#is to pop some pills and forget about everything

[maedesculpaeusoubi]

i genuinely think sobriety looks good on me (especially for someone that got addicted at 11 and got sober at 22) but oh god do i miss the destructiveness and the numbness

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Checkmate: a Jhea fanfic. (Book 3 of 3 BTR Series)

Chapter 12: Loss pt. 2

WARNINGS: Actions Have Consequences — Ry

Also mentions of bad stuff…

special shout out to @4yourheartonly & @love4brutality 🤭

The mood inside the small, dimly lit room was heavy with tension. The single overhead light flickered, casting long, eerie shadows along the stained walls. The scent of sweat, blood, and something metallic lingered—a constant reminder of just how far things had gone.

Rhea lay motionless on the old mattress in the corner, her body wracked with fever. Sweat drenched her skin, her breathing shallow and uneven. She was slipping.

Valerie wrung her hands together, pacing at the foot of the bed. Her heart hammered violently in her chest. “She’s burning up, Dustin. It didn’t work! This—this isn’t normal! We need to take her to a hospital.”

Dustin sat hunched on a chair by the door, his leg bouncing in agitation. His fingers drummed against his knee, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might snap. “Not happening.”

“She’s going to die,” Valerie hissed.

Dustin’s head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach churn. “We’re sticking to the plan.”

Valerie’s breath hitched. “Fuck the plan, Dustin! She needs help. We’re in over our heads—”

“Look baby… just… fuck, just go to Plan C.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them, and immediately, she regretted it.

Dustin stopped bouncing his leg. His entire body stilled.

For a long moment, there was silence—pained, suffocating. Then, slowly, a grin stretched across his face.

“Alright.” He stood, reaching into his pocket. The glint of metal flashed under the dim light as he pulled out a small pill bottle and a knife. He turned to Valerie, holding them both out. “But you do the honors.”

Valerie’s breath caught in her throat. Her gaze darted between the knife, the pills, and Dustin’s expectant expression. “What?”

“You heard me.” His voice was eerily calm. “If you love me, you’ll do it.”

Her hands trembled. “Dustin—”

“Nope.” He stepped closer, pressing the items against her palm. “You’re always talking about how much you love me. How you’d do anything for me.” He tilted his head. “Prove it.”

Valerie stared at him, her heart slamming against her ribcage. The weight of the pill bottle felt unbearable in her hand.

She swallowed hard. “Dustin, please don’t make me—”

His expression darkened. “She’s just some bitch to you, right?” His voice dipped lower, dangerous. “You said it yourself—you hate her. She ruins everything. So be useful for once.”

Valerie’s stomach twisted.

Rhea groaned softly from the mattress, her body twitching. She was barely clinging to consciousness, completely defenseless.

Valerie’s grip on the bottle tightened.

This wasn’t what she had signed up for.

But Dustin was watching.

Waiting.

Expecting.

Her pulse roared in her ears. She could barely hear herself think.

Then, with a shaky breath, she popped open the bottle.

“Don’t forget the knife…”

Four Hours Later

The unmarked van crept along the empty road, headlights off. The towering iron gates of Rhea’s property loomed ahead, barely visible under the moonlight.

Inside the van, Rhea was sprawled across the floor, her body completely limp. Blood streaked down the side of her face, her arms covered in bruises. Her breathing was weak, uneven—her body wracked with fever and whatever toxins were now running through her veins.

Dustin peered out the window as they neared the gate. He smirked. This was his most sadistic…

The van rolled to a stop. The side door slid open, and before Valerie could even take one last look at what she had done, Rhea was shoved out onto the cold pavement.

Her body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Dustin lingered for a moment, his gaze locked onto the house in the distance. Warm lights glowed from inside. He imagined Rhea’s son in the nursery…

It made his blood boil.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

“I’m coming back for you,” he whispered, a promise laced with venom.

Then, without another word, he climbed back into the van.

The tires screeched against the pavement as they sped off into the night, leaving Rhea behind.

Broken.

—

November 28th, 2025 10:27 PM

Solofa sat in the quiet of the backyard, watching the still waters of the untouched pool ripple beneath the soft breeze. The glow from the deck lights illuminated the man-made waterfall, casting faint shadows against the rock structure. It was a damn masterpiece—a luxury that neither his son nor his daughter-in-law had ever truly enjoyed.

A waste.

After a small delay, it had finished being built in August, right before Rhea gave birth. But before they could even think about it, the temperature had dropped, the Stamford chill creeping in, making sure the pool remained untouched and then ultimate chaos came just right after that.

And now?

Now, Rhea was gone. And Jey was a thousand miles away in Phoenix, chasing a ghost of a lead, hoping to get answers from a man he had never met before.

Solofa took a slow drag of his cigarette, letting the bitter smoke settle in his lungs before exhaling into the night air. The silence was engulfing, pressing against him, wrapping around his bones.

The sliding door creaked open behind him, followed by soft footsteps against the wooden deck. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Talisua.

She stepped beside him, their grandson cradled in her arms. Baby Jeyson cooed softly, his tiny fingers curling against the fabric of his black customized onesie—it said YEETALITY in blue and purple letters. The sight of him—the only piece of Rhea they had left in this house—sent an ache through Solofa’s chest.

Talisua’s voice came gentle but firm, speaking in their native tongue. “The cigarettes will kill you.”

Solofa let out a dry chuckle, taking one last drag before putting it out against the stone ashtray beside him. His voice was low, tired. “Not if my heart does the job first.”

Talisua sighed, shaking her head, but she didn’t press him on it. Instead, she carefully shifted Jeyson in her arms and held him out. Without hesitation, Solofa reached for his grandson, pulling the baby close to his chest.

Jeyson was warm, his chunky body nestled securely in his grandfather’s arms. Solofa ran a weathered hand over the baby’s soft curls, watching as Jeyson blinked up at him with curious brown eyes—Jey’s eyes.

“Hey, chunky monkey,” Solofa murmured.

Jeyson gurgled in response, his hands grabbing at the fabric of Solofa’s hoodie. A ghost of a smile tugged at Solofa’s lips, but it didn’t last.

Because Jeyson had no idea.

No idea that his father was out there, fueled by desperation, willing to burn the world down to bring his mother home.

No idea that his mother might never come home at all.

Talisua sat beside him, her hands folding neatly in her lap. She was quiet for a long moment before speaking. “He’s restless tonight.”

Solofa glanced down at Jeyson, watching as his small hands curled into fists, his face scrunching up in the beginnings of discomfort. He wasn’t crying yet, but the distress was there. Solofa recognized it too well.

“Babies know,” he muttered.

Talisua nodded. “He feels the shift in the house more as he grows Solofa. He’s waiting, just like we are.”

Solofa let out a deep breath, his gaze drifting back toward the still, unused pool.

Waiting.

That’s all they could do.

Wait for Jey to call.

Wait for news.

Wait for Rhea to come home.

If she ever did.

Talisua watched as Solofa gently cradled Jeyson, rocking him with a patience that only a grandfather could have. She knew he was tired. They both were.

“Do you want something to eat?” she asked softly.

Solofa adjusted Jeyson in his arms, rubbing the baby’s back in slow, soothing circles. “If you could make—”

Both of them froze.

The unmistakable sound of tires rolling up to the front gate cut through the quiet night, followed by the sharp creak of a door opening.

Then—

A dull thud.

A door slammed shut.

Screeching tires peeled off into the night, vanishing as fast as they had come.

Solofa’s entire body went rigid. His instincts kicked in immediately. He carefully but quickly handed Jeyson back to Talisua.

“Take him,” Solofa ordered, his tone firm. “I’m going to check it out.”

Talisua clutched Jeyson to her chest, her heart pounding as she watched Solofa pull his hoodie down and adjust his stance. Before he moved, she reached out, grabbing his arm.

“Solofa…” she whispered. “Take your gun.”

He gave her a short nod, lifting his hoodie slightly to reveal the weapon tucked securely into his waistband. The metal gleamed under the dim moonlight before he lowered the fabric again.

Then he moved.

Solofa didn’t just walk—he ran. His body moved with urgency, his steps swift as he rounded the large house toward the gate.

And then—he saw her.

Rhea.

Lying there.

Lifeless.

His heart stopped.

“Talisua!” he bellowed, already fumbling to unlock the gate. The gate opened swiftly and Talisua came running, clutching Jeyson in one arm, her phone in the other. She gasped at the sight, her fingers trembling as she frantically dialed.

Solofa dropped to his knees beside Rhea, his hands hovering for a second before he pressed them to her. Her skin was clammy, burning hot in some places, ice-cold in others. Her breathing—was there any breathing?

He couldn’t feel a heartbeat.

“Come on, baby girl,” he murmured urgently, pressing his fingers to the side of her neck again, searching. Praying.

Rhea’s head had been shaved.

Dark bruises littered her face, her arms, her legs—everywhere.

Talisua’s voice broke through the panic as she screamed into the phone. “We need an ambulance now!”

Solofa barely heard anything else.

All he could do was stare at Rhea.

His daughter-in-law.

His son’s entire world.

Beaten. Broken.

And possibly gone.

Solofa felt the distant sounds of an ambulance's siren growing louder in the night, but it felt like an eternity.

His mind raced, heart hammering, but he couldn't stop looking at Rhea.

He cradled her closer, his hands shaking slightly as he carefully adjusted her fragile form in his arms. The weight of her felt impossibly heavy, like she was the world crashing down on him all at once. The cool, damp sensation under his hands sent a ripple of panic through him.

He pulled his hand back instinctively and froze.

Blood.

His eyes widened.

It was on his hands-on his fingers. The red stains stark against the pale light of the night. He glanced down at Rhea, trying to adjust her gently to assess the damage. The way she was laying, the blood had pooled and seeped into her clothes, but the real horror came when he looked at her back.

He felt his breath catch in his throat.

Carved into her skin, as if to mark her soul forever, was one word.

LIAR.

It was jagged and deep. The letters weren't just etched-they were sliced deep into her, each one a reminder of the cruelty she'd endured.

Solofa's mouth opened in shock, but no sound came out. He had no words for what he was seeing. He had no understanding of what kind of animal could do this to his daughter-in-law.

LIAR.

Why? Why would someone do this to Rhea? To anyone?

He shook his head, but the sight of that cruel mark on her back seared into his mind.

He glanced up at Talisua, who was still on the phone with the paramedics, her face pale with worry as she cradled Jeyson close to her chest.

Solofa didn't know how much time had passed since the ambulance was called—time felt like it had come to a grinding halt. He just kept holding Rhea, not wanting to let her go, but knowing he had no choice.

The sirens were closer now. The flashing lights reflected off the house, signaling salvation, but at the same time, a darker kind of fear crept in.

What had happened to her?

Who had done this?

And what the hell had this "LIAR" meant?

Solofa didn't know, but one thing was clear-the answer was going to tear his family apart.

The blaring sirens of the ambulance and the two squad cars echoed through the quiet night as they came to a screeching halt in front of the house. The flashing lights reflected off the house, casting eerie shadows as the emergency vehicles filled the driveway.

Solofa didn’t let go of Rhea. He couldn’t. His arms trembled as he felt her frail body in his hands. She felt so small, so helpless, and as the paramedics rushed toward them, he could see their startled expressions at the sight of Rhea’s beaten, broken form.

Two EMTs immediately dropped to their knees beside them, pulling out medical equipment, their faces a mixture of professionalism and disbelief. One of them took Rhea’s pulse, quickly assessing her condition.

“She’s in critical condition,” the paramedic muttered, pressing a hand to Rhea’s neck to check for a pulse. “We need to move her now!”

Talisua, still holding baby Jeyson, stood frozen, her eyes wide with horror. She clutched her grandson close, her voice shaking. “She’s been missing since August! We just found her like this—right here in front of the house!”

A cop approached them, a dark-haired officer with a stern face. His eyes swept over Rhea’s unconscious form, his gaze faltering for a brief moment at the sight of the blood and brutal markings on her body. His voice was calm but firm as he asked, “What happened here?”

Talisua’s voice cracked, the words coming out in a desperate rush. “I don’t know what happened! We heard a sound—my husband and I—and we came around the house to find her like this. Her name is Demi Fatu. She’s my daughter-in-law. She’s been missing for three months!”

