#could be a stranger drugged me could be THEY drugged me could be accidental overdose or lacing or ....

[bruisething]

what ive been thinking about is coming to someone for help when i'm fucked up, and them saying they'll watch me, letting me sit on their lap. an arm around me, comforting me while my panic diffuses, gentle reassuring touches, gradually getting more intimate while i get closer to passing out. bolder than they would ever be if i was in my right mind, if they were worried about me remembering it.

[you-call-it-a-dude]

Just Can't Hack It Pt.2

Pt.1

Request: so this is part two to a story. The original request was reader dealing with substance use. I had a few folks wanting another part and I was feeling inspired to add a second part so I did!

Pairings: Leighton Murray x female reader

Warnings: TW!!! I would say this one is more triggering than the first. Mentions of opioid use, accidental overdose, use of narcan/naloxone, difficult discussions around the topic of addiction, needles. This is a super heavy story. Read with caution, take a step back if it's not for you. I have many other stories you can check out if you want something more light hearted. Nobody dies, but it's a pretty realistic scenario about addiction/loving someone with addiction. Could be triggering in many ways, so please be aware.

Authors Note: here I go again adding more chapters to stories I've been saying imma leave as one shots lol. This story is super depressing, I'm so sorry. If you're into that tho, welcome lol. I apologize for my lack of posting. Ive had a lot of life changes happen recently and my mental health hasn't been the greatest (maybe writing this depressing ass chapter will help). I do want to clarify, I am not a drug user. Just a social worker that reads, does research lol. Thank you all for your patience, thank you so everyone that's read my other work while waiting for me to post again. I love you all. I love you for reading, for sharing opinions and engaging in discussions with me and I love you for existing. I hope you like this next chapter

**if you have any questions regarding Narcan/Naloxone, fentanyl test strips, or anything like that, feel free to reach out**

----

You woke up with a loud gasp, some random girl rubbing circles on your sternum. You rushed to sit forward, accidentally shoving her back.

The air was flowing back into your lungs and you felt like you couldn't get it in there quick enough. Your teeth were chattering and you were in that same fucking basement DJ died in.

You grab her wrist with shaky hands and she talked to you calmly, asking you if you were okay and all you could do was shake your head no. Your chest was heaving and it felt like you were inhaling razor blades or something.

What the fuck?

"Sit up slow." She tells you, helping you sit up and you notice her hands are also shaking. "You should probably go to the emergency room." She tells you and you're confused because you don't know why.

"Did something happen?" You ask, your throat dry. You cough to clear it and when you reach forward to grab a cup of whatever off the table, you see an oddly shaped object discarded on the table. You pick it up, your hands still shaking and you run your thumb over the pink 'Narcan' written on the label "Fuck." You whisper to yourself. "Fuck, did...?" You turn your attention to her and she kind of just shrugs.

"I'm not sure honestly. Maybe? But I didn't think it could hurt. You didn't look great, like at all."

You continue to stare down at the small nasal spray, your hands still shaking like never before. You blinked hard a few times, trying to wrap your head around everything.

"I'm so sorry." You apologized to this stranger for most likely traumatizing the fuck out of her.

"Do you have someone to call? You probably need to go to the emergency room." She ignored your apology and something about that made you feel like shit.

"Emergency room? What? That stuff worked. I'm fine." You say, tossing the bottle back onto the table.

"Yeah, but it wears off in like thirty minutes, more or less." She points out.

"Wears off?!" You ask in shock and she nods at you, looking at you like you were stupid.

"And I'm not using my other one on you so I suggest you go." She said with a slight attitude, no longer giving off that friendly vibe she had before. "And maybe get your own for next time, yeah?"

"Fine, Jesus." You say, no longer feeling as indebted to her the more bitchy she got toward you.

You take a few moments to gather yourself, still feeling not the greatest. The girl next to you that potentially saved your life was now injecting something between her toes and if that wasn't enough motivation to get the fuck up and go, you don't know what is.

You grab your things and thank her again. Unsurprisingly, she doesn't say anything back.

Your legs feel weak and shaky. Getting up the stairs and out of the house took way more effort than it should've. You hated this fucking place and you felt disgusting for even coming back.

Your intention was to take an Uber to the emergency room on campus, but when you checked your bank account you were almost certain a ride request wouldn't even go through.

You physically just felt too weak to stand so you sat on the curb, knowing you were going to have to call Leighton and just fucking hated yourself for it.

You pulled out the pills you had taken from your pocket and investigated them. You got them from Liza instead of your normal dealer. She told you they would be exactly the same pills you were used to buying from Angel, just less expensive. Your lack of funds sold you on them immediately. Except now that you actually took the time to study them, you realize they looked nothing like the other ones.

You had no idea what you took.

What you do know is you took two of them at once. It was less than what you normally would've taken. You can't even remember why you decided to only take two instead of your usual four, but clearly sober you was looking out.

Well...semi-sober you.

You called Leighton and it took three tries for her to answer. She was mad at you again because you bailed on her the other night on dinner plans that you made.

"Hello?" She finally answered. You could hear laughter in the background so you knew she was out with friends or out doing something and it made you feel even worse to ask her for help.

"Hi, Leight." You say softly, pushing your fingertips into your eyes trying to build up the courage to ask her. "Can you help me, please?"

"Help you?" She sounds concerned and you hear a door close behind her, all of the noise fading away. "What's going on?"

"I need-I need, fuck!" You try, the words feeling almost impossible to get out. "I need to go to the emergency room, I think." You finally get out, blinking hard to keep your brain working.

"Emergency room? What's going on? Where are you?"

"Please, Leighton. I'm at the blue house on the edge of campus. You know the one." You rub your palm against your forehead. "Can you please just come get me."

"Yeah. I know the one." Of course she did. Everyone knows the blue fucking house. It's literally nicknamed the druggie house on campus. There's only one reason people went there. Her voice sounded monotone and she was definitely connecting some dots. "I'm coming, I'm not far away." She hangs up on you before you can even tell her goodbye and you just feel her disappointment radiating through the phone.

It was less than ten minutes when you saw a familiar car pull up.

Leighton stepped out of the passenger side and as soon as the door closed, the window was rolling down to reveal Whitney in the drivers seat.

"Are you kidding me, Leighton." You complained as she rushed over to help you.

"Shut up." Whitney said from the driver's side, rolling her eyes at you.

"Fuck you!" You spat at her, letting Leighton help pull you to your feet.

"No, fuck you! What the hell is wrong with you?" You stayed silent because you didn't have an answer to her question. "That's what I fucking thought. Now get in the car."

Leighton sat in the back with you, letting you lay your head on her lap. She hasn't said a single word to you since she picked you up and you don't know if it was the drugs or the anxiety caused by her silence that was making your heart race the way it was.

Your body was sore and your head ached. You turned so you could bury your face in her sweater, inhaling the smell of her. She massaged your scalp, pulling you closer to her body.

Whitney dropped you both off at the front door and said to call her when you needed to be picked up. She sounded a lot nicer now, but she was also talking to Leighton.

You weren't feeling great at all and you definitely had the fear that whatever dosage that girl gave you was wearing off and you were going to die in the waiting room of this fucking hospital.

Leighton helped bring you to the front desk. You declined her offer of a wheelchair because something about that just felt degrading. Having to have her push you because of something you did to yourself?

Falling to the ground and crawling would be less embarrassing.

The woman at the desk greeted you and asked what was going on and you hesitated. Because even though Leighton probably figured shit out by now, you never said it out loud.

Saying it out loud would finally be admitting that you had a problem, which is why you've avoided it for so long.

"I-um-I-" both Leighton and the lady at the desk with the patience of a saint watch you fiddle nervously with the pen attached to a chain. "I am not feeling too great. I was given narcan maybe thirty minutes ago." You were blinking rapidly trying to get through your sentence, the fluorescent lighting and the pounding headache was making your brain short circuit.

The lady at the desk sat up quickly, asking you for your ID and insurance card, asking someone behind her to call for a nurse. You pulled your wallet from your pocket and Leighton had to help you pull the cards out because your hands were shaking and you just couldn't do it.

A male nurse appeared out of nowhere with a rolling blood pressure cuff and asked you to follow him to the triage area.

"What about my stuff?" You ask, letting this man escort you to a little area.

"I've got it, baby." Leighton said calmly, a few steps behind you, shoving your ID back into your wallet that she was still holding.

You sat down in a chair with your feet planted firmly on the floor like instructed and you felt like this firm wooden chair was consuming you.

He slipped the blood pressure cuff on your arm, the stethoscope planted firmly in the center of your arm. His eyes never left you while he asked you some questions.

"Do you know how many doses of the narcan you received?"

"Just one." You say and he nods.

"What did you take?" He asks, making eye contact with you and waiting for your response.

You swallowed and looked up at Leighton, who was waiting at you expectantly to answer.

"I don't know. It wasn't from my usual person. My friend that got it for me said it would be the same and it wasn't. I took less than what I normally would." You admit and it sounds embarrassing to even say something like that. You just hope he doesn't ask you-

"How much do you normally take? How much did you take of these?"

"Um, four to five 10mg Percocet. I only took two of these."

"Okay." He nods and the machine starts to beep. He removes the cuff from your arm and motions to someone behind you. "We are going to take you back now, okay? Your blood pressure is too low." He said while he and Leighton help you stand up and you were mortified to find them leading you to a wheelchair.

"Yeah, okay." You nod and when you sit you look back between Leighton and the nurse with a panicked expression. "Can she come back with me?"

"Of course." He takes hold of the wheelchair and takes you to a double door, pressing the button and leading you and Leighton through a maze of curtained rooms before bringing you to an open bed.

As soon as your butt hit that bed, two nurses were rushing in one was hooking you up to different machines and pulling down your shirt to stick electrodes on your chest to monitor your heart.

Before you could even process anything, your bed was being lowered and you were laying flat on your back and the second nurse was giving you a second dose of narcan up your nostrils while the first nurse finally explained to you and Leighton what the fuck was going on.

She said that narcan is usually done in two or more doses and that it often wears off before the effects of the pills do. That because you only received one dose, you were already showing the signs of the first dose wearing off and going into another potential overdose.

You didn't even have time to panic or freak out. They had the narcan up your nose and had you sitting back up like it never even happened. Leighton nodding with wide eyes from the chair next to you and trying to absorb what the nurse was saying.

You gripped the bridge of your nose and squinted your eyes while the nurse finished speaking, already starting to feel better.

"We are going to keep you here for a couple of hours just for monitoring." She rolls a little tray over to your bed that has a needle, test tubes, and a tourniquet. All the makings for getting your blood drawn. "We are required to do a toxicology screening on you, especially since you do not know what you took." She slips on a new pair of gloves. "These results will not be shared with the university." She reassured when she saw your face drop. "Arm out."

She cleaned your arm with an alcohol pad and tied the elastic tourniquet around your arm, pressing on your veins to find a vein. She inserts the needle in your arm and you watch the multiple vials fill up. She removes the tourniquet, has you hold a cotton ball where the needle went in and slaps a bandaid over it. She cleans up the area and says she'll be back shortly and walks out without saying another word.

Leighton had been silent the entire time. She was holding your things and sitting on the chair next to your bed watching the monitor with all off your vitals. Her eyes looked glassed over and you didn't know what to say or how to even begin to say it.

"Thanks for coming with me." You say pitifully and her eyes dart from the monitor to look over at you.

"I feel so stupid." She says, shaking her head. "Everything is like, making sense now, you know? The missed dates, the weird behavior, the angry outbursts." She nods her head, almost like she was agreeing with her own thoughts.

"I'm so sorry."

"And then you take shit that you don't even know what it is and- and you fucking overdose? What if you fucking died, Y/N?" She sounds so angry, but you can see she's on the verge of tears. You reach for her, touching her arm and she yanks herself away from you. "Don't fucking touch me."

"Then fucking go if you don't want to stay." You say, staring up at the ceiling, blinking back tears.

"Stop."

"I should've just let myself die on the curb of that stupid fucking house." You slammed your head against the pillow, the machines beeping like crazy for a brief moment.

"Can you just shut the fuck up with that self deprecating shit?" She spits, crossing her arms and legs.

She's very closed off and distant now. It almost felt like you could feel her distancing herself from you in real time. There's an awkward silence between the two of you and you reach for her.

"Leighton..."

"Mmmh mmmh." She shakes her head no, keeping her attention focused on her phone

"Baby." You try again and when her fingers pause over the phone screen you know you're getting somewhere. "Please, baby."

She rolls her eyes and sighs, giving you her attention.

"What."

"I'm really sorry." You say sincerely, playing with the edge of the flimsy hospital blanket.

"For...?" There was no hint of emotion to her voice. But in scenarios like this, Leighton was always good at shutting down and putting her walls up.

"For how I've been treating you. For a lot of things."

"If that's all you're going to say, that's a really shitty fucking apology."

"No! Of course that's not all. I-fuck. Okay. Just give me a second to collect my thoughts."

"Well, maybe if you weren't high on god knows what you'd be able to give me a less pathetic apology."

Maybe it was your high wearing off, maybe it was just the drugs in general, but man for the briefest moment you wanted to cuss her out.

You clench your jaw and exhale through your nose in an attempt to remain calm.

"If you let me fucking finish talking maybe you'll be more than the pathetic apology." You say through gritted teeth and she just raises her eyebrows at you expectantly. "I fucked up, okay? I know that. I didn't mean for it to get this bad." You admit and she tilts her head, her gaze visibly softening.

"What do you mean?" She scoots the hospital chair closer to your bed.

"I got the meds originally when I messed up my knee. It freaked me out about if I would get to play again or not. When I got back into it, it was great, but I fucking sucked and there was this insane amount of pressure to be as good as I was before my injury. There still is that pressure. My knee just felt tight all the time. Like it was about to snap at any moment. I did the physical therapy, the ice baths, I did everything. Well, everything but admit that maybe it's just straight up fucked." You look down and begin to pick at on your fingertips. Leighton reaches forward to stop you and instead you press your thumb against one of her manicured nails, enjoying the feeling of the pinpricking pressure against your fingertip.

"Keep going, baby." She encourages softly and you could feel yourself relax.

"I refilled my final prescription for my meds right before I started playing again. I would ration the bottle and take them after games and stuff. Then I took them during a game and realized I could play pretty damn good and my leg felt fantastic. Well, until afterwards when it felt worse than ever. Turns out if you take meds to prevent pain, it's really difficult to gauge when you're pushing yourself too far. So I would take some meds before the game, during the game, then again after the games..." Leighton opens her mouth to speak, but you continue with your thought. "...And then one or two more before bed."

"Jesus Christ, Y/N." She says, sounding both shocked and horrified. "I don't even...how long-how many? I don't know! I'm trying not to ask my question without sounding like a dick." She admits and looks to you for some guidance.

You don't know her exact question, but you can guess where she was going with it.

"It was supposed to be refill that lasted three months and finished it in like a month. Maybe a month in a half if I want to be generous. They were a low-ish doses, so I would take more."

"How many were you supposed to take a day? How many did you take?" She asked her questions in a quick succession.

"I was supposed to take one, max two, a day." She nodded and raised her eyebrows expectantly. "I was taking like four to six."

"I-what?! You know what," she takes a deep breath to calm herself down. "Let me approach this in a non-judgmental way. I just, I really want to know what happened to escalate the situation and bring us where we are now." She squeezes your hand reassuringly.

"So my prescription runs out and I find a connect when I go to one of the parties at the blue house. I got pills from him for a while, but you would not believe how expensive opioids are." You tried to joke, only when you looked up to see Leighton was not laughing, not even cracking a smile, you quickly cleared your throat and got serious. "After DJ died in the house, I starting using more and it was just getting more expe-"

"Wait what? The guy that overdosed in the house, you were his friend?"

"I, well, yes. But I was also...there. I called the ambulance when I found him." You could feel everything else coming out like word vomit. "I introduced him to Liza, who introduced him to drugs." You clenched your jaw, trying to swallow down the breakdown you've been keeping at bay for over a month now. "I killed him, Leighton. It's my fault he's dead." You look up at her tearfully and when Leighton frowns and calls you 'baby', you fucking lose it.

She stands up and pulls your face from your hands. The machines attached to you are beeping rapidly for who knows what fucking reason and it was pissing you off.

"Get these off of me." You say mid sob, attempting to pull the electrodes of your chest, yanking at the wires and your shirt blindly. "Get these fucking off!"

Leighton was fighting your arms at this point, doing her best to keep your arms still. Your brain could comprehend that you were smacking her unintentionally, hitting her arms, her hands, and her chest. You felt like your body was stuck between fight and flight right now. You felt out of control in every aspect, mentally and physically. You wanted to stop, you wanted to calm down, you just literally could not.

Within seconds two nurses came in and Leighton held your arms until one of the nurses took her place. Her absence felt more upsetting and agitating, so you attempted to reach for her. Your throat felt raw from crying and now you were screaming for Leighton, begging her to help you.

You gripped a nurses arm tightly, your face smushed against her scrubs while you watched Leighton's horrified expression as the two nurses turned you on your side. One of them pulled your pants down on one side and inject a tranquilizer into your ass cheek.

You gasped and squeezed the nurses arm, mortified about what happened and that it happened in front of Leighton. You were also both shocked and impressed at how quickly your heart rate was going down.

You also felt absolutely terrible for the tears and snot you were getting on this poor nurse's scrubs. Going back and forth between pitifully apologizing to her and to Leighton while the meds kicked in.

You could feel your arms getting heavy and the nurses began to lay you on your back again. The one you were gripping for dear life was covering you with a blanket and you can over hear the one that injected your ass trying to talk Leighton through what she just witnessed.

Something about it being normal behavior when coming off a lot of drugs so suddenly. You don't fucking know.

What you do know is Leighton looked pale and traumatized and that it was absolutely your fucking fault.

You reached for her. Desperately trying to tell her that you loved her. That you're in love with her and that you were so fucking sorry.

She looked at you confused, holding your hand and telling you she couldn't understand what you were saying. You could feel yourself getting riled up mentally, but your body felt stuck. Like gum to the bottom of a fucking shoe you were stuck and locked into this bed.

The nurses left and she pulled her chair close to your bed again, her hand never letting go of yours while she did. She sat in front of you, calling you baby, pushing hair from your face, and telling you that it was okay and to just close your eyes for a little bit.

You moaned and whined, tears sliding down your cheeks. They matched the ones streaming down Leighton's and you wanted you kiss them away. Instead she wiped your tears and begged you not to cry, her lips pressed against the side of your head.

You closed your eyes, Leighton's lips against your temple while she whispered calming things in your ear.

---

You woke up confused. You had a hospital gown on over your shirt and pants, and you were also pretty sure you were in a different room.

"Water?" You croak, your mouth dryer than nothing you have ever experienced before.

"Here." Came a voice next to you that was most definitely not Leighton.

You turn your head to the side to see Whitney holding a styrofoam cup with a straw and you push yourself to sit up straight, blinking and wiping away the dried up tears and sleep gunk from your eyes.

You hesitate at first, but you take the cup from her. You drink the cool ice water down like your life depended on it.

"Thank you." You tell her when you finished drinking, breathing heavily like a toddler after they downed some juice. You look around the room for any signs of Leighton, finding none. You try not to panic, but the machine measuring your hate rate gives you away.

"She'll be back. I sent her home a bit ago to change into different clothes and get something to eat." Whitney informs you, setting the water on the little table. She stands up and goes to the sink, wetting a small stack of those thin paper towels with warm water and wiping your face and mouth. You could feel your dried spit and snot come off with ease. You closed your eyes while she wiped your face, too tired to feel embarrassed. "Better?" She asks you, patting your face with a dry paper towel when she was done.

You nod your head yes, settling further into the bed.

"How long was I out?" You stare at the analog clock on the wall, but it doesn't help much since you didn't even know the time you came in or were knocked out at.

"Maybe seven hours? It's been a while. They said it could range from like six to twelve hours." You nod, staring at your covered feet. You can feel yourself checking out mentally, but Whitney talking again brings you back to earth. "Leighton filled me in, I hope that's okay."

"Mhmm, yeah." You shrugged and nodded, trying to hide your shame over the fact that another person knows this about you now.

"Why didn't you say anything to anyone?" She was soft with her approach, but there was a thin layer of assertiveness underneath.

"Well, Whitney, the thing about having a drug problem is you don't really fucking realize you have a drug problem until you end up in a hospital and get a needle shoved into your ass cheek. Or, maybe it's when a girl that injects meth between her toes gets pissy for using her Narcan on you. Gee, I just can't decide." You say sarcastically and Whitney's face hardens slightly.

