#hell the first argument i overheard *i* was in tears by the end (luckily they left soon after bc i had to run to the basement laundry

[skrunksthatwunk]

playing dmc1 with my earbuds in (but on low volume bc they're being weird) while my roommate and her shitty bf argue. i feel like i'm recreating the very specific experience of some child of divorce out there

[seungkwanslowqualityenglish]

Anemones

Who: Mu Ziyang [Oner]

Word Count: 2584 Words

Warnings: Hanahaki!au, blood, and death.

Request: No.

This started as Chengcheng and half way through changed to Ziyang somehow, idk. Also anemones are flowers, not the thing Nemo lives in, those are sea anemones. 

Flowers were always something that enchanted you. The beauty of the small colorful plants always took your breath away. How a combination of different varieties could bring joy or pain to someone. How the color of these petals could bring tears of happiness or tears of sorrow. The small plants held so much within their colors, varieties, and combinations. But no matter, they all held such glorious beauty, at least to you.

They held such beauty to you, well they used to. When the first petal slipped past your lips, that’s when they lost their beauty. No longer were they glorious things that enchanted you. They repulsed you, they were a sign of something you had kept hidden for so long. A sign of death that was soon to come, either that or an impending surgery.

At first they were few, a petal here or there, it easy for you to forget. But when they started piling up, the trash can you hid from others, overflowing with petals within a day of you emptying it. That was when you could not forget about it. That was when you friends started noticing. Your excuses of illness and asthma were no longer enough for them to be convinced, as they started seeing the petals within the tissues you used when you coughed. They encouraged you to do something about it, to get help or at least resolve your feelings, but you could not do that.

Maybe it would have been easier, had it not been on him, your best friend. Not only your best friend, but your best friend that happened to be dating someone. Had she not been in the picture, you probably would have told him. But even if it meant to save your life, you would not tell him, you would not possibly ruin their relationship. Death on your terms, you thought.

Maybe it would have been wise to heed your friends words, save your life, or possibly get surgery. But living a loveless life sounded worse than death. Never once again feeling the warmth of loving a parent or animal or friend, a life worse than death. A life she was unwilling to consider. It was her life she was unwilling to consider. Death was an easy way out, but to her it was not, it was the better way.

As her friend stared at her from across the room, it just had to be him. He was always the one sent to deal with her problems, well the one sent attempt to talk her out of this. But he would fail at that task, unless by some twist of fate his currently relationship had fallen out. But it had not, you know it would not. They had five years of work on this relationship, so of course it would not end so abruptly and suddenly. It would not end like that, so you would just swallow your feelings and anemone petals until you could no longer breath to swallow.

You could sense the disappointed look on your friend’s face from across the room, despite your back being towards him. “You are being stupid, why don’t you just tell whoever it is, or get the surgery, or just something, we don’t want to lose you.” He said, before he started crossing your room.

The bed dipped, as he sat on it, next to you. You felt a hand in your hair, as he awkwardly petted your head. “Ruin someone’s relationship, a friendship, or live life as an emotionless shell.” You murmured, hoping he could not hear you. It was not even a moment after your murmurs, you started coughing, the white anemone petals starting to slip past your lips once more.

You weren’t sure when he left, but moments later you were in your room, alone once more. He probably went to complain to his girlfriend about you being stubborn, he did that often lately. Best friends forever he used to claim, but maybe forever did not really mean forever. Maybe it meant until he had had enough of your, until he had decided you were not worth his time any longer, until he had gotten tired of you hiding secrets from him.

The next time he visited, you could tell he was angered. Whether it was at you for refusing to tell him who caused this or at this situation in general, you were unsure. You were getting worse, you could hear as he and your parents discussed what was happening. The main thing you overheard was them saying they would be putting you into a hospital soon, fearing you being unaccompanied while like this. Another thing you heard was their argument, his insistence of them demanding you go through with the surgery or tell him who it was. Your mother knew who it was, but luckily she feigned innocence claiming she did not know either. Maybe she should have told him, yet you knew your mother would not tell a secret you told her, she knowing herself the likelihood of him returning the feelings was low. She respected your wish of death rather than living a loveless life, unknown to your father she had told you numerous times if she was in the same situation she would have done the same.