The officer nodded, scribbling down notes in a notepad.

Solofa’s throat tightened as he watched the paramedics work quickly. He knew time was critical, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking in the horrific details of Rhea’s body, illuminated by the flashing lights.

More and more injuries became apparent as the paramedics pulled back her tattered clothing. He saw the marks, the bruises, the burns. His heart broke as his eyes scanned the evidence of what had been done to her.

It was clear now that Rhea hadn’t just been missing. She had been tortured.

Her back, the grotesque word “LIAR” still visible, seemed like the least of it. Her arms were covered in bruises, her legs scratched and raw, and there were signs of burns across her wrists, as if someone had bound her, forcing her to suffer in unimaginable ways. The marks on her skin told a story of torment.

Solofa’s jaw clenched as he fought to hold back his emotions. This wasn’t just an attack—this was calculated, a form of punishment. The realization hit him like a wave, and his blood began to boil.

Who could do this to her? Why?

The officer’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “We’ll need to ask you both to step back while we get her into the ambulance,” he said, his tone suddenly more serious. “We’re going to need a full report, statements, and we’ll get to the bottom of this. But right now, she needs medical attention.”

Talisua nodded and stepped back, holding Jeyson tighter in her arms as the paramedics carefully transferred Rhea onto a stretcher. Solofa watched as they began to wheel her toward the ambulance, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t want to leave her side. Not now. Not after everything she’d been through.

He had to stay. He had to make sure she was okay.

Solofa turned his gaze to the officer, who had been watching the whole exchange. His face was a mask of unreadable emotion, but his eyes were sharp.

“I’ll need your names and contact information,” the officer said, jotting something down on his notepad. “And we’ll need to ask you a few questions as well. We’ll also need to take statements from the other witnesses.”

“Of course,” Solofa replied, his voice low and tense. “We’ll cooperate. But I need to know one thing.”

The officer raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Whoever did this to her…” Solofa’s eyes hardened. “I want them found. I want them brought to justice.”

The officer nodded, his face serious. “We’ll do everything we can, sir. I promise you that.”

Solofa’s gaze lingered on Rhea as the ambulance doors slammed shut, and the vehicle sped away into the night. He clenched his fists, the pain of seeing his daughter-in-law in such a state seeping deep into his bones.

The weight of his daughter-in-law’s condition, the horrific injuries she had sustained, hung heavily over Solofa. The officer, sensing the urgency said, “We can transport you,” his voice steady but his eyes sympathetic.

Solofa’s gaze flicked to his wife, Talisua, holding baby Jeyson in her arms. She looked lost, helpless—unable to do anything other than try to soothe their grandson. Solofa’s heart tightened.

“No,” Solofa said, his voice firm. “We have our grandson. I’ll take my own car.”

The cop nodded in acknowledgment. “We’ll wait for you.”

Solofa’s eyes narrowed, his protective instincts kicking in. “I need someone here with my wife. My grandson’s only three months old. He can get restless, and I don’t trust whoever did this to my daughter-in-law to come back to this home.”

The officer didn’t hesitate. “We’ll keep someone here, sir. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Talisua, still cradling baby Jeyson, nodded at her husband. “Solofa, go be with her. I’ll call Jey and Jon. They need to know what happened.”

Solofa gave her a brief, understanding nod, his hand briefly resting on her shoulder before he turned to leave. The cop followed him, but Solofa wasn’t focused on anything but getting to Rhea. Every moment counted.

Talisua watched her husband walk away with the cop, her mind reeling as she turned to head back into the house. The silence seemed unbearable, broken only by baby Jeyson’s soft coos. She moved quickly, her steps purposeful. She had to make the calls.

Inside the house, she reached for her phone. She first dialed Jon, praying that he’d pick up. The line rang a few times before it connected.

“Jon… it’s Mom,” Talisua’s voice trembled. “Something’s happened. Rhea—Rhea’s been found. We need you here. You need to get to the hospital.”

Jon’s voice was immediate, filled with concern. “I’m coming now.”

Before Talisua could respond, her oldest hang up the phone. Her hand now trembled as she dialed Jey’s number. She hadn’t spoken to him since he went to Phoenix, and this wasn’t the call she had hoped for. The line rang, and she held her breath, her nerves on edge as she heard the distant ringing.

Finally, Jey’s groggy voice came through.

“Mom?” Jey’s voice was heavy with exhaustion, but there was a hint of concern. “What’s wrong?”

Talisua swallowed hard, struggling to keep her composure. “Son, it’s Rhea… we found her. She’s been… hurt, badly. I don’t know how to explain it. You need to come home. She’s at Stamford General.”

Jey’s voice instantly shifted, urgent and sharp. “What? What happened to her? Is she—Mom, what are you saying?”

“She’s alive, Jey, but she’s hurt,” Talisua said, the words nearly strangling her. “She was found outside the house—bleeding, unconscious. They’re taking her to the hospital now. I need you here, Jey. We need you.”

“I’m coming, Mom. I’m on my way.”

As Talisua hung up, she felt her heart race. She could only hope that Jey would be able to hold it together. She wasn’t sure how anyone would be able to in a moment like this, not after everything Rhea had been through.

Solofa, meanwhile, had already crossed the garage and was heading toward Jey’s Mercedes. His hand was steady on the car keys, but his thoughts were everywhere. His daughter-in-law was suffering, and he couldn’t shake the anger rising inside him. Why would someone do this?

He started the engine and drove off, the path to Stamford General ahead of him, but his mind kept flashing to Rhea’s broken form. This was far from over. He had a feeling that the truth about what had happened to her was darker than anyone could have imagined.

—

Jey sank into the seat of the plane, his breath shaky as he stared out the small oval window. Phoenix had felt like a lifetime ago. The conversations, the questions, the pressure that seemed to crush him with each passing second—it was all too much to bear.

The flight was long, a never-ending stretch of time that seemed to drag on in slow motion. His mind raced through the last four hours, replaying every word spoken, every face he’d seen. The talk with Brent, the new lead, the discovery of the last man involved, and the haunting conversation and task with Cal. Jey’s thoughts twisted in a loop, each one feeding into the next, a spiral he couldn’t escape.

His head twitched involuntarily, the tension in his neck and shoulders becoming unbearable. He pushed those thoughts away. Focus, Jey. Just focus. Rhea needed him, and right now, that was the only thing that mattered.

His eyes shifted to his hands. They were faintly red—streaked with traces of what he couldn’t wash away. The memory of what had happened earlier in Phoenix—the confrontation, the desperation, the violence—still lingered like an open wound.

Suddenly, without thinking, Jey stood up. The space in front of him felt too small, the air too filling with his own thoughts. He hurried toward the plane’s bathroom, feeling the need to cleanse himself, to scrub away what was creeping under his skin.

“Just do it Jey… he hurt Mamba..”

Inside the cramped, sterile room, he stood over the sink, watching as the water rushed over his hands. He scrubbed at them feverishly, like the blood that was still there would somehow disappear with each pass. The sharp scent of soap filled the small space, but it didn’t make him feel any cleaner.

“They need to pay..”

Jey’s mind was spinning, the words of the conversations still haunting him. The talk with Cal had shaken him. He hadn’t expected the information Cal gave him to hit so hard, to unravel him in such a way. But there was no going back now. He had to keep going.

For Rhea.

This was for her.

He stared at his hands again, feeling the warmth of the water on his skin, the sting of his fingernails scraping across his palms.

His head twitched again, a subtle but noticeable jolt.

Jey shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but it wouldn’t go away. His thoughts were a cacophony of sounds, images, flashes of violence and memories he didn’t know how to carry. He gripped the sink, his knuckles white, until the twitching in his head subsided.

He had no time to lose. The flight wasn’t nearly long enough to work through everything swirling in his mind, but the thought of Rhea—trapped, hurting—kept him going.

He dried his hands off, the soft hum of the plane’s engines filling his ears as he took a deep breath. When he opened the bathroom door, his thoughts were still fractured, but he would put them aside.

He needed a clear head..

A clear… conscience.

—

The white walls of the hospital seemed to press in on Jon and Solofa as they waited, the minutes stretching into hours. The distant whir of machines and the intermittent beeping of monitors filled the otherwise quiet waiting room. The flickering of the lights above only added to the emotions that hung in the air. Rhea was still in surgery, and no one could give them any solid answers yet.

Jon sat stiffly in his chair, his eyes fixed on the door leading to the operating rooms. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear his mind from the images of what he’d seen when they found Rhea. Bloodied, broken, bruised beyond recognition. He knew she was strong—hell, she was one of the strongest people he knew—but even her strength had its limits.

Beside him, Solofa sat silently, his hand resting on the arm of the chair. His eyes, usually so steady and unshakable, were distant, clouded with worry and unspoken fear. Jon could feel the weight of it, like a shadow creeping between them.

Finally, Solofa broke the silence. His voice was low, heavy with emotion.

“I love you so much,” he said, his words unexpected and raw.

Jon turned to face his father, his brow furrowed. It was unlike Solofa to speak so openly about his emotions. The older man was usually the rock—the one everyone leaned on when things got tough. Seeing him like this, vulnerable and uncertain, felt wrong.

Solofa looked over at him, his eyes filled with something Jon had never seen before: fear.

“Jon,” Solofa said, his voice thick, “if anything were to happen to any of you… if the situation called for where I had to bury any one of my sons… I would not forgive myself. You are supposed to bury me… I’m not supposed to bury you.”

Jon swallowed hard, the weight of his father’s words crashing into him like a wave. His heart clenched at the thought of losing anyone in the family—especially Rhea. But hearing his father speak with such pain, such vulnerability, it hit differently. Solofa had always been the pillar of strength, the one who carried the burden of his family’s well-being. To hear him say this… it made Jon’s chest tighten with something he couldn’t quite place.

“I’m here, Dad,” Jon said softly, his voice steadier than he felt. “We’re gonna get through this. Rhea’s strong. She’s gonna make it.”

Solofa squeezed Jon’s hand tightly, a silent communication passing between them. He didn’t speak, but his grip said everything Jon needed to hear. It wasn’t just Rhea who was fighting for her life—it was their entire family, bound together by blood, by love, by years of shared history.

But even with that bond, the fear didn’t go away. The uncertainty gnawed at Jon’s insides, and he knew it was gnawing at his father’s heart, too.

They had already lost too much.

Jon and Solofa looked up as the door opened, the doctor, his brow furrowed with concern, pulled down his mask and looked at Solofa and Jon with a somber expression.

"Are you the Fatu family?" the doctor asked, his voice tight, almost strained.

Solofa stepped forward, his face etched with anxiety.

"How is she?" he asked, his voice rough, barely able to conceal his own fear.

The doctor hesitated, his eyes briefly flicking to the floor as if searching for the right words. "Never in my years of practice..." He paused, taking a deep breath, clearly struggling with the enormity of what had happened. "Have I experienced this. I... I'm truly sorry." His voice faltered as he looked between the two men, his expression one of genuine horror.

Jon's breath caught in his throat as he tried to hold his composure. His stomach churned. The doctor continued, his voice steady but laced with concern.

"She's suffered massive trauma in her pelvic area with extensive vaginal and anal tearing. Each one of her distal phalanges... the tops of her fingers have been cut off. Extensive cuts and bruises, and..." The doctor trailed off, his eyes unwilling to meet theirs. "The word 'LIAR' has been carved into her back."

Solofa's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with an emotion Jon couldn't name, but it was clear: anger, sorrow, disbelief. The doctor's words continued to cut deep.

"She's also suffering from an aggressive case of Toxic Shock Syndrome. Pieces of her skin around her body have been removed, burn marks around her wrists. Her vocal cords... have been crushed." The doctor's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Whoever did this to her... can never be forgiven."

Jon closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard.

His chest felt tight, his heart aching for everything Rhea had endured. The images the doctor described were too much, but they couldn't turn away. They couldn't ignore the brutality of what had been done to her.

"But... despite everything..." The doctor's voice softened, "She is awake."

Jon and Solofa exchanged a brief glance, their eyes filled with both hope and trepidation. They could see Rhea, lying unconscious and broken, yet she had fought her way back. She had made it through.

