#and i am so tired. i am tired of feeling numb and waking up feeling like i drained more energy while asleep somehow

[just-a-carrot]

I'm not really in the mood to make a festive Happy New Year's post. So instead I'll just say... we made it. I made it. You made it. The year is over and we're still here. And that is enough.

It's no real secret by this point but 2024 has been one of the worst years of my life. From constant anxiety and panic attacks over job stability in the spring, to losing two family members, to the depressive spiral I entered after finishing OW, to the second spiral in the fall just when I thought maybe I was finally doing a bit better and everything came crashing back down, my mental health has been worse than it's ever been. And I've spent a lot more nights than I'd like to admit wishing I wouldn't wake up in the morning. (And downed a lot more sleeping pills than I'd like to admit because it's the only OTC thing I can get to mildly decrease my anxiety and help numb me a bit LOL)

I just want... this year to be over. Even though I have no hope for 2025 either and mostly just feel anxious and hopeless about it. But I will continue trying. Continuing grappling for the bits of joy that can keep me going. And maybe I finally will get a little bit of calm and peace. Who can say. I guess we'll see what 2025 decides to bring. I just really want to feel a bit better finally. And I hope that 2025 might take pity on me and allow me some mental respite.

2024 did have its moments of joy. Despite it sending me into the spiral, I am ofc glad that I finished OW finally this year. I consider it one of my greatest accomplishments. And I still can't believe that I put 3 whole years of work into this thing and just how much of my soul went into it. Even if my depression keeps trying to convince me that it (and me) are worthless.

I feel like I grew a lot in my art over the year. Trying new and more complex things. Getting better at composition and poses. Which led into my starting Broomtail, which gave me really the first renewed spark of creative joy since releasing the finale and actually made me excited to work on something again.

Speaking of joy amidst melancholy, DD2 was released this year, and it became the one thing that could keep me going at times. It brought me so much joy and inspiration when nothing else would. And it still holds my heart captive in its grip. From all the DD2 art I did, to the O2A2 game, to my silly tragic music video, to a very self-indulgent fanfic, it gave me so much creative energy, and I want to do more art for it in 2025 too! (And I'm still waiting for that DLC, Capcom...) I can't think of another game ever that's had this much of a hold on me before. Though I do attribute much of that to the fact that in my head it's mostly an OW AU since I could make Iggy and Genzou and play out their tragic love story and it was so beautiful and Genzou was so so sweet and cute GUH. Yeah... that helped a lot.

I think my main goal for 2025 is just to keep trying. To keep surviving. To keep trying to find hope and joy where I can. To believe that I can feel better and things can be better. Even when it's hard. And that hopefully... hopefully I will be able to find some peace in there finally.

I do have various projects I'd like to work on too. Like finishing the remaster, continuing Broomtail, maybe working on another game later on. But I'd rather just think of those as things I'd like to do for myself and because they bring me joy, rather than as any kind of goal or pressure. Especially since I never want to make any promises given the instability of my mental health.

I'm just so tired always. And I hate feeling scared and worthless all the time. I hate feeling trapped. Even if I know it's my own life choices and debilitating fear of change that has led to a lot of this. So it's my own fault in the end. But I hope I can find some solace. And I hope you can, too. I hope 2025 will be a kind year to everyone. And even if it's not, that we can find some joy and hope to help us through it.

Sorry this felt a bit morose LOL I guess I wanted to just take this opportunity to reflect back on the year a bit for some catharsis. I shall now sleep for 24 hours to recover from my flight hahaha.

if you saw this post a day ago for a few seconds i'm sorry -- i was working on it in my drafts and must have accidentally clicked post instead of save(??) somehow(???) idk but it posted and i panicked and deleted it and then had to rewrite it from scratch LOL

[xadenviolct]

Men would rather see the realm put to the torch, than see a woman ascend the iron throne.

Needless to say, there are so many quotes from media (books, movies, television, etc.) that have spoken to me today (especially). From Padme to Leia, from Hermione to Katniss, from Aelin and Feyre and Violet, from every single warrior who has fought for a better world and never given up and always hoped for the better--

Media has always been what has gotten me through times like this. When the utter stupidity (which, I feel, isn't even a strong enough word to truly express the severity of the whole thing) is so great, and I've gone between utter and complete disgust and rage to disbelief and numbness.

And run the entire realm of emotions in between.

So forgive me if this post is a bit... disjointed. It's a true "let me get my thoughts down because I need to write them somewhere before my head utterly explodes" kind of thing.

I don't even know where to begin, in many ways. Because how do you truly put into words these feelings? How do you truly express the utter and complete disgust with mankind that you feel, when you didn't even set the bar very high to begin with? When you had it set extremely LOW, even, because of multiple factors:

They are in a CULT. Led by a con man. There can truly be no denying that whatsoever. And cults, by definitions, do not follow logic and reason and sense.

People are stupid. And hateful. And tend to vote "party" no matter what (in a lot of cases).

The American education system (especially in regards to history, civics, literature, etc.) is utterly horrible--and certain Powers That Be want to keep it that way because an ignorant populace is always easier to control.

And those are just SOME reasons I set the bar low. But at the same time, I had the smallest little nugget of hope:

Surely, the hypocrisy will be called out and stopped? Surely, the utter hate & division (and bullying & insulting & name-calling) will make some people open their eyes? Surely, the fact that so many prominent members of the Republican Party (lifelong senators & military leaders, etc) who have openly endorsed the Democratic candidate--as well as spoken on the dangers of re-electing that man--will show people that there are GIANT FLASHING WARNING SIGNS going off?

Surely, America can learn a little bit from history?

Right?

As a woman, it sickens me even more to see this country say, once again, that it will elect a man like that over a woman. For no other reason than the fact that he is a man, and she is a woman.

Because there can be no other reason, no matter what anyone tries to claim.

That this was even a question at all in the first place, and that there were those who were "undecided" at any time over which candidate to choose, proves that.

Because while a lot of the American system needs fixed (and while yes, the two-party system doesn't always give you "the best" options), it is VERY clear that we're not changing that part of the process any time soon.

So the USA really looked at a black woman who was intensely qualified on every single level, who ran a wonderful campaign in a shorter time than any other candidate in recent history, who spoke of trying to heal the division, to work with everyone, to make this a UNITED country--

And the majority of voters really said:

No, we will take the rapist. The felon. The schoolyard bully. We will take the fascist whose entire campaign was nothing but insults and name-calling. Of division and spreading hate. Of basically declaring those who didn't side with them "enemies".

The majority of American voters really looked at Kamala Harris and Tim Walz, and decided that everything they (American people) claim to hate about politics (division, lies, hypocrisy)--in other words, the entire campaign of Donald Trump and JD Vance--was the better option for this country.

Disappointed is not strong enough. Disgusted is not strong enough. Angry, sick-- There is no word that I can think of that is strong enough to fully express everything I've felt today, with this country.

There are times I have been "embarrassed" by America. Many actions in the early 2000s from President Bush. In 2016 when the nation first elected Trump. I thought I was in an alternate nightmare reality then, because I could not believe they were really that stupid.

But to see them do so again? To see, in the last 4 years since he lost in 2020, for him to do nothing but whine and argue and deny the facts like a fucking toddler throwing a damn tantrum*, only for this nation to say, "Yes, we want to elect this man again"--

I want to scrub the blood, the American identity, from my very DNA. I want to never see an American flag again. There is nothing to be proud of in this nation, when that ends up as the majority decision.

