#i don't remember finishing the suicide one but i think i do remember like. most of the major plot points in the first one

[elastica1995]

yeah i used to read fan fiction cos i was a pervert fandom girlie in middle school. i'd read it on my fucking 3ds when i was supposed to be sleeping. but the only ones i remember are 2 davejohn homestuck fanfics with the following plotlines: (1) john is a prince betrothed to rose but he's really in love with his knight dave; (2) dave tried to kill himself and he was in the hospital or something and john was so depressed over this that he swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills and killed himself but then dave recovered and john was a ghost that haunted him.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Losing Dogs

Neither you or Aegon wanted to get married. Neither you or Aegon wanted to marry each other. But at some point, you figured you should make the most of what you had, and so you offer your husband a deal he cannot refuse.

Aegon Targaryen x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, arranged marriage/loveless marriage, smut (piv, virginity loss, rough/loveless sex) DD:DNE, alcoholism, violence, suicide/suicidal thoughts & ideation, mentions of domestic/child abuse, death, pregnancy/miscarriage, aegon's mommy issues, insecurities, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ... i had something to say about this fic but i forgot... maybe ill remember later???? edit: i did not remember. i thought of mitski while entitling this so go play i bet on losing dogs ig?

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @azperja @sloanexx @risefallrise

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

Aegon only truly understood what this meant the day he was married and he was forbidden to drink a drop of alcohol.

As if it wasn't painful enough that he was going to be married to a complete stranger from some house he's never fucking heard of, he was erratic and uneasy the whole day because of the withdrawal. He loathes the preparation, the ceremony, the fucking pageantry of it all.

He thinks it was worse that you seemed to be so chipper the entire time. You smiled with a halo, skin shining with the light. You also seemingly did no wrong, judging by the praises you received from his mother and grandfather. But, who was he kidding, of course they fucking loved you, they chose you to be his prison keeper.

You did not press him once, not when you were preparing for the ceremony, not when you were at the feast, not even after the Queen encouraged you to dance.

Anyone with eyes could see from how he slumped on his chair during dinner that Aegon would rather die than circle around the room to this grating noise echoing in the chamber.

The band begins to play another song and another round of dancing ensues.

He stares at the food on the table. Oh, to be a suckling pig.

The relief that coursed through him when he could finally leave was enough to knock him out. Except, he really wanted, no, needed a drink.

He crashes on his bed, belly down, and reaches for the cabinet door on his bedside table. He feels for his bottle, hand knocking into the corners of the compartment, but he sits up when he finds nothing.

He growls in frustration upon realizing this was definitely his mother's doing. Thief!

"I managed a cup."

Aegon struggles to look over his shoulder from his position. He rolls on his back as you walk to the side of the bed.

He stares at you. You offer a glass holding burgundy liquid. Your voice is soft and kind as you explain, "your mother would suspect me if I took a whole bottle."

Aegon pushes himself up and sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. He gulps at the wine you were offering.

Sure, he may not be the brightest, but anyone could tell this scene was the epitome of ulterior motives. Aegon leans on his thighs, "why are you doing this?"

You stare a moment. You clutch the cup in both hands and examine it. Again, your voice is gentle, "you are clearly in torment. It hurts my heart."

His eye twitches.

I see. It seems you were a fucking saint.

Aegon rips the glass out of your hands, some of the wine spills over. He downs the contents in one go, then chucks the glass across the room once he finished.

He looks back at you, glaring with watery eyes. He was exhausted, he was angry, and he wanted you to know it. But you don't flinch at the sound of the glass breaking. You didn't flinch at all when he showed aggression. Why didn't you flinch?

You press your lips and sigh. You step towards him and reach out.

He nervously straightens up and tilts his head back as you approach. His breath hitches when your warm hand touches his cheek. He blinks rapidly.

"It's been a long day. Would you like me to help you change?"

Again, his eye twitches.

And then he realizes what you mean.

Ah. So, this is what you wanted?

He releases a breath, eyes lowering. Your face falls into a slight frown.

He thinks about it for a moment. I mean, sex was sex and he was game. It didn't matter how he performed, his completion was all that mattered, really. And you were pretty enough, albeit irritatingly good.

When you stroke his hair, Aegon pulls at your skirts, causing you to squeak and topple, hands flying to his shoulders for support. Your faces are inches apart. He pulls you down until you have no other choice than to sit on his lap.

You can smell the remnants of the wine he just drank on his breath. Aegon brings his face closer to yours, and you let out a soft 'hmp'. You mutter, "I gather you don't want to change, but want to get out of your clothes."

He narrows his eyes as you shift on his lap and undo the buttons by his chest. He mutters dumbly, "this is what you wanted."

With knit brows, you retort, "I've not yet told you what I wanted." You shift on his lap again as you peel his top off. Amidst it, he asks, "what do you want?"

You grunt after ridding him of his top. You fold it in your arms then set it aside on the bed. You turn back to him. Aegon's breath hitches when you fondle with strings of his undershirt. He watches your lips as you mumble, "I want you to give me a ride on your dragon."

He furrows his brows. But that's what he just said.

You stand, only to lift your skirt and take your place back on his lap. This time, you straddle him.

Aegon gulps, hands coming to your hips like a magnet. He feels you grind on him; shaky breaths leave his lips in response. His hands scratch up your back and a moan escapes him when your nails trace his collarbones.

"Allow me one trip on Sunfyre, and in return, I'll be your magic lamp," you whisper, taking one of his hands, bringing it to the side of your ribs, "you may rub me where you like-"

His heart skips when you kiss his cheek.

"-and I will grant you all your wishes."

Aegon ticks.

The next moment, he pushes you down on the bed. He doesn't bother getting either of you naked, nor does he prepare you at all in fact. Thankfully, you were already wet.

You don't have the opportunity to ask him to be gentle, to explain you were a bride after all, and it was your wedding night.

Aegon grips your skirts as he fucks you like he means to prove a point. He snaps his hips roughly into you to assert dominance, to exemplify control. Sure, you offered yourself to him, but he was the one doing the work, and you were the one beneath him.

In truth, the pace he set gave you more pain rather than pleasure. And with how pent up he was, the rough tempo he set burnt him out way too quickly before it could make any of you feel good. And when he begins to lag, you start to feel good.

You notice this change and rub your nose against his. He recoils, unused to affection when fucking. It snaps him back into an aggressive trance.

You yelp. Aegon convinced himself it was a sound of bliss.

You kiss his jaw and work your way to his ear, hoping to calm him down. He tenses at the feel of your tongue on his lobe. It stokes flames in his belly and makes him involuntarily roll his hips slower to focus on the attention you're giving. In return, his pace is just enough for him to hit that spot that makes you throw your head back.

Aegon is startled by the scratchy groan that leaves your throat. He finds himself lifting his head to spectate, but you pull him into you by the nape and groan, "like that. Please- gods - that feels good."

His brows tense and he rolls his hips again, finding the same reaction.

You wrap your arms and legs around him, uncaring of how hot and sweaty you were getting. In the heat of the moment, you reach for his lips, needing them, needing something to wrap your own on.

Aegon kisses you. He kisses you with a strange twinge in his chest. He kisses you until he has to pull away and reposition himself to catch his building climax.

In a second, he's back to his fuck-loving self, only self-serving and lustful. As he gazes upon your writhing body, catching the beads of sweat on your skin, the concentration on your face, and the way you chant his name as you part your legs for him, he's overcome by another spirit. To watch you break, to watch you coil and collapse around him felt just as urgent as his need to come.

And so Aegon rubs your clit and forces you to peak first; you do it so well he curses loudly and comes after.

He lays on top of you for a moment, the overwhelming need to be held ripples through his body. He recalls how his whores shoo him away after he's done fucking them though. Before you can cradle him in your arms, he rolls off you.

You close your legs and and watch him strip himself and sequentially change. You watch him get back in bed and bring himself underneath the covers. He goes to sleep.

He fucking goes to sleep.

You feel hollow after this, but tell yourself it's nothing personal. You repeat this as you, yourself, get up and change, sequentially sleeping too. Or at least you try. You have fight the urge to cry for hours before you do.

The next morning, you bring up dragon riding to Aegon, and disappointed as you are, you are unsurprised to find that he was unwilling to give you such a thing.

It was a plain thing you were asking for, you explain. And it's exactly why he doesn't want to do it. It's clearly some trick, something to trap him, something he's going to regret. It was probably some ploy orchestrated by his mother.

Oh gods, he thinks, it's worse. It's a bonding experience so you can make him into your puppet. Fuck. No.

So, he does what he does best, and makes an excuse, "I don't feel like riding today. I'm still exhausted from the festivities."

You purse your lips and nod, "that's understandable. Would you like for me to get you something?"

Wait. You weren't going to argue about him not keeping his end of the deal?

You seem to catch this, considering your response and the way you take his hand. You place his palm on your chest. He can feel your pulse quicken as you mutter, "I am your magic lamp, husband. I wish to please you. I will prove this until you trust me enough to grant me a ride on dragonback."

He narrows his eyes, "you would grant me wishes, all in return for a ride on Sunfyre?"

You smile softly at him, "in return for respite, yes."

He doesn't trust your smile.

"I want to visit the Grey Cliffs. I have for a years now. I went there once as a child and long to go again."

"Why?" he knits his brows at your explanation, "what's there?"

You lower his hand and rub his skin, "respite, my prince."

Aegon pulls his hand away.

Very well. If that is what you want, then he will wear your wishes dry until you find it no longer worth the trouble.

Aegon wishes on his lamp everyday, and his wife sequentially plays entertainer, jester, servant, and slave.

He makes you bring a bottle of wine with you everywhere, and pour him a cup when he wishes. He loathes how you seem unbothered by it. He loathes how you don't even correct a visiting Lord who mistakes you for a cupbearer and simply serve him some wine. The Lord is mortified when he realizes you are his wife, a fucking princess. Aegon hates how you tell the man you were unbothered because you spent your whole life being a cupbearer to your father anyway.

He makes you do trivial tasks as well, sometimes tasks meant for more than one person at a time, and yet you still manage to do them, annoyingly better than the maids. When he demanded you cook him a full course meal, you did so all by yourself, and had the servants looking at you like you were some goddess.

He ripped a hole in his clothes then made you mend it. You covered the hole so seamlessly that he poked a bigger one right in front of you. And even then you don't give him the satisfaction of getting angry. You tell him you will embroider something on top of the hole and he storms off. He overhears you telling the servants, who applaud your level-headedness, that you were used to angry men, because your father was just the same.

You use each of these moments to somehow tell him you were the perfect wife and he had to oblige your stupid request at some point.

But then he found your flaw.

Aegon asked you to play the harpsichord for him, and you told him you did not know how. The woman who knew all did not know something? He would then proceed to hang this over your head. When he asked you for food, he'd tell you how much better it'd taste if he had entertainment. If he asked you to do something physically taxing for him, he's say that he wouldn't have asked you to do it, had you known how to play his 'favorite' instrument. He would use this as the reason why he could never bring you to Grey Cliffs.

It was all fun and games, but then you had to snitch, hadn't you?

"What are you doing to that poor girl!" Queen Alicent barked, making his ears ring.

Aegon groans from where he lies in bed. His mother rips the blankets off him, making him wake in a sour mood.

"She is your wife!" Alicent yells, "not your slave! Fine, you wish her to do tasks for you, tasks for your betterment. But to insult her standing by treating her like a maid is beneath a prince, Aegon!"

Aegon feels his throat tighten at the sight of his angry mother's face, "she is my wife," he growls, "I do with her as I please."

She strikes his cheek.

Aegon's head whips to the side. He doesn't have the energy to look back at her.

"You will no longer parade her as a cupbearer. I will have it decreed you are not ever served a drop of wine if you don't."

Alicent leaves after this. Aegon's anger explodes when the door closes.

He screams and rips at his hair. He kicks furniture around and eventually drops to the floor, exhausted, furious, and hurt. This was all your fault.

He screams again and claws the tears on his face. He slowly exhales through tight lips. His cheek is hot with saltwater. Who was he joking, this was all him.

This was all Aegon's doing.

His breathing is impeded by snot. He walks over to his window and stares at the ground below. If he jumps head first, not even the best maester in Westeros could fix him.

Before he can lean on the ledge, he is paralyzed in his spot by the sound of the door opening.

"I did not know she would be angry with you," you say.

Aegon looks back.

You see his red eyes and wet skin. He is a mirror to your younger self. You feel sick to your stomach. You try to explain, "I only asked if she could find a harpsichord teacher. I did not realize she would take offense in wanting to learn to play for you."

Aegon's heart aches at your naïve response. You were a stupid, perfect wife, and he, a stupid, petulant husband.

"I'm better off dead," he mumbles, looking back out the window. The call of the fall felt inviting, "want to push me, wife?"

You don't respond.

Aegon looks back at you, and suddenly you're only inches away. He tries to evade you, but you manage to catch his hand.

"We could jump together."

"What?"

Your face is blank. You part your lips, and for a moment, your eyes seem desperate, but then it's gone. You sigh, "dying is quite lonely," looking down, "I could keep you company."

Aegon stares at you. Tears stream down his face. "You're mad," he sniffles, yanking his hand away.

He walks over to his bed and collapses on it. He wraps himself in a blanket and feels sorry for himself, and angry at you for suggesting such a thing. Even now you want to be perfect by dying with him?

"I am," you mutter.

Aegon watches as you walk over to him. You sit on the floor beside his bed and look at your hands as you rub them.

"I cannot play the harpsichord, because my father does not like noise," you explain, "I was not allowed to make a sound or else I would be punished."

Aegon covers his head with a blanket but keeps his face visible, "he beat you, didn't he?"

You look at him, eyes melancholy, but still, he is the only one crying, "he beat everyone."

Aegon does not respond.

"I can sing though."

His brow raises, "how can you sing?"

"I would practice whenever he was gone, and sing for my mother in secret. It made her happy... happy enough."

He knew there was more to this confession, but he was too tired to ask about it, too tired to shed more tears.

"Would you like me to sing for you?"

"No."

"..."

"..."

"Would you like me to hold you?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

You stand from where you sat and get on the edge of the bed. Aegon watches as you slowly lie beside him. You bring an arm over him and pull him close. Aegon closes his eyes as you bring him into your chest.

You hold him until he falls asleep. Later that night, he asks you to hold him again. He also asks you to sing to him.

Aegon nestles his face in the crook of your neck. He wraps his arms around your torso, digging his fingers between your flesh and the bed. Your hushed voice reverberates in the bedroom, the song you sing is haunting and soothing. The vibrations from your chest lull him to sleep. You feel wetness pool by your clavicle but you make no note of it.

Aegon asks you to hold him the next morning after breaking fast. He asks you to stay with him in bed and to sing to him some more. When you have to leave his side, he asks to join you and waits until he can have you in his arms again.

Aegon becomes your shadow, and follows you around, under the promise of getting to share in your embrace. As you read and review letters or ledgers, your seat becomes Aegon's lap. He sleeps against you while you work without a fuss, cheek pressed against your back, arms fastened around your waist.

Sometimes, he notices the line that forms between your brows while you read and at some point, asks about it. You explain what causes it, and he is unmoved, as he is uninterested in politics that stress you. But when you read out to him, he finds comfort in your voice and asks you to read some. He falls asleep to your calm droning of circumstances he could not care less about. He groans and groggily awakens when you stop. He mumbles against your skin that you continue, pleadingly so.

When you had to leave the Keep for business, Aegon insisted that he joined you. When you brushed his cheek and explained to him why he could not go and that you would not be long, Aegon pushed you away and stormed off. You left without him anyway, and the treachery he felt was so great, he realized then how he could no longer go day to day without you. What was there to do, if you were not there?

And so Aegon desperately rubs his magic lamp and wishes upon you.

He wishes that you never leave without him again once you return.

He wishes that you promise to no longer make plans without him.

He traps you beneath him on your shared bed and wishes to be inside you. He kisses you and wishes to see you completely bared to him.

Aegon's mind is dizzy as he gazes upon the glory of your skin. He kisses your thighs, your hips, your breast, your lips.

Aegon wishes to surrender to you. He wishes that you undress him. He wishes to pull you on his body like a blanket. He wishes to see you take control. He wishes to see you cast your eyes upon him and lay your weight on his body.

He wishes to see you use him, to take what you need from him, to pleasure yourself, and to make him yours. He squeezes your thighs desperately when you moan out his name. This was much more maddening that what he imagined it would be.

He wishes to feel you come undone around him. He wishes he could forever feel the pleasure he did when he comes right after you do.

He wishes to hold you after. And when he holds you, when you lay on his chest and kiss him there, he wishes to never leave this moment ever again. He wishes to sing to you like you've sung to him.

"What are your plans tomorrow," Aegon asks as he draws nothings on your back.

You lift your head from his chest. He looks at you. You smile, "whatever you wish them to be."

He rubs your back and smiles, "I wish to take you to the Grey Cliffs."

Your expression drops, "what?"

He raises a brow at your reaction. You shift on your place. You straddle him again.

He looks up at you, noticing the line between your brows. He rubs your thighs, "you've granted me all my wishes. It's time I grant you yours." He shifts on his elbows and sits himself up, "it's time you meet my mount and-"

"We don't have to," you cut him off, placing your hands on his shoulders.

Aegon examines your expression. He listens to you sigh.

"I'd like to keep you-- wish to keep you..." you correct yourself, pushing him back down.

He looks up at you, feeling your hands rake up his body.

"...just like this," you finish, eyes solemn, lips curving into a soft smile, "I've not felt a thing like this in my entire life."

Aegon takes one of your hands and places it on his cheek. He whispers it like a secret, "neither have I."

You lean down to kiss him, "I wish to keep like this."

He kisses you back.

He is blindsided by how his wishes came to bite him in the arse. It's all crashing down on him. Suddenly, he wishes he didn't actually do any of those things with you.

He most of all wishes he heard you wrong. He wishes you didn't repeat yourself when he stupidly said, "what?"

"I'm with child," you speak slower, less excited yet excited still.

Aegon wishes you didn't look so excited. He wishes he fucking pulled out, but gods, you felt so good-- you feel so good around him, he felt so good inside you.

He realized the next moment, it couldn't be helped. You were going to have to bear his spawn at one point or another. He wishes you didn't have to. He wishes his seed wouldn't take completely. He wishes you don't take it to term. He wishes he won't have to be a father. Fuck.

He realizes he's been too quiet and you were waiting for a response from him. Your face began to twist. Your smile fades.

"Congratulations," Aegon musters. He feels like he swallowed a metal ball. His eyes wander to your belly. He mumbles mindlessly, "I suppose."

Your face falls.

Aegon looks back at you. Your face is devoid of any semblance of the glow it normally holds. You look sick. You feel sick.

"I see," you say, unintentionally allowing him to hear your voice break. Aegon's brows furrow at it.

He shakes his head, "you will be a great mother," he chuckles dryly, "you mother me so well."

You offer him a smile, but Aegon can see how disconnected it was from your eyes. You say, "thank you."

When you leave him after this, he wishes he hadn't said a word. He wishes he just left it at congratulations. He wishes he just pretended like the idea of having a child didn't mortify him and make him sick to his stomach. He wishes he wasn't so ill-suited to be a father.

Ageon no longer wishes for anything after this.

He no longer wishes to hold you, though he so badly wanted to. He no longer wishes to hear you sing, nor does he wish to hear you read to him. He no longer wishes to be around you, though his body urged him to follow you around like the lost soul he was.

He wishes he didn't wonder what you were doing at every moment of the day. He so desperately wishes to rid you from his mind completely that he drowns himself in his first and only true love, alcohol.