"Okay, I get it." She says defensively, sitting back in the chair to lean away from you. You sigh and attempt to run a hand through your hair, but it's all matted and sweaty.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." You say quietly. "I thought I had a handle on it, okay? I didn't think it was a problem." You admit, nodding your head as you thought to yourself. "Clearly." You vaguely gesture to yourself laid up in a hospital bed and Whitney nods.

"Everything is starting to make sense though. Your behaviors, your angry outbursts, the way you treated Leighton."

You wince at that last one. You treated her horribly the last like eight months and you knew that.

It was such a weird feeling. To love someone so deeply and be unable to stop yourself from absolutely wrecking them and treating them like shit.

"Yeah, I've been told already things are adding up. Glad I could provide some clarity." You give her a tight lipped smile and a weak thumbs up.

"You're awake!"

You look up to see Leighton coming into the room, a little visitor badge pinned to her hoodie. You nod, looking up at her with a smile. Your eyes start to water, something about seeing her just hitting you with the overwhelming urge to cry because you were so fucking happy she came back.

You open your arms for her and she sets her purse down to rush to your side and give you a hug. You wrap your arms around her and hold her tightly, pressing your lips wherever you could.

A knock at the door caused her to pull away. She took the extra seat on the other side of your bed as the doctor came in and greeted you, washing his hands.

He did an overall exam on you. Checked your mouth, your eyes, listening to your heart and lungs. He pulled his stool up to your bed and rested a folder of paperwork by your feet.

"So, we got your blood results back. It's routine to drug test in these situations. The school will not be informed of the results." He reassured you like the nurse did previously. "Now," he opens the packet of papers to a specific page where numbers are highlighted. "You have a decent amount in your system. I'm sure that's something you're aware of." You nod and he continues. "We do not think you overdosed on the pills themselves. Not to say that means you should go out and keep slamming them back."

The three of you made a face at him, unsure if his comment was meant to lighten the mood or if he was just a dick.

"So what's the problem then?" Whitney speaks up and he clears his throat.

"Well, you have a dangerous amount of fentanyl in your system. Whatever you took was most likely laced. Had you taken the four pills you said you normally took, you would probably be dead. Here are some packets about fentanyl as well as some inpatient and outpatient treatments for opioid addiction, and some information about methadone." He sets about five pamphlets in the open space between your legs and stands up, pushing his chair back in. "The nurse is going to come in with your discharge paperwork. Schedule an appointment with your PCP. Have a good day ladies." He sanitizes his hands and leaves the room, leaving the three of you looking confused and dumbfounded.

"That was it?" Leighton asks after he leaves, clearly frustrated. She reaches forward and grabs the pamphlets off your legs and thumbs through them furiously. "You almost fucking die apparently and that's it? You go the fuck home? What the fuck."

"Leighton, please stop." You say calmly, but she was pacing the room now while she read.

"This methadone seems good. I can call my dad and get you into a good rehab. Inpatient or out." She says while reading through the pamphlets and you start feeling overwhelmed.

Of course you wanted to be better and to stop taking the pills.

But the thought of actually doing it scared the shit out of you.

"Can I please just go home first and figure this out later?" You ask, scratching your eyebrow.

"Yes," Whitney says and looks up and Leighton sternly. "Yes, you can." She says, answering for Leighton.

"I have one request." Leighton says, shoving the pamphlets into her purse before sitting at the edge of your bed. "Please stay with us for a bit. A few days, a week. However long. Just please do it, okay?"

You nodded your head. You knew you scared her, no, fucking traumatized her. She was looking at you right now like she wanted to cry. Like if you told her no she would probably burst into tears.

You couldn't tell her no. You couldn't do this to her again. You definitely couldn't do anything to risk losing her.

"Yes, I'll stay with you. Can I stop at my room at get some clothes?"

"Absolutely. Can I go in with you when you do?"

You hesitated. You thought about the state of your side of the room. You definitely weren't as clean as you used to be. You most definitely had been slacking on doing your laundry and the thought of her going in there and seeing your gross, crusty underwear made you want to flip.

You still agreed though and she kissed your cheek. She went to kiss your lips and you turned your head.

"My mouth feels disgusting. More kissing later?"

"Deal." She nods, sneaking a quick peck onto your lips anyway.

There was a knock on the door and a nurse stepped in holding some paperwork.

"Alrighty, Y/N. Let's get you outta here, hun."

---

You rushed into your dorm, quickly picking up dirty clothes from the floor and tossing them in your hamper, picking up trash and shoving it aside.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." You apologize profusely for the state of your room.

"No, don't. It's okay." Leighton says, taking in the space.

She hadn't been allowed into your room for a while. Usually when she would come over it would be spotless and smell like air fresher. It was a complete 180 from what she was used to.

You could almost see her absorbing in the gravity of your addiction. As if almost OD'ing on laced pills, blowing off her dates, and having frequent mood swings weren't enough. She was getting a first hand view of how little you had been taking care of yourself because of it.

Something about that felt more shameful than anything. You felt vulnerable and exposed. You had been caught putting on a show and now all the curtains were being pulled back to expose the complex layers of your addiction. Exposing problems that you didn't even realize were becoming problems until someone you love is watching you scramble to clean it up.

"I just need to get some clean clothes." You say, opening your drawers and finding them to be pretty bare. "Fuck." You whisper to yourself.

"Why don't you bring some dirty clothes with you and we can do laundry at my dorm. Okay, baby?"

"Um, y-yeah." You blink hard, slamming your drawer shut. You open another and are thankful to find a handful of clean underwear. You pull them out and shove them into the bag Leighton had set on your bed. "Can you get me some shirts from my closet? I'll gather my dirty clothes."

"Of course." She turns around to look through your closet.

You grabbed a garbage bag and began picking clothes off the floor, plucking clothes from your hamper and other various surfaces around the room, shoving them into the trash bag. When a bunch of change falls out of one of your pockets you sigh, going back into the bag and digging through the pockets of any pants and shorts you shoved in there to make sure those were empty before you continued.

You picked up a pair of sweatpants, digging your hand into the pocket and freezing when you felt something sharp-ish poke your fingertips.

It was almost like you could hear angels singing when you pull the item from your pocket. A small baggie with three little blue pills in it. Three pills that you most definitely recognized and knew they would be safe. You traced your thumb over them, licking your lips.

"Do you want this sweater, babe?" Leighton asks from the closet behind you and you briefly turn around to face her.

"Yes, that's perfect, baby." You tell her. You weren't even looking at the sweater.

You had look at her face. Feeling guilty about everything that went down. Feeling guilty about all the time and energy she was probably going to put in to taking care of you.

You knew the best thing to do right now would be to hand the pills over. It would be the responsible thing.

You wanted to be responsible.

You grip the small baggie in your hand tightly and scratch under your nose with the back of your hand, thinking of the way you were going to hand the baggie over.

You open your palm again to stare at the pills, your hand shaking. You look around the room one more time, turning to smile at Leighton while she had a few shirts and sweaters draped over her arm for you.

You wanted to be responsible, just maybe not today.

You clear your throat, shoving the pills into the deepest corner of your front pocket.

[morbiderotica]

bestie (anyone who writes for mello is immediately my bestie) I would LOVE to hear anything you think about dear sweet mihael. like, what's the deal with his relationship with religion? Did he partake in drugs during his time in the mafia? Actually I'd take ANY headcanon about the time he spent between leaving wammy's and when he's introduced as an adult. Did he have a kindred spirits sort of thing with Matt because neither one of them was the best! (even tho mello cared a lot more about it than matt did)? I just want to pick your brain so bad 🥺

─ ★ headcanons ... tw: religious trauma, implied accidental overdose + more.

♡ when he left wammy's he was lost and confused

♡ he practically had everyone telling him he was never going to be good enough and always going to be second to near

♡ he obviously didn't really have anything and often resorted to stealing

♡ sometimes food though most of the time substances

♡ i feel like he just really needed an anchor to lean on so he started praying

♡ at wammys they said a grace prayer before eating meals so he wasn't a stranger to praying

♡ he spent countless nights just screaming at "whatever god was there" trying to get an answer

♡ he prayed and prayed and sought help from any higher up

♡ it drained him so much that he started doing drugs and sometimes even drinking

♡ he was very adamant about not keeping in touch with anyone from wammy's excluding matt

♡ after one too many pills or too many bottles of beer mello was without a doubt calling matt

"it's 4 in the morning, mello." matt paused. "are you okay?" worry overtook his voice and mello could hear the rustling of blankets. "matt." mello hummed with ease, letting the boys name fall off his tongue. "mello." matt sighed. "what is it this time?" he inquired, knowing mello was probably sulking again. "i miss you." he slurred.

"how drunk are you?" matt was growing more concerned. mello expressing his feelings? unheard of. "i can't do this without you." matt could hear mello shuffle followed by the sound of things hitting the floor. "shit." mello bent down to pick up the scattered pills. "mello? what did you drop? pills? i thought you were drinking." matt was now wide awake. "i am." that was enough for matt to forget about his prolonged sleep and find mello as quick as he could.

♡ after that wherever mello went, matt went too including the mafia

♡ mello was very against the idea, obviously not wanting matt to get hurt, but theyre both stubborn assholes so

♡ matt kinda just let mello do his own thing

♡ you know, the usual, popping pills, fucking whoever and whenever, murdering anyone who got in the way

♡ when mello would get "cranky" as everyone would call it, matt would be there right next to him

"you don't have to stay." mello's leg was bouncing relentlessly. "last time i left you alone you fucking-" matt was angry, but not at mello, so he stopped mid sentence, thinking of his next words carefully. "i want to stay... for you." mello nodded. "i get it, you know. so, if you wanna talk 'bout anything, well, i'm all ears." matt didn't get it, but mello accepted his offer anyway.

♡ even though he never got clarity from any sort of god he can't bring himself to stop praying, even after joining the mafia

♡ he prayed day and night, for himself and for matt

♡ the thing that really got him though was when matt died

♡ he tried everything, bargained everything he could, begged for matt's life only to once again not be heard or answered

"mello, whadda doing, we gotta go." matt was getting impatient. "yeah, one sec." his fingers moved from one bead on the rosary to the next, mouthing words engraved into his brain. matt stared silently, watching mello pray. "is this really necessary? i mean you do this every time you have to-" "it's not for me." mello whispered before placing the rosary back around his neck.

─ ★ bonus ...

♡ he tried to get off the drugs and started eating chocolate in place of them

♡ it didn't work

♡ now he's addicted to drugs and chocolate

♡ one time one of the mafia guys punched matt and mello was furious

♡ he tore the whole place apart, screaming, throwing things, and threatening to kill the guy

♡ matt just kinda followed him around aimlessly trying to calm him down

♡ he ended up killing the guy

♡ he tried to find his parents at one point after drinking too much

♡ ran databases and pulled up birth certificates and everything

♡ he cried himself to sleep when he couldn't find anything

i love you /p 😭

[insulanox]

Angst.

A/N: A little 1k-ish word drabble. One of their imagined fights, before Daniel was turned. I tried to write this as ambiguously as I could so one can imagine whichever Version of Armand and Daniel you prefer. (cw: drugs, harsh language) -

Armand felt warmth and humidity return to the air as he whipped through the night; receiving only a mild sense of relief. Close, he was close. How long had it been since he tested the quickness of his flight like this? Would it be quick enough? Quietly he cursed somewhere deep within himself for not keeping better track of time's passage. Just exactly how long had it been? 'Screw it. Just one more hit.' The thought he heard ignited a fear in Armand as he picked up the pace, going so fast now that his curls flattened against the wind. Damn him! How could he do this!?

Armand landed unceremoniously in the back alley, leaving cracks in the asphalt under his feet as he did so. In a flash, he kicked down the door of the abandoned building. The debris crashed inward into the dark; if it caused any casualties in the process, the vampire didn't know. There was only one person in this drug den he cared about. "Daniel!" He called out his name loudly, ignoring the dazed and confused faces of the mortal onlookers. Armand's own face wasn't the youngest they'd seen here... but he wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion. His strength certainly didn't match his slender frame. The tenaciousness he expressed were causing many to wonder if they were hallucinating him entirely. In the moment, the look of fear and determination he embodied resembled much more like a mother who lost her child in a shopping mall. "DANIEL!"

Finally, Armand placed him amongst the rest. Now at his side mere inches from his boy's face, he seized the opportunity to strike the hand of another mortal. This individual was in the process of offering Daniel heroin, by the looks of it. The blow from the vampire sent the needle, syringe, and drug soaring into oblivion where the remains rained down onto the floor in fragments. The stranger's hand gained several newly-shattered bones upon impact, not likely to ever be healed properly. One look from the vampire sent him scrambling away. Daniel was already alarmingly high. There was not enough heroin in the world, to get him where Armand's blood could anymore. Didn't he know that? "Foolish boy! Ah, What have you done!?" Armand took the utmost care to take a better look at him, and tried not to accidentally mangle him in the process. Daniel's pupils were the size of dimes, to Armand he was quite clumsy and mere traces away from a lethal overdose. Yes, it was heroin, alcohol ... traces of speed the vampire detected, also. "Quite the cocktail you've made yourself." Daniel had no strong reaction to seeing him, right away. He stared blankly the remaining junkies that were lucid enough to run away in horror. 'I wouldn't take a sip of you in this state for a king's ransom!' Armand was going on, and it took Daniel's brain a few moments to catch up... For it to register Armand was real this time. That Armand was speaking to him, and for the echoing and ringing in his ears to stop. 'What were you thinking, boy!' ... blah, blah, blah... 'Does seeing me this way make you happy!?' ... something, something... '...found you, in the nick of time!'... Time. Time? Oh, that was rich. That did it. Slowly, Daniel got to his feet. "Now, you show up..." "Daniel, please save it! Let me get you out of-" Armand was caught off guard as his beloved boy sobered up quick, with a sudden rush of adrenaline. Daniel grabbed Armand by the neck and pushed him up against the wall. "NOW you show up...! Merry fucking Christmas-- It's March you cunt!" For the moment, Armand didn't know what to say. How to react... Was he ever good at knowing what to say, when people in his life were displeased with him? For all his wisdom, he could only think to offer the words, "I'm here, now...!" The look on his boy's face immediately made him regret the words.

Armand tried again, "Daniel but of course I'm here! You wont believe the riches I've found! There's so much I must tell you -- I came back to the condo and found it abandoned, you weren't there! I've come to take you home to me! Forgive me! Clearly, I lost track of time." "You lost track of time? That's what you have to say? I'm not a vampire, Armand. You can't call it "losing track of time" when it's been months with no WORD." Daniel was clearly still furious, but he dropped his throat. "…Take me "home?" Where is home now exactly?" "It's the truth! Oh, don't be so angry! Did you not hear what I said?!"

Armand failed to see his own audacity and took Daniel's chin in his hand, gently turning his head in what felt like a deeply loving and intimate hold. The vampire scanned Daniel's face closely, turning it gently this way and that. He felt more emotions stir upon realizing it was dirty, it was bruised in certain places. Tell-tale signs his substance abuse and alcoholism had been out of control.

"…You haven't been sleeping in the condominium I purchased you…? Did I not leave you with enough funds? ...Why would you sleep on the street?" After a pause the Vampire lowered his eyelids, leering at his mortal lover with an expression that wasn't quite readable. "... Are you truly trying to punish me, Daniel?"

Armand was genuinely concerned, but his voice couldn't properly convey it. Daniel only heard a lecture, and accusations that were just salt on the wound. Condescendence. Manipulation. Daniel might have been high, but he didn't feel so. His tolerance now surpassed that of any mortal that walked the earth, thanks to Armand. He could tell his vampire was feigning a bit... pretending to discover his recent whereabouts only just now, by observing his face. Daniel wasn't having it, Armand did not discover him like this on happenstance. He would not pretend it. It was making him more angry. Daniel knew, that Armand knew, exactly how he had been living; how close he came to death this time. Daniel could not look at him, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. He couldn't decide which was worse... begging Armand to come back and to come fetch him, or performing this little summoning ritual. It was always one of the two when Armand forgot about him, when he got lost in whatever fantastic adventures only a vampire could have. Doing God knows what, with whoever. A dance with death would summon his devil to his side, and if it didn't? Well, who cares. "It's your house, not mine. Money wasn't the problem."

Daniel pushed him off knowing Armand only wanted to touch his face, and gathered himself to leave. All the while knowing he would be followed, of course. Armand was relieved that he seemed to be walking in the direction of their last familiar dwelling, but he could see his boy was still angry. All was not well, nothing was forgiven.

"…You should know what it does to me when you leave…"

Daniel's voice was flat, his hands were shoved deep into his jacket pockets. It bothered him to be the one to break the silence, first. Another mistake! Armand cursed to himself, "Oh, my beautiful boy. I wasn't exactly in a place telephones or fax machines were present, but..."

Armand kept trying, offering him alluring smiles and gentle laughter. A little joke. Brown doe eyes looked at him with the deepest affection, in hopes that his words were reaching him. Perhaps a part of Armand wondered which Daniel missed the most, himself or his blood? The truth was he was afraid of the answer. He knew better than to break his own heart, and ask Daniel such a question, when he was like this. Or perhaps a part of him wanted to believe he and his blood were one in the same and it made no difference. Either way, he could never let his thoughts dwell there.

"You have the right to be angry with me... Let me make things right between us? Please talk to me. I'll make it up to you! Dear heavens, don't you understand by now? How shamelessly and utterly I adore you, so? Do you not know all that you mean to me, boy? Have I not told you? Then let me do it! If I have already, then let me do it again! But of course, I'll always come back--" "No Armand. I don't know that." Daniel said the last words through clenched teeth, cutting him off he stopped in his tracks to face his devil.

"Why should you come back? At the end of the day, I'm just a human. So what if it's four months, four years, or four decades? I'm expiring eventually, right? You won't turn me. ...So that's it! This is just going to be my life, isn't it? Waiting for you to come back, until one day... you just don't."

The silence between them cut a chord in both their hearts. Daniel opted to tear himself away, continuing on his path to the main street. He called a taxi, electing to ride by himself to the beachfront condominium they once shared.

The truth was this. Armand would give his boy anything in the world... but the one thing he wanted most. It was getting worse, this pattern they had each fallen into. Daniel didn't have to say the words out loud, but Armand could hear the thought. 'Don't you dare. Don't you DARE say you'd do anything to make it up to me, when you know you wont.'

[alwayssaysalways-blog]

A Pretty Crier by me

I wrote this as I broke down at 1am, crying about the loss of my sister by suicide and losing my grandmother 3 weeks later. I silently screamed, hating my life and who I am, not knowing what I did to deserve this. Throughout my life, I’ve lost ten people, but the last two have hurt me more than I could ever imagine. I’ve been to more funerals than most do in one lifetime, all within a few years of each other. Each time, I’ve been able to overcome my grief within a few months. This time seems different. This time is different. I’ll never be the same. 

The day I found out that my oldest sister died, I was working and couldn’t answer the dozens of phone calls coming through from my family: my grandparents, my aunt, my step-dad, my sister, even my mother’s boyfriend. Everyone except my mother, who I don’t have close relationship with, but I thought she may have been in an accident. I got a voicemail from my aunt, who was clearly crying, to call as soon as possible. At the end of my shift, I decided to call my grandpa back to hear whatever news was yet to come. When he answered, he asked what I was doing and I cheerfully responded that I was just finishing up some work tasks. He told me to sit down, but I continued to work diligently. 

~ Lexi died last night. ~ 

I sat down. No, I collapsed. My legs buckled beneath me, as if my world fell apart on top of me.

The words echoed in my head, my mind spinning with what could have happened. An accident maybe? She was never really a good driver and she had moved to Indiana about a year before. In late November, I’m sure the roads are slicked with ice, so maybe a devastating accident? Maybe she was murdered by some spiteful human being? Lexi was always so kind to strangers, a bit shy yet outgoing. That didn’t seem plausible. 

- What happened? - 

~ Lexi killed herself ~

Another shockwave ran through my body, the world around me spinning out of control. My vision blurred, but I felt no tears. My sister had suffered from depression and chronic grieving since we lost our dad twelve years ago to a clotting disorder. In fact, twelve years ago to that exact day. She must have grieved so much, imagining 12 years without our father, as he missed her graduation, becoming a firefighter, and getting married. She must have grieved so much, and I never called. It barely crossed my mind that it was the anniversary of his death, my day so long and busy at work, I didn’t think to call her and remind her that I’m here and I’m grieving too. I didn’t think to call. Why didn’t I call?