Jon stepped forward, the need to see her overwhelming his hesitation. "Can we speak to her?" he asked, his voice eager.

The doctor raised a hand, signaling for them to wait.

"I must warn you," he said, his tone grave. "Due to the trauma she's endured, she's experiencing severe delirium. She's also exhibiting signs of selective mutism. Her body is here, but her mind... is not." The doctor sighed, his face clouded with sorrow. "She's not responding to any questions. She's just... staring off into space."

Jon's heart sank at the doctor's words. The hope he'd held onto wavered. He had known Rhea to be strong, but this... This was different.

Solofa stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Jon's shoulder. "She's still with us," he said, his voice resolute, though Jon could hear the tremor in his father's words. "She's still here."

Jon nodded, but the unease gnawed at him. How would they reach her if she couldn't even respond?

Would she recognize them? Would she remember them?

The doctor stepped back, his face pained. "I'll take you to her now. She's stable, but you should be prepared for what you'll see."

Solofa and Jon followed the doctor, their minds swirling with questions, their hearts heavy with dread.

Each step they took seemed to bring them closer to something they weren't ready for. They knew Rhea, knew her strength, her fire-but what if it wasn't enough?

When they reached the room, the sight of Rhea lying in that bed, pale and still, was more than Jon could bear. She was covered in bandages, her body a tapestry of bruises and scars. The absence of her hair was horrible, they had been so used to seeing her long black hair with her overgrown blonde roots. She looked fragile, a shadow of the woman they had known.

But her eyes, though unfocused, were open. They stared blankly ahead, unseeing, but alive.

Jon's throat tightened as he stepped closer. His breath caught, and the words caught in his chest. He reached out, but Solofa stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

"She knows we're here," Solofa said, his voice rough but steady. "We'll give her time."

Jon’s voice shook as he looked at his father. “I need to see if she’s still here, Dad… please, for Jey.” His words were soft, laced with desperation, and the plea was clear. It wasn’t just about Rhea. It was for Jey—his brother, who needed something, anything to hold onto, some sign of the woman he loved.

Solofa’s chest tightened as he watched Jon, unsure of how to handle the growing pain. He knew his son needed this, but every instinct in him told him to shield Jon—and Jey—from what they were about to witness. But he couldn’t deny Jon’s request, not with the weight of it hanging between them.

Jon approached Rhea’s bed cautiously, his eyes scanning over her bandaged hands, the once-thick black & blonde locks of her hair now reduced to patches of stubble. Her head was nearly shaved, and the fragility of her form made it hard for Jon to breathe. His heart twisted painfully in his chest as he stepped closer, his voice testing the waters.

“Demi.”

A twitch. Her head wobbled slightly, her vacant eyes drifting in and out of focus, a hollow delirium in them. She didn’t respond. The silence between them felt suffocating, and Jon reached out for her hand, but her fingers didn’t move.

Solofa’s breath hitched, a knot of pain forming in his throat. Watching his daughter-in-law in this state broke something deep inside him. He could hear the sound of Rhea’s ragged breathing, and it was as if a part of her—his daughter-in-law, the woman who had once been so vibrant—had slipped into another world.

And then, as if on cue, a voice cut through the silence, sharp and filled with panic.

“DEMI FATU! SHE’S MY WIFE.”

Jon’s heart sank as the words echoed in the hallway. His head snapped towards the door, his pulse quickening. Jey.

Jey had arrived.

Before Jon could even move, he saw Jey barreling down the hall, his steps frantic. His eyes were wild with fear, with hope, with need. Jon rushed to the door to stop him, his hands outstretched in a futile attempt to keep Jey from entering.

“Jey, no!” Jon’s voice broke through the tension, but Jey was too quick, too desperate.

“I haven’t seen her in three months!” Jey’s voice cracked with emotion. “That’s my wife. Let me see my wife.”

Jon shook his head, his chest tight with the need to protect Jey from the reality that was waiting inside. “Jey, she doesn’t look how you remember her… she’s not the same.”

But Jey wasn’t listening. His heart was too full of pain to hear his brother’s warning. He pushed past Jon, shoving him aside with a strength born of sheer need. He rushed into the room, his breath ragged, his hand reaching for the door handle.

Jon turned to Solofa, his face a mixture of horror and helplessness. Solofa’s hand shot out to stop Jey, but it was too late. Jey had already pushed the door open. The moment it swung wide, Jey froze in the doorway.

Solofa’s heart shattered as he watched his son take in the sight before him.

Rhea. His beautiful, strong wife. The woman Jey had fought for, loved so fiercely. She was there, but she was so far gone. Her head wobbled slowly, her eyes vacant and unfocused. The twitching, the stillness of her body—it was all too much for Jey.

He stood frozen, his face pale, his body trembling as he took in the full extent of her condition. His hands reached out for her, but they trembled, unsure. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t comprehend this.

“My wife… my wife…” Jey whispered, the words barely leaving his throat as the weight of the moment crashed down on him. His voice broke, a sob escaping from deep within. The man who had stood so strong before now crumbled in the face of this devastation.

Jon moved forward, his arms coming around Jey, steadying him as Jey collapsed to the floor.

“I can’t, Jon… I can’t… this isn’t her,” Jey gasped between sobs, his face crumpling as he shook his head in disbelief. “My wife… what happened to her? What did they do to her?”

Jon’s own eyes blurred with tears as he tried to hold Jey together, to steady him as he sank into the floor, unable to bear the sight of the woman he loved so broken. The man who had been his rock, his brother, was now shattered in a way Jon had never seen before.

Solofa stepped back, his face a mask of grief as he watched Jey’s heart break. This wasn’t the family he had known, not the way he’d imagined his children and their partners would come together.

And still, Rhea’s head continued to wobble. Her eyes stayed vacant, her mouth parted in silent agony. She wasn’t here… would she truly come back?

—

November 30th, 2025 8:00 AM

The morning air was increasing with worry as news outlets broadcasted the breaking story that had consumed the world’s attention. The camera flashed to a news anchor sitting at a desk, the words “Developing Story” highlighted on the screen.

“We have more now for you on a developing story,” the anchor said, their voice solemn. “WWE Executive Writer and philanthropist, Demi Fatu, known professionally as Rhea Ripley, has been found. We have no word on her condition, but we can confirm that Fatu is at the hospital right now as we speak. CNN’s Jennifer Taylor is on the scene right now. Jennifer?”

The camera quickly panned, switching to Jennifer Taylor, standing outside the large, imposing structure of Stamford General Hospital. The quiet bustle of emergency personnel and onlookers swirled around her, but her expression was serious, focusing on the task at hand.

“Thank you so much, Kathy,” Jennifer responded, her voice steady as the camera zoomed in on her. “We are here outside Stamford General Hospital, where WWE’s lawyer Julian Velasquez is about to hold a press conference. He has just arrived, along with Paul Levesque and Bruce Prichard, both of whom have been by the family’s side. This is the first official statement from the WWE regarding the condition of Mrs. Fatu.”

As Jennifer spoke, the camera cut to Julian Velasquez stepping up to a makeshift podium set up outside the hospital’s entrance. Behind him, Paul and Bruce stood silently, their faces etched with concern. The entire atmosphere was one of quiet gravity as Julian adjusted the microphone and prepared to speak.

“Thank you for gathering here today,” Julian began, his tone calm but firm. “We can confirm that Mrs. Demi Fatu, known to the public as Rhea Ripley, is safe. However, she has been through an unimaginable ordeal. This is an active investigation, and we ask for privacy for her family during this time.”

The gathered crowd shifted, leaning in closer, trying to catch every word. Julian paused for a moment, his expression tightening as he glanced down at a folder in his hands.

“As part of the ongoing investigation, Stamford PD has provided us with information,” Julian continued, his voice steady but carrying a weight of responsibility. “I’ve been authorized to release these images to the public.”

With a quiet movement, he held up three clear, printed photographs for the cameras to see. The images were of three individuals, their faces framed in the harsh light of the camera flashes.

“These individuals pictured are Dustin Jackson, aged 22, Valerie Jackson, age 32, and Frances James Jackson, age 67. They are wanted for questioning in connection with this investigation. As of now, their whereabouts are unknown. We urge anyone who has information about them to come forward.”

A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd as the names and faces of the suspects were revealed. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of the implications.

“We are working closely with local law enforcement and have full confidence that justice will be served. Again, we ask for privacy and patience as the investigation unfolds. Demi Fatu’s recovery remains the priority, and we are committed to supporting her and her family during this difficult time.”

With those words, Julian stepped back, allowing the cameras to capture the silence that followed. Paul and Bruce remained still, their faces giving nothing away, but their presence spoke volumes of the support they were lending to the family in this moment of crisis.

As the press conference ended, the cameras quickly shifted to Jennifer Taylor, who took a deep breath, her expression somber. “There you have it, Kathy. WWE has confirmed Rhea Ripley is alive, but the details of her condition remain unclear. The investigation is just beginning, and authorities are urging anyone with information about the Jackson family to come forward. We will continue to bring you updates as we learn more.”

The screen shifted back to the studio, where the anchor nodded solemnly before cutting to commercial. Outside Stamford General Hospital, the world held its breath, waiting for the next chapter in the story of Rhea Ripley’s recovery—and the manhunt for those who had caused her harm.

[hopeful-engineer]

🌞 Self-care vs. self-indulgence vs. avoidance

Sometimes it may be a hard to swallow pill, but there's a difference between self-care and self-indulgence:

🍭 self-indulgence: spending too much money on stuff you want, but don't really need, like clothes you'll wear twice and then leave in your closet, where all they do is take up space, books you'll never read, subscriptions you'll forget about

✨ self-care: saving money; planning your budget; buying less, but better quality; thinking twice, before buying something you want, but don't need: "Will I really use it? Do I have enough money to buy it, without worrying, that I won't have enough to buy something more important? I want it now, but will I still want it tomorrow?" (note: I didn't write "don't buy anything except necessities" anywhere. Buy the stuff you want, but do it consciously, plan it and think before buying.)

🍭 self-indulgence: eating fast food and unhealthy snacks; drinking soda pop, energy drinks, tea with a lot of sugar, or too much coffee; adding sugar to everything; drinking too much alcohol

✨ self-care: eating as healthy as possible; learning to cook; avoiding fast food, sweets, potato chips and other unhealthy snacks; reducing your sugar intake; drinking water, fruit juices, tea without added sugar; planning your meals; buying natural food (note: It doesn't mean "never eat anything unhealthy again, never add sugar to anything, never drink alcohol". You can treat yourself with some pizza, or sweets, or beer sometimes, but it should be a treat, not part of your everyday meals.)

🍭 self-indulgence: staying up until 3 AM to watch films/series, play computer games, browse social media, chat with someone, or even to do something, that doesn't involve technology, for example draw or read books; sleeping until 11 AM, because you went to bed too late; sleeping 12 hours at the weekend, because you slept 4 hours a day during the week; hitting the snooze button; laying in the bed for too long after waking up

✨ self-care: fixing your sleep schedule; waking up earlier; going to bed earlier; sleeping 7 to 9 hours every day; avoiding all-nighters; having a fixed wake up time and a fixed bedtime, the same every day, including weekends; getting out of bed immediately when your alarm clock rings (note: I know there are circumstances, that can mąkę having a fixed sleep schedule is impossible, or next to impossible, I also know in some situations it's totally normal to stay up late, like you don't have to leave a party at 9 PM just because you want to stick to your sleep schedule, that would be unreasonable. Do it the best you can under your current life circumstances, and remember, this is about everyday life, not some rare exceptions.)

