#cw: suicide / drinking / depression / IRL

[laughroditee]

🔴 "Your Ghost" | Part 3 - Three of Swords

Part 1 // Previous Part // A03 CW: this story takes place after Soap's death and contains supernatural elements, tarot, mentions of death and blood. this chapter contains SMUT, minor injury, foul language, grief, reference to alcohol abuse, reference to attempted self-waterboarding, implied attempted self-harm, depression, despair, survivor’s guilt, implied suicidal ideation (no details), consensual possession, unprotected piv sex (pls use protection irl), MMF threesome (sort of?), mildly dubious consent (I tried to lessen this as much as possible), angst, crying, angst/comfort, heartbreak, emotional sex, butchering of the Scottish language. Characters in this chapter: Evangeline Stephens (female OC), Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley Pairing: Simon Riley x Evangeline Stephens x Johnny MacTavish (as a ghost) Summary: What's a little consensual possession between friends? ...Well, that escalated quickly. Word Count: 5135 

18+ for smut. MDNI!

Mood music:

Simon’s eyes widened, and he dropped me like I burned him, my ass hitting the floor hard enough that I knew I would be dealing with the pain for a while.  He took several steps backward, staring at me in disbelief.

Shifting the weight off of my bruised bum, I whimpered, cursing under my breath.

”Ye alright, lass?”  Johnny knelt by me, ghost hands hovering around my arms as if he wanted to help me up.

“Yeah,” I said.  “Guess I won’t be sending anyone any butt pictures for a while.”

“If ye can make jokes, you’ll be just fine.”  Despite saying that, he still looked worried.  “He’s not usually like this, Evangeline, I promise ye.”

I nodded.  While I believed him, it didn’t make the situation easy to stomach.  “I get it, he’s grieving.  Or more like actively avoiding it,” I muttered.  My eyes flicked up to the man in question where he stood, still half naked and covered in scars, with that wild skull mask on his face, his eyes wide.

Johnny put his hand on my shoulder and spoke through me again.  Being used like a ventriloquist dummy felt slightly like vomiting, though marginally less unpleasant.  Still, compulsion felt very weird.  “Simon, this is Evangeline, my li’l American kinswoman.  Take care of ‘er, yeah?”  

Even though I could only see the skin around Simon’s eyes, it visibly paled.

Johnny was having too much fun to cede control of my vocals just yet, though.  “Och, yer lookin’ a wee bit peely wally, love.  Maybe ye should stop fuckin’ drownin’ yerself in drink, ya bawbag!”

“This is fuckin’ mad,” Simon said, sinking onto the sofa and staring at us.  Rather, at me specifically, since Johnny was a ghost and couldn’t be seen by anyone but me for whatever reason.  How lucky.  Simon reached up and pulled off his balaclava, revealing a dazed oval-shaped face peppered with scars and about three days' worth of stubble.  His short, sandy blonde hair went every which way on his head, fair lashes blinking absently over his dark, glassy eyes.  He looked like his world had just been turned upside down again, or maybe he was considering the possibility that he was losing his mind.  Both were valid thoughts, to be fair.

With Johnny’s hands on me, I could sense a mixture of emotions coming from him as he looked at his boyfriend, ranging from love and relief at seeing Simon’s face to worry at seeing how much the alcohol messed him up.  His emotional tone shifted back to “nag,” but before he could say anything else, I scooted away, breaking contact.

“STOP USING MY MOUTH WITHOUT MY PERMISSION TO YELL AT YOUR BOYFRIEND!”

Johnny had the nerve to roll his eyes.  “Fine, can I please borrow yer mouth to yell at my boyfriend?”

“No, it feels weird.  I'll do it for you.  Just tell me what you want to say.” He then proceeded to say a string of words that were definitely not English, and I wasn't sure I could even replicate the sounds by myself; I was never good with accents.  “You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?”

The bastard grinned. “Och, aye.  I just want a chance to use that pretty li’l mouth of yours again, hen.”

“That sounds all sorts of wrong.”

“Not wrong if everyone consents.”

“Johnny!”

