#my brain keeps finding faults to everything and i’m afraid i’ll end up spiraling and completely unhappy

[thelastcase]

the listening to a snippet of holding on to heartache live to having a breakdown because you’re not doing well pipeline is so real

[letitrainathousandflames-archive]

I Have To Find The Will To Carry On

Fandom: The Clone Wars (2008) | SPOILERS FROM SEASON 7

Characters: ARC-0408 | Echo, CT-7567 | Rex, Clone Trooper Hunter, ARC-5555 | Fives (mentioned)

Tags: hurt/comfort, grief, PTSD, survivor’s guilt, echo needs a hug

Warnings:  dehumanization, grieving, suicide ideation, depression/, gore m/, torture m/, medical torture m/, explosions m/, death m/

Set shortly after the ending of the last Bad Bath Arc episode, with a flashback set shortly before said ending. Be mindful of the tags. There ARE spoilers of the new season in this fic.

-

“You, uh. You just tell us if you need anything else, okay, Echo?”

Echo looked around one more time before sitting down in his bunk with a sigh.

“I don’t think I will, Hunter. This is...” he ran his flesh hand over the soft, clean sheets “This is much more than I’ve had in a long time.”

Hunter shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, and Echo offered him a small smile.

“Please don’t look at me like that. The worst thing you can do is treat me like I’m some fragile thing. It’ll take me some time to adjust, of course. But I can manage just fine.”

Hunter squared his shoulders, setting his jaw.

“Right. I would ask the same, if I was in your place.” and he offered him a salute “I welcome you again to Clone Force 99, corporal. It’s great to have you on board.”

“Glad to be here, sir.”

And with a small nod, Hunter left, closing the door behind him.

Echo looked around the small quarters. The first day in the barracks always feels weird, and Echo felt the small pang of anxiety that dragged him back in time, to his first day at the 501st’s barracks.

Their first day.

Fives had taken the upper bed and would hang upside-down every ten minutes or so to interrupt Echo’s reading of the reg manuals just to show off his recently painted helmet with a rishi eel drawn in blue over the white plastoid. They would giggle quietly to themselves, looking at their new armors and even when they bickered Echo knew he couldn’t possibly have asked for a better person to have by his side through the war, and he alwaysbelieved that Fives felt the same way about him.

-

When Echo decided to leave with the Bad Batch, Rex had asked him if he could spare him a minute before leaving, and so they had walked to the Captain’s barracks. Rex let the doors slide shut behind him, turning on a single dim yellow light that kept his face partially shadowed as the Captain turned to face him.

Echo didn’t quite know what to say. All the time they’ve spent apart… Everything he had missed… He wondered if Rex meant to fill him in on all of it before sending him away with the Bad Batch.

But Rex didn’t speak. Echo could notice the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were curled into fists, how he seemed to be swallowing down once or twice, eyes staring right into Echoe’s.

The silence was deafening. Echo took a small breath and opened his mouth.

“I-”

He fell silent again, wetting his lips for a second to then purse them tightly. He could feel a shiver creeping up his spine. He knew why he was there. Rex also knew. Still he had to ask.

He had to, had to, had to ask, had to know, had to-

“Where is Fives, sir?”

The sharp, shaky intake of air from Rex should have been enough of an answer. Rex shifted his gaze away from Echo, his entire face becoming twisted with something- something Echo had never seemed in his captain face before. It looked like pain for a moment soon it turned into anger, sheer unrestrained anger that shifted into pain as the captain bared his teeth and lowered his eyes.

The low light wasn’t low enough to keep the tears brimming in the captain’s eyes from glisten some, before he blinked them away. Rex lifted his gaze to Echo, wet trail drawn over his cheek.

“I’m so sorry.”

The period Echo had spent in cryostasis had been so cold. The invasive, forced surgeries performed by the separatists’ medical droids under General Grievous’ supervision had been so painful. For a moment throughout the process in whish Echo had been turned into something more machine than human, he had thought he had lost his humanity. His ability to feel anything other than the numb state of sedation and cold.

He had never hated to be wrong so much as he did now.

The pain seemed to cut through the circuits welded on his chest and into the soft, weaker flesh beneath.

“No.” he heard his own mouth say while his mind felt distant, detached from his body that wasn’t his anymore, hadn’t been since the explosion “No, no, it- It can’t be.”

Echo looked back and forth, brain trying to understand what Rex was saying. No. That was impossible. Fives was… Was the best of them. He couldn’t- he wouldn’t-

“No, no, no, it can’t be, it can’t be!” he speaks louder, like he can convince Rex to change what he had just said “No! He would wait for me! He wouldn’t just- He can’t have just-“

Echo reached forward, grabbing Rex’s chest plate and yanking him closer despite his weakened joints.

“Rex, it can’t be, Rex-“ a sob cut off his words, and Echo felt his eyes hot with tears that blurred his sight like the ice in the cyostasis chamber would and he almost felt like he was back in the cursed thing, trapped, breathless, freezing from the inside out “Rex, please, I’m begging you…!”

Rex wrapped his arms over Echoe’s, pulling his brother into a hug and Echo just slumped against him, shaking his head over and over. It was like the last shred of sanity he had been clinging on to – his brothers, his family, his home, his only sense of normalcy in this chaotic, wretched universe – had been torn from him.

“He died as a soldier, Echo.” Rex said, voice half-choked

Back in the Citadel, the impact of the blast aimed at Echo had knocked him back into the shuttle with such violence that his helmet slipped out of his head; his body had hit the back wall so hard all the air left his lungs as the explosion made everything turn into a spiral of scorching heat, and roaring fire. The concussion had been enough to make him barely feel the charred stumps of his right arm and left leg or the weight of the durasteel cargo crate that had crushed his right leg. The last couple of breaths he had taken before losing consciousness ached, both because of the smoke-filled air and his two broken ribs. Fainting had been almost a blessing.

Not much later the droids had forcibly amputated what was left of his three limbs after the explosion with no anesthesia, and Echo had trashed against the binds that kept him secured over a table, screamed himself hoarse, lost control of his bladder, begged for death over a thousand times. He then had wires and tubes connected to his spine, heart and lungs before the ice engulfed him and his mind was ravished, invaded, and every ounce of resistance was met with punishing agony

All that pain, all that torture, and cruelty and still, still-

This was the most painful moment of his life.

“Why?!” he sobbed, feeling Rex’s cheek wet with tears against his jaw “He had no right… He couldn’t leave me..!”

Echo wondered for a moment if he was upset at Fives for dying or if he was just jealous of him. The entire time he was away, his only wish had been that the separatists had let him die. And now he would have to live without his dearest brother.

“Isn’t fair… We should’ve gone together… Side by side, I would’ve… Would’ve been glad to march away with him…”

Rex ran a gloved hand clumsily over the back of Echo’s hair. It reminded him of the way older cadets would soothe their younger brothers when they would confess to be afraid to go to battle.

“I know you would. I know, Echo.” Rex swallowed down, not letting go of Echo “He loved you so much, brother. Never was the same after he lost you. Kept searching for meaning in all of this, kept trying to make sense of it all. Made sure to ensure all regs were being kept like he… Like he was trying to bring some of you with him wherever he’d go.”

Echo sobbed harder at that, clutching Rex like a lifeline. His legs whirred, weakened by the overwhelming feelings in his brain, and Rex kept him standing still. He would always carry his men whenever they’d need him.

“We all missed and mourned you at the base, Echo. We felt your loss, but the scar it left on Fives never healed. He fought and bled and struggled to protect everyone, you knew him. And this wish to protect us ended up costing his life.” Rex paused for a moment “It was all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

Echo pulled back some, trying his best to keep his legs working still, despite how much he wanted to just sink to his knees and rip the circuits off his chest to make sure his heart would finally cease to beat for good.

“You always said that, captain.” Echo sniffled, rubbing his eyes “I’m sure you blamed yourself over what happened to me, too. It wasn’t your fault. None of it is.

Rex raised his eyes to the ceiling, clearly trying to hide his tears as he drew a long breath and let it out sharply to then look back at Echo. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, so tired. Echo knew he wasn’t looking good at all after everything the separatists had done to him, but the captain seemed to have aged so much since the last time he’d seen him.

Was it their fate, all of them clones? To wither away, to be tortured and mutilated, to die in pain? Who could say the ones of them that survived were the lucky ones?

Rex opened one of the pouches on his belt, retrieving a small comm device from it and offering it up to Echo.

“Here. I’ll reach you through it soon.”

Echo looked at the thing with curiosity before placing it in his own pouch.

“That’s… nonstandard.”

“That’s because it won’t be used for standard communication. I need an outside line to you. Its signal is scrambled, and the communications through it must be kept short to avoid us being heard, understood?”

Echo gave Rex a tiny smile.

“Ah, yes. Breaking the rules. Now it feels like home. Fives would-“

Echo stopped himself. He couldn’t say his name. Not yet. Rex swallowed down, reaching for the same pouch again.

“Oh, and this is for you.” he held his hand up closed in a fist “Fives used to keep it on him always, but he left… his equipment behind before his last mission. I managed to retrieve it and kept it with me, and when I thought that we might finally meet again, I brought it with me so that you could have it.”

The captain opened his fingers, and in his palm there was a small piece of durasteel. Echo took it with his flesh hand, holding it close to inspect it. It was slightly blackened, and the shape of it made it look like it had been cracked off from a larger piece rather than crafted to be of that exact size, although it did look like someone had smoothened the edges of it some to make them blunt.

“What is it?”

Rex gave him a bittersweet smile.

“No one knew. He only told me what it was right before we… lost you. This is a piece of the Rishi Moon outpost, after Hevy blew it up. I figure it must’ve been a part of one of the reinforced windows.”

Echo looked back at the memento in awe, sight going blurry with tears again.

“Rishi Moon… it feels like forever ago.”

“Yeah…”

The two of them shared a moment of silence, and as Echo stared at the piece of durasteel, he thought of Fives. Of his funny quips, his chaotically improvised plans, of his laugh and his particular way to annoy Echo as a display his affection. And he knew Rex did the same.

Remembering a fallen warrior was the way to keep him marching beyond. If it was up to Echo, he would make sure that the memory of Fives would never fade away.

-

Echo laid down on his bunk, reaching for the crook of his neck and feeling the small silver chain to then tug gently at it until he managed to pull the small durasteel pendant from under his black shirt and over his chest – where it clanged softly against the plate over his sternum.

He shifted on the bed, still unused to the weight and lack of mobility of his prosthetic legs, thinking of the comm that Rex had given him, hidden under a few bundled wires of a compartment in his. Skywalker had made him a new prosthetic arm that lighter and more efficient, with actual jointed fingers and sensors over the digits and palm. What was it that Rex wanted to talk about, hidden even from their superiors?

Echo ran his fingers over the piece of durasteel hanging from his necklace.

“What am I gonna do without you, brother?”

The haunting silence that followed never answered his question.

[anti-the-glitch-bitch]

Into the Void

*This is my Dark/Anti horror story. There is no shipping of them or any Septiplier. There is such themes as blood, gore, torture, abuse and other things. If that’s not your thing then please move along. If it is your thing then I hope you enjoy. Please leave a comment on what you thing of it. I love comments.*

Word count: 2,480

"Mark Fischbach! You get your ass down here right now!" I yell at the top of my lungs, slamming the front door open at the same time. Mark was supposed to pick me up at the airport an hour ago, but he never showed up. I'm sure he probably got caught up in recording a video for his channel. I had texted and called him multiple times, but I never got a reply back. At times, being a Youtuber's friend can be frustrating. With a sigh, I turned to go back outside and start the arduous task of bringing my bags in. Before I can put even a foot out the door, I hear a loud thunk from upstairs and then barking.

