#they've been slowly dying for months now. maybe even years.

[deadlymistletoe]

Unrequited

Pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader

Request: Anonymous asked: could you write something angsty with thranduil where reader is an elf in his kingdom but they've been friends for a long time and she loves him but never told him cuz she values thier friendship and thinks shes unworthy of him and she's starting to get sick and poisoned from holding the feelings in and he's getting really concerned thinking she might be dying 

A/N: Thank you so much for giving me my first request! I hope I did your idea justice! Sorry it took so long, I wrote most of it before getting writer's block and taking a break before going back to heavily edit it and changing quite a few paragraphs.

Genre: Angst/Romance

Description: Over the years you’d managed to fall in love with your childhood friend, and kept your feelings hidden, terrified of ruining your friendship, but now years of hiding your feelings are catching up to you, making you unwell.

Warnings: None?

Word count: 1408

You had always been close to Thranduil, since birth, practically. Your mother, a trusted elleth who dealt with the important archives in the palace library, had helped tutor Thrandiuil in subjects such as history, and geography at his mother’s request. And seeing as you were too young to be left to your own devices, and your mother already taught you, you became a class of two with the Greenwood Prince. 

It was safe to say not many others could say they’d been as close to the Prince as you were. And they definitely couldn’t say they knew him as well as you. 

As years passed and you got older, you and Thranduil only got closer. You snuck out together, you hid from your parents together, you laughed and played together. You cried together. 

You couldn’t say exactly when it was that your feelings for the Prince changed. Maybe it was when he made you a picnic to have on the balcony to cheer you up after some of the other young elves played a prank on you. Or maybe it was when he held you when you cried at the news of your mother’s death. Maybe it was when he spoke so eagerly on what he’d learnt on his trip to Lorien and you could only focus on the way his eyes lit up.

Maybe it was everything together. The only thing you knew was that you were steadily falling for the Prince.

But after a night spent lying awake, mulling it over, you realized that Thranduil could never know of your feelings.

Thranduil had only ever thought of you as a friend and you had no intentions of ruining that friendship. Even if he did feel the same, there was too much of a risk that it wouldn’t work out and your relationship would never be the same again.

Besides, Thranduil needed someone worthy of him, who could rule beside him when the time came - not an archivist who’d never dealt with politics in her life - not someone like you.

So you buried your feelings as you continued your mother’s work in the library, drawing away from Thranduil ever so slightly.

By the time Thranduil had been crowned King after his fathers death, (a very hard time in which you’d spent hours holding the devastated blond - even more so after his mother left to sail not long after, only waiting long enough to see Orpher laid to rest in the garden and Thranduil take the crown) you’d mastered hiding your feelings, and as the days grew darker and Greenwood slowly transformed into Mirkwood you continued to hide them. 

And it was hard.

And as the days grew colder you could feel the years of holding yourself back, attempting to force yourself not to love him, catching up to you.

You tried to ignore it, pulling away from Thranduil, burying yourself in work, and brushing off any concerns your fellow elves may have with a breezy answer of how the cold must be affecting you.

It was a flimsy excuse, and you knew it. After all, elfs didn’t get sick from the cold like humans did. But it seemed to do the trick for a while at least.

Over the next month, you ignored the way your heart ached as you slowly felt yourself deteriorating. You ate less, forced smiles when you had to, cried yourself to sleep when no one was around to see. 

Your glow was fading.

And Thranduil knew it too. After all, despite the way you’d seemed to pull away from him over the past few years, he was still your best friend, and he could tell that you were hurting, and ill, and who knows what else.

At first, he’d tried to casually bring the topic of you up with your friends, and it eventually came back to him that you were saying it was because of the cold.

The cold didn't affect elves. But other things could… An unusual panic seemed to take over him as his mind ran over the few illnesses that could affect elves. What if you were dying? Was that why you were pulling away from him? You didn’t want him to know?

And so Thranduil left his study with a stubborn resolve to find out exactly what was happening to you.

You looked up from the book you had sitting open in front of you as you stared into space when the library door was opened with enough force that it banged off the wall behind it and the reason your heart was aching stood in front of you, looking far from impressed.

Thranduil was clearly far from happy as he scanned you up and down. His eyes were cold but you could see the concern, a bit of anger and something else you couldn’t make out mixed in.

You furrowed your brows as he stood there in silence. You had to say something, but you couldn’t say his name. It was too hard to be so informal when you weren’t being informal in the way your heart wanted.

“My lord?”

That did it.

“Don’t call me that!” The blond seemed pained by the title as he rebuked you. “After all this time, you're going to start calling me ‘My lord?’”

You didn’t get a chance to say anything as he plowed on. “I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know why you're pulling away from me, or why you look like you're about to pass out and not wake up!”

You blinked as Thranduil listed off things you’d thought you’d been able to keep hidden from him. Your attention went back to the king as he finished his torrent of words with a sentence, a word, that snapped you out of your daze. “But I need to know, you need to tell me, because I'm your friend, and you’re supposed to be able to come to me when you’re not okay.”

You let your book fall to the floor as you stood up, an unusual display of violence towards a book on your half, and tried to blink back the tears that had begun to push forward. 

Unbeknownst to Thranduil, he had just put your problem into words, but it was too late to leave and pretend his words hadn’t just unintentionally broken your heart into pieces.

Suddenly you didn’t care if he knew. You didn’t care if the whole world knew. After all, he was the one who had said you needed to tell him.

Your heart pushed the rational part of your mind aside as your emotions reared up, ready to make you say words you might live to regret.

You couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, tears finally falling as you finally spoke of your problems to the one who had unintentionally caused them.

“Well that’s just it, isn’t it? I’m your friend, and that’s all I ever will be, although I'd wager not at all after this, when my heart yearns for more, and has done so for longer than you can imagine!”

You ignored the blonde’s shocked expression as the words kept tumbling out.

“You are my problem! You who could never love me the way I love you!”

You broke off as your brain finally caught up to what you were saying, tears still falling from your eyes.

You let out a sob as you realized you’d done what you’d feared, ruining your friendship forever and pushed past Thranduil, who was still frozen in shock at your outburst, and made for the door, fully prepared to gather you things and leave, when a firm hand wrapped around your arm, stopping you from leaving the room.

You shut your eyes in shame as you felt him turn you to face him, a gentle hand lifting your chin, you his breath brushing against your ear as he spoke in a low voice. “My dear Y/N, you have never been more wrong in your life.”

And his lips pressed firmly against yours, one hand still holding your chin, the other on your arm.

And as you melted into the kiss, your mind finally catching up with what was happening, a final tear, this time of relief and happiness fell.

What tomorrow would bring, it didn’t matter. You were content in the moment, and things could only get better with Thranduil by your side, not only as a friend, but as a lover.

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[forgivenpunishment]

❝ you can’t change your past and you can’t change who you were. you can only decide who you’re going to be. ❞ / dealer’s choice for verse :3

⩥ @eventheodds [outlaw] || twilight princess manga prompts [OPEN]

❝ you can’t change your past and you can’t change who you were. you can only decide who you’re going to be. ❞

He doesn't think he's spoken in weeks. Maybe longer—maybe months, years, it doesn't matter.

Why did they save him? He'd become his worst enemy, he slotted perfectly into the role, carried out his orders diligently—he forgot everything that he'd loved in this life and replaced it with corruption. Corruption that corroded his very ideals of family and love and caretaking...

He would have rather died than become that monster. He wishes—wishes—he died before he could've become the monster. Wolfwood—can he even call himself that?—hates that he wished for death.

But... what now? What can he even... where does he go from here? Who is he?