- How? -

I needed to know. I know myself and I couldn’t not know. I needed to know what she did. Did she drug herself to numb the pain and accidentally overdosed? Did she jump off a building or bridge? Did she purposely crash her car? Did she cut herself too deep? My other sister (Annee) and I have known that Lexi tend to cut herself, but superficially and always healing. We could see them when we went to the beach, and as we’re all medically inclined, we recommend moisturizer and sunscreen to protect her skin. Although she’d probably break the skin again anyways. Maybe this time, she went too far?

~ She hung herself ~

It felt a building fell on top of me. I couldn’t breathe. She hung herself. The words echo again and again. She hung herself. That means it wasn’t an accidental overdose or accidently pushing a blade too deep. She hung herself. She made the time to set up a rope. She used her energy to put it around her neck. She made the decision to let go, let herself go limp, possibly struggling and suffocating? All alone, she let go of everything, consciously. She hung herself. She let go of everything. Her little sisters, her husband, her family, her dog, her life. She hung herself. To escape, to feel free of the ongoing, suffocating grief from our father’s death, to finally breathe? The irony of the thought brought me out of my spiraling thoughts enough to hear my grandpa ask ~ How are you doing? ~ 

~ I’m okay. I’m okay. ~ The words barely escaping the lump in my throat. The rest of the conversation is hazy, and I hung up to finish my work and leave as soon as I could. I realized not a single tear has fallen and it felt disrespectful not to cry. My sister killed herself and I can’t bring myself to cry? Even once I got into my car, I couldn’t cry. I silently screamed as questions and memories flooded my mind, but no tears in my eyes? As soon as I got home, I cried and cried. I haven’t stopped crying since. 

In the weeks that passed, I scribbled on endless pages 

it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real

Sometimes, I still feel like it’s not real because how could it be real? The three sisters against the world, always and forever. I had always been an “always say always” girl rather than a “never say never” type of person. My always is broken now, my always is gone, my always is never coming back.

I’m not the same girl I was before. I don’t think I ever will be. I’m a sad sad girl with a sad sad life. Everyone knows, but no one sees the sad girl. I’ve dealt with grief so much in my life that I’ve become too good at hiding it. Too good at hiding my pain, my sorrow, my hopelessness, my need to escape, my silent screams. Behind closed doors, I look at my reflection and see her, especially her eyes. Do you know how hard it is to see her every time I look in the mirror? She’s here but she’s not and she never will be again. Instead, I’m stuck with me, my reflection, and my pain. Behind closed doors, I continue to silently scream and cry endlessly, questioning everything about myself, my life, my future. 

I realized that I’m prettier when I cry. I think because it’s truly and entirely me. I can’t smile without forcing it, as if the muscles in my cheeks must grind and creak into an unnatural, unachievable state. I’m a pretty crier, but no one sees because no one sees the sad girl. No one has to see the pretty crier.

[xluckyicarus]

                                 ♠  trust in me and fall as well  ♠  

✦ ABRAHAM VON the TWENTY FOUR year old has been in Hidehill for TWENTY FOUR YEARS and was a STRANGER to Jade Parker, the missing first murder victim. Whispers on the streets are that the MUSICIAN who lives in HORWICK. He is are said to be RESILIENT and ERRATIC but I guess we’ll find out for ourselves.  ✦

                                              ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴    

general full name:  abraham von nicknames:  abe age:  24 date of birth:  april 28. zodiac: taurus gender:  male pronouns: he/him sexuality:  bisexual physical hair color:  black eye color: hazel height: 5′11″ weight:  142 lbs personality morality:  neutral evil meyers-briggs: ISFP || adventurer positive traits: forthright, stoic, strong, easygoing, creative-minded, resilient negative traits: cynical, erratic, temperamental, sarcastic, cold. occupation: musician || lead vocalist for LUCKY ICARUS.

backstory and details - ＴＲＩＧＧＥＲ     ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧ :                                       mentions of neglect, drug abuse, overdose, ect. 

                                               ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴     ✴   ✴   ✴    

Abraham’s youth was a quiet one; the only child to a woman who cared little about the wellbeing of others and the half-sibling to a number of those older, he often isolated himself and spent a majority of his time reading comic books or plucking strings on an old guitar that needed as much love as he seemed to. 

Music was a comfortable reprieve from the silence of his household. While his father’s visits were few and far between, his mother’s presence was constant. Not negative, not looming, but awkward. She seemed as much as placeholder in her life as she did in his. 

His older brother Nathaniel was the first in his family to offer a bit more diversity in terms of interest. His guiding hand introduced the younger boy to music, movies, art, and books that drove impact and guided Abraham’s interest to the sticking place. 

He was closest with Nathaniel out of all of his siblings despite their age gap. He often went to stay the night at his brother’s trailer, that where he stayed comfortably with their sister Nic, over the weekends when the silence echoed and his thoughts raced. 

Abraham felt comfortable around Nathanial and at ease sharing details about himself that no one knew, even as a child. There were no secrets held, no ideas impossible, and no boundaries to be crossed. 

His little rebellions started small: talking back, resisting his mother’s already half-assed rules, grades slipping, spending more time out at a park with his friends than he did at home. Smoking cigarettes at the skate park graduated to smoking weed and popping pills. No one else seemed to take issue, it made sense that Abraham couldn’t be bothered to care. 

Eventually he brought the behavior home and started using in his bedroom, hoping the visceral noise of his hallucinations would be enough to fill the dead space. His changes in mood went unnoticed- Abraham thrived without consequence while he indulged in chemical catharsis.

The first time anyone took note of his building addiction was an accident: an accidental overdose on the floor of his bedroom that was only stopped by his brother’s CPR ministrations. A mix of pills and drinking to just fall asleep lead him to a frightening precipice. It was by luck that Nathaniel knew how to remedy.

When he graduated high school, he threw himself into music, content to get the fuck out of there while he still could. It wasn’t that his parents were bad, or not completely inattentive, he just never felt anything from them. The general apathy felt like enough of a neglect after all the years he’d suffered. 

In lieu of attending a proper four-year university, he elected to record himself and his band playing covers and originals and send them to his favorite labels, hoping that one day, he might find discovery on the back of an DVD in a hand-drawn sleeve.  

Growing up, it was no secret that his brother’s path was curved and jagged. Abraham never minded, he never judged. Instead, he indulged and pranced side by side with Nathaniel down that winding road. Each step was another in their shared dysfunction. 

One lucky show in Nashville lead Abraham and Lucky Icarus to opportunity otherwise unmet. The mysterious owner of Ascendancy Records had seen their set and knew how voraciously it’s lead vocalist, and the band’s unhinged manager, had pursued their success. 

Within the first six months, the band had managed to get their name in lights and a contract signed with a label. Their first tour was one spent under a haze of drugs and alcohol, hardly memorable in mind but well marked in the abuse spent on Abraham’s body. 

Year after year, tour after tour, he stood as the front man, the wrangler, the fighter, the politician, and the voice of the band when in verbal or physical spar with the brother that kept him in comfort and headaches. 

                                       ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴     ✴   ✴   ✴      

present

After a three-year tour had managed to drag to a slow, but successful end in Europe, Abraham, and more importantly the label, decided it would be best for the band to take a break. Rest, regroup, and go home. So, he did. Returning to Hidehill wasn’t something he thought he’d do, once he was free of it, but his life was there. His siblings, his friends, his home, and in some ways- he missed it.

Nathaniel is still the closest person in Abe’s life. The ups were high up and the lows were basically in hell, but that never failed to keep them apart, not in any real sense of the word. 

He is still heavily addicted to drugs and uses almost every day, if not to assist in stabilizing his moods, to feel more like himself. Abraham hasn’t known a sober day since he was a child, and thus doesn’t want to confront what his sober mind would be like as an adult. 

[grizeldanyx]

More thoughts on Babsi’s storyline

I’m really invested in Babsi’s storyline at the moment, so here are some more thoughts on it.

(spoiler warning)

cw: drugs, prostitution, torture and abuse, suicide

- Her death: In my last post I mentioned how when I first watched the series I thought the scene in episode 7 in which Babsi steps into the car and is then shown wounded was a scene from the book. Christiane F. described that they were always very afraid of accidentally getting into a pimp’s car, because the pimps of the prostitutes who weren’t teenage drug addicts didn’t want them to be at the streetwalker district due to the competition. They would then sometimes torture and abuse them in order to threaten them and therefore try to keep them away from the district. And that’s what happened to the real Babsi. It’s honestly one of the most shocking scenes in the book for me personally, despite only being mentioned along the way. Now, we all know that the prostitution never hit that hard in the show. We never really get the sense how scary and traumatizing it actually was for them. Still, I feel like the way Babsi’s death was visualized in the series might have been a reference to what I described above. Generally, I think everything that happened after her shooting up heroin at the Bülowbogen toilets didn’t actually happen, but visualizes the process of her dying. I don’t know how painful dying from a heroin overdose is, but generally I believe the wounds Babsi suddenly has in the scene after steping into the car could be a literal representation of the painful physical process of her body dying. But maybe it’s not only the physical aspect, but also the mental one of how traumatizing and painful her life between drug addiction, one of her friends dying from it, prostituting herself, relapsing, running away from home again etc. was, culminating in her overdose. When Dijan then takes her with him he’s “curing” her from both the physical pain of dying and the emotional pain. Obviously, this is a pretty euphemistic take on her death and I’m not entirely comfortable with the show deciding to portray it that way, but I guess it fits the subjective narrative of Babsi’s view. Anyways, if her wounds are also a representation of what she was going through in her life at that point, this might be tied to her getting into that car in the prior scene. Because I think there’s a certain symbolic value attached to how she’s taken to that abandoned place where Dijan finds her by a car stopping at the streetwalker district where she used to prostitute herself. So maybe it’s supposed to represent this huge fear she must have had whenever she got into a stranger’s car and the visualization of what dying felt like for her is kind of a worst case scenario that she was always scared of experiencing. Sure, all of this would make more sense if there had been an actual scene in which the girls discussed these fears the way they did in the book, where they, for example, always noted the car tag when one of them went with a john and also made sure that the guy noticed it. 

- The tape she took from Dijan: In the podcast episode “Wir Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo” (5): Lea Drinda im Gespräch by Freiwillige Filmkontrolle Lea Drinda mentions in the interview that in preparation for the role of Babsi she did a lot of research on bipolar disorder. I’m not a mental health professional nor do I have bipolar disorder, so I’m really sorry if anything in the following text doesn’t make sense, it’s just an interpretation based on my own amateurish research. So, after listening to that interview I paid attention to signs of Babsi being in (hypo-)manic or depressed states throughout the show. Everything gets a bit messy in the later episodes, so I don’t have anything to say about that, but a scene from the first episode stood out to me in this regard. I’m talking about that scene in which she wants to listen to the tape she took from Dijan’s car, she only hears that terrible screaming, her Dad gives her the advice to switch the side and then she hears that pretty lovely song. Since it was Dijan from whom she took the tape and her Dad shows up regarding it, it doesn’t seem impossible to me that this scene is supposed to be meant symbolically. And maybe, only maybe, the process of switching the tape is a visualization of her going from a depressed state into a (hypo-)manic state. The way she behaves before and after that scene does correlate with that interpretation. Before that she barely talks, seems very depressed, discusses suicide with her Dad etc. And then the next scene after the tape one shows her being taken out of the SOUND by the cop and she seems very bubbly and happy, especially in comparison to how she was before. When she’s in the car she’s very talkative and tells the cops a lot of random things which implies that her thoughts are racing very quickly, a sign of mania and hypomania. I’m not sure about all of this, obviously, and also, as I said, I can’t really keep up with this interpretation as the story progesses and it gets more messy with all the drug use and the focus being less on Babsi and more on Christiane’s storyline. However, I think it’s an interesting aspect to think about - sure, also another one that’s underdeveloped, but I get that you can’t cram every aspect into a series in detail.

- The stuffed animal: When Dijan first takes her with him in his car in episode 1 (when he tells her to take the backseat, probably because the front seat is reserved for people who die) she leaves that stuffed bunny there as she gets out of the car. It’s later shown again in episode 7 when Dijan really takes Babsi with him and she therefore dies. I think what this may symbolize is the loss of innocence that’s about to follow in the events after said scene in the first episode, which are definitely a downward spiral for Babsi. She left the stuffed animal, which could easily represent childlike innocence, in the car that belongs to literally death. Generally, there seems to be a motif going on with Babsi and fake animals - not only are there many stuffed animals in her room, but the also wears animal pendants on her necklace, and then of course there’s the scene with Axel’s funeral and the lion balloon. So, despite leaving that stuffed bunny there, I think it’s not accurate to generally say that she really left her childlike side behind, maybe only a part of it, which would make sense considering she does remain a sweet, more “innocent” person than the others in the group throughout the events, yet she obviously also loses a part of that due to engaging in all these things that are definitely nothing a young person her age should have to experience.

[bangtanloverboys]

i’d be home with you // knj

summary - death is inevitable, it’s something you cannot escape. it only hurts more when it you die too young.

pairing - ghost!namjoon x female! reader

genre - angst, hurt/comfort; ghost au

word count - 7.7k

warnings - peer pressure, drugs, alcohol consumption, anxiety attack, major character deaths (duh), police, accidental deaths, crying, vomiting, drinking as a coping mechanism, communicating with the dead, psychics, moving on, acceptance of death 

author’s note - this is for the final tile in my bingo ‘ghost au’. this really hurt me writing it and im sad, but i hope you guys like it

Namjoon had a lot of regrets, despite living a fairly cautious lifestyle. But since he died all he had left was regretting stuff he didn’t get to do sooner. Dying at 23 via accidental overdose? Hell of a way to die when he was someone who struggled to even tell a waiter that they gave him the wrong order, but that’s how he met his end. 

There were so many things he didn’t get to experience: getting his Masters, graduating college, finding the love of his life, having children with said love of his life, growing old, retiring, spending time with grandkids if he had any. But all of that was cut short by just one single party and one single decision.

His brother, Seokjin, dragged him along to one of his dumb frat parties. All Namjoon wanted to do that evening was just study for his anthropology final that was coming up the following weekend but in his brother’s terms he needed to quote-unquote “Take a chill pill”. He dragged him over to some random townhouse a couple miles away from the university, handed him a cup of alcohol and abandoned him. 

Namjoon didn’t drink, just didn’t think it was all that appealing to him. He sat silently in the corner of the room, keeping himself flush to the wall. He pretended to sip the plastic cup that was in his hand, trying not to draw any attention to himself whatsoever. It wasn’t until he was approached by a young brown haired man that his fate was sealed. 

“‘Sup man, you look like you need a bit of fun.” The man said, a small smirk on his lips as he raised a small baggie of white pills. 

“I- uh, I’m good. Thanks.” Namjoon quickly panicked, turning him down and quickly started looking around for his brother. This wasn’t his scene. He just wanted to go home now.

“Nah, come on man! You look like you need a bit of destressing, just take a couple. On the house.” He watched in abject horror as the guy opened the maggie and poured some into his hand. He took Namjoon’s free hand and put the pills in his palm. “Go on! Feels great.” He winked at him as he leaned against a wall, waiting for him to take the drugs. 

Despite only the stranger’s gaze on him, he felt like everyone at the party was staring at him. Waiting for him to take the pills. His heart was pounding, he should give them back and just walk home. With or without Seokjin. Instead he found himself slowly lifting the pills to his mouth, throwing them in and taking a swig of the cup in his hand to wash it down. The alcohol was bitter on his tongue and they clumped together as they went down his esophagus. 

“Yeaah man!” With a heart shaped smile, the man slapped him on the shoulder, “Enjoy it man. See me if you need anymore later.” And with that, he disappeared into the crowd.

Namjoon just stood there, head pounding as the lights bleared his vision and he swear he could feel the floors vibrate beneath his feet with the base of the stereo. Despite him not even moving, he felt like he was spinning and hanging upside down. Was it getting hot in here? Why did his limbs feel cold? He pushed himself from the wall, pushing his way through the sea of people between him and the way out. 

“Heyyy!! Joonie! Get over here!” The voice of his brother called out to him, he turned to see the man himself walk over to him and pull him out of the crowd. “I see you were gettin’ jiggy, eh? Finally letting loose?”

“Jin, I-I don’t feel so good. I need-”

“Oh quit it Namjoon!” Seokjin scoffed at him. “Just take another drink and chillax!” He took the cup in his hand and brought it to Namjoon’s lips, forcing him to gulp down more of the burning liquid. 

With that, his brother walked away. He felt himself get sucked back into the crowd of dancers, pushing and pulling him in all directions. His heartbeat was in his head, the base of the music was in his stomach. His chest was tight and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. All he knew at this point was the people he was surrounded by. Dancing, screaming, singing. It was loud and hot and nauseating. Yet despite the heat of the bodies around him, he felt cold. All he knew was what was in that crowd of people: sweat, heat, and constant movement.

After that the world just seemed to turn black.

He woke up the next early morning to sirens; red and blue lights flashing outside the windows. That should’ve been his first clue. His second clue should’ve been the lack of a hangover he should be having. Namjoon walked down the hallway he was in and into the living room where a couple he didn’t know were talking to police, alongside a few other party goers were all sitting on the couch. 

“H-hey what’s going on?” He asked as he approached them, but he was ignored. “Um, hello?” He waved his hand, trying to catch their attention. He felt his chest tighten, what was going on? Why were they ignoring him? When he heard an officer call out for a Mr. Kim, he almost cried from relief, “That’s me!”

But the officer walked right past him and out onto the porch, where a young man sat with a blanket laid over his shoulders. “Mr. Kim, I’m sorry to bug you at this time but we need a statement.” The man said to him. The young man nodded and stood up to face the officer. To Namjoon’s horror it was Seokjin, his eyes red and puffy. He’d never seen his brother look so distraught. “Are you alright for me to ask you a few questions?”

“Yeah,” his voice croaked out. 

“Did Namjoon, or anyone else in your family, have a history of drug abuse?” The question threw him for a loop.

“No!” He yelled at the officer. “I have never-”

“No, he-” Jin cut him off with a sniffle. “He’s never used drugs before, I dragged him out to this party. And-and it’s my fault he’s dead.” 

Namjoon’s entire world seemed to collapse in on itself. “What?! I’m not dead! I’m right here! Seokjin! Seokjin, look at me!” He cried out as he tried to push past the threshold of the door but some invisible force kept him in. “Seokjinnie, please! Hyung!” He screamed as he watched the officer place a hand on his shoulder as his older brother sobbed. 

He looked ahead of them and saw a white van labeled ‘CORNOR’ just shut its doors, only giving him a split second to see the tell-tale black body bag inside before the other door shut.

At that moment, another officer walked out the front door. Walking right through him. He watched as the man visibly shuddered before talking to the officer about giving Seokjin more time before asking questions. The air left his lungs, not that he had any in there to begin with. He clutched his chest and ran. He ran through the walls of the town house towards the back door, only for the same thing to happen at the front door happen again. An invisible barrier holding him in. 

He needed to be in an enclosed space. Glancing around, he saw an open closet tucked beneath the small staircase to the master bedroom. Namjoon burst into another run and slammed the door of the closet shut and let out an ungodly scream; crying out for his mother, brother, someone, anyone to hear him and tell him it was going to be okay. The only person came was an officer to investigate the slam but no one else came. No one saw him. 

He died August 28th, 1994. He was 23 years old. Cause of death was drug induced heart attack. The pills the stranger gave him were part of a bad batch or laced with something else, at least that’s what the owner’s of the house mentioned when he listened in on their conversations. At first he felt bad about it, but he couldn’t leave the townhouse so what else could he do? Watch paint dry?

After a while the frat guys who lived in the house moved out, not feeling comfortable with knowing that a guy died in their hallway on their watch. Namjoon didn’t hold any ill will towards them. It wasn’t their fault. Hell, he was such a forgiving person, he wasn’t even that mad at the guy who gave him the drugs. So he didn’t know exactly why he was stuck here, in a small townhouse. But there he was. And he tried his best to deal with it. 

While it certainly did suck the first few months of just trying to deal with people walking through him and not being able to be heard; being dead wasn’t so bad when Namjoon thought about it. It did get a bit lonely sometimes, not being able to talk to anyone outside of his own half conversations with the tenants that moved into the townhouse.