*And I would also like to note that Kamala acted like an actual adult, in that she conceded the race. That despite how utterly sick & disgusted we are, the Democratic Party is not whining and throwing some god-awful tantrum and fit, claiming CHEATER?

But hey, America, you wanted the toddler. You wanted the schoolyard bully.

Because god forbid we elect a black woman instead!

And now, I have something to say to all the so-called religious people. To all the so-called Christians.

Every single atheist and agnostic person I have ever met is far, far more "Christ-like" than you will ever be.

And when you die, and you stand before the God you believe in, be sure to tell Jesus just how much you hated your fellow neighbor. Just how much you did not follow what should be so easy:

"Love Thy Neighbor."

Because I know you just love quoting and throwing scripture at people, so have this one:

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you invited me in. I needed clothes and you clothed me. I was sick and you looked after me. I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and fed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' The King will reply, 'Truly, I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'" (Matthew 25: 35-40)

So I'm sure your Jesus knows of the hate in your heart. Of the true depth of your hypocrisy. Of claiming to do good in his name, when your actions are the complete opposite of what his words and teachings are.

Because while I may not believe any longer, I have the knowledge and the background and the understanding of what the Christian religion should be. What it is supposed to be.

And it is because of people like you that I do not. That I have seen far more "good people", "righteous people" and "kind people" that are not religious than I ever have of those who tie themselves to a particular faith.

So yes, as you stand all holier-than-thou in your churches, only to spew hate and bigotry every other day, know that your actions speak far, far louder than your words.

And if you truly believe (as you claim), then God knows that. Knows what is truly in that heart of yours.

I am sorry you feel like you must bring the entire country down with you. I am sorry that you feel like the entire world must succumb to your religious doctrine, your religious faith. I am sorry that you cannot grasp that "separation of Church & State" and "freedom of religion" are so integral to what the American society is supposed to be...

Because if you only want CHRISTIAN faith, and CHRISTIAN knowledge and CHRISTIAN doctrine and prayer-- but rebel at the idea that the Islamic faith or the Jewish faith or the Hindu faith or the Pagans or any of the other many, many other religions (and those who do not tie themselves to a particular religion at all)--would have equal opportunity and share and have their faith and "commandments" posted and beliefs made law...

Then you are a big, fucking HYPOCRITE.

But I honestly could expect nothing less.

You have a right to your religion. Your belief. Your practices. You can raise your children as secular or as religious as you wish. You can make your health decisions based on what you believe, based on your personal choices, your personal circumstances.

That is YOUR right.

What so many of you fail to understand is that you do NOT have the right to tell everyone else to live by your religion or your belief. To practice a faith that you hold. To make health decisions based on a religion that has nothing to do with them, or a government dictating what can and cannot be done in health decisions between a patient and a doctor.

The only people that should be allowed such a decision? The patient and the doctor. Anyone else that the patient wishes to bring into the conversation is the PATIENT'S choice.

Not. Yours.

Not the government's.

To finish this off (for now?), I'll say this...

I know it is tiring. It is exhausting, always fighting this fight. To prove, time and again, that we matter. That we (as women, as poc, as lgbtq+, as disabled, as mentally ill, etc) are real and living people deserving of a quality of life as good as anyone else. That none of us should be treated like second-class citizens.

And right now, I'm too utterly disgusted with everyone and so completely depressed-- I have gone in waves of feeling utter screaming rage, insane laughter, and numbness.

But then I go back to the beginning -- to media, to what has always been there:

"It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Fold in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. Because they were holding on to something. What are we holding on to, Sam? That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fighting for."

So we will fight. Because despite the bad, despite the disgust and the exhaustion that weighs so heavily, there is still that good. There are still those who try to fight for that sanity. For reason. For logic.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

i think i finally realized why ive been feeling so damn depressed lately again

sorry for writing this here. im really hurting actually. im not good. i feel a bit helpless too. idk who to talk to bc i dont want to burden anyons and i donf feel like anything could console me right now

Like. fuck me man. thanks for saving me but. why the hell are you not here. i dont want to do this without you. i hate only being able to remember you. i was supposed to grow old with you, not without you.

And. honestly. even with all this bullshit i say here, all the endless times i spend trying to write down my feelings, abt you, about all the pain ive felt my life, it doesnt get better. not at all. and no words, no poetry takes it away and i truly feel like nobody will ever truly understand how suffocated i felt all my life.

and i want to change thanks to you but. i dont know. nothing's satisfying enough.

no matter what, i truly only feel great when im in that daydream like world you created.

and these past days ive been thinking a lot that. i really wouldnt mind dying right now. not at all. because at least i know what happiness feels like. and i want to stay in that state. probably, even in this life your music will bring me happiness, but i want to be trapped in it.

im tired of being so unseen, and even when im seen, im hurting. but i dont know whats hurting. i think im just really tired thats all.

and. ye. i feel brave tbh. i still havent posted my video to instagram, bc im not brave for that. i dont know. and i feel like a hypocrite bc everything is true that i wrote there but at the same time these are my thoughts currently

in a long while i looked up suicide methods again. i feel so hopeful, but im not really sure if really for the future. jm sorry this is probably alarming. i will probably not kill myself but. idk. im not sure actually. i dknt know what to say. i wasnt cut out for this wordly shit.i feel unlovable but even if im loved, i donf want to be. i dont want anything. just let me stsy in this quiet place snd just. disappear. i wouldnt want my family to hurt if i die but i wont know about it anyways. idk man. i feel strongly i could die calmly this time and thats nice. bc 6 years ago i was terrified, and hurt. but now im content and kind of ready idk man. its not a terrible feeling, its a "this is it, it was nice while it lasted" ig.

there are no clouds in my head actually. i truly dont feel like im thinking irrationally, i feel like this would just be like. the end goal i was looking for. to feel true love once. it was nice.

no goodbye yet bc idk how id kms even if i do. But ill tell u guys if i found something.

[thefairyquill]

I've been having a hell of a time with death lately.

I think my hyper awareness to it increased right around June- my grandmother had been sick for a long time, which wasn't something at the front of my mind often when I could help it, but it was there. It was a mild day. I was cooking something. I drizzled olive oil onto the pan, and went to get something while I waited for it to heat up- and came back to see that the oil formed the shape of a birds skull, specifically that of a corvid.

I don't really believe in omens, or signs, or anything of the sort. I do believe in the human brain finding patterns and meaning in it's surroundings, and sometimes even adding signs where there are none- I believe in people seeing things more often when they're thinking about them, even if it's below the surface. I believe that anything can be a sign if you want it to be.

Regardless though, the next day I found out my grandmother had two weeks left to live, and after that I started seeing death everywhere.

On the way to her funeral, there had been a motorbike accident, and the body was lying on the road, covered in a transparent blue plastic tarp, flowing in the wind made by passing cars, showing off a dark, reflective helmet visor, still fully intact. Dead insects littered the hot pavements. After my return, I went out with my friends- one got hit by a car, thrown almost 3 metres out onto the road, and her limp body sent me into an inconsolable panic, but she lived, somehow totally unharmed. Another found a dead rabbit in a park, its insides being swarmed by flies. Yesterday I saw two rats, playing with each other in the car park bushes, and today I stumbled upon one dead, tiny body swarmed and eyes bloody.

These things are all normal. I am only drawing the connection because of grief and fear. My brain is creating the pattern, drawing additional lines to try and make sense of it. But there is nothing to make sense of. Sometimes, living things just die.

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

hey friends is it normal to just feel. numb. because I think that maybe it is not. but what would I know anyway.