Old friends visit him like ghosts, whispering words of forgiveness and love that seep like venom into his bloodstream. Vile, vile! It's so vile! They should hate him! They should seethe! He wants them to! He wants them to hate him!

...That is where his brain has been. This... this muddled existence somewhere between death and hell, perhaps it's worse than existing in one or the other. Some spark... some small glimmer... it keeps getting into his eye like an ember and no amount of tears or screaming can keep it at bay. Hope, his mind supplies.

Hope.

Stop—stop it—stopitstopistopitstopstopstopmakeitstoppleaseicanticant—

He's alone in a room most of the time because he just can't stop thrashing. Touch him, he flinches—recoils, even. He may as well hiss.

Don't look at me like that. Don't look at me like I can be fixed. Please. Stop.

I'm not the same. You have to put me down. I'm a rabid animal. I'll only bite. Look. Look. These teeth, these claws, these eyes, I'll hurt you, I'll hurt all of you, I'll kill, just say the word and I will, I'm like a loyal hound I can be your hound but I can't be tamed, I can't, not... please stop looking at me like that...

Time passes. Vash. Meryl. They're both okay.

Damn Vash and his fucking mercy, damn him, damn him!

More writhing. More thrashing—coughing—he thinks he'll sooner cough up a lung than regain his voice. They give him ichor and he does it all again. Writhing. Thrashing. Coughing.

Suffocating.

God, he thinks, Please let this end.

†††

One day, no one visits him. He thinks his heart will give out tonight. Finally.

†††

It doesn't, but he does sleep. It is dreamless sleep. Outside, he thinks he hears whispers of 'giving up' and 'dead'. Dying. If only.

The voices are new. Words. He can hear them.

❝ you can’t change your past and you can’t change who you were. you can only decide who you’re going to be. ❞

Goddamnit. Vash speaks through her too.

Tired gray eyes blink open slowly. They are lifeless and dark, weary with sleep and despair. The warmth in his gaze, the vulnerability in the crinkle of his brows—none of it is there.

Surprisingly, it seems as though they've been able to touch him enough to groom him. His last memories recall long hair and shaggy whiskers—perhaps a beard? But now... he's clean. Freshly baptized in a bath and soap and a razor's edge, he finally sees Meryl. One of the ones that he loved. Wolfwood loved. Not... not who he is now... he can't... he doesn't know who...

At first, he can't open his mouth. It's sealed with coffin nails and untouched like an ancient, forlorn grave. The most he manages is a sigh before it all goes dark again.

He wakes up again, and his mouth is tacky. They must've gotten him to drink water somehow.

He doesn't deserve a chance to speak. He doesn't deserve a trial. Put him to death... lock him in chains... something, something, just stop looking at him like that—

"Why..." he croaks, setting the dusty vocal cords in motion, "Can't. Too much. Sin."

It may have been days since she said those words to him, he's not sure.

"Let go. Let me go. Please."

[justmultifandom]

Kidge summer event 2023

Day 17: Hot day

This is a part 2 of the "Day 3 Road Trip" that you can find here.

"When you said that in Italy was dying of heat, you weren't kidding...": Keith complained, trying to fan himself with his hands as he felt the sweat run down his forehead and down his neck.

"I told you, every year in the Po Valley it gets worse and worse": she replied, swinging slowly on an old wooden swing, now used to too much heat. The couple had quickly isolated themselves from the rest of the people talking around the table set in the distance, although every now and then Keith saw someone giving him dirty looks.

"Don't worry, I've never really grown fond of my Italian side of the family": she explained: "Even all my second or third cousins or uncles almost never speak to me. Besides, many of my aunts are bitches. When I was little, all they did was gossip about my mother's American accent."

She had said the last sentence with a slight sense of anger and offense in her tone, as he continued to wade through the group of middle-aged and older women gossiping.

"You know, I'm actually glad you're here. At least I have an excuse to get away ": she continued, while a rather plump lady in a wheelchair came out of her house.

"She is my grandmother, I think she is the only person in this family that I really care about": she explained, while smiling and waving her hand:" Her father served in the third world war, our family got rich this way and she will divide everything between my father, Matt and me. Maybe that's why deep down many hate us"

"But I saw you talking to those ladies over there and that blonde girl": Keith pointed out, while his wife looked at him with a tired and annoyed look.

"Cousin Sara is a bitch. She knows English very well but she speaks Italian knowing perfectly well that you don't know it": she rolled her eyes grumbling: "And the aunts are the classic mother-in-law of shit. Since I was six they've been pestering me about a boyfriend, then when you and I were dating they wanted a fucking wedding and this year, even though we've been married for less than a month, they keep complaining that I have a baby the first possible!"

She complained, continuing to gesticulate and grumble about how little she is attached to that family and that, fortunately, they lived on two different continents.

"Pidge, Katie...": Keith interrupted, kneeling in front of her and looking into her eyes: "That... What you said in the car... is true?"

"What? That today will be the worst day of all? Yes, it's true": she sighed, shaking her head and almost suddenly feeling the desire to cry.

"No... I mean...": Keith stammered, trying to find the right words from her, while he felt her eyes water, feeling a new emotion in her chest: "Are you... are you pregnant?"

"Oh...that!": She exclaimed, laughing and finally letting two tears fall, she nods biting her lip: "Yes... Yes, I am..."

"Wow...": he didn't know what to say. His words caught in her throat as his mind raced about the future, a future as a father.

"Thank you... thank you...": he limited himself to saying about her, embracing her with strength and with such a push that she almost fell off her swing, crying on her shoulder from her happiness at that news from her. It wasn't really planned, but just because it was unexpected didn't mean it was bad. They had never had talks about starting a family, but he knew she was the woman he would live with until the end of time.

"Keith, it's hot and I'm all sweaty there's no need to wet my shirt any more than it already is": she laughed, at least just to break the silence between them.

"Oh, right, sorry love...": he smiled, wiping away his tears and breaking her embrace, looking at her with eyes full of love thinking where the heck he found such a woman and how lucky they fell in love with her.

"So... you didn't tell anyone...?": he asked, remaining on his knees in front of her.

"No... I couldn't stand those chickens anymore": she shook her head:" And then... I would have preferred to tell my parents and Matt in private first. It's difficult even for them today, it always has been..."

"I see...": he nodded, while turning his gaze towards the crowd he saw everyone sitting in their seats, while Pidge got up from the swing, dusting off her white fluttering dress: "I think lunch is ready, come, I'll introduce you to my grandmother "

She smiled, he smiled back as they approached the long white table arm in arm.

[sezja]

Febuwhump Day 11: Time Loop Alternate 2: "I Love You" Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Jeryk Motplowe/Thaffe Morhand Triggers/Content warnings: n/a

Continued from this

Thaffe wakes again - closer, now, to morning. Half an hour, he gauges, maybe less, before he needs to get up and...

He stares at the ceiling, watching motes of dust dance in the ray of Light that slants through the room. How pointless it all seems; how futile - they've been working frantically, day and night, for an entire month, and what was it all for? Even if they find Agna, even if they clear away all of the rubble, it's too late; it's taken too long. The collapse runs far and deep, and who's to say how much earth and rock still lies between them and... and whatever's left of the greatest miner Twine's ever seen; the woman Magnus loved more than life itself.

His arm tightens around Jeryk, still sound asleep, tucked safe against his side.

A light's gone out of Magnus, after they'd finally accepted there was no chance that Agna was still alive. She'd carried provisions with her; she was a seasoned veteran and knew the dangers - rations and water enough to last a week, she'd taken with her into the mine. Two weeks, if she made it stretch, and she certainly would have. Three if they were very, very lucky.

Not four. And certainly not five. Two days ago marked the end of the fifth week, and the end of all their most desperate hopes.