A door slowly opens, and the barking gets significantly louder. I chuckle as a fluffy golden retriever runs down the stairs, straight at me, tail wagging a mile a minute.

"CHICA! How is the beautiful fluffy puppers?" I coo as I kneel down, so I can give her all the love she deserves. This is my first time ever meeting her, but Mark was always sending me pics and videos of her. So I'm pretty excited to get to love on her.

"Sorry, Bri. I..um..lost track of time." Mark's guilty voice comes from the stairs.

I look up and glare at him as he walks over to me. He scratches the back of his head as he gives me a sheepish grin. "You're lucky that Chica is sooo adorable. Otherwise, you would be in so much trouble! All you had to do was say you got held up. I would have understood, you ass!" I huff at him and go to grab my bags.

"So, are you saying I'm not adorable?" he gives me a fake pout as he throws his arm around my shoulder." Not when you leave me hanging at the airport with not even a call." I laugh as I hip bump him, causing him to stumble. I never could stay mad at him for long. His antics made me laugh too much for that.

"Well, since I'm off to such a bad start as a host. I'll get your bags." He grabs my two suitcases while I grab the smaller duffel bag.

Mark and I have been best friends since we were kids. We were neighbors when he lived in Ohio and became inseparable. We stayed super close until he moved to LA, and I stayed in Ohio. We texted and video chatted all the time, but it was never the same as being in person. When my boyfriend of 3 years broke up with me, I was absolutely devastated.

We were a month away from getting married. I had come home from a work meeting and realized all his stuff was gone. No note. Nothing. I locked myself in my apartment for over a week, just lay in bed. I didn't eat. I barely slept. I cut contact with everyone. I was numb to everything, and I did nothing to stop myself from spiraling faster and faster down into the abyss of nothingness.

I guess Mark and his girlfriend, Amy, got worried because the next thing I know, Mark is banging on my door early one morning, hollering at me to open my damn door. I'm not sure who was more shocked. Me, at their sudden appearance or them, at my disastrous looks.

Two hours later, and I've had my first shower and meal in who knows how long. They sat with me and let me cry on their shoulder for as long as I needed. Well, Amy did. Mark just sat on the couch, looking super uncomfortable and trying super hard to cheer me up. After awhile, Mark's joking nature started to cheer me up, and Amy joined in, talking about all the antics their friends had gotten up to. It was almost midnight when I finally had them convinced that I was feeling tons better. Before they left, Amy had managed to get a promise out of me that I would come to LA and stay for an undefined amount of time.

I was hoping I could get away with only a few days, but Amy wouldn't hear anything of it and told me to pack for at least two weeks. Guess I really worried them if they wanted to keep me for that long. That was the reason why one short month later, I was hauling my things into their house.

I follow Mark upstairs to the guest bedroom and throw my bag on the bed. Next thing I know, Mark has me in a giant hug. I tense at first but quickly relax into it. "I'm so glad you came, Bri. I've been worried about you. I was afraid you might bail on me last minute." His voice is thick with emotions as he puts his chin on my head.

I shrug as I fight not to cry. "I thought about it a million times, but in the, end I knew it would do me some good. Plus, I just plain missed you. Your videos just don't do the real you justice." I pull myself out of the hug and look around as I realize someone is missing. "Where is Amy at? I thought she was gonna be here."

"Oh, she went on a girl's trip with Sean's girlfriend. They wanted some time to bond over girl things. They didn't say how long they would be gone, but I'm sure they'll be back before you leave." He gives me a mischievous grin. "That means you’re stuck with me for who knows how long."

I start laughing like a maniac as I think of all the pranks I can pull on Mark without retribution from both of them. "OH no. That means you'll be stuck with ME. Now, what's a girl gotta do to get some food around this joint?" I rub my hands together and lick my lips as I think about eating real food.

He grumbles jokingly about not signing up to be my personal chef as he makes his way to the kitchen. I'm just about to follow when I notice a weird, flickering shadow flit across the doorframe. I look around the room to see what might have caused it but don't see anything.

I must be really tired, I think as I shake my head and continue on my way to the kitchen.

"Here's the thing. I've been so busy trying to get videos done, so I can spend time with you, that I forgot to make a trip to the store. I've got stuff to make sandwiches, or we can order out?" He is definitely not guilty as he tells me this. I'm pretty sure he is using me as an excuse to get fast food by the smile on his face.

"Damn, Mark. You act like I showed up out of the blue instead of planning this visit for a month. Sandwiches will be just fine with me." I laugh as I push past him towards the fridge. Mark is helping me get all the stuff together when there is a knock at the door. Chica instantly starts barking and makes a beeline for the door. Mark looks at me very quickly with a super not guilty look. The look on his face has me instantly on guard.

"Bri, please don't be mad, but I might have told Sean that you are gonna be staying with me and that you are a huge fan of his. I talk about you all the time to him, and he wanted to meet you. His girlfriend is on that trip with Amy so he is also gonna be staying here for a bit." That shithead was dead. His fans are going to be so pissed cause I am about to murder this man.

I don't know how my body did it, but it felt like all the blood in my face went straight to my cheeks. I'm a very shy person when it comes to anyone that might even be remotely famous. My anxiety goes into overdrive, especially since I might have a small celebrity crush on the Youtuber known as Jacksepticeye.

"YOU FUCKING DID WHAT?!" I'm sure if my voice was an octave higher, I could have shattered glass. Mark is laughing his ass off at my reaction and starts walking towards the door. "DON'T YOU DARE OPEN THAT FUCKING DOOR!" I shriek in absolute panic.

That asshat is laughing so hard at this point that he has to lean against the wall to steady himself. Sean is apparently tired of waiting for Mark and decides to let himself in. "OI! Ya gobshyte going ta let me stand outside all day?" Sean makes eye contact with me as he says this before an unopened loaf of bread hits him directly in the face.

In my panic, my fight instincts kicked in, and I threw the 1st thing my hands came across. Luckily for Sean, it just happened to be bread. Then my flight instincts kick in. I give a horrified shriek, and I hightail it into my room with Mark's laughter following me the entire way. I close the door shut and rip the blanket off the bed. I then proceed to go to the closet, open the door, wrap the blanket around me and hide in the closet with the door shut.

I will become one with the Darkness if it's the last thing I do.

I'm only in the closet for about 10 minutes before Mark finds me. I'm no longer freaking out, but now the embarrassment is kicking into overdrive. "I live in this closet now. I can never leave. It is my home." I groan into the blanket.

"That was the funniest shit I've ever seen. My only regret is that I wasn't recording it." He chuckles as he pulls the blanket off my head. "You planning on hiding in here forever? I mean, it wasn't as bad as the time you met Daniel Cudmore." I groan even harder before I look up at him. " The difference between then and now is that Daniel didn't get A FACE FULL OF BREAD! This is the most embarrassing thing ever. I can never face him now. I hate you so much right now. This entire thing is your fault." I can only facepalm as my cheeks start heating up again. Mark chuckles as he shakes his head.

He briefly glances at the doorway and then back at me. He flops onto the floor just outside the closet door. "Sean thought it was funny...Well, once he got over the shock, that is. Come onnnnn. He came all this way from England just to meet one of my best friends. He can't do that if you hide away in here. He's just a regular dude that also happens to be a Youtuber. You'll never get over that weird celebrity shyness you have if you don't talk to him." he starts trying to yank the blanket off me.

"Ugh. Why do you have to bring logic into this? I can't help it if my stupid brain has to spazz out. Give me a few minutes to gather my courage. If I'm not downstairs in 15 minutes, then you can come get me like the barbarian you are." I laugh and try to yank the blanket back.

"You are such a chicken shit, I swear." He smiles and stands up. Before I can do anything else, he yanks the blanket super hard. It jerks me partially out of the closet, and I fall out, laying on my side. There is a familiar laugh close to the bedroom door that is neither mine nor Mark's. I immediately tense up and look at the doorway. Those blue eyes are the first thing I see. I overlook many other details except that cute Irish boi smile. Then I realize that Sean is standing in the doorway. Looking at me. I dive back into the closet while simultaneously yanking the blanket back in with me. I slam the closet door shut, and not even a second later, Sean and Mark are laughing hysterically.

Yuck it up, you assholes. I don't respond as I am now busy trying to make the floor more comfortable with the blanket. "You have to come out eventually, Bri. You can't stay in there all day." His voice gets farther away as he talks.

" I just need some time! Go play some video games or whatever shit you guys do together! I yell back at him.

There was no way in hell I was ever leaving this closet while Sean was here. I guess it's a good thing my phone is fully charged cause I'm going to need something to do in here. I get on YouTube and start watching my Darkiplier/Antisepticeye playlist.

I love Mark like a brother and would never be able to think of him any other way, but when he made that first video going full Darkiplier….I wasn't able to FaceTime him for two weeks because I would instantly think of Dark and start blushing. The first time I saw Anti's full appearance I completely fangirled. I must have watched the video on repeat a million times. What can I say? I love my bad boys.

I'm not sure how long I stay in the closet watching the videos but I feel myself start to get tired. I'm fighting sleep and losing badly. I'm just about to conk out when I feel a hand gently caress my cheek.

"You'll do just fine." a voice whispers to me as I fall unconscious.

[queencatherynerhys]

The Fighter - Chapter 8

A/N: I’ve had this published in Wattpad for a while now. I just have been too lazy to publish it here. Sorry. I just got back into being active this week when editing my Masterlist.

Summary: Another attack shakes the palace grounds. Can Scarlet fight them off and protect her prince?

Tags: @devineinterventions2 @madaraism @theroyalweisme @drakewalkerwhipped @drakesfiance @hhiggs @hellospunkiebrewster @alicars @mrswalkerreynolds @mfackenthal @simplyaiden-blog @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @cocomaxley @boneandfur @lizeboredom @crayziimaginations @umccall71 @zarina-x-zig @writtenbycandy @ranishajay @heatherfilliez @drakelover78 @indiacater @pens-girl-87 @katurrade @speedyoperarascalparty @greyeyedsmile14 @barbaravalentino @zilch3 @mynameiskaylabella @darley1101 @blznbaby @trashbagfullofflannels @bella-ca @highlyselectiveextrovert *I just used my usual tag list. Let me know if you want to be taken off if you don’t want to receive notifications about this story. Also let me know if you want to be added.*

"I apologize, Amer –," Maxon's mention of America paralyzes me to my core. My breathing halts. My heart beat pounds in my ears as my nervousness rise. I spend all energy to keep my facial expression as neutral and empty as I can. Has he figured out who I am? Was it really that easy? What gave me away? My physical features or the way I have acted when he was around? Will he change his view of me? Will he continue to hate me? All these questions swim around my brain so fast that I get dizzy.

A panic attack threatens to grow from deep within me and I fight to suppress it. I control my staggered breathing trying to regain prevent myself from spiraling.

"Are you alright?" as if my hearing unclogs, I hear Maxon speak to me.

I don't respond. I couldn't.

"I apologize. I was about to call you America. It's just...you remind me so much of her. The sound of your voice even sounds like hers, but I know that can't be. Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for my childish behavior. I don't know what has come over me. I guess ever since you told me that, Ame-, shewas dead I haven't been thinking clearly."

I internally sigh with earned relief that he didn't recognize who I am. This was too close. I can't give him any hint of detection. If he finds out, I can't protect him.

He continues to talk, and I try to pay attention, "Although, forgive me, but I am having a hard time trying to picture how you and...her...would've come across each other. I don't see you, how do they say it, hanging out with the same crowd?"

"You're right. We led completely different lives, so I understand."

"So?"

I cross my arms and quirk my brows in response, confused at his inquiry.