It was a little over a week later you saw him again, as you laid in your hospital bed, he stormed in. Compassion would have been better at a time like this, yet all he had was rage towards whoever it was you liked for them not returning your feelings. Unbeknownst to him, that rage should have been focused towards himself, not some fictional man he imagined that played with your feelings and left you like this. “Why don’t you just get the surgery?” He asked, providing no greeting or fluff to the conversation. “Isn’t your life worth more than whoever it is?” He added.

He did not seem to take it well when you ignored him. Often he would tell you silence speaks louder than words, but it seemed that only went for when the silence was towards someone else.

You heard him scoff, before he spoke again. “So that’s what we are doing now, the silent treatment. You’re acting like a child because people are concerned for you. We just want you to get better. We just want you to survive. But here you are acting like a child since you care more about whoever this is than your own life.” He started, his voice getting louder and louder with each word.

“What a beautiful way to die, flowers overflowing from the mouth, unrequited love being the cause.” You murmured, before turning away from the man you often labeled as your best friend. “You once labeled this as the most beautiful suicide, the most beautiful death. But is that no longer so seeing how it’s affected someone you care for. Flowers overrunning my lungs, roots destroying the tissue and organs. A time bomb waiting to explode. My minutes are numbered and getting smaller. I’m just a stupid little girl that thinks death would be better than feeling nothing.” You murmured, before finally looking back over at him. “Call it what you will, but I won’t have the surgery, I’d rather die from this than chance become an emotionless person like so many out there.” You said to him, just wishing that he would understand your side of this. That you thought living a loveless life was worse than living no life at all.

Your friend stood, obviously angered at your response, even after all these weeks, hell all these months, as you wasted away getting worse and worse. His anger at your refusal to tell him who or get the surgery, was obvious. He should have paused for a moment, thought before he spoke, but people don’t do that went anger has taken over. “This is why whoever you like doesn’t like you. You know I honestly don’t blame them for not returning your feelings, since who would like or even love such a stubborn person that hides so many things, from the people they claim to love most.” it was obvious as he finished speaking, he immediately regretted it.

Time was not something you gave him after he spoke, immediately pushing the nurse call button. “Get out, leave.” You yelled, well said as loudly as your injured throat would allow. As you were pointing to the door for him to leave, close to tear, the nurse finally entered. It was not long before he was ushered out, your visiting hours for the day over. You knew he had to regret saying that, yet, you would not forgive him for it.

It was after that day he was greylisted by your nurse, after she comforted you as you cried, all because of his harsh words. Maybe you were wrong in expecting him to return at least once in the next week, yet he did not and your health was deteriorating even worse during the time. Pure white petals spilling out easily, but it was not long until they were pink, and soon red. You were getting worse, maybe three or four days maximum, your doctor told you. It was your lovely nurse that encouraged you to write the letter, a letter to him. Maybe she had dealt with this before, or possibly she just happened to recognize your lingering looks. Yet, she knew, and it was because of her you wrote the letter.

As it got worse, the doctors saying the roots had overtaken your lungs, predicting only hours left, you reconsidered your letter. Maybe it was some remorse of what might happen if he reads the letter. Yet, truthfully, after all of this, you expected him to more than likely just throw it away, as he seemed to do to your friendship.

Despite your thoughts, the letter ended up in his hands only two days after that fateful day.

To say he was confused when he was called to the hospital, was an understatement. After what he said to you, he did not think you would want to see him for at least another week. You were always good at that, holding grudges. He was shocked when he entered your hospital room, seeing an empty bed, freshly folded linens, and a letter with his name written on it.

“That’s for you.” The nurse said simply, as she placed the now clean pillows on the bed, before leaving room.

After she left, was when he opened the letter, and started reading it to himself.