[lovsome]

i think im gonna ask my therapist to get me an appointment with the private psychiatrist she suggested

[oflgtfol]

sigh. i have seasonal affective disorder

[bowsers-sweaty-asshole]

.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"My everything." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gif!)

A sleepless night after your and Daryl's baby was born.

A/N: Just a cheesy imagine hehe sometimes I like to imagine a soft dad!Daryl. I wrote this imagine for my Tom Holland page, so if you ever find it, you know why. Sorry if you see any grammatical errors. Hope you like it! Thank u.

Marley Rose Dixon was one month old now.

She was born in a warm room full of candles, in a blissful and foggy night in which the world of her mother and father was painted with beautiful colors again after walking in a grey world for so long, announcing her arrival with a loud cry that showed her freedom and her desire to live until the doctor (luckily, there was a few in Alexandria) placed her on your chest for the first time.

Marley was named after Daryl's older brother, and you didn't mind because despite everything, you knew how much he loved his brother. At first, the news wasn't easy for either of you two to take in (the option of abortion was considered at length), but the thought of a baby gave you both the hope that something better and more beautiful could come, too. And boy, it did.

Right there, the moment she was born, her blue eyes — identical to her father's — sparkled with the glow of two small diamonds, treasures hidden behind her long lashes from the first time she opened her eyes and gazed, serenely, at her parents, and the new world around her, a better world you two were trying to build for her.

But from that moment on, she cried, cried and cried from time to time.

At 2:54 am, Alexandria is submerged in a cozy dream far from the fear and death, unlike you, and it seems unreachable for you as you walk through your dark room taking soft steps and soft bounces, holding in your arms a small human being created from a great love and blah, blah, blah, other nonsense things you used to believe before being deprived of such a necessary resource, for your sanity and mental health (you didn't sleep much before her, and Daryl even less, but still), But you chuckle, numb from lack of sleep, tired, but at peace with yourself as her little head lies on your right arm and your left hand gently caresses her back, wrapped comfortably in a white blanket with pictures of little elephants, just like the pillow in the shape of the same animal that Uncle Rick found for her during a run.

You love her, you are crazy about her, even if days became difficult and nights were exhausting, (even with the monumental help Carol and the rest of the family gave you), but all the reward is in being able to hold her in your arms, warm and safe. Daryl calls her his angel, his princess, and at the time, it is an appropriate nickname for someone who cries to make her demands heard.

You chuckle, again.

"Is she tellin’ ya a good joke?" Daryl walks into the room, holding a bottle of warm milk in his hand.

You and Carol taught him how to do it, and now, he is an expert. His brown hair is tousled, but it usually is so no one could tell the difference, eyes tired from lack of sleep, shirtless and in gray loose sweatpants he refused to wear at first.

“15 minutes to make the milk? I was starting to get worried actually." You raise an eyebrow, speaking softly. "Why did you take so long? The milk is in the kitchen, not in another country."

"Sorry, sweetheart." Daryl apologizes as he hands you the bottle, sitting on the edge of the bed to watch his daughter stop crying the moment she feels the bottle against her pretty pink lips. "I closed ma eyes and jus' fell asleep for a minute."

You frown, continuing to stroke Marley's back.

"In a chair? On the counter?"

At the sound of your voice, Daryl's head falls until he almost hits his chest with his own chin, waking up from his light sleep before looking back at you. It's still funny to you how easy it was for him to go without sleep all those years, but after a month with Marley, Daryl considered killing walkers an easier task.

"What? No. Standin’. Didn't know that was even possible."

You shake your head gently, looking away to your baby who is enjoying a meal at 3 in the morning, resting peacefully, just like a princess, in your arms with eyes closed, body relaxed, arms outstretched to pretend to hold the bottle in your hand.

“Even dad can get a nap; you sleep whenever you feel like it… so, where is mom's nap? I mean, I've slept an hour every night since you were born, the room is a mess like us, and my breasts hurt too much."

Daryl chuckles.

"Can't help ya with that, darling. In fact, I think that's exactly what got us into this mess."

"What?"

"Yer boobs." Daryl babbles, smiling wearily, eyes closed as he falls against the edge of the bed, only to stop holding his own weight when he can no longer bear it. “Yer incredible, amazing boobs. They’re amazing and I love ‘em so much, but they were the temptation that brought us… this beautiful gift."

You shrug your shoulders, agreeing with him.

"They are amazing, and she is beautiful when she doesn't cry.”

"That's when I love ‘er the most." Daryl answers, and a second later, you both chuckle in unison.

“Although, it was kind of your fault for wanting to do it without a condom, you horny bastard.”

Daryl chuckles, and because he wasn't used to doing that before you, that tiny sound is endearing.

“Ya regret it?”

"Never." You say with confidence, because you know that he did not regret the decision either. You laugh quietly, after a while. “But… you know what I was thinking?”

“Um?”

“That this would be a good time to save money so she can go to a good college.” You joke. But Daryl wasn't used to making jokes, so with the help of the moonlight coming through the window, fighting the darkness of the room, he raises himself slightly to look you in the eyes, his brow slightly furrowed. “Jesus, I’m just kidding.”

Daryl chuckles, falling on the bed again, one arm over his eyes.

“Ya think is a good idea if we teach her how to kill walkers when she gets older? Marley could be the new little ass kicker.”

You smile to yourself, because for some reason, your daughter's name on his lips is like sweet honey. And, although you wanted to protect her from that world, the rules had changed, and in order to survive, she was going to have to learn to take care of herself too. Fortunately, it was still too early to think about that.

So, asleep again, you leave Marley in her crib near the bed before returning to it, laying down next to Daryl as he rolls over onto his left side, taking advantage of the time that you still have until the baby wakes up again, just to repeat the cycle you have been living in since Marley was born.

But life still feels good despite the fatigue and the occasional physical pain, because she was everything you never imagined you could have, not in that world, and she, more beautiful than you had ever dreamed of during the wait.

"Thanks, peach." Daryl whispers, so close to you that you can feel his nose against yours, his hand caressing your waist over your shirt, but you're so tired that it takes you a few seconds to gather your strength to respond.

"Why?"

"For our baby, for lovin’ me, for givin’ me a home. Ya two are ma everythin'."

You smiled, sighing.

"You're welcome, love. We are very, very lucky to have you." You say, taking a breath to answer as you look at him: eyes closed, body finally relaxed after having her on his chest most of the day. He is a good dad, the best. "But still, the next turn is yours alone."

Daryl, amused, looks blindly for the warmth of your body to pull you against him, tickling you slightly and that have you both smiling softly despite the absolute exhaustion, a few seconds before you both can fall into a deep sleep, finally.

[daenysx]

Happy sleepover!!! I brought blankets and snacks so we can cuddle up and watch movies :,)

May I request poly!marauders at 4.40am?

happy sleepover! we're definitely cuddling up with blankets, my angel

4.40 AM | POLY!MARAUDERS

it's the sound of storm that wakes remus up.

he checks up on you briefly, your eyes are still closed. your neck must feel numb when you wake up though, you put your head in a strange angle on his shoulder. maybe he should try to adjust you to sleep better-

"holy shit-"

maybe he shouldn't.

when he turns his head he sees sirius's huge eyes, a few curse words whispered on his lovely mouth after the growling sound from the sky.

"it's okay." remus reaches for his boyfriend's arm to soothe him. "just a storm."