“What?  At least make him tell you where he’s hidin’ his drink.  If he hasn’t pissed it all away already.”

“You are so bossy!  Was he always this bossy?”  I directed the question toward Simon, and the weird atmosphere made me forget to be afraid of him.  It was challenging to stay scared of him when he looked like a confused kid who just woke up from a nightmare.  Unfortunately for him, this nightmare was real.

“I prefer the term ‘persistent,’ lass,” Johnny said.

“Maybe we should work on getting Simon sober,” I suggested to Johnny as I pushed myself to my feet, wincing slightly.  Though I knew I’d be fine in the long run, it didn’t change the fact that I had been hauled into the air and then dropped on my ass like a sack of potatoes by a man more than a foot taller than me and probably ten times as strong.  To say I was mildly apprehensive about being here would be an understatement.  I approached the sofa warily, edging toward Simon slowly as if he were a wounded animal.  Which… the comparison wasn’t too far off.  “Can I get you some water, Simon?”

He just stared at me.

Alrighty then.  “Johnny?  Show me where the glasses are?”

“Copy that,” he said, leading the way through the kitchen and stopping before the designated cabinet.

Ignoring the feel of Simon's eyes on me, I moved through his kitchen to grab a glass.  “The floor is sticky,” I observed.  Small puddles of drying alcohol decorated the ground like forgotten watercolor paintings of amber hues.

“Had a spill,” Simon explained simply, raking a large hand over his face.

“Spill my arse,” Johnny spat.  “He was waterboarding himself.  Pouring bourbon over his fucking face with that bloody mask on.  Yer oot yer face ya twat!” he yelled at his boyfriend, though Simon couldn’t hear him.

Water filled the glass as I turned to Simon, my face horrified.  “You were waterboarding yourself?  With bourbon?”

Simon stared back at me with a suspicious, bewildered look, which may have been funny if not for the context.  The expression melted into a sullen frown; it was all I needed as confirmation.  He looked like he wanted to ask me how I knew.

“Johnny told me,” I explained without waiting for him to ask.  I came back and handed him the glass of water.  “Here.  Drink up.”

Accepting the glass numbly, Simon kept his eyes on me, examining me in a way that was downright uncomfortable for a person who doesn't like to be perceived.  I was relieved when he glanced around me, presumably trying to see his late lover.  “He’s talkin’ shite again, is he?”

I scoffed fondly.  “Isn’t he always?”

Simon grunted.

Johnny came to sit next to Simon on the sofa, leaving me to stand over them both.  “Make him drink it,” he murmured as he stared at his boyfriend.  I could feel the pain and yearning radiating off of him, and it was enough to make me turn away.

Simon was still staring at me when I looked at him again.

“He wants you to drink the water, Simon,” I said gently, gesturing to the glass in his hand.  

He dutifully drank the water, looking around the room again.  “Where…?”

“Where is he?”

Simon nodded.

“He’s next to you on the couch over here.”  I pointed to where Johnny sat beside a tartan pillow with a Scottish flag.  Johnny stared intently at him as if willing his boyfriend to be able to see him.

Simon’s eyes searched the seat, but with no hint of recognition, he didn’t know exactly where he was.

Covering his pain with a smirk, Johnny said, “Tell ‘im to stop starin’ at my cock.”

“I’d rather not tell him that, actually, thank you.”

Unfortunately, that got Simon’s attention.  “Tell me what?”

“Fucking Johnny…,” I sighed.

The mischief-maker laughed while Simon waited for me to deliver the message. 

“Fine, he said to ‘stop staring at his cock.’”

Two seconds passed before Simon let out a single, loud laugh, a startled smile on his face that said that, until this moment, he had been so sure he would never be able to smile again.  “He would say that, wouldn’t he?”  He looked back to the spot next to him with unbridled affection.  “Fuckin’ wanker.”

Johnny chuckled, the sound muted by an underlying melancholy.  It made me wish that I could do something more for him.  For both of them.  Of all the people to ask for help, Johnny had to get stuck with me.  I wondered if there were other blood ties he could have followed, maybe to a more skilled person than myself.  A love this strong had to go somewhere, right?

