#guiding like a lighthouse

[butt-puncher]

Still a wip but I wanted to post a spooky nico summoning spirits from their watery grave for halloween 👻

Edit:

Heres a close up :) 🦋

[bonepointlight]

roddacember day 1: character, and day 2: place. of course I had to choose verity, and the bone point light

[kraviolis]

i think camila noceda is one of those people who makes such an impact on people's lives that she ends up with a massive group of people who would all do absolutely anything for her & her family but she doesnt ever like. realize it until she actually asks for help and a hundred hands reach out to pull her back to her feet.

[timesnewfishcat]

sometimes you get trapped in the middle of the continent with no large body of water but you set up a lighthouse anyways

[thecherrygod]

currently thinking about lighthouse keeper hdb and ship captain kim kitsuragi................

like.. look. hes in the lighthouse. alone. only company his skills and some alcohol to also keep himself warm in the winter. most interactions he has are the people that he gets stuff for his own survival. dora's been out of the picture for a looooooong time now, he wasnt around often, the pay isnt relayable, and every time she met him he was worse, so she left. all he has is himself, and the lighthouse.

there are times in which the light will reflect on the fog in the ocean, and he will see her in there, as if she was a guardian angel with long blonde hair who would take any ship coming nearby into her hands as toy boats, and she could decide if theyd make it to safety, or if shed just drown it on a whim. all he can do is manifest her with the lights, but her actions are her own.

and then theres kim, the diligent captain of a ship that has all the love in his heart, something he can use to move through fog and pale alike without losing himself to his surroundings, always ready to make sure him and as many as his men survive what the sea has to offer them, but he knows its dangerous, all of them do, everyone is ready to lose their lives if it comes to it. storms and tides and an inavility to see through the weather, they are all ready to manouver the ship or die trying.

thankfully at the worst times, theres always a helping hand, a guiding light helping him move in the right direction, making sure hes able to keep them as safe as possible even through the worst storms and the densest of fogs hes ever seen.

[torchickentacos]

I never do this, but reblogs were off and I want to shout this at everyone. stealing this post.

more thoughts under read more. I know it's a popular saying and I never look down on people who say things like this before knowing the impact they have (or even after to an extent, I have too much benefit of the doubt to go around), as we all have things we say and do that have negative impacts, and sometimes you never know to change that until someone points it out. So this is NOT a call out post or whatever, this is my rambling emotional thoughts on a topic.

I think first and foremost, I'm bothered by the ableism of course. But secondary to that is my annoyance at seeing people act high and mighty about fandom discourse. Like, if you want to talk to adults with jobs, go to linkedin or something, not tumblr, where we do care about things, and where we do discuss things.

And I GET thinking some discourse is stupid. I DO! because guess what. some discourse is stupid skjfhsdjkjfhsdjfhkdjs. I've joked about the poke/amour stuff before. I'll clown on some things, and maybe that makes me a hypocrite, but I feel like a step is taken when you take it from 'making fun of the discourse', something we all do to an extent (which dare I say is a form of participating in it) to 'making fun of the people who engage in such discourse'. We are FREE to talk about how silly the voltron stuff was. We are FREE to be snarky about things because human nature is to be a bit of a hater sometimes. but do it in a way that jabs at the topic and not the people.

But I think a lot of it also hinges on how we see human value on a larger scale. People make fun of people who work retail, people who don't have jobs, people whose jobs are considered extra or undesirable like sex workers, et cetera, despite these jobs being IMPORTANT. It's disheartening to me to see people lean on these types of jabs, and I think it tends to paint human value as something purely based on what you can give out to the world. It leans on this sort of input-output based system of determining how valuable or worthy someone is. And if they don't meet that standard value of 'adult with job', then their opinions are moot as jobless losers in their mom's basements or whatever the fuck. I think the whole thing leans into the conservative 'special snowflake' attitude, which isn't something I think we should be leaning on in arguments or discussion.