"i thought it was a dream." sirius says. "freaked me out- wait, how can they keep sleeping with all these sounds?"

it's amazing really, you and james don't even hear the sounds of the wind and trees, or the storm. remus tries not to move to let you keep sleeping. you're cute with your small sounds of breathing and your tired body all melted on him in the safety of sleep.

"they've been so tired." remus answers, fondly. "cover prongs' shoulder, it's getting cold here."

sirius does as he's told after kissing james's shoulder. he doesn't stir awake, the raining sounds behind work as a lullaby. his hand move in bed, though, sirius is quick to hold it with a gentle squeeze of his fingers.

"will you be able to fall asleep again?" remus asks him silently.

"i'll try. you?"

"yeah." remus answers. "she makes it impossible to stay awake anyway, look at how she sleeps."

"adorable."

the room is a bit chilly but the bed is warm. they both lie awake for a minute in the silence until another struck of the sky interrupts.

"go back to sleep, moons."

"you first."

"i will, promise." sirius whispers. "don't worry."

remus would very much like to rub his back until he falls asleep but it's not possible with you and james between them. he can only trust sirius to keep the promise.

"love you." remus whispers. sirius smiles lazily in the darkness. "wake me up if you can't fall asleep."

"love you."

dreamer girl sleepover ♡

[salty-autistic-writer]

“Is he here?” Tommy asks, feeling strangely calm, considering his current circumstances. 

Eddie shakes his head, cursing and shivering while the helicopter makes a creaking noise, sways and sinks into the water just a little more. It rises to Eddie's midsection, darkening his clothes. “No. He’s at home. Baking and looking after Jee. He said they want to make a gingerbread house."

“Good,” Tommy mutters, his head lolling to the side. He’s tired. And so cold. The embrace of the water is freezing. At least that means it’s numbing the pain. Or maybe he’s not feeling as much pain as he did right after the crash because his body is about to shut down.

It’s better this way, he thinks. Evan shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to feel the pressure to say something nice to Tommy in his last moments.

Eddie’s face is tense, his eyes filled with determination and his shaky breaths coming out as foggy clouds as he tries to get to whatever is pinning Tommy’s legs down and holding him in place. He’s talking to someone who is on the roof of the helicopter, someone who’s holding a flashlight and a rope that’s tied to Eddie so that they can pull him out when it gets too dangerous for him. It seems like there’s a lot of people out there.

Tommy really didn’t think they would try that hard. He didn’t even think there would be a rescue attempt. It was so dark and lonely when he crashed into the water, he thought he would simply drown like that. Alone in the dark. It’s nice to have some company instead.

“It’s okay, you know?” He tells Eddie, noticing how his words start to sound all slurred. He thinks he lost blood. It's been seeping into the water. “That’s how I want to die.”

No long battle. No illness. No waiting. Only this. The certainty that he did what he could to make sure the helicopter didn’t hurt anyone else while crashing. He almost made it to the beach. But the water is even better. No messy crash site with broken parts. No explosion. No fire. Just a floating wreckage, sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Clean. And final.

“You’re not going to die,” Eddie tells him sternly. “I am going to get your stupid dramatic ass out of here in time and we are going to patch you up so you make it to the hospital. And then you are going to survive.”

For what? Tommy wants to ask. Because these last few days, he’s been merely existing. 

He swallows. Everything tastes like blood and salt in his mouth. It's so cold. By now he's not even shivering anymore. His body is just stiff and numb. He can't imagine ever feeling warm again. “Can you … can you tell Ev -”

“No,” Eddie interrupts him, both his hands disappearing in the murky water and his jaw setting. “We are not doing this. Now take a deep breath for me. This is really going to hurt.”

And then Eddie push-pulls. And it does hurt. God, does it hurt. The pain tears through Tommy in one violent wave, white and blinding. It takes every coherent thought away. Tommy can hear himself scream. It’s a scary experience. Like he’s being pushed out of his own body for a moment, then forced back into it. Blood fills his mouth as he bites his own tongue and there are flashing lights in front of his eyes and he thinks he hears Eddie’s voice, but he can’t make out any words. His world is pain. It drowns him before the water can reach his mouth and nose.

The next moments are a blur of shadow and light. He’s pulled, pushed, lifted. There are too many hands on him. Too many voices above him. Too much pain burning his nerves. It seems to go on forever. Until the pain suddenly fades and numbness creeps in from all sides, sending him into darkness. Finally.

His last thought is that he should have sent that text message.

*

Beeping.

Tommy wakes up to a steady beeping, a dry throat and a white ceiling. Blinking into the sunlight, he tries to make sense of this new situation. He’s been floating in darkness. Now he’s in a bed. He’s alive. And he’s not alone. When he turns his head on the pillow, he sees someone he thought he would never see again. And it’s … too much.

The moment he knew his helicopter was about to go down, Tommy was ready to die. It wasn’t the first time he prepared himself for the end.

He is not ready to live. Not ready to face Evan. Not ready to understand what he sees in Evan’s eyes.

“You’re awake,” Evan says, standing up from the plastic chair in the corner that’s way too small for him and pushing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “You ... God. Tommy."

Evan looks tired. His eyes are redrimmed, his hair tousled and his cheeks covered in a stubble.

Guilt makes Tommy’s throat feel tighter. He tries to say something, but Evan raises a hand.

“Don’t. Don’t say anything,” he says. “It’s okay. I … I want to be here, alright? If you don’t want me here, you can … you can tell me. It's fine.” He rubs his face with a shaky hand. 

I always want you with me, Tommy thinks. I'm just scared that being with me isn't what would make you happy. I want nothing more than for you to be happy.

“We weren’t … we weren’t always sure you would wake up, you know?” Evan says quietly. “You lost a lot of blood and you were bleeding internally. Also the cold ... They had to treat Eddie for hypothermia too. But at least you managed to crash the helicopter into the water. If it had been the cliffs ..."

He swallows heavily, shaking his head as if he is trying to push that thought, that image, away from him. “Anyway, I’m just happy you’re alive. And I, uh, I brought you some cake. It’s your favourite.” He smiles weakly. “That’s all I’ve been doing lately, you know? Baking. It’s been a distraction. Helped me to keep myself from calling you. Because I wanted to. All the time.”

Evan shakes his head and sighs. "It's probably pathetic. But what can I do? And I'm rambling again. Sorry."

Tommy feels tears in his eyes. “Evan …”

“It’s okay,” Evan tells him. “We don’t have to do this right now. You … You just woke up. You’re hurt. And on painkillers. So I’m not going to expect anything. We can … If you want to, we can talk later. Yeah.” He scratches the back of his head. Hesitates.

Tommy clears his throat. “Evan. My phone. Is it …”

“Oh. Yeah, I think it’s still working,” Evan says. “They have it in a bag. Together with your other stuff. Like the keys.”

“There’s … I wrote. I wrote a text. Didn’t send it. Think it was saved … as a draft,” Tommy says and every word pulls at his energy, draining him. “If you want to. You can read it.”

Evan’s eyes widen. “Thank you,” he breathes. “I will.”

Tommy hums. He can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Distantly, he hears Evan say that he’s going to call a nurse. And then he thinks he feels a hand running through his hair once. Just once. But maybe he just imagined that. He sinks into darkness once more.

For @tevanadvent2024 Day 6: „That’s how I want to die.“

(AO3 Link)

[girlgenius1111]

I'll Make It Through The Winter If It Kills Me

putellas!reader stops taking her antidepressants because she doesn't think she needs them anymore, keeps it from alexia, but she eventually finds out. super angsty, but fluff follows. warnings: mentions of self harm.