It was Magnus who held out the longest; Magnus who refused to give up the last shred of hope that she might be found just beyond the next pile of rubble. And when he gave up, it...

Thaffe had been given the last two days off to rest up, while other crews rotated in to continue the work. They're moving more slowly now, more carefully, in the unstable mine - they can afford to, now. There's no hurry. Not anymore. But it means Thaffe's last glimpse of Magnus, two days ago, had been of the man sinking to his knees before the rubble, burying his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

He remembers a day... gods, nine years ago, now, when he'd thought he'd lost Jeryk. Sin eaters. Jeryk's mother, wailing in grief. Jeryk's father, explaining how he'd been knocked unconscious, and when he woke, their son was gone.

The depths of that grief had scarcely begun to set in before Thaffe had realized where Jeryk would've run in his panic, and... and then all was well, but what if it hadn't been? What if he had lost Jeryk that day? Would it even approach a tenth of what Magnus must be feeling? He'd already lost his son, and had returned to Twine chasing his son's dream. Losing Agna not only meant losing the love of his life, but also the death of that dream.

At his side, as though sensing his distress, Jeryk makes a small sound in his sleep. It's enough to jar Thaffe from chasing his thoughts in circles.

Jeryk. He smiles, resting his cheek against the top of Jeryk's head.

Magnus has grown increasingly impatient with Jeryk of late, and it's easy to guess why: Magnus doesn't think Jeryk grasps the seriousness of the situation, or what losing Agna means for... for Magnus, for Twine. Restoring the Talos and trolley may very well have been the last hope for the dying town. And still it seems every tenth word out of Jeryk's mouth is trolley, and more than once, Magnus has ordered the man away from the mine simply because he can't bear to listen to it anymore. He thinks Jeryk's a touch simpleminded, for all he's taken to Magnus's lessons like a bird to flight - too dense to get his head around reality. Head in the clouds; away with the fae.

Thaffe respects Magnus. But Magnus doesn't know Jeryk.

Thaffe's seen the way Jeryk fidgets with his old scarf, and the lost, forlorn expression he wears when he thinks no one's looking. Jeryk's not eating well lately: picking at his food and claiming he's just not hungry, and encouraging Thaffe to finish it for him. His wistful remarks about wishing they had Talos to help clear the rubble, salt in Magnus's wounds, is at least practical on the surface, if impossible.

And Thaffe's also seen the way Jeryk puts on a smile any time he does catch someone looking his way - especially Thaffe himself - eager to pretend he's not weighed down by grief.

And you let him pretend every time, he scolds himself, guilty.

"Did you need me for something?"

Thaffe's eyes sting; his throat feels tight. Need Jeryk, gods! He wishes he needed him less... or maybe more.

Jeryk makes another small sound, shifting fitfully in his sleep. A nightmare, perhaps? It'd come as no surprise, given... everything. Gently, Thaffe rubs his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his friend's head, with a quiet, "Shh. I'm here."

Almost immediately Jeryk relaxes, murmuring something that might have been Thaffe's name.

You let him pretend every time.

He always has, hasn't he? Jeryk never lets on when he's unhappy; he's not half as guileless as Magnus likes to think he is. That Thaffe's caught him looking miserable the past month speaks volumes. It makes his heart clench to imagine what he hasn't caught. Jeryk's no fool. He knows Agna's death means the end of trying to repair the trolleys - why bother, when there's no Talos to push them? It's a wonder he hasn't said as much aloud; is that wishful thinking, perhaps - if he doesn't say it, it won't be true?

Jeryk stayed behind in Twine when his parents left on the strength of Magnus and Agna's return and the hope that it meant a restoration of the trolley system.

Now-

"I love you, Thaffe."

The quiet, drowsy words send his thoughts scattering.

Jeryk - he hadn't even realized Jeryk was awake, and wonders how long he's been ruminating - shifts, rolling over to lay with his arms folded on Thaffe's chest. "I do love you," he repeats, green eyes dark and bottomless in the darkness. "No matter what."

He swallows hard. Finds a smile, weak though it is. "And what brought all this on, then?"

Jeryk's eyes flutter shut again, weighed down by sleep. "I just needed to say it. I hadn't yet, and you never know when..." He trails off.

Magnus. Agna.

If only we'd dug faster, we might've-

On an impulse, he wraps his arms around Jeryk and rolls them both over for a kiss, slow and deep. He's not sure they both don't doze off once or twice, clinging to each other.

"I love you, too," he breathes, somewhere in the middle, coming up for air. "I do, Jeryk, I-" He lets Jeryk swallow the rest of the words, love and grief mingling. It's bittersweet, but for the moment, the sweetness reigns.

Grief beckons.

They've got to bring Agna home, one way or another.

But for now...

[the-firebird69]

Is a large crowd trying to get into Florida no there's a huge crowd trying to leave it's very big it's probably 30% of the population and growing 10% is on the road or out 10% are packing to leave momentarily it's a huge number folks they probably won't come back lots of them we estimate about 10% of them will come back but out of 30% that's probably 2.5% would return but that's a lot of people and we don't think a ton will come back the leadership of the Mack Morlock in Florida they're down to about 5% the leadership globally is about 24%. They're shrinking pretty good in the Houston Hemisphere they took a severe beating they lost another 8% of the caches and stashes in 8% of the bunker systems defenses bunkers and we suspect they lose two or three percent more each by the end of the day and with the stashes and caches they opened up about fifty medium and three more large in total today that's a lot and then large I'm going to inspire even those who open it and know it's in it because when you take it out and you lay it out it's very impressive

The Pseudo Empire was attacked assaulted and hit and at this time they lost 5% but by nightfall here it will be about 10% and they will slowly recover calling from other areas we checked several groups are going to those areas but they are mostly drugs we looked at taking those areas and we found out that the empire wanted them is not true they're not really slums they're fairly decent but they're not going back a lot of them took pictures and wept. And we're going to hold those areas probably with force so far it's been a huge amount that they've called the attacks begin about 3 and a half weeks ago they have been draining their areas it's not just stan And they've been doing it for at least a month solid but it's been off and on for years the errors are getting weaker and weaker and they've been attacked and they're falling back to the bunkers and they're sad because they think they know it's not a good thing. They do understand our son is not for them fighting each other and he can't take a side and he wants them to stop it. But they can't they say. This evacuation of area includes the middle areas there are a bunch of them in there the Midwest has about 5 city areas that was mostly pseudo empire and they are and have been evacuating to the north mostly to reinforce those bunkers and to the West and south but not as much they are leaving now they went the other way and they went the other way and it didn't work at all this way they get to fight otherwise they were dying in their houses and all sorts of stupid reasons. And the Midwest is far from empty it's still got some I'll be 30% of the numbers that were there before so two thirds left in total and that's a lot Today there's a huge number of them leaving the middle areas and across the board it's an evacuation it's really a pseudo empire leaving to their bunkers trump's just leaving to defend their bunkers and the Mack Morlock leaving to run their plan and go west it's a hateful plan and it is a huge huge evacuation out of the 30% remaining About three percent are getting up to leave later tonight maybe one or two percent more and it will progress that way throughout this coming week. this week is a big week so we're gonna publish

Thor Freya

Olympus

we like it y eh

Hera

Zues

[stolencrownsofplenty]

Anonymous | Accepting

+ What is your biggest regret?

Your body moves to its own separate accord, where the Emperor's telepathy meets your mind with a simple bit of puppetry do they make use of your questioning with the trade of your labor; your hands moving alongside their knelt form with the idle pouring watering can that leaks out water onto the dry soil. Seedlings are slowly being buried beneath the plowed fields as the Lamb ponders your words in silent thought. A low hum escapes them, almost so deep with a mumble you could near feel it rumble in your own core. It's a loaded question to some degree. What could be suffice enough when losing your life isn't enough, if the lost memories of their mind was probably the least of their worries, from the start?