And then an idea took me.  It was a stupid idea, of course, and I didn't know if it would work, but the more I thought about it, the more I felt like it could be the only thing I could contribute.  Kneeling by where Johnny sat on the couch, I rested my elbow on the cushion with my hand up, almost like I was threatening to arm wrestle Simon. 

Johnny smirked.  “Afraid yer gonna be a wee bit disappointed with the results there, chum.”

I returned his smirk.  “No, I want to try something.  Put your hand here,” I told him, gesturing to my hand and wiggling my fingers.

Looking curious, Johnny obliged and played along, placing his hand on mine.  It passed right through, making him frown.

“Hmm, try thinking like you’re putting on a glove,” I suggested, not that I knew what I was doing.   

“Alright,” he said.  While Johnny concentrated a little more, I focused on opening up my hand metaphysically until I could feel his presence filling the space.  It was cold and alien — feeling someone else’s spirit inside me — and I shivered.

Pushing the physical sensation aside, I reached my other hand out to Simon.  “Your turn.”

His wary gaze had a calculating edge, which I was beginning to understand was Simon’s default mode, at least around strangers. 

“Take my hand.  I just want to try something.”  When he didn’t move, I added, “Johnny’s cooperating with me.”  I may or may not have sounded mildly tart when I said it.

Callused skin engulfed mine as Simon smothered my hand with his, and I brought it to the hand Johnny was occupying.  Next to me, Johnny’s breath caught in his throat.

“I can feel that,” he whispered, and all at once, I was filled with an overwhelming maelstrom of his emotions.  The pain of loss, the guilt over dying, the sheer yearning for life and love pouring out of him caused me to pull back, gasping, and I pushed Johnny’s spirit out of me.

Both men looked at me as I tried to catch my breath, my eyes blinking away tears.  “S-sorry…. That was a little overwhelming.”  But, my God, to be loved that much.  To be loved the way these two love each other, I could only hope to be that lucky one day.

“Ye alright?”

“What happened?”  They spoke at once, waiting for me to answer.  

“I’m alright,” I told Johnny.  Taking a deep breath, I turned to Simon and said, “I had Johnny try to possess my hand.” At his eyebrow raise, I rushed to say, “It worked though!”  Shifting so that I was sitting instead of kneeling, I leaned forward toward Simon.  “He felt you, Simon.  Johnny could feel you through my hand.”  I waited for that to sink in, watching the emotions pass through his eyes like a kaleidoscope until he had to look away.  “With his spirit touching mine, I could feel everything that Johnny felt, emotionally speaking.”  Glancing at Johnny showed me that he wasn’t surprised.  Maybe it was a two-way connection.  “Everything kind of bled together, and it was a lot all at once, so I pushed him out.”

Johnny and I watched Simon process the information. His eyes stared down at the empty hand that previously held mine, balling it into a fist and opening it again.

“Can I…?” he asked hesitantly, pointedly not looking at me.

“Can we try again?” Johnny asked, knowing what his boyfriend wanted.

“We can try again if you want.  Johnny wants to try again,” I tell Simon.

“He does?” Simon asked, finally looking at me, his eyes flicking to the empty couch cushion where he knew his boyfriend’s spirit was.

I was about to answer when Johnny asked, “And what do you want, Evangeline?” 

I looked back at him in surprise.  “What do I want?” I repeated for Simon’s sake.  “I just want to help.”

“Why?”  Simon’s low voice was guarded but curious.  “It’s hardly your business, is it?”

“You’re right, it’s not.”  I met his examining gaze with an open one of my own.  “I’m a stranger here.  I don’t know either of you or what you were like together.”  The memory of Johnny’s emotions was so fresh inside me that the thought brought a fresh wave of feeling.  “I just know that if I loved someone the way Johnny loves you… I would want to be able to tell them.  I would want that chance to say goodbye.”  My voice broke on the last word as I looked into Simon’s eyes.  “Wouldn’t you want that?”