“If you are reading this, that means the nurse gave you the letter as I requested her to do after my passing. If I ain’t dead yet, put this letter back up and open it and read it when I’m dead. It’s been about two weeks, as I’m writing this, and you haven’t visited once, it doesn’t surprise me though, you never were one to confront things that you’ve done wrong. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t forgive you unless you came begging on your hands and knees, as you often said you’d do for forgiveness when you did something horrible. Yet, as days passed and you hadn’t came, as my nurse said you removed yourself from my emergency contacts, as you gave up on me, I found myself hating you. Hating my best friend, or who I thought was my best friend. What happened to those days, the days where we said we’d be together forever through whatever. While writing this, I considered ruining a relationship, but ultimately was talked out of it. You always got mad when I wouldn’t tell you who it was that caused this, you’d tell me that anyone would return my feelings, because who wouldn’t like me. I never listened to you however, nearing the end, I know that pissed you off more than anything, but I still wouldn’t budge. How could I tell the person and ruin their relationship. What is a best friend since childhood when compared to the love of their life for the past five years, nothing but a homewrecker. Maybe I should have told you to your face, or maybe never told you, yet here I am writing this letter. It was about seven years ago I started realizing my feelings towards them, I wanted to ask them out, but feared ruining and ending the friendship. It was five years ago they met her, their girlfriend, and well now fiancee. Who am I to ruin their plans. Who am I to cause strife between him and the one he loves. When he asked me to be the best woman at his wedding, I honestly hesitated, and I remember he was confused, unsure of why I didn’t immediately say yes. Part of me knew this would just make me worse, all chances I had to get better gone, but I said yes anyways. Your wedding isn’t for another three months, at least three months when I’m writing this, but it seems you might have to push it back once more, since I won’t be able to be there for my part. Ziyang, we always promised each other to be truthful and honest to the other. To never keep secrets from the other, especially ones that might hurt the other. This will probably hurt you, but I felt like telling you to your face would hurt me more. You often told me to tell who I liked in hopes it might stop, but I doubt you expected the truth when you were telling me that. The truth was that person was you, as you probably can guess from what I’ve written in this letter so far.. Maybe I should have told you to your face, rather than through this coffee stained crappily handwritten note, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell you to your face knowing that doing so might lead to the ruining of our friendship, but it seems our friendship was already ruined. A part of me feels this might alter your wedding plans, yet, I hope it doesn’t. You love her, I can tell you do, don’t let this confession that is coming a little too late change that. Maybe I shouldn’t have written this letter to you, but I’m not gonna let this hour I’ve spent deciding what to write go to waste. You probably expected me to reveal someone you vaguely knew or never knew so you could go beat him up or something, you were always like that, ready and willing to fight anyone that disrespected or hurt me. Yet, it was you. As I write this, I realize how stupid I was to not tell you when we were younger, but I can’t take that decision back. I can only hope you get what you wanted, get married to her, start the family you’ve always wanted, I just hope you are happy. Since even though I can’t be, I just want you to be happy.”

He did not know what to expect as he read it, but once he started, he finally realized what it was. The now tear stained letter told him everything he needed to know, answering so many questions. Despite all the things running around in his mind at that point, there was only one thing he could think. You never realize who the best people in your life is, until they are gone

[dont-wake-upp]

(This is just a very small look into a fraction of Arabella's life)

“DON’T LIE TO ME!! YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU DO AT NIGHT WITH ALL OF YOUR WOMEN? HUH?! DAMMIT, DON’T FUCKING LIE TO ME!” she shouted only to earn a hard slap across the face from the rough hands that belonged to my father. That shut her up real quick. I imagined that’s relieving for him, but not for me. He deserves to be yelled at and more. He deserves the beatings, not her. That scum deserved anything bad that came his way, and he wasn’t getting it. I closed the halfway open door after peeping from my bedroom floor, and sighed heavily to myself. I heard a faint cry coming from down the hall and a few swear words uttered by the 6 foot 4 Raven haired man with grey eyes. He didn’t bother apologising or stopping, he continued, only it was his turn to shout.

“You never mind your own business, you know that? See /that/ is what gets you into trouble, that’s why I come home every fucking day ready to take it all out on you,” he spat. “Dinner isn’t even ready, you didn’t clean the house LIKE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO, AND WHAT’S EVEN WORSE IS I HAVE A WIFE THAT ONLY GETS ON HER KNEES WHEN I HIT HER!”