Sometimes the tenants of the house figured out that the place was haunted; sometimes they’d bring in psychics, who were definitely fake as no matter how much he tried to tell them he was a nice ghost they always spouted some bullshit of a vengeful spirit. Sometimes they’d bring in their own ghost equipment and start talking, but soon as he got a word out they freaked and left. The place was constantly on and off the market until you. 

You were a plucky university student who finally found a place that had low enough rent and was close enough to your school that you didn’t need a roommate. Despite Jungkook’s and Taehyung’s begging, you wanted a place to yourself and finding a 2 bedroom townhouse with rent that cheap? It was a steal! With the help of your two friends plus your older brother Yoongi, you were able to get all your stuff moved in within the day!

You didn’t understand why the place never had steady tenants; sure there was a history of noises and cold spots, but it was an old house built in the 70s. Of course it’s gonna have some old stuff that needs fixing. 

Namjoon watched in silence as the four of you went in and out of the house. A few times you did walk near him and visibly shiver, your friends even mentioned the cold spots to you, but you waved it off as if it was nothing. “Just the heater, I’ll talk to the landlord. See if he can do anything about it.” Now he wasn’t an engineer or anything, but he’s seen the heater and there’s nothing wrong with it, it was definitely him you were feeling. But he just had hopes that whoever the landlord hired would say the same to you. 

He was quickly able to get a quick gage on your friends; the brown haired one being Jungkook, he could easily tell he was the youngest of the group by how the rest of you babied him. The blue haired one was Taehyung, but there was something about him that was familiar almost. He reminded him of his brother, how handsome he was. Lastly the dark haired man was Yoongi, at first he wasn’t sure about your relationship to him, seeing how he was the oldest out of all of you, but he quickly came to realize you were siblings by the way you teased each other. He found a lot of joy watching the four of you bicker and talk as you all set up certain aspects of your new place.

“Are you sure you don’t want a roommate?” Jungkook whined as he brought in the last of the boxes. “I swear, I’ll do all the laundry and chores just pleaaasee?”

“Sorry, Jungkookie.” You laughed at your friend. “But the lease is signed and I got everything I want planned out already. You can go room with Taehyung!”

“But he gets paint all over my shit though!” He groaned as he set the last box down on the counter. 

“Hey, if she says she’s okay for her own place I believe her.” Yoongi said as he left your room. “Your bed is all set up by the way.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Thank you, Yoongle.” You smile at your older brother, happy he was able to get your bed together before it was too late in the day. “Now I just gotta find my sheets and I’ll be able to sleep in bed.” You chuckled.

“Which are right here,” You turn to see Taehyung holding a bag full of your blankets and pillows. “Want me to bring them over to your room?” He tossed his head in the direction of where you claimed your bedroom would be.

“Please and thank you!” You gave him a wide smile as he made his way down towards your room to drop them. 

“You sure you don’t want me to spend the night tonight?” Yoongi asked, “First nights are scary, believe me.”

“I’ll be fine! Don’t worry!”

And you were. You thought you’d have a bit of difficulty adjusting to being alone, but for some reason you didn’t really feel alone? If that made any sense. You’d think after living with your brother the past few years you’d instantly notice being alone. Physically you knew you were but at the same time, deep down you knew you weren’t. Whatever this feeling was, you didn’t mind it. Hell, the weird feeling comforted you. Helped you prove to your brother that you didn’t need any extra help. 

Namjoon was kinda baffled at how willfully ignorant you were. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve moved in and he notices you do tend to lose stuff and don’t really question it when he suddenly places it where you can easily find it again. He likes watching you get ready and organizing your place. (Of course, when he sees that you’re getting dressed or getting ready for bed he’ll give you your privacy.) Sometimes he’ll kinda give some ghosty help and straighten up some of the crooked frames you hung up. Being the friendly ghost roommate he is. 

You called the landlord not too long ago and he said that a lot of the past tenants had complained about it not working or it always being cold in the house so he told you he was just going to replace it. You were excited! Brand new heater! And with the nights starting to get colder, you’re really going to need it. 

It was on a Tuesday when the landlord came to change the heater, which was strange. Namjoon watched as you let the landlord in to work as you left for your early morning class, now the few times he’s seen the landlord and stuff being fixed is few. Normally he’ll have a professional come over and work on it, that’s what happened a few years ago when he accidentally shoved a spoon down the kitchen drain and the tenant called his services. 

He watched with curiosity as the landlord dragged in the brand new heater, box in all, as well as his tool box and got to work. Something in the back of Namjoon’s mind didn’t feel right, so he kept an eye on the man as he installed the heater himself. Again, he wasn’t an electrician and knew nothing of installing heaters, but he knew that he was doing it wrong. He was pushing and slamming against it, trying to get it to fit on the pipes. Namjoon anxiously ran his fingers through his hair, debating on trying to fuck with him and push the heater off. But before he could even do anything, you came home and the landlord dusted off his hands and closed the door to the heater. 

You were so happy that it was finished, thanking the landlord profusely for getting you a new one and installing it. While it was gonna take a bit off of your deposit, and you were internally cringing at that, you knew it was a well needed thing to be done. Soon as he left, you turned on the heat, as it was a cool November day and your professor didn’t bother turning on the heat in her class at all. With the heat on, you grabbed some blankets and snuggled up to watch Netflix the rest of the day, not bothering to work on your essay that was due in a few days. 

As the day slowly came to a close, you realized you were getting a small headache. You didn’t really think much of it, just popped an aleve and drank some water. Usual things that helped cure your headaches, but it didn’t seem to let up. You glanced at the time, it was about 7:30. “Might as well hit the hay early.” You yawned, stretching out and made your way to your room. You did stumble around a bit, damn did you not notice how tired you were? Not bothering to change out of your day clothes, you just crawled right into bed and fell asleep. 

“Not good, this is very not good.” Namjoon was rightfully freaking out. The heater was not properly installed at all and as he couldn’t breathe, he knew that whatever was happening to you was not good. He scoured all over the house, looking for some sort of alarm he could set off, wake you up, get you out of the house. As it turns out, the fire alarm was busted. The landlord was too cheap to fix it and not bother telling you. He constantly went back and forth checking on your to make sure your chest was still rising and falling as he frantically tried to do anything to wake you up. 

Nothing worked though. He hadn’t felt this frustrated since he first died and everyone was walking through him. He wanted to scream, but nothing worked. He couldn’t do much but watch you. Wait for you to wake up and realize something was wrong. Wait for you to die. Which ever happened first and he hoped it was the former. But no matter how much he hoped and prayed to whatever god there was out there, it was fruitless. 

It was 1:36 am when you stopped breathing.

Namjoon lets out a choked out sob, he can’t believe it. He should’ve done something. He should’ve pushed the heater over while the landlord was still here. He should’ve done something to turn it off before you started suffering from the carbon monoxide that was pouring through your vents. He buried his head in his hands and he just cried. Cried for you, for your family. You had so much life ahead. 

“Mmhmm, what’s going on?”

He stilled, he looked up and saw you on the floor, holding your head. He quickly glanced between you and your body and quickly jumped into action. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” He got on his knees to help you to your feet, thankfully in your confusion you let him help you up and quickly escorted you away from your room. He wasn’t sure how you were going to react to the fact you had died, much less seeing your own dead body right in front of you. “Just follow me, you’re going to be okay.” He said as he brought you over to the couch and sat you down. 

“Hmm, who are you? Where am I?” You were still very dazed, he wasn’t sure if that was just a side effect of the poisoning or just general confusion of death. Did different deaths affect ghosts differently? Or was it random to each person? 

“My name is Namjoon, we’re in your house.” He answered as he knelt in front of you.

Your eyes slowly started focusing on him and when your vision cleared to see the stranger in your house, you rightfully screamed. “Who the fuck are you!? What are you doing in my house?!” You shouted scrambling to get away from him. “Get out before I call the police!!”

“Hey hey hey, wait!” He called out after you as you got to your feet and ran back to your room. “Don’t go in there! Wait! Y/N!”

Soon as you crossed the threshold of the room you screamed again. Because there you were, in bed. Not moving. Not breathing. You fell to your knees and screamed again; in horror, confusion, fear. You felt a hand on your shoulder and you just leaned into it, collapsing into the arms of a complete stranger. 

Namjoon held you as you sobbed into him, fists tight around the shirt he died in. He tried his best to be a soothing presence for you, rubbing circles into your back and not letting you go until several hours had passed. A normal human being probably would’ve passed out from exhaustion by now, but you weren’t human anymore. You were a ghost. 

By the time you had stopped crying the sun was starting to rise, you let Namjoon help you to your feet and back to the living room. You both sat down on the couch in silence, besides a couple of sniffles from you. 

“Are. . are you the Grim Reaper?” You asked, your voice groggy from crying. 

“Hm? Oh no, I uh, I’m a ghost. Like you actually.” He replied with a nervous chuckle. “I died here.”

“I figured,” you wiped your nose on the back of your hand. “Landlord said someone died back in ’94, I just thought it was some. . .some old guy. Old age. Didn’t think he’d be-you’d be close to my age.”

“How old are you?” He asked, trying to make light conversation and distract you. 

“Uh, I turned 21 last month.” You gave him a tight smile. Then the two of you fell into silence.

“I’m 23, by the way.” God, it’s been so long since he’s had an actual conversation with someone that he completely forgot how to talk to people. 

“But wouldn’t you be-”

“Nah I don’t really count the years afterward much. I don’t age and can’t leave the house, what’s the point in counting the years.” He scratched the back of his neck. 

“Can’t leave? What do you mean?” You looked at him, confused. 

“Uh. . . you saw Beetlejuice right?” You nodded. “Kinda like that? Only instead of being teleported to some other sand dimension, you just get. . .blocked.”

“I guess there’s also no ‘Handbook for the Recently Deceased’ either.” You let out a soft chuckle.

“Yeah, that would’ve been very helpful.” He gave you a small, dimpled smile. Then the silence fell over you again, the only noise was the shudder of the heater as it shut off, then there was complete silence.

“How long?” You keep your gaze focused on your lap, pulling on your fingers. 

“Hmm?”

“How long. . .are we going to be here?” Your body was still in the other room, how long until someone notices you were missing school? How long would it take your brother to know that you weren’t contacting him? You could go days without talking with him. . .

“Here? I don’t know. . . as for someone to notice. . .that all depends on the people around you. I died when there was just a frat party, so it was noticed immediately. . .”

You furrowed your brows at that, it sounded familiar. . .why did that sound familiar? You knew for a fact you didn’t research the one death in this house, but at the same time you feel like you’ve been told a story like that before. . . 

It was Jungkook who found you a day and a half later. 

“Y/N? Hello?” He was banging on the door, looking in between the windows. Namjoon held you close as you started to cry, you didn’t want Jungkook to see this. He shouldn’t have to see this. He must’ve found the hide-a-key because moments later he was in, you clung tighter onto Namjoon as your best friend of 10 years looked past you. 

“Y/N?” He called out as he walked in, you turned your head into Namjoon’s chest as your friend made his way towards your room. You squeezed your eyes shut as you heard him talk. “Hey you okay? Haven’t seen you at school. . . Y/N? Y/N? Hey wake up-” He must’ve realized because next thing you know he’s running out of the house, right through you and Namjoon, he stumbles outside and onto the small patch of grass that is your lawn. 

You pull yourself away from Namjoon’s grip, throwing yourself to the open door where you see Jungkook throwing up whatever's in his stomach and crying. You wanted to burst out of the house and just hold him, tell him you were okay, tell him you loved him one last time. But you couldn’t, all you could do was stand there and watch as he pulled out his phone and dialed the emergency number.

Soon enough there was a fire track, an ambulance, and several police cars lining the street. Namjoon tried to pull you away so you didn’t have to see what was going on, but you refused. You needed to see, you had to know what was going on. What was going to happen. BUt all those thoughts were thrown out the door when you saw your brother frantically pull up and run towards the house, pushing past officers trying to keep him away from the scene.

“Y/N?!” he screamed as the officers continued to hold him back. “Where’s my sister!? Is she okay?! Y/N!!” 

“Yoongi! Yoongi I’m right here!” You screamed, banging against the force that confined you to the townhouse. Not caring if first responders walked right through you, you didn’t care. You just wanted your brother. 

“Yoongi,” You saw Jungkook walk over to him, tears still falling from his face. You watched as the realization fell on his face. You were gone. 

“No. No no no no no NO!” He clawed hysterically at the officers, begging and screaming at them to let him go. They only did as he fell to his knees, Jungkook right next to him and pulled him in close. Both of them crying their hearts out for you as people watched from beyond the police tape. 

With the way your heater was improperly placed, it was an easy open and shut case. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Manslaughter. Your landlord was arrested and charged, plead guilty. He’ll get 3 years in prison. But that does little to resolve you or your family's grief. 

It takes a while before your family has access to your house again, all the carbon monoxide cleared out from the space. The new landlady gives Yoongi a month to clear out your stuff. You watch there as your mom, dad, Yoongi, Jungkook, and Taehyung all stop by and help try and organize boxes. No tears are spared through the entire time, from them and your family. 

Namjoon feels a bit awkward, staying off in the corner as you sit next to your mom as she folds all your clothes and puts them into boxes. He listens to your family as they tell stories about you, reminiscing on memories. He keeps a close eye on your though, despite him dying before, he never saw his family mourn. He’s unsure how you might deal with seeing them cry and divide up your stuff. 

You only start to lose it when Yoongi finds the pink stuffed elephant he’d given you many years ago, hiding away amongst your pillows. When he pulls out the stuffed animal that was hidden away, you watched as he ran his thumb over the furry creature. He brought it close to his chest and let out a choked out sob. Unsure how much more you were able to take, you let out a scream.

Namjoon quickly ran over to the bedroom where you were on the floor, screaming and crying as Yoongi stood there crying, completely unaware of what was going on before him. “Hey hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” He tried to calm you, but you weren’t having it.

“No! It’s not okay, Namjoon! I’m dead! Maybe you’d have time to accept things the way they were but I can’t!” You shouted, pushing him away from you. You let out another twisted scream that turned into a sob, shaking Namjoon to his very core. The amount of power and energy you put into that wail shook the bookcase behind you, a few of the books falling from their shelves. The man just sat there across from you as you curled into a ball and just cried, and cried, and cried. Not sure what else to say. What do you say to a girl who was wrongfully killed in her sleep? There’s nothing. 

So caught up in your emotions and trying to keep you calm, neither of you see Yoongi notice stare at the bookcase and the fallen books. 

The next few times your family and friends come to pack things up, Namjoon stays with you in the closet. Saying something about giving them space and you need space as well. At first you protest against it, not wanting to be confined to an even smaller space. But after watching your father tear up as he packed away your photos, you agreed. You couldn’t take much longer. 

Several days had passed and all that was left in your townhouse was just the furniture. Your parents and brother arguing over who could keep what. There’s still a few boxes of your things scattered around the house, you wish you could steal a book or something to keep yourself occupied at least but you’d know they’d notice and find it right away. 

Lightning cracks against the sky as rain pours down. To pass the time, Namjoon was telling you stories about the other tenants that had lived here; the frat boys, the families, the stoners, etc. You were in the middle of telling him a story about how you and Jungkook met Taehyung, how he at 17 years old stuck a bug up his nose on a dare when the front door slammed open. Lightning flashed behind the figure, giving you a quick outline of your brother with a bottle in his hand.

“Oh on, no no no.” You stood up to walk over to Yoongi but he just walked right through you. Soaked from the rain, he probably didn’t even feel the cold spot that was you. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Namjoon asked as your brother dropped his bag on the floor, taking another swig of the whiskey in his hand. 

“Yoongi, he-he doesn’t like drinking. . .he only does when. . .” Your voice trailed off. Hurt is evident in your eyes as he places the alcohol on the ground and shuffles around in his backpack. Pulling out a black box and frantically tore it open, pulling out a small speaker and wires. 

“Come on, turn on you. . stupid fuckin’ thing.” He slurred as he pushed several buttons on the speaker until it blarred to life, a loud buzzing noise filling the living room. “Y/N? Are you there?”

Your eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of your head. Never in your life did you think your brother would go to such lengths as to buy a spirit box?! You looked to Namjoon, unsure of what to do. He’s told you a couple times people figured out the place was haunted and they’d try to communicate with him, but this was different. He was looking for you. He only gestured for you to speak. 

“Yoongi?” Soon as the words left your mouth, a robotic voice left the speakers and you swear he jumped ten feet in the air. 

“Is-is it really you?” He clung to the speaker, bringing it closer to his face. 

“It’s me,” you said. “I’m here.” The robotic voice followed after your’s. Yoongi let out a small cry, relieved you were here. You tried to say more but all that came out was garbled and mixed up. “Namjoon! What do I do?!”

“Calm down, small phrases.” Namjoon said, the spirit box picked up on his voice, repeating him as well. 

“Y/N, are we alone?” Your brother stilled, looking around the room. 

“No, someone else.” You said, sticking to the advice of small words and phrases. 

“Who?”

“Namjoon, friend.” The man introduced himself. “Died here too.”

“This is. . .this is great? I think? Y/N, I- I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” His eyes welded up with tears as he spoke.

“It’s. . okay.” You slowly made your way over to your brother, you placed your hand right over his cheek. “I love you.”

You weren’t sure if he felt your presence or not but needless to say he shut off the machine and burst into tears, you cried as he cried. He sat down on the couch, taking a few more swigs of his bottle of whiskey. His cries eventually evolved into snores as he passed out. You could feel Namjoon’s eyes on you as you attempted to brush the hair from his eyes. 

“I’m glad he didn’t do anything too stupid,” you sighed as you stood. “Or dangerous.”

“I’m sorry this happened, Y/N.” Namjoon said, as you made your way back over to him. Both of you just stand there, staring at your sleeping brother. 

“Not your fault,” you responded. “Just, god, I hope someone takes care of him. . .”

“You have a very loving and caring family, Y/N. He’ll be okay,” he wrapped an arm over your shoulder and pulled you into him. As time passed, you’ve gotten somewhat closer. You can’t help but be friendly with him as he’s the only other person you have, being stuck in a 2 bedroom, 1 and a half bath townhouse for the rest of eternity.

When Yoongi woke up the next morning he was grumpy, per usual of him drinking. He didn’t touch the spirit box though. Didn’t even look at it. He just shoved it in his backpack and left, leaving the whiskey behind. You’re glad he left it behind, but at the same time neither of you don’t know what to do with it. 

Namjoon tried to teach you to harness some of your energy to move stuff, him having several years under his belt. He’s able to move things around with little to no struggle, seeing how he was able to move your stuff around before. You however, struggle to move it even a centimeter. But he tells you not to worry, saying it did take him several years to master. 

About a week after your brother came by there’s a small crowd of people outside the door. Before you can even warn Namjoon, the door opens up and reveals him, Jungkook, Taehyung, a short blond man you don’t recognize, and-

“Seokin?!” Namjoon almost instantaneously recognized his brother, only he looked. . .older.

“You know him?” You almost had eyes as wide as he does, staring at him as he moves with the group of people into the kitchen. 

“Yeah, he’s-he’s my brother.” He feels tears start to well up, stinging as he blinks them back. 

“Your. . that would make you-”

“Taehyung, what am I doing here? You haven’t told me anything.” The eldest man complained as he settled into a chair.

“Dad, I told you just. . .just listen. Please.” Your blue haired friend sighed, giving his dad’s hand a quick squeeze. 

You can only stare at Namjoon who in turn only stares at Taehyung and his father. That’s why his story sounded familiar. You vaguely remember hearing your friend’s dad say something about having a brother that died young. An accident. At a house. Your house. 

The group of people settled around the table, only one left standing was the blond stranger who kept his eyes closed as he took a few deep breaths. His face was scrunched up every so slightly, like he was feeling for something.

“Oh no,” Namjoon groaned. “They brought a psychic.”

“I feel. . .” He started.

“Watch he’s going to say vengeful or something like that,” your ghostly friend crossed his arms with a huff.

“Oh I feel a lot of different things,” he giggled as he opened his eyes, pressing a hand to his cheek. “Mainly confusion but. . .there’s some relief and happiness mainly surrounding you sir.” The psychic pointed to Seokjin, who looked even more confused. 

“Are they here?” Yoongi asked him as he settled down in his seat.

“Yes, your sister and your brother are in the room.” he said with a smile. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Seokjin raised a brow in disbelief. “No, Taehyung. I’m not going to deal with some phony who is going to just make shit up about my brother” He started to get up from his seat. 