Their eyes squint at the ground, a lone frown settles upon their dark features. Dirt sets in between their wedding bands, and maybe a bit uncomfortable yet manageable until their farm work would be completed for dinner. The blue crown, where their old ear had once existed, twitches akin to the flick of an ear.

...

.. By 50 years before, where our children, our family, hadn't been as big as we once desired it to be? When we were truly the last before we had discovered we could bring our kind back in a different form, we've had failed attempts on producing a heir for quite a while. Where the use of sin had only brought us more believers, we wanted more than just a surrogate. Yet unwise we were, to jump in when we were only just discovering the yearning for another's touch... One regret that stands out to us most is the first few miscarriages of our first borns. Much of what we know is from trial and error, and we did not know or had the right tools at the time to know we had set ourself up for heartbreak.

They rub a thumb against one of their wedding bands. One of their firsts, they could still remember somewhere in the darkest of their soul where their first spouse had let them experiment, had much trouble producing them a heir during their first decades together. When their stress was still held high during the rein of pulling the Bishops from purgatory, miscarriages had been almost common for their lover and themselves. The late nights mourning for their passed child... When days had blurred by for a several months even as they went through the routine of their cult work. Had they not been lucky to get where they were now, would they've been able to deal with the isolation of their kind then? Even with the company of their beloveds by their side then?

Although going into something head first was often where we lucked best in fights? Bearing a child with your lover is more unpredictable than a person's mere thoughts. If we done something different back then with the knowledge we know now? Maybe we could've saved our first Witness from the pain of dying so many times just to see if it were ever a chance to see a little soul of our heart looking up at us.

[spellwound]

i should clarify that @urgebound & i's save does not take the course of days and weeks but instead months and possibly even years, which is why their look changes so much. we're slowly establishing how long it takes the siblings to grow out their hair to its maximum length / the length they're comfortable going to, and i think they grow at roughly the same rate, hair wise. which means every hair style change means anywhere from 3 months to 1 year has passed. the longer the hair from the previous look means the more time has passed.

timeline

first long rest: the first week, racing to collect items, gear, and people who wouldn't immediately turn their backs on them. this first long rest was after killing shadowheart in front of the door on the beach. practiced in their methods at this point, they knew that they were both on a deadline to get the tadpole out, but at the same time, they weren't, and haven't known such peace in a long time.

second long rest: efficient and deadly, they trudged along for days on end, taking short rest shifts and getting sleep only when it was truly necessary. the tensions between astarion and gale & zynth and farise were high during this moment, as the former two did not understand how and why they could be so sacrificing when they had gotten confirmation that they had time to spare. between first and second long rest, three weeks had passed.

after this point, no shorter than 3 months pass between each long rest.

third long rest: four months pass. astarion and gale have learned to adapt, taking elixirs of arcane cultivation and getting used to shorter rest periods, although they're far from pleased with how things are going. the fortress encampment on the surface is building itself, the tiefling party semi happens, who are saved and who are left to die at the hands of minthara and the goblins depends on who is willing to die against a paladin and who wants to survive.

fourth long rest: six months pass. at this point zynth has not consumed a single tadpole, and farise has been downing them like wildfire, getting stronger in their own separate ways. zynth rediscovers what it means to have faith, and is promptly shown the reason why he needs it, in the form of gale nearly dying at the hands of the deurgar fortress.

fifth long rest: four months pass. zynth consumes his first two, maybe three tadpoles. farise is delighted to have her brother join her in the chaos and destruction. gale is unnerved, and audibly makes this known, and much to the wizard's surprise, he's listened to by the siblings, who are much more ready to listen now that they know that they can get farther this time, and know that they need all the help they can get.

sixth long rest: six months pass. the siblings are exhausted and angry and bitter, but they keep moving, through the shadow cursed lands and through everything that could possibly make them stop in their journey. no one has died and while a couple times they've had to 'go back', they haven't had to go too far back.

they are on their seventh "long rest" as of right now and still haven't left the shadow cursed lands, because Fuck That Place (it has the mun's entire trigger list as a warning).

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Forgotten Ties - Chapter 17 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

"So, there's something I should probably tell you if we're going to be sticking together for a bit," Aris said not long after they all set out together in the direction of the abandoned town. "So... I don't really die. If I'm fatally injured, there'll be a big burst of flames and then, bam. An egg. I will be inside the egg."

"You... turn into an egg instead of dying?" Nim asked. "And then what?"

"Well, then you just chuck the egg in a fire, it hatches and there'll be a baby with cute little wings inside. The baby will be me. Then you just raise the baby until adulthood and there you go. I'm back."

"Oh, is that all," Nim said. "I know how long that takes. I've been around all these little fucks for months and they've barely grown."

"Well, considering that when other people die they're just dead forever, I'd say it's relatively convenient," Aris said. "Besides, I start remembering within a few years, so I'm an easier kid than most. Still a kid, mind you but a precocious one."

"Let's try to avoid it anyway," Nim said. "We already have enough kids to take care of. A baby is the last thing we need."

"I mean, I'd prefer not as well but you know." Aris shrugged. "It does happen from time to time."

"You're a lot older than you look, then," Marigold said. "I assume you've been through that process of rebirth at least twice if you're as comfortable with it as you seem."

"You'd be right about that," Aris said. "The first time, I had no idea I could do that. I actually died of like... old age, I guess. I thought I'd lived a full life and my time was up and then... nope. Second time, I died young, taking stupid risks because I thought I was invincible. Turns out I am, so no big deal. Third time was actually on purpose. I fucked up my wing so bad there was no going back, so back in the egg I went. The last time was a car accident and it's the reason why I now tell everyone I spend any time with at all what to expect. Nobody knew what the deal with the egg was or what to do with it, so someone took it home and shoved it in storage somewhere. Took twenty fucking years and a fortunate housefire for me to hatch out."

"I'm not sure the homeowners would have considered it fortunate," Nim commented.

"Well, look, nobody died. What's a little property damage if it means I get to hatch? Do feel free to wait until you're somewhere safe before hatching me, though. Seems like the egg can just sit around indefinitely with no special care and be fine, so..." Aris shrugged.

"I like eggs," Skye commented. "Yum."

Aris raised an eyebrow.

"Is that a threat?"

"No, I'm just hungry."

"You can eat as much as you like, Skye," Marigold said. "We're going to restock at the abandoned town, so we don't have to conserve resources right now."

"Cool," Skye said. "I'm going to eat a whole box of salami sticks."

Skye did not end up eating a whole box of salami sticks because he shared some of them with Nim but he did eat most of them, followed by half a bag of old cereal he found buried at the bottom of his own bag.

He fell to the back of the group while he was busy eating and Nim stuck by his side even though he seemed to find it awkward to walk so slowly with his long legs.

Skye ate the last of the cereal crumbs and shoved the empty bag back into his backpack.

"Nim?"

"Yeah."

"Are we still going to have a cabin in the woods now that your mum's still alive? Or... was that ever a real thing or was it just something to think about to make us feel better?"

"Well..." Nim shrugged. "I don't know what'll happen or where we'll end up. Of all the possible futures, though, the one where we have a nice little house in the woods together seems like a pretty good one, right?"

"Yeah," Skye said. "I just really wanted that to actually happen."

"Me too."

"Yeah but..."

Skye shook his head.

"It's hard to explain. I've been alive for so long, Nim. Maybe I wasn't really conscious for most of it but I was always searching. I was trying to find people who I could be close to. That was what brought me back every time but it never worked out. It never lasted. I know all of this is hard for you as well and you just want it to be over but..."