He frowned bitterly.  “You can’t save people from their pain.”

“No, I can’t.  But maybe I can help them to face it instead of trying to drown it out with alcohol.”

Johnny blew out a long whistle next to me, but my eyes were still focused on Simon. We stared at each other, locked in a war of grimaces, our brows drawn down tight.  “Alright, ya numpties, set’le down,” he said.

That broke the staring contest.  I blinked.  “What the hell is a ‘numpty?’”

“He’s calling us idiots,” Simon informed me.

“Ah, fair.  So, are we going for round two?  We can go bigger this time.”

“Bigger?  Are ye sure ye want to do this, lass?” Johnny asked with a hint of concern.

“Yeah, I'm sure.  Go big or go home, right?  It's really the only thing I can do for you, and I want to do it.”

He smiled at that.  “Did I ever tell ye yer an angel Evangeline?”

“I’m definitely not an angel, Johnny,” I laughed awkwardly, but the sentiment warmed my heart.

Standing up, I took a deep breath.  “I'm ready, Johnny.  All aboard, let’s go.”  Holding my arms out in welcome, he got off the couch and stepped into my body, overlapping me as I stood there.  It didn’t happen right away.  Johnny was much bigger than me in life, so he had to concentrate on inhabiting a smaller space, filling my physical body as if filling up a glass or a glove and squishing in all of the extra.  Luckily, spirits are flexible and can fill any space if they put their minds to it.  

As I’d done earlier, I concentrated on relaxing and opening up my energetic walls, accepting his presence into me.  But let me just say that it was fucking weird.  Alternating waves of heat and chills rolled through my body as he settled inside me, my limbs jerking and twitching occasionally in a manner that probably looked like I needed an exorcist.  Not now, but maybe later.

And I could feel him, the essence of who and what he was.  Every emotion and emotional memory that passed through Johnny also passed through me; his warm, strong energy made me feel steady and safe.  He feels just like love.  And it was bittersweet.

“Well, isn’t she a wee bonnie thing?” Johnny said as he looked down at my body, moving my arms about, sliding my hands over my hips.  “Told you I’d lose my dick on the battlefield one day, LT,” his laugh made our blue eyes twinkle as we looked up at Simon, whose gaze was complicated.

Johnny and I both could read Simon’s confusion at seeing us this way, and our smile faded.  I didn’t know what I looked like with Johnny’s facial mannerisms showing through on my face — the particular way your eyebrows moved, your lips curled when you smirked, and your eyes squinted when you laughed or smiled.  From Simon’s pained expression, he clearly saw all this on my face.  That, through me, he could see Johnny.

“Ye see me, don’t you, love?” Johnny asked for confirmation as if he could read my thoughts.  Maybe he could.

“I see you,” Simon said quietly, his hands squeezing reflexively at his sides.  “I see you, Johnny.”

We smiled softly, relief flooding our system.  Every emotion was enhanced twofold with the two of us fully in here, and it was a challenge to keep from being overwhelmed and losing myself completely.  Johnny was aching with need, making my fingers itch to touch Simon, to feel his skin on mine — on ours.  I had to take a few cleansing breaths to separate his thoughts and compulsions from mine.  Possession is weird.  

And yet, he didn’t make a move; I could tell that Johnny wanted to give Simon time to adjust.  There was some kind of feeling �� something that’s difficult to put into words — almost like trying to coax an abused animal with food and love but accepting that it will come on its own terms.  You leave the door open and wait for them to approach because you don’t want to scare them away.  That was the feeling I got as Simon looked down at us.  Conflict was written all over his face as he lifted his hand near our head, wanting to touch but afraid to.

“It’s alright, love, it’s just me,” Johnny said softly.  “There’s no rush.”

But I knew he was lying.  In the back of our shared consciousness lurked the oppressive shadow of time, and it was only running out. There was only this moment, and never again, not for Johnny, and my heart clenched in my chest.

Something passed through Simon’s eyes, and I wondered if he could pick up on his boyfriend’s bluff because his control slipped.  He trailed his fingers down our cheek to our jaw, tipping our head up and cupping our face like we were something precious.  “Johnny,” he whispered.  “It’s really you.”