"Sorry, I thought I was pretty clear that I was asking how you met."

Oh. That. I guess I should have known he would keep asking about her. If I answer his question, it would lead to the topic of her death. My love for him wishes to spare him the pain, but I know he would only keep asking and the unknowing will only tear him apart from the inside out and so against my better judgment I tell him my cover story.

"America and I met while we were both being held deep within a Southerner's Rebel Camp."

Maxon's warm brown eyes widen as the words fell out of my mouth.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I was captured during a rebel attack. I was carried and held in their camp for what seemed like months. I would not have survived that...experience... if weren't for the companionship I built with her during our time there. We thought we were going to never make it out alive. Over the course of our stay there, we got to know each other very well. She shared of her time here and I of my career and my agency," I recall the rehearsed story the Force made for America's death.

"Was...was she...tortured?" his question takes me by surprise. I didn't expect such a forward question.

"Do you really want to know?" I sincerely asks as I lean forward to look closer at him, gauging an answer from his beautiful orbs. He doesn't answer my curiosity, but I can tell from his body language that he really wanted to know even if he knew it might be painful to hear the "truth".

"Yes, she was," I whisper reverently. It's the truth. Scarlet is America, and America is Scarlet. Scarlet was tortured during her time with the rebels.

Maxon's hand fly to his mouth and his eyes water. Tears threaten to spill, but he holds them back. Afraid to show his vulnerability in front of me.

"It's ok to cry. It's ok to grieve for what you have lost," I reassure him that there's nothing wrong about what he's feeling.

"It's my fault. Her death is my fault. Six years ago, I let my anger get the best of me. The rebels attacked and because of my resentment I didn't pay attention to her. I didn't want to worry about her. I didn't want to feel anything for her. I thought she betrayed me when I saw her with that guard. If I didn't let my pride consume me, I wouldn't have been so blind, so careless. I would have protected her. I wouldn't have let her be captured," the cries he tries so hard to keep within fall and the pain and the guilt shakes his frame. All I wanted to do was to reach out and comfort, to cry and tell him that it was a lie. I am still alive. I am still fighting for him.

"You know, the last thing I hear every night is the sound of her screaming my name?" he sniffles and my heart shatters furthermore. I'm so sorry, Maxon. "I tried so hard to find her through the chaos before the guards dragged me off to the safe room. When the dust cleared, and no one found her, I knew the worse has happened. I just didn't want to accept it. I guess it was easier to hate her than admit to my shame and guilt."

"She loved you to the very end, you know. Every time she spoke of her time here, she would only recall of her memories of you. You should know that she died a hero. She died saving me. When the agency has finally traced my whereabouts, she sacrificed herself so I could escape. Her blood is on my hands, too," I continue with a lie.

"She did tell me to tell you that the only thing that she ever wanted was your happiness. She wanted you to live a long, happy life," those statements were the truth. Everything I have done in the last six years was so that he can have a happy life.

As if the universe demanded that I prove the statement, a loud, rattling explosion shakes the palace. A distinct shift goes off in my internal mind. At the moment, I'm no longer the director but the fighter.

I don't stay behind to see what Maxon does. I trust that he will follow protocol and do what he has always done and run to a safe room.

"Where are you going? We need to get to a safe room," he yells. His voice gradually gets fainter as I run towards the danger. I know exactly who it is and what, or who, they are coming for and I am not going to let them succeed. I exit the dining room and stop at the base of the grand staircase.

James finds me and I nod telling him that I'm ready. I pull out my gun that's hidden in my back and switch the safety off. Palace guards run about taking staff to their respective safe bunkers. Some immediately take defensive positions to protect.

Their training is such stark contrast to my agents. We aren't trained to wait for the fight. We run towards. We fight to eliminate threats, quickly and aggressively. On cue, Liam runs up with Alicia, Jake and Sam trailing behind him.

"What do you want us to do, Scarlet?" Liam speaks up.

"Follow me," and we sprint towards the front door. When we get outside, we can see the silhouette of a heavy, armored truck coming through the steel iron gates and speedily going down the very, long driveway. A hostile stick out from the roof and launches another grenade with a rocket launcher, exploding 300 feet away from where we stand.

I say a silent prayer that the reinforcement came in from Fennley this morning. We have more guards, more weapons and a motorcycle. I come up with a plan, a stupid one that might end up getting me killed, but a plan nonetheless. I can't let that convoy reach the palace. I look at James' green eyes and speak to him, conveying my plan with our silent communication.

I have a plan. You got this? I tilt my head in the direction of the young agents.

He nods his head in agreement, I'll have your back.

I tuck my gun back in my waistband and I was about to run to the motorcycle, I hear the shuffle of boots. I glance back quickly to find several guards abandoning their defensive tactics and taking post in front of the palace doors. And I also see someone I didn't expect. Maxon.

What the hell is he doing out here?! And why aren't the guards dragging him out of the line of fire and into the safe room.I didn't have time to think about it since the enemies are getting closer by the second.

Since the moment I got to the castle, my emotions and thoughts have been in haywire and frenzy about facing the royals again and being in the same room as Maxon. But right now, as I am running toward the motorcycle to execute my dumb idea I feel at peace, I feel confident. I know my purpose. I know what to do in this situation. I have only one goal in mind: neutralize.

I ignite the motorcycle and under the growl of the engine, I hear Maxon's voice, "What in the world is she doing?" What am I doing? I'm doing what I do best. My job.

The bike lurches forward and I race to meet the oncoming vehicles. I see the enemy appear on the roof of the steel-cladded truck again aiming the launcher towards me and I swerve left and right to avoid the explosives.

My brown hair and black leather jacket whip behind me and my vision becomes narrowed. My heart beat quickens and my grip on the handlebars get tighter. The convoy stops ahead of me and well-equipped enemies file out of the fortified truck.

I close my eyes and downshift the motorcycle as I let go, ready and focused only one thing: fight.

[into-crazy]

Man Under the Makeup Pt. 6

Arthur Fleck/Joker x Female Reader Series

Warnings- Cursing, mentions of violence & murder, panic attacks, lot of sadness, angst, fluff towards the end

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the “Man Under the Makeup” tag lovelies!💘

Something felt off, maybe it had to do with not getting a call from Arthur the entire day. Which was unusual, given he calls you every moment he can. Although it did cause you to worry, you figured he just might not have a chance yet. Come on, he's the Joker. When there's noise coming from somewhere in the broken city, high possibility he was involved in it.

Later that night, your speculations were answered on the 7 o'clock news. Huddled onto your couch, burrito wrapped in a thick blanket, you watched the screen thoroughly.

"This just in, we're getting reports that the Joker and a group of his masked goons were last seen in the downtown area." The anchorwoman spoke. "We at the station and the Gotham City police department advise that all citizens within the area to remain indoors. Avoid any confrontation, as they are known to be well armed and highly dangerous."

Downtown? You thought. Wonder what he's up to over there. With the news station transitioning to the next subject, you decrease the television's volume. Diverting your attention towards a small tape atop the coffee table before you. This tape. You knew exactly what was on it. Reaching forward, you pick it up. The label read- "Murray's last show." An entire recording of Arthur's appearance on Murray Franklin's show as Joker- the night he shot Murray live on air.

One of your colleagues at the office mentioned to everyone how he recorded the show that night. Capturing everything to the end til it cut off. Bragging he had the only public copy and would lend the video for five bucks to anyone willing to watch that hasn't yet. Arrogantly waving it around the room like a prized trophy. What a dick. He was a complete asshole about the whole situation. Treating it as if it were a joke. So you felt not one ounce of guilt for swiftly swiping it from his desk when nobody was watching.

Your mind was made up. You're going to view the tape once before getting rid of it. Only because you need to see it. Your palms grew hot and sweaty staring hard at the thing. Okay, deep breaths. We're going to do this. Mind racing, you place the tape into the VCR. Already rewound to the part Joker comes on screen, all you have to do is press play.

Back in the warmth of the blanket, you increase the volume. Then hit play.

It was difficult to watch. Witnessing your Arthur spiraling further and further down each passing minute. The excessive amount of uncomfortable fidgeting he continually displayed. His over glossy eyes, noticeable even through the static-y picture. The throaty pain in his tone when he spoke, right on the brink of crying. Bringing you along, tears welling up in your eyes. The last few minutes had you silently on the edge. After admitting to shooting the men, Arthur looked to the floor and muttered, "Nothing can hurt me anymore." He looked completely broken, given up. A warm tear slid down your cheek at his state. Wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him, drag him away from his suffering.

Then, there it was- came the loud sound from the gunshot. Your breath hitched in response. Wide eyed, paralyzed in place, watching Joker's relief filled laugh. With Murray's blood on the left side of his painted face. You hardly recognized that side of him. It was a side you've never seen for yourself. He fired a few more shots into the motionless body. Followed by the cut off, to which the tape ended.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you seen. What Joker- what Arthur- did. It was brutal, graphic, a lot to process. You knew what was going to be shown, yet it still took you abruptly by surprise. Was it wrong? Yeah, it was all so wrong. Could it have been avoided? Perhaps, perhaps not. But hey, that's Gotham for you.

Turning off the television, you continue to sit in silence. Wiping the remainder of tears from your eyes and cheeks. One of the reasons why you didn't want to watch the tape was because of the possible effect it'd leave. Afraid it could change your entire view of Arthur. But, if it hadn't prior to watching- when you'd already known what he done. Then why would it now? The only difference was physically seeing it rather than just hearing about it.

Nothing's changed. Nothing.

Despite what he's done, you still see him the same. Arthur's never done you wrong. He's been nothing but a kind and caring sweetheart towards you. Just as much as you've been- and will continue to be- to him.

~~

Curled on the couch, you read quietly from a book. Glued to the plot, eagerly flipping page to page. Lost halfway into the story, you're startled by the sound of soft like banging on the front door.

Getting up, you check the clock. 9:17 pm. It's late. Cautiously inching towards the door, your heart rate picks up. Who could be at your door this time of the night? It comes again, faster this time. That wasn't Arthur's familiar knock- in fact, it wasn't recognizable at all. Could be anyone out there. A robber invading for some cash or valuables, a detective, heck it could just be one of your neighbors in need.

You grab your blade from the drawer by the door, better to be safe than sorry. Before answering, you peak to see who it is first. Moving your eye to look through the peephole.. Arthur? In his usual get up, appearing distressed and disheveled- which you can spot through the tiny lens. Exhaling, you tuck the knife back into it's place. Though relieved it's him at your doorstep, concern quickly arises.

Unlocking the door, you open to a panicked Joker. "Arth-" your low words instantly cut off by his embrace.

"Y/n!" Almost losing balance from the sudden force. Wrapping his arms around you tightly, pushing you both into your apartment. His face buries into your neck, frantically muttering your name repeatedly.

Wide eyed in his grasp, you hold him. "What- what happened?"

No answer. He has something in his hand, you could feel it behind your back.

"Arthur," you break the embrace to take his face in your hands. The object was his revolver, the .38 snubnose he always carries, his grip tight on it. His makeup is smeared and runny, he's warm with sweat, plus there's a red substance staining his face and parts of his suit. It's blood. Splattered across his face. "What happened?"

Heavily panting, he musters up an audible word, "h-hurt.. I-"

Panic fills your lungs, "Hurt? Are you hurt?" Examining every inch of his body, in search of some kind of wound.

"No," he shakes his head, "no, I did. It was me, I caused it. It's my fault." His body jerks forward, loud laughing cries surging out. Overwhelmed, he's trying to explain himself through the laughter while still processing through his spectrum of rash emotions.

