#self-harm mention for ts /

[oldcoyote]

have you ever tried therapy?

i have, multiple times, and had a lot of success with it for processing past trauma and working with my CPTSD. i badly need to find a new therapist who knows how to help people with adult ADHD and crippling perfectionism issues to the point of self harm, but so many people here have their books closed and the ones who don't are terrible

i may look into online therapy, but i have no experience with it and don't know anybody who has had a positive time. if anybody has any recommendations, i'd love to hear them 💛

[neednothavehappenedtobetrue]

okay!

you currently feel like a trapped animal ready to chew your own hand off at the wrist to get free.

but that's not real. it's just a feeling.

(Big Anger and the prospect of estrangement under the cut, metions of rape and suicidality).

on Monday, HR is going to fix your paycheck. if they refuse to make it retroactive, you can loop in L, M, and N and see who they can escalate to. they owe you (redacted) dollars and they will pay you (redacted) dollars or you will quit your job.

if you have to shelve querying for a little while so you can look for a better job, you will not die it will hurt, but it will not kill you.

tomorrow, text Z and get some time on her calendar for Budgeting Round One.

your brain is generating worst-case scenarios and then looping on them for hours at a time. please try to stop doing that.

you will make a budget.if you have to, you will get a new job. this is BIG SCARY but less big scary than just Doing This Forever.

and then you will invite your parents to go to family therapy. if that doesn't work, you will write them a letter. you will say the stuff you need to say so it does not rot inside of your body and make you so sick you die. they will react how they do. maybe you will need to stop talking to them for a week or two. maybe you will have to stop talking to them forever.

your brain is creating an itemized list of scary escalations they could do if you tried to set a boundary with them (driving to your apartment, forcing you to go back to PA with them, etc.) your brain is spending a lot of itself on making disaster plans for emergencies that are, at worst, a year out and, at best, never going to happen.

your brain is scripting what you will tell your brother, your pastor, your aunts and cousins. you do not need to know those things yet.

please get your brain to stop looping and go to sleep.

you are doing this because you are scared. I think you are a little bit scared that the next time your dad snaps at you on the phone, instead of bursting into tears and folding yourself up like an origami swan, you will instead go YOU DON'T GET TO MAKE ME FEEL UNLOVEABLE ANYMORE FUCK YOU FOREVER NEVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN and you know you can't do that until you can pay your own rent.

I think for part of your brain it would be a relief if they did something totally out of pocket, something you could say to people and they would go 'oh, that's why you don't talk to them anymore, that tracks"

maybe take a break from trying to be grateful it's not worse, grateful that you get to do this on your own timeline, grateful that you can't imagine them doing anything dangerous (apart from the dangerous things they have already done, but those things were neglect-dangerous not abuse-dangerous)

you know, even typing this, that the best-case scenario is to get to a place where you have a sustainable relationship with them. you only want to nuke them from orbit because you feel so trapped and scared.

but maybe just take a little hiatus from gratitude that they didn't/aren't hurting you worse. stop imagining your calmest and most reasonable communication of boundaries in the face of the scariest thing you can imagine them doing. they probably will not do that thing and also there is no legal mandate that you have to be as calm and rational as possible in your maladaptive emergency planning/daydreams.

imagine how it would feel to go "no, fuck you, the ketamine is keeping me from literally dying, I will not stop taking it because I do not wish to literally die. you have done zero things ever to help me in pursuit of not becoming a suicide statistic, even when i was a child and you had an obligation."

imagine how it would feel to go "no, fuck you, I am as loveable as any person who can use a knife properly and I always have been. fuck you for spoon-feeding that garbage to me when I was too young to know better."

"fuck you for preferring shaved leegs with self-harm bandages on them to unshaven legs. your priorities are broken."

"fuck you for every single thing you have ever said about my body and the way I feed it."

"fuck you for every nasty, belittling little remark I am supposed to swallow"

"fuck you for telling me it wasn't rape! you are not the arbiter of that! fuck you for telling me "don't call it that" like my language was the priority when I came to you in pain. your priorities are broken"

"fuck you for brushing me off the first time I tried to tell you I had anxiety. fuck you for convincing me I was lying about having migraines."

"you guys are mean and your priorities are wrong and you did not try very hard to keep me from dying between the ages of 12-18 and you did not have my back when a boy gave me PTSD. you praised that boy for taking such good care of me and you told me "oh, you'll get over it," when I told you he had raped and terrorized me. and you fed me poison that made me grateful for him for a long time before I left."

you might love me, but you sure do treat me like I am hard to love. you do not respect me even a little bit. you are not reliably kind. you do not see me. you refuse to engage with the lived realities of my life. you do not love me in a way that feels like love, now that I have been loved by people who do not prefer a version of me that doesn't exist.

come correct or spend the rest of your life telling people that your daughter was a crazy person who cut you off for no reason. I'm prepared to spend the holidays alone, are you?

you will be able to tell them a version of this in three to eighteen months, depending on how the budgeting and a possible subsequent job hunt go. it will be scary but you will no longer feel like chewing off your own hand every night.

[ofyorkshire]

psychology + mental health deep dive !

QUICK FACTS ,

diagnoses: i don't know what doctors of the early '80s would have diagnosed bj with, especially given that he's gay and possibly trans (genderfluid?), but imo, bj has severe c-ptsd and possibly schizophrenia (though there's not a lot of evidence for the latter; the visual and auditory hallucinations he experiences could just be a symptom of his c-ptsd and drug abuse, which is how i portray him, since i'm not confident that i can properly portray someone suffering with schizophrenia). there's probably more, but i'm not a psychologist and wouldn't know where to begin with bj.

triggers: a better question would probably be "what doesn't potentially trigger him?", because bj lives in a near-constant state of dissociation and hyper-vigilance. but the smell of damp earth or decaying leaves, gunshots, knives, sex, and the sound of large dogs barking are his most common triggers.

positive coping skills:  few, but he has found ways to help ground himself through little personal rituals like touching something cold when he feels far away, or listening to music when his auditory hallucinations get too loud. personal superstitions like counting to seven or drawing sevens for good luck help ease some of his anxiety, as well as dancing and painting.

negative coping skills:  substance abuse is probably bj's worst both because of their affects on his physical health as well as his mental health; the high or drunk helps keep him in a dissociative, numb, or euphoric state when the high is "good", but abusing drugs and alcohol has also worsened his hallucinations and paranoia. he also often engages in risky sex and occasionally borderline suicidal behavior.

attachment style:  disorganized-avoidant / fearful-avoidant

love language:  (to give) touch and to give / (to receive) touch and words of affirmation

myers briggs / mbti: i've tried to figure this out before and i'm honestly not sure i know, even taking the test. there's "barry james", who... i think is maybe his more authentic self, and then there is "bj" who is not inauthentic, necessarily, but certainly is more of a mask than who bj really is. the problem, though, is that i don't know who bj would be without his trauma, and i'm not sure who he is with it, because it changes depending on how he needs to survive. if i had to guess, i'd say he's probably an infx or isfx? maybe?

HISTORY EXPLORATION ,

are their diagnoses formal ( via a doctor, therapist, etc. ) or informal ( self diagnosis, a hunch, unrealized, etc. )     he supposedly gets a formal diagnoses sometime in the early '80s (?), but considering that the hospital releases bj at what i would consider his absolute worst state mentally, idk how correct the diagnoses was.

have they ever been treated / medicated?     yes, but. well. see above.

have they ever been hospitalized or treated on an inpatient basis?   yes.

how old were they when they first started experiencing / realizing symptoms? around 9 or 10 was when bj really began to sink into himself and his inner-monologue switched from first person to third as a way of distancing himself from his trauma. after that, his mental health dive-bombed.

do they have a family history of mental illness? likely. but we don't know enough about bj's mom to say.

how was mental health handled / discussed in the family / community?    none at all. at most, reverend laws would call him "troubled" because of his mother at best, and at worst blame "sin" on bj's deteriorating mental health.

what are their thoughts on mental health / their diagnosis?   negatively, when he does think about it. angry, mostly, and ashamed. but then he also just doesn't think about it, if he can help it.

in what ways has their diagnosis shaped their life or experiences?  n/a. except for his doctors potentially making him worse because of how they treated him after his diagnoses, bj doesn't think about his diagnosis and doesn't find it helpful or useful.

SYMPTOMS: note that all of the below are, on their own, normative and typical aspects of human functioning. they become “symptoms” when they last longer than “normal” or when they pose a significant impact on someone’s life / functioning.

BOLD  all that are present,  ITALICIZE  those that are resolved or in the history.

depression.    anxiety.   panic attacks.    dissociation.   derealization.   depersonalization.    suicidal ideation.    self harm.    homicidal ideation.    psychosis.    auditory hallucinations.    visual hallucinations.    delusions.    mania.    hypomania.   racing thoughts.    hyperactivity.    attention difficulty.   flashbacks.    nightmares.   hyperarousal.    hypoarousal.    hypersexuality.    hyposexuality.    psychopathy.   risky behavior.    catatonia.    somatic / bodily concerns.    mutism.    phobia.    agoraphobia.    hoarding.    obsessions.    compulsions.    body dysmorphia.    hair picking.    skin picking.     amnesia.   illness anxiety / hypochondria.    sensory loss.    speech difficulty.    comprehension difficulty.    communication difficulty.    tics.    defiant behavior.    irritable mood.    vindictiveness.     aggression.    pyromania.    kleptomania.    paranoia.    attention seeking.    narcissism.   avoidance.   dependency.    pica.    rumination.    food restriction.    food binging.    purging.   soiling the bed (sometimes; struggles mostly when in an especially bad mental place).    insomnia.    fatigue.    sexual dysfunction.    delirium.    developmental delays.

explanations / elaborations on any of the above symptoms:

i don't think i could properly explain all of that in a single post, and i think most of it would be far too triggering anyway without a readmore. if curious, feel free to ask, but this is mostly for my reference anyway.

tagged by: no one, i just wanted to fill this out for bj. tagging: anyone who would like to

[biomic]

JEFF BLARING PAPA ROACH IN HIS CAR LMAOOOOOO

[astroels]

hiiiii- I absolutely love love love your writing! 💕

I was wondering if you could please write hcs with Ellie and reader who either had an sh relapse or she finds scars on them?