Fuck. He wishes he hadn't taken this route to his room. He wishes you hadn't taken this route to wherever it was you were going. He wishes he just turned around and fled like the coward he was, because then, you wouldn't have spoken to him.

"Husband," you curtsey.

Aegon stiffens and uncomfortably avoids your eyes.

You catch it, feeling your chest tighten painfully. You clear your throat and take a deep breath to steel yourself, "I thought you should know that I will be travelling."

Aegon looks at you.

"I have a ship ready and I'll be visiting the Grey Cliffs. Do not wait up for me."

His face falls. He opens his mouth, but doesn't have an opportunity to speak.

"I thought you should also know that I am no longer carrying."

His eyes widen.

"It's not an uncommon occurrence the first few months," you say simply, "I suppose the gods do not wish me to be a mother."

Aegon feels like a murderer. He wants to say something, to apologize, to comfort you, but he can't. He's too taken aback to do a single thing.

He turns into stone when you take his hand. You step forward and place his palm on your chest. Your heart is slow as you speak, "you won't have to worry about anything anymore, Aegon. Today is the end of our shared torment."

Aegon's stomach drops when you kiss him.

His eyes are glassy. You pull away before he can kiss you back. He wants to hold you, but the sadness in your eyes reminds him he is undeserving. You kiss his wrist, "goodbye, my love. I love you."

His heart thumps as you walk away.

Aegon is manic. He basks in the mess he's made and feels crushed by it all.

He finally acts after wasting so much time feeling sorry for himself. You were long out of his sight by the time he started running. This is why he headed to the dragonpit and got on Sunfyre.

"WAIT!" he screams, just as your boat leaves the dock.

Aegon watches as you run to the edge of the boat. He lands Sunfyre and runs as far to the edge of the docks as he could.

"Aegon-"

"Take me with you!" he pleads, "let me be the one to take you to where you must go!"

You look back. The ship stops. The crew brings down a boat and on it, you are rowed back to the dock.

He crushes you in his arms once he reaches you.

"Aegon," you mutter.

"Forgive me," he shudders, "I... I wish you let me do this for you."

"Aegon," your voice croaks. You push him away, "go home."

His heart drops. He breaks away to look at you. Your words feel like a stab at his thorax. It was presumptuous of him to assume you'd want him back, but it doesn't kill him inside any less.

"I've come to realize this is a trip I must go on myself," you mutter.

He shakes his head, "no. Please." He motions an arm out to his mount, "one wish. That I grant you one wish before you throw me away forever is... is--"

Your throat constricts at his words. Tears rush down your eyes, "I'm not throwing you away--"

"Please," he squeezes both your hands in his, "please, let me do this for you."

The flight to the Grey Cliffs is quiet, save for the whoosh of winds and the roars of the golden dragon you both rode. You always imagined it would be freeing, but only now did you know how it freeing it truly felt to fly. You knew now you'd forever chase the euphoric crush of air against your skin.

Aegon, who sat behind you, looks at your form as you outstretch your arms and close your eyes. Your body presses against him, and in this moment, he is unable to hold back from wrapping an arm around you and sparing a kiss on your shoulder. You are snapped out of your trance because of this.

The Grey Cliffs are dark and gloomy when you get there. Aegon realizes when you land that it got its name from the weather conditions.

He helps you down and surveys the area, trying to make out which part of this drear land was so special to you that you wished to go here.

You catch his expression and squeeze his hand.

Aegon turns to you.

You give a solemn look, "the view is better on the edge."

Aegon strokes Sunfyre's cheek, commanding him to stay before you lead him by the hand to the edge of the cliff. Once you get there, he feels queasy looking down at the crashing waves far beneath him. In contrast, you seem comforted by the view. His brows furrow at the deep breath you give out.

When you look at him, his stomach feels it, the comfort you felt upon witnessing the violent waves. Whatever it was that compelled you to this place was the same force that compelled him to kiss you.

He reaches out for your cheek, his other hand coming to you back. He pulls you close. His heart twinges when you stop him from kissing you.

"Aegon-"

"Forgive me," he cuts, "I beg."

You gawk at him. He brushes your hair which was wildly flinging with the breeze.

"You must know by now that I am craven. I lack the spine and the wit to be of any use to you."

Your eyes water. Your lips quiver.

"I would be a hopeless father, worse than my own, no doubt."

"Aegon," you babble as sobs overtake you.

Aegon, himself, succumbs to tears. He wipes the ones streaming down your face before taking a breath, "but you made me feel a love I do not deserve."

You swallow a heavy lump in your throat.

"I love you," he confesses.

"No," you pierce his heart. You shake your head in disagreement, "Aegon, this is a mistake. Bringing you here was a mistake."

"No!" he blurts louder than needed, "this was a choice," he looks down, "I choose to rip my insides out for you to devour. I am miserable, much more in the heat of your hate, but most of all without you."

His downturned eyes land on your face when you grab his wrists. You croak, "I do not hate you."

Aegon is not relieved by the admission, but he chooses to believe you mean it. He smiles softly, "good."

"But I do hate this life I live."

He clenches his jaw. Of course you do.

"You saved me," you press a hand on his cheek, taking your turn to wipe his tears, "even if for a moment."

"I made you miserable."

You chuckle. The sound makes his heart skip.

"You filled my life with purpose," you smile softly, "even when you did not mean to."

Aegon knits his brows deeply and takes your hands. He brings them to his lips and kisses them.

"But accidents happen. You must remember that accidents happen all the time."

Aegon shakes his head, "this is not an accident. Believe me when I say I chose to do this, I- ... I choose to love you."

You sob and turn to your feet.

"Please... believe me."

You sniffle and nod, slowly looking up at him, "I believe you."

You lunge into his arms and seal him into a tight hug. He hugs you back like it's his only way of surviving.

A crack of thunder startles Sunfyre. He becomes restless and steals away Aegon's attention, panicked that he might flee and leave them here.

He pulls away and takes a step towards her. He holds your hand, urging you to follow, "we should go before it rains."

You hug him from behind and press your face into his back, "thank you for taking me on Sunfyre."

"It was a long time coming."

"I've always wondered what it would be like to fly. And now that I know how peaceful it is, I'm ready to fly one last time."

He turns to you as you slowly come to his side. You hold his hand. He looks at you as you turn to Sunfyre. He promises, "I will take you on dragonback as many times as you wish."

You smile, but your eyes are fixed on his dragon. You release his hand and wrap your arms around yourself, "he is beautiful. You must never tire looking at him."

Aegon gazes upon Sunfyre. He takes in his golden scales and has newfound appreciation.

You take a step back.

"He is. To be honest, it's been long since I, myself, took him out of the pit. He must enjoy this day as much as you do."

"Aegon, you must understand that what I have to say has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me."

Aegon turns to you. He watches you tighten your arms around yourself. You must be cold. He rubs your shoulders.

You shake your head and turn him back to his dragon, "look at Sunfyre."

He knits his brows, "I'm looking."

"For so long," you release him, "I've wanted to fly free, to find my peace here in the cliffs. This was before I even met you." You point at the golden dragon, "I choose to love you too, but accidents happen, like if Sunfyre were to fly away, and you were to be left here alone."

Aegon stares at his ride for a moment as you lower your hand. He tries to makes sense of your words, but he cannot for the life of him understand.

He sighs, "what accident? Why do you keep-"

Aegon is flooded by confusion when he turns and finds you nowhere behind him. A split second later, he lets a horrified scream and the fear that claws into him makes his knees buckle. He crumbles to the ground and crawls to the edge of the cliff. He screams so loud that Sunfyre roars back and comes towards him.

Aegon watches as the red seafoam bubbles at the foot of the cliff. He watches as the crimson waves slowly slosh back into its original tint.

Rain begins to pour, and his tears taste no longer salty.

Was this the flying you ached for? Was this the relief you sought?

When he returns to King's Landing, dripping wet, he breaks down in front of his mother, weeping as he clutched his skirts.

Queen Alicent is obviously disturbed. She instructs her servants to get his son a change of clothes and some towels. She looks down at him, "what's happened? What's wrong, Aegon?"

"An accident-" he barely manages to say, "there's been an accident."

"An accident?!"

Aegon's mind goes blank. A bitter taste

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Mr Gaiman, I hope your day is going well.

I can't say I'm looking for anything other than the comfort of talking to someone I don't know, and I apologize that for some unknown reason you are the only 'wiser older being' I can think of other than God. I'm 16, and because of forces outside of my control, I don't know if i can continue living normally. My family is loving, I am safe in my home, I currently have it better than most of the people in my country, I am not suicidal, but I'm terribly scared. Every time I watch the news or see my parents/teachers talk to each other, I feel this unexplained sensation that my life is getting shorter and shorter.

Mr. gaiman, I feel like I'll never get to finish high school. I'll never get to visit my grandparents' old house since the town evacuated. My aunt and her family are still up in the north, they send us videos every time they see rockets in the sky, and I debate sending 'goodbye' and 'I love you' one more time just incase. I'm terrified for them, for the people under the rubbles of their homes, for the people in foreign places that still don't know if they'll live, for the kids with no parents, for parents with no kids. I remember being nervous to talk to my friends about what we'll do when we go to the army in a few years, but as long as we keep in touch we're sure we'll be alright. I remember what I wanted to be when I'll grow up, I wanted to move, get an apartment in Porto Fino or go to meet my uncles in Viana, and translate books.

I remember it was the last few days of holiday vacation before it started, I remember it was still warm outside, and I still possessed the privilege to live.

Mr. gaiman, these days I'm learning that while I get to be luckier than most by simply being alive, I will always feel just one alarm sound away from sharing the same fate of my great-grandparents. From a young age I've seen black and white pictures of them, and so many others, and was told: 'they were here, they were alive, and you get to live the dream they died for'. I don't want to die on unfulfilled dreams.

I apologize for making you deal with this, but I want to be remembered by someone from outside who will get to live longer than me, or so I hope.

I'm 16 and a half. My brother just turned 11. I'm about to fail the test I have tomorrow. My tattoo just fully healed - the flowers symbolize undying love. I learned English on my own. I collect records with my dad. I study American history. I love your books. I bake when I feel down. I am alive. I if I die I hope it will be in a bomb shelter.

All I can wish you now is luck, good fortune, and the hope that you and your loved ones survive and that the world heals. I hope your generation helps heal the mess that previous generations have left you in.

[c0eu4]

I know this one is a little sad but

Do you think you could write one of the drivers finding their gfs self offing note? And one of the thoughts running through his mind thinking that she was introverted but she was always happy?

DR3 | What happened?

danielricciardo x fem!depress!reader

Summary : When Daniel found your suicide note.

Warning : suicide note, depression, fluff, hurt/comfort

A/n : Here, reader is depressed. It includes everything like lack of hygiene, no motivation... Please, do not read this if it can trigger you!

MASTERLIST requests are close

Daniel jumps on you and wraps his arms around you. He attacks your face with kisses, until it takes your breath away and makes you groan in displeasure.

''c'mon babe, get up!'' He told you as he continued his kisses and moved them down to your neck.

''Mhhh Dan! Move!'' You lazily push him away, rolling him onto the other side of the bed. He rolls onto his side, raising his head as he rests his head in his hand. He uses his other hand to clear your face of the few strands of hair hiding your face, tucking them behind your ears. But you push his hand away again and put the hood of your sweater on, then sink back into the blanket, pulling it up to your nose.

Daniel sighs. He noticed that you haven't been feeling well lately. You spend all your time in the bedroom and he has to force you out of bed every morning to take you somewhere. And sometimes he even has to remind you to do simple things like eating. Last meal, he feeds you, almost shoves food into your mouth because you were 'not hungry'.

But the most odd in that, it's that you're like that just with him. Whenever you're at the race with him, with people, you're someone else. You're talkative and the first to initiate the conversation. So he thought you just weren't in good mood because of the winter.

He ends up getting up, mainly because the position he's in is hurting his arm. He opens the curtains and pulls the duvet off of you, making you react.

''Daniel!'' You shouted at him and tried to grab back the duvet but only felt the sheet of the bed. You feel arms wrap around your waist and lift you up so easily. You don't say anything and let yourself do so, while Daniel carries you to force you to stand up.

''C'mon! We said we had to sort the whole house today.'' He rummages through your closet, pulling out an old t-shirt of his and a pair of shorts, then gives them to you.

''Get ready babe, I'm not gonna do this all alone.'' He kisses you tenderly and leaves the room to give you some privacy.

He noticed that too. You both don't do things anymore. He can understand that you need space, but at this point? How long ago was the last time he saw you naked? You don't even remember.

You change lazily, and join Daniel in the kitchen. In front of your usual place on the stool, you find a slightly burnt plate of pancakes, and you can't help but smile softly. He does his best. You know that he knows.

You force yourself to eat your pancakes while Daniel is already starting to sort through the few things lying around in the kitchen. He asks you from time to time if you keep this or that thing. Once your breakfast is finished, you clear your plate and help him sort the kitchen.

Time passes and you clean every room in the house from top to bottom. You decide to finish with the room that will probably take the longest to complete, your bedroom. Daniel digs under the bed, pulling out old boxes full of different things that you didn’t unpack when you moved in. You take care of sorting the wardrobe, folding and rearranging the clothes.

Daniel digs under your side of the bed and finds a small shoebox. He sits on the bed and opens the box, while watching out of the corner of his eye that you aren't watching him do so. He hates doing that, going through your stuff. But your health is starting to worry him so much that he feels the need to do it, to reassure himself.

Inside the box, there are a few papers. He recognizes a drawing that his niece drew for you, and a smile appears on his face. There is a pearl bracelet, the one that a Daniel fan gave you two years ago. He finds a jewelry bag, it's in this bag that he gave you the necklace you wear all the time. He quickly understands that in this box, there are things that you value very much. He recognizes your diary, you write in it every evening and he never thought to look at it. He takes it in his hands and a paper falls out of it. He puts the diary down and opens the paper that was folded in half. He looks at you again, and checks that you are still focused on your task of tidying the wardrobe. He returns his attention to the piece of paper he holds in his hands. This is a text that you wrote. He reads the beginning, and the first words take the smile off his face.

‹‹I want to die.››

Simple, fast and effective.

But it hurts. It hurts more because of the fact that you write it and doesn't talk to him about it.

He doesn't read any further, not wanting to intrude too much into your life and above all, not wanting to put pressure on you.

''Babe, wha-..what is that?'' You turn around with a little smile on your face and one of his hoodies in your hands. But your smile immediately fades away when you see the paper between his hands.

''It's nothing.'' You tell him coldly, snatching the paper from his hands and putting it back in the box then sliding it under the bed. Daniel places a hand on your waist and forces you to turn towards him, despite you trying not to let him. He forces you to sit on his lap and takes you in his arms.

''Don't.. please..'' He hugs you tightly, almost taking your breath away. You feel his breath faster than usual against you and he nuzzles into your neck, running one hand up and down your back.

You wrap your arms around him and rest your cheek against his hair. His scent soothes you, as usual, even if he smells slightly of sweat. But it strangely makes you feel good.

''May I ask you.. why?'' He asks you after long minutes of silence. He continues to hold you close to him, hoping he can get you to talk.

''I...I'm feeling so.. low.'' With each word you say, your voice trembles more. Tears well up in your eyes and you can't help but let them fall down your cheeks. Daniel sits a little further in the bed and this time, he presses your head against his chest while continuing to caress your back.

''It's like.. I don't know. I'm just.. I just feel like nobody understands me.'' You keep crying softly, holding back your sobs. ''Like, whatever I want to do is so hard.. just living is hard.'' Daniel lets you open up and talk to him. It's the first time he sees you like this, sobbing and shaking in his arms.

''I understand you.'' He caress your hair. ''I've been there too. And it was you who got me out of this black hole.'' he kisses your forehead as you look up at him with eyes full of hope.

''Me?..'' You repeat, more tears falling down your face.

''You gave me love, you gave me affection, you taught me to love myself and you gave me confidence in myself again.'' He smiles at you, his own eyes now wet. ''And I'm gonna do the same. I'm gonna help you. I'm gonna give you all the love I have in me, I'm gonna show you that you are enough and I'm gonna get you out of this black hole.''

His words make you cry even more and he hugs you tightly, stroking your hair and back to calm you down.

''Everything's gonna be fine. I'm here.. I'm here..'' He kisses your forehead again, determined to get you out of this hell.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Croatoan | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: implied suicidal ideation, canon violence, canon gore, medical stuff lol

Word Count: 6176

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Sam had another vision; one involving Dean killing some dude strapped to a chair. Apparently, the dude had been begging, saying, “It’s not in me!” 

‘What’s not in him, though? A demon? THE demon?’ you thought as he relayed his story.

“Well, I’m sure he had good reason,” you told Sam when he was finished.

“Well, I sure hope so—”

“What does that mean?” Dean grunted.

Sam didn’t reply.

“I mean, I'm not gonna waste an innocent man,” he scoffed.

Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother.

“He wouldn’t, Sam,” you stated, your tone warning.

“I never said he would!”

“Sure seemed implied,” you commented.

“Look, we don't know what it is,” sighed Sam. “But whatever it is, that guy in the chair's a part of it. So let's find him, and see what's what.”

“Fine,” Dean said.

“Fine,” said Sam.

The rest of the drive to Crater Lake, Oregon, was done in silence. 

***

You pulled into the small town of Rivergrove along the main strip of small businesses and homely apartment complexes. Most of the shops almost looked like wooden cabins, and you approached a man sitting under one of the wooden overhangs cleaning a rifle. 

“Morning,” Dean called.

“Good morning. Can I help you?” He turned to you.

“Yeah.” Dean pulled out his badge. “Uh, Billy Gibbons, Frank Beard, Kymberly Herrin. U.S. Marshals.”

The man furrowed his brows. “What’s this about?”

“We're looking for someone,” he answered.

“A young man, early twenties,” added Sam. “He'd have a— a thin scar right below his hairline.”

The man seemed surprised. “What’d he do?”

“Well, nothing. We're actually looking for someone else, but we think this young man could help us,” Sam replied. 

“Yeah, he's not in any kind of trouble or anything; well, not yet,” Dean chuckled. He looked down at the intricate tattoo on the man’s forearm. “I think maybe you know who he is… Master Sergeant.” He smiled. “My dad was in the Corps, he was a Corporal.”

“What company?” the man asked.

“Echo-2-1,” Dean replied, smiling proudly. 

Sam got back to business. “So, can you help us?”

The man hesitated before talking again. “Duane Tanner's got a scar like that. But I know him. Good kid, keeps his nose clean.”

Dean nodded. “Oh, I'm sure he does. Um. You know where he lives?”

“With his family, up Aspen Way.”

“Thank you.”

You bumped into a telephone pole as you and the brothers headed back to the car. You looked down at it, and something caught your eye. There was a single word etched into the pole: “CROATOAN.” You brushed your fingers over the etching. “Guys, look.”

“Croatoan?” Dean read.

“Yeah.”

Dean looked at you blankly.

Sam gave him a look. “Roanoke? Lost colony? Ring a bell? Dean, did you pay any attention in history class?”

“Yeah! Shots heard 'round the world, How bills become laws…” Dean trailed off.

“That's not school, that's Schoolhouse Rock,” Sam scoffed.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Anywho,” you cut back in. “Roanoke was one of the first English colonies— late 1500s-ish?”

“Oh yeah, yeah, I do remember that,” Dean said excitedly. “The only thing they left behind was a single word carved in a tree. Croatoan.”