We smirked at him, covering his hands with our own.  “Don’t go cryin’ on me now, LT,” Johnny said.

“It should have been me.”

I could feel Johnny’s anguish at hearing Simon’s tormented thoughts out loud, and our brows drew down.  “You hush yerself now, love.  There is no ‘should,’ there’s only what is.  Can’t go back and change anything.  Ye’ll have to keep moving forward.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Johnny insisted, and our hearts broke all together.

Simon shook his head.

“Ye have to.  I want ye to.”  We reached a hand up to his face, the stubble grating at our fingertips as we caressed his cheek.  “Let me be selfish, love.  I want ye to live.”

I could sense Simon's conflicting emotions as we stayed in skin contact.  Wanting to honor your lover’s last wishes while being condemned to what felt like a literal life sentence in the process was no easy thing to stomach.  He looked down at us with such a pained expression that it was difficult to look at him, but Johnny was far braver than I and wouldn’t look away.

“It’s because I love ye, Simon.  And I know ye can take it.”  He knows he can take the pain of existence without him, which is what he meant.  “Ye can move past it.”  Johnny's emotions roiled inside me, his yearning and desperation building to a breaking point. So much love. So much it was almost blinding.  

“Kiss me like yer missin’ me,” Johnny said suddenly, voice low and demanding, hands trailing down Simon's chest.

Simon’s pupils blew wide, and he responded to the demand with a “Fuckin’ hell” before his mouth came crashing down on ours, his large hands pulling our face close, his lips moving with bruising insistence against ours.  Johnny growled into the kiss at the same time that I gasped, and Simon took advantage of our open mouth by invading it with his tongue, desperate to taste every last inch of us.

As the kiss deepened, it felt like he wanted to devour us.  Simon became more frantic, his movements rougher, more urgent.  His hands roamed over our body, exploring every curve as if he was trying to savor the feel of us.  His hands slid down our hips and pulled us against his body, and — oh my god, he’s hard.

That was the exact moment that the careful hold on my metaphysical shields separating me from Johnny — tentative and unskilled though they were — shattered, and Johnny and I dissolved into one another, becoming a mass of hungry hands and mouths, desires and libido.  We pulled at Simon, and, without even breaking the kiss, he lifted us into his arms, our legs wrapping around his waist automatically as his hands went to our ass, squeezing the soft flesh roughly.  He inadvertently squeezed the bruise on our butt from earlier, and we hissed into the kiss, biting his bottom lip.

The responding growl that came out of Simon’s throat gave us chills.  Something low in our belly clenched, and we were instantly wet.  Backing us up against a wall, he kept us pinned with his body between our legs as he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down our neck, grazing our flesh with his teeth.  

We hummed as a shiver passed through us, and our greedy hands snaked under his shirt, sliding up his sides, relishing the feel of every inch: skin, muscles, and scars indiscriminately.  Simon pulled back from the kiss to tear his shirt off, tossing it aside before giving our shirt the same treatment.  His tongue traced the length of our collarbone before sucking the skin there, the pinpricks of pain telling us that there would be marks left behind, and we were satisfied by this.  Maybe he could make us a lovely little necklace of cherry bruises to remember this day.

The air was chill without our shirt on, and Johnny’s momentary amusement at having breasts was drowned out as Simon squeezed one of them, and we moaned, “Oh, fuck.”  We felt his lips quirk up against our skin in a smile, and then he rolled his hips against us, and we saw stars.  “Bed!” we gasped, and we didn’t need to say it twice.  Still holding onto us, Simon carried us down the hall, and we could feel his heart pounding against us.  “Tha gaol agam ort, bidh mi an-còmhnaidh. Gu bràth agus gu bràth,” we breathed against his ear, and his shoulders trembled.  I love you, I always will. Forever and always.

As he laid us down on the bed, Simon seemed to register for a moment that this was not the body he knew before, but he pressed on in curious reverence, dragging our jeans off of our legs and discarding them onto the floor.