“Dad, wait!” Taehyung called after him.

“Pink! He likes the color pink!”

“Does the color pink mean anything to you?” The psychic said, stilling Seokjin. 

“Pink was his favorite color, but to anyone who asked him what his favorite color was it was orange.” Namjoon just spouted off the fact about his brother. The psychic didn’t repeat the statement verbatim, but got the point across nonetheless. 

“Mr. Kim, please just listen to what Jimin has to say. True me.” Your brother pleaded with him. Seokjin walked back to the table and took his seat once again. You could see his eyes were watering, like his brother he was blinking back tears. 

“Continue.” He gave a small nod to the blond man, now known as Jimin, who smiled back in return. 

“Now, we’re here to talk to Y/N and Namjoon, correct. That’s their names.” The table all nodded in response. “Okay, they’re here. They’re a bit confused so I’ll repeat my briefing. Hello, my name is Park Jimin. I’m a psychic medium. I can’t exactly see or hear you, but I can feel your energy and emotions. So please be gentle.” He gave a small laugh as he settled himself in your kitchen chair and closed his eyes. “Your family has questions, I’m here to help translate your answers for you. Family, if you please.”

“If Y/N is really here. . . what’s something only she and I would know?” Jungkook said, you had a feeling he was suspicious of this as well, just more quiet about it, possibly not wanting to insult Yoongi or Jimin. 

You felt your cheeks burn as a memory popped in your head, immediately knowing exactly what proof he needed. “He uh, stole my first kiss when I was 13 underneath the monkey bars.” You let out a small chuckle at the memory.

Almost instantaneously, Jimin burst out in a giggle. “Oh my gosh, I’m getting monkey bars?” He kept his eyes closed as he brought his hands to his cheeks. You were keeping your eyes focused on the psychic, but out of the corner of your eyes you saw Jungkook stiffen. “Oh my face is red. You stole her first kiss.” He opened his eyes, a huge smile on his face. 

“I’m sorry what?” Yoongi immediately turned to the younger boy, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“Shush, it’s her.” He dismissed your brother as he leaned forward on the table, soaking in every word that Jimin said. 

“Dad, do you want to say something?” Taehyung looked to his father who kept his arms crossed and his face stern. Glancing between him and Namjoon as he stood right next to him, you finally were able to see somewhat of a resemblance between them. The same messy dark hair, same stern eyebrows, you could only imagine what Mr. Kim looked like when he was Namjoon’s age. 

“. . . Who was it. . .” His voice cracked as he spoke. 

Namjoon paused, he hadn’t thought of the stranger in many years. . .did they never find him? All he recalls of him was a heart shaped smile and brown hair. He can’t recall much else about him, looking very much normal. Like the rest of the party. 

“Hmm,” He watched as Jimin’s face scrunched up a bit. “He doesn’t know, all he remembers is the smile and his hair color.” He brought his hand to his mouth, gesturing to it. “It was a very specific shape too, I see it in my mind perfectly. I wanna say. . . heart shaped?”

Soon as the words left his mouth, Seokjin broke out into a sob. Namjoon watched as his son, his nephew, rumbed comforting circles on his back. 

“Hoseok, fucking Jung Hoseok.” He choked out, hiding his face from the rest of the table. 

Namjoon reached out to his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder. Trying to let him know that it’s okay, he’s not mad. It’s okay. 

“Seokjin,” Jimin started. “Your brother doesn’t harbor any ill will towards him. He forgave him a long time ago.” He finished with a smile. 

“But it’s my fault he’s dead.” He managed to get out. “I brought him to the party, I gave him alcohol. I was the one complaining to Hoseok about him needing to chill out. I caused my brother’s death!”

Namjoon froze at this information. He looked to you, who seemed equally stunned. The whole table seemed to be stunned into silence. 

“I thought it was him for a while, but no one saw him give Namjoon the drugs. I had no evidence. Hoseok’s dad was chief of police so even if I did it would’ve been swept under the rug.” Seokjin finished as he wiped his tears away. The entire table stayed quiet, waiting. 

Namjoon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, despite the action doing nothing, it calmed him down. “It’s alright, Jinnie. I forgive you.” He focused all his energy onto his hand that was placed on his brother’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You need to forgive yourself.” He must’ve felt it because he started staring at his shoulder.

“He forgives you, Mr. Kim.” Jimin repeated softly. “But he thinks you need to forgive yourself. You can’t change the past. He learned that a long time ago. It’s time to let go.”

Eyes not leaving his shoulder, he nodded. “Okay. Okay Joonie.” He let out in a soft voice. 

Jimin conducts the meeting for a little while longer, your respective families letting you know that you are always in their thoughts and how much they love you. You and Namjoon stayed near each other the whole time, giving each other the support you needed as you all reminisced on memories. 

As the meeting  started to come to a close, the blond psychic said something. “Now, this is not usually conventional for me but I feel like it’s necessary.” 

“What do you mean?” Yoongi asked, looking at the man with concern. 

“Both Namjoon and Y/N need to move on. It’s clear to me they have no unfinished business, so the reason they’re still here isn’t that.” He explained. “Sometimes when people die young they just get stuck behind, it’s not common but it happens.”

“So this will be our last goodbye?” Jungkook’s big doe eyes started to well with tears again.

“Yes, it will be.” He nodded. “Please say your final words.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi started, you watched as your brother’s lip trembled, trying to find the right words to say to you. “There’s so much I want to say but I can’t get it out. . I-I love you. You’ll always be my baby sister.”

Next up was Jungkook, who was keeping his eyes squeezed shut. “I wish. . .I wish I could’ve done more for you. I miss you and- and I’ll never forget you.”

“Namjoonie. . .” Seokjin began. “It seems like I just got you back and now I’m losing you again.” He let out a weak laugh. “I love you. You’re always in my thoughts.”

Finally was Taehyung, who just sat there with his lips pursed in thought. “Uncle Namjoon. . . I’m glad I at least got to meet you. . .kinda.” He smiled lightly. “Thank you for being there for Y/N. Please watch over her, she’s kind of a mess sometimes.” He laughed, causing the table to erupt in chuckles. 

“Hey, I’m not that much of a mess!” You countered.

“Yes, you are.” Namjoon asserted as Taehyung finished his thought.

“Y/N, I’m. . . I’m gonna miss you. I’ll always be your bug.” He concluded. The table turned their attention back towards Jimin, who was wiping away tears. 

“They’re not saying anything but it’s clear that they love you,” he said with a smile as he dabbed his under eyes with a handkerchief. “Now, Namjoon and Y/N. Please stand behind me and put your hands on my shoulders.” You followed his instructions, placing your hands on his shoulders, causing him to shiver. “Ooh cold. Now, join hands everyone.” He held out his hands for Yoongi and Taehyung to take. They did and the rest followed suit. 

They all sat there in silence, eyes closed. You and Namjoon looked to each other, neither of you knew what was going to happen next. He’s tried for years to move on physically saying he’s moving on or had no more unfinished business, meditating. Nothing worked. Maybe he was stuck and needed a real and proper psychic’s help?

Suddenly warmth covered you and Namjoon. It’s been years since he’d felt warmth like this. He let out a sigh as the feeling enveloped him. He looked over to you and you had a relaxed smile on your face, content with everything. The sadness he was so used to seeing on your face was now replaced with a look of peace. If he was to look in the mirror, he was sure he’d look the same. 

There was no light that neither of you could recall going into. You both just watched your world melt away into the next.

[jckelly]

how easy it is to pretend / para

goes with this playlist

& this one (for jack’s relationship w his brother

Piece things back up for me, it’s hysterical to think that it’s almost a year to the day.

Maybe the lyrics aren’t meant in the way Jack is hearing them at all. They could be a love song, an ode to a long-lasting relationship. Or a friendship, because does everything really have to be about sex? Or perhaps he’s not hearing them right anyway, it’s often the case when his mind is elsewhere, the words blur into something else entirely. Maybe they’re just about drugs and shit. Fuck knows he’s never been good at analysis. But right now, the words he thinks he heard are hitting a little too close to home. 

Home, which is six thousand miles away, and yet today he can’t quite feel the distance because there’s a bungee chord screwed right into his heart, yanking his feelings until they crash right back into a rainy morning in a church, the last time Jack set foot in a place of worship, probably the only time. He’s never been one for spirituality. Even that morning, the one he tries so hard to keep from reentering his mind, the presence of God is noticeably absent. The only comfort he recalls is the feeling of his brother’s hand in his, a gesture of solidarity in the face of death. I’m here. 

Finn’s not here now, though, and maybe it’s harsh of Jack to see his silent statement back at the funeral as an abject lie now that he sits alone, devoid of the presence of his brother, but it’s not like he can quite help his emotions, or the thoughts that split in his head into fragments, pieces of each other. If a vase breaks, which shard is the original piece? Which thought came first, the thought that Finn had been there for him or the thought that Finn is a liar? (It’s not usually in Jack’s nature to be so philosophical. Maybe he should be cursing the fifth can of cider his palm curves around instead of his brother, who’s nine hours behind and therefore probably unaware even of the anniversary. His brother is rarely to blame, as much as he blames him all the same. In most cases it’s Jack’s fault. Most things are.)

Inhale, exhale, smoke travels through his lungs, swells his airways, the beginnings of a tar clogged artery, perhaps a touch of lung cancer. Self destruction is often so aesthetic. He thinks back to the girls back home, in a line outside the club puffing on ciggies, like a line to the slaughterhouse waiting to be picked up by a guy like Jack, a guy as destructive as the nicotine they’re inhaling. He’d been happy to play along back then, take his pick for the night and take her home, bodies push together into socially expected sex, more out of habit than desire. He didn’t have much desire for anyone back home. He’d never really desired a connection. 

Back then, it had been a mark of pride amongst the boys he knew to fuck girls and never call back. Walk them back to the bus stop in the morning, like an empty gesture of nonexistent chivalry, mouths sour with the aftertaste of the night before’s vodka. He’d mastered the system at sixteen, understood the unspoken rules of fucking and leaving and hurting. Attachments had never been his forte at any rate, the questionable morals of secondary school played only to his strengths. He only fucks up once the fucking ends and the feelings begin, once the words he says begin to be taken seriously and suddenly he has to think about them, question the contents of his mouth before it spews out into a mushroom cloud, an atomic bomb of emotional destruction. As much as he pretends otherwise, Jack doesn’t always intent it that way. The hurt is more accidental than he lets on. 

The rooftop is cold, and the skyline is unfamiliar. They’ve been in Japan for barely a month at most, he still gets lost every other time he ventures off campus. He’d just gotten past the feeling of unfamiliarity in America when they announced the travel program, and now he gets to be a stranger in a city every month, once again covering the anxious feeling in his stomach with shards of dry wit. Jack’s never been a big fan of change. He’s had too much of that.

Teenagers in Sheffield change quicker, he’s noticed. Or maybe it’s true that when your privilege is lessened, you’re given less time to be a child. They can’t afford to fuck around for their whole lives, or maybe they simply mature quicker in the context of living in a city which never quite seems to wake up on the surface, eternal slumber leading to them finding different occupations for their beds. He’s reminded every time he goes home of his relative immaturity. How dare he exist without responsibility at 19? What has he done to deserve to be different? It’s something Jack has yet to figure out. Possibly, he never will. He’s not sure he actually does deserve to be different. He’s not shown it through his actions yet. 

And yet it seems to him as if Finn has always risen above whatever the others had been doing. Known before they had come to the realisation years later that their methods of amusement would never pay off in the real world, known to prepare for things other than just fucking with other people. Maturity. It’s a trait Jack has never managed to acquire, no matter the fact that he’s nineteen now, an adult. A man, people like to remind him on occasion, people like Claire and George and whatever other adult influence he’s managed to come across, despite his best efforts. No, while Finn seems to be aware of social rules and all the things Jack can’t quite crack, Jack stays internally delayed. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. The influence of his mother never moving on, staying in the same place from the moment he was born to the moment he lost her. Passed out on the couch, needle marks staining her arms. A state of arrested development she never quite overcame. Maybe Jack will never overcome either. 

It’s hysterical to think that it’s almost a year to the day. The lyrics are churning around his brain, still. It is hysterical. Although he’s not quite sure what’s more hysterical, the fact that he lost her or the fact that it still comes as a surprise to this day when he catches himself reminiscing and is struck again and again, nearly a year later, by the realisation that she’s gone. Shouldn’t he have expected this? Known that she would leave? (Everyone in Jack’s life leaves eventually. It’s a truth, rather than a comment founded in melodrama. Perhaps it’s for the best that his mother doing what everyone before her had chosen to do was not out of her own decision. And then the fact that he’s just felt it was a good thing that his own mother died makes him feel sick to his stomach, the cider tipping back and forth through his intestines. Suddenly, he’s not a nice level of drunk anymore. He’s just sad and tipsy and tired. Tired more than anything else.)

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a trap door in Jackson Kelly Fielding’s mind. Whenever it opens - and it’s rarely because he opened it, more often because it forces its way up - he falls back into a pit of memory, hitting each stair of trauma on the way down until he’s lying at the bottom and the world around him is barely a tiny dot of light a hundred and fifty feet above. Then the stupid fucking cinema opens and the curtains draw back, and he’s stuck for hours, reliving every minute, every opportunity he had to save her. Was there a moment? A minute when if he had said one less word, or one more, it would have changed things? Was there a turning point that Jack was too oblivious to see? (He hasn’t found it yet. But he remains certain that he will.)

Tokyo, Japan is eight hours ahead of Sheffield, United Kingdom. Jack’s googled it. It’s one in the morning here, on April 1. In Sheffield, it will be April 1 in seven hours. In seven hours it will be the one year anniversary of his mother shooting up in her flat, alone. Of a sad, solitary death. And it feels so unfair to Jack that in seven hours, as with the year before, the rest of the world will continue living their lives without a thought to someone who lies cold in the ground. It feels so fucking unfair that the sun will rise and rain will fall in some countries and snow in others and people will be laughing and getting engaged and having children, that people will be playing practical fucking jokes on each other and that the event which has torn Jack in two will have had no impact on anyone. It feels damn unfair to Jack that everyone else is allowed a life. That some people are even allowed a mother. He’s allowed neither. His life revolves around his mother, and his mother doesn’t exist. 

(And the thought of his mother lying alone in her flat waiting to be found really feels like a punch to the gut. Was she cold? Did it hurt? He could spend endless hours googling if heroin overdoses are painful. If there was any chance she could feel as she slowly ceased to breathe. How long it would have taken before the arms which held him went cold and stiff. And the worst thought of all, the thought of her screaming and screaming inside her coffin underneath the piles upon piles of dirt and Jack being too far away to hear as she suffocated and swallowed the worms. He’s had nightmares of her coming back, her lips curled into an eternal scream as a beetle crawls out and drips onto his bed.) (Maybe this is why they never let Jack see the body. He’s always had an overactive imagination.)

Jack knows Finn doesn’t struggle in this way. Or at least, he assumes so from the brief conversations he has with his brother, held across oceans over the phone or on video call, the blurry impression he gets of his face. Then again, Finn’s maturity just makes it clearer to Jack that there is little of their mother in him. Jack admires the ability to be someone different, in part because it’s something he lacks. He himself is barely more than the sum of his parts: an absent father and a mother who perhaps should have been absent. He often thinks that if their places were swapped and it was Jack laying cold in the ground, the impact on the world would be similar. Or more likely even less. Maybe it would be a day of celebration, since all he ever creates is damage. Damage on those around him, damage to those who dare to show him the slightest bit of affection. Damage to Balo, who has never deserved anything but love. Yes, he thinks the world would be better off without Hurricane Jack. He is an explosion of a person, and the only lasting impact he can hope to leave is the debris of those unfortunate enough to know him. 

Inhale, exhale. The smoke is clearer now that the sky is becoming lighter, and he wonders how long he’s been on the roof. Or if it even matters anymore. It’s not like waking up early for lectures and going to class and doing his exams will make much of a difference, because he is still Jack and he’s long since lost hope that he can reinvent himself beyond a name change. He casts his mind back to the teenagers in Sheffield that had held his attention before - and he almost laughs at the idea that he had thought about them with such disdain. How could he? Their bad decisions seem to just create a life which goes a different way, and in Jack’s head nothing they do with that life could ever be as bad as what he has done to the people around him. And what he has done to his own mother. Psychic matricide. Or maybe he just sucked all of her traits from her until there was nothing left to sustain life. It would explain why he has taken on her entire personality. Naturally, he’s too empty to come up with his own, with his own taste in music, with his own appearance, with anything. Originality would require some sort of positive trait. 

The sun is starting to rise above the unfamiliar skyline. Another day, and yet it can’t just be another day because it’s still some sick anniversary. One year of his mother being gone. One year of sunrises she hasn’t seen, one year of days she has not checked off of her calendar. One year of mornings in which she hasn’t been able to wake up. For once, when he looks across the view, Jack doesn’t feel the pang of homesickness which usually hits him. Why would he? There is nothing to go back to in Sheffield but memories he’d rather suppress and people he’d mess up even further. 

He realises with a jolt that he’s had the same song on loop, without even realising. The last lyrics float into the air: nearly every other word that comes from your mouth keeps me hanging on.

Apt. Even in death, every word that his mother ever said to him rings in his ears as if she’s just saying it now. And every single one is accompanied by a fresh stab of guilt. He’s not familiar with the song, but he makes a mental note to remove it from his playlist regardless. It’s hitting far too close to home. 

[yuna-dan]

12. I'm going to try to fall in love with you again – Arms Unfolding for moceit? thank you! 💛💙

I hope you like it! It’s the first time I write Moceit!

--

Warning: Recreational drug used. Overdosed of said drug. It’s really quick though

---

Damien regretted a lot of things of his teen years. He wasn’t okay with himself at that moment and that lead him to do horrible things, it was any kind of justification since he should’ve known better.

It wasn’t until he broke his heart that Damien realize that he may need a change. He still remembered the party where he realized he needed a change, how the overdose got him to a hospital bed and none of those fuckers he called his friends didn’t care.

He remembered waking up in the hospital bed and wishing for Patton to came back and kissed his forehead softly I’m here, please get better, but Patton left him. You made him leave.

So, once he left the hospital, he went straight to get help from D.A.A and get his life straight. Patton always wanted to go to his graduation, and the day he graduated from law school he wanted nothing more than to make Patton proud.

He was a horrible boyfriend back then, and he regretted nothing more than the way he treated the love of his life.

--

He was at coffee shop, his client just left, and he didn’t really want to go back to his office, so he was just sipping on his black tea and he felt someone touching his shoulder.

He looked up and what he saw took his breathe away.

“Thank goodness it’s you, it would’ve been too awkward if I accidentally touch a random guy.”  He smiled, too bright like always. “Hey, Dee.”

It had been almost ten years since the last time he heard that nickname, and god he wanted nothing more than to cry in the spot.

“Patton…” He breathed out, and awkwardly tried to stood up, but his shoe got stuck in the chair and he only stumbled.

Patton grabbed his arm, preventing him from falling, “Hey, there. God, it’s been so long…”

“Fifteen years.” Damien said. He didn’t know what to do, his hands moved to grabbed Patton’s hands but stopped himself, and if he noticed, he didn’t say anything. “Ho…How have you been, Pat?”

Without saying anything Patton sat on the other chair, and just started babbling about his life as a social worker, how he was currently working on a specific foster home, and how he just adopted another cat.

“How about you, Dee?” Damien could see how Patton was scared of asking.

“I am a lawyer now.” He said softly, “I was just talking with a client who wants a divorce…” Patton’s big eyes were staring at his souls, “I-I uhm, I have been clean for ten years, actually.”

Patton smiled so happily, “Oh my god Damien! I’m so proud of you!” He smiled.

Another guy approached them, and Patton waved at him, “Hey Remus.”

Remus gave him an odd look and Patton shrugged, “I have to go now, Dee. It was so good to see you again…”

“Uh. Yes, you too.”

Patton hugged him, and when he left, Damien started crying.

--

Patton was doing groceries with Virgil when he felt a look on his back. As a social worker, he was pretty used to those, since sometimes parents took their angriness with him. He grabbed his 6-years-old hand, he was ready to scream when he felt someone bumping him.

“We meet again, huh?” Dee said, softly.

Patton almost laughed, “Hey, Dee.”