“Yeah. There were theories,” you continued. “Native American raid, disease, famine, but nobody really knows what happened. They were all just… gone. Wiped out overnight.”

Dean cocked his head to the side. “You don't think that's what's going on here, I mean—”

Sam cut him off with a sigh. “Whatever I saw in my head, it sure wasn't good. But what do you think could do that?”

“Well, I mean, like I said, all of your weirdo visions are always tied to the Yellow-Eyed Demon somehow, so…” Dean trailed off.

“We should get help. Bobby, uh, Ellen maybe?” Sam suggested.

“Good idea,” you said. You pulled out your phone to call Bobby, only to discover you had no signal. “Great. No signal.”

The two brothers took their phones out as well. 

“Huh, me neither,” said Sam. 

“Nada,” Dean stated.

“Payphone, maybe?” you tried, leading the boys over to one. Unfortunately for you, all you heard was a beeping to signify no signal. “Line's dead.” You hung up the phone.

“I'll tell you one thing. If I was gonna massacre a town, that'd be my first step,” Dean noted, pointing at the payphone. 

***

You pulled up in front of a homely, slightly tacky cabin. Sam rapped his knuckles against the door, and almost immediately, a teenage boy opened it.

“Yeah?” he grinned.

Dean flashed his badge. “We're looking for Duane Tanner; he lives here, right?”

“Yeah, he's my brother,” the boy nodded.

“Can we talk to him?”

He sucked in air through his teeth. “Oh, he's not here right now.”

“Do you know where he is?” Dean pressed.

“Yeah, he went on a fishing trip up by Roslyn Lake.”

“Your parents home?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, they're inside,” the boy nodded.

“Jake?” a voice called. ‘Oh, that’s his name.’ “Who is it?”

Dean spoke as the owner of the voice appeared. “Hi, U.S. Marshals, sir, we're looking for your son Duane.”

Mr. Tanner seemed confused. “Wh— Why? He's not in trouble, is he?”

“No, no, no, no. We just need to ask him a couple of routine questions, that's all.” Dean flashed a winning smile.

“When's he due back from his trip?” questioned Sam.

“I'm not sure.”

“Well, maybe your wife knows.”

The man’s eerie smile was far too cheerful for the current conversation. “No, I don't know, she's not here right now.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Your son said she was.”

Jake seemed caught. “Did I?”

This whole thing was weirding you the hell out.

“She's getting groceries,” Mr. Tanner smiled. “So, when Duane gets back, there's a number where he can get a hold of you?”

“Oh, no,” Dean said. “We'll just check in with you later.”

The three of you turned back down the steps, and you waited to talk until you heard the door close. “That was kind of creepy, right? Little too… Stepford?”

“Big time,” Dean replied.

You headed around the back of the house, ducking down to avoid being seen by the Tanners. You caught sight of a poor woman with mussed up blonde hair tied to a chair sweating and crying. You cocked your gun as Dean kicked in the door, and you quickly shot Mr. Tanner in the chest when he tried to charge you with a knife. You turned to Sam and Dean who were over by the window.

“He got away,” Dean grunted, referencing Jake who had leapt out of the window.

“Great,” you sighed. You turned your attention back to the woman in the chair and noticed a profusely bleeding wound. “Dean, start the car. Sam, get her to the backseat. I’m gonna patch her up as best I can til we can get to a doctor.”

The boys nodded and rushed to do your bidding. You rushed to the trunk of the Impala and pulled out your makeshift first aid kit— a collection of wraps, bandages, antiseptics, antibiotics, sutures, sewing needles, thread, and painkillers you gathered from random pharmacies and kept in a small, vintage tin box with roses etched into the lid and occasionally refilled. You hurriedly got in the backseat with the woman, and you kept her conscious by asking her questions about herself. You learned her name was Beverly, and that her two sons, Duane and Jake, went fishing and hunting together all the time. Her first sign that something was wrong was that Jake didn’t go with his brother on the trip. After her hiccups mourning the death of her husband— for which you profusely apologized to her— and hissing in pain as you kept pressure on her wound, you finally arrived at a small clinic on the main stretch of road. 

You held the pressure on her shoulder as you led her into the clinic, yelling, “Doctor! We need a doctor!”

A young woman in a pleasant floral jacket and cute pink headband came rushing out, concerned. “Mrs. Tanner, what happened?” she asked the woman on your shoulder.

“She’s been attacked,” you explained, hurrying past her.

“Dr. Lee!” the young woman called.

The doctor instructed you to head down the hallway into an examination room. You gently placed her down on the bed, and Beverly moaned as you shifted position around her to continue holding her shoulder. The doctor came into the room moments later followed by Sam and Dean, who stood at the doorway. You filled the doctor in on the medical history you’d gathered from Mrs. Tanner on the way to the clinic, and the doctor immediately set to work stitching the wound. You tossed the tattered and bloodstained jacket Mrs. Tanner had been wearing into the garbage and washed your hands up to your elbows. 

Beverly began to explain what happened to the doctor, who seemed shocked. “Wait, you said Jake helped him? Your son Jake?” the doctor asked.

Beverly nodded. “They beat me. Tied me up.”

“I don't believe it,” the young nurse breathed out. 

“Beverly… do you have any idea why they would act this way? Any history of chemical dependency?” Dr. Lee questioned.

“No, of course not. I don't know why. One minute they were my husband and my son. And the next, they had the devil in them.” Beverly shook as she spoke.

You walked out into the hallway with Sam and Dean.

“Those guys were whacked out of their gourds,” Dean commented.

“Ya think?” you snorted. “And what I don’t understand is, if they already beat and subdued her, why put that giant gash on her shoulder? That wound was fresh; like it happened this morning. Everything else seemed a few days old, at least.”

“Yeah, this whole thing is weird, man,” Sam added. “What do you guys think? Multiple demons, mass possession?”

“If it is a possession there could be more. I mean, God knows how many, it could be like a friggin' Shriner convention,” Dean grumbled. “Of course, that's one way to wipe out a town, you take it from the inside.”

“I don't know, man. We didn't see any of the demon smoke with Mr. Tanner, or any of the other usual signs,” Sam reminded his brother.

“Well, whatever. Something turned him into a monster. And you know if you woulda taken out the other one, there'd be one less to worry about,” the older brother chided.

Sam huffed, “I'm sorry, alright? I hesitated, Dean, it was a kid!”

“Boys, relax!” you scolded, standing between them.

Dean looked over your head at Sam. “No, it was an ‘it’. Not the best time for a bleeding heart, Sam.”

“Dean,” you murmured harshly. 

Dr. Lee stalked out of the lab, heels clicking loudly on the floor to let the brothers know it was time to stop arguing. 

“How is she?” you asked her.

“Terrible! What the hell happened out there?” she questioned.

“We don't know,” Dean shook his head.

“Yeah? Well, you just killed my next door neighbor.” Dr. Lee crossed her arms over her chest.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you told her. “All of us would’ve been dead if I hadn’t.”

“Maybe so, but we need the county Sheriff. I need the coroner —”

Sam cut her off. “Phones are down.”

“I know, I tried. Tell me you have a police radio in the car?” Dr. Lee pleaded.

“Yeah, we do. But it crapped out just like everything else,” Sam said.

The blonde ran a hand through her hair and began to pace. “I don't understand what is happening.”

“How far is it to the next town?” you asked her.

“It's about forty miles down to Sidewinder.”

“Alright, I'm gonna go down there, see if I can find some help. You’re coming with me.” He looked down at you before clapping Sam on the shoulder. “My partner 'll stick around, keep you guys safe.”

“Safe from what?” Dr. Lee questioned pointedly.

“We'll get back to you on that,” Dean responded. He then led you away from Sam and Dr. Lee and out to the Impala.

“What’d you do with Mr. Tanner?” you asked him.

“He’s in the lab somewhere. Man’s heavier than he looks,” he joked as he began to drive off.

“Dean, I killed him,” you mourned. “He was just a guy. Now, his two sons don’t have a father. He was a person.”

“(Y/N), since when are you all morally gray?” Dean questioned gently. His usual bite behind his sarcasm was missing. “I get it, but he wasn’t ‘just a guy’ anymore.”

“I know that,” you said. “That’s what I’m starting to get worried about. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice. Vamps used to be people. Hell, one of my first vamp kills was my parents. I don’t know what’s happening to me, man. I don’t hesitate— hell no— but… I don’t know.”

“Hey, I get it.” He reached across the seat and grabbed your hand. “I’m a straight shooter, too. I’m in the same place you are.”

You scooched across the bench seat and kept your hand entwined with Deans, playing with his fingers. You leaned your head on his shoulder, and he pulled your hand up to his lips and kissed it, eyes never leaving the road. 

“Things keep getting weirder, dude. Since when do we second-guess?” You tried to muster a laugh, but your heart wasn’t in it.

“I know. This whole thing is spinnin’ out of our control. I hate it,” he admitted. 

“Yeah, me, too,” you murmured. “I wish we could’ve met under normal circumstances.”

He chuckled. “Hm. Me, too.”

The rest of the drive was spent hand in hand and silent. You continued to play with Dean’s fingers and kept your head on his shoulder. Only when you saw two cars blocking the road and men standing with their large guns drawn did you pull your head up. Dean’s grip on your hand tightened— whether to reassure you or himself, you weren’t sure— as he rolled to a stop. You noticed one of the men in front of you was the teenager from the Tanner house, Jake. He stopped the car, frowning. Something banged on the roof of the car, making both you and Dean jump. His hand never left yours, and he shifted his body toward the man leaning down into the window almost protectively in front of you. “Oh-ho-ho. Hey,” Dean awkwardly laughed.

“Sorry. Road's closed,” the man at the driver’s side window grinned.

“Yeah, I can see that. What's up?” Dean questioned.

“Quarantine,” was his simple reply.

“Quarantine? Why?” you asked. Dean stiffened and tried to hide you more with his body when you spoke.

“Don't know,” the man tsked. “Something going around out there.”

“Uh-huh. Who told you that?” Dean asked, sass lying just below the surface of his tone.

The man’s face was blank when he responded. “County Sheriff.”

“Is he here?”

“No. He called. Say, why don't you get out of the car and we'll talk a little?”

Dean laughed nervously. “Well, you are a handsome devil, but I don't swing that way, sorry.”

“I'd sure appreciate it if you got out of the car, just for a quick minute.” The man’s stoicism was beginning to drop, and the anger bubbling just below the surface was becoming visible.

“Yeah, I'll bet you would.” Dean released your hand to quickly throw the car in reverse. The man grabbed his collar and held on for dear life as you tried your best to pry his fingers off. Thankfully, Dean swung the car around, finally cutting the man loose, and sped away. The sound of guns firing at the car filled your ears, but none of the bullets seemed to be hitting their desired target.

“You okay?” Dean asked you, throwing you a worried look.

“Yeah,” you heaved. “You?”

“Peachy,” he grunted.

Suddenly, the ex-military man you first met in town stepped in the path of the Impala, brandishing a rifle.

Dean slammed on his brakes, and you put your hands on the dashboard to steady yourself.

“Hands where I can see 'em!” the man yelled.

“Son of a—” Dean grumbled, holding his hands up. You did the same.

“Get out of the car! Out of the car!” he commanded.

You slowly slid across the seat to the passenger’s side door as Dean started climbing out. You took the opportunity of your hands being hidden behind the door to quickly whip out your handgun.

“Drop the gun!” you ordered.

“Put it down, now!” the man yelled back at you. “Are y’all part of 'em?!” 

“No!” Dean answered. “Are you?”

“No!”

“You could be lying!” Dean protested.

“So could you!”

“Alright! Alright,” you broke in. “We could do this all day, alright? Let's just, uh, let's take it easy before we kill each other.”

The sergeant relaxed slightly. “What's going on with everybody?”

“I don't know,” you admitted.

“My neighbor— Mr. Rogers, he—”

Dean interrupted the man. “You've got a neighbor named Mr. Rogers?”

“Not anymore,” the man responded gruffly. “He came at me with a hatchet. I put him down. He's not the only one, I mean, it's happening to everyone.”

“We’re heading over to the Doc's place, there's still some people left,” Dean explained.

“No, no way. I'm getting the hell out,” the older man stated.

“There's no way out, they got the bridge covered, now come on,” the older Winchester said.

“I don't believe you,” the man replied.

“Fine, stay here, be my guest.” It was then you noticed Dean was pointing a handgun at the man, too, who hesitated before walking over to the backseat of the Impala. He swapped his rifle for a handgun as he stooped down into the backseat, and you kept your gun trained on him over the back of your seat. The older man kept his gun aimed at you, but his eyes would frantically flick to Dean every now and again.

Dean looked between you and the man and put his gun away to be able to drive back to the clinic. “Well, this ought to be a relaxing drive.”

You pinned the sergeant to his spot in the backseat with a hard glare and your gun on him. He returned your glare and pointed gun the whole way to the clinic. Despite your aching arms, you refused to falter. “What’s your name?” you asked him, still on your guard.

“Mark.”

“Mark. Nice to meet you, Mark,” you smiled despite your situation.

Dean slowed to a stop in front of the clinic, and you and Mark mutually agreed to relax your guns. 

“Sammy? Open up!” Dean banged on the door to the clinic. 

Sam appeared at the glass a few moments later and allowed you inside. You kept your gun cocked and in your hand but pointed at the floor. 

“Did you guys, uh, get to a phone?” Sam questioned, looking between the three guns you were all brandishing.

“Road block.” Dean turned to Mark. “I'm gonna have a word. Doc's inside.”

Mark looked between the three of you, hesitating, before heading inside.

“What's going on out there, guys?” Sam asked.

“Man, I don't know, I feel like Chuck Heston in the Omega Man. I mean, Sarge is the only sane person I could find. What are we dealing with, do you know?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah. Doc thinks it's a virus.”

Dean snorted. “Okay, great. What do you think?”

“I think she's right.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Really,” Sam answered. “And I think the infected are trying to infect others with blood-to-blood contact. Oh, but it gets better. The, uh, the virus? Leaves traces of sulfur in the blood.”

“Cool. Demonic virus,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, more like demonic germ warfare,” Sam added.  “At least it explains why I've been having visions.”

“It's like a Biblical plague,” noted Dean.

“Yeah. You don't know how right you are, Dean. I've been poring through Dad's journal, found something about the Roanoke colony,” Sam began. “Dad always had a theory about Croatoan. He thought it was a demon's name. Sometimes known as Deva or sometimes Resheph. A demon of plague and pestilence.”

Dean laughed humorlessly. “Well, that— that's terrific. Why here, why now?”

“I have no idea. But Dean, who knows how far this thing can spread? We gotta get out of here, we gotta warn people—”

Before any of you could speak, Mark called from the back of the clinic, “They've got one! In here!”

Dean entered the room behind Sam. “What do you mean?” he asked Mark.

“The wife. She's infected,” Sam explained.

“We've gotta take care of this. We can't just leave her in there. My neighbors, they were strong. The longer we wait, the stronger she'll get,” Mark urged.

You hesitated, but only for a moment, before brushing past Sam and Dean into the lab with your gun drawn. 

“Whoa!” the sweet nurse from earlier exclaimed. “You're gonna kill Beverly Tanner?”

“Doctor, could there be any treatment? Some kind of cure for this?” Sam pleaded.

“Can you cure it?” You turned toward Dr. Lee.

“For God's sake, I don't even know what ‘it’ is!” she cried.

“I told you, it's just a matter of time before she breaks through,” Mark told you.

“Just leave her in there, you can't shoot her like an animal!” the young nurse said.

You slowly walked over to the door of the utility room Beverly was being held in. You, Dean, and Mark held your guns steady on the door. Sam carefully opened it to reveal Beverly huddled on the floor in a corner, crying into her knees. She jumped as you approached. “Mark, what are you doing? Mark, it's, it's them!” She pointed at you, Dean, and Sam, who stood over your shoulder. “They locked me in here, they— they tried to kill me! They're infected, not me! Please, Mark! You've known me all your life! Please!”

“You sure she's one of 'em?” Dean asked, looking at his brother. 

Sam nodded. Mark pulled back, looking distraught, and you took the opportunity to step forward. 

In an attempt to hear as few of her cries for mercy as possible, you quickly fired one shot square between her eyes. Guilt immediately clawed at your throat, and you thought you could throw up. You stowed your gun and crouched beside her crumpled form. You moved her into a less disturbing configuration, laying her on her back with her arms crossed over her chest. You closed her paralyzed, open eyes and brushed through her hair with your fingers. With the back of your hand, you wiped your own eyes and stood, leaving the room and shutting the door behind you. 

Choked up, you pushed past a concerned Sam and Dean and headed out to the car. You grabbed your duffel bag to have some reason for going outside from the trunk when you heard a sound from down the street: a car approaching. Your breath caught, and you ducked behind the wall of the clinic’s entrance; back pressed to it. You peeked out briefly to see Jake was the one driving the car with the man who had tried to kill you and Dean earlier. Soundlessly, you slipped back inside the building and turned the lights at the entrance off. 

You locked both the door to the entrance and the door to the waiting room behind you, hurriedly pulling down the shades and turning off as many unnecessary lights as possible. You turned the light off in the waiting room and stormed into the lab where everyone was huddled together. You pulled down the shades behind Dr. Lee wordlessly.

“(Y/N/N)?” Sam asked gently. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re here. Everybody, get yourself a weapon from my bag if you know how to use one. Don’t grab one, get injured, and then get infected, got it?” you ordered.

Sam nodded and grabbed your bag from you. He threw you your bowie knife and pulled a hunting knife from the duffel for himself. 

The young nurse, who you learned was named Pam, dropped a vial of blood, and she screamed. “Oh god! Is there any on me? Am I okay?”

Dr. Lee tried to calm her down. “You're clean, you're okay.”

“Why are we staying here? Please, let's just go!” Pam cried.

“No, we can't because those things are everywhere,” Dean stated firmly.

Pam began to sink to the floor. “Oh god!—”

“Hey, shh, shh,” Dr. Lee told her.

Sam turned to you and Dean who stood together by the lab’s entrance. “She's right about one thing,” he said just loud enough for the two of you to hear. “We can't stay here. We've gotta get out of here, get to the Roadhouse? Somewhere. Let people know what's coming.”

“Yeah, good point,” Dean nodded. “Night of the Living Dead didn't exactly end pretty.”

“Well, I'm not sure we've got a choice,” Mark cut in. “Lots of folks up here are good with rifles— even with all your hardware we're- we're easy targets. So unless you've got some explosives…” he trailed off.

You looked up at the shelf of medical supplies and turned to Sam. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“Yeah, actually.” He grabbed a bottle of potassium chloride and waved it at you.

“I’m lost, what’s happening here?” Dean questioned. “Speak, nerds.”

You deadpanned at him. “Potassium chlorate bombs. I’ve gotta figure out a way to ionize the chloride and get some oxygen in it; otherwise, this’ll never—”

Your explanation was cut off by a loud banging on the door.

“Hey! Let me in, let me in! Please!” the voice called as you approached the door.

“It's Duane Tanner!” Mark announced. He opened the door to let him in, and you grabbed your gun in your jacket immediately.

“Thank god,” Duane breathed out, walking into the clinic. 

Mark locked the door behind him. “Duane, you okay?”

Dean quietly asked Sam, “That's the guy that I, uh—” he clicked his tongue.

Sam nodded, seeming shaken.

“Who else is in here?” Duane went to step into the lab, but Dean grabbed his arm.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there, chief,” he said. “Hey Doc! Give Duane a good once-over, would you?”

Dr. Lee led your group into the lab. “Pam?”

Pam seemed to understand what that meant and moved to gather medical supplies.