Skye gave a frustrated shrug.

"I get it, Skye. I know you're not trying to one up me or anything. It's different for you. There's more to it."

"I just don't want to go away again. I want to stay this time."

"I'm not going to make any promises I don't know for sure I can keep but I will promise that I'll fight for you. I'll do everything I can to make sure you don't get lost."

"You are very strong, so... okay. I won't worry about it. Thanks."

Nim smiled and gave Skye a shake of his head.

"You're welcome."

[liebelesbe]

oughhh I need new headphones >:(

[tannieschim]

when the camellia blooms | pjm

park jimin x kim! reader | 1 | 2

sypnosis: diagnosed with the hanahaki disease, you had only two options - accept a deathly fate, or never love again. 

genre: au, angst, fluff, humor, friends to lovers? maybe.

warnings: many talks of death and dying, minor character death, pain, unrequited love, swearing, talks of past sexual experience while intoxicated, pining, longing, really sad reader, and lots of angst.

word count: 7.2 k

"you would die for her, for him."

"You're dying."

The two words escape past his lips steadily and breathily as your widening eyes linger on the way his hands fiddle with one another out of habit. He sighs deeply and resists the urge to avoid screaming at you and maintain eye contact out of professionalism, pushing back his slipping glasses.

"At this rate, you won't have any more than a month. Had you told me this sooner, y/n, the results wouldn't have been as scarce. But because you waited after almost a year of this, I'm afraid there's not much to do." He pushes his desk lightly to pull away from it, creating a mere distance between himself and the papers which finalized your future's passing. Reaching his collar, he tugs on his tie to loosen it before unbuttoning the first stitch as he looks at you with seemingly stray and angered eyes mixed with sympathy.

Suddenly, his sight wanders the room as he shakes his head repeatedly, scoffing in disbelief. He then smiles, dimples prominent, lip tightened, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes broken, piercing straight at its target - that being you.

Standing up, he takes off his glasses and slams his fist onto the chair's arm rest before running a hand across his hair, softly hissing.

The professionalism is now out of the drain, "You're an idiot, y/n."

"Fucking stupid. How could you not- I mean- how could you not tell me? I'm your brother! We're family. Blood. We're supposed to- we're supposed to tell each other these things and you just fucking- you kept it to yourself all these months! Ten months! And now I'm sitting here being the one to tell you that you're dying? That you're leaving me? I would've done something. I would've helped you, I- I would've killed whoever this person you're in love with is. y/n, please- I just-"

You don't know why, but you felt exhausted.

The ringing in your ears is deafening. Truthfully, you hadn't heard a single thing the minute you received news that you'll be, well, passing away. Not to mention, within 30 days time.

It's not as if you didn't already know about your condition, of course you did. Coughing soft pink camellia flowers every time you see the man that's brought you here is not exactly something that just simply passes a blind eye. You sense it, you feel it, and it hurts.

It really, really hurts.

You also felt awful for your brother. You hadn't meant for it to go this far. You didn't mean to not tell him. You didn't want your assigned doctor to suddenly call in sick and have your brother temporarily take his place. You didn't mean for him to find out this way - such a twisted, horrible fucking way, but here you are.

"I'm sorry, Joon. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to go this far. I just-"

"Were you ever even going to tell me?" He cuts you off, voice low and steady, almost afraid of your coming response.

Your eyes locate his across the cramped room, and one could clearly tell that it's striving its hardest to fight against desperate tears.

"I- yes, Joon. I was. Of course I was. I was gonna do it after this check in actually, but I guess God wanted you to find out sooner than I intended, though He could've just waited a little while longer and it would've been fine." You joke whisperingly, the heavy weight of your heart lightening just a small bit when you notice the corners of his lips twitch and his eyes faintly soften.

Regrettably, that was a lie. You didn’t plan on telling him, not today at least. Maybe not even ever.

The softening air lasts for only a second as his following question makes you hold back the urge to cough up another camellia flower slowly blooming its way to your throat.

"Who is it?"

Genuine, concerned, curious. These were all that he was.

But noticing the way your body went entirely rigid at his words and the way your hand clutched your clothed chest in attempt to shut down what you know will happen next, Namjoon's brotherly instincts causes him to naturally make his way towards you softly, taking small and careful strides towards your fragile state.

And once he's finally reached you, he gets on his knees gently in order for him to be of nearing same height level as you're sitting down, his hands rubbing the back of your hand in a comforting manner.

He does this all before pulling the trigger.

"Who are you in love with, y/n?"

two years back

"Jimin!"

You call out your brother's best friend loudly, who is currently in the midst of doing a one-man stage play in front of the mirror, "Joon's saying you guys need to get going now. Says he has a patient in two hours and wants to go over all sorts of documents before treating her."

Turning around, you scan the living room and dining room for the keys of your friend's car as your brother also asked you to hand them to him since the two always end up on forgetting it until they've already reached the car parked across your apartment's block.

You hear Jimin shuffle behind you, "Really? He wants to go over documents at- 9 AM in the morning?"

Smiling at his attempts of complaint, you nod your head softly in order to play along and answer his rhetorical question, "He really needs to learn how to drive doesn't he? Since he's dragging you along everywhere he goes."

Jimin laughs at your statement, which being an opinion, your brother would argue, 'driving isn't a necessary aspect of life.' But who really thinks like that? Oh right, non-drivers.

“I guess he’s getting too caught up in learning medicine that he forgot to learn how to officially become an adult.” Reaching above the kitchen top, you finally found sight of Jimin's car keys.

How did it even get up there? You think to yourself. It's really high up, so Namjoon must've been the one to leave it as to where it is.

You groan slightly, "Joon, can you get over here! I found Chim's keys but it's too far up high so I can't reach it. Hell I don't even think he can reach this-"

You are cut off when you feel a hand sneak around your waist, making you flinch and suddenly spin cautiously.

Eyes widened. Lips parted. Breath hitched. You let out an inaudible gasp as you come to the realization that Jimin is now in front of you, head tilted with an amused smile on his face, "Excuse you? I can very much reach this." He says, all the while reaching up behind you, inchly leaning forward. At this point, your body is being pressed up against the kitchen counter and his oh-so-very toned front.

This small action is enough to instigate a flaming abyss inside of you as you very much attempt to calm your alarmed heart.

You can feel the cuts and lines of his abs against your chest as he is now standing on his tippy toes, desperately trying to reach the keys on the kitchen top. Anyone that could see his posture would call him adorable, but your body is currently being sandwiched and by all that is high and mighty your mind can't even really process a single thing. Wait, what were you thinking just now?

"See? Got it." Jimin falls back in place as he jiggles his car keys in front of your stone-cold face, smile wide as he giggles softly, "Piece of cake, y/n."

He then proceeds to move on with his life like he didn't just do what the fuck he just did.

Clearing your throat, you blink about a million times in order to gather your thoughts. Your heartbeat is racing faster than the speed of light and your lips have become as dry as a desert. If you had gone standing on your tippy toes just as he did, you would've been a baby hair away from lips touching. The thought is enough to make you grow weak.

Yet as if something inside of you is suddenly turned on, no pun intended, you remind yourself that these thoughts are wrong. You can't be having these apprehensions, they aren't right. Because not only is he your brother's best friend, he also has a-

"y/n?" Jimin's soft voice calls out your name.

Breaking out of your trance, you turn to see him sitting down on the dining table, head tilted downwards with a small smile on his face. The sun escapes your pastel curtains as it slips past the window sill, reasoning with the current ray of golden yellow that has found its home on Jimin’s plump cheek, shining on the left side of his luminous face.