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ -𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐡- ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

A/n: thank you for the request, hope ur okay love <33

Warnings: talk about s/h, just brief mentions, no description of action

When Ellie first sees your scars, she wouldn't think of them as self-harm. She'd probably think they were from the journey of your life leading you to Jackson. It was a rough world out there after all. Ellie wouldn't point them out or openly ask in a social group what they were. She honestly never considered that people purposefully harmed themselves, considering condition that were being lived in. The conversation would probably happen in her shed, while you cuddled.

"Annnndd, how did you get these ones?" She touched your scars, grazing them in a massaging way.

You'd be a little hesitant to tell her, wondering how she'd react. It had to be said flat out. You couldn't beat around the bush. "Uhm, I have dealt with self-harm, if you're aware of the term." You said while fiddling with her sweater strings, nervous.

Ellie had briefly read some information about it while exploring a hospital. "Is everything alright now?" Ellie wouldn't want to overstep or make it seem like a big deal and overact. "For the most part, it still hits like crazy sometimes, though." Your voice breaking, not wanting to admit it in fear.

"I'll be here for you babe, whenever y'need me, okay?" She'd say gently, playing with your hair and holding you closer to her.

Although Ellie didn't want you to know she worried, she'd always be there checking up on you, especially if it was an upsetting day, and she saw you storm off. She didn't want to treat you differently, but also didn't want to see you struggle.

She'd give you at least two minutes alone and then go check up on you. "Hey, babe?" She'd knock, "You alright?"

You wouldn't want to open the door, but you know that'd just make Ellie worry more. "Yeah." The door would stay close for moments until you worked up the courage to open it. When you did open it, she'd be the first to talk.

"What's going on, babe?" She'd hold you close, in a hug that leaves you near her shoulder. The way she was gentle and her tone of voice made the tears in your eyes swell up so much more.

Ellie always got either a "Nothing," while she continued to physically comfort you, or she'd recieve you spilling all your feelings with no stop.

"Thank you Els, I love you." Is all you would be able to say after her comforting

" 's no problem, I love you too baby." Still in her arms of soothing motions on your back.

Although Ellie wasn't good with comforting you verbally, it still came in actions and physical touch. So when she found you after a relapse, you knew she'd be there to distract you or help you. You never really had to say it out loud, there was always this look, this tension that you gave off when something was wrong.

"Ellie." You'd say while with her. The moment she looked you in the eyes, she knew. Your eyes would be filled with the emptiness that came after relapsing.

" Oh baby." She'd come close to you to bring you into a hold " 'ts alright."

She'd have you on the couch, watching movies with her, catering to your hunger needs, kissing your forehead every now and then, playing with your hair, anything to make you fall into her comfort.

Ellie would stay awake until you fell asleep, knowing that you're safe. She'd continue to hold you and whisper sweet nothings. "You're so precious to me, my love." She'd eventually doze off with you.

Ellie never got mad at you for relapsing, never made you feel like you were broken. She made sure you knew that her love would stay, that she'd never get tired, that she was there for you. She knew her love couldn't stop you from relapsing, but she did her best to help you heal. She loved you unconditionally, never turning away from you.

[starrypawz]

So I was thinking a bit about Linkin Park recently since essentially they are like my emotional support band that carried me through my teenage years and beyond and I listen to them constantly basically if I had to be honest and find it interesting how they basically swung into a more outwardly political bend/protest music for their albums released between 2007-2014

Minutes to Midnight: The title is a reference to the Doomsday Clock and the album is actually quite a noticeable 'Fuck you Bush' album with two particularly noticeable songs, Hands Held High (Iraq war/Conflict in the middle east) and Little Things Give You Away (Hurricane Katrina)

I think it's just generally their 'angriest' album with a degree of that being sort of self directed anger and frustration and also just general themes of regret but also a desire to like move on from past mistakes and do better it's ultimately just a little hopeful like it's early days and it's big emotions and complicated topics you can't quite grasp yet all you know is you are waking up and getting angry but you're maybe not quite sure at who or why you just know shits wrong.

Thousand Suns: This album is just broadly about the horrors of nuclear war/nuclear apocalypse and uses samples from Oppenheimer, Martin Luther King and Mario Savio (which this was actually my introduction to the 'bodies against the gears' speech) and I'd broadly class this one as a protest music album this is the album of like very loudly expressing your disapproval and starting to direct your anger outwards rather than inwards you are learning . There's still anger here but the sound is softer

Living Things: I'd say less of an outright target/theme compared to MtM and TS but it is generally a protest song album, lots of just general 'fuck the system' energy like wanting to hold those who harm accountable like this is an album of frustration really like of railing against systems holding you back as you can't quite break through yet and you're hurting. The sound here is very different broadly it's a noticeable departure from old Linkin Park

The Hunting Party: Like LT I think this album has like less of a focused theme, but I'd class it as protests all the same I think if MTM is anti Bush and TS is anti nuclear war this is... I think just broadly an anti war album if you look at it.

Like it's an album of frustrations again against systems that held you back and systems that made you complicit in harm and have also hurt you those themes of self directed anger and outwardly directed anger come through and I think it's... a lot of precise directed anger as it's sort of... that earlier angry sound you find in their early but more refined, a little softer like by this point you know anger is a tool and you know how to wield it properly and you want answers and you're taking someone to task like you're going down this fucker is coming down with you for what they did. The sound here is like between the two styles it's refined

Also I'd say that the band has always had something as Hybrid Theory and Meteora have that like angry thread of protest but I think it was more... adolescent like that kind of 'yeah fuck the man/the system' that was really popular in a lot of early 2000s music and from 2007 it felt more focused towards specific targets.

Also not to mention how a lot of the songs have themes of like anger against the self, and the frustration of knowing something is wrong with you but you don't know what.

Basically the band grew up I think.

And when you look at it it does sort of follow that pattern of being young, you get angry, you want to yell at the man but you don't really know what the man is and then you learn what the man is and you get angrier about it and want to do something and realise the structures you're stuck in that are holding you back and how they've maybe made you commit harm and you're angry at yourself but you're more angry at the people up top who mislead you and now you're taking names and taking people to task

[sleptwithinthesun]

few things to clarify about the h/ouse m/d t/ourette's au i've started:

c/hase has t/ourette's s/yndrome, and was diagnosed at the age of sixteen. he did not display symptoms in his youth; they developed as a response to stress and just... stuck around. he started ticcing when he was roughly fourteen.

the vast majority of his tics are categorized as simple and complex motor tics. basically, that means that his tics involve one (simple) or more (complex) muscle groups to trigger movement.

however, c/hase also does have vocal tics, which can be simple (usually just a sound) or complex (words or phrases). simple ones are far more common for him.

vocal tics can be loosely separated into verbal or phonic tics. verbal tics involve sound creation from vocal cords; phonic tics are sounds made with the mouth that don't involve vocal cords. examples of both are, respectively, humming and whistling.

c/hase does not have coprolalia or copropraxia, which are the 'cursing tics'. personally, i have both. i didn't want to give them to chase, though, for fear of perpetuating a stereotype.

he does have echolalia/echopraxia (repeating other people's words or actions as a tic), and palilalia/palipraxia (repeating one's own words or actions as a tic).

the previous three types of tics (copro-, echo-, and pali-) mentioned are all complex tics. the suffixes -lalia and -praxia pertain to vocal and motor tics, respectively.

a premonitory urge is the feeling, which is usually described as a building pressure or sense of wrongness in a certain area, that a person may feel before ticcing. it usually makes that person aware of the need to tic, and doesn't go away until the tic is completed. c/hase does experience this, but his premonitory urge builds up quickly, meaning that he's often unaware that he's going to tic until right before he does it. complex vocal tics usually surprise him.

c/hase's experiences and tics are based off my own. as i flesh out the au, specific tics that c/hase has may change. you may take those instances as him losing some tics and gaining some others, or certain tics changing. for example, i used to have a vocal tic that had me sing two notes, but now, i hum it.

my writing is not going to be entirely accurate. i have never written a character with t/ourette's before, and it will take me time to understand how to word my experiences.

i will do my best to remain consistent. if there are issues, please don't point them out. not every tic presents on a daily basis, and severity changes. my tics fluctuate day-to-day. that's how it is.

as a warning, there will be self-harming tics in the future, which involve c/hase hitting or punching himself in some capacity. again, i directly experience this. if you are uncomfortable or feel unsafe, do not read it. trigger warnings will be before the cut.

having t/ourette's does not prevent c/hase from being a doctor. there are certain struggles, yes, but he is perfectly capable of performing his tasks and taking care of patients. if i did not make this very clear in the first fic, here is your reminder.

stories will alternate between snz-focused and t/ourette's-focused. if you just want to read the snz ones and ignore the others, i won't blame you in the slightest. TS is uncomfortable for some people. still, discomfort is healthy. please do not push yourself beyond your boundaries. only read if you feel safe to.

...i think that's it. idk. there's a lot to it, and i haven't even touched on the other symptoms of TS besides tics. i might reblog this later with more information, but i think this is what's necessary to understand going forward. i really appreciate you all letting me write these stories as it means a lot for me to be able to share this. your respect, kindness, and enthusiasm are received well and with appreciation.

[lulusaquariumm]

Do you have any other rules for requests that you haven't already mentioned? Stuff like specific characters, subjects, or readers you will/won't write about? How many characters can we ask about per request? Will we get less headcanons if we ask for more characters? What about nsfw, if you'll do it? Any particular rules or leanings on that? Feel free to mention any thing else. Sorry about the all questions. Just want to make sure before sending anything in. Thanks and have a great day!

Hiii^~^ thank you for asking me!