“Who are you?” Duane asked Dean.

“Never mind who I am. Doc.”

Dr. Lee nodded nervously. “Yeah, okay.”

“Duane. Where you been?” Mark asked softly.

“On a fishing trip up by Roslyn. I came back this afternoon. I— I saw Roger McGill being dragged out of his house by people we know! They started cutting him with knives! I ran, I've been hiding in the woods ever since. Has anybody seen my mom and dad?”

Your heart squeezed in your chest and bile rose in your throat.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Dean whispered to you. 

You could barely hear him over your heart pounding against your ribcage. You then noticed a deep gash in Duane’s left leg. “He’s bleeding.”

“Where'd you get that?” Dean interrogated.

“I was running, I must have tripped.” Duane’s cool tone was making it difficult to read whether he was infected or genuinely had no idea what was going on.

“Tie him up, there's rope in there,” the older brother ordered. You complied and dug the rope out of the supply closet.

“Wait—” Duane said, attempting to stand.

“Sit down!” Dean commanded, pointing his gun at Duane.

“I'm sorry, Duane, he's right,” Mark agreed. “We've gotta be careful.”

“Careful? About what?”

“Did they bleed on you?” Dean questioned, not answering the young man’s question.

“No, what the hell? No!” Duane frantically answered.

“Doc? Any way to know for sure, any test?” Sam questioned. You could tell he was trying to deescalate the situation before his vision came true. 

Dr. Lee sighed. “I've studied Beverly's bloodwork backwards and forwards.”

“My mom!” Duane cried.

Dr. Lee continued. “It took three hours for the virus to incubate. The sulfur didn't appear in the blood until then, so… no, there'd be no way of knowing. Not until after Duane turns.”

Sam looked over to his brother. “Dean, I gotta talk to you. Now.”

Dean looked over to you, and you nodded, standing up from where you’d tied Duane to the chair he was sitting in. You drew your gun and trained it on him while the brothers stepped out into the hall.

Dean reappeared a minute or so later.

“Where’s Sam?” you asked him.

He didn’t answer you. He simply cocked his gun and looked past you at Duane. Pam and Dr. Lee startled to their feet, chests heaving as they looked between Dean and Duane.

“No, you're not gonna—” Duane heaved. “No, no, I swear it's not in me!”

“Oh God. We're all gonna die,” Pam cried.

“Maybe he's telling the truth,” Mark tried.

“No, he's not him, not anymore.”

“Stop it! Ask her, ask the doctor! It's not in me!” Duane pleaded.

Dr. Lee shook her head and hesitantly looked at Dean. “I… I can’t tell.”

Duane began to sob. “Please, don't. Don't, please. I swear, it's not in me, it's not in me, I swear, I— I swear it's not in me. No, don't.”

Dean seemed to get choked up, too. “I got no choice.” 

You stared at him, eyes almost pleading him not to pull the trigger. However, you would also respect his choice if he did; you knew the risks. Dean trembled, hesitating, and finally lowered the gun. “Dammit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. 

He left the room, and you followed. Dean let Sam out of the room he’d apparently locked his younger brother in wordlessly and kept stalking down the hall. Sam simply looked after him for a moment before turning back to the lab, but you followed Dean further.

He turned into a dark exam room at the end of the hall. You did so as well, making sure the curtains were drawn as tightly as possible before you flicked on the desk lamp. Dean sat in a chair while you sat in another, facing him. Neither of you said a word for a moment. 

“What made you stop?” you asked him.

He hesitated before answering. “Sam,” he replied simply. “And you.”

Your breath caught at his admission. “Me?” you asked, just loud enough for him to hear. 

He nodded, unable to meet your gaze. 

“Why?” you asked softly.

“Couldn’t let you watch me do that,” he muttered. “And… I want you to see me how I see you.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean— You just— You remind me that there’s good out there. In all this crap. You make me wanna be better,” he admitted, gaze still pointed to the floor. 

You reached over and tilted his chin to face you with your index finger, forcing him to look at you. “Dean—”

He cut you off by surging forward to crush his lips to yours. You sighed into the kiss, winding your hands around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He cupped your chin with one hand and grabbed your waist with the other. You kissed once, then again, then one final time before simply resting your foreheads against each other’s. You nudged his nose with yours, eyes still closed, and he stroked circles on your hip with his thumb. 

The two of you were broken apart by the sound of a scream and two shots being fired off. You barely shared a look before sprinting toward the sound with your guns drawn.

“It’s Sam,” Mark told you. “He’s infected.”

Your jaw went slack at the sight of Sam on the floor with an open wound on his chest and Pam lying dead on the floor beside him.

“Oh, god,” you breathed out, turning to see Dean completely shocked and terrified.

*** Your group had Sam tied to a chair with a bandage over his wound. Dean was angry, and Sam seemed defeated. Your heart broke for both brothers and for the fact that you were gonna lose an amazing friend soon. 

“Nobody is shooting my brother,” Dean stated firmly.

Duane argued, “He isn't gonna be your brother much longer. You said it yourself.”

“Nobody is shooting anyone!” you shouted. 

“He was gonna shoot me!” Duane gestured toward Dean.

“You don't shut your pie-hole, I still might!” Dean grunted.

Sam’s sad voice caught everyone’s attention. “Dean, they're right. I'm infected; just give me the gun and I'll do it myself.”

“Fuck that,” Dean scoffed.

“Dean, I'm not gonna become one of those things,” Sam pleaded.

“Sam, we've still got some time—”

Mark cut Dean off. “Time for what? Look, I understand he's your brother, and I'm sorry, I am. But we gotta take care of this.” He pulled out his gun.

“I'm gonna say this one time— you make a move on him, you'll be dead before you hit the ground. You understand me? Do I make myself clear?!” Dean growled.

Mark’s face was set in hard lines. “Then what are we supposed to do?!”

Dean tossed Mark his kets. “Get the hell out of here, that's what. Take my car. You've got the explosives, there's an arsenal in there. You two go with him. You've got enough firepower to handle anything now. (Y/N), you go with them.”

“Dean, no!” you said. “I’m not leaving you!”

“Sweetheart, you have to—”

“No!”

“Guys, no. No. Go with them. This is your only chance!” Sam cried.

Dean turned to his younger brother. “You're not gonna get rid of me that easy.”

Mark chimed back in. “No, he's right. Come with us.”

Dean just stared at him.

“Okay, it's your funeral.” He led Duane and Dr. Lee out the door.

“Thank you, for everything,” Dr. Lee told you as she left.

“Don’t mention it,” you said halfheartedly.

She shut the door behind you, and Sam began to cry.

You were repeatedly surprised by Dean’s sense of play and slight immaturity at the grimmest of moments. “Wish we had a deck of cards, or a foosball table or something.”

“Don’t do this,” Sam pleaded. “Just get the hell out of here.”

“He’s right, (Y/N), you should leave,” Dean tired.

You crossed your arms and spoke with authority despite your soft tone. “Dean, we’ve discussed this already. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Give me my gun and leave,” Sam begged.

“For the last time, Sam. No,” Dean stated.

Sam slammed his fists against his chair. “This is the dumbest thing you've ever done.”

“Oh, I don't know about that. Remember that waitress in Tampa?” Dean shuddered.

“Dean, I'm sick. It's over for me. It doesn't have to be for you two,” Sam sobbed. “You can keep going.”

“Who says I want to?” Dean admitted.

“What?” you and Sam breathed out.

Dean pulled his handgun out of his waistband and put it on the file cabinet behind him. “I'm tired, Sam. I'm tired of this job, this life… this weight on my shoulders, man. I'm tired of it.”

Sam scoffed. “So, what, so you're just going to give up? You're just gonna lay down and die? Look, Dean, I know this stuff with Dad has—” 

“You're wrong. It's not about Dad. I mean, part of it is, sure, but…” he trailed off.

“What is it about?” Sam questioned.

A knock at the door broke the tense silence settled over the room. “You'd better come see this,” Dr. Lee called through the door.

You quickly untied Sam and brought him out to where Dr. Lee, Dean, Mark, and Duane were already gathered. 

“There's no one. Not anywhere. They've all just… vanished,” Dr. Lee explained.

“Croatoan,” you realized, looking over at the telephone pole opposite you.

***

Miraculously, the virus didn’t incubate in Sam’s blood. Strangely, when Dr. Lee looked back at the Tanner samples, the sulfur was gone, too. Confused and slightly uneasy, you and the brothers packed up the Impala. 

“Hey, the Sarge and I are getting the hell out of here, heading south. You should come,” Duane suggested to Dr. Lee.

“I'd better get over to Sidewinder, get the authorities up here. If they'll believe me. Take care,” she told them.

Mark waved to the three of you as well as Dr. Lee. 

“What about him?” Dean pointed to his brother.

“He's going to be fine. No signs of infection,” she grinned.

You turned to Sam.

“Hey, don't look at me. I got no clue,” he said.

“I swear, I'm gonna lose sleep over this one. I mean, why here, why now? And where the hell did everybody go? It's like they just fuckin’ melted,” Dean griped.

“Why was I immune?” Sam wondered aloud.

“Yeah. You know what? That's a good question. You know, I'm already starting to feel like this is the one that got away.” Dean walked around to the driver’s side of the car and pulled away from the town. His words hung ominously over the car for the remainder of your drive.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[ponett]

wait, you could have gotten a follow up with Ken himself? did that go very far or were you not interested? i getta imagine even if you dont like his work, asking the man himself about his days on the comic would be illuminating.

I could have. Part of me was definitely curious, since there's so much we don't know about what was going on behind the scenes at Archie and Ken's one of the few people still interested in talking about it. But it's also like... I dunno, I just like to keep some distance between me as a critic and him as a creator. I can talk about his work, I can talk about things he's said publicly about his work, but I don't need to drag him directly into it. It's the same reason why I've never interacted with him directly on Twitter, even though people loooooooove to get into arguments with him about Sonic shit. As critical as I've been of both him and his work, I have zero desire to grill him in person.

Were I to interview him, there are basically two paths I see here:

Option A: I do a totally cordial softball interview, magically putting aside my well-established opinions on the guy from my decade spent running TKP, and use it as an opportunity to get some more insight into the creation of the comics from him. And then what? I go right back to poking fun at him on my Tumblr blog that has his name in the URL? I'm pretty soft on the guy these days compared to all the Sonic fans out there who think he's The Literal Devil, but still, there's no way for this to not feel like entrapment to me. Like I'm just playing nice so he can give me ammo for when I turn around and continue poking fun at his work and his occasional legal threat. And even if I never use anything he says in that interview against him, since I finished covering his Archie Sonic run for the blog years ago rarely have any reason to even bring him up, my audience will sure as hell comb through every word he says to find more coal for the hate train.

Option B: I'm more critical of him to his face, in which case I'm basically just bullying a kinda pathetic old man, who's already alienated most of his peers and committed career suicide, for writing some children's comics I didn't like 20-30 years ago. There is not a single iota of me that wants to turn into Ken's equivalent of that asshole who paid to be a guest on the BumbleKast just to ask Ian Flynn a bunch of questions that boiled down to "hey so this story you wrote sucked, why'd you write it that way?"

It just doesn't feel right to me no matter how you slice it. Ken's not some monstrous public figure who needs to get held accountable for his actions in an interview or something. At the end of the day, it's just comics. It's not that serious. He can continue making his weird little Lara-Su Chronicles comics and putting his foot in his mouth of his own accord, and I can continue being like "lol remember when Knuckles got called a 'proud man-child' at his own funeral" as a side thing to my own creative career, and never the twain shall meet

[r3starttt]

CALL ME BY YOUR NAME | 03

fic M.list | read this or DNI

an: pretty short BUT it’s because nsfw part it’s gonna be long soooo I’ll do it separately, stay tuned y’all 😍☝️

"Is it better to speak or to die?" Your mom says, gently running her fingers all over your arm. Your dad, on the other side, kept his gaze fully fixated on your mom, who kept on reading a German novel.

It was raining, the type of rain to male everyone want to sleep, the one that could be perceived as white noise. Outside there was barely sunlight, the ambience was cold and the sky was all gray. You found comfort in it.

Lights went off, all at once, no warning at all. "You know we...you can always talk to us, yeah?" Your dad whispers, taking you out of that trance you've been since yesterday. Do they know? Does she know?

You simply nodded, reciprocating the sheepish smile your parents were giving you as a sort of comfort you kept ignoring you needed.

-

You can feel her eyes all over your body. The sound of her legs moving around the water, accompanied by the birds chirping, it makes you nauseus.

She wasn't here yesterday, and you simply could not stop thinking of her, what she did, and with who? Why not you and why, no matter how hard you tried, it couldn't be you the one.

If it wasn't because of the sunglasses you'd be out of here in less then a second, hiding in your room and pretending to not notice when she arrives home or leaves, pretending to not hear her muffled whines right next to you every night, pretending to not take a quick look outside your balcony whenever you hear her swimming, or pretending to not slick your ear to the bathroom door whenever water starts running. Because ironically, you do hate her, and it seems like the longer she stays the less you can handle her.

"Gotta go to town in a little bit to pick some things up" Abby con barely finish her sentence when you're already replying. Your voice elicts a smile on her face, pretty cocky as usual "Oh, I can go. I'm not doing anything today"

She just shrugges, taking her legs out of the water "then why don't we go together?" Your elbows act before you let them, forcing you to stand almost right when her voice is heard. You hated her for this.

-

You kept remembering the first time you brought her her. It was impossible to not regret it, after all it felt like suicide. You've done this to yourself just to not be a stubborn daughter for once.

It's strange, even when she first came you knew something was different, that's what lead you to act different for once. Maybe it wasn't you but her the problem.

You opened your mouth, letting her place the cigarette on it. She'd been making you wait for a while and your hands were busy, so far this was the only decent thing she's done for you, and it's not even on purpose. The lighter came closer to your face, and so did she. You haven't seen her this close, it's probably the first time you get to see what colors her eyes are. And even when it takes seconds, the contact it's enough for you, and you can swear you feel the warmth coming out of her body as well.

"I thought you didn't smoke?" You can see her siluette walking vaguely around you, taking her bicycle again "I don't" The defensiveness in her voice, you reciprocated her foolish smile.

"So, world War two, huh?" The metal of the bicycle had barely hit the railing that protected the omenage when she was already walking away from you, again. "No, this is world War one"

A 'huh' brushes past her lips. Abby restes her elbows on the railing, letting out a small hiss at the warmth of it. How stupid, you think.

"I don't even know about the.. battle of Piavé?" Her sandals hit the ground at her every step, hands running along the railing. "Píave, one of the most lethal battles of World War one" your hands rest on your stomach, crossed to support each other. And even though your eyes are looking at the statue in front of you, you can still feel her essence neare you, eating you alive with just the eyes.

"Is there anything you don't know?" You knew for a fact she meant to be nice right now, but you felt like putting some force on it, some sort of invisible barrier, because once you let her have her chance with you, you wouldn't stop her. And it wasn't meant to be, it couldn't. "I know nothing Abby"

You shocked your head, walking on the opposite side to where she kept resting. Taking a long deep drag of the cigarette "is that so? Because you seem to know more than anybody else around here". You both had sunglasses on, but even like that every time your glances coincided, the feeling was so strong it felt palpable.

"If you only knew how little I know about the things that matter" there's a sarcastic tone on your voice, unintentional but real. "What things that matter?" She clicked her tongue, extending her arms so the palms of her hands could be fully resting on the metal fence. "You know what things". Your arms crossed over the fence, hiding your face in between.

"Why're you telling me this? The smells of the cigarette suddenly became unbearable. "'Cause I thought you should know?" Even though she's away from you her laugh is still audible enough "Because you thought I should know?" There's a hidden tone on her voice you just can't decipher, and it causes you such a painfull feeling each time it appears, like you're the one doing it all wrong, like you're the adult. "'Cause I wanted you to know?" You tried to fix it, immediately regretting it.

You both walked to what was left ot the fence, each on one side. You kept repeating your las sentence, how stupid it sounded, how stupid you are. Until you're face to face again with her, and you feel so mature, so understood.

Her left hands is placed on her waist, one knee slightly flexioned and the other hand taking the cigarette away from her mouth as she lets the smoke fly to your face. She seemes hesitant, nothing she's ever been with around you but only when your mom's around. She's afraid.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" You do the same, admiring how the smoke passes through her face so gracefully. Quietly nodding as her eyes wander all over your face. Have you get it?

Before you realized your head was resting on her chest, the only thing visible now were both of your feet against each other "Shouldn't have said anything" Abby moves her free hand to your back, making small circles over it as she heard your statement. "Just pretend you never did"

The moment you threw your cigarette on the floor she did It too, gently pushing you away. The sound of the sandals brushing the pavement was comforting, human, and it meant you two were, after all, the same in some sort of way.

"What does that mean? We're on speaking terms, but not really?" You mock. "It means we can't talk about those kinds of things, okay?" You don't know when but at some point your teeth were biting on your inner lips, painfully hard. You couldn't look at her, she felt like someone you should fear, and you still hated her. "We just can't"

She gave you one last pat on the shoulder, it felt wrong how motherly she was. Maybe you were the one wrong after all. You just waited for her to get her sheets, unsure still of what they were.

Maybe it was karma, they were all a disorder and not whorth the wait, or that's what you heard her say as she walked towards you, clearly annoyed.

-

"The Alpi Orobie, water comes straight down from there"

This was your form of apologizing, taking her to your place, a small lake away from everything and everyone. She seemed to enjoy it.

It was quiet besides the birds chirping and the water running. After the rain the sun comes lighter than ever, good timing you guess. It wasn't practically hot, just nice enough.

"I like the way you say things. Don't know why you're always putting yourself down, though" she whispers. Abby really wanted to make things better, she felt the same way you felt for her. But it felt wrong to be the mote mature between both, acting like the stupid one just to get you. She was trying to fix this, and it was torture that you simply never gave her the chance to, no matter what she did or said you always had something smarter to make her sound lame. "So you won't, I guess?"

"You're really that afraid of what I think?" You bite your inner lips again, tasting the mix of blood and saliva mixing on your tongue. Simply nodding once again, dragging your feet to get closer to her until both yours and her fingers are touching. "You're making it hard for me" "I know"

Quietly, grabbing her hand you drag her to a small piece covered in grass. She'd give you enough signals to take what you needed of her, at least for today, and you weren't planning on waisitng it.

Her whole body is covered by the sunlight and you swear she's never looked this good. The strands of her hair gracefully dancing along the breeze passing by her face. Her white blouse covered in wet, letting you have the most delicious sight of her body.

Not even sitting and you have her on top of you. Middle finger running over your lips and your tongue containing on its space, painfully. You wanted- needed to suck her fingers, to feel every inch of her body, and it was torture to not have it.

Abby knew what you wanted, she was craving it as much as you. But for the first time in her whole life, she'd losen control about everything, and you were the one behind it. The reason she's been touching herself till sleep every night, the reason she even considered to stay for months in Italy. You had made of her and her life a chaos, and somehow that made her hate you as much as you hated her. It was hilarious how she even ended like this, whit someone like you.

Her lips pressed on yours, two tender kisses that she despised more than anything in this life. Not because of you but because of her being the one to initiate them and you the ones to cut them off.

And it's not that you wanted to, but this was driving you insane, because it felt like you've imagined, but somehow you've finally made conscious about what this stupid kisses mean, for both.

There's a trail of saliva connecting your lips as she pushes you away, so abruptly it almost hurst. Not only physically but mentally, making you wonder if she even meant it in the first place. "Better now?" Her cocky voice makes you want to punch her right in those lips until she can't ever speak again. You remember why you hate her since the moment you ever saw her or heard her voice.