There's also a difference between self-care and avoidance:

😨 avoidance: staying home all the time; not going to any events, because meeting new people is stressful; always declinig your friends' invitations

✨ self-care: not going to that big, loud party, because it's too overwhelming, but going to a pub with a few friends instead; inviting your friends to your home, when going out feels too stressful; declinig some invitations, when you don't have time and/or energy, but accepting others, when you feel better and have more time; gradually increasing the number of social interactions you have, to be able to meet new people with less stress

😨 avoidance: having no plans for the future; thinking, that there's no point in having any goals in life; telling yourself, that ambitions are generally pointless and hence you don't have to do anything and be good at anything

✨ self-care: having specific, short-term goals and an overall vision od your long-term future; knowing, what you really want to do and what you're good at, and sticking to these things; consciously choosing, what to learn and what to give up on, based on if it's important to you, not to other people; not distracting yourself with too many side plans, when you have one main goal; knowing, what is your passion and what is your ambition; knowing, that you are ambitious mainly for yourself, and only secondly for the society; believing, that you are capable of achieving your goals

😨 avoidance: not studying at all, because it takes time and energy; procrastinating until the last moment before the exam/test/project deadline; always talking the easiest way possible with no ambition beyond barely passing the exam/test; having no plan, no study schedule; never asking for help, even if you're failing, because you think asking for help is a shame, or you're simply too shy; dropping out of school/college because it's stressful

✨ self-care: knowing that you're studying for yourself, your grades don't define you and that real knowledge and skills are more important, than grades; focusing on these topics, that are important to you for your future studies/career, and being the best you can in these areas; being good enough to pass at everything, that isn't important for your future plans; planning your studying and starting early; taking regular breaks to avoid burnout; asking for help if necessary, but trying to do as much as possible and reasonable on your own; acknowledging that, despite the education system being flawed in so many ways, it also gives you many opportunities;

Of course, self-care includes bubble baths, eating cake, listening to your favourite music and slowly drinking tea, while watching the rain outside through the window and letting your thoughts wander, but these aren't only forms od self-care and definetely not the most important ones. Of course, sometimes it includes staying home with your cat instead of going to the party, sleeping in, instead of studying for an exam, because you're exhausted, or giving up on something, instead of trying again and again, but this should happen in some, specific situations, not be your default response. Real self-care should focus on improving your life, not escaping it or avoiding it.

This post doesn't mean, I'm perfect at all of these things. Actually I struggle a lot with many of them. This is a piece of advice for me, too.

[tac-the-unseen]

COD Random character quirks

Fluff

Ghost:

•Remembers every story somebody tells him, but can't remember where he left his sweater

•Bites the inside of his cheek constantly, to the point of scarring

•If somebody doesn't drag him out of the house he would never leave. Despite this he does love going on a walk from time to time

•Hates talking about his past and will always redirect the conversation

•Extremely fast eater, it's a combination of Trauma and military training. Can finish a whole plate in less than 10 minutes

•Pauses for a long time in between speaking but can't stand it if someone else does the same

Soap:

•Obsessed with swords, but is terrible at wielding them

•Screams “DON'T GO IN THERE!” to the T.V when watching any horror movie

•Wears the ‘I <3 my hot S/O’ shirts unironically, and the loves them because “It's true!”

•Loves to be the best at everything

•Consistently orders the same thing at a restaurant. Has a specific order for every restaurant he goes too

•Learned some magic tricks as a kid and can still do most of them

Price:

•Wears crazy socks, think Spencer and his friend Socko (from iCarly)

•Laughs to jokes no one else laughs at to make the other person not feel bad

•Has one nipple piercing on his left nipple, He doesn't want to get the second one and just likes having the ones.

•Overly Humble, You have to fight him to take a compliment

•Eats while driving and has made adjustments in his car to be able to eat with full effect

•Knows a surprising amount of useless trivia and will bring it up in any conversation he can

Alejandro:

•Screams and runs at the sight of the bee

•Notorious for his eye rolling abilities

•Has a pretty sizable jewelry collection. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings, rings, and brooches (and he's willing to share)

•Frequently complements his S/O

•Steals food off of his S/O’s and friends plate

•Great cook and spends most of his time around/in the kitchen

Gaz:

•Secretly wants to be in a boy band

•Can't swallow pills normally

•Make fake scenarios in his head about him being the ultimate hero

•Snorts when he laughs

•Eats healthy snacks and playful shames others for eating unhealthy snacks

•Surprisingly good at impressions specifically impressions of British government officials

Roach:

•Sneak attack hugger

•His all-time favorite book is Dr Seuss's ‘Put me in a zoo’

•Sometimes forget other people don't know sign language/can't read it that fast and signs so fast that others have no clue what he said

•Gets a bad case of the giggles when someone trips (He cannot stop no matter how hard he tries)

•Likes to eat in private and feels weird looking at other people eat (Not a fan of restaurants or Mukbang asmr)

•Squirms in his seat/Can't sit still for that long

Konig:

•Wears a bunch of hair ties around his wrist

•Has to spend hundreds of dollars making custom shoes that actually fit him

•Is an adrenaline junkie on the battle field. He lives for the blood rush

•Has a house shaking laugh and Horangi makes fun of him for it

•Is a very neat eater, he's not overly delicate with his food but just likes to eat in a certain way

•Likes stretching out and popping his joints all the time.

Rudy:

•Sits on the floor rather than the couch

•Will politely remind you how good he's being in the midst of chaos

•Always supports/Roots for the underdog

•Always has Snacks in his pockets/backpack

•Messy eater, somehow always ends up with sauce on his shirt or crumbs in his pockets

•Lean onto the people closest to him

Mace:

•Puts hot sauce on everything

•Tells jokes with a serious face

•Always looking for new adventure, loves exploring, hiking, climbing, and learning about different cultures

•Frequently adjusting his shirt to show off his body modification (traditional tribal scars)

•Likes to eat food with his hand more than with utensils. He'll use forks, spoons, and knives when at restaurants, but when he's at home everything is finger food.

•Gets spontaneous piercing / tattoos

[emberdew]

Be More Ghost Chapter 5: The Squip Enters

Summary:

A Be More Chill AU where Danny gets a Super Quantum Intel Unit Processor (or Squip) to help him become cool and win over Valerie, but things don't really go as planned.

Masterpost | AO3 Link | Word Count: 1,386

Please excuse some mild discomfort.

Sitting at a food court table at the mall, Danny looked down at the gray oblong pill he held in the palm of his hand while Tucker ate his fries. 

“I hope it’s worth four hundred dollars.”

“Four hundred and one.” Tucker slid the bottle of Mountain Dew on the table closer to Danny. “Don’t forget the Mountain Dew.”

“Did you know ectoplasm tastes a bit like Mountain Dew?” Danny took the bottle and shook it a little.

“Dude, I don’t want to know why you know what ectoplasm tastes like.” Tucker looked disgusted as he put another fry in his mouth.

“It tastes kind of good actually.” 

“Please stop.” 

“Okay then. Here goes… everything.” Danny popped the pill in his mouth and gulped down the Mountain Dew. 

“How does it taste?” 

“Minty.” Which wasn’t the flavor he had been expecting from the pill. He assumed it would be metallic or something. 

Tucker looked him in the eyes. “How do you feel?”

Danny waited for a second to check if he felt any different. He didn’t.

“I feel like…” He slumped in his seat. “A chump.”

“Nothing? At all?” Tucker thought for a second, adjusting his beret. “Maybe… Try to say something cool?”

“I think I blew all my bar mitzvah money on a breath mint.” Danny hung his head, defeated. 

“Yeah, not cool.” Tucker scooted his chair closer to Danny and patted him on the back.

“Please leave me alone to mourn in my fries, forever.” Danny appreciated his friend’s support, but he didn’t want to be comforted right now.

“You get five minutes.” Tucker stood up and took a step away.

“Where are you going?”

“You know Spike works at Spencer’s Gifts right?”

“Yeah, he’s Jazz’s friend.” Danny remembered the goth dude who Jazz had tried giving therapy sessions to. He had been surprised when Spike had actually ended up becoming friends with his super preppy sister. 

“He’s hooking me up with a case of Crystal Pepsi! It’s like regular Pepsi, only clear.” 

“Wasn’t that discontinued in the 90s?” Danny couldn’t help but smile a bit at his friend’s enthusiasm. Only Tucker would get excited about old soft drinks like this.

“That’s what makes it awesome!” Tucker waved his hands in excitement and then started fast-walking to the Spencer’s. 

Danny started eating his fries. They were already cold but he was too depressed to care.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the rest of the club?” 

Danny perked up as the familiar voice entered the range of his enhanced hearing. At the other end of the food court, he saw Valerie walking next to Dash. What were they doing together? Danny got up and tossed his fries in the trash can on the way to where Valerie was standing.

“Oh, we’re not meeting the rest of the club here.” Dash actually looked sheepish for a second but then resumed his usual bravado. “I figured it was time that we reconnected. Alone. That’s why I’m taking you to one of my favorite spots in the universe. Sbarro-”

“Valerie!” Danny interrupted. He didn’t have a plan but he knew he had to do something. He couldn’t just let Dash hang out with Valerie alone! 

“Danny, I didn’t see you there.” Valerie gave him a warm smile that felt like it melted his insides.

“Yeah, you’re kind of hard to notice.” Dash barely gave Danny a second glance before turning back to Valerie and putting a hand on her shoulder to lead her toward the pizza stall. “The best part, they let you pick whatever you want-”

“Wait!” Danny stepped directly in front of their path. “There’s something I need to tell you.” 

“Now?” Dash looked at Danny like he was an annoying fly he couldn’t get rid of. Danny tried his best not to cower under the bully’s gaze.

“I… I…” Danny started. Then a sharp pain exploded in his brain. “OWWW!”

Target female inaccessible. A voice rang in his head, way too loud for comfort. Danny tried to cover his ears but it didn’t help. The voice was coming from inside his brain.

“Danny?” Valerie’s concern was muffled through whatever was attacking his senses. 

“OW! What the hell?” Danny didn’t know what was happening. Was a ghost attacking him? Some new ghost hunter’s weapon? None of his parents’ or Vlad’s inventions had hurt this badly before. Well, excluding the ghost portal. 

Calibration in process. Please excuse some mild discomfort. The voice was just as loud as before. Danny felt himself hyperventilating as the pain shot through his body. He was used to getting hits and even getting shocked sometimes in ghost fights, but this was so much worse.

“MILD???” Danny flailed, not completely in control of his limbs anymore. He felt himself hitting the ground, his body twitching in agony.

“Danny, what’s wrong?” Valerie leaned down over him but didn’t touch him.

“Dude, freaky Fenton’s freaking out!” Dash pointed at him as if it wasn’t obvious who he was talking about.

Calibration complete. Access procedure initiated. The voice was at a much more manageable volume this time. Danny could suddenly think clearly again. 

“No, wait, I’m fine,” Danny rubbed his head. He started to lift himself up. “I just-”

Discomfort level may increase. The searing pain like lightning striking his brain resumed and he fell flat on the floor again.

“AHHHHH!” Danny screamed. Muscles still spasming, he somehow stood up and ran away from Valerie and Dash into a less crowded area of the mall.

Accessing: neural memory. Accessing: muscle memory. Access procedure: complete. Danny Fenton…

Danny gasped in shock as he saw who had materialized in front of him. How was that possible? But it was unmistakably him- snow-white hair, glowing green eyes, and all.

Welcome to your Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor… Your SQUIP.

“You look like… Phantom.” Why did this Squip thing look like his ghost form? Maybe it was set up to mirror yourself? Danny took a step closer and saw a few differences though. Instead of just a black-and-white hazmat, this Phantom was wearing a cool-looking white jacket with black and green accents. He was also wearing designer sunglasses which didn’t quite mask his glowing eyes. 

This is my default mode. You can also set me for: George Clooney, Terminatra, or Hatsune Miku. The Squip morphed into different forms as it listed its options. He thought he recognized the last one from some video Tucker had shown him last week.

“Phantom is fine… weird but fine.” Looking at Phantom like this reminded him of when he had split himself with the Fenton Ghost Catcher. At least he felt like himself right now. 

The Squip squinted at him. I can see by accessing your memories that somehow you ARE Phantom. I was not programmed for that scenario. The Squip seemed to stutter, like a glitch in a video game. It then settled and gave Danny a confident smirk. Rest assured, I will still be able to help you.

It was weird that this technology was pre-programmed to look like him but his life was so weird at this point he didn’t even question it. 

“Can everyone see you?” Danny looked around. He was surprised no one had noticed “Phantom” appearing in the mall yet. Usually, people started cheering or running away when he showed up anywhere in his ghost form. 

