his forte. I figured he'd have Roxy look at it and give him a thumb's up or down.

Afterward, I made my lunch for school while heating up some leftover pizza in the microwave. It was quiet. Around this time, my dad would nag me about my wind-down routine. He did it with me my whole life to prepare me for bed, but I had gotten too old. I loved it when I was a kid, though. We'd say three good things and three bad things about our day, he'd give me a kiss on the forehead, and we'd sit together in silence and read for thirty minutes. He used to read to me, but he stopped doing that when I was eight. I wanted to tell him about my six things so badly I couldn't stand it, but I knew he'd say I wasn't ready to live on my own. It'd been nearly a month since we talked, and I felt like I could've been kinder, but I was dumb. I got cocky, and I said things I couldn't take back.

I turned the sound on the TV and flipped to the first celebrity gossip show I could find to see if my dad was doing anything. Instead, they were talking about me. "Is Lucky getting lucky? It's rumored that the freshly emancipated minor was spotted leaving the hottest-."

My phone rang. I knew who it was before I answered. "Have you ever heard of motels, kid?" Rex yelled at me. I put the phone on speaker and knocked my head against the back of the couch.

"That isn't true. Do you think my dad saw this?" I asked. I was mortified as I read the closed caption and saw some of the jokes they made.

"Your old man is the least of your problems! Do you know how bad this looks?" Rex questioned.

I hung up on him and called my dad. "Dad, what they're saying isn't-."

"I know. Is that all?" Dad questioned. I swallowed hard.

"Yeah," I replied. He was still mad at me, and I couldn't blame him for that, but it made my stomach feel empty in the worst way. "Oh! I forgot it's like two a.m. where you're at."

"I was awake... But be mindful that our time zones are six hours apart. Conner, what you've done or haven't done is no longer any of my business," Dad replied. That stung but not as bad as it had to sting when I told him he wasn't even my real dad.

"Right... Sorry. Well, I love you, Diddoo," I whispered to show him it was no hard feelings. Diddoo was my first word. I called him Diddoo whenever I wanted to say sorry for something stupid I'd done.

"I love you too, Conner," Dad replied before hanging up. At least I knew he still loved me. I rubbed my eyes with my palms to knead away the tears forming in my eyes. I wanted to tell him I missed him, but I couldn't. I couldn't bend for him this time. I had to be my own man, or he would always treat me like a little boy. It was always the two of us, but my emancipation alienated me in ways I never imagined. I thought I could do what I wanted and live on my own while still having my dad around, but I guess I was wrong.

"The sun... The sky... Leftover pizza," I listed, "Missing Dad... Rex got on my nerves today... More gossip." I stood up, washed my hands, and went to my room to read for a little bit. I did it every night, even after my emancipation, because I couldn't sleep without doing it. I wondered if my dad did it too.

[rk-tmblr]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Getou Suguru & Gojo Satoru & Ieiri Shoko, Getou Suguru/Gojo Satoru, Ieiri Shoko & Iori Utahime, Iori Utahime & Mei Mei, Ieiri Shoko & Iori Utahime & Mei Mei Characters: Ieiri Shoko, Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru, Iori Utahime, Mei Mei (Jujutsu Kaisen) Additional Tags: Ieiri Shoko-centric, Ieiri Shoko is a Good Friend, Heavy Angst, Angst and Feels, Hurt No Comfort, Nihilism, References to Depression Series: Part 3 of Jujutsu Kaisen -Stand Alone Chapters Summary:

Lei era Shoko Ieri, medico e uno dei rarissimi stregoni in grado di utilizzare l'inverso di una tecnica maledetta, così tanto utile fin quanto inutile. Ma non poteva lamentarsene. Non le spettava e sarebbe stata ipocrita, altrimenti. Inoltre, con tutta sincerità, non aveva nemmeno la minima voglia di aumentare la sua lista dei difetti, ne aveva già fin troppi...

[https://twitter.com/soukatsu_/status/1647639434005733376?s=20}

[wonderofasunrise]

For once, she finds herself longing for pain. Anything but this utter numbness. Despite her utmost effort, she has failed so far.

She longs to feel again, and truth be told she has no idea if she will ever be able to.

[seven-n-wolf]

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Relationship: Nanami Kento / Gojo Satoru

AU: A World I Understand (canon divergence, everyone lives)

Summary:

Nanami was still in bed after midday, an occurrence that was, sadly, still very common. He was supposed to try to stick to a routine that included getting up no later than nine in the morning, but it still proved difficult to manage most days. Even if Gojo shook him awake at a reasonable time, the blond would either ignore him altogether, yell at him to be left alone, or worse, break down in quiet sobs and unrelenting tears, begging for the white-haired man to stop wasting his time and just let him rot away.