Not fair, she gets what she wants until she doesn't want it anymore. You're just one more of her interests that will eventually fade away.

Without thinking you push her back, making her lay on the grass. It pinchs on your bare legs the moment you sit on top of her, not even the nature is being pity with you. She reciprocates the kiss tho.

"Mmm-mmm" you hear, feeling the vibrations on your lips and her hands on your waist one more, begging you tu move away and stop this. To pretend it didn't happen like what she said some hours ago.

You hate yourself for this. But you obbey. Abby repeatedly says 'no' pulling away from you. Her hand dances over her lips, getting rid of what was left from your desperation on her face. "We should go"

"Why?" You tease, opening your legs on one last attempt to get her at least for one minute more. "I know myself, okay? And we've been good" her hands both place on your knees, palm pressed tightly on top of your skin, closing your legs. "I wanna be good"

-

You've ran away the instant you noticed the blood running down your noise to your lips. It's by far the grossest hemorrhage you've got. Yet nothing unusual, just the mix of stress and warmth being too overwhelming for your body.

Abby tried not to pay attention to it, or worry. But she needed to see you were good, she needed to take care of you, or just help you get clean. It felt like she was the reason of it, but the sight of your parents in fron of you, so focused on whatever thing they were debating about. She simply couldn't, it would be either too obvious or not the best idea for you.

She feared to let you down like this, but also hated to be the reason behind it all on the first place. She's never regretted something this horrifying in her whole life, ever.

She'd fallen in love with you at her worst moment, and feared more than anything to hurt you, to have any sort of effect in you. Because you had a whole life ahead of you and she simply didn't.

-

Traitor, I'm such a pussy, please forgive me, don't avoid me. I'm sorry? I'm sorry, can't stand that you hate me, forgive me, what did I do wrong?

"Can't stand the silence, need to speak to you" were the words you wrote for her, on a random notebook you sometimes uses as a sort of journal. She was awful. "Grow up, see you at midnight" she replied. You were awful.

-

12:00 am

Crickets chirping, empty dark blue sky and countable stars decorating the ambience accompanied by the moonlight. Romantic to say the least.

She was smoking, you've realized the reason behind it. "Come inside" you whispered, hoping it was loud enough for her to hear but enough to catch anyone else's attention. Which means, trying to not let your parents hear you begging her to let you fuck her, at least once.

She tossed the cigarette violently, almost as if she had resentment for you still. Which she simply couldn't.

Sitting at the end of your old bed she finally spoke to you, not verbally but vy extending her arms so you could crawl to her. Abby smelled like pine and cigarette, it reminded you of alcohol. Is suits her.

"Can I kiss you?" Abby's hands move to the sides of your cheeks, making enough force against them so you couldn't move if given the opportunity "yes please" you whispered back, already opening your mouth. She pressed her lips on yours, making her tongue palm against yours deliciously. The sound of your saliva mixing was the only thing heard in the room besides the clothes rubbing against each other.

Abby laughed, breaking the kiss to stand up and walk to the side of the bed. The door slapped at it, so hard the floor vibrated. You stated at the whole scene in amusement, hoping for once in your life your parents where in this same situation so they wouldn't care "fuck you" you screamed silently at her.

[panickingpansexuality]

I'm Right Here

Yandere Elliott finding out your pregnant

Elliott x FEM bodied reader

This is based on a scene in the game after you divorce Elliott. Mentions of depression and an attempted suicide.

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

You looked at the pregnancy test on the sink, the two little lines indicating a whole new world of bullshit. Five months ago you and Elliott had gotten divorced, his obsessive behavior finally becoming too much for you but now...now what you wouldn't give to have him here at least to comfort you.

Three months ago you and him were at the Saloon and you both had one too many drinks and one thing led to another and in the morning you had a familiar ache between your legs and enough energy to run out of his cabin without looking back.

Looking at one of the tests you put one in your pocket and take a deep breath, he's got to know. You have to tell him, you have to tell him a lot of things.

You go outside in the pouring rain, the flag to your letterbox is up, you open it and see a letter from Elliott asking you to come to the beach.

You feel sick to your stomach, so many horrible possibilities run through your brain. You two haven't spoken since that night and you've heard from Leah that he wasn't doing so great, her and Willy keeping an extra sharp eye on him. It made your stomach churn, fear that you'd miss your chance to tell him.

Shoving the thoughts down you decide what must be done, you turn towards your house to grab a jacket finding it locked. You curse, Elliott most likely still has his key. Hopefully you can catch him on time.

By the time you make it to the beach, Elliott's standing in the dock, he looks weakened like he hasn't been taking care of himself, the bags under his eyes are deep and prominent, the he looks thinned out, his muscles looked weak, even his hair looked greasy.

"Elliott?" You call out coming closer to him, you're shivering and when he turns to you he notices.

"What are you doing without a coat?!" Elliott says rushing to meet you in the middle of the dock, he throws off his jacket and puts it in you.

"I locked myself out.." you admit shamefully.

Elliott sighs and pulls out his house key from a chain around his neck, with it his wedding ring.

You don't want him to take it off, it physically pains you to see the chain come off and fall into your hand.

The cold metal of your ring presses against your chest and reminds you that you two are more alike than you think.

"Why did you want to meet here?" You ask clutching the necklace tightly.

Elliott's quiet for a moment, then he walks towards the edge of the dock and speaks:

"Remember the last time we were out at sea? I spent a long time thinking about it after finishing my novel..."

You did, you remembered the entire moment like it just happened and you loved every moment of it.

"I always knew things wouldn't end well between us and deep down I always knew I'd never see the day I'd grow old."

Cold fills your veins, dread fills your heart. You reach forward and hesitate to grab his hand, to pull him off the dock and into his home.

"As it turns out not only are the unsuccessful but the unfortunate are afraid of death.."

"Elliott.." you say.

He turns and smiles at you, he lets out a small chuckle and says;

"Don't worry I'm not going to die I'll probably come back as a fish or something.."

Without thinking you throw yourself at his back wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms over his chest, he stumbled backwards.

"WILLY!" You scream out, hoping that he hears you.

"(y/n)!" Elliott almost yells at you. "Let me go!"

"No!" You scream out. "WILLY GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!"

Thunder roars and Elliott moves swings you around trying to get you off of him.

"If you go, you're going to take the two of us with you!"

Elliott pauses, your weight is doing more to him than you think, without thinking he reaches behind him and presses a hand to your unusually firm stomach.

You're starting to cry the rain thankfully mixing your tears. Finally the door to Willy's place opens and he sees you two.

"HELP ME GET HIM OFF THE DOCK!" You yell.

Willy understands what's happening immediately, and rush to help you. You hop off his back and Willy helps you take Elliott back to his house. He doesn't fight you two.

You three enter and Elliott goes on his bed and sits there unable to look at either of you.

"Keep him inside." Willy says, "I'll go get Harvey."

You nod and sit with him.

For a moment the only sound you two hear is the rain hitting the ceiling, the smell of the rain and sea mixing together in the house.

"You didn't mean Willy up there." Elliott says softly.

"No.." you say, "I didn't.."

"Are you pregnant?" He asks looking over at you, his eyes are red and he looks so broken.

You nod and start to tear up. For a moment he's quiet, and then he looks over and with humor in his voice he asks;

"Is it mine?"

You grab his pillow and make a swing at him, he smiles and puts a hand up to deflect the hit.

"Asshole!" You grunt out, Elliott grabs the pillow and you two struggle with it before the both of you are hanging onto it tightly, you're glaring at him but he's got happy tears going down his face.

"I know I'm just joking."

You let go of the pillow and he puts it beside him.

"I'm keeping it." You state, "I know you don't want to stay but...but if you did and if you wanted to know them..you're more than welcome to."

"I'm gonna be a dad." He breathes out.

"Ellie..." You say, "You can't try and leave like that again..please I can't..I can't- they won't understand and I'd..I'd miss you too much."

"You'd miss me?" He scoffs.

"I wasnt that drunk." You say the tears come easily.

"I miss you, I know how you can get but if we can work together on it so you don't keep me in bed rest just because you're jealous..."

Elliott winced, he isn't proud of his past actions.

"Then I'd welcome you back.."

"Ok." Elliott states, "I'll work on it, I'll get better and I won't leave you, I don't think I'd have it in me after..this."

You press the hand that still holds the necklace and press it back into his hand. Wordlessly he unclips the necklace and puts his ring back on his finger.

"I'll get you a new one." He promises.

"No need." You say pulling your necklace out and unclip it and put your ring back on your ring finger.

Once you're finished you notice Elliott's watching you, for how long you don't know. You stare at each other for a moment before he leans forward and kisses you. You pull yourself more on the bed, Elliott presses himself against you like you're air, like he's trying to make sure you know how much he loves you. His hand goes on your stomach and he breaks for air, his head going into your shoulder. You feel his entire body start to shake and his small cry goes to a sob.

You hang onto him tightly, as his cries continue to grow.

"I'm sorry." He sobs out, "(y/n) I'm so sorry, for everything. I love you. I swear I do I'll get better for you, for us, I swear."

The door opens and Harvey and Willy walk back in.

Elliott and Harvey talk for a long time, Willy stands at the door and you sit beside Elliott holding his hand.

At the end of it, Harvey says he's going to call a friend in the city for Elliott but tonight he shouldn't be alone.

"He can stay with me." Willy states, "Or if (y/n) wishes to keep an eye on 'im."

"I'll go with them." Elliott says, "They locked themselves out and I still have my key.."

Harvey nods and looks over at you for reassurance which you give in the form of a nod.

Once you and Elliott reach your place and he unlocks the door you're both soaking wet.

"I'll go get some spare clothes." You tell him, "I still have some of yours.."

When you come back into the living room Elliott's taken off most of his clothes and set the wet ones in the dryer.

You've seen him naked before, you've seen him fully clothed, but you can never prepare yourself the sight for how beautiful he is to you.

You wish the storm had taken out the power because you're blushing so incredibly hard at the sight of him.

Elliott gives you a soft smile at the notice of your expression. He walks forward and kisses your forehead before taking his clothes into the bathroom.

A few minutes later you're changed and both of your clothes are in the dryer, Elliott comes out holding one of the positive tests in his hand. He looks up at your with tears running down his face and asks:

"Can I frame this?"

You giggled and nod, grabbing his hand you lead him to your bed, hesitantly he puts the test on the nightstand and crawls under the covers with you.

"Are you sure?" He asks

"Yes." You say, "Are you ok with it?"

"Absolutely," Elliott says, he takes your cold hand from under the covers and presses a kiss to it. "I haven't been able to sleep since we divorced."

"You slept pretty well last time I saw you." You grunt out curling towards his chest.

"That's because I had a wonderful work out before then." He says,

You both chuckle at his response and you sneak one of your hands in his, gripping it tightly.

"I'm right here." He says, "I'm right here."

"So am I." You say, "I'm not going anywhere again."

Elliot's hand grips yours and his other sneaks around your waist.

[ellilyre]

If you had to choose one of OdyDio to canonically die in the Iliad, who would you choose? Odysseus or Diomedes?

What would be/is your favourite Iliad au?

How are you today?

How do you think Diomedes would react to Odysseus getting speared like a chicken kebab in the Iliad?

What do you think Athena would think about OdyDio?

1. Odysseus. (I didn't see you said in the Iliad until I finished writing my monologue TT )

By the time of the Iliad, Dio had a way harsher life. He was at war since he was 14yo, and probably never expected to survive most of the things he has been through. But it does get better, eventually.

Odysseus, however, had (to my knowledge) a pretty chill life until Troy. And it's only once he tries to get home that he really goes through horrible things.

You see, Dio's past is harsh, but Ody's future is even harsher. It's a parallel I like between them. Also I just posted about my HC of Dio being (passive) suicidal, so the fact that he outlived Ody would be very unexpected and interesting.

However if it's during the Iliad, as you actually said, I'd prefer Dio. Atm Ody's story barely started while Dio could be considered to be dead at his apogee.

2. Lately I have been thinking about... CoD x Iliad.... The guys of the Trojan war, they're SAS.... Idk if I'd call that my fav one, but it's definitely something i need to think more about.

I rly like au where Ody comes home to Penelope and Dio, and then they all live happy and together.

3. Great!! The bus ride has been pretty fun so far :3 rn it's 3am, I was half sleeping for the past 2h, and im torn apart between feeling excited and quite energetic and the urge to nap again lol

4. Listen, I am pretty sure Ody does at some point get kebab'ed. I have heard about that but. I genuinely don't remember reading about it (I forget many things I read). As I don't visualise the scene at all its a bit tough for me to answer sry TT (i knew I should've take my Iliad with me... /Hj)

5. She's happy to see her favourite mortals (I like to think she actually has a sweet spot for them both) being close, although sometimes it's a little too close (throw back to one of my last posts lol). Also I hc that (like most gods) she doesn't rly understand/care for the mortals' cultural laws, so she has none of the era's homophobia. It's kinda like you adopt 2 stray cats and one day you see them grooming each other, you're like "yay they get along great :)"

[glubsurleseuil]

Don't be scared - Chapter 1

This is the first chapter - Next

A Pennywise X F!Reader fanfic 'cause I need to get these ideas out of my head before they eat me up. I'll post this thing on AO3 when I'm not so lazy to create an account. If I go ahead with it, it'll be NSFW, sexually disturbing, gory, violent, reader is an autistic drepressed suicidal girl… In short, skip it if you're a sensitive soul. For the rest of you, enjoy (I hope).

(Note: It was translated by Deepl, English is not my mother tongue, so I apologise for any mistakes. If you want to correct me, don't hesitate!)

(Note 2: The image is by @fandomscreenshots but you should already know that because what she does is amazing)

You've always lived in Derry, Maine. Well, actually you were born in Derry, went to school in Derry and, like any good citizen, you now work in Derry. You don't like it, you never have, and you know that no matter what you do, you'll never like it.

Firstly, because no matter how hard you try since childhood, you just can't seem to make any friends. Worse, people seem to have agreed to shut you out and hate you. At best, they ignore you, at worst… well, let's just say there are certain people you've learned to avoid at all costs, so you don't have to spend the evening licking your wounds…

Secondly, because there's something unhealthy about the general atmosphere of this town, as if it were being devoured by a cancer that affected not only the surrounding greenery, but also the buildings and even the people. A cancer that could be called suffering, melancholy or despair. And although no one knows where these feelings come from, everyone seems to accept them as an inevitable burden.

Tonight, like most evenings, you're working at the Canal Rouge, a rather quiet bar where people can drink and listen to local artists perform on a small stage. You're a waitress, and it's not the most pleasant of jobs, especially when you're a woman. Fortunately, your boss is a woman too, and she's very strict about the respect customers show her staff, so things could be a lot worse.

But tonight, you're in a particularly bad mood. Fatigue has always been a difficult thing for you to deal with, and lately your nights have been… tormented. You've been having a dream, always the same with little difference, on and off for over a week. It's a hazy, dark, incoherent dream that's hard to remember. What you remember most is anguish, fear… and an unbearable feeling of being watched by something dangerous, making you feel like prey waiting to be devoured. When your therapist asked you to describe this dream, even with random words, you said 'fear', 'red' and… 'clown'. You laughed after saying that last word, a nervous, uncontrolled laugh, like a continuation of the one you always hear in this dream before waking up.

But tonight, the worst is yet to come, because you have to serve Jenny's gang as consumers, young people your own age who, like you, are stuck in Derry and like to pass the time by annoying other people. Especially you, since you met them in kindergarten. You know you won't be able to get home safely tonight…

And your fears are confirmed as you finish your shift. As you emerge into the alley to which the service door leads, you see them laughing at the end of it, looking in your direction. This is the way home. You quickly think of another option, but you know that even if you take a longer route, they'll be able to corner you sooner or later, and that's what they'll do. Unless… you go through the forest…

You don't hesitate, knowing that your pursuers won't follow. Their parents have given them the same instructions as you: never go into the forest at night. Ever. Your father had made it clear that he meant business by emphasizing his order with the back of his hand. But tonight, you're a grown-up, and between your dead father's old superstitions and Jenny and her gang's guaranteed beating, the choice was quickly made.

You head into the forest, at first more worried about your pursuers who, as expected, quickly abandon their target. Then you decide to turn on the torch on your phone, as it quickly becomes very dark between the tightly packed trees in the middle of the night. You recognize the path you're on and follow it to the ancient oak tree where you used to climb as a child to escape the bullies. But even this place, reassuring by day, gives off a menacing aura by night…

All is quiet, too quiet for a forest where animals should be going about their nocturnal lives. You get the impression that a kind of fog is floating around, light but unnatural, and as you look at the thick branches of the oak tree, you get a strange feeling… Like a memory from another life… Like a dream…

Suddenly, there's a sound. A sound you know well, having heard it every night for over a week. A laugh. A clown's laugh… You turn in all directions, shining your phone in every nook and cranny around the oak. And just as you realize that there's nothing there, that maybe it's your imagination playing tricks on you, the laughter starts up again. You jump back against the tree, light pointed ahead, anticipating the appearance of someone, something… The laughter becomes more distinct, closer… But it's not coming from in front of you, nor from the sides… It comes… from above?

With a quick gesture, you point the light towards the branches of the oak tree and there, hidden in the shadows of the leaves, you see it: a clown. No, THE clown. The one who has haunted your dreams, distressed your nights, devoured your sanity. This present moment has repeated itself endlessly in your nightmare and now it's all happening for real, clear as day and just as terrifying.

With a muffled scream, you drop your phone, the lamp face down and your legs buckling beneath you. The little light that escapes from beneath your phone only faintly illuminates the bottom of the tree, but you know IT's there.

And it's not long before he leaps down from the tree. You can only make out a silhouette in the darkness, and as you hear him coming closer, you try to remember the end of the dream. It's all a blur, and all that comes back is a vague memory of a hunt in which you are the prey… Back on the grassy ground, you pull yourself back as best you can with your hands, never taking your eyes off the presence. Is this how you're going to die?

He moves slowly closer, slipping into the shadows. You can make out that he's leaning forward, then addressing you in a childlike voice.

"Hiya Y/N! I'm Pennywise, the dancing clown!"

He suddenly picks up your phone from the floor, pulling it up slowly, light downwards, gradually revealing his appearance as he continues.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you, you know? Don't be scared, I'm not going to kill you…"

As he utters these words, light finally shines on his face, reflected in his abnormally large and sharp teeth, piercing yellow eyes focused on you, and horror fills you.

"… yet."

The instinct to survive gives you new energy. You leap to your feet and flee the way you came, briefly illuminated by your phone in the clown's hands. You run at full speed, ignoring the noises behind you that make you think he's chasing you. If you've got a chance of getting away, you're going to take it. In fact, the forest exit isn't far off. One last push! You close your eyes and accelerate again… when hands often clutch your collar, brutally stopping your momentum.

"There you are, you bastard!"

"I told you she'd come back! She's such a pussy!"

"No way out now, you bitch!"

Jenny and her gang… It was Tim, the big muscular guy who caught you. They were waiting for you just outside the forest…

"Why are you running so fast? Are you afraid of the big bad wolf?"

They burst out laughing, but the sound reaches you distorted. The adrenalin from your run is wearing off too slowly and you can still hear your heart pounding in your eardrums. You struggle on, your brain unable to make sense of what has just happened. Suddenly, you hear a foul noise. A kind of hoarse, inhuman growl, coming out of the depths of the woods like an echo to their pitiful mocking laughter. You feel Tim's hands trembling with uncontrollable fear on your collar and watch their faces disintegrate before your eyes. Tim lets go and they all flee in a single scream of terror, leaving you behind.