It's absolutely senseless how he can look as beautiful as he does simply by existing, and it makes perfect sense that your finding yourself to liking him more and more.

Just look at him.

You are broken out of your enchanted daze once more as dreaded words leave his smiling lips, "I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

Only then were you brought back to your inadequate reality.

“W- what?” You attempt to speak, but you notice the way your voice has suddenly become noticeably hoarse.

Jimin looks up at you with a smile, the kind that has his eyes almost disappearing.

“Sung. I’m gonna ask her to marry me tonight.”

silence.

silence.

and more silence.

Like a coward, that was all what you could muster to respond with.

And only then did you notice the velvet box on his hands, upon which he is tenderly caressing. Only then did you recognize the questionable romantic script of his one-man stage just moments earlier. Only then did you realize that the reason behind his growing smile are because of her, not you. Not because of what had just taken place.

Only then did you remember that no, you can't be having these apprehensions - they aren't right.

Because not only is he your brother's best friend,

he also has a, now upcoming, fiancé.

present time

"I already loved him then, Joon."

By this time, your brother has stood up and begun pacing back and forth the modest office, murmurs of curses towards his friend escaping past his lips, "-that small son of a bitch."

Smiling softly, you look down in reminiscence of the moments you have spent falling for Jimin. "I guess I've always been infatuated with him ever since our first meeting, but my God Joonie," you pause, inhaling a short breath in attempt to stop tears threatening to spill. "-ever since that day, when he told me that he was going to propose to her, I finally realized that like was the wrong term to use. I realized that I loved him and I just- I lost sight of everything." You cry, small sobs coming from you as you blinkingly look up to try to contain the waters forming in your eyes.

It was true. That day, when he told you about his plans to ask her to marry him, you've never felt more indignant.

Of course you faked it at first, congratulated him and consoled him into truthfully believing that she will undoubtedly say yes. But the minute he and Namjoon left your apartment, you collapsed on your carpeted floors, sobbing loudly and hitting your chest repetitively all the while cursing yourself in your head for ever even considering the tiniest of possibilities that you and Jimin could ever happen.

You also went out that night, got drunk, found a guy, slept with him, and never looked back.

Sure, this may seem like a regular night out for many, but not being the type to kiss and sleep, sex meant a lot to you.

Nothing wrong with one night stands, that just wasn't your particular chosen lifestyle. But you were wasted. You were intoxicated. You didn't know what you were doing. Had you been sober, you wouldn't have done what you did, especially with the person you did it with. So when you woke up in the middle of the night naked in bed next to a familiar face and realized what you've done, you rushingly stood up, got dressed, and left, ignoring the calls of the man you had just been with.

You went straight home and washed yourself for hours, feeling dirty and sloppy and disgusting. You can easily recollect sitting down in the showers, head tucked underneath and in between your legs, sobbing and crying loudly as the steam surrounding you from the warm water kept on worsening.

You hated what you did, and you most definitely despised the reason for what you did, - to simply get over someone else. You felt guilty. You felt ashamed. What would Jimin think? You thought to yourself. And though that truly didn't really matter, the ache in your heart kept on making you believe otherwise.

You didn't notice how your tears have fallen and stained your newly-bought jeans until Namjoon's hands holding a napkin comes within your perception.

Mumbling a small 'sorry Joonie,' you accept his offer and wipe the tears still continuously streaming down your now reddened, warm, and puffy face. As you do this, you furthermore catch sight of your brother's shadow rubbing his face in frustration, matching the groans that you also hear release from him in the background. And without meaning so, you deflate in insecurity.

Hearing the sound of air being released from a pulling force, you look up to see that Namjoon has sat back down, his elbows resting on the desk while his chin rest on his hands. "Does he know about this, y/n?"

You sigh, "No."

"Are you going to tell him?" You hear him ask once more.

Closing your eyes and sniffing lightly, you inhale a steady breath as you answer him for the second time, "I don't know, Joon."

Namjoon looks at you, eyes full of worry and concern. You don't know?

You're his sister, and he loves you. He would do anything for you. If he could shower you with all the love that you lack from Jimin, he would. And he would do it in a heartbeat. But you're dying. You're leaving him. And he doesn't know what to think. He doesn't know what to do. So how could you not know? How could you sit here, in front of him, after keeping this shit for ten months to yourself, tell him that you just don't know?

He feels frustrated. Frustrated over the clearing fact that if you don't know the answer to that simple yes or no question, then how more could you know the answer to when he asks you to make the choice?

The choice - to love or to die.

A very careful, unprecedented surgery that has been performed by professionals only a few times, yet each one has been successful. This seems easy, yeah. A surgery to save your life? Of course you'll do it! But there's a reason as to why this has been done only by a certain small count.

To perform the surgery and live, the price is not the expense, but rather the loneliness that shall come as you spend the rest of your life void of emotions. The surgery doesn't get rid of love on its own, it gets rid of everything that comes with it - happiness, sadness, trust, pain, pretty much everything that one can possibly feel. The only emotion left is indifference, yet even indifference lacks its self-sustainability.

Who would want to live like that?

Who would want to live a life where you just simply exist and nothing more?

He knows that the day will come eventually - when he offers you the choice, the chance to save your life, and he knows it will come soon. But right now, he has chosen to prioritize being a brother over a doctor. Right now, the only thing in his mind is comforting you.

"Okay." Your brother nods, making your eyes widen slightly in shock.

Okay? No scolding? No 'how could you not know?!' older brother reprimands? But then you remember, oh yeah. You're dying. And who could possibly scold their dying little sister?

"I'm sorry Joonie-" You try to apologize once more before he cuts you off again.

"No, don't apologize, y/n. It's not like you could've possibly wanted for any of this to happen, yeah?" He offers you a smile, but you could easily see past its fabricated purpose, "But instead let me ask you this. And I need you, in our deceased parent's name, to be completely honest with me."

You only nod, completely submissive and understanding of his seriousness the moment that he mentioned your passed parents.

"What you just told me, when you first fell in love with him, that was two years ago." He starts, making you nod again in agreement.

"But you were diagnosed only ten months ago."

Your heart drops, and you don't nod again.

"The Hanahaki Disease is not something that gradually begins and comes to existence over the course of time. It is an illness that is triggered. It could be by a sudden forthcoming realization or proclamation of love, or by an event that triggers the heart to completely shut down in overwhelmth. Either way, basing on the timing of what you've said, you should've been diagnosed with the Hanahaki two years ago. But you weren't."

Namjoon eyes you questioningly, but not too much to the extent that you feel uncomfortable, only just enough to remind you of the importance of this conversation, "You were only diagnosed ten months ago, y/n. Why?"

You sit still, not wanting to move, as if your stone figure would somehow make him think that you're not real or that you're a simple figment of his messed up imagination.

"y/n, what happened ten months ago?"

He finishes his question and you swallow harshly only to realize that you're parched, your throat completely dry. You then tilt your head to steal a gaze at your brother, making you catch the way his eyes suddenly widened as if he just realized something of high importance. As if he had just realized the answer to his own question. And that didn't work with you.

Clearing your throat, you are about to answer him in order to cut off his thoughts until the door swings open and you feel your throat compact, - the coughs of a camellia flower slipping its way to visibility -because there he is,

the man of the hour.

"y/n." He noticeably breathes a sigh of relief before making his way to you, engulfing you in a giant embrace. "I was so worried about you. Why didn't you tell me you had the Hanahaki? How could you not let me know? How long have you had it? Who is it? I swear I'm going to murder whoever this piece of shit is that he dared ever making yo-"

"Jimin this is a professional space between a doctor and his patient." The two of you pull away almost exactly the same time as soon as Namjoon speaks up, Jimin's eyebrows furrowing, "Get out."