And I think that the intent is usually not to be ableist. Most people don't start their day wondering how they can insult disabled people, I'd hope. But intent and impact are often detached, and good intent (avoiding discourse) can have a bad impact (making fun of people in the name of pointing out issues with disocurse). I also think race could be a component, given how racial discrimination in hiring is still a very real thing and is a real factor preventing people from getting 'GoOd ReAl JoBs', but I'll leave that side of the discussion to someone who is more qualified to talk on it than I am. Feel free to chime in with any insight on that side of the coin if you want!!! I imagine the same also goes for visibly queer people but I'm not going to get into the straight/cis passing stuff right now.

And maybe I'm looking too far into it. Maybe I'm just thinking about it too much, maybe it's just a funny little saying that TOTALLY doesn't affect actual people in any way. After all, I'm just some jobless disabled loser in my parent's house talking about discourse on tumblr, aren't I?

[owlyjules]

Wisptober Day 17: Waiting

“On a weathered cliff overlooking the tempestuous sea, a monumental feminine figure stands vigil over dangerous shores.  She raises a flickering lantern above her head to cut through the darkness and guide returning ships safe to harbour.  

Local legend insists that she is an aggregation of all the sweethearts and wives still waiting for their beloved to come home.”

My idea was like " What if a ghost was a lighthouse!":D One day behind now but hopefully I can catch up this weekend!

[lonlonranching]

i’m thinking about Lake superior…… seeing that shit was literally crazy

[rhiaghostriley]

Okay, hear me out.

What if actually, Simon has only had a few girlfriends in his life, so caught up in his job he doesn't have time to hang out ?

What if Simon doesn't like one-night-stands, not comfortable enough to go to people he doesn't know ?

What if Simon is the man of one woman ? When he loves you, it's for life, through bad and ugly, because he is devoted and loyal. When he loves you, he only has eyes for you. Never would he look at another woman, because you fill his heart so completely that his brain is shut down and his eyes focused on your beauty. YOU are beautiful, YOU are the light of his life, it's YOUR smile that makes his breath catch and his heart skip a beat, so what's the matter of looking at what doesn't count ?

What if, despite all that, Simon is still emotionally immature, due to his lack of experience with relationships, but you teach him ?

You don't get mad or upset because you know he has the emotional baggage of a six years old, and in fact you love him for that. So you call him out, gently, when he overreacts, when he messes up.

What if actually, Simon is not a monster impossible to tame, but just a man love starved who needs to be guided, and as his lighthouse you and your love are the perfect tools for that ?

Even if people look at you, speechless and dumfounded, when they see you put your hands on his cheeks to catch his eyes, and Simon relax immediately to your touch, mumbling "Sorry, love" when he goes too far, but that's only because he loves you and wants the best for you.

Even if they don’t understand that what they see, the mask covering the face you love so much, the mountain of a man following you everywhere, hostile aura seeping through his eyes, when someone gets too close to you, but it's his way of loving you. Protecting you, making sure you're safe and sound at all times, because if you were not it would break him. He can't lose you, he told you, he'll love you forever.

What if Simon actually wore his heart on his sleeve, but just never learned how to love ?

[ringmaster-morningstar]

@brokendreamscreation

Yannis Ritsos, trans. by Kimon Friar, from a poem featured in "Erotica: Love Poems,"

[plutonianeris]

Asteroid Sirene (1009)

so now that shes gone you can embrace whats to come and die with a smile…

The Siren’s Face

In the first house, Sirene gives you a magnetic presence. Your very being becomes a song, calling others to you with an irresistible charm. People are drawn to you, captivated by your beauty and mystery. They want to be close, but you remain just out of reach, like the sea's horizon.

The Song of Desire

In the second house, Sirene's power weaves into what you own and value.You're drawn to beauty and luxury, and others are drawn to you because of your refined taste. You have a way of making people crave what you have, as though your possessions and sense of worth are enchanted by a siren's song.