It had been one of those latter days, and Gojo’s heart had broken like any other similar day.

Alternate Summary:

Nanami is having a bad day and says some things that push Gojo to ask their friends for help with dealing with the blond. Haibara immediately steps up.

[newagekryptidworks]

Kakashi x Reader SFW

ANBU days!

You see your favorite copy-ninja moping around the village and decide that a visit with some takeout might lift his spirits.. just a little! 🤭

[casper-perry]

3,000 Miles

author:

MRI

summary: Gen had no plans when he packed a bag, bought a plane ticket for New York, and ultimately ran away from home in the span of a night, simply functioning off the need to disappear. Needless to say, taking a transcontinental trip across America via train with a science-obsessed stranger was not what he had expected when he decided to abandon his lush lifestyle in Japan. But even then, Gen couldn't help but want to join the eccentric stranger in his journey of chasing the stars. More specifically, he wanted to chase him.

[officialraylynn]

In every life, in all times

(Original, oc / oc)

Written as a surprise for a friend to cheer her up <3 First-meet human AU of her God of Death and my Goddess of Chaos, who've been shipped together for gosh... 11 years now I think?

Also posted on AO3!

Warnings: References to depression, anxiety, mostly just a bunch of cute wholesome content

Summary: Even Death can be smitten by beauty.

They met on a train.

He had noticed her first. Animated and lively as she chatted to the person beside her, quiet and expressive with her tongue sticking out while she typed away at her phone. She was bubbly and bright, he was quiet and dull. He’d never felt confident enough to approach her even to say ‘hi’, so he admired her from afar and simply hoped she was happy.

Until she stopped smiling.

Not just smiling, but talking to others and animatedly typing on her phone. She became lifeless, her light darkened.

He didn’t have the confidence before to approach her, but now he found that he had the compassion.

“H-Hey.” He cleared his throat and nervously tightened his grip on the strap of his bag. “Is um, th-that seat taken?”

Even though they were dull, her eyes still made his heart skip a beat when they met his. “No.” Halfheartedly she moved her bag closer to herself and gestured to the empty seat. “Fill your boots.”

Hoping he didn’t appear too eager, he sat with his bag settled on his lap, drumming his fingers against it as he looked everywhere but her as he worked up his courage. He’d come this far, part of him wanted to say that it was enough progress for today, but another part of him said that he’d waited too long as it was.

“S-So.” He cleared his throat again and glanced in her direction before nervously staring straight ahead. From the corner of his eye he saw her tilt her head in this direction, and by gods had his face ever felt this warm before? “I um. My name is Dean, and I’ve um, seen you around before.”

“... Venus.” Was he imagining things or did she sound amused? “I’ve seen you around before too.”

“Y-You have?” He didn’t know what to think of that, aside from maybe wanting to flee now that he knew he’d been noticed. “That. That’s cool.” He coughed, then breathed in deeply to steady himself. ‘Come on Dean, you can do this! Just let her know that someone cares!’ “I uh, I’ve noticed that, you’ve seemed k-kind of…”

He trailed off, fingers drumming faster against his bag as if that could settle his nerves. Was this out of line? He just wanted to express concern, but maybe she wouldn’t want that? He’d already started though, would it be weirder if he just stopped now?

“I’ve seemed…?” He glanced over to her and gulped; she had her chin resting in one hand while with the other she gestured for him to ‘go on’. He couldn’t tell what kind of expression she had on her face, but he felt like she was either bored or unimpressed.

“K-Kind of… Sad?” He whispered the last word, and was glad he was still looking at her because otherwise he would have missed the way her eyes widened and the wry smile on her lips, as if to say ‘That obvious huh?’. “A-And I just um, w-wanted to say that…” Here he lost his nerve again and he glanced down at his lap, shoulders scrunching as he huddled in on himself. “I know we d-don’t know each other, b-but… If you w-want anyone to talk to, I wanted to o-offer.”

To his surprise, a hand settled over his and gently wrapped their fingers around his. He jumped and shot his gaze to hers, heart tripping over itself at the small smile on her face, the gentleness of her gaze. “You know…” Her voice was soft, and her hand felt so warm against his. “I think I’d like that.”

Something amazing happened then.

She laughed.

Just a small laugh, but it was a laugh and he felt like he was floating through the clouds with how happy it made him feel.