For specific characters I won’t write for the obvious stuff is characters that are still minors in their universes and some specifics are characters like mori from Bungo stray dogs and characters like him just since I don’t feel comfortable with it but other characters specifically are like dabi/touya, shigaraki, and Kikoru from Kaiju no 8 and I think that’s it off the top of my head

Characters I can write for

All haikyuu characters, all of the mha characters post ts, kaiju no 8 for all of them, and stuff like that with the fandoms I listed on my about me that also has my info and rules^.^

You can ask for as many characters as you’d like but depending on if I feel like I have ideas for them I might not include them due to not wanting to mischaracterize/having not met them yet in that series but it won’t affect how many you’ll receive

Subjects I won’t write for

Anything to do with self harm, scat or piss kinks, and just like overly creepy if it has to do anything with death

I do both nsfw and fluff/angst I don’t have any particular rules on it

Only other thing is if I don’t get to ur ask quick I so also have school most days so it might take a bit <33

[dominterlude]

sunburn

pairing: beth greene x fem!reader

summary: the governor’s attack, the aftermath of terminus, eugene’s revelation, and a secret of your own — you’re running out of hope and the possibility of seeing beth again is the only thing keeping you going. until it isn’t.

cw: canonical character death, canon-typical gore/violence, angst, slight comfort, mention of self-harm and suicide. no use of y/n, lowercase intended.

word count: 3.2k

the hollow deception of eugene’s assurance had been unfairly ripped away as quick as the prison, faster than the feigned sanctuary of terminus.

the overcompensation for his lies — hidden in the form of a blunt “it’s classified” — that you’d all foolishly ignored in favour of an end to what had previously brought everyone together. that you ignored. you knew better. you were at the cdc and you’d seen the playback of ts-19, heard what jenner said about the future of civilisation.

this time you watched, haunted. the ghostly admittance ringing in your ears as abraham landed harsh, unrelenting blows to the scientist’s face. you flinched like you had when the gunshot killed jenner’s wife for a second time.

the confession that he didn’t have the answers, that he couldn’t help the world heal from a singular injury that had torn it apart, unable to prevent the fate that you’d all inevitably end up as a member of the herds you avoided and fought. it was all a ploy to ensure his own safety, and the realisation was growing louder with each punch.

although, gratitude was brimming at the fact that the redheaded man’s anger had taken the different, more explicit route. he had the strength to mould the mess he’d left on the side of the road that you weren’t sure you were capable of.

leaving you to scrutinise the aftermath of his fiery temper. beaten, bloodied and understood in a way that made you angry you weren’t the one responsible.

the man who was, drifting from the matted mullet and silently falling to his knees. tears of disbelief stinging his eyes and leaving a trail of mortification on the length of his cheeks. your anger replaced with something softer as the five of you stilled. rosita’s usual fluidity of comfort absent as she rooted herself to the cracks in the concrete. disappointment souring her pretty features.

glenn and maggie’s expressions twisted with regret, remorse that they’d abandoned a group they’d been with since the start for a promise they admittedly doubted, mirroring your own thoughts. regardless, you busied yourself with the flash of guilt that passed over tara’s face. misinterpretation nestled in the furrow of her brows, part of her lips and paling of her skin.

she resembled the dead that eugene had falsely sworn he could fix.

beth’s soft footsteps approached from the shadows of the group’s sanctuary for the last few weeks, her home, a stark contrast to the harsh flickers and cracks of the fire that burned too brightly. sickeningly similar to the colour of her hair — too bright — and the blood the shard of glass had left when they heard your cries. too bright.

she hesitated when she saw you sitting there, stopping on the blades of grass twisting under the heel of her boot, her silhouette painted amber as she just watched. pushing her nerves down, she took a deep breath and then the a step in front of the other. you felt her presence before the rustle of her clothes as she sat down beside you, a small huff at the hardness of the ground and a spike in your heart rate at the sudden proximity.

you couldn’t hide the surprise in your eyes as they flashed to her and then back to the fire, an unreadable expression on her face but an inability to hide her own uncertainty.

for a long moment, you both sat in silence, the only sound the persistent crackle of the fire. the air between you was thick with unspoken words, a tapestry of questions and answers that remained untouched. her gaze fell to your hands, folded neatly in your lap, the knuckles white from the tension you held within.

she reached out, gently placing her hand over yours, and you flinched at the contact. but then, you relaxed, your hand itching to turn and intertwine your fingers. you sighed, wishing that you’d had an inch of the confidence she felt to touch your scarred skin in the first place as her thumb moved back and forth.

the silence grew heavier, each moment thick with unspoken words. you felt your throat tighten, the words you’d rehearsed in your mind earlier feeling awkward and clumsy. the fire crackled on, as if urging you to speak, to break the tension that hung in the air like mist.

finally, beth spoke, her voice low and grateful. "thanks for that- helping, i-i mean," her eyes avoided yours, looking for the something that you couldn't offer. you took a deep breath, knowing that the conversation you'd been dreading was now unavoidable.

"it's nothing, beth," you replied, your voice choked and heavy with emotion. "i had to." she nodded, but the silence remained, a wall between you two that felt hopeless.

your hand slid away, leaving a coldness in its wake. she picked at the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit you had noticed over the weeks at the farm. the fabric whispered under her fingertips, and you wondered what she was thinking.

you cleared your throat, deciding it was time to bridge the gap you normally aimed for with other people. "why’d you do it?" you asked, doing nothing to ease the tension. beth looked up, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames.

"i had to," she echoed your earlier words. "andrea told me i had a choice and i made it." she paused, swallowing hard. "i-i was scared."

you studied her profile, the light playing across her features. "you were stupid."

beth flinched, then nodded. "probably," she murmured. "but i’ll be okay now, i’ll protect myself."

her words hung in the air, a declaration of resilience amidst the inferno inside of you. you felt the weight of her gaze on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. instead, you focused on the flames, watching them devour the twigs and branches daryl had gathered earlier. the smell of burning wood suffocating, mingling with the faint scent of the peaches she was eating before she got the wound on her arm. it was a smell that brought comfort and warmth, but now it felt like a barrier, a reminder of what was left unsaid. of the state maggie found her in.

“go to bed, beth.”

your voice was firm. the guilt of letting lori leave beth alone with andrea was eating away at you. she was ready to argue but instead she nodded, standing up slowly. the fire cast a warm glow across the ground, but the shadows grew colder as she moved away from you.

"goodnight," she murmured, and the night grew darker. leaving you once again in the cocoon of your thoughts. the sound of her walking away from you was the only sound, a solitary witness to your failure fading into the dark.

you sat, the tortuous sound of the dead in the distance that was just a reminder of how you’d survived. how beth had survived.

you were going to see her again.

the firetruck lurched forward, the engine groaning as it navigated the desolate streets. the windows were cracked, allowing the cool evening air to whisper secrets of the outside world. you clutched the seat in front of you, heart pounding with melancholy and anticipation. it had been so long since you had seen her, felt her warmth beside you in the chaos.

abraham’s anger. tara’s guilt. maggie’s own excitement and the trickle of grief as she recounted the memory of her baby sister.

the faces of your family swam in and out of focus as the wheels rumbled along, each emotion etched into their features like the scars that lined their arms. they talked in hushed tones, sharing their own thoughts on what awaited at the hospital michonne had told them about. you nodded along, not really hearing the words, your mind racing with images of beth. telling you horrible jokes in an attempt to get you to laugh, the sound of her singing lullabies to judith, but you knew they were for the group too, the fiery determination in her eyes as you imagined her planning her escape.

the vehicle shuddered to a halt, jolting you back to reality. abraham called out, "grady’s up ahead. we’re gonna need to move fast and keep quiet. those things are attracted to noise like flies to shit sticks." his words snapped you out of your daze, and you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. the doors hissed open, and the group spilled out, weapons at the ready.

the memories of beth.

you picked up your knife, the blade smooth and comfortable in your grip. the sun blistering as you wiped beads of sweat off your forehead with your forearm, the rays making it difficult to see the rows of stumbling walkers lined up at the fence with outstretched arms and starving moans.

you lunged forward, blade glistening and finding its mark in one of their eye sockets, met with an overfamiliar squelch and splatter of red. it crumpled to the ground, movements ceasing and many following as the morning dragged on. a rhythm you knew too well to get distracted, a dance of life and death you’d been doing since the world had gone to hell.

which is why the sound of someone’s voice shouldn’t have went unnoticed.

“daryl said you haven’t ate.”

you jumped at the softness of her tone among the clang of the fence, beth had crept up behind you, her eyes fixed on the undead. her expression was calm, almost serene, as she held a plate of food — your eyebrows furrowing when you noticed judith wasn’t in her arms, but the smell of warm meat wafted over, making you forget about your concern for the toddler. your stomach growling loudly.

you took a step back, wiping your knife clean on your shirt. "yeah, been busy," you replied, trying to keep the exhaustion from showing. she looked at you with a knowing smile, the kind that said she saw through your facade.

beth stepped closer, her voice a gentle whisper over the undying symphony of groans. "daddy said you gotta keep your strength up. we can't have you collapsing out here." she offered the plate again, and this time you took it, the weight of it feeling surprisingly substantial in your hands.

you looked at her, then at the food, and finally back at the walkers. "wonder when it’s my turn," you said aloud, the statement hanging in the air like a lead balloon.

beth paused, the smile fading from her face. "what do you mean?"

you took a deep breath, the smell of death mingling with the scent of cooked meat. "if i don't make it,” you shrugged. beth's eyes searched yours, a hint of worry creeping in. "lay me in the sun — when i die. make sure i’m lying in the sun.”

beth looked at you, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. "that’s a weird thing to ask."

you gave a half-hearted chuckle. "i know, but it’s important.” you took a bite of the food, the flavor almost lost on you. you didn’t dare to elaborate on the morbid thought, but you knew beth understood. she’d seen enough death to recognize the peace in the simple things.

she didn't say anything at first, the silence stretching between you like the fence itself. finally, she nodded, her voice firm. "i promise."

you felt a weight lift off your shoulders, but it was immediately replaced with a heavier one. you had always known this was a possibility, but saying it aloud made it real.

the two of you stood there, side by side, for a moment longer. the fence was a blur of movement as the walkers shuffled against it, their hunger never-ending. but you weren't thinking about them anymore. you were thinking about the promise you had just made.