The Seductive Whisper

With Sirene in the third house, your words have a magical pull. You speak, and people listen, hypnotized by the way you turn ordinary conversations into something almost poetic. There’s something in your voice, something mysterious, that keeps people coming back for more, even if they don’t understand why.

The Lure of Home

In the fourth house, Sirene sings through your home and roots. Your family life holds a deep, secret charm, like an old story whispered over and over. People feel comforted and enchanted in your presence, as though you carry with you the echo of a forgotten dream, a place they long to return to but can’t quite remember.

The Seduction of Joy

In the fifth house, your creativity and joy have a captivating glow. Every time you create something, be it art, romance, or laughter, it draws people in like a siren’s call. Your playful spirit is irresistible, making you the center of attention. Love and pleasure surround you like waves, leaving others enchanted in your wake.

The Enchantment of Work

In the sixth house, Sirene works her magic through your daily tasks. You bring a special allure even to the simplest routines, making them seem almost magical. People are drawn to how you handle things with such grace. But be careful—this placement can make you give too much of yourself, as if you’re constantly pouring your energy into the service of others, always leaving them wanting more.

The Siren’s Reflection

In the seventh house, your relationships are drenched in Sirene’s charm. Partners are mesmerized by your mysterious allure. They see in you something almost otherworldly, and though they try to hold onto you, you remain elusive, a dream they can never fully grasp. Love becomes a delicate dance of desire, with you always just out of reach, tempting them to come closer.

The Deep Seduction

In the eighth house, Sirene pulls you into life’s hidden depths—sex, secrets, and transformation. There’s a dark, alluring energy around you that others feel drawn to but may not fully understand. You captivate with your power to explore what others fear. Like the deep ocean, you are full of hidden treasures and mysteries, luring others to dive deeper, even if it terrifies them.

The Call of the Horizon

In the ninth house, Sirene calls you to explore distant places and ideas. Your curiosity about the world is like a siren’s song, pulling you toward the unknown. Others see in you a seeker, someone chasing dreams and wisdom far beyond the everyday. Your passion for adventure and truth enchants those who long for a life of freedom and exploration.

The Allure of Success

With Sirene in the tenth house, your career and reputation carry an undeniable allure. You become a figure that others admire from afar, like a lighthouse guiding ships in the night. Your ambitions have a seductive pull, and people are drawn to your vision of success. But, just like the sea, your achievements always seem to hold a little more mystery than meets the eye.

The Siren of Dreams

In the eleventh house, Sirene’s charm fills your friendships and dreams for the future. You stand out in social groups as someone with a captivating vision of a better world. People are drawn to your ideals, sensing that you hold the key to something extraordinary. Yet, your dreams are always just out of reach, as elusive and beautiful as a distant star.

The Ocean of Mysteries

In the twelfth house, Sirene whispers in your soul, pulling you toward the unknown. You are a dreamer, constantly moving between the world of reality and the realm of mystery. People are drawn to your deep, spiritual energy, sensing that you know secrets they’ve long forgotten. You are like the ocean itself—endless, deep, and always calling them to dive in, even if they don’t know where it will take them.

[artytaeh]

I literally beg of you write mattheo with mother issues, calling reader mommy when he’s being all cuddly 🙏🏻

listen, mattheo riddle would sprint to the black lake and willingly drown himself in the cold water if someone was to ever, ever know about this, but—

merlin, mattheo really has difficult days sometimes. a bad day is one thing, but when school's stupid assignments accumulate with other frustrations, such as a fistfight, some stupid comment or a quidditch practice that doesn't go as mattheo would like...

fucking hell. mattheo doesn't even have the strength to beat something up to discharge the frustration inside of him.

the thing is, days like these transform the initial sense of anger to frustration, that slowly becomes sadness. melancholy even, if you will.

do things have to be so difficult to him? at times like these, mattheo doesn't know what to do. after all, he didn't have a supportive father, much less a caring mother to cuddle his heavy feelings away.

so he goes to you.