I exist only in your mind. All they see is you, having an animated conversation with yourself. “Phantom,” who Danny now noticed was weirdly a few inches taller than him, looked down at him disapprovingly. So don’t do that. Just think at me. Like you’re telepathic.  

“Like in X-men?” Danny said out loud. A stranger nearby gave him a weird look.

I can see this is going to be difficult, the Squip crossed its arms, you want to be more chill.

“You mean cool?”

I do not. You see, human social activity is governed by rules and I have the processing capacity to understand those rules and pass them on to you.

Danny wasn’t sure if this Squip thing was going to work out, but staring at the cooler version of his ghost self, he was starting to become hopeful. 

[laneysmusings]

At Ease

₊˚.༄ Pairing: Mike Logan x GN reader

₊˚.༄ Synopsis: you get a phone call and suddenly, everything around you is spinning and before you know it, you're calling the only person who knows how to help — or, essentially, the one where Mike comforts you through a panic attack.

₊˚.༄ Warnings: explicit mentioning of a panic attack, medication (assumed sedative or anti-anxiety medication, explained no further beyond a little white pill), talking down and breathing exercises, words and language describing the feeling of a panic attack and the sense of doom (written partially by my own experiences having them, but if there are any flagrant inaccuracies let me know so I can better depict this in the future) use of pet names/terms of endearment such as sweetheart, mentions of food

Everything’s in a haze after that call and suddenly you can’t really breathe. 

The way your chest feels like it is both being cleaved apart and wedged in a trash compactor makes you reach for that unlabeled orange pill bottle in your bag in desperation, catching the way your hands tremble at unlatching and unzipping and rifling through the junk at the bottom of the bag you didn’t get a chance to clean out to find it and quickly pop the top. Three perfect white little pills are tipped from the bottle onto the lid and then dropped onto your awaiting tongue. They turn to a sticky-tacky feel the second they meet your spit from your slick mouth, clung to your tongue. 

The tip of your tongue presses to your teeth before flicking back those little tacky white pills into your throat and swallowing, followed by deep gulps of water that are more than you need but it's better to feel your throat seize around the water than around nothing. 

Your hands are moving on their own accord, forgetting to lock the doors to your office, pacing and trying to think of what to do as you just sit in the panic as you wait for your medication to kick in and bring ease blanketing over you — you’re calling him before you can stop yourself or even realize that you’re methodically dialing his number, muscle memory and a greater sense of preservation taking over as you continue to shake, nearly misdialing before you put the call through. 

It's not like what they say when the doctors or your friends ask if you feel that you’ll die or that the world is going to end. You feel like everything is disintegrating, like you’re drowning inside yourself while you remain a vessel, a husk. It's all hot but it's all freezing your skin is too warm and you can feel the sweat under your sweater that’s clinging to your skin and you want to peel it off but the second you do you’d freeze and shake even harder and everything hurts but its not pain pain its this weird sense and — 

“Yeah sweetheart?” 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck fuck fucking fuck. 

Barely getting your voice to work, you manage a stuttery hey halfway through him asking what was up and he knows, of course he knows.

He’s seen this go down before and watched as you dissolved before him once about who knows what, and you can hear Mike’s tone change and that he’s going to call you back in just a second, “just one, gotta’ get to a place I can hear you. Hold on, I’ll be right back I’m not goin’ anywhere,” and hangs up. 

You wait, just hovering by the phone and feeling the sense of panic begin to just gnaw at your innards like some weird internal manifestation of a dread-vulture, picking you apart, a weird spin on guilt and the tale of Prometheus but instead of your liver the cursed bird just rips and tears at your stomach and all the soul in you. 

Mike calls back, and you jolt at the shrill noise, forgetting how quiet it was in your office barring your faltering, panting in and out breath before you pick up and he’s softly asking you where you are and if he needs to come get you. You’re shaking your head even though he can’t see it but you know he can just sense it, see it even though it's over the phone and Mike’s miles away and god it hurts. “Got it, ‘kay? I’ll stay on as long as y’need.”  

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” he’s immediately carrying on and the tears are welling at your eyes because no it does not feel like anything’s okay, that nothing ever will be okay but you sniff and hum out a note in response so Mike knows you hear him, “you safe and sound right now?” 

“Y-yeah, in my of-office.”

It’s like forcibly pulling teeth to get you to talk right now and not like you don’t want to, it's just like wrenching into yourself to find the ability to even speak, and sure his voice is helping it always does knowing that he’s here for you, that he’s not judging and is just concerned and cares and you get to tell that little voice in your head that sounds louder than normal that no, he does care about you and does not think of a burden. he loves you and that’s real, this isn’t real — but he is. 

“Did’ya take your meds? Water and snack?” 

“Took meds ‘n water, no snack,” you murmur into the phone receiver, the cord wound around your finger until it's tight enough to indent your skin, now feeling the pulse in your digit. It's nearly childish the way Mike phrases it but it's true — your attacks roll through you so much worse when you don’t take care of yourself and run on low energy. 

You know he’s going to ask if you can get one and tell him before he even questions that you’ll grab a spare granola bar from your desk in a second but after sitting by the phone you don’t feel like you can even move let alone get up. 

“Stay put then for a bit,” Mike pauses and you can just picture his furrowed brows and him sitting somewhere quiet or standing out in the hall, away from the casual chaos of the precinct’s bullpen, but you still hear muffled noise. “Want to do that breathin’ thing or the senses exercize you do wit’me when I call you after a nightmare or a panic attack?” 

It's quiet for a beat before you get the words out, your voice soft in a way that hurts his heart through the phone. “Yes please.” 

You hear him inhale into the receiver before shuffling. “Breathin’ first, ‘kay sweetheart?” 

You’ve noted that Mike’s heavy-handed with the terms of endearment and it makes your heart cease from its panicked seizes to flutter every once in a while, bringing a watery smile to your face, eyes still stinging from the tears. “Inhale for me, four seconds, I’ll count you down.” 

He pauses and waits for a moment, and you tilt your head back and feel your throat bob tight. “Four.” 

Inhaling slowly, your breath stutters as you begin to breathe in gradually. 

“Three.” 

The milliseconds pan out and you make it to two and shakily inhale to him saying one. 

“Hold it, counting down.” 

“Four.” 

Your nostrils flare as your lungs start to fight. Mike can hear you through the phone and he’s weaving through people while glancing down at his watch and marking the seconds. 

“Three, y’got this baby.” 

Tuning out, you don’t hear the signal for two or one second left and already start exhaling when he tells you “Exhale.” 

Your head feels more solid compared to the hollow bees-nest feel of earlier and your lungs no longer shake so viscerally, you follow along with the countdown and follow when Mike asks you to repeat and repeat and repeat until he asks “How’re you feeling?” 

“Better,” you blink, still not really present and now regretting not asking him to come and get you but you’re not going to say it, you’d feel worse if you had to ask after assuring him that it was not needed, “not good, but a bit better.” 

“That’s a start, alright, what can you feel? Five things if you can manage.” 

It takes you a second, thumb swiping the plastic of the phone receiver in your hand and you tell him that, following with the desk beneath you that you’re sitting on. The soft itch of your sweater is said next, then you falter when your hand brushes against your skin and you tell him you feel the ring on your finger, the both of you noting the slight lift in your voice when you say it, and you end with the feel of your skin under your hands. 

“Good, taste anything?” 

“The mints I had earlier, my meds slightly. Salt?” 

He laughs a little at the way you question the taste of salt, knowing it's from the frenzied panic tears but the way your voice lifts amuses him. “‘Kay, smell?” 

You sniff, nose upturning. “Must.” 

“C’mon now.” 

“Must and dust,” you mouth back before sighing, “my perfume a lil’bit and my hand lotion.” You’re moving finally into the chair behind your desk and ease into it, scooting close to the desk and toy with the cord on the phone again, curled around your finger just like he is.

“Alright, let me know what you see.” 

You oblige, not noting the sounds in the background on his call and how it muffles at some point but you look around your office, “I see the books on the shelves, the flowers I was given last week,” you list off, tilting in your chair to look away and you hear steps nearing your office. That seize in your chest constricts and you’re now on alert and it feels like you’re about to regress back and before you can tell him that you need to hang up, the door opens. 

Sighing and then grinning, you tell him one last thing before the two of you hang up. 

“And I see you too.”

[kurtmustdie]

i thought about this last night but um

SPOILERS for True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: National Anthem

i love the kind of symbolism we see with mike milligram of all the older more "childish" items he holds onto, hear me out.

So we see Mike holding this cheesy little vampire ring during the gathering scene where we first meet the rest of the killjoys, particularly when we learn that he's in a relationship with Code Blue and want's to take it a step further with marriage. They're all teenagers in this scene, assumedly maybe at least 16 at most 19 (because thats when you arent a teen anymore lol- after 20 you arent a teen duh). He's hiding it behind his back and seems to be just about to pop the question.

then, Blue dies in a standoff, just because he didn't want to move on and comply to the brainwashing tv. Blue literally jumps in front of him and takes the bullet (laser? whatever) for him. When she dies, he lashes out.

later on in the timeskip we see that Mike is basically hooked to the TV. hes fallen asleep to it and is only waken up by a rat chewing on the chords. this isn't entirely important to my point but I still feel like mentioning it because it tells us one thing: Because of Mike's grieving, he basically had no choice but to run back and give everything up. His grief, in turn, is what led him to actually start going back to how he was before, going against an authoritarian government run by a monopoly.

This leads Mike to realize that everything around him isn't what it seems, not only is he withdrawing from The TV, but he's also withdrawing from the effects of the pills he (and the rest of society) is on. He's hallucinating, but not fully. We know as readers that things aren't right in his life -- in anyone's life -- because of this.

once we reach the scene where he learns about his Ramones records being sanitized and the technician here to fix his tv is actually some kind of plant (overall, everyone trying to uphold the brainwashing system is doing so maliciously). Mike kills this plant, and we get to the next sighting of the vampire ring that we saw in that first scene I mention before. He finds it, remembers Blue (also to note theres a paper that says "SO REAL IT HURTS" on it right next to the ring, like thats so obvious that I looked over it), and holds onto it.

lets skip to the climax, where we're revealed to see "Blue" (this time either her reanimated corpse or some kind of clone, it isn't really specified) again, Mike shuts down. almost instantly. He's so close to giving in and going back to being brainwashed, but he stops for a moment. this is the kind of breaking point where we see his arc hit its breaking point and reach its conclusion.

Mike's individual character arc is about letting go. Letting go of grief. Letting go of the past. Progressing forward, no matter how much it hurts.

When he gets his gun back and shoots the clone of Blue HIMSELF, that is him signifying that he has to move on. for the sake of not only himself but for his son, his friends, everyone.

And in this last moment.

He puts her body in the car. and prepares to light it on fire.

and that is the last time we see the ring. He slips it onto her finger right before the car is set ablaze.

UGH ITS BEAUTIFUL. the ending is BEAUTIFUL.

a perfect illustration of how Mike had to get past his grief for the betterment of himself.

and even in the end, he isn't completely forgetting her. He isn't just tossing her aside, he's just saying "It's time I moved on. I won't let my anger and grief drag me down, but I will remember you."

and it's all made clear with that little ring. THE FUCKING RING DUDE.

It's a little plastic ring, usually associated with youth because it's usually found in gift bags or cereal boxes. something synthetic and cheap. Easy to break, usually thrown away right away. Mike is seen not only getting better from his grief but also maturing. Which is great for him. It's something in his past that he had to move on from, but could still hold the memory of.

also like a little side note but vampirism is sometimes depicted as being a kind of toxic, dependent force. A leech. the ring having a vampire on it is like... really good symbolism for that, MAYBE IM GOING TOO FAR IDK IDK-

[berenwrites]

Reborn – Steddie Flashfic – PG

A/N: Took me a while to come up with an idea for this month’s prompt, but it finally popped into my head – yay! Hope you enjoy it. Don’t forget to check out all the other great fics at @steddiemicrofic too💖.

Written for prompt: HOLE | wc: 404 | PG | cw: none

Reborn: Facing the Unexpected

(also on AO3) (check out my other ST fanfic on Tumblr here)

The new, bandage-covered hole in his neck itched, but Steve resisted the urge to scratch. In the final confrontation with Vecna, a Demogorgon had almost taken his head off, but he’d made a lucky dodge. He’d still needed stitches and the triage nurse at Hawkins Memorial had also apparently found a foreign body in the wound, but it could have been much worse.