You turn around, your body still tired from your frantic run, and you quickly understand what made them flee: golden eyes, shining menacingly in the darkness, perched on a huge, muscular, fur-covered figure, its multiple sharp teeth accentuating the evil growl rolling down its throat. A werewolf.

You barely have time to realize that it's the clown from earlier before he disappears between the trees with a hoot that sends shivers down your spine. Just as you regain your strength to flee, something falls near you. You examine it carefully: it's your phone, and as you turn the screen towards you, you see a message written in a torn red font:

DON'T BE SCARED

You don't wait any longer and run towards town without looking back.

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 21 - Secrets Revealed (alt prompt)

title: movies

fandom: empires smp

part of esh au :)

cw: discussion of past suicide attempts

~

Maybe Scott shouldn't have chosen Heathers.

But somehow, in his long life of being queer, Jimmy hadn't ever seen it.

"You're literally bisexual and you haven't seen it?" Scott had asked, astonished. At Jimmy's nod, he added, "It's the most bi movie ever. And I could sing the musical all day, too, but musicals based on movies are always better than the movies based on musicals—"

"What's so important about it?" Jimmy had interjected, one brow raised, and Scott couldn't help but feel a flurry of pride at how much Jimmy had opened up over the past months.

"You'll just have to watch it and see," Scott told him, so here they are, three days later, Scott on his end of the sofa and Jimmy on the other, a bowl of popcorn (that Jimmy rarely takes from) between them.

It's not a date, Scott reminds himself repeatedly. It's just a movie night between him and his ward. No, a movie night between him and his friend. Jimmy holds no romantic feelings for him. And he doesn't have any for Jimmy.

Lies.

But they're watching, volume lower than what Scott would normally watch a movie with (loud noises make Jimmy jump, and subtitles are readily available), and Jimmy seems to be enjoying it. He lets out a little laugh at all the right places, and rolls his eyes at the outdated references, and loosens up a bit as the movie goes on.

Until the one scene.

The part that Scott didn't even think about, more worried about the other dark tones of the movie.

Where Veronica fakes her own suicide.

Before Scott even registers that he got up, Jimmy is out of the room, in the kitchen, turning on the lights and starting the sink running.

Scott pauses the movie, something sinking in his stomach. "Jimmy?" he calls tentatively. "Are you all right?"

No response.

What was that about Jimmy being his ward?

It's getting easier and easier to forget that Jimmy isn't just his roommate, but someone he is charged by the state to take care of.

Scott uncurls his legs from the couch and gets up to head into the kitchen, letting his feet fall harder than normal to let Jimmy know that he's coming.

Jimmy's standing over the sink, scrubbing hard at a bowl, head down. After a quick, splashing rinse, he sets it in the dish drainer and reaches for a plate.

"Not that I mind that you're doing dishes," Scott says drily, "but why? What happened?"

Jimmy doesn't say anything, his scrubbing motions becoming jerkier.

"Was it the movie?" Scott tries. "I honestly didn't think—"

"Can you leave?" Jimmy asks suddenly, before cringing. "No, sorry, I didn't mean that, sorry."

The panicked apologies send Scott into caretaker mode, whether he likes it or not. "Are you having a flashback? It's okay, you're not there—"

"No, I'm—Scott, I'm fine," Jimmy insists, hunching further over the sink. "Please—please don't worry. You can—you can go finish the movie, okay? I'll just wash up here and go to bed early."

Scott almost agrees. He doesn't want to make Jimmy upset. He wants everything to be right for him.

And then he remembers that he isn't just Jimmy's friend. He's his caretaker, and he has to make sure that Jimmy is safe and mentally well.

"Okay," he says carefully. "But I'm scheduling you a therapy appointment for tomorrow."

"What? No, I'm already seeing Nora on Thursday—"

"The trigger was bad enough that you're having to clean to distract yourself," Scott points out. "I know what it looks like when you're trying to fight a flashback, Jimmy. If you really want me to leave, I will, as long as you go to therapy tomorrow. "

Jimmy doesn't answer for a long time, washing another bowl with even more aggressive scrubbing. He rinses it, sets it aside, and turns off the sink, squeezing out the dishrag.

"I tried to kill myself," he says bluntly, turning around and leaning on the counter. "While I was . . . there. I was gonna hang myself on my own leash, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I—" Scott feels himself blanch, as hard as he tries to keep a straight face.

"And I tried to kill myself a bunch of times after you got me out, just so you know. If it wasn't for people messing around, I would've succeeded. Does that make you happy?"

"Jimmy—"

"Because it sure didn't make the crazy doctors happy!" Jimmy's crying, now, just a little bit, eyes wet and red, even as he laughs. "I have to be on drugs to be normal! Just because I was a stupid, suicidal pet!"

Jimmy isn't looking at him anymore. His eyes are fixed on a spot slightly to the left of Scott, as if looking him in the eyes will make all the precarious emotions spill over in a tidal wave.

"It was—what do you call it, premeditated?" Jimmy says. "I decided—when I woke up—I was gonna twist my leash around the doorknob of my cell and the hook, and I was gonna hang myself. But they took away the leash—and they strapped me to the hospital bed so I couldn't get any scalpels—and they drugged me up real bad—"

"Jimmy—"

"What kind of person needs drugs to not kill themself—?"

"Me," Scott says loudly, and Jimmy cuts off mid-sentence, eyes focusing on his face.

"What?"

Scott leans against the wall, crosses his arms. "Me," he says again. "I'm on antidepressants, too. When I was eighteen, I . . . made an attempt on my own life. Aeor saved me. I've been on medication and going to therapy ever since."

"I'm sorry," Jimmy mumbles after a pause, the frenetic energy seeming to drain out of him with the two words.

"It's okay," Scott says, and he feels like he's about to cry, like those few sentences have rubbed his soul raw, but he's going to stay strong for Jimmy. "It was a while ago, I don't mind talking about it. But I have depression, due to some . . . stuff, and I didn't see a future that I wanted to be a part of. So, I'm sorry that you went through that, Jimmy. But I don't want you to think that needing medication means you're somehow less of a person."

"Sorry," Jimmy says again. "I—I didn't know."

Scott shrugs. "You didn't. It's not really something that comes up naturally in conversation, you know. But medication isn't a bad thing, okay? If it helps you to survive . . . well, that's good."

Jimmy chews on his lip, turns his gaze to the tiled kitchen floor. "I'm just . . . I'm tired of being messed up in the head."

There's not really a cure for that, though.

As infuriating as it is, mental illness isn't like a cut to be stitched up and bandaged. It isn't a pulled muscle that can be healed with an ice pack and a little rest. Mental illness is a cancerous tumor writhing inside the brain, and the excising is painful and exhausting and almost certainly doesn't get all of it out.

"I know it's hard," says Scott. "I don't know how hard, but I know it is. And you've still made an incredible amount of progress."

Jimmy shrugs. "Maybe. I . . . I wish I didn't have to."

Scott doesn't know what to say.

So he just offers a sympathetic smile and waits.

It's cruel. It's cruel that Jimmy was ever pushed to such lengths, that he ever felt so hopeless.

Scott knows it's cruel.

He knows that it hurts to look back, to remember oneself in such a dark place, swallowed up in the pain.

At least he has a few years' difference. Jimmy's still at the place Scott was when he was nineteen.

What would Aeor do when nineteen-year-old Scott would lash out, angry and tired?

The answer comes quicker than Scott expects.

Aeor would send him to bed.

"Well, I'm ready to go to sleep," Scott says, not quite having to fake a yawn. “We can take care of these dishes tomorrow, yeah? Let’s take the rest of the evening off.”

“But—”

“Nah, leave ‘em.”

“The movie?”

Scott shrugs. “I’ve seen it before,” he says nonchalantly. “And we can watch something else next time. Maybe Lord of the Rings.”

Jimmy makes a face.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like them.”

“I—they’re just so long,” Jimmy protests. “I don’t have time for a three hour movie.”

“That’s not the important part, what matters is that they’re a classic.”

“They’re boring.” “Clearly, you haven’t been watching them right.”

“I’ll lock myself in my room again. Don’t think I won’t.”

“You would never.”

“I would! And I will!”

[projectbluearcadia]

I Am and Always Will Be

(Coping) Lucifer x GN!MC

[ Story Premise - Lucifer gets upset because you don't value yourself. ]

TW: SELF-HARM, SUICIDAL IDEATION

Note: The reason I have not marked this as mature is because everyone, including those who are underage, should know that they should seek help. If tumblr decides to give me a slap on the wrist for this, then so be it.

Wordcount: 1652

You don’t really remember how it first started.

  A heartbreaking comment from a cherished friend, and suddenly you’re in the nearest bathroom with your hands on the sink. You look at yourself in the mirror, and all you can think is that there is something less than human staring back at you. Something cruel and hideous and malformed. You hate it. You hate it. You hate it so much that it makes your skin crawl. It makes your eyes water and your teeth clench. 

You can’t escape it. You can’t run away. You can’t even scream, because what would be the point? You’d only attract attention to yourself in the most awkward place possible, where at least one person was trying to take a shit in peace. You can’t stand yourself. My personality is the problem. Every single time I try to make things work, it just turns to nothing. I overreact, and then it all falls apart. I’m so sick of myself. 

You’re sick of it.

And that’s when you finally turn to it. To the only thing that stopped you from feeling like this, even temporarily. A blade, one that had broken free of your cheap shaving razor after you threw it one too many times. I want to see this horrid blood spill. I want it. I need it. 

You drew a thin line. A thicker line. A deep line. 

Your skin, already scarred in some places, was quickly smearing with blood. Drenched. The toilet flushes, and in hindsight, you vaguely realize that doing this in a public bathroom was a dreadful idea, and you leave, adrenaline pounding through your veins—

  No one can know. No one should know. I don’t want them to know. 

—Despite the fact that your blood is leaving a trail behind you, leaving you weaker and weaker with every step. It’s practically gushing from your wounds, and you start to sniffle. It doesn’t really hurt; no, the rush is still too strong. But for some reason, you can’t stop yourself from crying. 

“Hey, someone spilled their Koolaid Ja… Holy SHIT!?” the person, likely from the bathroom screamed, and they fumbled at their phone as you ran further, further, further. “Why are you running away?! You’re bleeding!” Maybe I want to be bleeding, you have the time to think before a sudden bout of dizziness floods your brain. You collapse. You fall. 

And fall. 

<><><>

Surprisingly, you wake up. Funny; you wished you didn’t. Was this it? Was this your first (or was it second?) commitment to the hospital? 

“Lucifer, they’re awake,” came a soft man’s voice, and no sooner had it come than was a man by your side. One with jet-black hair and tragically garnet eyes. 

“MC,” he whispers, his hand caressing your cheek with shuddering fingers, and you find yourself realizing that was a dream. Or, rather, the reliving of how you came to live in the Devildom. You’ve been living here for months now, with Lucifer and his brothers in the House of Lamentation. You’ve been… enjoying living here. How could I wish that I wasn’t alive here? 

“We took away their dagger,” Barbatos said gently as Lucifer shook, holding onto you. “They are okay.” 

“MC, why did you do something like that?” Lucifer whispered, leaning his head into the pillow, right next to your head. His voice agonizingly shuddering, and your body wracks itself with guilt. “MC, MC, MC…” I should have finished the job so he wouldn’t have to feel like this. 

“...I thought I hurt you,” you mumble. You expect him to yell, but the voice that comes from his mouth is soft and excruciatingly slow as he struggles not to sob. 

“And you thought this would hurt me less?” 

“Over time… yeah.” 

“MC…” he whispers, and he sharply sniffles. It hurts to hear—the avatar of pride, breaking down and starting to cry because of you. Because of what you did. I should have eaten the rat poison. “How could you think that leaving a hole in my heart would hurt me less over time? What have I done to make you think that you’re not important to me? I haven’t been able to think for the past three days.”

“...I’m sorry.” You look away from his shoulder, shortly finding that Barbatos has quietly left so that you’re permitted privacy. “I just… I don’t know…” Your eyes prickle. “I-I just… I hate myself so much for what I put you through, and I… I can’t take it anymore.” 

“And you think the best way to put me out of my misery is to rip out half my soul?” Lucifer gasps, and his tears hit your cheek as he finally brings his face up from the pillow to look at you. To show you the tears streaking down his pale, beautiful face. “Why didn’t you tell me anything? I already knew that you hurt yourself in the past, so why did you have to do it again, after all this time? What did I do to make you feel like that?” 

“It’s not you…” 

“It must be!” Lucifer retorts hoarsely, his hot tears splashing your forehead. “You’re supposed to be my partner, and I’m supposed to protect you! I couldn’t do that, so tell me why you couldn’t trust me! Please!” 

“I…” Your voice is breaking up. From one hellish scene to another, you’re not sure how much your heart can take. “I’m sorry. I-I thought… I thought…you would hate me.” The mere thought sends your lacrimal glands into a frenzy as you realize he might hate you now. “I-I couldn’t bear to… lose someone else… so I…” 

“Shhhh,” Lucifer hushes with anxious shudders, and he hugs you so tightly you wonder if he might be trying to break your ribcage. You can feel his ragged breathing, his racing pulse. You almost break into an incomprehensible mess right then and there, unable to speak a single word. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” he murmurs, rocking you with him as you sniffle and try your damndest to get ahold of yourself. “I will always love you.”

“What if I kill one of your brothers?” 

“You would never do that,” Lucifer murmurs, trying his hardest not to let his voice tremble.  

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yes, I do. I know you, MC.” 

“No, you don’t. There are parts of me you’ll never know. There are parts of me you shouldn’t know.”

“I want to know.” 

You shake your head. 

“You can’t just keep hiding everything. I hate it when you do. Don’t you think I’m strong enough of a person to talk to you when you want to kill yourself?” 

“You don’t know what it’s like,” you whisper. 

“That’s irrelevant,” he says, recovering some of his usual sternness as he sniffles. “I don’t need to know how exactly it feels. I just need to know that you’re in pain. I just need to know if there’s anything I can do, anything I can’t do. Please, MC, I can’t just watch. That’s the only thing I’m not strong enough to do. Just indulge my selfishness and just… just lean on me. I don’t care if I have to take the entire burden myself.” 

“You’re already carrying too much…” 

“Me?!” Lucifer growled as he pulled away from you. “I’m not the one in agony! It’s true that I’m stressed, and I usually have a lot on my plate. But it stresses me infinitely more that my own lover won’t tell me about their problems! How hard do I have to drill it into your head that you come first?!” 

“...sorry.” 

Lucifer sighs deeply and heavily before he leans his head against yours, his fingers nestling into your hair, massaging your scalp. 

“Please… don’t ever do that again,” he murmurs. “If you’re scared of losing me, then don’t eliminate any possibility of ever seeing me again. I don’t know where you’ll go when you die, but it won’t be here.” 

“I get it, and I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

“Do you get it?” 

“I get that you’re mad at me…” 

“Did you listen to a damn word I said?!” Lucifer snaps, his voice breaking again, and you flinch in his arms before he squeezes you again. “I’m not angry with you. I’m upset and scared. Do you have any idea what it feels like to not be able to protect someone that matters to you? That the person you love doesn’t even think they’re worth protecting? That I can’t help you through the monstrosities that plague your mind?

You can’t find it in yourself to answer. It’s painful to try. 

“I’m begging you, MC…promise me. Promise me you’ll help me help you. I could live knowing that you are happy even if it’s in the human world. All I want is for you to live a full, happy life. I know you, and I know that you deserve that.” 

“Do I? I’ve done so many things…”

“I let my own sister die,” Lucifer replies somberly. “I brought Satan into the world, confused and angry. I didn’t know that the only reason Asmo thought I kept him around was because of his beauty. I let Levi feel inferior. I locked away Belphie when we could have just talked… there are so many things I’ve done wrong, before and after falling from Heaven, and I hated myself for it. But I was the only one who kept hating myself after Belphie forgave me, after Satan accepted me. Anger is brief, MC. I, and everyone else, care about you so much more than all of the bad things that might make up your mistakes in life. I am, and always will, feel that way. I am, and always will, be there for you. Even on the occasions where I am not physically there, I am still there for you.” 

“Always?” 

“Always. So promise me… okay?” 

From the author: As fans of my work may have guessed, I have been on both sides of this conversation many times. Talking about it was the best thing I, and people I knew, ever did. And, believe it or not, Lucifer has genuinely comforted me in both scenarios. I hope to have imparted some of that onto the audience regardless of whether or not they are struggling with depression, self-harm, or suicidal urges. The storm may rage, but I believe that we can be stronger than it if we stop trying to weather it alone. Thank you for reading my two cents, and I hope that both I and you can spread life and love rather than hatred and death.

Obligatory Suicide Hotline Information

(Seriously, PLEASE CALL THESE IF YOU'RE STRUGGLING)

U.S. 988

Canada 833-456-4566

Australia 13114

U.K. 0800-689-5652

For other countries and counseling services that may be available in your country -> OpenCounseling

[quuerbee]

Just saw a picture of divine dragon chung myung before he got that title and it really hit me how small Cho Sam's body was when chung myung came back. This little thought has spoilers for chapter 400+ (I think anyway) and vague spoilers for everything past ch 400 until like. Ch 800

GOD OK so we as the reader understand chung myungs situation very very intimately. WE understand that he is an 80+ year old man mentally. WE understand that he is not in fact 15, then 17, then 19, 20, etc. Everyone around him, however, truly believe that he is those ages.

It's brushed upon multiple times throughout the novel, especially whenever chung myung is down for the count/recovering after a fight. The facade he makes around himself, the strong reliable leader, fades away and the "truth" of who he is reinstates itself to those close to him in this second life. His back, every time he wavers, is described as small. This is always through the perspective of anyone but himself. This is even more apparent whenever he is unconscious after a serious fight. I don't know exactly chapters, but i KNOW that baek cheon (and the rest of the 5 swords plus soso and hye yeon), at least once, has had the reality of Chung myungs apparent age dawn upon them. That they're youngest sajae (sahyung in soso's case) is constantly spilling his own blood to protect them. (This fact is straight up said by yu iseol after the particularly bad fight with Jang ilso, spitting her frustration with only getting in chung myungs way instead of protecting him).

This phenomenon is hardly limited to the main group of disciples. After the first myriad men siege on Mount hua (while The Gang is in Xian), everyone subconsciously gains courage with the thought that soon enough chung myung will come, that he'll protect them. The disciples (soso being the most prevalent since she's one of the main disciples focused on in the novel) of course correct this thought, realizing that they cannot rely on chung myung forever. Anyways moving on from just describing this arc. What I mainly want to focus on is Hyun jong and chung myungs interaction AFTER the siege is finished, after un gum is fresh off of his amputation, after chung myung has barely gotten treatment for his own (quite serious) injuries.

What do you think when through Hyun jong's mind, seeing his youngest disciple, the one who brought back the hope that had almost died out with his sect, ruthlessly kill the enemy, return heavily wounded, and then try to sneak out almost immediately to go back to smite those who have harmed his home? To us, Chung myung is more than capable. He's the plum blossom sword Saint, the one who (even with all the regret he holds over this) severed the head of the heavenly demon. He's an 80+ year old man trying to protect the only thing besides bloodshed that is familiar in this second life. We understand the guilt he has over not being able to protect his home the first time. We understand that he would rather die than allow Mount Hua to fall again.