mattheo moves on autopilot, pacing around the halls, heavy steps as he does a beeline to your bedroom. he lacks some education, you see, because it's so rare for him to knock.

when he's like this, mattheo does worse than just open the door. he barges inside, demanding as he holds back those powerful feelings gnawing his heart.

it doesn't take a long time for mattheo to embrace your waist, manhandling you into the position he needs: his head resting on your soft chest, arms around your torso, laying on top of you.

yes, mattheo will nuzzle closer and close his eyes, drowning in the comfort of you; your warmth, your scent, the comfort and safe space you provide him. huh, for someone who lived this long without it, mattheo quickly becomes addicted, and used to this feeling.

... no, he won't say a thing about it. just let him nap a bit while you play with his curly hair; please and thank you very much.

this might be one of the only times you'll hear this man whine. if you dare to go away, nevermind if the dorm is literally on fire— mattheo glares and frowns at you, lacking any bite, only a silent plead for you to stay.

sometimes, if the frustration is still bubbling inside him, things might become... sexual. intimate, even.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

the smooth and comfortable skin of your thighs serves as the most marvelous pillow for mattheo, offering him a half laying, half sitting position as he cuddles close to you.

for the life of him, this is an unspoken secret between you and him.

how would his best mates, hell, how would the entire school react if they knew how fast mattheo riddle, the supposedly tough and dominant slytherin, comes so fast like this?

mattheo hums and moans lowly, his lips curled around your nipple, sucking at the soft skin of your breast. his arm embraces your body, keeping you close— the other hand cups your other breast, much more gentle than the hungry, insatiable way that he makes you moan, his lips making your chest so, so sensitive.

that calloused hand of his squeezes your other breast, however, each time your hand tightens around his aching length— mattheo can't help but become a bit rougher as well.

fuck, mattheo can't think. he can't think, he won't be able to form one single thought at all.

so you guide him.

your voice is like the light of a lighthouse, guiding him through the darkness and intensity of the sea. mattheo swears that your voice never sounded this good, sultry and pleasant to his ears.

the moans he lets out from how your hand pumps at his length are sinful. do you have to be so cruel? no, you're being kind— taking care of him so, so well. your hand moves torturously, up and down, feeling how he throbs around those fingers that make his hips buck.

please praise him for doing so well. for once, mattheo doesn't complain or feels the need to be stubborn— do you want him to look at you? he will. is he supposed to lick or suck? he'll leave hickeys marking his territory, but please praise him. he's doing so good for you.

🗯️ : what do you say when i'm being so good to you? hm?

m : thank you. fuck, thank you so much, please don't stop. thank you, thank you...

the roles are usually reversed; mattheo is the one to dirty talk more during your intimate moments, to tease and provoke you— however, there's some strange kind of comfort and even relaxation during these occurrences, when mattheo riddle lets someone else take care of him, instead of being the one in charge all. the. time.

do not mention this to anyone either; mattheo will deny it with his life. five minutes later, as soon as you're alone, he'll give you a look that silently begs you to ignore him.

mattheo is a pda man. nevermind if you're in the privacy of your dorms, or in a crowded hallway; he likes to be touching you, with one arm wrapped around your shoulders or waist, at least holding hands.

during these times, however, mattheo becomes clingy. unbearably so; he'll hug you close, nuzzle closer, trying to have you as close as possible.

and the thing is, the word almost left his lips, once that he had been way too distracted to hold his tongue.

m : fuck, mm—

🗯️ : hm? what was that, love?

m : ... nothing, nothing. nevermind, and not a word about this.

if mattheo riddle already was embarrassed about breaking his tough guy demeanor, well, it would be a cold day in hell before anyone finds out that he almost called you mommy, this one time.

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— i'm so sorry for taking so long with this drabble </3 i've been doing really slow with my rq; i'm having a really hard week :( but i'm (slowly...) working on all of them! 🗯️

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[writer-logbook]

How to get back into writing: a 5-steps guide

As someone who hasn't written anything in a decade, this is what I did to get back into writing seriously.