“Let us have it, LT,” Johnny said, our voice thick with desire as we unclasped our bra and threw it somewhere in the room, spilling our naked breasts to his gaze.  “I want ye to fuck us like yer life depends on it.”  

Simon’s breath caught in his throat at our words, eyes darkening as he looked down at us splayed on the bed, hands fumbling with his belt, not moving fast enough.  He shed his pants, his cock straining against his boxers, and came to cover our body with his own.  We basked in the warmth of his skin, the prickly sensation of his chest hairs on our breasts, the satisfying weight of him as he pressed us into the mattress.  Capturing our lips again, he fed at our mouth as if it would keep him alive.  We could feel his erection pressing against our thigh, hard and insistent as he ground against us, and we purred, running our hands up his broad back.

"I’ve been missin’ you, love," he whispered hoarsely, his hands roaming over our body as he kissed us again.  His hands were everywhere — running through our hair, exploring every inch of our body. We could feel his desperation, his need for us overwhelming him, and it was a heady mix of emotions that left us breathless.  

“I know, LT,” we said, “but I’m here with ye now.”  And now was all that mattered.

Simon ran his hand lightly over the front of our panties and paused, looking at us with a questioning gaze, unable to keep the longing out of his eyes.

“Please,” we whispered as we looked up at him.  Just one last time.  Though that part remained unsaid, Simon heard it in our voice.

He hooked his thumbs into our panties, dragging them down our legs slowly, his hands trembling slightly with emotion.  Trailing a finger up our slit, he watched our face as we sighed, and he gathered the wetness there before kissing us again.  Running his tongue along our bottom lip, we opened for him, and he plundered our mouth at the same time that he plunged a finger into our pussy, making us gasp.

We moaned into his mouth as he added a second finger and started to pump them in time with our heartbeat.  Threading our fingers through his short hair, he hummed against our neck, feeling our pulse jump against his tongue as he added a third finger, preparing us to take his cock.

Our body was on fire.  We squirmed beneath him, mewling as his fingers fucked into us, consumed by the intensity of it all.  But it wasn’t what we needed.  “Simon, please,” we gasped, unable to find the words to finish our sentence.

But he knew, just like always.  Withdrawing his fingers, he spread our wetness over our folds and stripped off his underwear, settling between our legs.  Because of the size difference, we found ourselves on our sides, his body curled around us slightly, our leg draped over his hip.  He dragged the tip of his dick up our slit, coating it with our wetness before pushing forward slowly, watching our face as we took him into our slickened cunt.  

Our body stretched wide around him, and we whimpered, our fingernails making half-moons on his tattooed forearm.  He paused, gathering us close to kiss our hair and whisper sweet words into our ear until we finally relaxed enough to take more of him.  And we took every fucking inch.  Once his cock was buried inside of us, he closed his eyes, and we stayed like that for a moment.  We felt impossibly full, not just physically, but our heart felt like it would burst.  He opened his eyes, and we knew from the raw emotion on his face that he felt it, too.  So much love.  

Digging his fingers into the plush of our hip to steady us, he drew back, his shaft sliding out slightly before snapping his hips and thrusting it back in, finding a slow, firm rhythm that had us moaning as we tried — and failed — not to melt.

“Sweet bloody Jesus, LT,” we said, looping our arms around his neck.

“Praying again, Johnny?” Simon murmured, a small smile touching his lips.

“Someone has to, ye bastart.”

He kissed us, increasing his pace, fucking into us harder.  Reaching down between us, he drew circles around our clit with a gentle insistence that had our toes curling.  “Come for me, love,” he said in a low rumble that did things to us, and we could feel our pleasure building, coiling like a spring deep within us.

With every thrust, we thought, I want to stay. I want to stay. I want to stay.  But we knew we couldn't.  So we let him drink us in through his skin, and we left our imprint there, another scar among many.  It hurt to feel this good, and we closed our eyes.  We wanted him, wanted to keep him forever, but we don’t have that.  It's not fair.  He was ours, and now he has to face this alone.  We didn't want to leave him.  