"thanks, beth," you murmured, swallowing the bite. "it means a lot."

beth gave a small smile, then took the plate back from you. "you're going to make it," she said with a conviction that you couldn't quite mirror. "we all are."

you nodded, trying to believe her, and turned back to the fence, knife at the ready. the walkers didn't care about your fears or your promises. they just kept coming, like the endless tide of a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

as you stabbed another through the eye, you couldn't help but wonder if today was the day your luck would run out. you pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. but deep down, you knew that beth's promise was more than just words. it was a bond that went beyond friendship, a pact forged in the fires of a world gone mad.

and as the sun reached its peak and your arms grew sore, you realized that the fear of dying wasn't just about you anymore. it was about leaving someone behind to carry on, and hoping that when your time came, they'd do the same for you.

rick’s face was tense, the grip on his weapon tight.

daryl's steps were sorrowful, his mind elsewhere.

maggie dropped to her knees. an agonising scream ripped from her throat as she tried to claw at her chest, instead clutching the arms that glenn threw to catch her; falling with his wife with the last scraps of comfort he could offer.

the rest of the group stood still, the deepest reminder of their humanity was their grief and they were trying to find something shallow in this.

your heartbeat was the same, one you’d felt countless times before, but now it echoed differently. more pronounced, more solitary.

you advanced forward, bidding daryl to let you hold her. he obliged, reluctantly, supporting her limp neck as he passed her to your arms. once she was resting in your grip, he harshly rubbed his nose, turning away from the rest of you. the blood from her hair staining his bare arms.

your hands, though gentle, trembled slightly as you held her, and you could feel the sticky warmth of the her blood seeping through your fingers. you slowly collapsed with beth in your arms, holding her body even tighter and placing her forehead atop of your own.

"no, no. no, please," your voice quivered, your eyes brimming with tears.

the air grew thick with unspoken dread. the light from the burning sun cast long shadows across the concrete ground, as if trying to escape from the grim scene it had witnessed. daryl, his eyes reddened and jaw clenched, stepped back, his arms now at his sides, useless without the weight of her body to hold onto.

your tremors grew more pronounced, your breaths shallow and erratic. the soft whimpers that escaped your lips were like a mournful melody echoing in the silence of the abandoned streets. carefully, you cradled beth’s head, your fingertips brushing against the lifeless skin that had once been so full of warmth and vitality. the smell of burnt hair and metal filled your nose.

“you’re okay,” you sniffled, whispering to the unresponsive form in your arms.

the others hovered nearby, unsure of what to do. they had seen their share of horrors, shared them, but this was a different kind of pain. it was personal, a wound that bled into the very fabric of their makeshift family. they had lost many, but beth was a symbol of hope, a reminder that goodness still existed amidst the decay.

rick’s gaze was fixed on the two of you, his eyes reflecting the same mix of despair and anger that was no doubt etched on daryl’s face. he took a step forward, his hand outstretched as if to offer some kind of comfort, but he knew that words would fall short. instead, he focused on the practical.

"we can't stay here," he said firmly, his voice a stark contrast to the gentle whispers coming from you. "we need to move. we need to bury her.”

you blinked up at him, nodding slowly. you understood the urgency in his voice, the need to keep moving. you knew they couldn't stay here, but the thought of letting go of beth was unbearable.

with a deep, shuddering breath, you started to stand, cradling beth's body tightly against your chest. each movement sending a fresh wave of pain you her, but you pushed through it, your eyes never leaving the still form in your arms. your legs felt weak, like they might give out at any moment, but you willed them to hold steady.

you glanced at maggie, the lifeless body of her sister weighing heavily in your arms. maggie's eyes were wet, her face a mask of grief and disbelief. she took a deep, shaky breath, trying to gather her thoughts.

"we have to honor her," maggie said, her voice thick with emotion. "we can't just leave her here."

rick nodded solemnly. "we don’t do that, maggie. we’ll find a safe place, somewhere quiet. we’ll do it right."

the group fell into a heavy march, carrying their grief with them like a shield. the sun beat down, unrelenting, as if the world itself didn't know or care that their hearts were breaking. they moved quickly yet carefully, scanning their surroundings for any signs of danger that might seek to capitalize on their vulnerability.

you all found a clearing a short distance from the chaos, a small patch of earth that had somehow remained untouched by the decay that consumed the rest of the world. the grass was a vibrant green, and a few lonely trees stood sentinel, offering a modest amount of shade. it was here you decided to lay beth to rest.

the digging was hard work, each shovelful of dirt feeling like a piece of your soul being torn away. sweat mingled with tears as you worked together, the rhythmic thunk of metal against the ground creating a somber beat to match the pounding in your hearts. the silence between you was palpable, punctuated only by the occasional sniffle or choked-back sob.

as the grave grew deeper, so did the realization that this was real, that beth was truly gone. your eyes never left the lifeless form of her, your mind racing with memories, trying to cling to every moment you had shared. the sound of the shovels grew more muffled, as if the earth itself was weeping, absorbing the echoes of your sorrow.

the air was still, the only sound the crunch of gravel underfoot as the group approached the freshly dug grave and a part of you wished that you could swap places. that beth could’ve kept her promise.

your eyes searched the group, finally settling on rick. you took a deep breath, the weight of your request heavy on your chest. "rick, i need a gun," you said, your voice firm, yet tinged with the slightest quiver.

he parted his lips once the meaning behind your words became clear, but you held a hand up to stop him from speaking. "i'm not going to leave her here alone," you added, your voice growing stronger. "i was living for her, rick."

rick studied you for a moment, the lines on his face deepening with understanding, flashes of who you were when you’d met suppressing his judgement. he nodded slowly, reaching to his belt and unbuckling the holster. with a firm grip, he pulled out a pistol and offered it to you, handle first. his eyes bore into yours, a silent goodbye.

"keep it safe," he murmured, planting a gentle kiss to your hairline.

you took the gun from his hand, feeling its cold weight in your palm. the metal was slick with sweat, but you didn't let it slip. you had made your decision.

"thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

no more words were exchanged as he turned away from you. his steps were heavy as his figure blurred with the trees, the rest of the group ahead.

you took a deep breath. eyes shifting down to weapon in your hand, feeling the cold bite into your palm and the peeling redness on your nose.

the sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow across the clearing, painting the world in a bittersweet light that seemed to mock the coldness in your heart. you closed your eyes, putting the gun where you needed it to go.

this time you didn’t flinch.

[courier-nix]

2/3/7/11/52 for fallout oc asks?? 👀

Coming right up!!!

Super excited someone asked for some!!! Some Dead Money spoilers ahead but not much. Okay so here they are:

2. Which faction(s) did they join and which did they destroy? Why?

So far Nix has joined the Kings and the Followers of the Apocalypse. She loves everything they stand for and wants more people to receive the aid and safety they offer. She also has a growing soft spot for the King that helps. Although she's the NCR's favorite task girl, she was originally going to support Mr. House until she got pulled to the Sierra Madre. Now, she's an independent New Vegas believer, after seeing what rich "well intentioned" men who only care about what they want can do to the world. (She also would not be able to bring herself to kill the BOS despite the fact she doesn't really like them.) She refuses to join the BOS after what happened to Veronica. Nix loves the Boomers and is untrusting of the Strip families and the Great Khans, but can play them like the fiddle when she wants. She hates the Legion and plans to wipe them out with Boone.

3. What is their S.P.E.C.I.A.L.?

S 5

P 6

E 5

C 7

I 7

A 6

L 5

She got the strength implant from Usanagi so she had an easier time holding heavy guns.

7. Do they have any mental illnesses? How do they cope?

The two main things is PTSD and anxiety. For PTSD, it can vary from hearing an alarm go off and she thinks it's her bomb collar, to she gets flash backs to the terrible things she's done that she feels guilty about. Nix's anxiety mostly manifests through abandonment issues and being alone. She doesn't quite understand why she's that way since the shots to the head made her lose a good chunk of memory, but she does know her grandma had to raise her because her parents couldn't. She is an anxious attachment person who MUST be friends with everyone and MUST be liked by everyone otherwise she feels like shit. She's strongly affected by guilt and anxiety.

So this ties in strongly with The Hollow Men by TS Eliot, whose line I stole for the title of my fanfic featuring Nix (Not with a Bang). The poem discusses people affected by war who know that they are broken and lost souls but are unable to do actions to better themselves or the world. Nix is constantly trying not to be a hollow man and is trying to make sure her companions don't end up like one too (especially Boone). But that hollow feeling is persistent and a battle on its own she has to deal with.

The last thing I'll mention is she does get violent outbursts but they're few and far between and they cause her immense guilt and shame after. She doesn't know if she's always been that way or if the shot to the head caused it, which makes her more upset.

11. Their biggest flaw? Do they recognize it as a flaw?

Nix's biggest flaw is self-doubt and indecisiveness. When there is a clear right and wrong answer in Nix's mind, she knows what to pick. Morally grey areas tend to make her indecisive because "what if so-and-so no longer likes me because of this? What if I can't lead like I'm supposed to? Will this cause more harm than good?" Etc. She knows that it's a flaw, but as of now, she doesn't know what to do about it.

The Sierra Madre changes that!!!

She becomes a bit more hardened and decisive after she sees herself doing everything right, but still ending up with Dean dead. (She honestly thought everything went great with him and didn't realize how fragile his ego was.) She learns who she wants to back in the next Battle of the Hoover Dam. At this point, I haven't planned the next arch of her story much, but she does end up more violent and those violent outbursts more common.

52. Are they good at disarming traps or do they constantly miss them?

Oh, she sucked with traps at first. She wouldn't even see them. She'd hear beeping, look for the source, and then get launched. Bear traps were the only ones she could normally notice. Trip wires and landmines she would tend to overlook. Once she got to the Sierra Madre, she started to slow down and pay attention, especially since so many other people needed her to survive. By the time she got into the casino, Nix was a pro at disarming or stepping around traps (some may say she had a light step now lol).

Here's a quick doodle of Nix getting launched and Lily rushing to catch her since you made it all the way through!!!

[lyricalthoughtsies]

Hey! If you find this account, no you didn't.

I'm all seriousness, Hello! I'm a new song writer who uses this blog to keep track of random lyric/title ideas

Just as a quick tw, this blog will contain mentions of eating disorders, self harm and possibly other triggers.

Lyric inspo: #my muse(ic)

Lyric ideas: #line tho(ugh)ts

Title ideas: #song namesies

[creative-hell]

         As he fell to his knees, Kaeya hissed, gripping his arm tight as the searing-cold sensation of the curse ate away at him. Consumed his mortal flesh and marred it with monstrous influence.

          His right side had been steadily engulfed by the affliction as it was, almost corrupted beyond any recognition. At least, to the average man, anyways.

         One who knew the sight well and familiarly would easily realize what was becoming of his body. How it had now come to grow closer in appearance to that of the strange Abyssal creatures scarce few lived to tell the tale of, those he had followed in his pursuit of the truth.

                                         Heralds, they were called.