-----

You weren't stupid; you didn't think you knew better than your doctor. You were just so tired of everything feeling so... dull. Feeling so empty, even when things were good. Even when they were bad. It felt like your emotions were in sight, but just out of reach. Like you could graze them with your fingertips, the sharp sting of anger, the thrill of excitement. No matter what you did, though, you couldn’t get your hands around them. You couldn’t make the feelings stay. You weren’t sure you’d know what normal felt like if it hit you across the face, and no matter what you told your doctor, she kept encouraging you to give the meds a longer chance. 

It wasn’t really intentional on your part, to stop taking them. It just…happened. You missed one day. And then another. And then it had been a week, and even though your head ached, and you had a bit of a hard time sleeping, you felt… better. Not great, not really even good, but better. More like yourself. 

That lasted another week, before suddenly, you were back where you started. The joy you’d rediscovered in living faded away, plunging you back into a cave of misery. It wasn’t numbed now, either. It was encapsulating, suffocating. You weren’t okay, not at all. You didn’t know what to do, though. You didn’t want to go back on the medication, and you knew you wouldn’t survive if you kept going like this. You told yourself that you just had to let your body get used to the lack of the medication, and once it adjusted, you’d feel normal again. You’d been high, and now you were low, and the next step had to be a middle ground. The trouble was keeping yourself going until you got there, as well as keeping your sister off your back.

You hadn’t meant to start hurting yourself again, either. It just happened, it was just the coping mechanism you turned to. It was just supposed to be temporary, until everything balanced out and you felt normal again. It kept going, though, you kept going. Until you had to be careful about changing in the locker room, and you couldn’t go a day without doing it. It was the only thing that made you feel, the only thing that made it better. You just needed time. That was it. Just time. 

-----

“Wake up pequeña, I am not going to come in here again.” Alexia said with a sigh, poking her head in your door to find you still very asleep in bed. You both knew she’d be back in 5 minutes, ready to drag you out by your ankles, but you grumbled a response and sat up. You’d only gotten to sleep a few hours ago; sleep had evaded you, even as you felt more exhausted than you’d ever been in your life. It was just an adjustment, you, told yourself. Everything would even out. 

“If I come in there and you’re still asleep, so help me,” Alexia shouted from the hall, before throwing your door open rather aggressively. You turned to look at her blankly, wrapped up in your duvet, sitting on the edge of the bed. Your sister paused, taking a closer look at your face. 

“Do you feel okay? Are you getting sick?” She asked, entering the room and pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. You shook her off, discarding the duvet behind you and moving with as much energy as you could muster over to your dresser. 

“No, just sleepy.” You answered shortly, and Alexia narrowed her eyes at you. 

“You look sick.” She argued, crossing her arms over her chest in a rather intimidating manner. 

“Thank you.” You replied sarcastically. “Now get out, you’re going to make me late.” 

Alexia scoffed indignantly, but walked to the door regardless. “I’M going to make you late. Me. You lay in bed till the last minute, and it’s MY fault.” She mumbled, shutting the door behind her a little harder than necessary. 

She wasn’t really that bothered, but she did dramatically complain about you to Olga once she reached the kitchen. Olga, however, didn’t quite share her exasperation with you and your inability to get up on time. Instead, she saw this as cause for concern: you hadn’t been this hard to wake up since before. When things were bad, and they didn’t know. Looking back, the signs were obvious, and Olga wasn’t about to miss them again. Or let her rather emotionally oblivious girlfriend do so either. 

“Ale. She’s been sleeping a lot recently, no?” Olga asked quietly, grabbing her girlfriend’s hand to get her attention. 

Alexia looked up from the coffee she was making for you, turning to the brunette in confusion. “I haven’t noticed. She’s hard to wake up sometimes, that’s all.” 

Olga restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Sometimes, she wondered if Alexia really was oblivious, or if she was just in denial. 

“Not like this. The last time she slept this much, she wasn’t doing well, remember?” 

Alexia turned back to your coffee, stirring absentmindedly, lost in thought. 

“You think she’s having a hard time?” She asked finally. 

Olga shrugged. “I’m not sure. She’s been acting a little off recently. It could be nothing though.”

“But it could be something?” Alexia replied. She was never so aware of her shortcomings as a sister than when Olga saw something she didn’t. That was the good thing about being with someone who was so different from her, though. Olga was there to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks with you, a role she’d taken on without a second thought when you moved in.

Olga didn’t have a chance to reply, because you made your way into the kitchen, reaching instantly for the coffee Alexia was making, one you knew was for you. Ale always got up a bit early to make her and Olga coffee, climbing back into bed and drinking it there. 

Alexia handed you the coffee silently, and if you noticed that her eyes lingered on you longer than normal, you didn’t say anything about it. 

-----

It wasn’t accidental that Alexia had the two of you sharing a room over the next away trip. Ever since her conversation with Olga, she’d been keeping a closer eye on you, and she wasn’t loving what she was seeing. Normally, she’d pawn you off on one of your younger teammates over away games, needing time with her friends, and knowing you needed time with yours. Now, though, her overprotective instincts were kicking in and she didn’t trust anyone but herself to keep an eye on you. 

Alexia noticed that you put on a good show, but when people weren’t looking… you looked so desperately sad that your sister longed to drag you away from the group by your ear and pry whatever the problem was out of you. She didn’t, though. Olga had given her a harsh warning before leaving, as did Alba, that you wouldn’t respond well to being cornered, to being forced to talk. You needed to come to her. So while Alexia kept you very close, she made an effort to remind you that she was there, whatever you needed. 

The first real, tangible, issue that Alexia figured out was that you weren’t sleeping. She’d passed out before you, as expected, but when she stirred a couple hours later to the sound of you sniffling quietly from your bed, she was immediately wide awake. 

You were so tired. Nothing you were trying was working, you just couldn’t sleep. It felt pathetic to be crying, but you were exhausted, you had a match tomorrow, and you just wanted your brain to turn off, even if it was only for a bit. You were trying to keep the volume down, though, because Alexia was famously a light sleeper, and her bed was only a few feet from yours. 

Your efforts proved unsuccessful when Alexia sat up in her bed, flicking the light on. She squinted over at you, finding you curled up on your side, furiously wiping at the tears on your face, horrified at being caught. 

You were expecting 20 questions from your sister. She liked to fix things, and this situation would definitely be something that worried her. Alexia surprised you though. 

Even though there were 20 questions on the tip of her tongue, she remembered both her girlfriend and her other sister’s warnings not to push you. Instead of pestering you like she wanted, she flicked the light back off, sliding out of her bed and gently nudging you over until she could slide onto the edge of yours. 

“Ale, what-?” 

“Shh.” Alexia whispered, scooching closer and cuddling up to you like she used to do when you were little, and wanted nothing more than her affection. If Alexia was feeling particularly nice, she’d let you curl up against her while the family watched a movie, or while she finished her homework. “You can’t sleep?” 

You wondered how she knew. Sometimes, Alexia could be completely dense when it came to your feelings. Other times, though, she was incredibly perceptive.  “No.” 

Your sister’s presence next to you, though, was already helping, and you felt your eyes drooping as you rested your head against her chest. 

“Do you want me to sing you a song?” Alexia teased. 

You appreciated that she wasn’t forcing a conversation now, more than you could articulate. 

“No, I think my ears bleeding would keep me up more.” You replied, laughing quietly when your sister huffed indignantly, shoving you away from her, before very quickly pulling you back into her arms.