They’d given him the little pill shaped thing in a plastic jar to keep. He had no idea what it was, but he was more worried about everyone else than details like that.

The boys were all in one piece.

Max had finally woken up.

El was recovering.

Hopper had a broken leg.

Everyone else was fine.

All except Eddie.

That Eddie was alive was a miracle in itself. Vecna had turned him into some kind of monster, but hadn’t taken into account Eddie’s spirit. In the end Eddie had betrayed his master and helped them take the bastard down.

Only when Vecna died, everything new in Eddie had died, leaving him as injured as before. Luckily, this time, some of Owens’ people had been there to make sure he didn’t die again.

Steve had designated himself Eddie’s babysitter since the moment Eddie had come out of surgery. He was determined to make sure nothing else happened to his friend on his watch.

When he’d seen Eddie alive against all hope, something had shifted inside of him, something he hadn’t acknowledged before. It made him realise what his confusing reactions to Eddie during their first encounter with Vecna might mean. Why seeing Nancy back with Jonathan didn’t hurt as much as he thought it should. Why he couldn’t bring himself to leave Eddie’s bedside.

It had been two days already.

He needed Eddie to wake up. Needed to follow the new thread he could feel.

Holding Eddie’s hand, he closed his eyes. The fluorescent tube in the room was buzzing quietly and he used the sound to push away his overcrowded thoughts. Stressing out would help no one.

Wishing fervently he could do something to bring Eddie back to them, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes again.

What he saw was darkness. He almost panicked, but one thing stopped him. In the distance he could see a figure, a figure holding a broken guitar like a sword and a shield.

��Eddie,” he said, stepping forward with a splash.

(check out my other ST fanfic on Tumblr here)

[factorialsotherfandoms]

... not attached to my other post-opc stuff (probably), but! some silly nonsense combining 'thunderstorms' prompt from polyship week with just. throwing a couple of my ships that I usually keep to seperate works together into a polycule to see what would happen. A proper exploration of the dynamics sometime might be fun, but for now...

Rather than explaining, have a little diagram. The polycule network if I'm doing this proper is MUCH bigger, but mini one just for this fic specifically. Johnny-Arthur is dotted as they're not really sure where they stand (also Arthur DEFINITELY would have more branches, but they are not appearing in this fic)

The phone ringing wakes Johnny up. He has been feeling a bit off all day, and so decided lying down was the better option; its not surrender to reduce your chances of face planting into the kitchen floor. Somehow he had fallen asleep, and also manage not to stab himself with the cross-point needle.

It's blunter than the full embroidery ones - he knows not to bring those to bed - but if he's feeling too shit for real physio he might as well do something asked of him.

Delicate movements, visible progress, try to tame shaking and janky hands.

Now he looks the entire ring is missing; Rubens must have checked on him, and set it to one side.

A buzz breaks his attention and - right. Phone.

Ideas slipping. He hates it, but its new.

It is not his phone ringing but Rubens', having been abandoned on the bedside table. Johnny reaches for it anyway - everyone who they want to talk to understands its not Johnny's phone and Rubens' phone, but Johnny and Rubens' phones.

"Hey," he thinks he says, groggy from the interrupted nap. "Who is it?"

"'Sup Johnny" sure enough, Balu takes the swapped phones in his stride. "You two doing alright?"

"I think so?" The question alone banishes… less grogginess than it once would have, but certainly some. "What's wrong? Is everything fine with you?"

"I'm good," Balu hastens to reassure. "Just, there's a storm warning out."

"And?" Why would… that matter? They're not near any waterways, and far enough from sewer grates to not need to worry about them overflowing.

"Migraine pills?" Balu does at least sound amused.

Three years ago, Johnny would have slapped his own head for forgetting that. As it is, he settles on swearing and rummaging around in the drawer.

And if he needs his pills…

"Oi Rubens!" He yells, pretty sure he'll be heard. "You got a minute?"

Balu laughs on the other end of the line, and Johnny pretends to ignore them as he reminds himself which - and how many - pills to take. The box has its own instructions, but inside is a handwritten note from all their experiments before.

Storm, storm, storm…

Remind Rubens to take his anxiety meds, too; Johnny's pills knock him even more sideways, it's just better than without them. Rubens... The lightning tends to bring flashbacks, and with those panic attacks, and Johnny is not going to have the fortitude to help him through it.

He's still reading the note and still being laughed at when Rubens pops his head around the door.

"Johnny?"

"Balu's on the phone for you," Johnny starts with, handing it over and taking the laughter from his hearing. "Says there's a storm coming; could you grab me some water? And you might want your meds too?"

Rubens hums, but does pluck the correct sheet from the drawer. Only once he has done that does he take the phone, putting it to his ear with a "Balu?"

A moment, and then.

"No."

"No."

"Okay?"

"Bye."

Rubens hangs up, and passes the phone back to Johnny. Johnny puts it on the counter while Rubens goes to get water.

It takes longer than Johnny would expect for Rubens to return. He is just starting to worry when Rubens creaks open the door, two glasses in hand. Johnny takes one as Rubens sits down, and together they take their medication.

Only after he's swallowed it does Balu realise that Rubens has changed into his pyjamas and, yeah okay, the pressure changes are already definitely getting to his head. He gives the water a few moments to go down, before flopping onto the pillows.

A few seconds later, Rubens joins him. Half sprawled over him, half tucked into his side, and with a hand over Johnny's eyes.

They both know how this goes by now; Johnny gets comfortable, and places his own hands over Rubens' eyes.

There is little point in speaking as they wait for the storm, so they just tuck into one another. Johnny, on consideration, thinks the best use of time is to fall asleep.

---

It is a little while later Johnny wakes to his bedroom door cracking open. Immediately he is on high alert - no matter the pain, no matter the blurred vision, Rubens is in his arms and nothing should be at the door. It has not been long enough for his meds to properly kick in, but he can push aside the pounding to assess a potential threat. He lies, and he waits, and pretends to be asleep.

And yet, it doesn't come in.

"Hey," a familiar, non-threatening voice says instead. "Balu, Ivete, and I came over. They're making some food, if you're feeling up to it."

Mother Mary, no, he cannot think of anything worse than eating right now - except, perhaps, movement.

And yet, from the kitchen, Johnny can hear the sounds of both cooking and messing around. Laughter and clashing pans, and it's not much good for his head but… he can handle it, far away as the kitchen is.

Wait who is it, he knows them, he's just…

Answer the question.

"We're fine," Johnny says, careful not to wake Rubens as he keeps sleeping on - the lightning hurts Johnny physically, but his memories are far less intense. "just come in, Arthur; I can see your pyjamas from here."

And he can; those trousers are definitely designed for sleeping in, even if hidden by the long coat.

They all know how storms go by now.

And sure enough, Arthur barely waits for the offer. He discards his coat to reveal no shirt at all, and kicks off borrowed slippers as he scrambles into the bed. He squirms into place, pressing against Rubens' back - looping his arm over him and to touch Johnny's shoulder. Johnny shuffles to move it somewhere better, but lets him do what he wants.

Rubens also adjusts, not nearly awake enough to truly understand what is happening, but clinging to Johnny with one hand, and now Arthur's arm with the other.

Johnny shushes him back to sleep, and sees Arthur doing the same.

Their eyes meet, and up close... It gives Johnny a chance to actually assess his condition.

It doesn't look like Arthur's been sleeping enough; his eyes are dark, and movements a little slow. Johnny won't be having that, especially if he can get him to also sleep and so avoid conversation with this headache. He reaches around, pulling at the blankets until they cover him. Once he is done he pulls his arm back, wrapping it back into place around Rubens. Arthur's stays where it was, resting on his shoulder.

Arthur says something, but the movement caused the migraine to spike. Johnny has no idea what he said, and knows that asking for clarification will never work.

"Pyjamas mean sleep," Johnny tells him instead, deciding to avoid it entirely. "Shush."

He does recognise the mouthed apology, and how Arthur tucks himself tighter into Rubens' back. Content this will solve at least two problems, Johnny curls a little more around them in turn.

Arthur clutches at his shoulder.

Johnny… He does not know Arthur as well as he knows Rubens, or Balu, or even Ivete. But he does know that Arthur is a tactile young man, and one who has known the worst of consequences at that. If he's clinging…

Well, Johnny untangles one of his arms from Rubens, using the other to pull him a little closer. He takes that arm and reaches across himself, over to touch Arthur…

He doesn't know how to hold him, is only used to Rubens and his preferences, and so settles for cupping the back of his head.

It seems to get the point across; Arthur relaxes under Johnny's arm, falling almost into putty as he idly tangles fingers into his hair.

Johnny forces himself to stay awake another few moments, just to make sure. But Johnny does not hear more words - sense-making or otherwise - and neither Arthur nor Rubens indicate any distress. At this distance the surely loud laughter in the kitchen is a quiet reassurance, barely audible over the thunder and the rain.

And so, he allows pain and medication to drag him back under, and to sleep.

[aurum-rays]

Meeta is the only reason why I go back to watching Hasee Toh Phasee, even though it has some problematic elements. Meeta and the music of the film, to be precise, but more particularly Zehnaseeb and Ishq Bulava, but that's another post.

Meeta, played by Parineeti Chopra, is shown as an intelligent girl right from childhood, along with Nikhil, played by Siddharth Malhotra. When the film opens with both our protagonists’ childhood counterparts, it's very interesting to see a young Meeta closing the door while a young Nikhil tries to open a closed door. While he does this to watch his favorite film, Agneepath, 14 years later Nikhil breaks out of his room by unscrewing the room’s windows to attend a wedding where he meets Meeta hanging by a barbed wire fence, trying to run away.

After their brief conversation, we understand that both of them have similar ideas and are alike, which we already established from the opening scene. As they say their goodbyes, Meeta asks Nikhil, whom she just met, to come to Goa with her. He doesn't, unfortunately. (He later in the film realizes how big of a mistake it was.) But this post is not about the “swooning” chemistry Nikhil and Meeta had. This post is only about Meeta as a character and how much we need more of her in the movies.

First, let me put aside a few things by saying that I absolutely despised the bade pappa who loves slapping Meeta, and the rest of her family who are at any given time passing sexist comments on the sisters. They always want their girls to wear “dhang k kapde.” Meeta’s dad is the only one who has encouraged her smarts since childhood, and I am glad that he finally takes her side during the climax. I also hated that Meeta takes all the pills at the airport (which she later pukes), which made her look like she has forgotten her goal, her lab, her colleagues, working on the project, everything basically everything she went through, all the family trauma, and the reason she came home for. It just felt extremely out of character for her. Yes, she's in love with a guy who is going to get married to her sister. I get it! But that one scene just felt… I mean… She did her PhD on her own, started her lab, her thesis and her project all without any support from family and her forgetting all of that instantly just felt out of place. But then again, “the things love makes you do,” I guess.

Now that all that's out of the way, here's why I loved watching Meeta.

Meeta is a scientist. She casually starts explaining physics concepts during conversations (the hiccup scene). She comes from a science background and all her bits and her dialogues are just straight-up facts. She's extremely intelligent and a little bit quirky and does weird stuff sometimes, although most of it is due to her medicines. But I don't blame her for it. If I had a family who constantly called me crazy, disowned me, abused me, and behaved like I didn't exist, I would be popping some pills too. The scene with her singing “Ek garam chai ki pyali ho” or even the confusion that ensues with the twin relatives at the bazaar is a laugh riot.

Meeta deserved better treatment from everyone in her family. But just Meeta as a character deserved better.

I cannot remember any other female character in Indian cinema that was showcased as a highly intellectual, nerdy protagonist. Even though Hasee Toh Phasee isn't a Meeta-centric movie (it should've been) and doesn't talk sensitively about Meeta’s conditions (most of her behavior from the meds is shown comedically), this was the only film where I was rooting for the female lead and wanted to put up Meeta’s poster in my room. I mean, where in movies do we have a female scientist protagonist, and that too in a rom-com?