Hyun jong does not know this. He does not understand chung myungs rage (and guilt and grief and longing and-). He looks at chung myung and sees an 18 or 19 (I don't remember) year old boy, covered in wounds, trying to sneak out of his home on a suicide mission of revenge. He sees a boy. He knows that if he let's this boy go, he will never see him alive again. So he uses chung myungs borderline (who are we kidding, it is way past borderline) unhealthy loyalty with mount hua to dissuade him from walking to his death.

ANYWAYS long story not so short, I need need need more analysis over what everyone but chung myung thinks about him. Everyone sees this young teen, then young adult, bend over backwards to the point where he has almost died so so so many times just so mount hua can flourish. They've seen him kill ruthlessly, they've seen him sob over the skeleton of an ancestor (one of his brothers, a reminder of what he has lost, what he will never get back), they've seen him silly and carefree, they've seen him almost mad with bloodlust.

To us, he is chung myung, the old plum blossom sword Saint, slayer of the heavenly demon. To them, he is chung myung, the scrawny 15 year old that changed their lives, that faces unknown traumas, that has had a life so, so unkind to him.

Sometimes I look at chung myung pre time skip, how small he is, how he looks like a child, how he acts nothing like one, and remember that only we, the readers, get the full context behind his actions.

[k-slla]

Always and forever

A/N: I'm almost finished with my first bingo card- honestly can't believe it! Only one more square after this :)

Square filled for @jacklesversebingo : "You told me you were okay! You promised!" Will be in bold

Warnings: loss of a child, grieving, attempted suicide, lots of angst, survivor's guilt, car accident (mentioned only)

A/N2: I can only imagine the pain of having to bury your child, but losing a loved one in car accident because of a drunk driver is unfortunately far too familiar to me. Don't drink and drive.

W/C: ~2k | My Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

All mistakes are mine. Reblogs/Likes/Comments always appreciated!

Never would have you imagined that loss of your child is something you'd ever have to go through. You wouldn't wish this upon anyone.

You and Jensen were standing now at the open door of the funeral home, with you cramped up to his hand, unable to move. Guilt, pain, shame, anger and all other negative emotions that come with grief, were crushing you from the inside. Jensen saw you struggling and pulled you against him, keeping you close. “We have to go inside. They're waiting for us.”

You didn't even bother to try and keep your tears at bay.

“I know, but..I c-can’t.. I can't move.” You looked up at your husband, who was sharing your pain, and tried his best to ease from the guilt and shame that had overcome you. He pressed his lips softly to your forehead, whispering. “I know..baby, I know, but I am here with you. Always and forever.” You felt a warm tear running down his cheek against yours.

“I just need a little more time. Little more before I say goodbye to her.” You hid your face into his neck. He hugged you tight as both of you stood still in the brisk autumn air.

You remember clearly the day you held her for the first time. As if you could ever forget that. You never believed those talks about how after giving birth you immediately forget everything after you see your baby. You never believed it to be true. How would it be possible to forget the physical pain so easily? But when you finally saw your tiny baby girl, you didn't think of the pain you went through, all that was occupying your mind was just how incredibly beautiful she was.

“Do you have a name for her yet?” Nurse next to you asked Jensen while you were still admiring the little bundle in your arms. “Aspen. Aspen Joelle Ackles.” he whispered and lightly dried his eyes from the tears. “Welcome to the world, baby Aspen.” The nurse smiled.

You laid in the bed, tired, but still smiling at Jensen when you saw him holding your daughter in his arms for skin-on-skin contact, beaming from happiness.

Both you and Jensen got used to your new roles as parents quickly. He still had to return to filming the show, but you weren't alone and he was home every weekend like clockwork. For five years your lives were perfect, until the accident that broke your little family.

He hugged you tight for the last time, and from the corner of your eye you saw all your friends and family waiting for you and Jensen to join the memorial service for your daughter. With your head held down, you walked into the room side by side with him. The silence in there was deafening, as everyone patiently waited for you to sit down.

A quick glance at the casket in the middle of the room made it almost impossible for you to keep your sobs under control. It was just heartbreakingly small.

Life is full of all kinds of twists and turns, you knew that, but it was just unfair how in the game of life and death, Aspen was the one to lose and the drunk driver responsible for your car accident was able to walk away unharmed. You just couldn't accept it. But it seemed that it was like this most of the time with these situations.

Innocent souls always seemed to be the ones who lost.

The memorial went by with your mind being completely fogged up. Both of your parents said a few words on your behalf, to make it a little bit easier for you, but you couldn't register anything they said. You were just focused on Jensen next to you, tightly holding onto your hands. One by one your closer family started saying their goodbyes to Aspen. You wanted to be left alone in there with Jensen for yours, because even now you were just barely holding on.

A week was all that was possible for Jensen to get off from work for the funeral. A week. Then he had to return to Vancouver for filming. Your parents were visiting almost daily, but you wished they’d rather leave you alone. Only person you needed for comfort was your husband and he had to work. You actually encouraged him to go work. He offered to stay with you, no matter the consequences, but you couldn't do that to him. You knew what it meant for him to be able to work on the show. And working has always eased his mind from anything, so you hoped it would make grieving a little easier for him too.

Each day you could feel the guilt starting to slowly eat you up more, and depression began to deepen its roots inside you. All day and night, your mind was always racing with the possibilities of different outcomes. What if?

What if you would've told Jensen to take a taxi home from the airport? What if you would've waited five more minutes at home before leaving to pick him up? What if you would've left five minutes earlier? Would any of this have changed anything? Would your daughter be still alive? All of this was playing in your head like a broken record, but you'd never know.

Day by day, everything started to get even more overwhelming. Eating. Getting out of bed. You were either sleeping all day or you weren't sleeping at all. All those small every day motions. It was all too much. But you still didn't look for help. You couldn't admit to anyone that you needed it, not even Jensen. On the outside, with each passing day, your smile was growing. On the inside, you felt nothing other than the guilt of you surviving the accident instead of your daughter. It got too painful for you to even exist, so you were looking for an easy way out.

Jensen didn't talk to you at all, when he visited you in the hospital, but you were still glad that he even came. Even if he just sat there beside your bed, you saw how he was barely keeping himself together each time he glanced at you. Slightly sniffling, but still silent. Past few months have not been kind to either of you. Worry, grief, pain- everything had left their mark, aging you more than they should have. While there wasn't a point to try to come up with excuses for yourself, you still felt like you had to say something. “I'm sorry, Jensen.” Your voice was barely above whisper. It wouldn't make anything better, but it was all you managed to say.

You saw that his green eyes were full of hurt and betrayal when he got up from the chair, not even acknowledging your apology. “I have to speak to your doctor.”

You were kept in hospital for a few days, under “observation”. In other words - to make sure you were mentally stable enough that you wouldn't try to take your life again. You knew that even if they'd let you home sooner, Jensen wouldn't leave your side. Even now he only left the hospital for an hour or so every day, the rest of the time he sat in the chair by your bed, even slept in it. But now he had come home for a longer time to be with you, as the filming for the season had ended.

When you were finally let home, the drive there was again in deafening silence. You noticed him fidgeting nervously with the steering wheel. As soon as you got home, you just planted yourself onto the sofa in the living room. Jensen joined you a moment later and both of you sat there for a while without speaking. Time seemed to move so slowly.

He finally moved a little bit closer to you, but didn't look at you when he started speaking. “Why?” His voice was completely broken, as was he himself too. “Why did you do this, Y/N?” You turned to take a closer look at him. The lines around his eyes were now more prominent than they used to. His beard was also longer than he usually kept. The overall look of him was just like there was only a shell left of the man he used to be.

“I-I just didn't want to be here without you anymore.” You finally managed to whisper. “It was too much for me.”

You couldn't turn your eyes away from him, and at last he met your gaze, his eyes seemed to be full of even more pain than before.

“Why did you let me leave then?" He asked quietly. "I told you I'd stay with you.”

“I knew you'd feel better when you'd be away from here, working. I didn't want to be the reason to keep you here.”

He scoffed. “So you opted for suicide instead of calling me home? Instead of talking to me? I'm your husband. You know I would've left anything behind for you in a heartbeat. Always, sweetheart.”

“You would've probably been fired.”

“I don't care about that! I care about you! I only left because you told me to! I asked you to come with me.” He tried to get his voice under control, not to be yelling at you, but it was without success. “You told me you were okay! You promised!” He paced around in the living room, trying to calm down.

Your voice didn't fail to match his tone. “How could I ever be okay? I lost my daughter. I will never be okay with that!”

“I lost her too. I lost my baby too.” He came to kneel in front of you.

Both you were broken, crying, letting out emotions you had kept in for so long, desperately seeking consolation from one another. “No one will ever ask us to be okay with losing her. We just have to be there for each other, but you almost left me completely alone..” he reached his hand out for your cheek. “I was so close to losing you too, do you even realize that? When I got the call, I..” he couldn't finish his sentence. You finally saw what you would've left behind if your attempt would've been successful. Your parents would've had to bury their daughter, just as you did. Jensen would've buried his daughter and wife in a span of short six months. The thought of that made you broke down again.

“I'm sorry, Jensen.” You felt the wall that kept your emotions at bay, crumble at your feet. “It's just- I feel guilty..for the accident.” You were now sobbing hard as Jensen sat next to you again. “I should’ve taken some other route or anything. I should've done something. I feel like it's all my fault.”

He pulled you up into his lap before closing his arms around you. “It was not your fault, Y/N..It was not, and you wouldn't have been able to stop it.” he sighed. You let him hold you tight and rested your head onto his shoulder. “It's hard for me to believe that.” You sniffled.

“I know I haven't been home a lot, but when was the last time you visited AJ's grave?” Jensen asked softly. You took a little time to think. You realized it had been way too long. “I can't remember.” You answered him. “I just couldn't go there alone.” You had to admit with a heavy heart.

“Let's go there together then, hm?” You only nodded against his chest.

“Honey, please look at me for a second.” He begged gently. “Please promise me that you'll never push your emotions down, because you think that would make me feel better. I never want you to feel like you have to keep your feelings in because of what would be better for me. Never. I will always be here for you. Always, because that's what I promised to you.”

You locked eyes with him and gave your promise to Jensen, as you made him promise the same to you. You were in this together, you will heal together. It wouldn't happen in a blink of an eye, but eventually you knew it would get easier. It just had to. You just had to be there for him, like he always stood beside you.

Always and forever.

Taglist (always open): @jackles010378 @cevansbaby-dove @deanwinchestersgirl87 @il0vebeingdelulu @alternativeprincess94 @suckitands33 @nescavaneck

[bisexualnerd]

Writer tag game

I wasn’t tagged, but I saw the game randomly posted by another user so I want to play anyway! (red for fic links and blue for series links)

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

35 (and only one draft because I don't really like working on multiple projects at the same time)

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

395,306

3. what fandoms do you write for?

I write the most for Batfam, mostly Tim and Jason but usually, the whole fam (more or less) is also there.

I write a bit more for some other fandoms but there are only one or two fics for each (2021 Produce 101 - Chuang Zao Ying, Hollywood Undead (but these fics are not finished), Julie and The Phantoms (1 fic - finished), Arsenal Military Academy + The Legends (they are kinda connected in 1 fic) and I have like, one translation project too.

I'm hoping to write Star Wars fics one day too. Really like the whole time travel thing and Obi-Wan is my beloved.

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Monster Under My Bed (The Monster Down The Hall)

"Back Away From Him."

if i lose everything in the fire, i'm sending all my love to you

Cold

A Pile of Sleeping Birds

5. do you respond to comments?

All of the comments, definitely. I really enjoy reading and replying to them and sometimes, I even come back to re-read the comments to feel validated 🤣

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I write angst a lot but I have a thing for happy endings. But if I look at the fics individually and not like, as a part of a bigger series, it might be i have so much to say but you're so far away. But if not just the ending but the whole plot in general, it can be any fic really (I would recommend Restless Heart Syndrome, And Now You're Home, The Monster Under My Bed (The Monster Down The Hall), and What The Heart Remembers).

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

They all have some sort of happy endings (though some fics that are a part of a series might not but the series will have happy endings). But since all I have talked about is Batfam, I would recommend this from Julie and the Phantoms. I don't write romance often, but this is just a short soft, cute love story of two ghosts (Reggie and an OC based on his real-life wife) plus some humour in the band - ‘Cause I’m Not Too Far And You’re My Favorite Place. I was very satisfied with how it turned out and I still come back to re-read for my own enjoyment a few times so I hope you guys will give it a chance.

8. do you get hate on fics?

My most controversial fic would be Hold Me Close, Don't Let Go (Watch Me Burn) but it's not like people showed hate to me. They just didn't like the story and how I wrote it so there were some unpleasant comments. The newest one, I think I did well with my response. It's a rather heavy fic because I went through a really rough time when I was writing it (along with many others) so if you want to read it, be careful.

9. do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't. My fics are all rated G or T (mostly because of swearing and violence, and also some with suicidal theme or idealisation because I did have a really bad time).

10. do you write crossovers?

Just for two fandoms, Arsenal Military Academy & The Legends, because they share the same lead actor and actress so I thought it would be fun to write something about reincarnation. It's Then and Now, Forever and Always.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think I'm famous enough for that.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, into Chinese, actually. It's The Monster Under My Bed (The Monster Down The Hall). The link to the translated fic is in the fic.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Not really. I planned my current series How To Steal A Brother with my friend Den and she is also my beta-reader for this series but I still write all of the stuff, which she reads and corrects the mistakes for me later.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

That's hard to choose. I really like Robin (Dick Grayson) and Starfire. It was like my first ship ever because I watched Teen Titans as a child. I also like Marinette/Adrien, very cute but the secondhand embarrassment is not very healthy for me (at least she has gotten better at interacting with him). The Doctor (10th) and Rose was one heartbreak that got me crying like a baby in 8th grade.

So honestly, I don't think I can pick because those were the three that came to my mind first, but I still have like a few dozen left.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

The Hollywood Undead fic - When Gravity Pulls You In. It was a really fun idea but then I ran into a big writer's block and I haven't recovered for this fic. I have been writing for Batfam again but I doubt I can go back and finish this one (at least anytime soon).

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't think I'm too good with dialogue but I do have a strength in describing and like some sort of metaphor (English is not my first language so this is a difficult question to answer). I don't know if this is also considered a strength but like I said, I don't really write many fics at the same time so I can manage them pretty well. Most of my fics are completed before I move on to another one.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. And I forget a lot of stuff so I have to go back to the earlier part so the plot won't be inconsistent. And of course, I write in English, which is not my mother tongue, so sometimes, I lack vocabulary or my grammar can feel weird.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I mean, I would add translation or explanation very subtly in there. But I saw a Star Wars fic where the writer had like, floating texts or something for the conversations in Mando'a so like, I will research on that if I need to write in another language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Batfam. Tim-centric.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

Damn, that's like asking a parent for their fav child on national television.

In terms of like, wording and metaphors and descriptions and all the technical stuff - And Now You're Home - because some of my fav paragraphs are in here. In terms of logic, time can never change for the flying bird under the summer sun because I went crazy with all the planning for the whole time-travel-but-nothing-changes-the-future thing. In terms of plot, i'm so out of touch with everyone, and everything's a blur to me. This was one of my earlier ones but when I came back to this earlier this year, I found it so enjoyable and fascinated. I couldn't even believe I wrote this one. But it is a part of a series so you might want to check out I've Got You Brother.

This has been fun and I have been shamelessly PR-ing my fics. I don't really know who to tag so anyone else who wants to play, go ahead and have fun!

[thatone-brightstar]

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 9: You catch more bears with honey

Words: 5k

Summary: Who knew Chicago could be so small?

a/n: Please read! I normally only add warnings for like smut, but I don't want to trigger anyone; so listen please, trigger warning: mention of suicide attempt in flashbacks and panic attacks. You have been warned.

Other than that, thank you for sticking around thus far, commenting is always appreciated and if you ever need a friend to talk to, don't hesitate to reach out ❤️‍🩹

Carmy despised many things. The sensation of burning his tongue when he tasted something in a rush, and the hard pressure over his chest every time he opened Mikey’s accounting books, were just a few. But gatherings organized by his family were definitely above everything else, especially when he had no other choice but to attend. He could think of ten things off the top of his head that he’d rather be doing on his off day than drive to his sister’s house in the suburbs and spend a whole fucking afternoon with people he didn’t give a shit about. Yet for whatever reason, instead of spending his Sunday doing something he enjoyed -like going up to the coast or testing his lungs’ capacity to hold in air while he out you out-, instead he was stuck cutting up fruit for a punch Sugar insisted that he take.

He could have easily avoided the whole situation if he had kept his fucking mouth shut, but when he let your name casually slip on one of their spontaneous conversations and she had heard it, he knew she was going to pester him until she got any sort of answer. 

“Who’s that?” She asked and he could hear the grin in her voice.

“Uhh..” ‘Shit’.

“Bear, are you seeing someone?”

He had contemplated the question for a second, because he didn’t really know. He never asked you out officially -he didn’t have the words or know what to say- he just wasn’t built like that. And with everything going on in both your lives, he didn’t have much time to contemplate it. Besides, you had been ‘going out’ for a couple months already, and it wasn’t like you seemed bothered by the lack of a label, either. 

“Yeah… I-I am.” He spoke, the words falling comfortably around him. 

That was enough of an answer for her to insist on bringing you around for one of Pete’s Nephew’s Birthday party -or some shit like that. He was glad that Nat wanted to meet you, and under any other circumstances he would have obliged, but god did he hate that shit and the simple thought of being around screeching children made his skin crawl.

“Don’t add strawberries to the punch. Remember Pete’s allergic.” Nat called through the phone as he finished thinly slicing the oranges. “I don’t want him to end up in the ER like that one fourth of July party.” 

Carmy snickered into the phone that rested on his shoulder. “I told ‘em that shit had berries in it, his dumbass wouldn’t listen.” He grumbled.

“Well what did you expect? You idiots had him taking shots ‘till he was cross-eyed! He was lucky the alcohol made him puke ‘em out...”

“Yeah… that was a fun party.” He joked, earning an incoherent groan from his sister. “Fine... I won’t add berries.”

“Thank you. Alright I’ll see you in a few.” She said, mumbling a quick ‘Love you’ before hanging up.

By the time he was done saving the diced fruit into the containers, Carmy heard his front door open and your soft steps advance deeper down the hall. He enjoyed how quickly you had gotten comfortable going in and out of his apartment, particularly after he had given you your own set of keys. ‘That way you won’t have to wait at the gallery when I’m runnin’ late’ He had said in the most nonchalant way, though his insides felt like shutting down at the idea of your rejection. Your thank you came in the form of a heartwarming candlelit dinner, complete with an entree and dessert- that he had unknowingly bought- and that you hoped expressed all your gratitude. He had to bite his tongue many times that night because it was the only way to avoid a ‘Fuck, I love you’ to slip past his lips.

“Hey, hun.” You called, dropping the box of cupcakes you insisted on bringing and leaning up to peck his lips.

“You know you don’t have to take anything, right?”

“And show up empty handed? Do you not know me at all, Berzatto?” You joked, popping a piece of pineapple into your mouth before he sealed the container. “Besides, they’re cupcakes, that shit’s like catnip for kids.”

He snickered lowly as you took a seat on the barstool across from him.

“D’you need help with anything?”

“Nah, I’m good Love, thanks.” He said and you shuffled in your seat trying to ignore the flutter in your chest that the simple word caused. You wondered if there would ever be a time where his sweet words wouldn’t pull such a reaction from you, ‘hopefully never’ you thought.

“So, what should I expect?” You asked him.