                           Damnation, he knew very well, they truly were.

           Kaeya hadn’t been at all surprised by this outcome though. He had been quite certain it would been a possibility from the start, having been warned by his father, time and again, to never linger too close to the creatures. Having witnessed the very man who dedicated his centuries roaming Teyvat into fighting the Abyss Order, and further heard from him the nature of their people’s affliction. Who had also adamantly warned him to stay away from seeking out more on the legacy of his surname and those involved.

          Whatever the case, the reason for this change in him was clear–the longer he stayed amid and around those creatures, the more their Abyssal energy would taint him and take root within him. And then he would end up damned like the rest of them.

          One would think knowing such a harrowing end would have kept Kaeya away from it all. Would have deterred him from delving too deep, and kept him content to remain in Mondstadt as he had initially decided. As Dainsleif had wanted him to. But well...

                        Unfortunately, he had never been a good listener.

         And he had never been one to pursue something without taking out all the stops either, never once caring of the risks he would face along the way. No matter the investigation, no matter what he had to do to complete his mission, always, he always did with maddened determination and full intentions to pull through however he could. And he always did. But this time–

         “There you are.”

          Kaeya’s eyes widened as the heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed around him. Footsteps so familiar he could recognize readily above anyone else’s and without need for a moment’s thought. One whose unique Vision-imbued warmth he could pick out, even amid a crowd of similarly gifted others. The very warmth that had been all he’d known for the greater part of a decade, only to find himself left in naught but bitter cold the day he’d opened his damned mouth and ruined it all.

                          Once, his best friend. Once, his definition of home.

                                              The twin half of his soul.

          Kaeya closed his eyes, tipping his head back almost in prayer ( ha! As if any god would help him now! ) before pulling together his facade and shifting to smirk in the man’s direction.

         “Well, well–fancy meeting you here, Master Diluc.”

         A scoff and burning glare greeted him in turn.

         Diluc looked as good as ever–which truly was to say he appeared an utter, hopeless mess.

          The man’s hair was all tousled up and tangled, dark circles painted under his eyes that somehow seem to have gotten worse than Kaeya last remembered ( ugh, figures he never listened to Kaeya’s subtle little pleas to take better care of himself ), and his clothes were a rumpled mess too, all burnt and frayed in some places. Not quite what anyone, especially Kaeya, would call a sight for sore eyes at the moment, truth be told. Nor a truly pleasant one, considering the last time Kaeya had seen him look like this almost half a decade ago.

           How Diluc could pull together some uncanny semblance of poise and dignity whenever he manned the bar or stood about the Winery after dealing with his little…covert side projects always eluded Kaeya. Especially considering how he usually took care of things, ever the brute compared to Kaeya’s more roguish methods. Honestly...never had he wished Diluc would have at least tried for that cover up than now.

          Though Kaeya supposed it would be a bit much asking him to do the same so deep into the Abyss’s lair.

         “Where is he?”

          The corner of his mouth twitched at the sudden, blunt demand.

          “Always straight to the point with you.” Kaeya cocked his head a slight, feigning contemplation as he softly hummed. “Pray tell, do you ask for the young Prince? Or are you worried about my dear pal Dainsleif?” His teeth bared in a grin at the sharp twist of Diluc’s lips. “Sorry to say, but you’d be hard-pressed to find either here. It’s just me. Lucky you, right?”

          Diluc gaze hardened, as steam rose of his clothes. Wait—steam?

          Sheer practice and habit maintained Kaeya’s composure as he turned further to better survey the cavern. Even as he felt pinpricks of dread blooming in his chest.

         Stars–no wonder he’d felt so damn bad just now. He hadn’t realized how cold the space around him had gotten. How cold it had become in his wake, if he dared to gleam past where Diluc now stood. Although perhaps...perhaps he hadn’t noticed, because it had become something all too natural for him to feel, nowadays. Or perhaps because damn near every other physical sensation had come to dull compared to the agony of the curse eating away at him, more than they already had been before. Still…

          Kaeya’s eyes raked swiftly over the frost and ice that had spread about the room. Over all the odd flakes swirling about in the otherwise still and stifling air, and the icicles that seemed to steadily grow and inch menacingly toward them as his own nerves thrummed and screamed. At the fog that slipped past Diluc’s lips with every breath he took, unlike Kaeya’s own—

          “So…you’ve finally become one of them?”

          Kaeya blinked, now clearly remembering with a start exactly why he had stumbled here in the first place. Of the actual corruption so deeply entrenched in his being, it near fully manifested now across his right side.

          The side Diluc now had a clear view of. That had him far more on guard than before, his beloved claymore suddenly manifested in hand. 

          Kaeya claws dug into the now toughened, seemingly frostbitten-to-a-greyed-blue flesh of his palm as he laughed.

          “Well, you don’t need to say it like that, Master Diluc,” he remarked, shifting to finally face his sworn brother head on. The movement almost had Diluc brandishing his weapon, ready to swing if Kaeya should dare draw close.

                                                    As if he could.

          Kaeya couldn’t help the wry little scoff that left his lips. Perhaps he…couldn’t really stand upright right now ( weak, utterly weak- ) but he would still grace the man before him with the baiting little grin he knew he especially loathed to see. Just like the rest of him- “You wound me, y’know.”

          The Wolf's Gravestone glinted dangerously as Diluc grip on it tightened.

          I can do so much more than wound, the gesture almost seemed to say.

          Kaeya managed a laugh in spite of it all. “Ah, right.” In spite of the lurch in his gut at the all-too familiar situation he found himself in. But, hey, better to mask his weaknesses before the other. “I nearly forgot.” Just as he always had since they’d reunited a mere year ago. As he did, even in their youth- "You never were fond of small talk."

          A foggy exhale. “Neither of us have that luxury right now.”

          “Because of where we are?” A tilt of the head. “Or because you won’t let me?”

          Even with his jesting, airy tone, Kaeya couldn’t help the bitter jab in his heart as he spoke.

          Though really...really, what did it matter if Diluc allowed him to speak and explain himself, or not? They both long since knew not one conversation between them could go without wicked jabs below the belt nor without leaving either nursing bruising aches that stung more than physical wounds ever would. Not one conversation could ever even begin resolve the bad blood and tenseness between them.

         Could such a thing even help them now? With Kaeya in the worst of states, and Diluc scarcely a swing away from finishing what he’d attempted years ago?

           Ha, even Kaeya didn’t bet on absurdities like that.

           And Kaeya knew, far more than anyone else, that the Diluc who was so easily forgiving and caring to him had long since been stamped out like a fire amid a Snezhnayan winter. Probably because of his time wandering through one.

          Or had it been Kaeya’s truth that had done that?

         Diluc drew a slow breath, flames flickering to life at his fingertips and dancing along his blade.

          Kaeya couldn’t help fighting the urge to cringe away in the face of them. 

         The light burned as much as Dawn had that very day. All he wanted to do now was flee in the face of it, crawl further into darkness to escape it. It was only the conscious fear of turning his back to Diluc now and the lingering threads of his pride and bravado that kept him in place.

           Fear....ha. Since when did he fear anything?

           Truly...had he come to be so far gone–

          “And if I did...would you actually mean what you say for once?”

           Kaeya swiftly glanced back up in surprise. Then a soft sigh left him in realizing the action had only served to make Diluc all the more wary. Ahh, seriously...!

          “Well–”

                                  You need only give me a chance.

          The words stilled on Kaeya’s tongue before he could dare give them voice. Right, a chance...no, someone like him didn’t deserve such a thing. Diluc knew that as well as he. And Diluc certainly wouldn’t be the type to cave to such a plea either, especially not now.

          As was evident by the way his grip tightened on the Wolf’s Gravestone’s hilt. Shifting as though he very well might swing right then and there–shit, would he really–

          An abrupt wave of cold rippled through the air. 

          Kaeya couldn’t help the stilted snarl in pain, curling in on himself as the heightened, even if unconscious, use of his Vision burned in his chest. Burned, as it always had from the moment he’d gotten it. Burned, stronger and stronger still, the more tainted with Abyssal energy he had become.

           Especially now, the more his steady corruption and transformation furthered. 

           Kaeya’s good eye widened a slight.

           Right. His transformation.

           The reason he had come to hide away here, like some hapless dying animal, the instant he’d heard the sounds of the knights challenging and fighting their way through the Abyssal domain. The very reason Diluc looked to him now with more wariness and enmity than he'd ever had before.

                  Was it still better than facing Diluc’s apathy and disregard?

                                   Į’d͏͏ mu̶̧c̵̛h̵̢̕ ̶r͘àt̷̷h͟e̴r͘ ̷͜h̴̴e̴҉ ̛͞s̡͜m͡i͜l͟e ̷̡a̴͝t̸͠͞ ́͘̕me͠҉ ̴́a̵g̴a̧in-

           Kaeya drew a shaky breath, jaw quivering a slight in a bated wince.

           It rattled against his ribs now, felt near useless to him, no matter how long he’d have it go on. Uncomfortable, like if it were water flooding through his chest rather than air. If Kaeya didn’t know any better, he would almost say his body were currently telling him he no longer needed it. No longer needed the breath in his lungs, that he need only close his eyes and sink into the murky...Abyss.

          A dry laugh left him.

                                         Right...that’s what it all meant.

                                          He truly was so far gone now–

           “Kaeya–”

           “Stave your hand a moment, Luc.” The nickname had the other man freezing right in place, halting his abrupt advance.

          Kaeya huffed out a ragged exhale, releasing the clawed hand he hadn’t realized had been digging into his chest. When had that happened? When his Vision had hurt him? In his contemplation?

          Whatever the case, he pushed the thought aside in favor of inspecting the self-inflicted injury.

           Rather than blood, whisps of dark Abyssal energy spilled from his deep, gouged wounds–oh...had that been why Diluc had started forwards? The sight of wounds?

           Ha, what was he thinking? For that to be so, the man would need to be concerned for his sake. And he clearly wasn’t. Why would he be?

           Looking back at Diluc, their gazes brief met as the man searched him for an explanation.

           Right. He wasn’t concerned...he wasn’t.

                              So then why was he looking at him like that?