“Please, I promise…” I heard her begging softly. There was a strain in her voice and my heart automatically broke for her. I grew this hatred in my heart for him—for having to grow up in this kind of environment. I was 14 years old when my breaking point finally happened, when I was first greeted by my shadow. In fact, that was a lie. I was 7 years old and I was only trying to protect my mother, Michelle. I threw myself in front of the belt lashes she was receiving, and he got very angry. So he threw me inside of a closet and continued to hurt her before I was next. I still have the yellowish bruises and cuts to prove it. And that was when the unknown voice knocked on the door of my brain, asking to come in and protect me, but I refused. It went away and I never thought of it again.

“The next,” a loud slap was heard again. “Time,” and another. “I come home,” he continued with pauses to deliver them. “To this again, I will make everything worse.”

I didn’t like hearing her whimper and scream and the sound of furniture banging against the walls from her trying to escape. I made the mistake of opening my door again because he saw me and stopped paying attention to her. The sight made me very nauseous. Her blonde hair was disheveled, her cheeks very moist with streams of tears, smeared mascara, and her now ripped and dirty dress. He stomped in my direction, and that’s when I felt it. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I trusted the shadow that threatened to consume me and take over. He lunged forward and I slid under the opening of his arm, running down the carpeted halls and down the spiraling steps.

‘Wake From your sleep The drying of Your tears today We escape we escape Pack and get dressed Before your father hears us Before all hell Breaks loose’

“Arabella!!!” he screamed and his voice shook, I practically felt it in my bones. His footsteps followed after and my mom didn’t even try to stop him. But I don’t ever blame her for that. Before he caught up with me, I ran straight into the kitchen and took out a large cutting knife from the drawer. I turned around just in time to face him, pointing and aiming it at his chest. Rhys held his hands up in defense, and shot me a warning look, but not as warning as my stance was. “Arabella, put the knife down.”

“Stay back,” I jabbed at the air to let him know I was serious. He jumped slightly then sighed deeply.

'Breathe Keep breathing Don’t loose your nerve Breathe Keep breathing I can’t do this Alone’

“You’re not going to do anything with it, put the fucking knife down for christ sake!”

“And you’re not going to do anything to my mother anymore, understood?” absolute silence from his end, yet his smirk was deafening. He didn’t take me seriously, so I repeated myself, daring to take a step closer. “Understood?!”

'Sing Us a song A song to keep Us warm There’s such a chill Such a chill’

“You’re just a little girl, you don’t know what you’re doing. And you should never threaten a man this way, especially your father,” he dropped his hands and reached out to grab me and the knife, but something stopped him. A shriek was heard from my mother watching from up above, gripping on tightly to the bars leading to the stairs. Then a choke from my father and his widened eyes staring me down. Sticky wetness covered my fingers, and all I felt was a big rush, such a high. And so I did what I did again.

'You can laugh A spineless laugh We hope your rules And wisdom Choke you Now we are one in Everlasting peace’

I screamed in anger and pulled out the knife from his chest and lowered it to his stomach, jabbing and sinking it in, hearing his guts move around and feeling it transfer through the knife and into my hand. I twisted it before taking it out and shoving it back in again, repeating until I no longer felt satisfaction. He was dead after the seventh jab, his eyes still open and mouth in an 'O’ shape. I wiped my lips from the blood that splattered onto them, and finally tuned into the world around me. My mother convulsing into a loud sob, the now silent heart below me, and the sound of the strong wind banging on the windows. The crescent moon on the other side of the sky, representing the way I feel in this moment. A little bit of light lingers, but most of it is already covered in darkness. I had no choice, but I liked it. I couldn’t bear a second of it anymore: the beatings, the sexism, the arguments, the threats, the toxicity seeping through these walls. I matured at such a young age, I absolutely hated it. No one should have their innocence taken away from them. No child should see what I’ve seen, because the path they’d travel on wouldn’t be a pleasant one. A kind soul should remain kind, but unfortunately, that doesn’t apply to me. It was in that single moment, I decided I wanted to do this forever.