Dee was looking almost shy, and that was something he was used too. Then again, they dated back when they were seventeen. Patton was on his early thirties, of course things have changed so much.

Virgil was staring at Dee face, and before Patton could prevented, he asked.

“What happened to you face?” He even pointed the burnt side of his -ex? Friend? -

He expected of Damien to start screaming just like when they were young and someone pointed out the scar, instead he just smiled and kneeled to Virgil’s side.

“I fought with a Dragon Witch a long time ago.”

His son gasped, “No way! Papa, was it like the Dragon Witch Roman tells us about?” He asked.

Dee sent him a questioning look, “Papa, huh?”

Patton, “Yeah, I adopted him three years ago, isn’t that right Vi?”

The kid smiled and nodded. “Yup.”

Something flashed through Dee’s face, but before he could pinpoint it, he was smiling again, “Well, I better leave you two alone. I bet someone is waitin’ for you.”

“The cats.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just the two of us, Dee.”

“Oh… Oh.” The side of his face that wasn’t burnt was suddenly blushing, “I just thought you and the guy who was with you the last time.”

Patton knew exactly what was going on, and before Dee embarrassed himself more, he just shook his face and laughed softly. “Virgil, why don’t you go the cereal aisle and pick something. I’ll look you there, okay?” Vigil sent him a questioning look but nodded anyway, “Don’t talk to stranger, cookie.”

Once the kid was away, Patton turned to Damien with a more serious face. “Damien.”

“I wasn’t stalking you I swear to god this was an accident.” He said before, “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be…”

“I missed you, Pat.”

“Please, don’t Damien.” Patton took his glasses off, and stared at the lawyer face, “Don’t do this to us…”

“Yes, right. I am sorry. I should leave…”

Patton didn’t want him to leave, “You can give me your phone number?”

“Can I?”

“I- Look I know what you are thinking, Dee. We are not teens anymore, and I know that look on your face. I can’t promise we’ll be together again, but I can give you my friendship, for now.”

Dee smiled softly, “I am okay with that.”

--

They message each other every day, they even started hang out again.

Dee sometimes would babysit Virgil.

Patton would wait for Deceit’s hearings to be over.

They spent so much time together it was scaring both of them.

It was nice again.

--

When Damien asked Patton on a date he was actually shaking. He had been putting criminal on jail for almost eight years of his career and he was more terrified of Patton’s rejection.

Patton, in exchange smiled, “Dee… I- Yes.”

--

That night, when Damien drive Patton back to his house, they were standing in front the door when Patton hugged him.

“I'm going to try to fall in love with you again.” He whispered into his ear, Damien hands where on his waist, “This time would be different, right?”

“Of course, I am not the same person I used to be.”

Patton smiled, and pecked his nose, “Virgil would always come first, though. You should know that, Dee.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They didn’t kissed that night, but the promise was floating in the air.

And for that moment it was more than enough.

--

In my mind Deceit’s face is burned just like Zuko’s face lol.

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[casualkoalafart]

Life These Days.

Disabilities are associated with weakness. The biggest disability is living in an unhealthy mindset, and getting trapped in it. Perspective(s), and the ability to control your perspective, is strength. It gives you power, rather than feed your deterioration.  Strength and success are different for everyone and do not have and specific unit of measurement, despite what society depicts. Everyone is different, and is seen different. The idea that you have to look and act a certain way that is unreachable to 99% of us is mental abuse. No matter your race or religion, we are all equal in the eyes of the natural world, although it is a sad, unnecessary, and certainly outdated fight that too many still face today within our human world. The only things that truly matter come from within, and often require some searching through trial and error. I am certainly not perfect, I have made more mistakes and bad choices in my life than I can count, and I want to learn from them. I cannot change the past, but I can change the future. My past does not define me. The person you are within your family, your friends, your workplace, your neighbourhood, and your society are all strangers to each other in one way or another. They are aware that each of them exists, but a different thought process prepares you for the presented environments.

One person’s strength is someone else’s weakness. Winning the lottery could save so many lives if put into the right places, however it could also be the death of you if you are overcome by addiction, greed, or any other toxicities. The ability to put yourself into someone else’s shoes is a mindset that many of us as humans lack, whether we like it or not. After all, how are we supposed to relate to someone who is starving if we don’t know what it is like to be truly hungry? How do we understand what an abused child sees in the world if our brains were developed in a safe and healthy environment? These are uncomfortable thoughts that often lead to the sad path of “ignorance is bliss.” For others, it may have a lasting impact of giving them their purpose in life. Like becoming a detective, a therapist, or a positive role model to whatever cause speaks to them.  

Everyone has the right to speak, but not to be heard. Some people are heard by too many and get overwhelmed, and begin a filtering process that should not exist toward their feelings and emotions. Some people are getting heard by too many and are abusing their power through brainwashing impressionable people too scared to think for themselves. Some people are getting heard by the wrong people, inevitably feeling judged and out of place in the world. Humans have great instincts, but often do not have the confidence to follow them.  Finding someone like-minded is refreshing, just as finding someone that believes in something that you do not can feel offensive and cause you to become defensive. These lessons that present themselves to us in the form of challenges make us who we are. Everyone expresses themselves differently, and that is what makes the world so beautiful. Art, music, literature, traditions, food, drink, and each unique personality makes life worth living. For those who have yet to find a way to express themselves, the opportunities to deal with their thoughts while also feeling safe and understood (despite whether the view or perspective is the same as the listener), are everything. The right to speak gives you the right to be judged, something that many find out the hard way. It can be discouraging, and that feeling of failure sticks with you more prominently than any win, especially to yourself.

Every mind is its own universe, and the energy that comes from it we feel is seen by who (or what) we call god. We strive to be heard and felt, because after all we can only truly feel our own feelings, and we want to share those feelings with others. Listening and hearing others in the way they express themselves through whichever outlet best suits them brings power, empathy, and unity. The sense of being alone in the world is a feeling that has unfortunately impacted everyone. As unique and different that we all are, we are the same in that sense. I feel my energy is felt through the earth, and I find comfort in and with those who share my perspective. I feel I am most understood and heard by animals, my family, and my best friends. I am really attracted to the energy from animals because I have yet to find my way in the world, my true outlet for my feelings and expressions, or something that I feel is my purpose. With animals not being able to communicate with language, and since I cannot always seem to put things into words for others to understand me, I feel a true connection through the brainwaves, the loving and healing energy we make and willingly give to one another, specially made for each being. I do not want my energy that I create to come from animals, because I do not want to take from them. They already willingly give so much, but we continue to take and take and take until there is ultimately nothing left.

Right now, the world is speaking to us with the undeniable statistics through every outlet and source possible. Unfortunately, we do not listen, and the next warning I fear will be fatal. Global warming,  fires, floods, plagues, are begging for us to acknowledge that we are killing our Mother Earth, and we are not listening. Hatred, inequality, and the sensation that we cannot make a difference in these challenging times is going to undoubtedly be our last fight, and we must keep fighting. With lockdown forcing all of us to reflect in this time, our biggest strength would be to come together while we are apart. Many of us feel our weakest, and as strange as it sounds, we could use that to our advantage. Turning weakness into strength is not only achievable, it is necessary. Humans are so incredible, we are inventors and have made a way to connect all of us, in the idea that by doing so, no one is alone. This creates a broader sense of loneliness, being surrounded by the internet world but still not being seen for who you are. So, we are back at the beginning again it seems. Some people go to extreme lengths to be heard or remembered. The idea of being alone is a powerful feeling that can lead to either good or evil, or in tragic (but not rare) cases, suicide. We need to understand that the rising of mental sickness is another form in which our planet is letting us know that we are literally killing ourselves. Too many are unable to deal with stress, guilt, pressure, loss, and so on. Drug addictions, accidental or purposeful overdoses, and self-harm are all fatal hand-me-down outlets to deal with man-made problems that we should never have had to deal with in the first place. These man-made problems are not made up or any less real than a hurricane. They create new emotions, ones that we are not equip to handle,  forcing our bodies to call for any response to these ever-evolving threats, and are often fatal solutions. Depression and anxiety should not be a mental illness, they are simply emotions that come with the good of life. Nobody is happy all the time, and the idea that life should always be happy is sad in itself. When there is life, there is death. Where there is good, there is bad. Where there is love, there is hate. Instead of teaching each other how to handle the yin and the yang, we prescribe drugs like opioids, while also trying to convey the image that drugs are bad and drug addicts are failures. So many poor people are brainwashed into thinking that marijuana is bad, but for some reason popping pills to manipulate your body to function is normal. Writing this makes my heart race, and I cannot describe the feeling because it is a cocktail that is mixed with emotions that do not belong together. We do not know how to deal with so many things because to put it bluntly, they are not natural and they evolve every day and are designed to break us.  

Our relationships with each other is everything, and our compassion and ability to hear others is power. Emotions, and being able to talk about and express them, is a gift and a privilege. We have been given the false connotation that feelings are weakness, that the idea of healthy options and outlets of expression for them are also weakening. Someone who takes anti-depressants to cope with feelings, drinks excessively to not have to feel, and take drugs may have the sensation that they are being stronger than someone who goes to therapy. This is backwards, and we as a society need to understand this together. Our strength of our ability to exchange knowledge is getting the best of us with the media not passing on the right messages. The government favouring the majority and purposefully challenging the minority is poisoning all of us, because we are all the same. It can give a person too much power, the corrupt idea that you are somehow better than a person who is not on social media, planting trees for a living. It will give people who do not have a platform a feeling that they cannot make a change to the world, since they are just one person. Evilness derives from this false and discouraging perspective. It will not give the right people anything, it will eventually take from them everything that matters.

There is strength in getting up in the morning, brushing your teeth, creating a healthy routine. Don’t cut yourself short. You’re doing great. It’s not supposed to be easy.

I did not filter myself writing this, and I hope I did not offend anyone who took the time to read my thoughts. We are all just trying to find our place in the world. In the perspective from our planet, no person is above or below another. Society, a man-made revolution, needs to help spread the right messages. We are all part of society. You are society.

The idea of posting this to the world gives me anxiety, however I am doing it because I know I am not the only one who feels this way, and I want anyone who can relate to this message at all to know that they are not alone. I am also posting this to let ANYONE know that if they want to talk about something, I am happy to listen and to hear them. I hope this message can inspire you to feel comfortable in your mind, your body, and to not be embarrassed or feel shame to share yourself with the world through your personally suited outlet. I would love to see your art, hear your music, read your words, or learn other forms of expression from you.

In writing this, I have escaped in a sense. I have allowed so many overwhelming thoughts and emotions to form words, and with this vulnerability comes a sense of relief that I hope everyone feels they have access to.

I am so overwhelmed and overcome with emotions all of a sudden, and then they go away as if they were just thoughts passing by in a train, just making a quick stop to drop off some passengers and pick up others on their way to an unknown destination. I wish that I could control the waves in which I feel so helpless, heavy, weak, and overcome. I wish I could pace myself. I know a quick way out would be to inebriate myself, a desire of what seems like freedom is powerful and can become uncontrollable in seconds.

I really hope I am confident enough to share this one day. My goal is to organize my thoughts and feelings into words that I can be proud to own, unapologetically.

Thank goodness for computers. I love the idea of having a beautiful mind and expressing words through pen and paper. Making my words beautiful through calligraphy and ink created with my own specific muscle movements. I have a strange admiration for penmanship. However that is not the case, as my mind is a mess with thoughts that come and go at what seems like the speed of light. I am grateful for the ability to edit my words efficiently through text. But, with the sense that I am feeding into the “everything is instant” perspective/generation of society, I am also disappointed in myself for not being able to slow down my mind enough to hand write most of what I choose to put into words to remind my future self. Or my present self.

I feel like after starting this page, I have opened a vault. One that should never have been a vault to begin with, but a welcoming and open-minded space. Instead of numbing and silencing my mind, I would like to have the strength to escape my escape, get my bearings back in a healthy way by reading other people’s escapes, appreciating their art, or listening to stories. Grounding myself back into reality. That I am actually okay. That I am just another person. A somebody, or a nobody, depending on my perspective.

I feel like I have experienced so many emotions today, that my body was overtaken by my mind because it was trapped. I can’t even remember writing some of it, which is curious. Hopefully that is where dying comes in, to release your trapped mind. Not now of course, but that is a nice and comforting thought for me, to think that in facing your worst fear you achieve real freedom.

I am glad I wrote it down, to reflect on later.

Everything written above was written on February 5th, 2021. It was snowy today. I had a lot of butterflies feeling my mind race so fast on so many deep levels. It is now 21:22, and although I still don’t quite know how I’m feeling, I feel like I have said what I needed to for the day. I also did not drink any alcohol today, which I am proud of after doing so much self-reflection. I am going to cuddle with Sammy, play games, and try to feel at peace with where I am in the world and in my mind.

Goodnight.  

[abakess-blog]

Chances are no one will see this, but this is my story that I’ve never told.

Hi. My name is Alex, and I’m an addict. I’m one day sober”

Those words trembled from my lips as I introduced myself at my very first NA meeting, five years ago.

Let’s back track, back to the beginning.

Here’s the story of how I forever changed my life, and the life of my family.

My road with addiction was a long one, it still is. A very, long, road.

I was 16 years old. I thought I was unbreakable. I thought I was impervious to death. Everyone else could get addicted, everyone else could overdose, but not me. I was untouchable. I had everything under control.

Oh how wrong I was...

My drug use started when I began a relationship with a man, an addict, six years older than me. For privacy’s sake, let’s call him Z. Well, Z introduced me to Vicodin first, and then Oxy. I loved the way it made me feel. I felt euphoria like I’ve never felt before. I thought to myself that this was a feeling I could get used to. As odd as it sounds, I thought it made me better. In fact, I thought it made me the best version of myself. The love for that feeling was instantaneous.

It turned from a “once in awhile” thing to an “every weekend” thing. And of course, as you may have guessed by now, it turned into an everyday thing.

Even when I was using everyday, I still thought I had it under control.

It helps me, I thought.

How could I stop something that made me so much better? How could I stop doing something that HELPED me in such a tremendous way?

I didn’t realize, that this drug, this pill, was the devil in disguise.

I started to lie, and steal. I started to slowly lose myself. It was as if the Alex everyone knew and loved was no longer there. She was buried alive. Buried underneath lies, theft, shame, and guilt. She was still there, just buried deep down, in an unfamiliar place, alone, ashamed, and gasping for air.

Every once and awhile, the “Real” Alex would appear to the surface, breathless and dazed.

She would claw her way back to the top, every single time the drugs wore off.

She would emerge back into a world, and a body that she was unfamiliar with.

A body shaking from the chills but also dripping with sweat. A body aching with every movement. A world so clear with a mind so clear, that it was unbearable. The guilt, the shame, and the pain, all smacking into her, trampling over her like a freight train.

The “new” Alex knew how to fix this.

Take the pills, and everything will stop. The pain, the sickness, the guilt, will all melt away.

Day after day, the “real” Alex was buried. That was the way it was going to stay.

The days felt like weeks, and the weeks felt like months. I had a secret, a potentially deadly secret, that I couldn’t allow anyone to know. The only person who knew, and encouraged this, was Z. I was living a double life. It was agony.

My entire day revolved around two things.

1. Get high

2. Hide it

I knew deep down I was losing my “control”

The control I never had to begin with.

Then, one day, everything changed.

This secret, the secret I had been hiding for two years, was discovered.

Even today, I will never be able to put into words what I was feeling that day. It was as if the “Real” Alex was back, even though I was high. I couldn’t keep her down anymore. She was back, and she was the one who now had to clean up the mess.

The only thing I could do was run. It was fight or flight and my god, did I choose flight. I sat beside my sister in our room as I wrote an apologetic note to my family, trying to hide my tears. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave a note, that would make things worse, I thought. I crumpled the note, shoved it in my pocket, and snuck out my back door.

I didn’t have a plan, I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going. As I was running through my backyard, my body in autopilot, I stopped for just a moment, turned, and looked at my house. I thought of my family and in that moment of blind panic and clouded judgement, I decided leaving was less painful for them than for them to discover who their daughter and sister really was, an addict and a liar. So off I went.

I ran and I ran, my feet moving forward without thought. I ran to a gas station first, just a few blocks away from my home to try to withdraw the small amount of money I had left from their ATM.

I was getting phone calls now, all from my Mom. She left me an accidental voicemail. I listened to it shortly after receiving it and all I heard on the other end was my mother, heartbroken, frantically yelling my name. I could hear the distress in her voice. I turned off my phone. I was to guilt ridden to answer, or return her calls. I couldn’t bear to hear her voice, I couldn’t bring myself to explain to her what I was doing. I myself didn’t know what I was doing. It felt like I was in a nightmare that I desperately wanted to wake up from. I was too much of a coward, all I could do was run.

As my fingers were frantically pressing the buttons on the ATM, I heard my stepfathers voice. Shocked, I turned around and faced him. For a split second, I questioned whether or not to turn around.

Although I was scared, and seeing him changed my plans for my attempted desperate escape, I was relieved to see him.

I asked him for a ride to my friends house who lived just down the road, he agreed and dropped me off.

My mother and older sister not twenty minutes later came to collect me. At first, I was reluctant to even leave my friends home. I was frozen in fear, riddled with guilt. My back was pressed flush against the locked front door. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know how to speak to my family.

After some coaxing, my sister and mom got me to come outside to them. I was ashamed. I couldn’t even look them in the eye. I sat silently in the backseat with my heart racing and tears streaming down my face. I was at a loss on what to do.

We went out to a diner, I didn’t even want to eat. I didn’t feel worthy of having a meal purchased for me.

I had just caused so much pain. Not only was my secret disclosed, but I ran away like a coward. I didn’t deserve a meal, let alone have my mother pay for it. I didn’t deserve kindness, I didn’t deserve anything.

I tried at first. I tried to straighten myself out and gain my family’s trust once more, but I didn’t know where to begin. I felt like I was walking through the dark with a blindfold on, looking for even a small glimpse of light, a small glimpse of hope.

My first attempt was short lived and unsuccessful. I quickly returned to my old ways. It was worse this time. My whole family knew and they were suspicious of me, they didn’t trust me, and they had no reason to. There was no more hiding, no more denying, no more lying. I was an addict and everyone knew.

In haste, I decided to go with my (then) boyfriend to his home. I wanted to get away, and I wanted to get high. I couldn’t face my family knowing that I had already returned to my old ways. I brought myself back to square one.

I left, but this time, my family wasn’t able to come get me.

Z was my enabler. He was abusive, he was controlling, and he scared me.

He was an addict.

Z picked me up on a Friday afternoon. Little did I know, as I hugged my family goodbye, that it was going to be the last time I saw them for two months. We made the two hour trip towards his home, chatting along the way.

Z knew that my secret had been discovered. He knew that things with my family were less than stable. I told him that I didn’t know how to even face my family anymore. It was as if I was a stranger being introduced to them for the first time. Z said that he had an idea on how to help with my problem. He told me I wasn’t going back home.

He told me again, and again that I was an adult. I was eighteen now and my family does not have a say in what I do with my life.

“Pick up the phone and call your Mom” he said to me as we were driving closer and closer to his apartment. “To say what?” I asked.

“To tell her you’re living with me now. Tell her you’re not coming home.”

I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t want to call her, I didn’t want to live with him, but I did want to get high. It was all I knew how to do. I was terrified.

I refused, and he insisted. He made a wide variety of threats towards me, threats towards my family, filling my head with all of the malicious things that he would do if I didn’t make that call.

I made the call, the worst call of my life.

I desperately wanted to ask for help, I desperately wanted to scream into the phone “I don’t want to stay with him, I’m afraid of him, he’s insisting I say this to you. These aren’t my words their his. I’m so sorry” but I couldn’t. I did what he said. All of the things he said he would do, I believed him. He had this insanity behind his eyes, I knew he meant what he said.

Everything spiraled out of control. Him and I were so toxic together. We were both addicts, and we were using together. Part of the reason I hastily went to his home, was purely for a fix. I knew he had connections, I knew he could score. I wasn’t ready to kick my habit yet. I needed to feel numb and I definitely didn’t want to go through withdrawals. We would steal, lie, and sell anything we could get our hands on. We would even go to different hospitals monthly to try to get prescriptions. We were so, so destructive. We were out of control. The more I thought about all of the pain I had caused, all of the irreparable damage I had done to my life, the more I used. He was the only person I could “relate” to. He was just as addicted, and was destroying his life just as much as me.