Nothing is making any sense, you need to calm him down. "Come here, sit." He listens as you wave him to the kitchen, sitting him at the table. "Give me the gun," you reach out. He shakily places it in your palm. You pace over to the drawer by the door. Laying it by the ashtray you keep there for him. Looking outside into the hallway, you make sure no one seen or followed him. Being brightly colored, he's definitely not hard to miss. You lock the door before sitting across him. "Breathe baby, take your time," you whisper. He eventually regains control, giving you slight nod. "Now, do you want to tell me what happened?" You ask leaning in.

Finding it rather difficult to look at you, he speaks. "T-the job went smoothly.. I thought we'd be in the clear." His glare changes from worry to rage. "Then some mouthy guy thinks he's some kind of hero. Said these awful things and started swinging on me. So I- pulled out my gun. And I was gonna shoot him, I wanted to shoot him." There's a pause, he swallows hard. "But I missed.. there was a man to the side, shielding his wife. The bullet hit him, I-I killed him." More tears build up in his eyes. Trailing down, mixing with the paint and blood.

"Oh Arthur," you didn't know what to say. It was shocking none the least.

"A regular guy, he did nothing wrong. He was only protecting his wife. He muttered to her 'Our son! Our son! Tell our boy, I love him!' Y/n I-"

You immediately stand from the chair to hold him. "I'm so sorry baby, it was a mistake. Please don't cry."

"I thought that if I shot my original target, t-that I would feel better." He snivels, "but even after I blew his brains out, I still felt terrible about the first man."

His laughing cries are muffled into your chest. Arthur has never once regretted killing a person- EVER. However his particular one struck him deeply. That poor man was at the wrong place, wrong time. He gave absolutely no trouble, just trying to keep his wife safe. And what did he pay for it? His life. A chance to raise his son. Now, the child must live on carrying the pain of his father being taken from him. To grow up without the love and support he was surely given. Something Arthur's never received himself growing up, he'd hate to be the one to take it away from a small, innocent soul.

"I'm just so tired.." he pulls away lightly, glancing towards the residue he left on your shirt. "Oh shit, your shirt. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," you shy it off. "You're more than welcome to say the night, Arthur. The city can wait on the Joker. Tonight, you need to stay here with me."

He looks at you adoringly before pertaining back to his state. "You sure? I mean, I'm filthy." He takes a whiff where he stands, smelling how bad he reeks.

Having grown rather used to his little messes, they don't bother you. "You can use my shower," you taking his hand, guiding him through your bedroom into the bathroom. "Take as long as you need. I'll leave you a towel and something to wear."

"Thank you." He whispers, "I would kiss you right now, but I don't want to get you dirty."

Smiling, you place your hand on his cheek. Slowly going in for a sweet kiss. Lingering a bit when you draw back, licking your lips. "I don't mind a little dirty." You tease pulling away to leave the room. "Call if you need anything, I'll be right in the other room."

He nods bashfully before you shut the door. Giving him privacy to wash the remains of today's terrible events down the drain.

End of part 6. I'm soft for sweet and polite Arthur🥺 We're not done, more coming up!

[sunlightdances]

Killing the Space in Between

Title: Killing the Space in Between Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Words: 2,514. Rating/Warnings: No real warnings. Rated PG. Summary: The theme for this challenge is “nostalgia”, so here’s my take on it: this takes place after Civil War, but Bucky doesn’t go to Wakanda right away. The gang's all healing together. Enter our Reader. Prompt: “Are we on a date right now?” Author’s Note: Written for @whirlybirbs​’ Endgame Fic Challenge! Thanks for hosting, Hope! I love your writing and am so pumped you’re gonna be reading something of mine. Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel, Bucky Barnes, or any other characters/plots from the MCU. I don't own the song “Closer to You” by Carly Pearce, which inspired the title. I also don’t have any knowledge about Manhattan, so please suspend your disbelief for this fic, please and thanks. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my permission! This includes AO3 and Wattpad. Reblogs are fine and encouraged, tbh!

Bucky Barnes has sweaty palms.

Well, one sweaty palm. He would chuckle at his own joke if he wasn’t so nervous, glancing down to where you’re practically pressed against him on the train.

The train lurches as it comes screeching to a stop, and he grits his teeth as you sway against him, sending him an apologetic smile as he automatically wraps an arm around your shoulder, steadying you.

God. He’d be ready to flee if you weren’t so nice and so warm and looking at him-- oh. You’ve been talking, he realizes, and he feels so off kilter. He can’t stand it, but sort of in a good way.

“Sorry,” his voice is gruff even to his own ears. “What did you say?”

“I was just saying thanks for agreeing to come with me. I know you don’t like crowds.”

But I like you, he wants to say. He doesn’t. “Sure, it’s no problem.” He makes a face at himself when you’re not looking. That’s all he could come up with? God. Sam is never going to let him hear the end of this. Steve either, for that matter. If word gets back to them about what an awkward idiot he turns into around you, he’s finished.

He’s still a little unclear on where you’re taking him, but he jumped at the chance to get out of the Tower for a day. It’s a little suffocating there. He knows everyone is trying to help him, but there’s still too much tension between he and Stark, and Steve’s-- he’s trying his best.

It’s hard for Bucky to know he’s disappointing his oldest friend every day he can’t pretend to be the man he was when they were in their twenties. He’s seen too much. He’s not the same person, and he knows part of Steve is always going to wish for that version of Bucky.

When Steve found him in Budapest, he barely had two weeks of being relatively back in his own head before he had to fight for his life, for the life he wanted to have.

You were there too.

A year ago…

Steve is banging on the door, Bucky’s right arm locked in his tight grip. Bucky feels woozy, he feels like his brain is being pulled apart. Steve keeps looking over his shoulder and curses under his breath before knocking again, this time harder.

The door is pulled open. You’re there, hair disheveled, a bruise blooming on your cheek and a cut on your temple. “Sorry- had to check.” You say, and then you’re ushering Steve and Bucky inside.

There are no introductions, not really.

Steve is semi-panicking. Bucky might not have a solid grasp on Steve anymore, but he can read the tension radiating off the other man.

“I need to hide him here. No one knows about this place.”

“Stark?”

“It’s his tech. That’s why I need you to stay here. He shouldn’t look for him here, but that’s the least of our problems. Someone’s tailing him - they think he set off the bomb. I’ll set the alarm when I leave--”

“Leave?!” Your voice is high pitched, “Steve--”

“I have to try.” He steps closer, voice low. It’s clearly not meant for Bucky to hear, but he does anyway. “He saved my life. We took some fire at the apartment -- he wouldn’t have done that if he was still trying to kill me and everyone else.”

You look wary, but nod. “Okay. Okay. I-- Steve, Tony’s serious about this.”

“I know.” His voice is firm, but Bucky can tell Steve’s more upset and rattled than anything else. “I have to go figure out what to do next. The only other person I want you to let through this door is Sam.”

Bucky is overwhelmed. Too many names, too much going on inside his head to make sense of. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just-- keep him comfortable.” Another step closer. Definitely not meant for Bucky to hear, “Keep your gun on you always. Don’t go anywhere without it. Don’t let your guard down.”

You swallow hard, but you don’t look scared. Bucky finds himself wanting to smile as he watches you roll your shoulders back and straighten, determined.

“Be safe, Cap.”

A squeeze of your shoulder and an indecipherable look back at Bucky, and then Steve is gone.

A few uncomfortable seconds pass before you look at him, clearly nervous but trying to hide it. “Are you hurt?” You ask, and Bucky’s knees feel weak.

When is the last time someone asked him that?

“I--” His voice is weak, rough with disuse. “I don’t know.”

“I’m a nurse,” you tell him. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but if something’s hurt, you should let me help. We might be stuck here awhile.”

His heart is hammering. He’s-- he feels fear, and he’s not used to that. He’s used to not feeling much at all. But you’re-- the kindness in your eyes is sending him spiraling. He’s afraid what he might do. He shakes his head, almost violently.

“Okay,” your voice is soft, placating, “Okay. I won’t touch you. We’ll just wait here for Steve, okay?”

Now

Bucky wonders if you’ll ever know how much of a help you were to him that day. You never did anything without his permission, but you stayed close. You respected his boundaries, and you kept an eye out for him, for any sign it was all becoming too much.

When Steve and Sam came back, it was simultaneously the worst and best thing that ever happened to him. They were on the run. There was a rogue Hydra operative trying like hell to unleash the Soldier everywhere they went.

He had to face the truth about the Starks. The fight with Tony.

But in the end, Steve offered him a home, a place to recover. That meant he had to face his past, though. He didn’t want to. He didn’t trust himself, or anyone else, even Steve.

But you were there too. You helped, and Steve’s friendship never wavered. Soon he had a tentative friendship with Natasha too, forged by a shared past that they both never liked to speak about. He had a weird, wonderful new alliance with Sam.

And you. You were-- he doesn’t want to put a name to what he’s feeling, because it’s too much, and he’s not ready for that yet. Not yet.

He forces himself back to the present.

You both walk in comfortable silence down the street, and Bucky’s so, so tempted to let his hand bump into yours, weave your fingers together, hold on tight and just let himself drown in the comfort he feels when he’s with you.

You look lovely in the early winter morning - you’re bundled up in a puffy coat, a scarf wound around your neck, and a knit hat on your head. He wants to memorize all the details of this morning and keep them locked away, so he can revisit them whenever he’s feeling lost.

“I thought we’d check this out-- the exhibit is-- I don’t know. I thought it might help.” You say, bringing his attention to where you are. The New York Historical Society. “Two of Brooklyn’s golden boys… it’s a wonder they didn’t dedicate the entire museum to the both of you.” You say, smiling, talking about him and Steve.

Bucky smiles but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think he deserves to be remembered like this.

He follows you into the museum, trying not to scowl at everyone who turns and looks in his direction, some with awe on their faces, some with clear trepidation. You insist on paying his admission, even when he protests, but the sparkle in your eyes won’t be denied.

If he wasn’t so anxious, he’d actually be really enjoying this. He’s always liked learning and history in general, and there’s so much he’s missed - he could spend hours here and never know enough.

He can tell when you’re close to the exhibit. You walk a little closer, a little slower, chewing on your bottom lip. “If you get freaked out, just say the word,” you say over your shoulder, leading him on. “We’ll get out of here the minute you say so.”

He clears his throat. “I trust you.” He says. And it’s the truth. You look momentarily surprised, but try to hide it. You’re adorable.

The exhibit is everything he hoped it would be and nothing like he expects all at once. It’s similar to the one Steve’s taken him to in Washington. It’s a little overwhelming - the music, the voiceovers… the photos. His memories come to him in flashes, more now that he’s recovering.

The exhibit with the uniforms is startling. He knows they’re replicas. Whatever happened to his blue coat after he fell… he doesn’t want to know. But seeing it there, seeing all of them there, the Commandos… it’s a lot. He doesn’t know why he’s so emotional. But he misses them. He has flashes of laughing around a fire, of the ear-splitting sound of artillery and the adrenaline of making it out of a fight, the relief of seeing his friends alive and well.

He’s aware of your eyes on him.

You try to act like you’re looking at other exhibits, giving him space and time to take everything in at his own pace, but it’s the opposite of what he wants right now. He wants you right there beside him, he wants to grip your hand, he wants you to tell him that he’s done alright with his life, that none of this is his fault, that--

“Hey.” Your voice interrupts the beginnings of what he suspects would have been a panic attack. “Doing okay?”

He looks down at you. “Yeah.” His voice is thick with unshed tears. “I think this is enough for one day,” he says gently, still not used to saying what he’s feeling or drawing boundaries for himself. “Can we--”

“Let’s get something to eat.” You say immediately, brightly, your enthusiasm drawing the dark clouds away.