'We hope that you choke, that you choke We hope that you choke, that you choke We hope That you choke, that you choke’

————

“So what did you do with his body?” Cassie asks me while she curls up against my chest, tracing the scars on my collar bone. She wasn’t tense or afraid, and that’s what I was hoping would happen. I didn’t want to chase her away. I am more than thankful to have found her, unfortunately at a much stranger time, but there has never been a point in my life where things weren’t so strange. I felt most of the weight being lifted from my shoulders for the first time in my life, because now I have an outlet. I have someone to let into my twisted little world.

“My mom wanted to call the police, but she quickly changed her mind and decided to help me with the body. I was completely clueless, as was she, so we relied on our good pal Google,” I chuckle and Cassie smiles for a split second. “We used a VPN of course, we couldn’t have any suspicion being raised or our information being spread around because of what we were googling. Turns out, you can do a lot with bodies, you just have to consider that not all of them will protect you from getting caught. So we took sheets of plastic we had stored in the cupboards and spread it out onto the floor, then settled his body on top of it. It was such a hassle to cut him up because he was so big, but we managed. His limbs were tossed into black garbage bags and we went out by the harbor and took a small boat. No cameras or people were around, thankfully, and we dropped the bags with cement blocks in them when the water was deep enough.”

Cassie stood silent for a brief moment after I explain, then spoke up again.

“What did you feel during the process of it all?” she stops tracing my scars and places a small warm hand against my cheek, and starts to plant tiny kisses along my jaw and works her way back to my scars. I smile at the gesture as I think about my answer.

“Nothing. Well, I was a bit confused as to why I didn’t feel sad or guilty or scared, I guess I just l tapped into the part of my brain I didn’t even know I had. That was a good thing though because it told me it’d protect me, and it did,” I say truthfully.

“That’s interesting. Is that part of you dominant?”

“Yes it is. But sometimes, I let my overly emotional human side get the best of me.”

“As long as it’s still there,” she mumbles against my skin. “I’m guessing the police never found out? How?”

“They were lousy and I’m a great liar. We came home beforehand, luckily, and got the house cleaned up before someone reported screams heard from our house and glass breaking. It was 1:56am when all hell broke loose, and when the police arrived, I’d say it was about 4:34am. They bought my story of Rhys leaving town with a mistress he kept hidden from us for years, and didn’t leave any clues behind as to where his whereabouts may be. I made them believe I always overheard him on the phone talking about running away with her but that’s about it. My mother played along and sold the act pretty well. Mom told them they got into a fight and she cried herself to sleep, then that’s when he took off and it left her devastated, but she had no idea that was his plan and pretend so scowl at me for not telling her. They didn’t think it was important enough to look into, so they left it alone and took off. It wasn't brought up since. Months after, my mom grew sick from that night and carried the secret with her for a year and a half until she committed suicide. I walk into her room after school one day and saw the noose wrapped around her throat. She looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb her, so I went in my room and cried for the first time in a long time. I don’t feel like talking about the rest.”

I took a deep breath and embraced another moment of silence. Cassie lifted herself off of me and pulled me into her arms, hugging me ever so tightly. I took in her perfume scent and her strawberry shampoo as I buried my face into the crook of her neck. Her breaths were a bit shaky and whimpers were heard. I guess she was crying. I pull back and kiss her forehead, wiping her cheeks at the same time.

“Baby, you’re so emotional,” I let out a breathy laugh. She rolls her eyes at me and pushes me back against the bed.

“Sue me,” she looks down and plays with her hands. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Don’t be. Shit happens. I’m just happy I don’t have to keep that inside any longer.”

“Damn right, shit happens. I fell in love with a serial killer.”

I laugh at her stunned facial expression and wrap my arms around her back, pulling her on top of me again. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything. I think I’ve gone mad,” Cassie whispers.

“We can be mad and wrong together. Can you keep my secret?” I ask.

“I won’t tell your secrets if you won’t tell mine,” she reassures me.