“I’ve been waiting forever for you to talk to me, by the way~” Wait, what? “I know I don’t look like much right now-” and how wrong she was, because she never stopped being beautiful, “-but I could go for a coffee right now, and I’d love if you came with me.”

Later, neither could remember if the coffee was any good or not, but they made sure to visit the cafe on the day of their first anniversary all the same.

[naoa-ao3]

Rhymes and Reasons

It's a hot night for sleeping. Too bloody hot and John Constantine turns over in the damp sheets of his bed, the air around him putrid and suffocating with the promise of more rain.

It's the hottest part of June and he can't sleep a wink.

He's three months out of Ravenscar which is a pretty good shore leave for him, three months without getting carted back or in any kind of trouble.

He can feel it's coming to an end though, the edges of his mind starting to fray from all the wear again and he tosses and turns, trying to sleep, knowing he's going to fuck it all up, just like all the other times.

He's coming apart again, just like he does every few months, every time after they patch him up and send him on his way. It just keeps happening and as the night bares down on him, alone in a filthy little bedsit in Manchester he gives up.

He pulls himself into a sitting position and draws his knees up to his chest, reaching for a cigarette, not caring that the smoke only makes the room hotter and the air is already bad, not caring that he's dropping ash on the bed sheets or that his throat is already raw from too many cigarettes the day before.

He's got visions in his head, little blond girls that slip through the cracks. 1234567 all good children go to heaven, except when they don't. Except when you send them to hell and he pulls hard on his cigarette, remembering her blue eyes and how he sent her to hell. Little Astra all that was left of her was a hand.

His own hands shake and he tries to drill holes in his head with his knees, tries to drive out the shakes and the memories and the lies he's told.

He's good at lying. He thinks that may be all he's good at. Lying and killing kids.

He's only twenty-three, it's been a year since Newcastle and everything going wrong. A year since he's had friends and a band and a fucking brain that worked.

A year since he realized how fucking pathetic he was.

He shakes in the dark, not knowing the hour and unable to calm his thudding mind. His useless skull that screams guilt at him and wants to see him bloody and dead.

The little room is too hot and John feels as if his head is going to explode. There's sweat running down his skin and his shirt is soaked and the cig is out.

He lights another one and coughs, needing water, not having any and not getting up to get some.

He'll be back in Ravenscar with the doctors and nurses and orderlies and all of the screaming and screams that come from him.

He can feel the walls chasing him, hear the taunts and mocks and beatings, echoing off of them. He can hear Astra calling for help. He can hear his own heart thudding painfully in his black chest.

His heart must be black too. Rotten and still pumping for some reason. It forgot to stop in Newcastle.

He nearly calms the shaking and reaches for the clock radio on the bedside table. The time is wrong but the radio works and he fiddles with it, trying desperately to break the silence and it's screaming.

The rain hasn't started again yet but there's leaves and branches scraping at his window, clawing like an animal trying to get in. Like someone trying to send a message.

He get's the radio working and hears Chuck Berry singing Johnny B. Goode through the static.

Johnny B. Goode.

John be good or John Law will come and lock you away. Gotta protect John Q. Public.

Good old Johnny on the spot, always there to help a friend, always there to make things worse.

King John was not a good man.

Johnny Rotten.

Johnny come lately. . . always too late. Too late to save Astra. Too late to sleep. Too late to try. Fucked if he can do anything about it.

Pretending to know things he didn't. Pretending he knew what he was doing. Pretending, pretending, pretending and lying. Lying some more.

Sally went round the moon but Johnny had gone round the bend and Jack had a new master and Mary still couldn't find all her fucking sheep.

He gives up sleeping and goes for the drink instead. The drink always helps and who cares if its bad for him? Johnny already went round the moon, all in a loopty loop.

It's all in a loopty loop.

The bloody dish ran away with the bloody saucer and no one knew where Alice lived anymore.

Did anyone remember Alice? It was a song about Alice.

No, it was a song about Astra.

He chokes on the end of his second cigarette and wishes they didn't end. Wishes they just burned forever.

The muggy little room is hazy and he feels light headed. He can't remember if he ate that day, doesn't care. The rent is payed up on the crappy little bedsit and that's all that matters.

He's got a dark little hole he can hide in.

The drink is hitting him and it helps a little. Never enough because all good children didn't go to heaven and he wasn't going either, not that he wanted it or that he even had any idea what he wanted.

Sleep?

Not likely.

He stays up the whole night, unable to rest, mind turning in useless, dead thoughts, skull caving in on it's self as the rain starts again outside, hot and hitting like bombs against the roof and window, big dollops of water, pummeling the earth and her darkness, keeping him inside, keeping him from sleep, keeping him with his dead thoughts and self.