“You like my singing, I’m a good singer.” She retorted, even as she tucked you back under her chin. “Really, nena, how can I help?” 

“Stop talking.” You murmured groggily, cuddling in closer to your sister. Alexia smiled against your head, but stopped talking, rather proud of herself for solving this problem for you, even if it was just temporarily. Even if it was just a symptom of a much bigger problem. 

You slept that night, without waking up, for the first time in a while. You tried not to let yourself think about the fact that if Alexia fixed this problem, she might be able to help you, just in general, if only you’d talk to her. 

-----

Alexia hadn’t meant to snoop. She’d done you a favor, picking up your new prescription, and she was just putting it on your nightstand. Was it possible that she opened the drawer and peeked at your old bottle? Maybe. She was glad she did it, though. Because she found it full. And everything suddenly made a lot more sense. 

-----

"Pequeña?"

"Yeah?"

"Why is this full?" Alexia asked calmly, holding up the little pill bottle and giving it a shake.

"That's- that's my new bottle." You replied, looking away from her accusatory stare.

Alexia shook her head. "No, this is your new bottle. I picked it up for you today." She held up a little bag from the pharmacy, and your stomach sank. Your sister would not like this, not at all. She wouldn't like you doing something so unhealthy, and she wouldn't like you lying about it. There was nothing you could say, she'd caught you.

"Nena, I asked you a question." Strict Alexia was making an appearance, and you kept your eyes locked on the ground in front of you. "Hey. Don't shut down on me. What's going on?" She walked closer, arms crossed over her chest.

"I stopped taking them." You said finally, looking up in time to see your sister sigh heavily, and run a hand over her suddenly very fatigued face.

"Why?"

"I just did." You told her.

"That's not good enough. This is why you've been so anxious recently? So depressed?"

You shrugged noncommittally. Alexia was silent for a minute, before her expression changed, face tightened. You knew what was coming before she asked.

"Roll up your shorts." It's given as a command, not as a request, and you backed up on instinct. "Nena,"

"No. I'm an adult, Alexia. I can make my own decisions."

Alexia regarded you carefully, her eyebrows pinched with concern. "Roll up your shorts, please. I won't ask again."

You hated when Alexia got like this. You knew she wasn't really as angry with you as she seemed, she was worried. It just felt so much like you were in trouble. Maybe because you knew you were doing something you shouldn't be. Alexia's worry always manifested as frustration, anger. Maybe because for her, she was angry with herself, for not seeing a problem sooner.

"Alexia, I said no." You turned away from her, stomping towards your room.

"Nena, come back." Alexia demanded, going after you when you didn't respond. She reached your door just as you shut it and locked it, and Alexia felt a spike of panic run through her. Your behavior over the past few weeks was beginning to make more sense and, honestly, she didn't know what headspace you were in, how deeply the lack of the medication was affecting you. If you were back to doing this, it could be bad. Alexia knew she wasn't the expert in helping you with this, but she did know that, right now, she was not comfortable with a locked door in between the two of you.

"Nena, open the door." She fiddled with the knob, even as it wouldn't budge. "I'm being serious, open the door. Now."

You weren't really hearing her. You were thinking about how disappointed she must be in you. She'd been horrified to find out that you'd been doing this to yourself the first time, almost a year ago now. She'd yelled, and you'd run out of the house, all the way to Mapi's. You'd sat on the terrace with Ingrid, talking about everything and nothing, while Mapi gave your sister a piece of her mind. You were sick, she'd told the blonde. You needed support. You weren't doing it for attention. Alexia needed to do better.

And she had. She'd apologized for yelling. She'd gone with you to every therapy appointment for two months, knowing how nervous they made you. She sat outside the room, answering emails or looking at her phone, just in case you needed her. She supported you, wholeheartedly, when you took a few weeks off from the team to focus on your mental health, as you got your medication figured out. You weren't good at communicating your needs to your sister, and she wasn't good at reading your mind, but somehow, it worked.

Repetitive pounding on the door broke you out of your thoughts, and you looked towards the door, half expecting to see your sister's fist emerging through the wood.

"Nena, open. Now, por favor." Alexia begged.

Your anger with yourself only grew. Your sister sounded close to tears and it was all your fault. All your fault. Shakily, you stood up from the bed and walked over to the door, unlocking it. Alexia practically fell into the room, head swiveling frantically as she looked for you. Your eyes dropped to the ground again, and you looked so small, so very shattered.

Alexia knocked the wind out of you a little with the force of her hug, squishing you into her arms and holding you tight against her chest. "You can't do that, you can't lock the door. Not right now, not when I don't know what's going on with you. Please, pequeña, I won't make you talk to me, just don't lock the door." She was pleading with you, and you'd never heard your normally very calm and collected sister so panicked. 

Maybe it was the pleading that got to you, or maybe you were just so tired of pretending to be okay. Either way, words you never thought you’d say out loud were spilling from your mouth before you could stop them. 

“I’m scared, Ale. I don’t have control anymore, I thought I did, but I don’t, and I’m scared. I’m so tired, I don’t think I can do this anymore. Please help me, I need you to help me,” you sobbed, the admission feeling both terrifying and relieving all at once. At least the responsibility wasn’t on you anymore. Alexia would take care of you, take care of this. 

“Okay, okay, nena. It’s all going to be okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. We’ll get you help, we’ll get you whatever you need. Whatever it takes. I love you so much, pequeña, we’ll get you better, I promise.” 

Alexia kept you wrapped up tight in her arms for a while, and it only reassured you more. As long as she had you, nothing would happen. She wouldn’t let anything happen. While your sister was around, you would be safe. Even if she was keeping you safe from yourself, she’d do it, no matter what. 

-----

me: you need to stop making everything have a part 2. just make a longer one shot. 

also me: let me know what you want to see in part 2 🙂🙂

[steddieas-shegoes]

i'm stayin'

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'who did this to you?' wc: 869 rated: m cw: off-screen violence, mentioned childhood abuse (not in detail) tags: steve harrington has bad parents, established relationship, secret relationship, pre-season 4, hurt/comfort, asthmatic steve because i've made him go through everything else why not this too

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Steve's vision was blurry, his hands shaking as he tried to put his car in park in front of the trailer.

His backpack, no longer full of what he needed for school, sat in the passenger seat, half-zipped and telling the ugly truth of what he wasn't sure he could process right now: his parents had kicked him out with only the possessions he could shove into his bag.

Steve winced as he reached for his inhaler, a last second grab when his dad had decided he'd given him plenty of time to pack only three minutes into his rushed efforts.

He didn't need it at this moment, had managed to calm down on the drive to Eddie's, but knew it was only a matter of time before the anxiety would set in again. Hopefully, he'd have Eddie next to him when it did.

Wayne's truck wasn't in the yard, probably working another night shift. Eddie's new-to-him van was parked crooked by the front porch, like he'd been in a rush to get inside when he got home earlier.

Steve immediately stepped out of his car into mud.

Right. It rained earlier.

No lights were on in the trailer, but Wayne had given him a key only a few weeks before, saying something about how he should always have a place to go if he needed it.

Almost like he had a feeling about what was to come.

Steve opened the door, surprised to find Eddie passed out on the couch, blanket pulled up to his nose and the space heater turned off.

If his eye didn't hurt so bad, he'd roll them both. No matter how many times he told Eddie to just turn it on before he sat down so he would be warm, it didn't seem to sink in.

He turned it on, cursing quietly when it made a loud popping noise.