Identify which archetype of writer fits me better. You may have heard George R.R. Martin saying there are two types of writers: gardeners and architects. Whether you believe in that statement or not isn't relevant per se, but the actual meaning behind that point is that you need to get to know yourself as a writer, how you work, what you need, etc., so you can adapt your environment to achieve your goals. Speaking of which…Gentle reminder : you're a person not a robot. You are allowed to work the way you want to, and not to follow whatever pieces of advice that are linked to these archetypes.

Set a realistic word count/session I can stick to over the long term. When you're a 9-6 office employee, it's not always easy to find time to write and sometime our day at work got the very best of us. Having that in mind, I set my word count up to 200-500 words per session or 1 chapter per week (they're rather small in my case). Gentle reminder : babysteps are better than no-step at all.

If I'm not writing, fine, I'll do some research or anything else. Your story will always require something from you. When I'm not in the mood for writing, there are two options : forcing myself or doing what I call para-writing. For instance it's : reading articles or books about improving my writing style, improving my worldbuilding, drawing a map of my city etc. This are not things that would appear in the novel but it would guide me throughout the process the way a walking-stick would do for an injured man. Gentle reminder : you always find something useful to do but at the end of the day, you still have to write.

Have a general idea of what I want to tell. I won't lie, I've plotted my entire novel from the very beginning to the very end, which means I know exactly what to write and when. If you're against having a defined plot, I'm no one to judge, but having at least the key events or the major points will definitely help you. Like a lighthouse, it will help you navigate through the mists of confusion or hesitation. Gentle reminder : It's better to know where to go even if you end up losing yourself along the journey. Having the map doesn't mean you have to follow it, but rather when you can allow yourself to take a step to the side.

Write something I enjoy. A bit cliché I admit, but it's the best advice I could give. You'll spend hours, days, weeks - even years !- on that story so better buckle up to something you really want to write. Otherwise the risk is to abandon that hard-work you've done halfway through the process. No one needs that frustration and that self-doubting questionnings. No one. Not you. Not even me. Gentle reminder : it's okay to want readers and reviews but I promise you, your writing will be really different on something you trully want to share...Remember how pissful it was to write an essay for class you didn't want to ?

[icaruspendragon]

was telling my therapist about how i've always used books, fanfic, and storytelling as escapism but now instead of me consuming stories, stories consume me. dalton gave me The Look (the one that means he's gonna say something i need to hear but don't want to) before asking, "you know that snake that eats itself?" to which i said, "yeah, ouroboros." and he replied, "i didn't know he had a name, that's cool. anyway, you're the snake. i know you've convinced yourself the consumption is filling, but it's not. when it's you you’re eating, it's destruction."

like yeah i know that’s not what the snake represents and ex-cowboy-turned-combat-vet-turned-trauma specialist dalton probably does not know the exact symbolism behind it but like. jesus christ man did that to lay me to waste at 10:30 on a wednesday morning.

and even though he hurt my feelings with the truth, it did put it into perspective for me.

it’s not levity’s lighthouse guiding me to port when depression’s darkness and anxiety’s turbulent waves make it difficult for me to sail smoothly on my voyage.

it’s not a way to alleviate my symptoms, it’s a manifestation of them.

it’s a compulsion, deceptively insidious when cloaked in distraction’s pseudo-warmth. when easily covered by procrastination’s much easier to swallow explanation.

and i’m sure you want to say “but reading is a healthy coping mechanism!”

and it is. when done in moderation.

it’s no longer coping when your screen time is 16 hours a day. when 12 of those hours a day are spent scuttling about ao3 on all fours. when you sit in the same spot on the couch for hours on end with your head buried in the sand. when it’s literally all you can think about.

the consumption isn’t coping. isn’t creation. isn’t reconstruction or rebirth or reformation. it’s chaos. it’s compulsion.

it’s cannibalism.