            A certain desperation crawled up Kaeya’s throat the longer he made the mistake to dwell and overthink as he always did. At the sight before him now, of the now flame-laced claymore, of the man’s ever burning inferno of a gaze–one Kaeya had long since been unable to decipher–now. Of realizing...this would be the sight he would keep in his memories forevermore. This mocking memory of their most harrowing day together. All he needed now was for Dawn to make its appearance, and they’d have their picture-perfect recreation.

                                     Save Kaeya ruining it all, as always.

          The thought had his gut churning, an odd feeling gnawing at his heart. Or maybe it was the festering curse, for all he knew.

          Whatever the case...ha, what was he even getting so upset about? Had he expected to see a mournful smile? Pity? No, either from Diluc of all people, more so directed at him, would have been laughable. A dream at most, or perhaps a nightmare, better said.

           Wishful thinking, really; truly, that of a fool with too much hope to spare, and a wonderful daydream to look forward to. Someone Kaeya had never truly been to begin with.

         After all, it was his determination that brought him here, regardless of how it would have affected everyone else he know. Regardless of the consequences he would face in his venture, as he always acted–a man with something to lose and a future to look forward to would never do such a thing. Especially since he damn well knew part of those consequences had been accepting the fact that he would come to face Diluc once more. To face that weapon drawn his way yet again.

          There was no doubt in Kaeya’s mind–Dawn burned to taste his flesh once more; more than ever before. And with Kaeya being laced with Cryo and the sinner’s blight coursing through his very being now...well, he supposed it was clear there was only one way this encounter would end.

                                                    How it should.

          The thought had Kaeya’s steadily slowing heart thud painfully in his chest. Had dread and anguish thrumming through his very being, as he watched Diluc’s jaw clench.

          A childish part of him wanted to beg–he had always been able to get out of any trouble when he did, duping Diluc and anybody else with his little pout as teary-eyed pleas. The lad never failed to rush to his aid either way, even when everybody and himself damn well knew Kaeya was responsible and/or more than able to handle it all himself. But he already knew such a thing would never work for him against the other ever again.

          Maybe he should run. Run, and drag out the inevitability he must face now a little longer, like the coward he’d been for the past five years. He was always so good at that, running and rushing about to keep at bay each and every little thing he couldn’t bear to face. Perhaps now, at this very moment, it would ease his splintered heart enough for him to at last face it all.

           Ah...but what did it matter how he ultimately felt? Kaeya was well-used to forcing aside any bubbling feelings of unease and panic. Especially when he knew what must be done. no matter how difficult. Especially before the man in front of him now.

           Thus, he chuckled and shook his head. “Ahh...don’t worry, I’m not...I’m not going to fight you now, Diluc. Actually, I have just one simple request before you go on ahead.”

          Diluc’s brows furrowed. “And why should I concede to it?”

                                         Why should I believe you?

          Kaeya drew a soft, weak breath, then lowered his hands to his sides, palms upturned as he raised his head. “Well, it would certainly be of benefit to you. I can promise you that much.”

                                           You have no reason to.

                               But please, believe me just this once.

          A breath...two...and Diluc’s stance neither relaxed nor steeled further.

          Well, that was a sign as good as any.

          Kaeya licked his dry, frost-flecked lips and steadied himself. Straightening up his pain-wracked body with as much semblance of dignity he could cobble together, then at last tilting his head back just enough to still meet Diluc’s gaze as he would bare his throat.

         “Diluc, please...kill me now. And make it swift.”

          A rueful smile tugged across Kaeya’s lips as the firm, deliberate hand upon Wolf’s Gravestone began to tremble. As Diluc’s burning, cruelly-stoic gaze at long last faltered, shock and the faintest glimmer of grief flickering across his features.

          Had that truly been all it took to make the man look to him with something other than resentment and enmity?

          Ahh...but of course. What did a sinner like him expect?

          Truly, he should have expected nothing less from the cruel hands of fate.

[naminethewriter]

Sk8er Boi

There is a day 8 now! Because I want there to be one. Also this story got into my head and wouldn’t leave, so here you are. Plus I would probably die at this point if I didn’t sneak in at least one Intruloceit fic into these ship weeks 😅 Hope you enjoy! 💛💚

@dukeceitweek

Here on Ao3

Masterpost | Dukeceit Week 2022 Masterpost

Small warning: there is a quick one sentence that lightly implies past self harm

Summary: He was a boy, she was a girl. Except she's now a boy and not too late to reconnect with Sk8er Boi.

He was a boy

She was a girl

Can I make it any more obvious?

He was a punk

She did ballet

What more can I say?

 Janus snorted when the song came on the radio as he was putting on his leather jacket. What an ironic song to play at this moment in particular.

 Because he used to be that ballerina. And he would be attending the gig of a punk boy he used to know. Of course, they had been way younger than the song insinuated, only around eight years old. And with him it hadn’t been his friends that had been against the friendship – he didn’t really have friends back then – but his parents.

 His parents were the classy sort, they loved operas, ballets, Mozart, Beethoven and the like. And of course, they wanted their daughter to share that love. Janus had piano-, singing- and ballet lessons from a young age and there was no television in the house. They really did their best to mold their daughter into the perfect lady.

 Too bad that their daughter was actually a boy.

It took him a long time to figure it out. He stopped ballet first; the outfits made him incredibly uncomfortable for reasons he didn’t understand at that time. Then he dropped the singing lessons, he just didn’t enjoy them anymore. He stuck to the piano because he really liked it and it placated his parents.

 He was allowed to have his own computer at thirteen years old and from there it took him only a few weeks to find out what being transgender meant. From there he figured out he might be a boy instead. And that realization scared him to death. Because he knew that his parents would never understand.

 His phone rang, startling him out of reminiscing. The song was over by then. He picked up.

 “Hey.”

 “’Sup, babes?” came Remy’s voice over the phone. “You ready to rock?”

 Janus rolled his eyes. “How original of you.”

 “Shut up! I got us the tickets and am your ride, you don’t get to be rude to me.”

 “I’m so sorry, oh great Remy, please have mercy!”

 “That’s better.” They both chuckled. “Anyway, I’m about to take off to your place.”

 “So you’ll be here in fifteen?”

 “Nah, like five.”

 “Oh?” Janus grinned. “Did you sleep at Emile’s? Hmmm?”

 “Shut up.” This time it sounded way more flustered than the first time. Bullseye.

 “You’re gonna give me the detail on the drive, I hope?”

 “Yeah, yeah. See you in a bit.”

 “Alright.”

 True to his word, Remy was there within the next five minutes. Janus climbed into the passenger seat and handed him a thermos full of coffee, the price he always had to pay if Remy drove him.

 “Thanks, you’re a dear.”

 “I’m the best, I know.”

 “I wouldn’t go that far.” Janus rolled his eyes fondly but didn’t continue the banter as Remy took off towards the club where Remus and his band would play that evening.

 “Exited to see your old crush again?” Remy teased a few minutes into the drive.

 “I was eight and didn’t even know what romance was yet because my parents sheltered me like baby but sure he was totally a crush,” Janus chuckled.

 “Whatever. Doesn’t answer my question.”

 “I don’t know. I only knew him for a week before my parents found out where I was going. I hardly knew him.”

 “You recognized him like immediately when I showed you the band though.”

 Janus shrugged. “He was the only potential friend I had for the next two years. I might’ve been a bit fixated on my memories of him. Plus, his eye color is super distinctive.”

 “Sounds like a crush to me.”

 “Just drop it already. We’re going there to listen to the music. There’s no guarantee that we’ll even get to talk to him.”

 “But you’d like to.”

 “I doubt he even remembers me. And I’ve transitioned since then, so…”

 “Yeah, but you’ve got a birthmark covering half your face, that’s kinda hard to forget.”

 “Look, I’m going into this with zero expectations. I just want to have a fun night with my best friend, okay?”

 “Sure, gurl. I can get behind that.”

 Remy finally dropped the topic after that, and Janus got to tease him about his enormous crush on Emile that he refused to admit. Other than that, the rest of the drive was uneventful, and they arrived at the club only a little bit late. Which was an accomplished for Remy.

 The set was great. Exactly Remy and Janus’ style. Cheap drinks were a bonus – not that Janus drank that much in solidarity with Remy who couldn’t. The people were nice and having fun so by the time the band finished, it was already a great evening for Janus.

 They decided to stick around a little longer and soon the band members appeared and started to mingle. Remy elbowed Janus in the side.

 “There he is, the one who got away,” he teased, nodding in the direction of Remus who was talking with two girls close by. “Gonna go say hi?”

 Janus rolled his eyes and decided not to engage with the teasing this time around. “If those two let him go, sure. They seem intent to keep him there, though.” Indeed, the two girls were seemingly a bit intoxicated and invaded Remus’ personal space without shame. He didn’t seem to mind it all that much though he seemed a bit bored.

 Around five minutes later, Janus was at the bar to get the last round of drinks for him and Remy before his friend wanted to go home – or go to Emile’s again, Janus hadn’t gotten a definitive answer yet – when Remus suddenly appeared next to him, ordering a whiskey.

 “That was a really good performance,” Janus commented before he could stop himself. Remus’ head snapped over to him so fast Janus was worried he pulled something for a second. But the other just grinned.

 “Thanks!” Remus eyes him for a moment, squinting. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

 Janus had not expected that, but he nodded. “Yeah, when we were kids. Was before I transitioned though.”

 Remus stared at him for a moment longer before he slapped his fist onto the bar. “The ballet kid with the strict parents! They carted you off and you were never seen again!”

 Janus chuckled. “Yeah, that’s me. Name’s Janus now.” He held out his hand and Remus shook it enthusiastically.

 “Remus, though I guess you knew that already. Man, I didn’t think we’d meet again. Quite a lot of us were worried about you. Parents with stick up their asses often lean towards the abusive side.”

 “They aren’t that bad,” Janus waved him off. “They just had certain hopes for me, but they didn’t force me to continue ballet when I wanted to quit, even if they were disappointed.”

 “Sure, that’s one thing but what about the trans thing? If you don’t mind me asking.”

 “I didn’t tell them until I did something… a little drastic.”

 Remus raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask further. “And when you did?”

 “They weren’t… ecstatic at first. But we went to therapy together for a while with a therapist that I picked out and it helped a lot. They still don’t understand everything about queerness, but they try. When I came out as gay, they were really confused if that meant I liked girls or boys.”

 Remus snorted. “Sounds kinda fun.”

 “It was entertaining in a way.”