I had hurt everyone I loved so much. My parents were devastated, my sister wouldn’t speak to me, I had to drop out of high school, everything was in shambles.

I ruined my life.

Weeks went by, and there I was, just a miserable shell of my former self who was getting high daily in a cockroach infested apartment. I felt like I was constantly suffocating. I would hide in the bathroom almost every night to cry. He got angry when I cried.

I missed my family, I wanted my normal life back. At this point, I could barley remember what living sober was like. I had lost all sense of the word “normal”. For two years, getting high everyday WAS normal.

I couldn’t tell my family what was really happening and how I really felt. He would listen to my phone calls, constantly monitored my text messages, had all of my social media and email passwords, and he never let me out of his sight. I know what most of you must be thinking

“Just leave! You’re not shackled, or being held against your will, just go home!”

“Why didn’t you call the police if it was that bad?”

“You could’ve found a way to tell your family! You could’ve done something! You didn’t try hard enough!”

You know what? You’re right. I could’ve done all of those things, but I was too terrified of what would happen. He would tell me that if he couldn’t have me, no one could. He would tell me that if I ever left him, he would kill himself and I would be responsible. He would tell me that if I left him, he would make sure that I never had another relationship again, he would show up on my wedding day and gun down my husband and my family and only leave me alive. He told me he loved me.

He was mentally ill, and constantly high. I was too young, dumb and to scared to do anything. I was paralyzed.

The part that hurt the most, was knowing that my family believed this was what I wanted. Little did they know, to no fault of their own, that I wanted nothing more than to just come home.

After the worst weeks of my life, I saw my chance. I finally had an opportunity to go home, for good. I asked him if he could bring me home for a night to see my family, and to “collect the rest of my things” so I could “officially” move in.

He was reluctant but he eventually agreed.

That two hour drive home felt like a lifetime. He kept asking me to promise him that I would come back. He kept telling me the consequences if I didn’t. I thought at any moment he would become suspicious, and would turn the car around to bring me back to the place I so desperately wanted to be away from. Thankfully, we made it to my house. I started to cry before I was even through my front door. I couldn’t believe I was home. All of the shame and guilt was still there, but it wasn’t on my mind. The only thing on my mind was that I was about to see my family again. This was the longest in my entire life I had ever been away from them. All I could do was cry. I will never forget the way that hug my mom gave me felt when she first saw me. I will never forget the sound of our simultaneous sobs.

I was finally home.

Once I was home, I broke up with him. It was terrifying, but liberating. I was getting (no exaggeration) hundreds of text messages and phone calls from him, daily. They were a combination of insults, threats towards me, and threats of killing himself. I didn’t know what to do. He would tell me he would never go away. I was scared but I knew I needed to do this. I needed to cut the chains that had been holding me back, and change my life.

I eventually had to involve the police on two separate occasions, neither of which did much good. We lived in different county’s, so it was difficult for them to do much. The first time I involved the police was when he called me to say he was going to jump off of his apartment balcony, and his death was going to be all my fault. I kept him talking, and called the police in his county from a different phone. I could hear his mother in the background, screaming and begging for him to calm down. The cops arrived, and spoke to him. He assured them that he was fine.

The second time I called the police, he was threatening to show up at my house because I wasn’t answering him. I called the police in my county this time. A female officer showed up. I explained the situation and told her I was afraid for my life. I showed her various text messages, and showed her the amount of phone calls I was getting. As I showed her my phone, Z started calling me. The officer answered the phone, and put him on speaker. “If you don’t stop harassing her, she’s going to file for a restraining order.” That statement was followed with maniacal laughter, then “You think a f****** piece of paper is going to stop me?” The phone call was then ended by Z.

The officer took me outside to her car to do some paperwork. She notified me that unless he physically comes on my property, or my place of work, that there wasn’t much they could do.

After months and months on end of constant harassment, it finally stopped. I was free. The next step was my recovery.

My mom came with me to my very first NA meeting. I was scared, and in the very early stages of withdrawal. She held my hand and sat along beside me, supporting me the entire time. I finally felt like I was getting my life back on track.

Withdrawal was the worst experience I’ve had to this day, and wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy. You’re dripping with sweat but you’re freezing, you’re entire body aches, you’re depressed, and you’re exhausted. The “worst” of it was gone within a few weeks, the depression lasted for much longer. I slowly gained the trust of my family back. I got a job, I got my GED, and most importantly, I got clean. There was no more “Real” Alex and “New” Alex, there was just me, Alex. The Alex that I had been from the beginning. The Alex that was missing for two, long, devastating years. I was finally back.

The moral of this story is that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to make mistakes. It’s okay to go down the wrong road. It’s okay to have a problem. Addiction is real, addiction is terrifying, and addiction is everywhere. I changed my life and so can you. Please, don’t be afraid to reach out to me, your family, or your friends. Although you may feel guilty and ashamed, it’s much worse to isolate yourself. Reach out, and get the help that you need. You’re strong and you can overcome this. Don’t let addiction win. Any addict alone is in bad company. Thanks for letting me share.

[theres13ghostsinmyattic-blog]

My dream this morning:

So, I was with one of my friends in this woman's house. Idk her. And I am in Velcro shoes because I can't tie shoe laces. (I can but in the dream I couldn't and that used to be a problem for me so I think I was about 8 in the dream?) And then we are leaving but my Velcro comes undone and I have to bend down to stick it down. But my friend is already walking off and he walks really fast so I try and ignore it but I can't. So I bend down and Stick it down. My brother walks past me with about 5 girls with him. He looks at me and I smile before standing up and walking away. There's these people in the street and they're in my way but I have to get through to find my friend because Idk the way home. So I push through them really rudely tbh. But I can't find my friend so I walk quicker. And as I walk down a street, there's a corner thing. And I see a guy that looks like Hugh Dancy and I was going to look at him to see if it was but then I noticed another guy. He could be about 19. He's got long hair and he's in a denim jacket. He smiles at me and because I am polite, I smile back. He seems to take that as an invitation to approach me. He's holding a packet of drugs I think. And he's offering it. And he just won't go away. He steps in front of me and he just won't take No for an answer. I don't want drugs. So I run. And I enter this shopping centre. And he forces some drugs in my mouth but I spit them out and run into this costume shop and find a guy in a cop costume and I tell him to pretend to be a real cop. I drag him out of the shop and point at the drug dealer and he runs off. The cop guy asks if I am alright. I have a mini mental breakdown about being lost and alone. But O walk away and I see this woman. Idk why I chose her but I went up to her and explained what had just happened and that I am going to have to find my way home. And I ask if she has any pepper spray. She does and gives it to me. And I'm like thanks and I have a mini breakdown then too. Then as I am walking through this shopping centre, the Hugh Dancy lookalike taps my shoulder and says hey. And I turn around like "Wi- Hugh. Um. You look like a guy I know." 😂 and he's like cool story bro. And he says he saw what happened and he asks if I know how to get home and I'm like no. And he says he'll drive me home. And I am not am idiot so I'm like. "No. You're a stranger." And he says, ,"I'm Hugh Dancy." And I'm like dubious. So I look into his eyes. I inspect his hands. And I tell him to smile to see those sharp teeth. And I'm like, "Okay. Show me your drivers license or something with your name on it." And he is about to when the drug dealer and he now has friends come and say I narked on them. And in holding the pepper spray behind my back and I am stood in front of Will (Idgaf Hugh) to protect him? And I tell them to leave but they won't and then one of them gets all up in my face and I'm like "I swear, I am a good person" before I pepper spray him. His friends get riled up so I grab Hugh and I say "I don't care if you're going to kidnap or kill me. You're being nice so come on and drive me home." And we run to his car and he starts driving. Then he gives me his driving license and it says Hugh Dancy obvs. And I think that he could've been told that he looks like Hugh before so he has a fake one. But I'm like ehh. He's been nice so who cares. So I tell him my address and he puts it in the GPS and it gives him directions. And then it says to turn right but he doesn't so I say, "I think you were supposed to turn right." And he says, "Sorry. I was day dreaming." And he turns down the GPS so it isn't speaking, just showing directions.

I say "You shouldn't day dream and drive." And he laughs nicely.

Then he puts on the radio and it's a song I like so I jam to it. And he's like "Do you want to talk about anything?" And I am like "Sure but Idk what." And he points to my selfharm scars and He's like , "How about those?" And I am like "I only talk about those things with my best friend." And he nods. Then after a bit he goes "How come you were so afraid of the drugs?" And I go "My brother has overdosed accidentally on drugs more times than I care to count and my heads already a mess. I dont need drugs messing it up further." And he is like "A mess?" And I'm just like "Yeah. Childhood family trauma. That shit. Nothing important." And he is silent for the rest of the car ride. Then we stop and I am like "This is not my house." And he's like "Yeah. I've kidnapped you." And I visibly put one leg over the other to make is clear that he will not be going there. And he's like "No not like that. I want to care and father you." And I'm like "Okay sure. But my parents aren't all bad. I mean, there was that one time with my dad but he apologised and he was drunk. They do drink A lot I guess. Alcoholics kinda but they're not all bad. I mean, my mum kinda destroys my self esteem but they're okay." And he's like "Well, I'm your father now." And I'm like "So do you want me to call you dad?" And he's like "You can call me what you want." And so we get out and go inside. I left the pepper spray in the car. So I get settled in the house and then I leave my room one day and in the living room, Mads is there. And I'm like "Hello, Han-Doct- err. Hello." 😂 as you do.

And I interrupted Will going on about having adopted me. And he's saying to Hannibal, While I am walking into the kitchen, "Yeah. So I adopted her--" and I say "Don't call me her. Umm. I've been meaning to tell you that I am a transgender boy." And Hannibal (😂😂) is like "That's nice. Hugh always wanted a son." And Hugh is like "Yeah. That's true." And then I drink my tea while they have random convos. And then I look at them and they're just smiling at each other pretty dopey. I say "You two do realise that I ship Hannigram so hard and this is possibly the greatest moment of my entire life,right?. I need to take a picture for Tumblr.". And they laugh and they're like, "Sure. Get your phone and we'll pose." 😂 and I'm like holy shit greatest moment of my life. So I get my phone and Will kisses Hanni's cheek in the pic and I put it on Tumblr for all shippers. And then somehow I'm in bed and like I'm dreaming about that drug dealer and in the dream dream I scream, "He's trying to give me drugs!" And I scream that in the dream like it woke dream me up and then it woke me up. I literally half shouted that when I was waking up. Im just glad my parents are out. Idk How You explain that. 😂

[shtbgs-blog]

ALEC JAY looks an awful lot like TRAVIS MILLS. HE is TWENTY-FIVE and while they’re STRONG, they have a tendency to get pretty BLUNT. You’ve probably seen them around Kola listening to OUTCAST by NF.

&. SHORT INTRO

okay so lowkey bruce is based off alec but he’s a more deranged version / older if alec were to never seek out help after his first big arrest

but we’re gonna change bruces backstory a lil bit

at his 7th birthday he spiked the punch with all of his mother’s xanax and lead to a child’s death

he was labeled as a psychopath and exiled from his friends

the girl who died’s father was actually a teacher in the highschool

and by some sick twist of fate, alec got him as a teacher

lets just say, they did not get along

alec got expelled from school because he threatened the teacher with a pair of scissors bc he was bein a dicc okay

a year and a half later him and his friend ( who was involved with a gang ) decided to take someone’s car for a joyride, but then his friend got arrested and rolled over on alec ( and the gang wanted him dead bc he was gonna get arrested and its easier to kill loose ends )

he was arrested for grand theft auto and served three years

he was released a year ago to find all of his friends were gone and there was no way he could make a name for himself in his home town so he left

&. BASICS

FULL NAME: Alec Madison Jay

NICKNAMES: Just Alec.

FACE CLAIM: Travis Mills

AGE: 25

SEXUALITY: heterosexual

DATE OF BIRTH: April 21st

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Male / he & him

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single.

OCCUPATION: unemployed.

&. PERSONALITY

USUAL HANG OUTS: alleys, bars, clubs, down town.

HOBBIES: smoking, drinking, blunt cruises, partying, stealing, fighting.

FIVE POSITIVE TRAITS: strong, adaptable, focused, independent & protective.

FIVE NEGATIVE TRAITS: blunt, dishonest, grim, dangerous & short tempered.

DRINKS, SMOKES, & DRUGS: yes, yes & yes.

&. BIOGRAPHY

A person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience. This is the definition of Sociopath. To put it more simply, this is Alec Jay. Alec was born with antisocial tendencies and it was evident ever since he was a child. Before his seventh birthday, his family thought he was just quiet and bashful. Then, after accidentally leading all of the kids at his birthday to nearly overdose on large amounts of xanax, everything changed. Alec’s entire life has been people claiming they know everything there is to know about him because of a single moment in time. One where they don’t even accept his reasoning.

Alec is a classic case sociopath who is constantly mistaken for a psychopath. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself, and two or three close friends. He’s immensely protective, destructive, and misunderstood. His downfall began the summer after he was expelled from school for threatening a teacher with a pair of scissors. Obviously, he isn’t very welcome anywhere after news broke out of his immensely dangerous tendencies. He just doesn’t think things through. He doesn’t care what the consequences are and demands respect from strangers because well, it’s something he’s never been given.

His parents were once upon a time, loving, supportive and kind. But after his seventh birthday something shifted in them leading the Jay household to become a dark and bitter place. His father during to drugs and mother turning to alcohol their fights have only gotten worse, and worse over the years. When he was kicked out of school they lost their minds and their attempt to hide their utter disapproval in their son. Almost every single night since the explosion has been a screaming match between the two causing the entire neighborhood to take notice.

A year or so after his expulsion, Alec got mixed up with a really bad crowd. His best friend was three years older than him and involved in a gang and actually started to get Alec involved. His initiation, though, was to steal a car and bring it back but in the middle of his theft, the owner of the car came outside and Alec fucking bolted with the car leaving his best friend behind. He took the car for a long joyride before bringing it back only to find the gang leader furious because his friend was arrested and bringing the car there was stupid. Now, they wanted him dead. 

Then, about a week later the police found him in an abandoned train car ( because he hadn’t been home for over a year ) and arrested him for grand theft auto because his friend rolled over on him. He served three years in prison and when he got out, he got wind that the old gang was going to come after him so it was best to leave. So, a year ago he moved to Kola, California and he’s been couch surfing ever since.

&. WANTED CONNECTIONS

ROMANTIC.

EX GIRLFRIEND. The girl he was dating while he was involved with after he was expelled, she could have moved to Kola a few years ago and she might 

PLATONIC.

DEM BOIS!!!!! Gang, give me gang, just like one or two people who he has been hanging out with a lot since he came to Kola, maybe let him crash on their couch for a while, just people in general who enjoy his company despite how dark and twisted he can be sometimes.

DRUGGIE BUDDIES !!! give me the bitches who gets him high and drunk and just gets fucked up with him sending him down that Dark! Ass! Path!

ENEMIES.

FRIEND WHO ROLLED OVER ON HIM, I imagine he as well is being hunted down by the gang because he did technically rat everyone out to make sure he didn’t go to jail. So just, imagine with me, he ran to Kola after being released and didn’t say anything about Alec but actually?? someone else in the gang did????? and Alec thinks he did it but he swears 2 jesus he didn’t say anything about him he sold out the gang not him he wasn’t involved and he feels guilty bc he got him involved in that shit at all and god imagine that ANGST my FRIENDS.

&. FILLED CONNECTIONS

ROMANTIC.

saorise ( @ofadorations ) that gorl, he lives with her, he digs her, he might be using her a little for her house but he does really dig her, he’s down for her, he thinks she’s pretty and dangerous and interesting, but he’s probably going to ruin her, sorry bibi

PLATONIC.

nate ( @duoceur ) is going to be his GOOD INFLUENCE THAT KEEPS HIM FROM TURNING INTO BRUCE but i mean will it work? who knows? i doubt it? my kid sucks?

ENEMIES.

WHERE THE FUCK THEY AT HE’LL FIGHT AND HATE ANYONE FOR ANY REASON!!!!!

[zirawrites]

How do interested companions react to finding out sole has attempted suicide?

This reaction has been sitting in my inbox for awhile and I’ve just now worked up the nerve to tackle it. Self-harm/suicide is literally my ONLY personal trigger, and I’ve always deleted these messages on-sight when roleplaying. However, I think doing a suicidal Sole isn’t far from canon. It’s a side of Sole the game didn’t really explore, so I’m glad I can add that new dimension to our hero.

Obviously the trigger-warning is self-harm and mentions of suicide. I was going to do a generic suicide scenario to start out with, but decided to tailor it more personally to each companion. If you’re having suicidal thoughts, please reach out to a loved one or professional.

Cait: Cait wasn’t a stranger to self-harm. It seemed easier to punish herself over how little her parents (or anyone, for that matter) loved her. But her stoic Sole? Cait’s first reaction was disbelief when she noticed the scars on Sole’s wrists. They were faded and pink, but still noticeable when Sole’s sleeves rode up their arms. The two friends made eye contact from across the table, and Sole immediately tried to make up an excuse for why their wrists were scabbed over.

“Yer not that good of a storyteller,” Cait said. Her voice was soft, but concerned. Sole had never seen her eyes so dark. “Look, I know you’ve been given the short end of tha’ stick lately. What, with yer son turn’n up the leader of the boogeymen and losen’ your husband/wife. But… I remember when I used to do the same thin’.” Cait turned up her wrists to show even lighter scars. “I stopped shortly after ya rescued me. I guess you showed somethn’ in me I didn’t know was there. I was someone worth savn’ once I got those chems outta me.” She took Sole’s hand, and tried not to let her watery eyes spill over. “Sole, I’m clean now. And lookn’ at you… yer someone worth savn’, too. So please, jus’ talk to me if it gets that bad again.” Sole promised, cross their heart.

Codsworth: Codsworth had no idea Sole self-harmed until they let it slip in conversation. According to his master, they hurt themselves when they felt the burden of losing Shaun weigh too heavy. Codsworth was crushed. He would have tended to Sole night and day if they had just told them how bad their mental health was getting. “It’s because you found me such a mess when we reunited in Sanctuary,” Codsworth groaned. “I would have never went blabbering on about my own shortcomings if I had known what a heightened state you were in. Please, mum/sir… forgive me. You needed me and I… I FAILED you!” If Codsworth could cry, he would be inconsolable.

Sole assured her Mr. Handy that their past actions had absolutely nothing to do with him. They were responsible for their self-harm and no one else. It took Sole nearly an hour to convince him they weren’t suicidal anymore, especially thanks to how close Codsworth held them in his heart. Even so, Codsworth guarded Sole at night just in case his master woke and needed him by their side. He’d always be there for them, even if it meant another 200 years of getting nuclear fallout out of vinyl wood.

Curie: Curie was reading a new textbook Sole had nabbed them on a recent mission. The book was on soldiers returning from war with PTSD. However, parts of the pages were ripped, and Curie was struggling to fill in the blanks. She asked Sole if they knew anything about the symptoms of PTSD, which Sole apparently knew plenty about. Since entering the Commonwealth, Sole had been so overcome with stress that they even once found themselves at the edge of an overpass. Sole didn’t jump, but in that moment they knew they had to seek mental health, and here they were now after those first grueling nights finding Shaun.

Before Curie knew it, she was crying. It was only a few shuddered hiccups, but Sole’s story touched her. “My dear friend,” Curie said. “I had no idea you were struggling with your mental health. And here I am priding in to your personal life. You do not have these thoughts now, do you?” Sole assured Curie that was in the past. “Either way, I insist you come to me if you ever need to talk. I am well-equipped with the medical training to discuss such matters objectively. And also… you mean a lot to me, madame/monsieur. I would never want harm to befall you.”

Danse: He didn’t want to believe the rumors, but the medical history of Sole Danse happened upon in the sick bay of the Prydwen didn’t lie. Sole awoke to heavy knocking at their door, and opened it to see Danse clearly distraught. His brows furrowed together, and his lips were more pouting than usual. Danse asked to come in, and then sat at the edge of Sole’s bed. He struggled to find the words at first, so Sole encouragingly placed their hand on his back. 

“First off, please don’t think I was prying,” Danse said. “Knight-Captain Cade needed assistance organizing files in his office, and yours just happened to be at the top of the pile. It was open on your mental health examination, I swear.” 

Sole dismissed Danse’s words with the wave on their hand. They knew exactly what was in that document. When Sole first entered the Brotherhood, they had to talk about a history of drug abuse. When Sole first found out Shaun led the Institute, they had tried to overdose. It wasn’t anything they were proud of, but Sole didn’t want to lie to their brothers.