[senanatheskenana]

YOU MATTER TO ME <3

How do MHA characters show you they care?

~~~

Midoriya hugs you, gentle but reassuring, like soft calm clouds. He whispers beautiful nothings into your hair as he gently rocks you both, hushing you and kissing your delicate eyelids like all he was made for was caring for you. There's an understated tenderness in his touch that makes you never want to leave- your lighthouse in a storm that remains just as bright if only to guide you and save you from the tossing surge of the world outside of you both.

Bakugo struggles, hands shaking as he thrusts bouquets of sunflowers at your chest. He fights off a blush each time, acting as if he's forced to do such a thing; when in reality, he stays awake wondering what flower to buy you next to make you smile so brightly at him again. It's the kind of smile that makes his heart flutter in his throat as if butterflies are trying to escape and land in your soft hair

Kirishima loves rainy days. Not for the weather, but for you. The shallow, wide puddles give him an excuse to gather you in his arms and carry you like the princess he knows you are to the other side. He gazes softly down at you as you cling to his chest, wondering just what he did so right to deserve something as perfect as you. It's not much, he knows, but hopefully being your saviour from harmless puddles can show you just how grateful he is for you.

Iida holds open every door for you, moves every chair on your dates, and treats you like someone worth respect- because he knows you are. He knows better than anyone that you are worthy of every act. He makes your tea and brings it to you so you never have to move. Iida doesn't think its much- only a small amount of what you deserve. But every little act, he does with the utmost love and care.

Todoroki isn't wonderful at expressing his feelings. He'd much rather listen to you. And he does. He listens to every word and remembers every joke and every laugh. He's there through everything- laughter or tears. There's just something so radiant about you that makes him unable to speak, instead, all wrapped up in the colours of your voice. Todoroki would listen to every problem if it meant that you wouldn't ever have to worry again.

[mysunshinetemptress]

Call Your Mom

Leah Williamson x reader

Warnings: talks of suicide please please know you are never alone

Tears streamed down your face, blurring the already distorted image in the mirror. It had been years since the suffocating darkness of suicidal thoughts had threatened to consume her. Back then, Leah had been your anchor, your lighthouse guiding you back to the shore. But lately, with the weight of the loan to Manchester City pressing down on you, a familiar coldness had begun to seep back in. The vibrant colours of your recent success with Man City seemed to have drained away, replaced by a suffocating grey.

you had convinced yourself it was just the stress of the new environment, a temporary blip. But tonight, the blip had morphed into a monstrous wave threatening to pull you under. The once vibrant colours of your apartment seemed muted, the silence deafening. The thought of reaching out to Leah, of tarnishing the happiness you'd built together, felt unbearable.

But as the racing thoughts spiraled, each one darker than the last, the fear became a raw, primal instinct.  Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring the digital clock on the nightstand. 3:12 am. Shame burned in your gut. How could she be feeling this way again, after all, Leah had done to pull her back from the brink .

 Leah's voice, even thick with sleep, was a lifeline.

You fumbled for your phone, the familiar warmth of the screen offering a flicker of comfort. Leah's name on the contact list taunted you. Reaching out felt like a betrayal, a regression. Yet, the darkness whispered terrifying thoughts, a relentless chorus you couldn't seem to silence.

With a shaky hand, you hit call. One ring. Two. Three. Just as you considered hanging up, Leah's drowsy voice filled the silence, even thick with sleep,  it was a lifeline.

"Y/n? Everything alright?"

You sucked in a breath unable to answer.

"Baby? Hey, what's wrong?" Leah's concern, though muffled by distance, sliced through the fog of despair. Shame threatened to choke you, but the words tumbled out, ragged and desperate. Leah listened patiently, her voice a soothing balm even across the miles.

"Stay on the phone, babe. I'm on my way."

You choked out a protest. "No, Le, it's too late, you..."

"Don't argue," Leah interrupted gently. "Four hours. I'll be there."