"What?" Jimin barely gather the voice to ask him as he is completely caught off guard of his friend's erupting vulgar attitude.

"I said-" Namjoon speaks before getting caught off again.

"No trust me, I heard what you said. But what?" Jimin repeats himself, "So you're telling me you're not prioritizing being y/n's brother right now? You're still caught up in this Doctor Kim bullshit? Like you're a real one?"

"Jimin-" You attempt to budge in, sensing that a certain trouble may suddenly come knocking.

"No, y/n. Listen hyung-"

"No, YOU listen. You small piece of shit." Your brother raises his voice, "-don't come barging in here like you own the place or like you have any authority over her. She is MY sister and this is a family matter. So it's best you stay out of it and keep in your lane."

At this point, Namjoon is in front of Jimin, a short distance separating the two of them, "And don't you ever dare speak to me in that tone again. I know you're my friend, but remember to treat me with respect. Not only am I your superior, but I'm also your hyung." He finishes with a serious voice, tone low, and message deep. His earnest eyes piercing through his friend's pained ones.

Jimin, mouth slightly agape being at loss for words and clearly confused at his close friend's unreasonable anger, storms out of the room.

But not before he drags you along with him.

Namjoon is quick to act as he tries to reach for you, but you turn back and look at him pleadingly, signaling him that it's okay and to not worry. And him being the understanding brother that he is, pulls back and holds himself steady.

You can handle him. You’re a Kim. You’re strong.

Strong enough to survive through this.

You’ll be okay.

And as he watches the two of you leave, the door closing shut right in front of him, only then does reality hit Namjoon as his legs tremble abruptly, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.

Falling down the floor, he reaches onto the desk for assistance as he slides his back down the wooden wall, hands painfully fisted and finding its way to cover his mouth in order to muffle the choked-in sobs perilously escaping him. He proceeds to blink away the tears and bite harshly on his lips, trying to diminish the flourishing grievance in his heart.

His sister is dying, and he doesn't know what to do.

“Doctor Kim? The next patient is ready to see you.” A knocking nurse distracts him and calls out from behind the door, “-shall I send them in?”

Namjoon sniffs heavily and sighs deeply, rushingly grabbing his glasses and adjusting his emotionally wrecked state, “One moment!”

He lets out a soft, shaky breath and reminds himself once more that you’re a Kim.

You’re strong.

You can beat this.

It'll be alright.

You'll be okay.

"IM NOT OKAY JIMIN-SHI!" You voicely whine out to your friend who is currently dragging you along the halls of the hospital and out the technologically advanced glass doors, "What is wrong with you?!" You pull your arm aggressively from his grasp as you bend down, hands resting on your knees while you hastily try to catch your breath. The camellia flower stuck just along the chords of your throat making it very difficult.

Jimin stares at you worryingly, having forgotten of your illness, "O- oh no. y/n, I'm sorry I forgot I- are you okay? Should we go back?" He stutters in concern before you hold up one finger, signaling him to shut the hell up. "-sorry."

Looking at you like this, tired and exhausted from having to put up with all his bullshit, Jimin feels a sudden urge to reach out and embrace you tightly, almost forgetting of his previous encounter with your brother.

And so that's exactly what he does.

You are caught off guard the moment you feel a hand grab your shoulder by means of pulling you closer all the while another rests just at your crook of spine, and although this first makes you stumble in a not-so-very prettily way, your destination is found to be in your friend's embrace, his fragile yet protective arms wrapped around you securely.

Not letting this moment simply pass by, you let yourself melt in his arms as you find the comfort meant to be found in his comforting hug, wrapping your arms around his neck as you slightly stand on your tippy toes. Somehow, your simple action makes him pull you even closer, one hand creeping behind your neck all the while his other is completely wrapped around your waist although this time is tighter than before.

As the two of you stay like this in the middle of the sliding glass doors of the hospital, crowds of unfamiliar voices passing by you and ambulances ringing endlessly against your ear, you let yourself submerge within the passion of your heart.

Amidst the chaos and cries of your nearingly counted days, you find consolation in the arms of the same man that has put you in front of death's door, and quite frankly, you wouldn't really want it any other way. You'll take what is given by the heavens above when it comes to Jimin, because well- you love him.

Unfortunately, that quick and simple thought is enough to make you lose control of your reminded disease.

"y-y/n what's- are you okay?" Jimin pulls away from you abruptly as you break into coughing fits, pastel pink camellia blossoms escaping your trembling lips.

The sight has caught the attention of many civilians, but both you and Jimin remain to be indifferent about them as you or more or less are occupied with your illness all the while Jimin specifically aims his attention on you alone.

"Alright that's it, screw your brother alright?" Jimin exclaims a bit louder than what you're comfortable with as this obviously did not benefit with the proceedingly growing public focus on the two of you, "-we're going back, y/n, it's my fault for bringing you outside so suddenly-"

"No chim, please-" You roughly attempt to speak out, your throat painfully extracting the feeling of abrasiveness, "Please just- let's just go."

"y/n.."

“Please chim,” you cut him off for what seemed to be the fiftieth time, coughing, “-please. I don’t want to be here any longer.”

Hesistant yet concerned, Jimin nods slowly as he assists your side, his hands finding its home around your waist and lower back while you both take short and careful strides. You destination is still unknown, but you didn’t mind. A journey a day with someone you love has never turned out for the worse.

At least that's what you think.

"Really?" You roll your eyes as you notice the familiar lane that Jimin's car just entered, "I asked you to get me out of the hospital area, I didn't ask for a sleepover, Jimin." You jokingly accuse him, but you can't help the smile that makes its way on your puffed-up face as you notice him smoothly take a side-glance at you with a knowing smirk.

"Well I thought that with all that bad hospital air, you might've wanted to breathe in a familiar scent," Jimin responds as the car comes to a stop.

You turn slightly to open the door and step out before you here a meek, "Jankkanman!" and perceive a 5'9 in height blondie come running around the bonnet in order to open the car door for you as a gentleman would. It is such a sweet and casual pantomime, yet an ill-patient diagnosed with an illness of the heart can never bring you any wins. Consequently, his actions only causes your throat to feel strained and compacted for the endless time.

God, how much did you love this man that such a simple gesture makes you want to cough out countless of fully bloomed flowers?

You thank the heavens above for your past endless experiences that allowed you to now be better in terms of hiding your pain as you attempt to smile genuinely, mumbling a small "thank you" in the process before making your way inside his home.

"So," Jimin starts as the two of you plop down his couch, his eyes seeking for yours as he tilts his head ever so lightly, "what should we do today... now that you're out of that hell hole?"

"Chim!" You scold him lightly, "my brother and your best friend just happens to be working in that hell hole, just in case you forgot, and- hey! You work there too, you ass." You accusingly point at him all the while hitting his arm playfully.

Jimin is was a nurse in that hospital. Your brother is a doctor.

He laughs and smiles widely, "Nope. I don't work there anymore, remember? But I did for a while, which is why I can most definitely testify that that place is indeed, a hell hole. And by the way, I'm kind of offended that you pretty much forgot my lost profession just then, y/n, like what the fuck?" He jokes endingly.

Your eyes soften slightly as he mentions his lack of job, yet you still stubbornly choose to ignore his last remark. "Well I sure hope that's not the case since I'll be most likely spending my last days there."

Oops.

The silence that ensues goes inevitably noticed by the two of you the moment those words escaped past your lips, but you paid no mind. That was the reason that you asked him to take you away anyways. You weren't hoping for some cliche romantic bullshit where the two of you simply elope and forget your real worries in your life, no. Instead you were here with the main purpose of facing it.

Besides, even if you did want to leave with him, you couldn't. Remember?