“That’s understandable,” Danse reassured. “Admirable, even. I just never expected someone as levelheaded as you to do something as risky as that. But I suppose we all have our demons.” A sharp inhale. A shaky exhale. “This doesn’t change the way I feel about you, you know. You have my complete trust in battle, and loyalty as your friend. Not to sound cliche but… I’m here if you ever need to talk.”

Deacon: It wasn’t every night Deacon asked Sole to cut loose with him. He liked to keep all his faculties alert, but they had just picked up an important dead drop and even Desdemona said the two partners needed a break. Instead of going out in goofy disguises like Deacon always suggested they do one day, he used his personal stash of caps to buy him and Sole the best middle-tier wine he knew. Not too good, not too bad. He knew Sole would appreciate the symbolism in his sentiment.

Deacon leaned against the wall and listened to a drunk Sole ramble about their favorite missions. They could barely keep themselves up on the desk, so Deacon kept himself within arms’ reach in case he needed to catch them. “R-remember when we-we-we dressed like raiders to save that synth underground?” Sole slurred. Deacon answered with a soft mhmm. “And… and do you remember w-when I was a body-double for Magnolia to spy on that safe house leak? And you accidentally spilled wine on me so I had to SLAP you?” Another mhmm. “I SLAPPED you, Deacon! Hows that feel, buddy?”

“I lie awake every night thinking about it, boss,” Deacon chided. “Not a day goes by where I don’t remember shaming my family name.”

“I shamed my family name when I swallowed that bottle of pills.” Sole took another long drink of wine, then dramatically smacked their lips. “I don’t know how Codsworth didn’t find me the next morning. I’m g-glad though, ya know? I really got my shit together after that. Haven’t thought about checkn’ out since.”

Deacon was floored. He watched Sole stare down at their empty wine glass, then say something about shaking him down for more caps. He wasn’t really sure the specifics because his ears were ringing. Sole had always been his role model. They were perfect in every way. If someone as strong as them could get that desperate, who was he in this world? He tucked their hair behind their ears as then drunkenly smiled up at them. “I really need you, pal,” he said. “Honestly, I had no idea things had gotten that bad. Can you give me a heads up next time so I can cheer you up?” Deacon knew suicidal thoughts ran deeper than whatever half-assed jokes he could cure them with, but if he got any more personal he was afraid he’d cry. “We look out for each other. Hell, we’re family. So please… just…” Deacon ended his rambling with a lopsided smile.

Gage: “What fuckn’ cowards,” Gage seethed. He and Sole stood at an abandoned outpost. They were trying to track down rouge raiders that had defected from the Operators. However, the only people left in the ruins were a handful of people who had shot themselves. They either knew Sole and Gage were closing in, our they were done with the raider lifestyle. “Bunch of complete wastes of space,” Gage continued. “Anyone who ain’t man enough to deal with their fuckn’ problems doesn’t deserve the resources they suck dry while they’re here.”

Sole had no idea why Gage was so opposed to the idea of suicide. As he grit his teeth and began to loot the camp, Sole hung back. Sole knew Gage looked up to them as a leader. How would he feel if…?

“You okay, Overboss?” he asked. “If this sight is a little too gruesome for ya, there’s no need to hang around. I can come back with some other men and finish the clean-up.”

“I could have been one of these people, Gage.” Sole crossed their arms, determined not to break eye contact. Gage asked what Sole meant. “When I first realized my son was gone, my wife/husband was gone… I put a gun to my head. I didn’t know it was empty. But if it had been? I’d have been just like any of these raiders.” Sole sucked in a deep breath when they saw Gage tense up. “Be angry that these people broke their codes and left our ranks. But not that they couldn’t face their demons. They weren’t wastes of space.”

“Shit.” Gage took a step forward. Sole noticed he went to reach for their arm, but he stopped himself at the last second. For the first time ever, Gage actually seemed remorseful. “I had no idea, Sole. I’m sorry I said all that. If someone like you can struggle with those thoughts, then anyone can. We’ll… give ‘em a proper burial here. Promise.”

Hancock: “You know, sometimes I think you want to overdose.” Sole was talking to Hancock who currently lounged back on the couch. He was absolutely defenseless where he lay. It was adorable. Just to make sure the mayor was as incapacitated as he seemed, Sole grabbed his favorite hat and placed it on their own hat. It took Hancock over ten seconds to register what happened. “That’s sad,” Sole said. “I’m keeping this.”

Hancock reached his arm out with the most pathetic look he could muster. “I’m hurtn’ here, sweetheart,” he moaned. “It’s been a long day and I’m a tired ghoul. I deserve to get this high. But I can’t complete the ensemble without that hat.” Sole rolled their eyes and gave it back to him, then laughed as he put it on backwards. “There. Now I’m as handsome as ever.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Sole said. They were trying to look serious, but failing. How could you stay mad at Hancock? He got under your skin in all the right ways. “It’s dangerous to take that much at one time. I took just a little more than that when I found out Shaun was gone hoping I wouldn’t wake up. I can’t believe you do all this for fun.”

Even in his stupor, Hancock registered exactly what Sole was getting at. “You did what?” he gaped. Sole looked down at their feet. “You’re telln’ me you tried to kill yourself not that long ago? Holy shit.” Hancock sat up with some inner strength he didn’t know he had. Even though the world was spinning, he managed to take Sole’s hand in his own. “Please tell me you ain’t thinkn’ about doing something like that again. I couldn’t bear to lose you over the fact you think no one cares. Cause I really do, and there ain’t no dose of chems that’d ever be more important to me than you.”

MacCready: He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. MacCready had opened up to Sole about losing Lucy, and the suicidal thoughts thereafter when he figured life wasn’t worth living without her. Sole told him their similar feelings after losing their spouse, and he felt his stomach knot. MacCready thought he was just some trifling gun-for-hire who fell ass-backwards in to a marriage he didn’t deserve with a son he couldn’t provide for. But Sole was… the complete opposite. They were thrown in to this apocalypse, not born in to it like he was. They took everything in stride. Placed their friends’ safety above their own. Passed up well-deserved caps just so families had the extra money. So as Sole told MacCready they had once tried to take their own life, he found himself sitting on the edge of his seat. A gust of wind would have been able to topple the merc on the floor.

“Please don’t talk like that,” he said. MacCready’s voice cracked at the end, and he was worried if he spoke again tears would spill out. “Sole, you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to the Commonwealth. The greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you as a friend. I’m so sorry your spouse passed away, but you’ve showed me there’s still a life beyond all that sorrow. So if you can stay strong… I guess… so can I.” 

Preston: “Excuse me, General?” Preston had been waiting for Sole all day. His expression was tense, which let Sole know he had something weighing on his mind. “Can we talk somewhere privately? I’ve got something bothering me.” Preston led Sole to the picnic table behind Sanctuary. After stumbling around his words for a while, Preston finally looked up with worry in his eyes. “I know we talked recently about my past with the Minutemen. How I lost all hope and… tried to end my life. Lately I’ve been feeling really guilty laying all that information on you. I just want to make sure you’re okay with it and that I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

Sole shook their head. “Preston, I know what that feels like. I’ve done the exact thing before. For different reasons. Reasons I don’t really want to get in to.” There was a pause that followed. Sole watched Preston’s eyes widen. They knew he was too polite to speak his mind. “I’ve never felt closer to you, Preston. So don’t think you made me uncomfortable. If we both take this a day at a time, maybe we can help each other get through these feelings, you know?”

“I… Sole, I had no idea.” Preston honestly didn’t know what to say. He looked up to Sole as a role model. Their past didn’t change his admiration towards them, he was just surprised. “We will get through this. I just know it. And when we finally make the Commonwealth safe, we’ll know it was worth sticking around for.”

Piper: Piper hated writing obituaries. Whenever someone in Diamond City passed away, she wrote about them in a small paragraph on the back of her latest issue. Since not many settlers died of old age anymore, the stories were about parents succumbing to radiation poisoning or little kids who got too close to feral ghouls. This particular story was about a mother who took her own life when her daughter drowned in the water filtration plant in the back of Diamond City. Piper’s newspaper was selling out, but she knew it was for a depressing reason.

Sole picked up a copy like they usually did, and thumbed through it dramatically to show Piper they really did read the whole thing. When Sole got to the obituary, they paused. “You forget how to read just now or something, Blue?” Piper asked. “I can smell the smoke from over here.”

“I’m sorry,” Sole said. “I just got to the obituary section. That’s so sad. I remember when I tried to kill myself after losing Shaun. I’d never wish that on anybody I knew.”

“Oh god,” Piper whispered. “Blue, I had no idea. I wouldn’t have given you a copy if I knew…” Sole set the paper back down, and met Piper’s hand. Piper squeezed Sole’s fingers reassuringly. “I think I’d just about lose it if I lost Nat. I couldn’t imagine what that feels like. But you’ve just gotta stick around. A lot of people depend on you. So if you get those feelings again, you talk to me, alright? I love you, woman/man out of time.”

Nick: As a detective, Nick Valentine had seen some unusual cases come through his door. Most of the ones in Diamond City involved the suspicion that someone was a synth, and watching a distraught racist try to tip-toe their way in to getting his Gen 3 self to help them was always amusing. However, he knew Sole’s case was special the moment he met them. Sole didn’t see him as a robot, they saw him as his own man. That is why Nick respected Sole so much, and why seeing the marks on their wrists hurt so badly.

“Do you mind explaining those?” Nick asked when he noticed Sole sheepishly trying to pull down their sleeves. “Unless you bought a feral cat recently, I have feeling you did that to yourself.” His expression softened. “Do you need to talk about something, kid?”

“I’m sorry that worried you, Nick,” Sole said. They were being honest. Seeing Nick’s yellow eyes widen like that… it broke Sole’s heart. “The last thing I want to do is hurt somebody, which is why I hurt myself. But that’s all in the past, I swear. These scars are old. And I have friends like you to thank for that positive change.” Nick believed Sole, but for good measure he checked up on them more than usual. They were his favorite troublemaker, after all. What kind of detective would he be if he didn’t watch out for his own partner?

Strong: Strong still didn’t understand what Sole was telling him. He understood the concept of Suiciders. They charged in to battle knowing they would die, but it was in the name of battle and bloodshed. When he learned Sole had tried to talk their own life just to die, it physically hurt his brain. “Human is good leader. Good leader want to live. Strong not understand why human do that.”

Sole took a deep breath, regretting telling Strong about their past at all. “Sometimes when humans don’t think they can do something, they don’t see a point in leading or trying anymore. It doesn’t make the human a bad person. It means they are tired and need some extra help.”

“Strong thinks he knows what human means.” Sole doubted that, but let him continue talking anyways. “Human had bad fight. Didn’t think human could fight again. Then human remembered they are leader, so they kept fighting anyways.”

“That’s…” Sole folded their arms. “That’s actually very right, Strong.”

Strong scoffed. “Of course Strong is right. Strong is smarter than human thinks Strong is.”

X6-88: Sole had a flag on their mental health evaluation? X6 thought it had to be a mistake. Father obviously wanted to make sure his mother/father had the capacity to lead the Institute, which meant doing a written report on Sole’s past. X6 overheard several scientists talking about Sole being mentally unfit in the hallway because of what came up in their papers. The first thing X6 did was defend Sole. He reminded the scientists that they were speaking about the future director, and that Sole had proven time and time again to be a worthy ally on their side. To drive home that point, he reminded them the hell Sole could raise if they were enemies.

X6 then headed straight to Sole’s private chambers to dispel the rumor. Sole was reading on their bed, which seemed like perfectly sane behavior from his obviously sane companion. “Ma’am/Sir, I regret to inform you that there is a rumor circulating the infirmary that your mental health evaluation did not come out clean. Apparently someone flagged it for review. I put those scientists in their place, and I doubt they’ll cause you any trouble if you run in to them again.”

“It isn’t a rumor,” Sole said. “Shaun asked me to be honest, so I was. I used to self-harm, X6. A lot. I didn’t want to live in this new world. But since I’ve seen the Institute and what it can do for humanity… I feel hope again. I don’t intend on having those thoughts any more. And Shaun set me up with a fantastic psychologist.”

Awkward. X6 stood in the door-frame knowing Sole wanted him to join them in the room. However, his legs felt like lead. “Well then I’m sorry I assumed. I am certain you will still make a superb director for the Institute. And I have no qualms remaining your companion out in the Commonwealth.” Three compliments in a row? That was high praise from the same courser who once threatened to bludgeon Paladin Danse to death for scuffing his shoes.

[helloworlddemo1122-yahoopar-blog]

Johnny Depp's 7 Biggest 'Rolling Stone' Revelations: From Depression to How Much He Really Spends on Wine

Johnny Depp is opening up in a big way in a candid new interview with  Rolling Stone magazine, in which the 55-year-old actor addresses his highly publicized legal battles over his finances and reports of his extravagant spending.

Writer Stephen Rodrick was invited to spend time with Depp at his rented mansion in London, England, where the conversation also turned to his complicated relationships with close family and friends, as well as a serious struggle with depression due to problems both in his personal and financial lives.

Here's a look at the biggest revelations from Depp's interview:

Multimillion-dollar lawsuits, a haze of booze and hash, a marriage gone very wrong and a lifestyle he can’t afford. In our exclusive new feature, we take you inside the trials of Johnny Depp. "I kept trying to figure out what I'd done to deserve this," he says. "I'd tried being kind to everyone, helping everyone, being truthful to everyone." Click the link in our bio to read the full story. Illustration by Matt Mahurin (@mattmahurin)

A post shared by Rolling Stone (@rollingstone) on Jun 21, 2018 at 5:02am PDT

1. Depp is very much open about his drinking and smoking

Rodrick describes entering Depp's rented mansion and feeling his presence immediately.

“He is here in the stogie-size joint left by the sink in the guest bathroom. He is here in the never-ending reservoir of wine that is poured into goblets," he observes.

During their first meeting, Rodrick writes that "Depp sits at the head of the table and motions towards some rolling papers and two equal piles of tobacco and hash, and asks if I mind. I don't. He pauses for a second. 'Well, let's drink some wine first.' This goes on for 72 hours."

Depp also isn't shy about his history of using drugs. Later in the interview, when talking about one of his idols, writer Hunter S. Thompson, he regrets quaaludes no longer being around and recalls the bootleg quaaludes he used to take.

"They're made with just a little bit of arsenic or strychnine, so the high was far more immediate," he explains. 

Depp then recalls once asking a Florida bouncer to punch him while on quaaludes for no reason.

"You either wanted to smile and just be happy with your pals, or f**k, or fight," he says of being under the influence.

2. He has complicated relationships with his family

Depp talks extensively about his late mother, Betty Sue, in the interview, who died in 2016 after a long battle with cancer. The actor reveals the first thing he bought when he started making money was a small horse farm for his mom in Kentucky, where she was born.

"My mom was born in a f**king holler in eastern Kentucky," he says. "Her poor f**king a** was on phenobarbital at 12."

Though he clearly loved his mother, he also claims they moved 40 times growing up and that she would sometimes give him "irrational beatings."

"Maybe it's an ashtray coming your way. Maybe you're gonna get clunked with the phone," he says. "It was a ghost house -- no one talked. I don't think there was ever a way that I thought about people, especially women, other than 'I can fix them.'"

"Betty Sue, I worshiped her," he continues, before adding, "She could be a real b***h on wheels."

At her 2016 funeral, Depp recalls saying, "My mom was maybe the meanest human being I have ever met in my life."

As for his other siblings, Depp -- who's the youngest of four -- tells the magazine that one of his sisters and her husband and son moved to his mother's farm in Kentucky and were hired to manage the property, but their spending allegedly became out of control. After his mother died, the family still lives there.

"Their thinking is that I'm going to take care of them forever and that the farm is now theirs," he says. "I didn't make that promise."

The magazine also notes that Depp's close relationship with his sister, Christi, who was once a constant in his life and managed his day-to-day affairs, became strained when she was opposed to his 2015 marriage to Amber Heard. 

"Depp’s last constant connection with the real world was severed," Rodrick writes.

3. He actually spent more than $30,000 a month on wine

Depp's former business associates filed a countersuit against the actor last February, after the actor filed a lawsuit in mid-January against The Management Group (TMG) and its associates for allegedly defrauding him and mismanaging his money. Among Depp's alleged extravagant expenses they claimed they warned him about was spending $30,000 a month on wines flown to him from around the globe.

Depp proudly admits the number is actually higher.

“It’s insulting to say I spent $30,000 on wine,” Depp says. “Because it was far more."

Depp also addressed the claim that he paid a sound engineer so he could feed him lines through an earpiece while filming, explaining that it was actually sounds that were fed to him, which he says allowed him to be a better actor.

“I’ve got bagpipes, a baby crying and bombs going off,” Depp shares of the sounds. “It creates a truth. Some of my biggest heroes were in silent film. It had to be behind the eyes. And my feeling is, that if there’s no truth behind the eyes, doesn’t matter what the f**king words are.” 

As for the allegation that he spent $3 million to blast Thompson’s ashes out of a specially-made cannon?

"By the way, it was not $3 million to blast Hunter out of the f**king sky," he says. "It was $5 million."

And it appears that Depp's lawsuit against TMG isn't going to be resolved anytime soon.

"I have never, ever been in my life the bully kid," he notes. "I never went out of my way to hurt anybody. When I was a little kid, what I was taught was never start a f**king fight, but if somebody f**king tags you or starts invading your f**king world, finish the f**king fight. To my mom's exact words, 'lay them out with a f**king brick.'"

4. He became depressed over his financial issues and personal life

Depp says that after his divorce from Heard and his lawsuit, he became severly depressed. 

"I was as low as I believe I could have gotten,” he says. “The next step was, ‘You’re going to arrive somewhere with your eyes open and you’re going to leave with your eyes closed.’ I couldn’t take the pain every day.”

He says he then went on tour with his band, The Hollywood Vampires, and started writing a memoir on an old manual typewriter, like Thompson. 

“I poured myself a vodka in the morning and started writing until the tears filled my eyes and I couldn’t see the pages anymore,” he tearfully says. “I kept trying to figure out what I’d done to deserve this. I tried being kind to everyone, helping everyone, being truthful to everyone.” 

“The truth is most important to me," he adds. "And all this still happened.” 

5. He was extremely close to Tom Petty

Depp reveals he had a close friendship with the late Tom Petty, who died in January of an accidental drug overdose.

The actor says they used to frequently speak on the phone, and has clearly been hit hard by his death. 

“We’d call each other and ask, ‘Hey, you still smoking [nicotine]?’ Depp recalls. “Tom would go, ‘Yeah, I’m still smoking.’ And I’d feel better: ‘Well, if Tom is still smoking, I’m OK.’” 

“I loved him,” he continues after a pause, shedding tears.

Later, he also laments the deaths of Thompson and Marlon Brando, and the loneliness he now feels.

"Marlon and Hunter. I needed my guys," he says.

6. He supported Penelope Cruz while they filmed Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

Cruz reveals to the magazine she told Depp that she was pregnant right before shooting 2011's Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides and contemplated dropping out. She says Depp opposed. 

“He protected me every day, and by the end, I was six months pregnant,” Cruz says. “I’ll never forget that.” 

"I imagine Johnny doing a version of Jack Sparrow at 70, or 80,” Cruz also muses, referencing his iconic Pirates character. “It will be as charming and as great.”

7. He has plenty of thoughts on Harvey Weinstein

Depp recalls his interaction with the disgraced movie mogul, calling him an "a**hole" and a "bully" when he worked with him and director Jim Jarmusch on 1995's Dead Man. 

“Have you seen his wife? It’s not a wide range," he also comments. "It’s not like he went, ‘I must go to the Poconos to find some hairy-backed b***h.’”

Still, he recalls a more tender side to Weinstein, when he witnessed him picking up his daughter from school.

"The image that took my breath away was Harvey Weinstein, a goliath Shrek thing, bending down to put on his daughter's raincoat," he shares.

Earlier this month, some fans became concerned about Depp after photos of him in Russia were shared on social  media, in which they commented that he looked "thin." However, an insider told ET that Depp, who is currently on tour with The Hollywood Vampires, is doing fine.

“Johnny is healthy and is enjoying his time on the road with his band,” the source said.

ET spoke to Depp last May, when he gushed about his 19-year-old daughter, model Lily-Rose Depp. Watch below:

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