There was a brief moment of silence on the other end of the phone that was deafening. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears leaking past your lashes. "Le? Are....Are you still there?" you croaked, your voice thick with despair.

"Always," came Leah's unwavering reply, even through the static of the phone call. "Don't you even think about hanging up."

You knew Leah could hear the tremor in your voice, the raw vulnerability that sliced through years of carefully constructed walls. The move to Manchester had felt like a fresh start, a chance to prove yourself on a bigger stage away from the stacked bench of Arsenal. But the pressure had become a suffocating weight, and the initial excitement had morphed into a suffocating loneliness.

"It's stupid," You mumbled beginning to pick at the skin around your fingernails, hating the pathetic sound of your own voice. "I thought I was past this. But it just…it hit me tonight."

The four-hour drive was an agonizing eternity for both of you. You paced the apartment restlessly, the phone pressed tight to your ear, the silence punctuated by Leah's gentle reassurances and the rhythmic hum of the engine in the background.

The guilt gnawed at You as you began to feel guilty for calling Leah so late. "Leah, you don't have to do this," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "It's just me being a mess.....I'll.....I'll get over it."

"No," Leah's voice came resolute through the speaker. "This isn't just you. You're not alone in this, i'm not letting you do this alone not tonight not ever."

The dam broke then. You confessed everything - the creeping despair, the fear of disappointing your Mom,  god your mom was the only one you had growing up and the only child to a single parent, she had sacrificed everything for you and now here you were wanting to end the life she had given you, the life she had sacrificed so so much for."Oh my god Le, My Mom I don't...I can't" Leah listened without judgment, her unwavering support a beacon in the storm.

"She'd be disappointed," You mumbled, "that I'm not... stronger."

You choked back a sob. the thought of dragging Leah into it was unbearable, of your Mom "I can't let Mom know," you whispered, your voice tight with fear. "She thinks I'm… I'm better now. She'd be so disappointed.....Le she...she gave up everything and I...oh god...I just want to through it all away." Leah didn't know what to do.

"Y/n," Leah said, her voice firm, "being strong doesn't mean bottling things up. It means reaching out for help when you need it. We'll face this together, okay?"

You shook your head unable to answer.

Leah sighed, the sound travelling through the phone line. "Your mom would want you to be happy and healthy, Y/n. She would understand you can't keep this bottled up it won't help. I'll call her, I'll explain everything and I already know she will be so proud you called me instead of struggling alone ok, so hold on and I'll call your mom ?"

The suggestion hung in the air. The thought of facing your mother's concern, of potentially shattering the fragile image of your recovery, terrified you. But the alternative - the terrifying chasm of despair that had threatened to engulf you - was even scarier.

Taking a shaky breath, You finally conceded. "Please," You whispered, the first flicker of hope igniting in your chest. "Please can you call her?"

Leah sighed in relief sipping in "Of course baby, as soon as I get to you I'll call her ok?" You let out a hum letting Leah know you heard her.

Through the night, Leah's voice became a lifeline. You talked for hours, about everything and nothing, about the weather in Manchester, Leah's upcoming game, and the silly things you both used to laugh about back in your younger days. With each passing minute, the frantic edge in your voice softened. The dawn broke just as you finished reminiscing about a particularly chaotic prank you'd pulled on a teammate in your youth.

Exhausted but with a fragile sense of calm settling over you, you looked at the phone screen. Leah's location showed she was somewhere near Birmingham now.

"Leah," You began, a nervous tremor in your voice, "you really don't have to come all this way."

"Nonsense," Leah interrupted, her voice full of determination. "I wouldn't be anywhere else. I told you we'll face this together, okay?"

By the time Leah arrived, the first rays of dawn were painting the sky a soft pink. Relief washed over you as you pulled Leah tightly into a hug, the familiar scent of your girlfriend a potent reminder of the love and support that still surrounded you.

"We'll get through this together," Leah whispered, her arms wrapped securely around You, slightly scared to let you go. "Come on let's get you to bed and then I'll call your mom," she added, her voice firm.