Even after being raised in an extremely orthodox family, she dares to dream, and with her dad’s support, she fulfills her dreams and makes a crazy invention. She knows what she wants, and she goes to extremes to fulfill her goals. The only unfortunate part of her life is her unsupportive, misogynist family who will spend money on lavish weddings but won't fund their daughter's educational needs. This is why Meeta runs away with the money.

As a physics nerd, I would've loved to see more about Meeta’s life in China, her friends, her colleagues, and her work, Or just her growing years as a science enthusiast that made her a scientist. Because Meeta, for me, felt like “finally a nerdy female character who is not shown as one of the bros or an introverted thick-rimmed glass-wearing geek or even a stereotypical tomboy.” Meeta, in my books, will always remain a superhero scientist, creator of the perpetual motion machine polymer ball whose story still needs to be told.

Meeta is not a manic pixie dream girl who's here to save the male protagonist from his depressed life and show him the “world through a different lens,” nor is she a damsel in distress who needs saving. She's here for herself. She comes home from China for her lab, her project, and her passion. Meeta is an extremely intelligent, career-driven woman who also knows that “Do half mein ek full se zyada milta hai”! 😉

[reginaphalangelobster125]

Stay High

Former Spike x GN!Reader

Summary: You lose the man you love and you go downhill fast.

Warnings: Alcohol and drug use, swearing, grief, depression, just a lot of angst

Word Count: 1,043

You walk through the front door and see the Scoobies sitting in the living room.

"Buffy, what are they all doing here?"

"We think you need help" Buffy said.

"You need to cut this out, you're making things worse for everyone around you" Xander snapped.

"Xander! We agreed to be gentle about it" Willow reprimanded him.

"We're worried about you, Y/n" Giles told you.

You get overwhelmed by everyone staring at you and you lash out.

"You have no idea what it's like!" You cried out "You don't have to live with it everyday!"

"You think it doesn't hurt for me? You think I don't miss him?" Buffy responded.

"You don't have to live with the guilt"

"I feel guilty, we all do"

"I don't" Xander muttered and Willow slapped his arm.

"You shouldn't feel solely responsible for what happened" Buffy said.

"Of course I feel responsible! We loved each other and I let him down!"

"I-I didn't know you loved him" Giles utters, trying not to upset you anymore.

"I do. I did"

"He wouldn't want this for you"

"How dare you stand there and tell me what he'd want? You didn't know him half as well as I did!"

"Y/n, calm down"

"How can you tell me to calm down?! Spike is dead! And I have to get high just to keep my mind off it, I have to spend everyday in a haze to forget what I let happen! I think about him all the time, getting high is the only break I have and that's starting not to work anymore!"

"Y/n" Giles said softly.

"I'm done with this" you stormed out, up the stairs and to your room.

"Y/n, you're not getting out of this!" Buffy called out.

You rifled through your drawers trying to find anything but coming up empty handed.

"Looking for these?" Anya said, holding up a bag of pills.

"Anya, would you just give them to me?"

"Nope, you're not getting these back, you have a problem"

You turn around anxiously and run your hand through your hair and over your face.

"Anya, I really need some, please"

"No"

You are detoxing and you can't handle it, you run at Anya and snatch the bag out of her hands. You run down the hallway and out the door before she can catch you. You make your way down the dangerous streets of Sunnydale at night, popping pills along the way. You go to the Bronze since you know you can score there. You walk through the door looking terrible and head for your dealer.

"Whoa Y/n, you look like shit!"

"Yeah, I know Ricky. Now do you have anything or not?"

"Always got something for my favourite customer"

He hands you four different coloured pills and you down them all in one go.

"Hey, that's too much you shouldn't take more than one of those an hour or you'll get really messed up"

"That's what I want, Ricky"

"You could die"

"Good"

You go over to the bar and get half a dozen mixed shots and drinks. You do all the shots at once and start chugging the drinks. All you want to do is get away, get away from the people, the town, your feelings, everything. You go back to the dance floor where you see some friends.

"Hey Y/n! Got anything good?"

Your head starts to spin a little and you trip and fall into someone's arms.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine"

"You don't look fine. Why don't you sit down?"

You decide to take him up on his offer and sit with him while you try and ride out your high a bit. He starts tracing your inner thigh with his fingers.

"W-What are you doing?"

"Sh, sh, sh, just relax, baby"

Before you know it he's on top of you and you're making out. You don't really know what's happening, spots start to cloud your vision. You feel his lips go lower and his fingers go higher. Suddenly you feel him get ripped away and you stare up to see Spike.

"Get up, we're going home"

You try to sit up but you can't even manage that. Spike picks you up and carries you out the door and into his car.

"You know you're an idiot. You should have told me, I would have helped you before you got to this"

"I didn't think I could tell you"

"Why not?"

"I thought you'd tell the others or end up hating me"

"You know I'd never do that"

"Do now"

You get back to his place and he helps you to his room and lies you down in his bed.

"Please don't leave me"

"I won't, pet"

He gets into the bed with you and just holds you for the next few hours, stroking your hair and telling you everything is going to be okay and for the first time since he died you thought it might be.

You wake up in a strange bed hours later, you sat up, very confused before you saw Angel walk in.

"Hey, you feeling any better?"

"What happened?"

"Giles called me, he said they couldn't do anything to help you and he thought I might be able to do something. I went to the Bronze and threw some pig off of you before I brought you back here"

"Where is here?"

"A motel room, just outside of town"

"Spike wasn't there, was he?"

Angel looked at you with a terrible sadness in his eyes. He may have hated Spike but you loved him and he could see the pain in your heart, he remembered what it was like to lose people and he wished you didn't have to go through that.

"No, Y/n, Spike died weeks ago"

"I-I know I just thought he was there"

"Sorry, just me"

"You drove all the way from LA for me?"

"Of course I did, you're my best friend"

Tears start to pour from your eyes and you collapse into Angel's arms. He holds you as you sob, he'll hold you for as long as it takes.

"A-Angel, I can't stay here"

"I know, we can go back to LA whenever you're ready"

"Thank you"

[bl00dyc0rpze]

Im

Gomnna fucking crybuntil i fuckiingvouke inhagte my fucking ligfe ibdeserve to die ssssdddcgaaaaaaaaaaaaaaassss fuckdufcufuvkfuckfuckfuckficjb why di they like him he sucks they should love me im great he should kill himself i want to watch himnfuckiingvdie he deserves to due lololol aaaaafhbj i want to find him and lill him and take aomy anger out on him he desere ever once of pain but i cant hurt him i dont have the time and theywould aldo hate me and o cant have them hate me my life would completely be over if they hated me life would mean nothing to me without them i need them god i feel so fucking numb but i also feel the need to cry i was fine for awhile but now im back to this numb feeling and all i feel now is like fucking anger and numbness i hate my life so much i wish i was noral i wish ivwas who they wanted but i also wish tgey were happy and they wouldn’t be happy with me because i suck but im also better than him and everyone else and they should datr mr ans love nme and inly and they should leave everyone and run away wurh me and then we could live together forever just us together and we’ll be happy and ill take care of them and orotect them and ill be a good boyfriend i wont nevmean ill be petfect because i am perfect we’re meant for each other and we should be together forever and they’ll love me until we grow old together and we’ll die together but god thats stipid and womt hsppen im delsinal thry dimtblove they love him and not me thrull never love me again at least he has feelings and isn’t aggressive and is everything I’ve always wanted tp be hes tall and a real boy and plays every intrrememt i want to play and he has them head iver heels in love with him maybe i cant tell i think they love rhem it would be great if they duddnt i wish hee didnt exist hes so much better than and cool and nicer and not as fucked in the head i want to die lol guck life sucks lige.m is stupid i hate it so much i wish i was never birn i didnt ask for this im so tired everything sucks fucking shit god damn it fuck i hate everything hahahahgah it would be better if i nust dissapered inwish everyone would just forget about me lolololololololololololololoooollloooool fucking shit god damn it i sucl i want the world to end maybe if the world ends ill ginally die i wish i could just die maybe i cant die i might be immortal i downd two bootyles of pills and i didnt die why didnt i die why wont die i could be god i could be the next god and im being tested on hiw much i can take and see if im git to be god i hope I qualify because I want to be godi want to br in control of thr world i need to be in control i love control but i also cant control myself i do bad things i think bad things i shouldn’t very bad things my mimd is a bad place i dont like it but i dont like this world either whatever this world i want out pf it it sucks i keep seeing their notifications pop up but then thetrs nothing actually there when i check i hear thri voice sime times they say my name i talk ti them when im alone i know they’re not there but i pretend rhery are i always feel like theyywatching me some how theteodomrthinhg watching me constantly iv feel it i have since i was a kid i hate it lollllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lol yhhhuahahssssas fuck in wanr mt brain to syop i want it tocall fuckinh stop it jeeds to stop inwant my brain ti bevquiet im do tierd im sorry i love you i love you so much imc so sorry please love me ur all i have ur my only frirnd ur the only oetson i need i miss u ur amazing ur the best ur so pretty i love staring at pictures of u ruey male me happy u make me feel human im sorry

[eddysocs]

Under Her Influence — Dusty Jackson x OC

Summary: Allegra knows what she’s gotten herself into with Dusty, but that doesn’t mean that Dusty doesn’t know exactly how to keep Allegra in line when she has doubts.

Word Count: 655

Warnings: Medication Bribery, Munchausen by Proxy

Allegra’s fingers trembled as she held the small white pill between her thumb and forefinger, staring at it like it was poison. In a way, it was. But she wasn’t concerned about what it might do to her body. Her real drug was sitting across from her, eyes soft and syrupy, lips curved in a knowing smile. Dusty Jackson, the woman who claimed to care, to nurture. But Allegra knew better.

Still, knowing didn’t stop her from wanting it. Wanting her.

“Go on, sweetheart,” Dusty crooned, voice like a lullaby as she nudged a glass of water toward Allegra. “You need this. You’re not feeling well, are you? I can see it in your eyes.”

Allegra’s gaze flickered to Dusty’s hand, which was now gently brushing against hers. That brief touch sent a shiver through her, a rush of warmth curling low in her stomach. She hated how much she craved it, craved her. But she couldn’t resist, not really. Dusty was everything she had been searching for, belonging, purpose, affection. But all of it came with strings.

“I don’t need it,” Allegra whispered, more to herself than to Dusty. The medication wasn’t something she needed at all. She was perfectly healthy. Yet, it had become a twisted game between them, one she was allowing herself to lose.

Dusty’s smile turned saccharine sweet as she leaned closer, her tone positively dripping with concern. “Oh, honey, you do. You’re so fragile, so delicate. Without it, I can’t bear to think what might happen to you.”

She knew what she was doing, pushing Allegra’s buttons with just the right words. She always did. And Allegra hated how much it worked, how much she wanted Dusty to keep caring, keep treating her like something precious. So she sighed, defeated, and popped the pill into her mouth, chasing it down with the glass of water Dusty provided. The bitterness lingered on her tongue, but Dusty’s expression softened, lighting up like Allegra had done something truly good.

“There’s my good girl,” Dusty murmured, slipping an arm around Allegra’s shoulders and pulling her in close. The warmth of her embrace wrapped around Allegra like a blanket. “I’m so proud of you.”

This— this was what Allegra wanted more than anything. It was the way Dusty’s fingers threaded through her hair, the way her voice dipped low, soothing like honeyed tea. For this, Allegra could forget the nagging voice in her mind telling her to run, to escape the grasp that was tightening around her with each passing day.

“Thank you,” Allegra murmured into Dusty’s shoulder, closing her eyes as she leaned into the touch. She wished she could stay in this moment forever, basking in the attention and affection she so desperately craved. But a dark part of her knew that this, too, would be fleeting. Dusty’s care wasn’t unconditional. It came at a price.

“You know I just want what’s best for you, Allegra,” Dusty whispered, her breath warm against Allegra’s ear. “You need someone to take care of you. You’re so lucky I’m here.”

Allegra swallowed hard, tears prickling at the edges of her eyes as she was reminded of that price she was always so willing to pay for these moments. Lucky. That’s what Dusty always said, and in some twisted way, maybe she was right. Allegra had drifted for so long, searching for someone who made her feel like she mattered, even if it came wrapped in manipulation and conditions.