He can barely see in the dark room, the wrong time is glowing on the clock, the static is nearly obliterating the music.

He's almost out of booze.

It's a bad night and as the sun starts to crack across the heavens he turns from it, tired, drunk, throat raw and head aching. A ,million cigarettes stubbed out in the ash tray.

Are you sleeping brother John?

One more John for his collection. One more bastard who couldn't sleep. One more John to fuck things up.

He'll go back to Ravenscar soon. He always does.

He finishes the booze and knows that in a few hours he'll have to venture out for more cigarettes.

John thinks of Matthews, Marks, Johns and Lukes, of Peters and Pauls and Marys quite contrary, Georgie porgie pudding and pie. . . all of them blowing in the wind.

Not sleeping was the right choice because even with his eyes open he still sees nightmares. No need to make it worse. No need to sleep. No need to leave the bedsit more than he has to. No need to put himself on another person. No need to see another soul. No need to see his own in the mirror. No need. No need. God, no need.

King John was not a good man- he had his little ways- and sometimes no one spoke to him for days and days and days.

King John was not a good man but he had his hopes and fears.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

If There’s Nothing Missing In My Life…

Fandom: DC Comics, Superfam

Summary: Newly-emancipated popstar and child actor, Conner (screen name: Lucky) navigates high school and stardom on his own.

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Conner Kent, Lois Lane, Roxy Leech, Rex Leech, Lois Lane, Clark Kent, Hillary Chang

Additional Tags: Highschool AU, Celebrity AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Exploitation, References to Depression, Conner Kent Needs a Hug, Conner Luthor, Lex Luthor is Conner’s Parent, Childhood Trauma, Self-Confidence Issues, Teen Angst, Angst, POV First Person, No Powers AU, Conner Kent-centric, Bisexual Conner Kent, POV Conner Kent, Protective Lex Luthor, Child Celebrity AU

Chapter Three: Turkey Sub

For my lunch period, some of the juniors and seniors walked to the beach to eat. I followed them and bought a beach towel to sit on while I ate my sandwich. I saw a camera flash and kept eating as if I didn't know what was going on. Hillary put her beach towel next to mine, and her friends joined me. I was relieved to have people around me that seemed pleasant. None of them asked me weird questions or made me feel like an outsider. "Hey, Lucky? You're from Metropolis, right?" one of Hillary's guy friends asked. I nodded. "Okay, so I ask everybody this. What's snow like? Is it soft? Does it feel like shaved ice? Have you ever built a snowman?"

I laughed. "Like floury but coarser... I guess it feels like baking soda," I replied, "And it's cold. It's like holding ice cubes in your hands."

"See! That's how you give a detailed answer, Hillary," he teased. I covered my mouth as I laughed and finished my sandwich.

"Okay, my turn... What are school dances like?" I asked.

My question got a mixed response. Hillary seemed to like them, but some of her friends didn't. "Ignore them. School dances are great. If you're not stressing about a date... And no, they're not like tv. It's wayyy cheaper, the decorations are crap, and there's no DJ. They use the school's stereos to play music... But the experience itself is fun. You get to hang out with your friends for a few hours, and nobody cares what you dance like... Not that that'll be a problem for you," Hillary replied.

"I'm sorry, was that a compliment?" I teased. Hillary laughed and shook her head.

"Not even close," Hillary teased.

"She's lying to you. School dances are hot and sweaty, the music sucks, and no one ever manages to actually spike the punch because there is no punch. It's just soda cans in a cooler. Oh, and you have to take your own pictures because it costs money," one of her female friends disagreed.

"Okay, those things are true, but it's still a great experience... Oh, and the parade. You're gonna love the parade," Hillary added. She seemed so excited. I think school was the only thing that excited her because she made me feel ordinary in comparison. It made me want to be her friend. I wasn't sure I could get her to notice me long enough.

My phone rang, and I sighed before answering. "Rex, I'm at lunch. No work talk please-."

"When were you gonna tell me you enrolled in the school for real?" Rex yelled. I held the phone away from my ear and pinched the bridge of my nose. "This is gonna put a damper on your acting career! Do you know how many projects you'll have to turn-."

"I'm taking time off of acting this year... But I'm working on music. I was gonna tell you after school. Also, please don't call me during school. I could get in trouble," I warned him.

"You're at lunch. I checked. Someone snapped a picture of you ten minutes ago... Who are those kids you're with?" Rex asked.

"None of your business. You know what? I didn't get emancipated-." I bit my lip because I realized Hillary and her friends were looking at me. I put on my sunglasses and took a breath. "I'm still gonna be working. Now, I have to find a balance between work and school... Like a normal kid."