"Wayne?" Eddie asked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up as he tried to wake up. "Work?"

"Not Wayne, Eds. Go back to sleep." The last thing Steve needed right now was Eddie freaking out about what he was sure was ugly proof of his father taking out his prejudices on him. "I'm gonna be in your room."

"Steve?" He sounded much more awake now, and Steve couldn't resist turning fully to look at him. "Holy shit. Who did this to you?"

Steve grimaced. He knew they couldn't ignore it, he was just hoping to patch himself up a bit before morning when Eddie would start asking questions.

"Um."

And then the damn tears started falling before Steve could give any explanation, and Eddie's arms wrapped around him carefully, like he was terrified to hurt him more. Eddie was always so careful with him, like he knew there were plenty of invisible bruises already.

He cried for so long, his entire body felt numb, and he could vaguely register that he was shivering. Eddie's hands were rubbing his back slowly, comforting him the best he could.

Eventually, Steve's tears stopped, his breathing slowed back to normal, and his chest didn't feel as heavy.

"Is that your inhaler or are you just happy to see me?" Eddie teased gently, leaving room for Steve to ignore him if he wasn't in the mood for jokes.

Steve snorted. "It's my inhaler. But I am happy to see you. Always."

Eddie's lips brushed the top of his head, so faint, Steve almost thought he imagined it.

"You wanna talk about it?" The caution in Eddie's voice was enough for Steve to pull his head away from his shoulder, flinching when he felt the pull of his split lip.

"Not now. Kinda tired." Understatement of the century. Steve felt like he could sleep for hours. "Can I sleep here?"

"Stevie, you can stay as long as you want, you know that."

Steve knew Eddie knew, and Eddie knew Steve wasn't gonna come outright and say it until he'd had time to come down from it all.

"Can we sleep in your bed?" Steve asked, resting his head back on Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie wordlessly led him down the short hallway to his bedroom, helped him get into comfier clothes, and used a washcloth to wipe any of the blood he'd missed at the gas station earlier.

They got in bed, Steve curling against Eddie's side like he'd done so many times before.

This felt different though. This felt like an end of something, a beginning of something else.

*-*-*-*-*-*

When Wayne saw him the next morning, he gave him a sad smile, a hug, and handed him a cup of coffee.

"You stayin'?" he asked, like it was simple.

Like Steve could stay.

"I-"

"I have two rules. One, you go to school. Two, you tell me if you're gonna be out too late, especially on a school night. You follow those, you stay. Sound good?" Wayne raised a brow.

If Steve hadn't spent the last six months at the Munson's trailer more than his own home, maybe he'd be intimidated.

As it stood, all he could do was give a small smile and grab a frozen bag of mixed veggies from the freezer to put on his swollen eye.

"I'm stayin'."

[peppermintquartz]

for the prompt! CRASH THAT HELICOPTER! (i need to see yet again tommy being on the verge of death, and then being suprised buck and the 118 are by his side in the hospital.)

Something's gotten hold of my heart Keeping my soul and my senses apart

Tommy's consciousness kicks in grudgingly with Nick Cave's voice, but together with the song is a plethora of pain.

He opens his eyes. Grass, long grass. Some trees overhead. Broken branches, maybe. Daylight.

What was he doing before this? He's not in the habit of sleeping outside, he's done enough of that. Then he hears in the silence, a distance away, the unmistakable roar of fire.

Ah. He'd jumped. The bird had wrenched itself free of his control; some wires had not held or maybe there was an error in the chips. Whatever it is, he had to jump.

He can't feel any heat, so that is at least a good sign he landed far from it. But fire travels faster than most people think.

Breathing is hard. Acute, stabbing pains. Likely broken ribs.

His toes wiggle when he tells them to. So do the fingers of his right hand. His left hand screams at him when he tries to move it and his vision blacks out.

It takes another monumental effort to climb back to consciousness.

Radio, he thinks inanely. Gotta call for help.

He doesn't have a functional radio. At least he can roll onto his less injured side - fighting nausea and agony every inch of the way - and look.

Black smoke billows up in a thick column. There are other birds in the sky surveying the area, Tommy remembers. They'll call it in.

They may never find Tommy though. He's some distance away.

No matter. There are worse ways to go.

Tommy is exhausted. He slips his right hand into his pocket and lets Nick Cave sing him back into unconscious slumber.

In a world that was small I once lived in a time there was peace with no trouble at all But then you came my way And a feeling unknown shook my heart, made me want you to stay All of my nights and all of my days

He registers the beeping of the machines before the floaty numbness of his body, and under that, a deep lake of pain to be dealt with.

There's warmth over his right hand.

He fades again.

I've got to know if this is the real thing I've got to know what's making my heart sing

The second time he surfaces, he hears low conversation. People he knows that he knows, but can't name.

His right hand is still warm and he closes his fingers as best as he can.

"He's waking up," someone says. The voice is rough-edged, tired. Tommy wants to cuddle it.

Each eyelid weighs a thousand tons. He struggles anyway.

And he is greeted with a concerned Evan, holding onto his right hand. Behind Evan is Chimney.

Tommy looks at himself as best as he can. He has so many tubes attached to different parts of him. He has a mask over his face, and the sound of his breathing is unnaturally loud.

Tommy blinks at Evan, and tears roll down his face. Evan squeezes his hand. Chimney disappears from view, texting into his phone as he goes.

"He's telling everyone you pulled through," Evan says, smiling. His big blue eyes are bright and fatigued. He has the beginnings of a full beard. That's not regulation.

Feeling the tug of sleep again, Tommy blinks a few more times at the man he loves.

"I know. Rest. Get better." Evan picks up the limp right hand and kisses the back of it. "We'll have time to talk."

You smile and I am lost for a lifetime Each minute spent with you is the right time Every hour, every day You touch me and my mind goes astray

[hazymoonlinh]

Open your heart and I shall open mine.

(After all, you’re only human.)

Aventurine

Ah.

You’re tired.

It’s that feeling again.

It’s eating you alive. You feel empty.

The air conditioner is at 16 degrees, you’re wearing nothing but a thin T-shirt and underwear.

You open your heavy eyelashes and blinks.

You haven’t eaten anything today, in fact, you don’t wanna eat anything at all. Your phone is out of battery, yet you don’t wanna charge it.

You inhaled. It’s cold. Very cold indeed. Your fingers and your feet feel numb. They’re blushing red and starting to hurt.

Oh but that’s what you wanted. You love the pain, it keeps your sanity at bay. On someday, you can’t help but feel like trash. It makes you wanna cry but no tears ever came out.

You’re lying on your bed, but nothing was draped over you. You can’t move, feeling like some invisible chains pin you down.

Oh how you hate yourself in this state so much, you can’t do anything at all but gnawing the pain in your heart, let the physical pain reminds you of being alive.

You feel sleepy again, and you close your eyes again.

Aventurine has been worried sick. You haven’t answered his texts or calls for the past for the last few days. Why? You always answer so quickly when he press the sent button yet now it’s like a thousands text and nothing back. It’s like you just disappeared.

And he hates that. What if you got hurt ? What if you need his help ? He called your boss and knows that you haven’t been to work for at least 3 days now. What on Earth have happened to you?

This has never happened before, he miss you, he miss your warmth and he’s scared, scared that he might forgot how you look like or sounds like. It’s driving him crazy.

Aventurine throws the phone to the seat beside him, going on max speed to your house. He’s getting anxious, scratching his head and grunts angrily.