 “Well, I’m glad things worked out for you. There’re some guys from back then I need to tell about meeting you, they’ll lose their minds.”

 “There you are, Cephy,” a voice spoke up behind them and Remus’ grin became even wider.

 “Logie! Hey, remember the ballet girl I told you about that hang out with us for one week until her parents dragged her away?” He pointed at Janus without waiting for an answer. “That’s him!”

 The man blinked slowly which gave Janus a moment to look him over. He was tall, taller than him at least, maybe even Remus. He had glasses with piercing blue eyes behind them and black hair. He wore a tie along with a plain black t-shirt. In contrast he had ripped jeans and a denim vest with a variety of pins. A weird combination that Janus found quite pleasant to look at.

 “I do recall you mentioning something like that a few times,” he said before turning to Janus. “My name is Logan, a pleasure to meet you.” He held out a hand for Janus to shake which he did.

 “You, too.”

 Logan nodded before turning back to Remus. “I hate to interrupt your conversation, but Virgil requested you in the back.”

 He didn’t look enthused, but Remus stood up nonetheless. But before he left, he pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Janus.

 “Call me sometimes. I would love to get a drink with you.” He winked before throwing an arm around Logan’s shoulder and giving him a quick kiss before they disappeared into the crowd. Janus quirked an eyebrow before he looked at the piece of paper in his hand. It had the logo and the name of the band on the front and on the back was an e-mail address as well as a phone number that was not printed. Under it was written:

 Text me if you’re interested. The mail is Logan’s since he’s our manager so you can hit him up, too. We’re not exclusive ;)

 Janus snorted and pocketed the card. Then he grabbed the drinks and returned to Remy who watched the entire exchange and grinned at him knowingly. Janus didn’t even care if he teased him about it, he just got the contact info of two very hot guys. A very good evening indeed.

[eliemo]

Blood and Stars

Summary: Sometimes, Virgil doesn't know what to do without the pain. That doesn’t mean he ever wanted it in the first place. 

TW: Talks about self harm. Nothing too graphic, but please be safe. 

Masterpost

Taglist: @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @mygenderisidiot @a-very-gay-raccoon @dawnfire7 @cr4zyart @ray-does-stuff @whydoifeeltheneedtoorganizestuff @bunny222  @the-blue-recluse @bisexualdisaster106 (let me know if you want to be added or if I missed you)

Patton never would have brought it up again on his own.

He’d caught a glimpse of a nasty looking scratch along Virgil’s forearm while the two of them were doing the dishes after dinner. It didn’t look too deep- long, thin, and horizontal just beneath his wrist, but it didn’t look particularly pleasant.

“What happened there?” he asked, when they’d finished the dishes, not missing the way Virgil’s shoulders tensed as he quickly pulled his hoodie sleeves back down.

He hesitated, still tugging at the ends of his sleeves as he stared down at the sink, and Patton reminded himself not to push.

“I- I broke a mug,” Virgil muttered after a moment. “One of Logan’s glass ones. It was on the edge of the table and I, uh, bumped it. Accidentally cut myself on the glass when I was cleaning it up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry kiddo.” Patton was careful to keep his voice light, conversational, despite how badly he wanted to squeal with pride and pull Virgil into a bone crushing hug.

He was obviously nervous about this, about openly admitting a mistake and not immediately expecting screams or punches, but he was doing it.

“It’s fixed though,” Virgil added. “Or I...I asked Roman to fix it. No one was angry.”

“Of course not,” Patton said gently. “Accidents happen. And I’m proud of you for getting help.”

Virgil ducked his head, flashing Patton a tentative smile from behind his bangs, but the moral side noticed how he rubbed absently at the scratch on his arm.

“You got that cut all cleaned up, right?” he asked. “We don’t want it to get infected.”

Virgil blinked, staring blankly for just a second like he had no clue what Patton was talking about. It only lasted a moment, realization visibly dawning, and he pulled his sleeve all the way over his hand.

“Oh! Yeah, uh, I did. It’s fine, Pat. I’m all good.”

Patton didn’t want to risk stressing him out or sending him into a string of apologies for a mistake he hadn’t made, so he just smiled, squeezed his uncovered hand, and dropped the subject.

That had been a little over two days ago, and Patton honestly hadn’t given it a second thought. He’d confirmed the events with Roman that same day, both of them happy with Virgil’s progress, but other than that it hadn’t crossed his mind.

It was almost ten when there was a knock on Patton’s door, just after he’d changed into pajamas for the night, the sound small and hesitant.

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to find it was Virgil on the other side of the door, arms wrapped around himself, hood pulled up over his head.

“Hey kiddo,” Patton said softly. “What’s up?”

Virgil was silent for a moment, eyes glued to the ground, and Patton realized he was shaking. “I, uh- s-sorry I know it’s late I just...I think I need to talk to you about something.”

There was something about his voice, how scared and hesitant it sounded, like he’d done everything in his power to convince himself to knock on Patton’s door tonight.

“Alright,” he said. “Do you want to go into the living room? I know my room isn’t always the best place for you.”

Virgil nodded, stepping aside to let Patton into the hall, the two sides making their way downstairs in heavy silence.

The anxious side went straight to the couch while Patton made a quick detour into the kitchen to get them both some tea, hoping a hot drink would help to calm both their nerves.

But it was another five minutes before Virgil worked up the courage to speak, sitting silently beside Patton, staring blankly into the steaming mug, stiff and unmoving.

“I lied to you,” Virgil said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Patton frowned, taking in Virgil’s hunched and trembling shoulders, and forcefully pushed down his own uneasiness. “Well, I’m sure you had a good reason, kiddo. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“The cut on my arm,” Virgil said quickly, squeezing his eyes shut when Patton went very still. “I- I didn’t...it wasn’t an accident. I did it to myself.”

Patton’s breath caught, something heavy in his chest growing to a suffocating weight. He swallowed, turning the words over in his head, carefully setting his mug down on the coffee table.

He knew he should say something comforting, offer Virgil the reassurance and support he so desperately needed right now, carefully encouraging him to elaborate. But all that came out was a hushed, “Oh.”

Virgil winced at that, curling in on himself, hands shaking around the plastic mug settled against his knee. Patton saw him swallow, breath hitching before he spoke again. “I...I’m sorry.”

“Oh, honey…” he trailed off, suddenly at a loss. What was he supposed to say? That it was ok? It...it wasn’t. “I’m not angry with you, I’m just...how- how much have you--?”

“Just once,” Virgil said quickly, and Patton’s shoulders dropped in relief. “I swear, it was just one time, Patton I promise I didn’t...I- I’m not--”

“I believe you.”

Virgil nodded at that, letting out a shaky breath, trembling hands carefully setting down the mug, still not quite able to look the other side in the eyes.

“I...thought about doing it again,” he admitted. “That’s why I came and got you.”

“That’s good,” Patton said, reaching over to take Virgil’s hand. “That’s really good, Virge. Thank you for coming to me first.”

Virgil shrugged, making no move to look up from his lap. “I was worried about upsetting you. I just...felt too stupid to go to anyone else.”

“It’s not stupid, honey. Not at all.” He took a breath, squeezing the anxious side’s hand, choosing his words carefully. “Can...can you tell me why you did it? Did something happen?”

Virgil shook his head, staring straight ahead at the empty staircase. He was absently rubbing at his sleeve with his free hand, and Patton fought to keep himself from staring, from asking to see just to set his racing mind at ease.

It wasn’t his place. He was here to help, to move at Virgil’s pace.

And then Virgil was digging into his pocket, fiddling with something beneath the cloth. He hesitated for just a moment, before wordlessly reaching out a hand to drop a small object into Patton’s palm.

It was a piece of glass, sharp and jagged around the edges, painted a dark navy blue with tiny white specks that might resemble part of a constellation if it was put back where it belonged.

It was a part of Logan’s mug, the one Virgil had broken, a piece of glass the anxious side must have pocketed before he’d gone to Roman for help.

“Oh, kiddo.”

Virgil suddenly pulled his hand away, wrapping his arms around himself, and Patton felt the loss of contact like a physical ache in his chest.

He didn’t...he had no idea what he was supposed to do in a situation like this. Logan would know, he thought. Logan always knew the best approach when it came to Virgil.

But...but Virgil had gone to him. He’d been scared and confused and he’d gone to Patton first. That had to count for something, right?

“It’s ok,” he whispered, and then immediately winced at his own words. “I mean- I mean it’s not- obviously, but...but I’m not mad. I promise, I just...can you tell me why? Roman said you seemed...fine.”

“I was,” Virgil said, hoarse and unsteady. “I thought I was, but I...I was just staring at the glass and I...I knew it was ok. I knew it was just a mistake and I wasn’t in trouble but...God, Patton before if I had broken something of theirs? I wouldn’t have been able to walk for days.”

Just like he always did when Virgil mentioned how he used to be treated, Patton felt a little breathless, a dangerous type of protective anger fighting its way up to the surface.

But he forcefully pushed it back down, just like he always did. Virgil needed him right now.

“I know.”

“You don’t,” Virgil said. And again, just like always, he didn’t sound angry over his treatment. Just...hurt and resigned. “I’ve barely told you anything, Pat.”

“Kiddo, I…”

“They told me I deserved it,” Virgil continued. “You guys know that. And I...I know I didn’t. I- I know that now but I...I just kept looking at the glass and I- I couldn’t get that stupid little voice out of my head telling me I needed to be punished. That I...I deserved to be hurt for messing up.”

He was wiping furiously at his eyes, tugging at his sleeve despite it being nowhere near high enough for Patton to be able to catch a glimpse of the mark.

“That was how it was. I wouldn’t learn without pain. And if I didn’t learn...it would be worse. I know you guys would never, so I...I did it to myself. Without thinking, I just...hurt myself. Like they would have done.”

Patton ignored his own tears, the panicked beating of his heart, instead reaching out to touch Virgil’s trembling shoulder, freezing when the anxious side flinched away.

“Virgil,” he said softly, cringing at how unsure he sounded. “Nobody should ever be hurt over an accident. You shouldn’t...I’m so sorry you felt like you had to do that to yourself. That- that you wanted--”

“I don’t.” Virgil suddenly whirled to face him, eyes wide and brimming with tears, and he flinched when Patton involuntarily shrank back. “Sorry, I’m...s-sorry. I’m so sorry, Patton just...please don't think that. Please.”