“I feel like you had ulterior motives for getting me out of the Tower,” he says, elbowing you gently.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, prim, and he laughs. It feels-- going from feeling this unavoidable sadness to cracking jokes with you… he can’t put it into words how it makes him feel. Light. Unburdened. Happy.

.

.

.

Bucky Barnes doesn’t think he’s being dramatic when he says this is the best meal he’s ever eaten in his entire life.

He’s got the biggest slice of pizza, and you. You’re across from him, smiling as he tells you about the stupid shit he and Steve used to get up to in their Brooklyn neighborhood, your head propped up in your hand as you hang on his every word.

This is-- it’s a day he never dreamed he would have.

He knows he still has to face the music in terms of his recovery. There’s the trigger words, and whatever other shit they put in his head that he’s got to find a way to get a hold on. But he feels better knowing he actually has people on his side that want to help him.

Steve’s been talking about the Avengers. About Bucky, and having a place for him there, for as long as he wants one. He’s been talking about helping people, saving people… it seems like a dream.

And then there’s you.

You’re always there, eyes shining like diamonds, a bright smile there to greet him whenever he comes into a room. If you were ever afraid of him, you hid it well. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for anything than he is for meeting you, your friendship, and your gentle affection.

He wants to-- he wants to tell you things. He wants to say things to you that are probably too much, too soon, but he wants to say them anyway. He wants to tell you that his heart beats faster when you’re around. He wants to tell you that he thinks about you all the time.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, eyes on your plate as you grab another slice.

“Are we on a date right now?” He blurts, and immediately regrets it. Your wide eyes meet his, and god, he wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. “You don’t have to answer that. Sorry--”

“Do you-- do you want it to be a date?” You ask, sounding a little nervous yourself, and Bucky can feel the spirit of his mother practically smacking him in the back of the head for being such an idiot.

But the truth? He does want this to be a date. He’s scared as hell. But still, he wants it.

“Can I tell you something embarrassing?” You ask, not waiting for him to answer. Letting him off the hook.

He nods.

“I have the biggest crush on you.” There’s a blush on your cheeks and you duck your head, and Bucky has never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his entire life. “I know this is the worst timing -- you’re still going through so much, and I’m so happy just to be in your life--”

“I--” He interrupts you, not even sure what he wants to say, but knowing he can’t let you think that he doesn’t want you. “I like you.” He admits, and can hear Steve’s snort of amusement in his head. He’s Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The Fist of HYDRA. And he tells you he likes you?!

That blush is still there on the apples of your cheeks though, so he takes it as a good sign. “I’m not… sure how to do this anymore. It’s been awhile.” He says, wry, and beams at you when you laugh in return. “I just know that I like the way I feel when I’m with you.”

You reach for his hand across the table, slowly, giving him enough time to move away if he wants to. He absolutely doesn’t.

“I feel that way about you, too.” You tell him. “We-- we can go as slow as you want. We don’t even have to do anything else besides this.”

“I can think of a few other things I’d like to do.” Bucky replies quickly, and there he is. The James Buchanan Barnes he thinks he was once, the one who was confident and sure.

“That was terrible,” you say, but the smile on your face is worth it. He thinks he’d do anything to see you smile like that more often. Your face and your voice softens, “Let’s just take it one day at a time, okay?”

On the way home, there’s absolutely no space between the two of you as you walk to the train station, hands clasped tightly together. No space between you on the train either, one of his arms slung around your shoulders as you sit.

He’s going to walk you to your room tonight, but he won’t kiss you. Not yet. He’ll save that for another day.

One day at a time, he thinks. One day at a time.

.

.

There's a diamond sky that's waiting for us just outside of town With the moon hanging for me and you, baby We can cut the headlights out when there ain't no one else around Kill the space in between, slide across that leather seat Heart to heart, face to face, you know all I wanna do Is get closer, closer, closer to you

[gboxventspace]

man. i hate how unfamiliar with being uncomfortable I am. i hate how afraid of it I am. im tired but im not, not enough to put my phone down for more than 30 seconds lest i be left to my thoughts. fuck. i can't even form coherent anxious thoughts rn, im just uncomfortable and upset and dont know how to cope with it.

i don't have the energy to explain it all here, but basically I just can't handle being a disappointment? it's one thing to know you are, it's another to be told so straight up. i try to spend time with my mom but it's either really nice or really not, either she's great or she's angry and there's no in between. I go out to hang with her bc we're both awake late at night, it's good for a few minutes, then she's going off about how disappointed she is in me and demanding explanations for things that both are and aren't her business at once, I'm upset and confused and just left

but I can't stop thinking about it, how much it feels like a punch to the gut. how much is my fault? how much isn't? idk but it hurts and I'm tired and i wish i was stronger. I wish living didnt hurt. I wish I could do basic things, basic responsibilities, without it being such a Big Deal in my brain, without it weighing on me. life is exhausting. and it never stops, does it? never. fucking hydra. do one thing and two more pop up. it never ends, apparently you just... get better at it? it's tiring, everyone agrees, but you keep trucking along anyway? what the fuck. I hate it. I don't want to. Let me be a petulant child, let me stomp my foot and cross my arms and pout and refuse. I don't want life to be like this. but im so spoiled, y'know? I'm a fucking spoiled child. I don't know real hardship. I've faced issues, I've faced challenges, and those were real. but they were fuck all compared to other stuff. why compare? I shouldn't, I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it.

I like life when it's easy. I'm happy when things are easy and taken care of for me. And then I'm so upset and crack under even the SLIGHTEST pressure. there's no choice, really, is there? live and suffer. life is suffering. there's good in it, but you gotta trudge through so much shit to get it. is it worth it? I'm tired. life isn't fair and I depsise myself for whining about that. everyone suffers, everyone deals with it. the happy people are happy bc they see their shit and choose to be happy anyway... I'm not there yet. I've tried to be, growing up, been mature and responsible and The Good Child and allowed myself to be back seat. yet I haven't. fuck, so many things contradict and it's all too much, so much, why is life full of nuance and exceptions? contradictions? why can't things be simple? they're not, I need to grow up and accept that. but I'm not ready yet. but I'll never be ready, nobody's ever ready, and just hhhhhhhhh

i hate spirals like this, where i can't settle on any sort of conclusion, any closing, other than "this sucks and is exhausting". a good position could be reached, theoretically, but my brain's just so eager to jump all over itself and jumble everything up to make sure I don't forget anything, can't have someone reading my mind and judging my thoughts for being biased and incomplete or poorly argued.

I want something that can stop my thoughts, or at least slow them down. weed doesn't really do that much. it makes distractions work more easily, but then being alone is worse. maybe alcohol? I've never really tried. im afraid of messing up, giving myself away, doing something stupid, but i just want to find a way to stop. stop thinking, stop it stop it s t o p i t. im overwhelmed, and by what? basic shit. being told she's disappointed in me for something I both care a lot about but also don't. I'm conflicted and confused, but more than anything I'm just fucking tired. what does she want from me..?

12-16-19 4:02 am

[goodlucktai]

Nishinatsu 25+21??

two-part drabble game25: being somewhere you’re not supposed to be+ 21: “they’re wrong about you.”

i got 2 requests for nishinatsu + 21, you guys know me so well (ꈍ◡ꈍ)♡ 

x

Somehow, they got off on the wrong station. Kitamoto’s voice is loud where it’s coming out of Nishimura’s cellphone on speaker – not quite frantic but certainly agitated, because it’s late and it’s getting dark, and Nishimura and Takashi are more than a little lost. 

“Just,” their friend says, “find someplace and stay there, okay? Like, an internet cafe or something. We’ll get off at the next station and double back.”

“Tell him we’re sorry,” Takashi puts in quickly, anxious at how upset they’ve made him. Nishimura just rolls his eyes. 

“It was an accident,” he says instead, with deliberate enunciation, like it’ll change Kitamoto’s perspective to hear that excuse for the fourth time. “Jeez, Acchan, lighten up.” 

Before Kitamoto can reply to that the way Takashi can guess he would like to, Tanuma takes over from the other end and says, “Natsume, you left Ponta,” like the fat cat is a shield or a talisman he wandered off into certain danger without. Despite himself, the note of worry in his friend’s voice over so small a thing makes Takashi smile.

“Keep an eye on him for me,” he leans in to say, and he doesn’t know if he’s talking to Tanuma about Nyanko-sensei or perhaps the other way around. “I’ll see you soon.” 

It isn’t unsettling to be out in the dark. Takashi has spent a lot of nights by himself in parks or the woods or just walking through empty streets, and it’s never really bothered him. There are just as many monsters around when the sun is out, after all, that’s something he knew as a child. 

So when they pass under a flickering streetlight, and the shadows jump and stretch like a living thing, and Nishimura shivers a little and presses into his side, Takashi just smiles.

“Cute,” he says mildly, purely for the sake of Nishimura’s deeply offended squawk, and the way he blushes so hard it’s easy to see even in the low light. And then Takashi can’t help laughing at him, and that only makes it worse.  

“You’re a jerk,” Nishimura mutters, not nearly as annoyed as he would like Takashi to believe. “Hold my hand, you jerk.” 

So they head down the street hand-in-hand, and Nishimura jumps at every innocuous nighttime noise, and Takashi is still smiling as they round the corner and almost walk headlong into a couple of strangers. 

“Oh, sorry,” he says automatically, and the man lifts his head from where it was buried in his phone and – 

Oh. Not strangers. Takashi goes tense before he can help it, staring up into a pair of faces that haunted him for months after he left their care. His breath stutters. 

“S- “ He swallows and tries again. “Sorry. We’ll just – “ 

“I don’t believe it,” the woman says, sounding surprised in an unpleasant way. She’s a cousin, he thinks. Her name was – Kotone? He can’t remember, she didn’t like when he called her by her name. What was he supposed to call her instead? Obasan? 

He’s floundering. His chest hurts. 

“What the hell are you doing back here?” her husband says. Kenta, and his voice is �� a nightmare, given shape and sound, and Takashi ducks his head before he can think better of it. 

The years fall away and fall away and he’s seven years old again, small and scared under their cold eyes. The air between them is tense, and they seem to be waiting for an answer from him, so he says, “We got lost.” 

“Of course you did,” Kotone says, world-weary. “You never change, do you? Good for nothing kid.” 

Takashi stares, unseeing, at the pavement beneath his feet. 

He’s lived in Hitoyoshi for two years now, has found a loving family, made friends with wonderful people, cultivated the kind of reckless courage he needed to ask Nishimura out on their first date nearly six months ago. He has more now than he ever has. His days are warm and sunny and infinitely precious, like pages torn out of some fairy tale book.

But he still has nightmares.

Sometimes he dreams that he never left those dark places that plagued him as a child. Sometimes he dreams he’s still with Kenta and Kotone, that he still has to wear long sleeves to school and go to bed hungry, that he stays out long after the street lights come on and plays with stray cats in empty parks until a concerned passerby makes him go home. Sometimes he dreams Shigeru and Touko don’t want him anymore, or can’t keep him anymore, and he goes back to that cold house because no one else will take him, and he loses all the wonderful things he has now.

And yet – despite how many bad dreams he’s had that started this way, despite all the variations of this same scenario that he’s envisioned in his lowest moments – this one is almost immediately something new. 

Because Nishimura is jolting a step forward and his expression is so angry it takes Takashi’s breath away. It cuts through the dark cloud of noxious fear in Takashi’s brain like a bolt of white lightning. 

“What did you say?” Nishimura demands, his voice too loud in the still of the night. They’re in a residential neighborhood, all but standing in front of someone’s home, and Takashi knows what it sounds like when he’s only going to get louder. “Good for nothing?”

It’s like they didn’t notice him beside Takashi until he spoke up, because Kotone and Kenta both shoot him startled looks. 