"You're not a normal kid. You're Lucky. Try not to become so average that you lose your market value. Relatable doesn't sell anymore. What do you think this is 2012?" Rex replied. I hung up on him, and amid my frustration, I got up and walked back to campus alone. Sometimes Rex said things that hurt, and I figured that was part of the job. He manages me, tells me what I don't want to hear, I hang up, and we go through it all over again. I don't know, though. What he said at lunch hurt me so bad. I hated when people talked about me like I was a product to be bought and sold at their discretion. My dad didn't like it either.

I tried to shake the thought from my mind, but it only made things worse. I thought about texting Rex and giving him a piece of my mind or blocking him, but I knew that'd backfire and make me look like a jerk. I had to swallow it as I did with everything else. Rex took good care of me after I hired him. He promised to help me rebrand a little, and I think he was working hard on that. Rex said branding me as more mature now that I was emancipated would be great for my image. I didn't know what that meant, but it sounded good. I shifted my thoughts to that until I calmed down.

The bell rang, and I went to my final class of the day. I couldn't focus, though. My last class was packed with over forty kids, and we were all squished into a hot room with windows that rusted shut. Everything in my body wanted to panic, but I swallowed it and tried to listen as much as possible. The teacher approached my desk and whispered, "Are you alright?" Her voice was soft and sincere.

I nodded, but I wasn't sure I should've. My stomach felt weird. "Are you sure?" Ms. Ito asked.

"Can I go to the restroom?" I asked. She nodded. I took my backpack with me when I went, and I ran to the bathroom to throw up. I seldom got sick, so I knew something had to be wrong. When I could stand up, I called Rex.

"You told me not to call you at school," Rex replied.

I took a deep breath and tried to collect myself. "I feel sick," I replied.

"Okay..." Rex trailed off. "What do you want? A Tums?"

"Come pick me up. I'm gonna go to the office and sign myself out," I replied.

"What do I look like? A babysitter?" Rex snapped.

My stomach was cramped up, and I didn't feel like arguing with him, so I snapped back. "Come and get me, now," I commanded before hanging up.

I lingered in the bathroom for a few minutes until I knew I could walk to the office and signed myself out. "Can I sit here until my ride comes?" I asked. The nurse nodded. I was dripping sweat when Rex texted me to pick me up.

I walked to the car and took a napkin from his glovebox to wipe the sweat from my face. "You look like shit," Rex announced. I gave him the finger and pulled the mirror down to look at myself. "Is it drugs? It looks like drugs. I don't-."

"I'm not high. I'm sick. Can you take me to the emergency room?" I asked. Part of me panicked because I wasn't used to being ill, but I knew they'd call my dad if I was admitted. My stomach cramped up so bad I felt like I was dying. I rolled his window down and tried to cool off.

"What'd you eat?" Rex asked.

"I made myself a turkey sandwich for lunch... Why?" I asked.

Rex sighed. "You put the turkey in the fridge, right?" Rex questioned.

"Why would I do that?" I asked.

"Jesus Christ, Lucky. Food safety one-oh-one," Rex replied, "But I'll still take you to the emergency room." I leaned my head back and shut my eyes.

"Try to take it easy," Rex whispered. I think he felt bad for me. Or at least he sounded like it.

He helped me sign in but didn't know my legal name, so I filled that part out between stomach cramps. I hadn't even eaten enough to throw up that much. The doctor called me after nearly an hour, and he put me on an IV drip and gave me a prescription. It was an anti-biotic-something for nausea. Rex drove me home and left me alone to get some rest. I slept in the tub once the nausea meds kicked in and woke up to a call from my dad. "The hospital called me. They said you came in earlier," he stated. I was tired and out of it from the medication.

"Dad?" I asked.

"I called you six times. I'm on my way to the airport-."

"Dad, I've got food poisoning. You don't have to drop everything to come and see me," I replied. I tried to pretend that I didn't need him. It was more for my pride than anything.

"I've already got my ticket. Besides, I have a few more of your things I need to drop off," Dad replied. I pushed my hair back. I was relieved that he decided to come anyway. "How was your first day?"

"It was okay. I don't have any homework or anything," I mumbled, "Dad, my head hurts... Can we talk later on?"

"I'll call you when I get there," Dad replied before hanging up. He didn't call me by my name or say he loved me. I shivered and pressed my palms to my forehead. He sounded angry. I was almost scared to see him after that. I didn't want to argue with him, and I definitely didn't have the energy for it.