“Dammit…”

He slammed the door open, it’s pitched black inside, the usual homey atmosphere is nowhere to be found. Instead, the thing that responds him is a scary silent void. He rushes to your bedroom, open the door and chills immediately running up his spine.

“What the heck…?”

He saw you on the bed, lying there like you’re sleeping. If it’s not for the freezing temperature, he would sigh in relief knowing that you’re ok. He runs to you and shocked by how pale you are, your fingers nails turned purple and you’re so cold to the touch.

He held his breath, bringing a finger up to check your breathing. After confirmed you are breathing, he let out a sigh.

“Sweetheart, wake up. Please, wake up.”

He’s shaking you gently, then drapes the blanket over you after you open your eyes then swiftly turns off the air conditioner. You thought you’re dreaming until you feel his warm hand cup your cheek.

“Sweetheart…”

He pulls you close to him, arms holding you tightly as if he’s afraid. After feeling like eternity, long enough for you to aware what is going on, he finally whisper.

“Do you know how scared I am ? You’re driving me crazy…. I thought…. I thought something bad happened…”

His voice is shaking, and when you pull out and look at him, tears forming in his eyes, threatening to fall.

He looks like an abandoned puppy.

“You didn’t answer my text, phone calls for days…I missed you…”

You feel bad, but you can’t help yourself, you can’t be positive all the time for someone. You aren’t all mighty and powerful, so you drink and torture yourself.

You hesitated, but bring a finger up and wipe his tears. He close his eyes and leans to your touch even though it’s cold, neither of you muttered a word but it’s strangely comfortable.

How odd, you think. For two broken souls trying to heal each others but none knows what they’re doing. You try to say something, but nothing came out. Now you noticed, you feel thirsty.

As if he sensed that, Aventurine gets off the bed, wiping off his face and said :

“Stay still, I’ll bring you something warm to drink.”

And he’s gone to the kitchen. You look at your fingers, it’s still wet from his tears and your heart clenches, you hate seeing others got affected by your emotions, and you hate seeing him cry.

Oh gosh how much you despise yourself right now. Why do things happened this way ? You just want yourself to suffer alone, not him too…

So worthless… If only…if only…

You feel something touch your forehead. You snapped from your thoughts to find his hand, trying to measure your temperature, his other hand holding a cup of steaming hot tea.

“No high temperature, it appears. Here, drink up.”

He offered you the cup and you hold it with both hands. It has a nice fragrance, sweet, and warm. Then, he sits next to you, head lean onto your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” He says.

“Why..?” You speak barely like a whisper.

“For letting you feel like this. I know it’s hard, I’ve been through it, a lot of times actually.”

“Hmm.”

“And thank you for being there for me in those time too, my heart. And now, this is the least I can do for you.”

“You’re bad at comforting people.”

“I know, I think you know that better than anyone.”

“Yes, I do. Kakavasha.”

“…”

“I love you, you know.” He said again.

“Hmm…”

Maybe it was you were too thirsty and the tea taste so good, maybe because his comfort words sounds just enough as you want it to be, or maybe your emotions finally got up to you, tears streaming down your cheeks like waterfall, dampened the blanket, blurred your vision. Your shoulder slumped and your whole body shaking. Everything feels so overwhelming, and you didn’t even noticed he took the cup from your hand and placed it on the side, hugging you close and rubbing your back.

“I’m sorry…I don’t know what to do now…I’m just…too exhausted…”

You clung to him for dear life, and you cry in his chest, crying until there was no more tears to cry, until you fall back asleep because you’re too tired.

Aventurine lie you down to the bed, let you close to him while never letting go of you. He whispered:

“Good night, my love. I’ll be here with you.”

He will listen to you when you wake up and ready. Even if you’re not, he’s willing to wait.

[hello-sweetheart]

Fame and Fortune

Do you dream of glory? Crowds of thousands all adoring beneath you. The roaring cheers echoing in the arena. Countless of small white lights held up like beacons creating a sea of waving stars all for you. Breathless exhilaration has your chest heaving, skin glistening and damn. To feel like a god: never ending, eternal.

What would you be willing to do to get it?

What are you willing to sacrifice for fame?

Who are you prepared to lose?

Could the love of millions be worth the love of one?

——

[Backstage: Corroded Coffin Global Tour-Los Angeles, Ca]

Eddie is pacing, more than just pre-show nerves numb his hands. His cigarette burns quickly, ash falling on the carpeted floor, but no amount of nicotine filled lungs will fix this. Gareth, his drummer and long time friend, is watching him pace, eyes pleading.

“Is it worth it, Eddie?

We all got what we wanted; why are we miserable? You can’t lie to me, we all feel it. I see it in everyone, even you! You haven’t been the same since—“ He receives a withering glare from the frontman and sighs, speaking softer.

“I miss mom and my little sister. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them… I’m no longer drawn in her crayon family portraits, did you know that? Does Anne even remember me, anymore?

How can you keep going like this and expect us to do the same? I’m grateful—I really am—for you. You got us where we are now, a fantasy that we never even dreamed would become reality. It was amazing, I’m glad I got to experience it all with you, but I’m tired. I’m so tired guys.

I just want to go home.”

The long drag he takes burns his throat,

“Look, we’re all tired, I get it. Really, I do, this tour has been… particularly grueling I’ll admit, but come on. This is our last show, the big finale! We’ll give them all we got and then we’ll be able to take a break to freshen up before doing what we do best: creating kick ass music.

Like always. You’ll feel better after this, we always do after the last show—“

Gareth cuts him off, his patience clearly stretched thin.

“No, Eddie, listen to me! It’s different this time. I’m happy with the money we’ve made, we all have enough to live comfortably and I’ve been thinking that, you know, it’s time to settle down. I can’t do that if I’m always working. This, the band, it doesn’t… it doesn’t make me happy anymore.”

Jeff stands and his imposing figure makes Eddie pause from wearing a path into the floor.

“He’s not the only one, man. Im sorry, but its killing me. We don’t expect you to give it up either, you can keep the band name, find new members, keep signing… But for us? We can’t keep going, man. This is the end of the line.”

‘Not him too. Fuck. Fuck!’

“No! What am I—I’ve given up too much for this, you can’t just, fucking, bail on me!” This band, playing with his friends, it’s become his entire world. He’s lost too much to get here.

“Woah, woah, hey! No one fucking told you to and you know it. We’ve always had your back no matter what, but anything you chose to do is on you. Not us. The least you could do is extend us the same fucking curtesy and respect the fact that we’re fucking done with this bullshit.”

His gaze is venom as he looks at band, Grant and ‘Freak’ silent but agreeing with the rest. They refuse to meet his gaze.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.” He turns and leaves. They’ll be starting in 15 minutes.

Fucking cowards. Ungrateful bastards.

A memory plays in his head. Brief and intrusive. The voice of someone long gone from his life rings in his mind.

“I’ve missed you, Ed. Are you done at the studio, yet? When are you coming home?”

“Steve, this is important. You know this. I’ll be pulling a few more all nighters here—this album has to be perfect, baby.”

A crackling sigh is barely audible through the phone.

“I know, I know. I’m just being selfish. I’m sorry. Miss waking up to you next to me.”

“Miss you too, baby. You’re my world you know. Love you more than anything.”

“More than music?” It’s a timid question.

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he’s the only one to laugh into the receiver.

“Right… night, Eddie.”

“Wait, Stev—“ fuck. It was only joke. Whatever, he’ll apologize tomorrow.

Right now, he has music history in the making.