“What’do you mean?”

“Yeah, y’know any weird uncles to stay away from…”

“I mean, my uncle Jimmy’s kinda iffy but that’s about it.”

With a soft smile you asked “You got an uncle named Jimmy?” 

“Why, is that weird?”

“No, just… very Italian of you.” You said with a laugh.

“Shut up” He half laughed. “He’s more of a family friend… but y’know, everyone’s an uncle.”

“No, yeah I get it, same” you laughed. “Okay, so just your uncle Jimmy, then?”

“Oh and Pete. He’s not weird, just a nerd, but you’ll probably get along fine.” He grinded then sniggered harder when you playfully pushed his shoulder.

He quickly got dressed while you skipped through the few channels available on his TV. Then once he was ready, although just physically, you helped him with the fruit containers while he carried the gallon of punch and your cupcakes down to the first floor.

The car ride was spent on raking your nails mindlessly along his arm as he asked about your paintings and the classes you gave to the few kids who didn’t go away for the summer. You also talked about the upcoming function and how you weren’t sure of the theme you wanted for your paintings yet. Between that and the classes, you didn’t have much time to use the workshop in the back, but you made good use of the extra hour you sometimes stayed while waiting for him.

In turn, Carmy told you about Marcus’ new desserts and how proud he was that the team was starting to come together after so long. You remembered Syd calling you a few weeks before, excited that Tina had finally called her chef and a fondness spread through you at how things were finally turning for both of them. For everyone really.

The closer you got to the destination, the more your nerves bubbled in your stomach. Your foot bounced anxiously in the passenger seat of Richie’s car, making the box of cupcakes that rested on your lap rustle with your movements. Your insides were a worried mess as you nibbled on your thumbnail with eyes glued on the road and a thousand thoughts racing per minute. Carmy took his hand from the steering wheel and placed it gently over your bouncing knee, trying to calm you, but it only transformed your thoughts into words that spilled from your parted lips.

“What if she hates me?”

“She's not gonna hate you.” He reassured.

“How do you know that?!”

“Because she's been buggin’ me about you for the past two weeks.” Carmy groaned in a faux exasperated tone. 

“Sorry, I’m just really nervous. I’ve never met anyone’s family before.” You said, threading your fingers tightly through his.

“Yeah? It’s going to be fine, trust me.” He assured and reached your joined hands up to kiss the back of yours. He wanted to admit that this too was a first for him, but you were nervous enough as it was and he didn’t want to burden you with his own anxieties. 

You reached Sugar’s house around noon, the bustling sound of feral children penetrated the closed windows of the car even as he parked half a block away. You both sat in the silence for a couple minutes, basking in the few moments of peace left.

“I hate this shit too,” Carmy said while opening your door. “but we’ll be an hour or two, max. Just to get Sugar off my ass.”

“What, you don’t wanna parade me around like arm candy?” You teased to hide your obvious tenseness.

“Trust me babe, if I could, I’d keep you all to myself…” He mumbled with a sigh against your temple before placing a kiss on it and rounding the car to take out the stuff from the back.

The first thing you were met with after crossing the threshold was the heavy smell of smoked sausages. Toasted bread and the sweetness of caramelized onion filtered through your nostrils as you made your way deeper into the room. The excess sounds of laughter from the living room mixed with the distant screaming was slightly overwhelming, but you were soon grounded by Carmy’s strong arm around your waist, guiding you to where you assumed the smell came from.

“Bear!” The tall woman greeted once she spotted her brother, taking off the oven mitts and walking to his side to hug over his shoulders.

You stood a bit awkwardly to the side, before she pulled away from him and looked at you with a smile.

“Hi, I’m Nat.” She introduced herself after a few seconds where no one spoke. You took her outstretched hand with a nervous chuckle and introduced yourself.

“Shit- right, sorry. This is my sister Nat, Nat this is my -uh- girlfriend.” His words came out rushed, afraid that once they were out you’d refuse them. But all he saw were glowing eyes and blushed cheeks pushed up from your smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, well by name at least.” Sugar said, eyes raking over her brother in scrutiny. “I saw you at the restaurant once, right?”

Your palms grew sweaty at the memory, how you had stupidly believed Richie and how you had thought that the woman in front of you was Carmy’s wife. Now that you stood closer and could find traces of his face scattered around hers, you wanted to slap yourself for ever believing such an idiotic lie.

“Yeah, I worked there for a couple months.” You responded, placing the box of cupcakes over her kitchen island, where she began flipping the hotdog buns she had pulled from the oven.

“And what do you do now?”

“She’s an artist.” Carmy answered for you, a proudness evident on his light features as he turned to you with a ghost of a smile.

“I give painting classes to kids. And also do some work on the side.” You specified.

“That’s pretty cool. You must be used to all of this, then.” Natalie said, signaling to some kids that ran past the doorway playing tag.

You laughed in agreement, the nervousness dissipating the more you interacted with her. While Carmy mixed the punch, you helped her buttering the buns and placing a sausage in each one, all throughout a scattered conversation. 

“I’m gonna take these to Pete.” She said, taking the tray of hotdogs and thanking you for the help. “Bear, once you're done, put the punch out on the patio, will you? And try not to spike it with anything!” Natalie yelled from the door.

“It was one time!” He yelled back, a smile hidden behind his words. “It was just once…” He muttered softly to you.

“I believe you…” You assured with a teasing smile. “So… girlfriend, huh?”

He gave you one of those looks that made your insides quiver, the kind that  had you all flustered and throwing the dishes into the murky water when you still worked at the beef. Carmen shrugged and looked back down at the punch with a soft smile.

“I thought it was a good time…”He  whispered. “A-are you okay… with it?”

He looked at you again. Crystal eyes gave a clear view to his swirling emotions and for a brief moment, you finally understood why they say that the eyes are windows to the soul. 

“Yeah. I’m really okay with it. ” You whispered back and despite your hectic surroundings, his glowing features proved that he had heard your every word.

“Good, good.” He rambled, clearing his throat.

“Carmen, my boy!” 

You both turned to the entrance, where a man with slicked back hair and thick aviator glasses walked towards Carmy, arms stretched out.

“Haven’t seen you since you roofied my kid’s party!” His chuckle boomed as he hugged Carmy, one hand clapping hard over his back.

“Jesus, why is everyone rememberin’ that today all of a sudden?” Carmy joked. “And it was Xanax, okay? I’m not a fuckin’ perv…”

“I’ll forget it when you do somethin’ worse, alright? Wow…” He said, turning to you. “You’re new.”

You whispered a nervous ‘Hi’ to who Carmy introduced as Cicero, or his uncle Jimmy, the man taking you by the shoulders and placing a soft kiss on each cheek. Before you knew it, you were surrounded by a group of people greeting your boyfriend, all with a different topic and speaking over each other's words. He navigated easily around them, as if the action was almost routinary, though the hard grip he had around your hand gave away how anxious the situation really made him feel. 

They were asking you questions too, flinging them in your direction, hoping you’d catch the bait. ‘How’d you meet?!’, ‘How long have you been together?’, ‘I’m glad he finally has a girlfriend, we were startin’ to think he was gay!’. The last one earned an uproar of laughter from the group and distracted them enough that you could pull yourself away from the hoard. Carmy wasn’t so lucky, one of his aunts had her arm looped through his, holding him in place. You shot him an apologetic look as you took the punch and hauled it out the back door, mouthing a ‘Sorry’ with a shrug and a smile.

You placed the glass cylinder on the long white table that rested on the grass, surrounded by platters of fruit and some already cooked hotdogs. The noise was a bit higher than inside, but the soft breeze of the summer afternoon helped calm the slow growing headache.

“The wolf pack got to you, huh?” Natalie asked, placing another tray of cooked dogs then standing beside you.

“Yeah.. I guess.”

“I think they just got all excited cause they’ve never seen him with anyone…” She turned to look at her brother through the glass door, with a certain softness that one only reserves for someone who you’ve seen grow up.

You turned too, he was listening intently to a short woman speak, hands clasped behind his back and nodding politely to her conversation. The crowd had dispersed and you were glad that he didn’t have to be stuck in the whirlpool of taunts from his family anymore.

“Haven’t really seen him outside that stupid place in a while...” She spoke, pulling you from your thoughts. “Did he… tell you about Mikey?”

You let a few seconds pass before answering “He kinda mentioned him, once.”

Nat nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the playing children around you. “Well, I’m glad he at least has someone to talk to. God knows he won't even take my calls.” 

She smiled down at you, a soft tint around the rim of her eyes and the button of her nose. It was surprising how similar they looked, even in their sadness, their facial expressions mirrored each other’s well. You wondered if Mikey looked anything like them, sharing the same sandy blonde hair and the saddest of blue eyes.

She then sniffed softly and cleared her throat. “Drink?” She filled up the plastic cup with the orange liquid once you nodded.

“Babe, look! someone gave Jack a plane!” A tall man shouted towards Natalie, while shaking the controller in her direction. “Come see!”

“I gotta go make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone-” She grumbled to you, making you laugh, then took her cup and began walking towards him. “You’re doing great, babe!”

You stood leaning on the side of the table, sipping on your drink and observing your surroundings. You watched how Nat’s husband wrapped his arms around her and tried teaching her how to steer the model plane. Then, how in a fit of laughter it came plummeting down and almost crashed into the ground before it rose back up again. You silently giggled from afar at their actions and how happy they seemed.

“You left me alone to die in there.” You felt Carmy’s sultry breath fan the side of your face, then his arm fall softly over your shoulders.

“Hmm, you seemed pretty comfortable to me…” 

“Yeah, right.” He sniggered.

“Your uncle Jimmy seems nice…”

“Yeah.. just never borrow money from him..” Carmy mumbled and before you could ask what he meant, he cleared his throat and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “D’you wanna get outta here?”

You looked up to glistening eyes and bit your lip to hide your smile. “What did you have in mind?”

He shrugged looking around the open space and taking your cup before raising it to his lips. “Dunno. I just know that you look really fuckin’ hot in those jeans and it’s driving me insane.” 

Your breath got caught in your throat at his blunt response, the smile on your face curving into a more mischievous one and you looked around wondering if his family would even notice your absence. 

“Okay. ” You whispered up at him and his brows raised in surprise. “I’ll, uhm just use the bathroom and meet you by the car” Then you stepped up on your toes and kissed the curve of his lips. 

As you made your way past the kitchen and along the hallway that harbored the open bathroom door, you saw an array of picture frames decorating the cream colored walls. You took your time admiring each one, a fondness blossoming inside your chest as you spotted the familiar pair of eyes and wild hair. The frames were in timeline order and even though there weren’t many pictures, it was nice to see the siblings slowly growing up. You recognized two of the three in one of the images, which seemed to have been  taken on Christmas morning. The third, an older boy with raven hair, was the one you could only assume as Michael. He looked different than what you imagined he would, but all three shared the same beaming smile.

It wasn’t until you reached the end of the hall that the fondness you felt in your chest turned into heavy bricks, plummeting into the ground and ripping a hole through the floor. You recognized the older dark pair of tired eyes staring back at you, how could you not? You had seen them many times before in the nightmares that you foolishly tried to escape. But it was too much of a coincidence and there was no way that Chicago could be that small. Yet the picture could not be clearer. 

In front of the less rundown restaurant that you had come to love, stood a younger Carmy, maybe in his late teens, with his arm falling loosely over his older brother- a man whose face you had not known before, but could now unmistakably identify as the one who you had run into that unfaithful night on the bridge. 

Your body shattered in sudden waves of cold sweats and you weren’t sure how long you had been standing in the middle of the hallway, gawking at the picture. Your hand held a tight grip  on  your stomach as the other hovered over the erratic beating of your chest, trying but failing to calm it down. The same adrenaline laced thought kept running in circles around your head ‘Chicago can’t be that small. It’s just a similar face.’ But no matter how hard you tried to kid  yourself, you knew deep down that it was him. 

The burning pressure began to grow and you used the last bit of strength left to move your legs from where they stood frozen on the floor, into the entrance of the bathroom and shutting the door with an impolite slam. It was then that the memories fell too heavy, pushing you down to level the floor and crushing your chest into an uncountable number of pieces. The bustling sounds of the party seemed too far away, clouded by the static ringing in your ears and by the sound of your own shallow breaths. You could feel the panic attack slowly inching closer to you, the corners of your vision bled dark and made the yellow lights in the bathroom swirl into watercolors that turned white and gray everything around you. You tried the stupid breathing exercises again, but every exhale left with a chest shaking cry that you had to silence with the flesh of your palm. 

The static in your ears now turned into rushing water and the overwhelming screech of tires and metal crashing against thick concrete. You were cold again, harsh pins and needles poked at the skin of your bare feet with every step on the fresh snow. You were cold and numb. Hot tears streamed from your eyes, burning a trail down your frostbitten cheeks and salting your trembling lips. You were angry again, cold and angry and numb all at once, feeling your fingertips glide over the freezing metal railing of the bridge. Clouds of hot air left your lungs in shaky breaths as your aching bones gripped tightly and your feet climbed up between the rails that separated you from endless nothing. 

Then finally, as your legs swung over the metal and you sat with your feet hanging over the dark water, you felt… nothing. It was as if all the pain that had been compressing your chest over the past months had suddenly evaporated. There was no lying boyfriend, no sickly grandmother or frustrated career. Just you, the icy barrier nipping at the back of your thighs through your leggings and the thousands of twinkling stars that had never looked brighter in the light polluted sky. You could lastly enjoy the silence you had so desperately tried to find during the months where your life seemed to fall apart. It was there, right in front of you, if you were only so brave to take the small leap and reach out to touch it.

A voice called your name from a distance, trying to break past the thick mirage that replayed in an endless loop. A soft blow vibrated against your back and the muffled voice called again with no response. It was as if you were trapped in a snow globe, cursed to relive the haunting memory of your own demise. Not even the constant vibration of the discarded phone resting beside you on the tiles could pull you out of your head.

‘You don’t wanna do that…’ A deep voice called from behind you. ‘You don’t wanna do that.’

**********

Carmy knew something was wrong when after twenty minutes of waiting by the car, you never came out or answered his calls. He asked his sister if she had seen you and when she answered ‘no’, his worry increased. His first thought was to search deep into the hallway and could hear you behind the bathroom door, soft whimpers that were barely audible through the outside noise, but still present. With his heart in his throat, he was able to push the unlocked door open just enough for his sister to slip past the narrow space and find you curled against it, eyes glued to the wall in front of you but completely dissociated.

Natalie crouched down towards you in a hurry, wrapping her hands over your tear stained cheeks and pulling your blank face up to help your eyes focus on hers.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Look at me-” She urged. 

Only a soft ‘I knew him..’ fell over and over from your lips.

“Breathe, hun, you gotta breathe, okay?” Her voice was neutral, but the slight tremble in her hands gave away the thin panic.

“Your brother-” You finally said, swallowing the dryness that invaded your throat. “I-I knew him he- I-”

The words felt heavy over your tongue, head still clouded with the visions of a memory that you thought buried six feet deep. You could feel the loose soil around it pile inside your mouth as the words unearthed themselves.

“it’s okay, yes Carmy’s outside-”

“No, Mikey! T-that night, on-on the bridge when I… He was there, he-” You took a deep breath and screwed your eyes shut. “I-I was gonna jump and he-” A soft cry replaced your words, then you felt Natalie’s arms circle your back and press you hard against her.

The force of your cries were muffled by her shirt, staining the soft fabric with your snot and makeup, but she didn’t seem to care.  You still couldn’t understand it. It felt like a cruel joke orchestrated by whoever the fuck was in charge of existece, to make you believe that you could finally leave all your horrible mistakes in the past - to let you grace happiness with the tips of your fingers- only to have reality slap you in the face and beat you back down to the ground.

The pressure of her hug grounded you back to your body and helped create a tempo for your erratic breathing, until soft sniffles were all that was left of your breakdown. Her soft strokes on the back of your head comforted you in a way you didn’t know, in a way that only an older sister could.

You felt Carmy’s soft knocks vibrate on the door and a slight panic bubbled again.

“You can’t tell him! He’s gonna hate me, you can’t-” You whispered in a rush.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay..” She hummed. “I’m not gonna tell him, okay? I won’t. But you’ll have to eventually. He has the right to know.” 

“I know, I know. I will, I promise, but I can’t right now. I just- I can’t…”

She nodded in understanding and pulled her arms from you, letting you push yourself onto wobbly knees and make your way to the sink, where you tried to clean up as best as you could. After washing away the remnants of salty mascara streaks on your cheeks and drying your face, you turned to Natalie still sniffing back a few tears.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

She only nodded slowly with a forced tight smile and raked her fingers through her hair in a gesture that reminded you heavily of her brother.

“I’m gonna -uh- stay here. A little longer.”

With a soft ‘Okay’ in her direction and a heavy heart, you turned to exit. 

Carmy quickly pushed himself off the hallway wall where he patiently waited for you, a heavy look of worry concealed under his creased brow.

“A-are you okay? Do I take you to the ER or somethin’...” He rambled as soon as he spotted you, reaching up to rub warmth into your cold arms. “Jesus, you’re freezing. Is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah. I didn’t mean to freak you out, I'm sorry.” And you truly meant it, but he couldn’t grasp on to what degree. “I just got really overwhelmed-”

“Hey, no- it’s okay, don’t apologize.” He wrapped his strong arms around your shaking frame and whispered “I knew this was a shitty idea…” Into your hair.

You shakily inhaled the familiar scent of his aftershave and cigarettes, the voice in your head taunting you to ‘Enjoy it while you can, after you tell him, he won’t even want to look at you’ and a fresh batch of tears threatened to burst out.

“Where.. where’s Sugar?”

“She said she needed the bathroom.” You mumbled into his shirt.

“Okay…C’mon, let’s get you home.” 

All you could do was nod and trail behind him, hand locked tightly into his. The party had moved to the patio, where a chorus of voices sang Happy Birthday, oblivious to your escape. You had underestimated the time you spent in the bathroom because what had felt like only a couple of minutes to you, was actually long enough for the sun to start setting over the skyline by the time Carmy turned on the car and began the drive back. 

Your forehead spent the whole ride home pressed to the window, hoping that your skin absorbed some of the coldness and reduced the pounding between your brows. Carmy’s hand never left your leg and you didn’t look in his direction, scared to see the hardened  expression that loomed over his features when he was deep in his head. You felt guilty. To see the poor man in torturing thought, trying to figure out what it was that could have made you spiral in such a way. You only spoke when you asked him to drop you off at your building and he made no effort to contradict your choice, despite heavily wanting to.

You only threw  an empty smile and a kiss on his cheek, accompanied by a soft ‘good night’ before rapidly exiting the car and disappearing behind the hard wooden doors. Carmy felt confused and worried, above anything else and couldn’t shake the sensation off his shoulders as he reached his eerily silent apartment without you.

The stairs to your floor had  never felt more difficult to climb, and when you finally dragged yourself through your door and spotted your grandfather resting on the couch, the dam that had only slightly cracked in Natalie’s bathroom, finally broke. You flung yourself to his side and cried until the back of your throat felt raw and stung with the waves of your shuddering breaths. He held you close without question, rubbing your back rhythmically and humming one of the lullabies he’d sing to calm you down as a child.

You didn’t know if you cried out of guilt, anger or fear. Or if maybe it was a mixture of it all, but it didn’t matter. Because the only image that swam infinitely in your head was the menacing memory of the frostbitten skin on your cheeks and the -until today- unknown man that had pulled you off the State Street Bridge’s edge. 

Chapter 10.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt and that’s it lmao