And so she stayed, took the pills, and clung to the affection she was offered. She couldn’t ever be certain if it was real or not, but it felt like it, and wasn’t that good enough? The truth was, Allegra was weak for Dusty, addicted to both the physical affection and the adoring words she received in exchange for her compliance. Dusty’s affection, for all its poison, was the only thing keeping her from feeling completely empty.

For @sicktember

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @kmc1989, @curious-kittens-ocs, @fanficanatic-tw, @gcthvile, @kenjioharashotspot, @immyowndefender

[omegaremix]

Rosie’s Vintage shopping list, 2018.

Two more stops to go before the music shopping spree is history. Whatever locations are on the list seems to be further away each time. Today’s theme is the record annex which is picking up on Long Island. It started a year-and-a-half ago when Hideaway Vinyl set shop in Rosie’s Vintage in Huntington. Looks like they have an online presence still despite nothing being updated in a few months, so why not take the trip to see what it’s all about?

It’s been quite a while since being in Huntington. I do have some personal history there. My ex- Yenny brought me over to work there (our second job working together) for several years and it’s where she used to live. And let’s try to forget a dreaded miserable summer post-rain day out with former friend and staffer Molina, who took me through a cemetery, burger place, and an isolated park in an attempt to get close to me. No dice.

I walk in to Rosie’s and it’s bonafide vintage. Looks like the owners took over a small Fifties-style house in white-bread suburbia. Walk in and you’ll certainly feel the loud creaking of the all-wood floors. Its’ living room, dens, bedrooms, and many closets are filled with tons of kitsch, knick-knacks, and collectibles from the mid-century. Street signs, old threads, compasses, jewelry, board games, wardrobes, dolls, salt-shakers…I can go on. There’s many stories and tales to be told by each and every object that survived its’ era; all neatly organized, piled, and sorted. As an added touch, there’s the classics played on the overheads. Collections were posted on its page and testimonials from its customers recall their purchases: old vials and medicine jars, pill and spice tins, matchbook collections, sports pennants, dishes, and the occasional naughty glassware. I can still go on if you want me to.

The guy behind the register greets me and asks what he could do for me. I’m here for Hideaway Vinyl, I say. He tells me that they left shop a few months ago. Could’ve fooled me. They no longer exist. They’re still present online on social media but it all made sense why the lack of updates. Had Hideaway stayed, there’d be a presence of punk, hardcore, surf, ska, and rockabilly. He did show me where all the vinyl is now deposited by Vinyl Paradise. Remember them? There were twelve shelves top and bottom of pre-owned vinyl, four of the same across from those bins of newly-pressed and Record Store Day releases. 

Of the first twelve were plenty of rock, pop, dance, and 12″ dee-jay singles most for $10.00 and less with the occasional new hardcore pressing. I found a lot of 12″ hip-hop and dance singles; Nice & Wild and Harold Faltermeyer were two hits New York’s Z100 played growing up during my single-digit Eighties youth. Everything else in Shabba Ranks, Mad Skillz, Boogiemonsters, and Blahzay Blahzay were all summer hits going to Brentwood. WBLS, Hot 97, and Kiss FM played them all. As always, there’s the pop-rock quotient from Genesis and Dire Straits. Hello, nice to meet you again. Also relieved to find was the complete Malcomb McLaren & The World Famous Supreme Team’s “Buffalo Gals” in a die-cut label sleeve.

In comes Thea, co-owner of Rosie’s Vintage in her rockabilly / Rosie The Riveter motif. She says hello and sees the stack in my hand. She offers to put it aside for me which I obliged. I kindly ask if there would be more vinyl and does tell me there might be some upstairs. That’s where I’m going. Heading up is possibly one of the steepest set of steps I experienced walking. I also had to dodge a heavy-set punk couple decked with gauges, tattoos, low-cut tank tops and tees coming from downstairs. I walk up and there’s a closet with a secret crate of records on the floor containing The Talking Heads’ 77 for $20.00 and its’ sister Tom Tom Club’s Close To The Bone for $15.00. Shucks. I scour the upstairs to find many more antiques. Compasses, typewriters, old magazines, books, brochures in one room with very little traces of 7″ records in one crate. The kitchen was full of dishes, glasses, and silverware stacked in the sink and on its’ counter but no records to be found.

Thea rings me up and I’m golden. This became the shortest time spent in any store with the smallest stack and the least amount of money paid. 45 minutes to look through 16 bins of records for a total of $29.00 and I say good-bye to Rosie’s Vintage and Huntington until next time. Only two more stores are on the list to go before calling it quits on record-shopping for a while: Sunday Records in Riverhead and Innersleeve Records in Amagansett.

Genesis Abacab

Nice & Wild “Diamond Girl” 12″

Shabba Ranks “Mr. Loverman” 12″

Dire Straits self-titled

Mad Skillz “Nod Factor” 12“

Boogiemonsters “Recognized Thresholds Of Negative Stress 12″

Blahzay Blahzay “Danger!” 12″

Harold Faltermeyer “Axel F” 12“

Spyro Gyra self-titled

Malcomb McLaren & The World Famous Supreme Team “Buffalo Gals” 12″

[blckbarbiedoll]

Ghost Of You (M.B.)-Chapter 16

Red Sox, Red Roses

2017-Chicago, Illinois

"Congratulations." Tina grinned.

Angie turned from her locker and looked at Tina with a puzzled face. "What?"

"It's your anniversary, right? Ten years?"

"Oh, yeah. It is. Thanks."

"You don't seem too excited about it."

"Uh, I gotta go prep, T."

"Wait a minute." She sat down on the bench. "Talk to me."

Angie sighed and sat next to the older woman. "Yeah?"

"Is everything okay? With you and Mikey, I mean?"

"Yeah. We're fine."

"I heard you arguing yesterday. That didn't sound fine."

"Every couple argues, Tina."

"Not like that."

"Tina, drop it!"

"Relax, mama. Look, I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you."

"Well, I don't need you to worry about me. I'm fine. My marriage is fine."

"You tryna convince me or yourself?"

"Motherfucker." She sighed, turning her head so she could wipe her eyes.

"It's okay." Tina placed a hand on her shoulder. "You can talk to me."

"Tina, I love you. I do. Mikey and I are doing great. You don't have to worry."

She took a deep breath and stood up. "Okay. Family's up in ten."

After Tina walked away, Angie rested her elbows on her knees and sobbed with her head in her hands.

🤍

Michael's shaking hands opened the small orange bottle before dumping a pill into his hand. He popped it into his mouth and quickly swallowed it when he heard footsteps.

"Hey." Angie leaned against the doorway of his office.

"Hey."

"More pain?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go home."

"I got some stuff to work on."

"You can't stop for the night?"

"I gotta get some shit together."

"I can stay."

"No. I'll be here late. You go ahead."

"Should I give you your present now then?"

"What present?"

"Babe." She walked deeper into the room. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Tuesday."

"Mikey." She sighed.

"What?"

"Ten years."

He ran his hands over his face and leaned back in his chair. "Fuck."

"You forgot."

"I didn't forget. I remembered. I was gonna make you dinner, but I was just so busy today."

"Today." She chuckled.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I'm gonna go home."

"Angie." He stood up and grabbed her hand. "Baby, I'm sorry."

"I don't wanna fight with you, Michael. Just let me go home."

"Let me go with you. We'll get dinner somewhere and celebrate."

"Stop." She raised her hands and placed them on her temples. "I can't."

"Baby." He pulled her in close, holding her tight against his body. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She reached into her purse and handed him two pieces of paper. "Tickets to the Red Sox." She pulled away from him and walked out of the room.

🤍

"The end." Angie whispered into the sleeping child's ear. She stood up and quietly walked out.

The doorknob turned and she stepped into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. Mikey stepped into the apartment with a bouquet of roses and an apologetic smile.

"Hi." He shyly said.

"Hi."

"I fucked up."

"Yeah."

He set the flowers down on the counter and hugged her. "I don't wanna fight with you."

"So let's not."

"Happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary."

"I got you these." He handed her the roses.

"They're beautiful."

"You're beautiful."

She smirked and kissed him softly. "I love you."

"I love you too." He whispered, caressing her cheek. "More than anything."

[bogbees]

Oh oh shit oh damn

6:57 AM · Jun 17, 2017

I WOULD LIKE TO NOTE THIS ONE IS KINDA WONKY BC I GAVE IRUKA A TON OF DIFFERENT FLOWERS INSTEAD OF JUST ONE!!

Imagine how fucked up it'd be with Kakashi. His mask just ruins it. He can't exist around Iruka while trying to keep his face covered

But to save the man from that kind of suffering, it'll be Iruka who has it. It happens suddenly one morning after he realises he's in love

And at first its easy to deal with, just petals at first and it happens when he's alone usually. Sakura catches him once and knows

The chunin exams don't deter Iruka but after the funeral he finds himself coughing up full peonies. And it hurts

When Kakashi lies there, just ab dead, Naruto goes off to find Tsunade, Sakura has been studying up on medicine in Kakashi's room

Iruka drops by - with peonies to leave - Sakura catches him and tells him that there's a cure, he says he knows but it's not - she stops him

She says there's a medicine that can suppress the seeds, keep them from never blooming in his stomach. She respects his desire to shy away

But Iruka knows she doesn't know who. Who grows the garden in his gut, whose conversations tickle his throat as flowers bloom in his voice

So he tells her he will consider it. When Kakashi wakes up, Iruka coughs up a boquet of sunflowers, lavenders, iris', and forget-me-not's

And he keeps the flowers in a vase, and starts taking the medication. He pops a pill, eyeing the bouquet, saying he'd trash them later

A couple nights after Naruto has left, Iruka sits in his apartment reading over his students feild essays when there's a short knock

Kakashi is there to talk about how he's bored. Iruka smiles and invites him for tea. They talk, reminss about the kids, he smiles too warmly

He puts the dishes in the sink, sees the dry bouquet and panics. It's one sided, never to be, too weird. He can't and he should stop no or

He starts hacking violently and Kakashi is there worry over his brow, and from his mouth spills red spider lilies and Kakashi "understands"

He gives him water and leaves. Iruka cries, starring back at the door and wonders if he could make it better. He knows Kakashi doesn't know

He spends the next couple days hiccuping rose petals, his students catch them and collect them, they cheer him on, presenting the petals

he accepts the petals he thinks he can do something about it. It wouldn't be good for his students to see him choke n die on yellow tulips

He thinks about everything he loves about Kakashi and coughs up peonies, sunflowers, and roses and ties them with a red thread and cries

He finds the man later, much later, at midnight and presents the jounin with his flowers. Kakashi's eye is wide in surprise

Iruka begins, yellow tulip petals spilling with each word. "I really, really like you." Shoves the flowers into kakashi's arms and bails

He hides himself away in one of the hide aways he found when he was younger. He coughs up more sunny tulips that contrast his mood

In his panic he doesn't notice the flowers become red roses nor the voice calling his name. He's waiting to suffocate on his mistakes

Ok Kakashi pov: he saw Iruka cough up flower petals once before the exams. He's like "oh," sad in a way he can't explain and keeps quiet

The peonies he finds by his bed side he thinks to be some random strangers thanks, and hopes their crushes die, bc he can't reciprocate ever

He likes Iruka. He likes being around him and it's fine and dandy and funny and wait a second Iruka is hacking and oh no there's a flower

He's like "this man is going to die" and reads the flower on the floor as "never to be" and bails bc he can't watch him fucking die

Like petals mean "small" and can be stopped but full flowers mean "rooted" and the count down to death starts.

When Iruka throws a bouquet of flowers in his arms and flees, he remembers the vase in Iruka's kitchen and he's like "these are the same..?"

They are the same and it hits him. Iruka is in love with /him/ of all people. He would have been the reason for Iruka's death. Oh shit oh oh

He realises that he's in love. But because he's dumb ab these things, he only realised it now as he's using the sharingan to find Iruka

(Maybe idk)

Back to Iruka who's just throwing up red roses in this alcove in this alley in the middle of the night at this deserted street, crYING

I really have no idea how to fix this fuck me gently with my regrets 1:00 AM · Jun 18, 2017