“Hey, tone it down – “ Kenta starts, eyebrows furrowing, but Nishimura is having none of it.

He was terrified of every dark corner a moment ago, but he’s fearless now, standing between Takashi and two of Takashi’s biggest fears like it’s the only place he belongs. 

“Say it again,” he says, scowling up at them. He never let go of Takashi’s hand, and his grip is so hard it almost hurts. Speechless, Takashi holds on just as tight, like he might fall if he lets go. “Go ahead. I wanna hear everything you have to say about Natsume, so start from the beginning. How old was he when you knew him? Ten? Eight?”

Something uncomfortable is settling on their faces now, and Kotone glances over her shoulder, as if expecting a judgmental neighbor to be watching the altercation from a row of hedges.

“Tell me,” Nishimura goes on, heated and fierce, too loud, all but filling the empty street. “Tell me what he did that was so terrible. Tell me what he did that made you hate him.”

“That’s enough,” Kenta says, sharp, trying to wrestle back control of this rapidly spiraling conversation. “Didn’t anyone teach you to respect your elders?”

“Nope,” Nishimura says with mean glee. “My big brother only taught me to respect my betters. Tough luck.”

Takashi stops breathing. Even Kotone’s face goes slack with shock at this russet-haired slip of a boy’s daring. Kenta’s mouth twists into an ugly frown, but at about that time a light goes on in the house nearest them. Kotone grabs Kenta’s arm, her desire to leave transparent. 

Heart in his throat, Takashi tugs Nishimura back and away from them as they shove their way past. “Go back to wherever you came from,” Kenta spits out, and then he and his wife are gone. 

Nishimura is trembling in the circle of Takashi’s arm. Takashi thinks he’ll have bruises on his hand tomorrow, an imprint of this moment, of how hard Nishimura held onto him. When he risks a glance at his boyfriend, he’s startled to find tears in Nishimura’s eyes. 

“They’re wrong about you,” he says, and his voice breaks. The brightest thing in Takashi’s whole life, and he’s crying, pressing the heel of his free hand into his eyes, like he can push back the wetness there if he digs in hard enough. “Natsume,” he sobs, helplessly angry, and Takashi pulls him in as close as he can. 

Shaken, but for a different reason than he might have been otherwise. 

“You’re – impossible,” he barely manages, wide-eyed and wondering. “I can’t believe you.” 

The gate behind them opens with a whine, and a middle-aged woman leans out with a look of concern on her face. She glances behind them sharply, and back again, and says, “Are you boys okay? I heard shouting. Was someone giving you trouble?”

“They’re gone,” Takashi tells her. A few more reassurances send her reluctantly back inside, and Takashi can focus on the task at hand. He rubs his hands up and down Nishimura’s back, trying to coax him back. “Right, Nishimura? They’re gone, we’re okay.” 

“Don’t comfort me,” Nishimura snaps wetly, rubbing harder at his face with his sleeve. “I’m – I should be – that’s my job.”

It should be impossible after what just happened – and if someone asked Takashi ten years ago, he would have told them so – but somehow, despite himself, Takashi laughs. It starts shaky, but it finds its feet as it goes, and it leaves him smiling. 

When Kitamoto and Tanuma find them an hour later, seated outside at a late-night cafe with a bubble tea and a plate of soft cream buns split between them, Nishimura’s eyes are still puffy and red-rimmed, but they’re watching a video on his phone that has them leaning on each other in their laughter, so their friends roll their eyes and assume the sorry state they’re in is their own fault. 

And if Nishimura holds onto him a little tighter than usual on their way back home, it’s not so strange. Everyone knows that Nishimura is afraid of the dark, and that Takashi is indulgent enough to hold his hand. 

[5hfanfiction]

Flowers on my doorstep - Chapter 6

**Trigger Warning for Domestic abuse**

A/N: Here you go my lovelies. I hope you like this one, i re-wrote so many parts and if I kept going you would never have gotten the next chapter, so here it is. Bask in all its unperfected glory 😂 Anyway enjoy.

Wattpad: MidnightCrossings

I woke up in a panicked sweat, the first one since I’d moved here, along with seething pain running through my joints and head as I looked around the room for her, whilst quickly lifted my hand to the same place I had in the nightmare slash flashback, I’m not sure what is was because it felt real and some things had happened.

I felt no blood on my head when I touched it only the small outline of the faint scar that was covered by my hair.

Last year when I was in rehab I learnt the simple trick of flipping my hair over to one side just to hide the tip of the scar that ended just past my hairline. It was thin so not many people noticed it other than my doctors and family who already knew about it.

Just thinking about them made me miss them. Especially Normani I felt so guilty for everything I had done to her. For everything I had put her through when she was only trying to help me. I needed to here her voice. So I quickly grabbed my phone and called her up, just to hear her voice and know she wasn’t mad at me, even though she probably was.

The phone rang a few times, before it picked up.

“Lauren? Hi babes. Is everything okay?? I missed you.” Normani rushed out and I could hear the slight panic in her voice being that it was in the early hours of the morning. Her constant state of panic was all down to me. It was my fault. Everything was my fault.

“Manibear.” I breathed a sign of relief at her voice because she didn’t seem angry, just worried. So I know I didn’t annoy her, but I couldn’t tell if she was still upset with me at least not over the phone. This is why I don’t like phones. It made people confusing.

“Lo? Are you okay?” She asked again, desperate for some relief of stress I caused her.

“Um..y-yeah. I dunno. A-Are you mad at me?” I asked hesitantly.

“No Lolo, why would I be mad at you? Where are you? Are you safe? Please tell me you’re safe.” My best friend for life worried.

“I’m in my room. I’m safe, Don’t w-worry.” I said but looking around my room regardless, in a state of permanent paranoia as per usual. “Are you sure you’re not mad at me? Because I had a dream that we were at a party and you was-”

“Lauren. You listen to me.” The older girl demanded. “I am not mad at you. I was never made at you. That day was a bad day for everybody, okay? So don’t feel guilty or beat yourself up over it because Lucy is a psycho and it’s her fault. Not yours. And you don’t deserve to keep reliving those memories.”

“But she said-”

“Lauren. I don’t care what she said, listen to what I’m saying. ITS. NOT. YOUR. FAULT. It was never your fault.”

I didn’t say anything because I knew it would be a lie to say I didn’t believe that. Instead I shifted uncomfortably and groaned in discomfort still feeling that dull pain running through my body that obviously wasn’t from the nightmare.

“What’s the matter?” Normani asked instantly.

“Nothing.” I lied.

“Lo talk to me, please. I can’t help you if you keep shutting me out.” Normani said thinking it was more of an emotional issue than a physical issue. She was always good with the emotional stuff, not so much the physical, because she couldn’t help me with that. There was not fixed solution to my state.

“I’m not s-shutting you out Normani.” I huffed, “I’m just…in pain.” I confessed quietly feeling ashamed for not healing and getting better like I should have.

“What Lauren? Where? Are you okay? You haven’t hit your head have you cause you know what the doctors said about tha-”

“Calm down, It’s not that. My h-head is f-fine…kind of.” I soothed her worries in a pathetic attempt.

“What do you mean kind of? Stop evading the question and jut tell me, otherwise I’ll worry and assume the worst and call your parents-”

“W-What the f-fuck?! Normani no!” I stopped her angrily. Why would she do that?

“Then tell me…”

“It’s just headaches and I’ve got this pain throughout my body…I’m not used to this Normani. I don’t think I can do it. It’s-its just so hard.” I burst into tears not being able to hold back the flood gates of emotion. “I’m trying to be p-positive. I p-p-promise I am, b-but everything..is..s-s-so m-m-much harder than before.” I curled up crying into the phone wishing I could disappear into my friends arms, knowing she would look after me. She was the only one who ever had and I had just pushed her away and ignored her and inevitably hurt her.  “I w-wish I could go back, Normani. I r-really do.”

“No lolo, you don’t. It’s going to be okay. I promise. Nothing is worth you going back to that abuse piece of trash.” Normani said, insulting my girlfriend.

“Yes I d-do, because she loved m-me. She’s the only one who’s ever going to love me, N-Normani. Don’t you, understand?! No one will ever love me like t-this. I don’t even love me like this. I just want to go back to how things were, Mani…it hurts so bad. It hurts everywhere.” I cried clinging onto my knees and trying to lock out the pain in my muscles and the amplified headache due to the crying I couldn’t stop, “I just want it to go away.” I sobbed, feeling hot tears trickle down my face and my bottom lip quiver uncontrollably as I felt my emotions spiral out of control.

“Lauren. Listen to me okay?” She paused but I didn’t have the energy to reply as I clung to myself, with insistent paranoia creeping down my back the same time I cried my eyes out. It was too much I couldn’t deal with it all.

“I’m going to assume you’re listening. You’re going to get through this. You know why?” She paused again for a brief second. “Because you are the strongest person I know Lauren. Look how much you have survived: Getting kicked out of your own house, putting up with a psychotic abusive girlfriend who stole everything from you, A BRAIN INJURY! Lauren you are a survivor. When life tried to take everything from you, you took it all back., but none of those things matter if you don’t do something with them. If you don’t fight, baby. I know it’s hard and I know- I know it hurts right now, but it won’t last-”

“But w-what if it d-does? I can’t live like this.” I choked out deathly afraid of everything in my life right now.

“It will,” she insisted so much that I nearly believed her. Nearly. “And you won’t be doing this alone okay? I’m with you. Every step of the way.” Normani promised with such sincerity that I couldn’t help but find comforter in her words.

“M-Manibear?” I spoke after a few moments of silence and I slowed my tears.

“Yeah Lo?”

“Will you stay on the phone wit me until I fall asleep? I’m scared of being on my own.”

“Of course. Get some sleep sweetie. I’ll be right here, okay?”

“Okay Mani. I’m sorry, goodnight.” I said yawning and closing my eyes sinking back into a deep sleep, but not before I heard Normani whisper through the phone.

“I’m sorry too Lolo. I wish I could have saved you.”

-

I awoke to the sound of my alarm buzzing and severe discomfort from falling asleep on my couch not to mention the muscle pain I was experiencing all over my body. But nevertheless I got up collected my stuff and marched out my room towards the showers which were luckily empty on my floor with the exception of one girl- wait, I knew that mane of curly blonde hair.

“D-D-Dinah?” I croaked out still with a heavy morning voice. Oh and did I mention my stutter was worse in the mornings? Well yeah it was, you’re lucky if you get one coherent sentence out of me.

“The one the only. What’s up flower girl?” She spoke without looking up from applying the liquid eyeliner to her eye.

“H-H-How..D-D-D-Did y-y-you…Kn..know it w-was m-m-me?” I asked wanting to throw myself out of the nearest top window because of my dump speech impediment.

“You’re s-s-s-stutter.” Dinah mocked out laughing and hurting my feelings, making me want to cry.

“Oh.” I said quietly moving to the shower cubicle and turning it on, before hanging my towels over the top of the door so I could reach them later on.

“Why do you stutter?” She asked out of nowhere breaking the silence as I went about my morning activities preparing for the long day. I didn’t quite know what to say so I found myself fidgeting awkwardly on the spot looking for an answer. I didn’t want to tell her because she seemed like the type to make fun of me for it and I don’t know if I could cope with that seeing as I’ve never had to deal with that before because once I woke up I spent ages in hospital around doctors and nurses, before being moved to a rehab facility filled with other people like me as well as my family who were aware of what happened. So I didn’t know what to say. I trusted Camila because- well, I don’t know why. It just felt right.

“You’re not going to tell me are you?” She laughed.