“It’s alright, honey.” Slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements, Patton put the piece of glass on the coffee table and opened his arms in a hopeful invitation.

Virgil crumpled, face falling with so much hurt and shame, slumping forward into Patton’s chest and letting out a breathy, panicked sob.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, desperate, and Patton quickly wrapped his arms around him. “I’m sorry, please don’t- please don’t hate me I don’t--”

“I could never hate you.” He tightened his hold, reaching up to cup the back of Virgil’s head. “Never. Don’t you think for a second that this changes a thing.”

“I’m not gonna do it again,” Virgil added, voice muffled from Patton’s shirt and the sobs they were both fighting to hold back. “I sw- I swear I’m...I won’t. I don’t want to.”

“I trust you,” Patton said, and he could only silently hope it was the right thing to say. “And we’ll be right here to help make sure you don’t. Just like we’ve always been.”

Virgil didn’t speak again, not for another few moments, the two of them huddled on the couch, trembling and wrapped up in each other.

When he held Virgil in his arms, sometimes Patton could only picture how life had used to be for him. Always terrified, always hurting, surrounded only by hatred and cruelty.

Had Patton been the first person to ever hold him? Before he came to them, had there ever been a time he was shown even a shred of kindness?

“I didn’t deserve it.”

It was so quiet, so small and sudden, for a second Patton thought he’d imagined it. But then the words registered, and he pulled back slightly to look down at the side in his arms. Virgil didn’t look up, didn’t move from where he lay against Patton’s chest.

“Kiddo?”

“I didn’t deserve it.” It was more forceful this time, and Patton felt Virgil tighten his frantic grip. “I hated it and they knew that and they still... why? It’s been months and I can’t stop and they knew...I don’t understand. What did I do? Why would someone...why did they hate me enough to do this? I can’t...I can't get better and I can’t stop. I thought- I thought I was and then I did this.”

Patton pulled off his glasses and set them aside, leaning forward to press a kiss to Virgil’s hair before shakily answering. “You didn’t do anything, honey. Some people are just...misguided. They’re the parts of Thomas he would never embrace. It wasn’t your fault. You were...you were just trapped.”

Trapped was putting it lightly. Beaten, threatened, and gaslit were more accurate, but Virgil always felt uneasy using those terms.

As much as Patton hated this, hated seeing Virgil in so much pain...this was the first time he’d ever really acknowledged that what happened had been unfair. That he’d deserved better.

But he couldn’t really find it in himself to dwell on that when Virgil was crying into his shirt again, trembling and gasping and so clearly ashamed.

“I owe you guys everything,” Virgil managed. “I didn’t think it- it could ever stop and then it did. You- you said you would never hurt me and you didn’t, and I just...thank you. You don’t know how much I wanted this.”  

Patton’s throat felt tight icy dread and warm love fighting for dominance, hatred for the people who had left Virgil damaged (not broken, he reminded himself- just bruised. He was getting so much better even if Virgil couldn’t see it himself) settling deep in his gut.

He shoved it aside, and held Virgil tighter, letting him cry it out.

“You don’t need to thank us,” he said. “Loving you isn’t a chore, Virgil. You don’t ever need to feel like you owe us for being kind.”

“But nobody else ever was! Nobody...I- I know you always say it wasn’t my fault but...but they all hated me. What if...what if I did something wrong?”

“You didn’t.” They’d been over this before, but Patton would say it over and over again if he had to. “Nothing could warrant the treatment you got, Virge. You know that.”

“I...y-yeah, but--”

“And you don’t deserve to be hurting yourself now,” Patton continued. “Honey, I need you to promise me that if you feel...the urge to do that again, you’ll go and get someone, ok?”

Virgil nodded, breathing still erratic but gradually slowing. “Ok.”

“Promise me, kiddo. I can’t...the thought of you doing that, I just...come talk to us first, ok? Me, Logan, and Roman are always here. Even Janus and Remus if you can’t find us!”

“I will,” Virgil croaked, giving a watery smile when Patton ran a careful hand through his hair. “I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’m…” Virgil hesitated, like he was carefully considering his next words. “I’m sorry. I- I know you’ll tell me not to be but...I’m really sorry. For doing that. For putting you through this.”

Patton shook his head, feeling his tears slide down his neck and soak into the collar of his shirt. “I just want you to feel safe, kiddo. That’s what we all want. More than anything.”

Virgil nodded, slowly extracting one arm from where it was pressed in between the back of the couch and Patton’s side, swiping at the tears still streaming down his face.

“I’m trying,” he said. “I am. I promise, I’m trying so hard.”

“We know. We all know, Virgil. We see it, even when you don’t. And we’re so, so proud of you.”

For a second, Virgil looked uneasy, like he wasn’t quite sure if Patton was telling the truth or not. But it didn’t last long, shoulders dropping as he offered a small smile and nod.

“Thank you. For...for everything.”

Neither of them were in much of a hurry to move, but it wasn’t long before Virgil’s eyelids began to droop, the anxious side swaying slightly where he sat, and Patton managed to lead him upstairs to his room and into bed.

He stayed in Virgil’s room, humming softly until he gradually drifted off to sleep. It only took a few moments, Virgil having quickly exhausted himself tonight.

Patton wondered how long it had taken him to work up the courage to ask for help tonight. He wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t.

That was...not a possibility he was comfortable thinking about right now.

But he’d promised he wouldn’t do it anymore. He would reach out first if it got to that point again, and he had plenty of people willing to help.

Virgil trusted Patton, and after what he’d been through the anxious side’s trust was a difficult thing to earn.

The least Patton could do was trust Virgil to keep a promise.

[mythrianalpha]

Got bored at work and thought of a fic idea I’m not equipped to write:

Probably Human AU, but canon could work with some adjustments

The basic idea is someone getting confused about Janus fighting against self care. I was thinking about a few of the ‘corruption of positive traits’ posts floating around and how c!Thomas canonically is selfless to the point of personal damage; then, I thought about the sides’ issues and how they could manifest in toxic positivity ways. Very explicitly requiring that the character is either unaware their actions are harmful or uses the healthiness of the activity to deflect. Janus, a smort snake, is very supportive of his friends’ choices until he realizes they hurt more than help. Interventions in the “Yeah exercise is good for you, but you’re literally in there every day and you’re clearly injured/hurting so maybe chill??”-style.

Uuuuuuh, examples: self harm masquerading as healthy habits mostly

Roman taking self care days or claiming to be getting extra rest but he’s not so much resting as curling up in a depression ball (not on purpose: that one comic where the canine goes from ‘taking self care days’ to chillin and making bread on gross days)(on purpose: using the excuse as a shield to avoid check ins and confront interpersonal issues)

Virgil or Remus working out or running on the reg (obsessively), but their motivation is entirely based on anxiety/intrusive thoughts about people getting hurt because they weren’t strong/fast enough or they’re pushing way too hard too fast (I see you bpd!remus writers and I’m here for some manic/depressive remus; a lot of them are pretty well written ngl)

I think we’re all well aware of Patton’s issues as Thomas already pointed them out in canon and we do stan a man trying to learn he’s allowed care and affection even when he’s not constantly trying to be helpful. (Helping is a good thing to do why shouldn’t he do the good thing, we’ve all seen it)

Logan setting up schedules to help manage time, but they’re getting far too specific and strict. He’s not even destressing during the scheduled relaxation time; mostly because that’s not how people work, but also because he’s too busy thinking of the next task. Honestly he can join Patton in the ‘no need to earn love and affection’ van.

Remus or Virgil trying to force their aesthetics when they’re not feeling it, but in a way that’s tricky for me to explain. Uuuuh… Remus watching/writing/reading gore or horror when he’s in a bad headspace for it, but he normally enjoys it so why is it bad now? But also with some ‘boy who cried wolf’ vibes in there? The dedication to the bit causes escalating problems when forced, even though the bit is normally fun and effortless.

Bold of anyone to assume Janus wouldn’t also end up here at least once. His self defense tactics of sarcasm and being entirely covered up are beloved, but he’s almost certainly touch-starved to shit and may end up worsening any self-image issues and/or dysphoria by just avoiding his own skin.

[redxriiot]

@scarf-isms​ said : (( But will send one from Izuku later lol. I just reread those tags and saw you were looking for Vampire Mentors and wanna write more Vamp Aizawa ))

Aizawa wasn't sure how much Kirishima could hear, given his injuries, but he kept his voice down as he responded to Hitoshi's plea to save him. "You know I don't do that."

"You did for me!" Hitoshi hissed, not bothering to control his own volume.

"That was an exception."

Hitoshi growled in the back of his throat. "Why me and not him?! It's my fault he's this hurt, he was protecting me, we can't let him die!"

"I'm not authorized to Sire more than one person, Recovery Girl can-"

"There's no time, she's halfway across the city and he's dying NOW!"

There was a long moment of silence from Aizawa before he sighed, using a single fang to slice open his wrist. Thick black blood oozed from the wound. "He's lost enough blood that I shouldn't need to bite him for this to work... Kirishima, I need you to open your mouth and drink this, now."

         『 Based on a Plot!!! || Accepting 』

         So this is how it all ended, huh? One hit too many from some threat he'd sworn he'd totally had handled, but ultimately hadn't been enough to. Like a certain teacher had explicitly warned would happen, as a result of his recklessness. Man, his mama was gonna be so mad at him once she got a load of what happened. When was she not though- No, wait. Forget her, Aizawa would definitely chew him the hell out over this. Which was even worse, because he didn’t want the guy to dislike him more than he felt he already did. The man was always so damn stern, it was just the worst...

         Well, not that he would ever regret a damn thing. And hey, all that was later Kirishima's problem. Assuming there’d BE a later. Right now, he really...really wanted to sleep off all the pain and heaviness-

          A slight whine rose in his throat at his name, eyes scrunching shut. Shit, that...that sounded an awful lot like the last person he wanted to see right now. Why, he was just...he was finally about to get a decent sleep! Maybe he was...just dreaming? Did that happen this quick???

           Yeah...only in a dream would Aizawa be offering a nice drink right about now, instead of yelling or scolding him for whatever reason-

           “H...h-hnnh?” A grimace tugged at Eijiro’s lips as he shakily opened his mouth. “Wh’ve y’...y’g–?”