“Look at me,” Simon commanded softly.  “Let me see you.”

Our eyelids fluttered open again.  One look into the dark pools of his eyes, and we were drowning, and this great and terrible love broke us, and we were undone.  The orgasm that coiled deep in our belly ripped through us, and we cried out as our pussy tightened around him.  He groaned, the sound vibrating against us as he plunged his cock deep inside one final time before spilling himself into us.

We panted together, our breaths mingling as he rested his sweaty forehead against ours and finally closed his eyes.  As our heartbeats slowed, we looked up at him, a bittersweet expression on our face.

“I love ye, Simon Riley,” Johnny said softly.  We gently caressed his face with our hands. “Always will.  Don't be an arse, and take care of yerself.  Stay alive.  I'll see ye again in the end.”  

“Johnny,” Simon said as his eyes shot open, a flash of panic moving through them as he pulled his face back.  He knew it was time to say goodbye.  “Johnny,” he said again.  I could tell he wanted to say don’t go, but you can’t stop death; Simon knew that better than anyone.  “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking as he smoothed the hair out of our face.

Johnny looked up at him through my eyes and kissed him with everything he had left. When Simon pulled back, my connection with Johnny had been severed, leaving only me behind.  

I cried out in sudden pain, the psychic wound in my soul raging and raw, feeling the empty void where Johnny had been so loud and strong only seconds before.  Tears filled my eyes and poured down my cheeks as if they would never stop.

“What is it?” Simon asked with alarm, freezing above me.

“He’s gone!” I wailed, and it was like I was split open by grief, feeling Johnny’s loss so strongly despite never knowing him in life.  Being deprived of his presence, his essence, his warmth inside me left me bereft in a way I didn’t even think was possible, and I was powerless against this onslaught of feelings.  How could I feel like this when Simon, who knew and loved Johnny, was here with the pain of time and experience?

Simon stared down at my face, his expression contorted by the anguish of this second loss.  I could feel his pain like a second skin, its heavy weight oppressive and harsh.  Tears filled his eyes, and he buried his face in the crook of my neck, his arms coming tighter around me, and we wept together, trying to coax comfort out of each other as the world broke apart around us.

Only then did I realize that the final card in my initial reading, the Three of Swords, represented the three of us sharing our grief with hearts still freshly broken—three people, one heart, and a love that bleeds.

[dethberri]

so, yesterday, while at work, i noticed that i missed a call.  i thought it was weird that the same number was calling again so, i picked up.  turned out to be one of my best friends i’d met on tumblr.  i hadn't heard from them in a while, even though i kept leaving them messages.  they told me they'd attempted two days back and that they’ve been admitted into a behavioral healthcare clinic.  i was floored, and after losing an irl friend to their sadness earlier this year, i was also fucking pissed.  i wanted to lecture the absolute hell out of them, but i didn’t.  i was angry because i was afraid, because i understood.

please, if you’re ever feeling despondent and like there’s no hope, find someone.  irl or not, find someone.  msg someone.  msg me.  i might not update for days at a time, but i’m always logged in.  i see all the notifs i receive.  if you're ever hitting the deep bottom of misery at full speed, i’m more than willing to set things aside, especially if you seriously don’t know who else to turn to.  and if im working — i’m not an employee who bullshits at work.  if i say something’s come up, my bosses will understand.  you’re not troubling or bothering by reaching out, you’re just being human.  we are inherently social creatures.  our brains evolved to ensure our survival, and they operate best when we interact and connect with others.  social exchanges stimulate endorphins, shit that literally makes us happy.  so, to those who have my cell, i'm a call or text away.  my discord is available, too.  inbox is always open, as well as my IMs.

again, know that i'm here to talk or distract or do whatever the hell you want.  if you wanna cope by rping, ooc-chatting, whatever, sure, i can do that.  just.  don't do stupid, impulsive shit.  don't even think about putting yourself in possible danger because you’ve gone and assumed that no one will care or miss you if you do it.  there’s always gonna be someone out there who cares, i can fuckin’ guarantee you that.