“I….d-don’t…w-want..you..to..b-be..m-mean to..m-me.” I confessed, not really sure of the right thing to say. I was never sure of the right thing to say anymore. Things were confusing, I couldn’t read people as well as I used to be able to.

“Why would I be mean?  I’m friends with Camila and you don’t get weirder than that.”

“Be..cause….s-she…has O..C..D?” I remembered but then felt worried that I’d said the wrong thing. Was that a secret I was supposed to keep? What if other people didn’t know and Camila got angry at me?

“No, because she’s a weirdo.” Dinah laughed again. “Couldn’t you tell from all the bad jokes she was telling yesterday?”

“I-I…thought they w-w-were f-funny.” I said feeling my speech starting to improve and sound less slurred with the more I spoke.

“Interesting.” She hummed. “You should get in your shower before it gets cold, the water here sucks.” Dinah said turning around to finish her make up.

“O-okay.” I said turning around, entering the cubicle slipping off my clothes and hanging them with my towel before stepping under the warm water, instantly feeling my tense muscles relax. I’d stay in here all day if I could. Honestly, anything that relieved the pain these days was a blessing sent from heaven.

As I showered I heard Dinah dotting around the room singing to herself and I wondered why she was even up here as opposed to the bathroom on her floor, but let it go turning to wash the conditioner out of my hair and feeling my hand graze the scar on my hairline as I did so…it was an ever reminder.

“So…Lauren? What are you intentions with Mila?” Dinah’s voice floated over the door as I showered.

“Huh?” I asked confused.

“Yes, what do plan on doing with her?” Dinah asked in an overly serious voice that reminded me of my dad.

“Um- s-s-she is going to teach me to p-p-play the piano.” I told her honestly because that was the only thing I could think of that we had planned.

“But Mila can’t play the piano…” Dinah informed me drifting off.

“She s-s-s-said she’d..h-h-help me…t-though.” I said disheartened, why would she say that if she couldn’t help? Feeling upset I finished my shower in silence ignoring the younger girls presence and washing the conditioner out of my hair, shutting off the water and grabbing my towel off of the door and exiting the bathroom hearing footsteps following after me.

“I feel bad,” Dinah said appearing at my side, “How about you get dry and we can go down and talk to Camila?” Dinah offered awfully sincerely.

“Um- okay.” I agreed, opening my door. “D-D-Do you wanna w-w-wait inside whilst I g-get c-c-c-changed?” I offered stepping inside.

“Yeah, sure.” The blonde girl said following after me until I disappeared into my bedroom to get dressed.

*Dinah’s POV*

“I guess I’ll just wait here then.” I spoke after the green eyed girl, who disappeared through the door with a one track mind, plopping down onto the couch.

“Lauren? Lolo?” A voice called out making me jump to the high heavens.

“What the heck?!” I cursed out looking around startled and seeing no one.

“Well you’re definitely not Lauren.” The voice spoke up again.

“Am I being punk’d or something? Because this isn’t funny Ally.” I called out into the empty room.

“I have no idea who Ally is or why she would punking you, but can you please pick up the phone and give it to Lauren.” The articulate female voice spoke out once more, sounding slightly bemused.

“Phone? Wait what?” I questioned looking around before I saw the silver iPhone slipped between the crack of the sofa and picked it up. “Hello?” I questioned feeling like a crazy lady, maybe it was all the voodoo stuff Lauren had lying around this place.

“Hi.” The voice spoke annoyed and I could almost feel the eye roll from the other side of the phone. “Where’s Lauren?”

“Okay good I’m not crazy. Lauren’s just getting dressed.” I told the stranger slightly apprehensively, because I felt the need to look out for our new stuttering mess of a friend, who was actually quite sweet and adorable but also terrifying. Like, terrifying in the the way that when someone gives you a new born baby that you can’t stop from crying.

Lauren was a baby and for some reason I seemed to keep making her cry. Both metaphorically and literally.

“Why wasn’t she dressed in the first place?! And why the heck is some girl in her room first thing in the morning? Unless you wanna catch these hands you better start talking and praying to god I’m forgiving, because if you’ve touched a single hair on that girl’s head. I will come for you.” The mysterious voice threatened scaring the shit out of me.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up-”

“Bitch you hold up! I swear to god I’ll-” just in perfect timing Lauren emerged from her room fully dressed, however her blue stripped shirt was buttoned up unevenly, but I was going to be the one to point that out and risk her crying. Again.

“Lauren take this!” I said shoving the phone into her hand not even giving her the chance to agree as her friend continued throwing threatening insults through the phone “…you better start your prays now girl. I mean it! Imma set my boys on you as well. Do you want me to fuck you up?!! Cause I am about to start swinging…” the insults kept on coming, echoing through the phone as Lauren looked at me confusedly then back at the phone. “M-Manibear?”

“Oh lolo hi! Like I was saying bitch- wait Lo?”The incessant voice finally paused her death threats.

“Yeah. W-Why are you y-yelling…at..m-m-my..friend? Lauren asked the terrifying voice.

"Friend? Like ‘let’s go shopping together, braid each other’s hair’ type of friend?”

“Yeah, what other kind would their be?” Lauren questioned confused as to why the unseen girl was mad.

“Oh nevermind, nevermind…so she didn’t sleep with you?” The voice asked directly cause me to choke on my spit and burst out laughing. At least that answered my question from yesterday.

“No..D-Dinah’s…bedroom..is d-d-downstairs.” Lauren explained innocently, completely missing the implication, in that naive way she does.

“No Lolo that’s not what I- forget it.”The girl dismissed making me laugh even harder. “Bitch you can still shut the fuck up!” She yelled at me through the phone making me actually 'shut the fuck up’.

“Normani, d-don’t s-s-speak…to my…f-f-friends…like t-that please. It’s not very n-nice.” Lauren spoke like a parent reprimanding their kid. This whole interaction was actually incredibly amusing to watch, ya know, if I wasn’t being verbally attacked.

“Sorry babes.” The girl on the other end apologised instantly, clearly willing to do whatever Lauren told her to do. If Lauren hadn’t previously told me her name and explained their friendship I would have totally assumed they were dating.

“D-Dinah too.” She demanded causing the other girl to grown frustratedly.

“Fine. Sorry Dinah.” She sang out like a child.

“Good.” Lauren smiled clapping her hands together and inevitably dropping the phone onto the hard wood floor. “S-s-shit!” She cursed, bending down to quickly grab the device and when she came up I noticed a scar on the top side of her head as her hair was thrown out of place.

I guess she noticed me looking, because she instantly flipped her hair back over the scar to hide it, before shifting her attention nervously back to the phone. “S-S-sorry, I d-d-dropped it.” Lauren spoke into the phone that was now pressed against her ear and taken off of speaker so I was unable to her; which was probably a good thing due to the amount of slander I was getting from someone I didn’t even know.

“Y-yeah they are n-nice. I h-have. Only one.” Lauren spoke in broken fragments of a conversation with the other girl on the line. “Yeah, th-thank you for l-last n-night Mani.” The dark haired girl spoke sincerely.

“Ooh kinky.” I commented smirking and Lauren looked at me with confusion.

“Alright, I’ll t-talk t-to y-y-you later. Promise.” The green eyes said, finishing up her goodbyes and hanging up the phone. “C-can we go S-S-see Cam-Cam-Camila now?” Lauren asked, stuttering severely over Camila’s name as her eyebrows furrowed up in concentration.

Honestly, not only was I genuinely interested Lauren’s behaviour and stutter I was also fascinated from a medical point of view. I had never ever really met someone who had any sort of life issues before and judging by Lauren’s permanent state of stuttering and slurred speaking I’d assume she had a medical issue, well it was either that of she’s an alcoholic.

“Okey dokey.” I said as Lauren grabbed her pile of books and excited the room. “Do you want me to carry that?” I offered as we made our way gently down the stairs which Lauren was concentrating intensely on. Again resembling a young child.

“N-No, that’s..alr-r-right.” She said looking down with her tongue poking out between her teeth.

“Girl. Please, don’t even- just gimme those books.” I said taking them from her hands before she fell down and broke her neck.

“T-Thank you.” Lauren said flinching and complying, whilst scaring the life out of me because I thought she was going to cry again and I did not want a repeat of last time. I am NOT good with emotions.

“So what are your majors?” I asked the girl trying to create small talk.

“M-Music….p-performance and s-sociology, m-maybe. I’m n-not s-s-sure yet.” She told me, which was interesting because I could imagine someone as shy as Lauren getting up and performing on stage.

“How can you major in music if you can’t play the piano?” I asked pushing open my door and leading the dark haired girl into it, where Camila was lying asleep in bed. “Hold that thought.” I told Lauren and marched over to Camila’s bed and kicked the sides until she stirred. “Yo! Mila, you’ve gotta wake up. We have a visitor.” I spoke excessively loudly, making her groan in annoyance and myself laugh as she lifted her bed head up from the pillow.

“Nooo. Dinah I don’t have class this morning. Let me sleep.” She complained shoving her hand into my should in a pathetic attempt to push me away.

“But flower girl’s here to see you.” I whispered into her ear.

“What?! Shit! Fuck.” Camila exclaimed sitting up, flattening her hair and diving out of bed. Of course it wasn’t long before she made her way back to the bed and folded and unfolded the corner of her duvet three times fixedly, like she did every morning, and made her way over to an awaiting Lauren, feeling embarrassed. So I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, letting her know it was okay and she didn’t need to feel bad about it. It’s what she needed to cope, granted some days it would get annoying, but what were friends for?

Now standing in front of Lauren Camila was refusing to make eye contact and stared at the carpeted floor with red cheeks.

“So, both Lauren and I were wondering how you were planning on helping her play the piano if you can’t actually play yourself?” I questioned my best friend skeptically.

“Um- well I know how to play a little bit and Lauren already knows how, so we just need to brush up on some skills with a little practice.” Camila said finally looking up at Lauren.

“Are you…s-s-sure…you..c-can h-help me?” Lauren asked, “If not I can ask m-miss Parrish.” The older girl began to back track and make over plans.

“No! No, no, no.” Camila interrupted, “I promised to help you and I will. How about next period? I can meet you after class and we can head over to the music room?”

“Um- o-okay.” Lauren agreed nodding her head, looking slightly happier. “I actually don’t have a lesson this morning. I have to g-g-go to a…ph…ph…ph..physio….t-t-therapy session.” Lauren mumbled looking away from me, like she didn’t want me to hear. So I quickly made myself look busy with packing my bag and acting like I wasn’t listening.

“Oh okay. Well that’s okay. I can meet you afterwards? Seeing as I don’t have a class until late this afternoon. Is everything okay though?” Camila asked in a hushed tone making me feel like she already knew more than I did, which wasn’t really surprising seeing as they seemed to have hit it off right away and were already acting like best friends, which was good to see considering Camila didn’t usually branch out and make new friends with other people.

“Al-alright.” Lauren agreed to the new arrangements quickly, but hesitating at responding to the rest. “I -um, have t-t-to go f-f-for check up-ps to h-help me g-get better.” She whispered, peeking my interest more.

“Thats good, I guess. Are you alright though? You seem to be stuttering more than usual.” Camila pointed out my earlier observation.

“Y-yeah,” Lauren looked down to the floor.

(Honestly this was one of the weirdest friendships I’d ever seen considering neither one of them could make eye contact for more than five seconds.)

“It’s w-worse when I w-wake up-p. Muscles are a-asleep.” Lauren explained, confusing me slightly. What muscles have to do with stuttering, I had no idea. But I was more than willing to find out, because this shit fascinated me to no end.

-

*Laurens POV*

I arrived at the hospital an hour later and began walking through the long white corridors until I came across a section signed 'Physiotherapy’ and registered my arrival at the front desk they had. After this I also had a session with my new therapist, which I had been coerced into seeing as part of the agreement to let me move to Miami. But I didn’t want to tell my new friends that for fear of them thinking I was crazy. You didn’t have to be crazy to see a therapist.

I wasn’t sure which one I was more nervous about, but I knew I was nervous because my heart rate kept speeding up and my leg juggled as I sat in the waiting room chairs, staring at the stark white walls. I tried to practice my meditation breathing exercises to calm me down and they worked a bit, because my heart slowly started to calm down and I felt a wave of calm begin to was over me. That was until a man in a long white coat came out of one of the rooms and called my name. “Miss Jauregui?”

“Y-yeah. That’s m-me.” I said, standing up as normally as I could, because if I appeared normal they would let me stop coming to physiotherapy and I wouldn’t be seen as weird.

“Follow me.” He said, “We’re just down here.” He said leading me down the corridor and turning right until we came to a stop at the first door next to a room filled with exercise and physiotherapy equipment. “Take a seat Miss Jauregui.” He said holding the door open for me and guiding me into a chair opposite his desk. The room was pretty bog standard and resemble every other doctors office I had been in and out of since- since the thing happened.

The man sat opposite me on the desk and began clicking away on his computer, probably through files as I shifted nervously in my seat trying to ignore the pain in my joints that hadn’t seemed to go away. “So Lauren,” he spoke finally, in a friendly voice, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m g-good, thanks.” I lied.

“And physically?” He asked lacing his fingers together and diverting his full attention onto me.

“I’m okay.” I nodded and he paused watching me sceptically.

“Look Lauren, for this to work you are going to have to be completely honest with me.” He said taking of his rectangular glasses and folding time onto his desk. “From what I’ve read you have suffered from more than just a brain injury which is dangerous in itself. You also had broken ribs, which resulted in a punctured lung, as well as several other broken bones and fractures. So you cannot possibly tell me you are not experiencing any difficulties? Unless you’re telling the truth, because in that case I’ll alert the press now and tell them we have a miracle on our hands."  The man with progressively greying hair said breaking all small talk and niceties.

"I mean, I guess. I’ve h-had a little trouble.” I shrugged.

“Like your speech?” He said jotting it down on a small piece of paper across his desk.

“I-it’s getting better!” I insisted.

“I don’t doubt that for a second Miss Jauregui. We’re lucky you can even speak a sentence to me right now considering.” He reassured me, but now I was doubting myself maybe it was worse than I thought if people could notice it that easily. Maybe Camila was lying to spare my feelings. “And how would you say your walking is coming along? Is it better or worse?”

“Better.” I lied and he jotted it down on his pad. The truth was, yeah I could walk and stand up now, but it was hurting more than ever. Well maybe not as bad as when I first tried to stand, because that was the second most painful thing I had ever experienced. I think the first is obvious.

“Good good.” He said placing his pen down and making his way over to me. I tried not to feel uneasy as he approached me because he was there to help me, but there was always that constant paranoia that people were going to hurt me. I made a mental note to mention that to my therapist. I wasn’t going to lie to her because I actually needed help with that. “Come sit over here for me.” He instructed going through a cupboard and pulling out several pieces of equipment I recognised from my previous rehab clinic. “I’m just going to evaluate your fine motor skills and then we’ll check your reflexes before moving onto some of the bigger stuff.” He explained and I sat down on the bed leaving my feet dangling in the air as he held out the reflex rod horizontally. “Could you squeeze your hand onto this please?” He directed holding it out S I wrapped my hand around it S best as I could before squeezing.

It was harder to wrap my pinky and ring finger around it because those had suffered the most breaks, one before the incident where Lucy had slammed the car door onto my left hand and broken the bones, because I had ruined our date by falling ill, which I agree was completely my fault because if I was a good girlfriend I would have stuck it out for her, but instead I complained of my pain and made us leave, inevitably hurting Lucy’s feelings because she had put in so much effort and even went as far as choosing my clothes for me.

“Good Lauren. Now the other hand.” I switched hands, I found it easier to grip and do things with this hand, because it had suffered less damage and the only problems I suffered with it were neurological.

“Alright, now can you place your hand against this nice and flat for me and try and lift each finger individually?” He requested and I did it as best as I could, which wasn’t very good enough because I struggled to lift some as high and quickly as the others. So I tried again-

“That’s enough, Lauren. Thank yo-” he started to dismiss my attempts.

“No! Let me do it. I c-can do it.” I insisted contorting my face as I tried to shut out the pain and lift my fingers.

“Lauren, Lauren stop! Please before you do further damage to your ligaments.” He said moving the slide out from under my hand.

“No, I could have done that you didn’t give me enough time.” I nearly yelled getting upset at him for not giving me a chance and myself for not trying hard enough.

“We have plenty of time Miss Jauregui. Let’s just do a few more tests and then we can set a plan, okay?”

“O-Okay.” I grumbled still annoyed and he chuckled. “Why are y-you l-laughing?” I decided to bravely call him out on it.

“Because I have never worked with someone like you before, Miss Jauregui.” He said tapping on my knees with his tool causing my leg to jolt.

“What’s that s-s-supposed to mean?”

“That you have a determination I haven’t seen in very many of my patients.” He chuckled moving back to his computer and typing things away as I tried to ignore the throbbing of my muscles in all the places he just attacked with that stupid little tapping device.

The rest of the session went on painfully and I got progressively harder to hide my struggle as be pushed and pulled against every muscle in my body. I took everything in me not to cry from the pain so eventually we gave up and scheduled another appointment next week for the heavier stuff.

Now it was time to move over to the mental health ward and meet my new therapist. the wait was vey similar to my other and I sat there jiggling my leg until a boy around my age with brown messy hair exited a room and a young woman came out hugging him tightly saying goodbye, before fixing her gaze onto me and gesturing me to come over; giving a reassuring smile as I entered the room. This one wasn’t as bland as the other one. Instead of having certificates covering the walls it had pictures and pieces of art scattered across each wall.

The room was fairly large and had a window seat decorated with an assortment of cushions and two armchairs facing each other slightly in front of the long widow that looked onto a green patch of grass with picnic benches dotted across it.

'Hi Lauren. I’m Demi,“ The blonde woman extended a hand for me to shake, but I shook my head. there was no point pretending I was okay, not in here. I didn’t see the point therapy was the one place I could be vulnerable with out any judgement, well in therapy and with Normani, but even then all I felt was guilt for fucking Normani’s life up for the past couple of years. "Thats okay, you don’t need to shake it. Please take a seat anywhere or stand up. either’s fine I don’t mind.”

“Um-” I stood debating on where to, I didn’t want to make the wrong decision, so I ended up standing awkwardly on the spot. Demi seemed to notice this and guided me to the armchairs near the window. “How about we sit over here? I never really like sitting at a desk.” She spoke. She was good at the small talk, which I was grateful for considering I sucked at it.

So I sat down in the brown leather armchair facing the one the that Demi was now sat in. Neither one of us spoke, we just sat there in silence watching one another, Demi at me expectingly. “Not much of a talker are you Lauren?” The older woman bemused.

“N-not really. I should p-p-probably see a therapist for it.” I deadpanned.

“Aha! But you’re funny though.” she smiled waving her finger at me. Demi was by far the peppiest therapist I had so far and I’ve had four.

“S-sometimes.” I hummed, fiddling with the sleeves of my pink sweater nervously.

“Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself Lauren?” She suggested and I don’t know why but I was slowly slipping into a defensive mode throwing all previous goals out of the window.

“W-why? I-isn’t it all in those files?” I questioned, nodding to the file sat on the small circle coffee table next to her.

“Mostly, but I would like to know things from your point of view.”

“M-My girlfriend beat m-me half to d-death and now I’m retarded. What else is there to know?” I stuttered bluntly feeling all my bitter emotions rise to the surface.

“For starters don’t talk about yourself like that and please do not use those words in my room. And second I want to know about you. Your likes, hobbies and interests.” She listed off and shut down my stupid self-deprecation.

“Can’t we just g-get to the r-r-real shit?” I asked finally looking up at her. She didn’t seem angry, she just held this calm patience with me.

“Like what?” She asked.

Fucking therapist and their fucking questions.

“Like w-why I c-c-can’t stop seeing her.” I mumbled.

“What do you mean by seeing her, Lauren?” Demi asked hesitantly, almost like she thought I was meeting up with Lucy again. The thought was both a comforting and a terrifying one, because sometimes I found myself missing her and our good moments, because it wasn’t all bad, but other times I found myself scared out of my mind and constantly looking over my shoulder, praying that she wouldn’t appear.

“Every time I c-close my eyes.” I whispered. “She’s always there.”

“And how does that make you feel?” Demi asked sitting back in her chair interestedly.

“I don’t know,” I debated, “I guess it makes me f-f-feel w-wrong, because I s-s-shouldn’t be th-thinking about h-her as much as I do. But I am, I’m always thinking about her.” I confessed.

“And how does she make you feel?”

“When I c-close my eyes? In my nightmares? Now? Then? Before she s-started punishing me? After?” I questioned because Lucy made me feel a lot of different things at a lot of different times, but one feeling was consistent. Love.

“You say 'punishing’, what do you mean by that?” The therapist asked.

“Lauren…baby. I’m so sorry.” Lucy said as I laid on the floor curled up into the foetus position clutching at my stomach as I struggled to in take breath and not cry. You’d think I’d be used to this by now. “I’m sorry.” She apologised again with her voice breaking mid-way and I wanted to tell her it was okay and that she shouldn’t feel bad about it because it wasn’t her fault, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to console her. Probably because apart of me knew deep down that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t be curled up battered and bruised on my own living room floor, but here I was…again. “Lauren, I’m sorry?” She pleaded. “It was your fault, if you had done as I said I wouldn’t have punished you.”

She was right, I should have done as she said. I shouldn’t have spoken to Normani. I shouldn’t have let them in our apartment- in Lucy’s apartment, but I did and now I was getting punished, by Lucy, by God, by the universe. I must have done something really bad in my past life.

“Lauren, baby, get up.” Lucy demanded with a hidden threat beneath her soft words. So I tried to struggle to my feet, but the pain along my abdomen knocked me to floor again. “Jesus Christ! Lauren. Get. Up.” She demanded with a kick to my stomach knocking all the air out of my lungs causing me to splutter as I gasp for breath.

I had to get up.

I shuffled to my knees and placed a shaky hand to the ground and began pushing myself back up, but I fell to the ground again and this time I couldn’t hold back the flood of tears as I failed to do what she wanted. I couldn’t take anymore.

“You know what fine Lauren. If this is how you are going to be. I’m leaving.” She said, turning and storming out the door as I laid on the floor and breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the click of the door signalling it had closed and Lucy had left.

Demi clicked at her pen as she stared at me fixated and waited for me to answer her question. “I-I don’t know.” I told her unable to explain, because even in my mind it didn’t make sense. No matter how hard I tried to make sense of it or understand where Lucy was coming from. “S-S-Sometimes I wouldn’t do w-what she wanted or I’d do it w-wrong and she’d get, you know, mad.” I tried as best as I could.

“Do you think you deserved to be 'punished’?”

“I…d-does that even matter?!” I snapped knowing what the right answer was, but also knowing I couldn’t give it.

Demi huffed sadly before sitting forward in her armchair and giving me that very same look she had since I entered the room, like she could see directly through me. I didn’t like it. It made me feel vulnerable. “Lauren what she did to you, was never down to you. It was never your fault. It was hers and I think deep down you know that.” She told me sternly and I could help but sink back feeling both ashamed and intimidated.

“I should have stopped her though.” I shrugged, knowing that 'deep down’ it was my fault, everything was.