Jimin is the first to break the excessive blockade, "Don't say that y/n."

You sigh, "But it's true, chim."

"I don't give a shit if it's true or not."

"Chim.." You are slightly startled with his sudden outburst, caught off guard in the way his voice slightly raised as his attention and body language are now completely directed at you, "Wha- why are you getting mad?"

Jimin scoffs, almost irritated at your oblivious question, "Why? Because you're talking of dying like it's not a big deal, y/n!" His voice getting louder and louder by every word he spits out, "God, you know you can be so fucking insensitive sometimes. What, did you already forget the shit I suffered when I lost someone? Did you already forget all the fucking shit I suffered when death took her from me?"

At the mention of her, you pause. Speechless. Guilty. Hurt.

Of course you remember. How could you not? You remember the darkest of days as like it was just yesterday.

You remember getting that call in the middle of the night from the contact name of your brother as you slightly answered it in an irritated voice, "Joon I swear to God if you're asking me to drive you to work in the middle of the fucking night I will personally drag your ass right now to get a driver's liscenc-"

"y/n?"

You remember immediately stopping as you recognize the voice that most certainly did not belong to your brother, "Chim?"

"y- y/n."

You remember the outbreak of his sobs as you call out to him, his sniffles and cries becoming more and more prominent as you stumble on your feet, struggling with keeping your phone against and in between your ear and your shoulder as you hurryingly take off to grab a jacket and your keys, "Chim what's wrong, where the hell are you? W- where's Joon?"

You remember the way your heart dropped as your worst fear came to mind, the thought of losing your brother itself being enough to make you wobble in your feet, your heart clenching. He had your brother's phone, and he was crying.

"N-no, he- he's fine, y/n. It's not him, hyung's... hyung's fine."

You remember the way he struggled to find the right words; the way he sniffled and stuttered through forming such a simple sentence all the while you on the other side of the line breathe out a sigh of relief at the information of your brother's wellness, yet feeling slightly guilty that your emotions are in contrast with your friend's.

"It's Sung."

You remember Jimin's worst.

"It's Sung, y/n. Sh- she got in an accident on the way here to visit me during my off hours and- fuck! Some fucking demon pulled a hit and run on her. She was walking, y/n. She walked an hour here and got ran over by someone and.. they're doing an operation on her- hyung's assisting and he just- it's bad. It was really bad and she was bleeding all fucking over and- hyung, he- he left his phone and I didn't know what to do so I just called you- I didn't, they pushed me out of the room, y/n. I need you here. Please, please. Please come here because I'm losing my fucking mind and I need you here."

You remember driving to the hospital as careful as you can with the fear of the possibility of an accident occurring still in the midst of the back of your mind.

You remember reaching the doors of the emergency room and being greeted with a pair of reddened and exhausted eyes that looked up the moment you walked in, "Jin."

He stands up to greet you politely but you stop him, obviously seeing that his reaction upon seeing you is no more than a forced delight, "Let's not do this under these circumstances, okay? You're allowed to feel unwelcoming. It's okay, Jin."

He does no more than mumble a small 'thank you' before going back to his previous spot with you trudging along beside him.

You remember feeling the sorrow of the man beside you as you watch him lean his head back against the wall, fragile streaks of tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. You couldn't imagine his pain, the pain of such a situation where your sister's life is at stake. You wanted to comfort him, to softly rub his back and whisper sweet encouragements against his ear, little white lies that his sister is guaranteed to make it without a doubt. But you couldn't. You weren't here for him, regardless of your history. Regardless of the way you left him the morning after your supposed mistake.

"Uhm, have you seen Jimin?"

You remember the way his void eyes find yours and the way his lips lightly upturn as he gives you a forced smirk, trying to keep up with his image of being Kim Seokjin, Kim Sungkyung's handsome and cocky older brother, "And here I was thinking fate brought you here to me, y/n." He trails off, "-considering how you fucked me then dipped."

You gasp slightly and playfully hit his arm at the blunt mention of your regretted one night stand as you give him a small yet genuine smile, partly glad yet at the same time worried that he can make such remarks during a situation like this.

It was strange really, how everything in your life seemed to be connected. How on the day you felt your heart tore apart the time Jimin first mentioned his planned proposal, you went out and accidentally slept with the soon-to-be-bride's older brother.

Letting out a small sigh, Jin nods his head in the direction of a different waiting room, "He left when I came. Guess he was embarrassed of how fucked up he was but hey- I'm not doing any fucking better am I?" He tells you, subtly pointing at the very visible streaks of tears still falling down his now puffy face.

You get on your feet and turn to leave but not before giving one last glance at the man next to you, a hand softly reaching to rub his shoulder, "I'm so sorry, Jin. I wish I could stay, but-"

"It's okay, y/n. Go." Jin encourages you with a small yet noticeably forced smile, "He needs you."

And so you do, bidding him a soft goodbye before taking off, your eyes beginning to water out of the guilt of leaving a friend in that state.

You then remember being suffocated. Suffocated from the embrace that greeted you the moment Jimin entered your peripheral vision. You remember landing on your behind with a harsh thud from the struggle of Jimin's weight as he continues to seek your embrace for means of comfort, the two of you falling down the floor. You remember getting drenched from Jimin's tears as you cradle him as would a wailing child, rocking him back and forth all the while softly rubbing his back, whispering every bit of amenity that could make him feel better.

You remember feeling your heart physically ache as you fail to notice the tears that have fallen down your own eyes, blurring your sight.

To see Jimin in this state, so broken and hurt and scared, it tore you apart. You wanted him happy. You wanted him smiling. You wanted him. You loved him. And God forbid that you're admitting this in your own mind while his fiance is battling for her own life, but fuck.

You wanted nothing more than to lay down your own life for Sung so that she could continue in existence for him.

If you could, you would take here place.

You would die for her, for him.

You remember pushing back your thoughts as you put focusing on Jimin your first priority. You remember keeping him in a neverending tight embrace as he neverendingly sobs against your chest, his lips leaving prayers you could barely yet still tried to understand;

please don't let her die

don't take her away from me

i love her too much

i still have to marry her.

You then remember hearing a wail of anguish, putting a pause to both Jimin's silent pleas and your eavesdropping as the both of your heads turn to pinpoint from whom the noise came from.

You remember the way Jimin stilled.

"No."

You remember his whisper of such a small, two-lettered word, yet somehow it caused your heart to crumble.

"No no no no-"

You remember having to tackle Jimin slightly as he causes a mess of himself, punching the seats and harshly tugging on his hair all the while screaming wails of pain and suffering, "Jimin please-"

"No- get the fuck off of me! Sung?!"

You remember how Jimin lost sight of reality as he pushes you off of him, your body making in contact with the cold tiled ground.

"SUNG? SUNG! LET ME INSIDE-"

You remember seeing nurses and other staff pull the man you love back as he causes a scene, starting to become physical and violent with the people surrounding him, "PLEASE! Please- I just- I NEED TO SEE HER! SHES MY FIANCE-"

You remember seeing a man dressed in blue make his way near Jimin, a needle in his hand.

"H-hey, no!" You remember trying to catch up to the nurse, attempting to prevent them from giving whatever the shot was to Jimin, "Stop! Please-"

"y/n. D-don't."

You remember feeling a hand on your shoulder which makes you turn around instantly, only to find the culprit behind the anguished scream just moments prior Jimin's outburst.

"Jin." You start, "-they're going to sedate him. That- that's not okay."

"They have to, y/n." Another voice calls out from behind Jin, "I know how it seems and I don't like it either, b-but he's becoming violent. They have to sedate him."

"Joon." You whisper softly.

What a sick and twisted game that life is playing on you, that your brother, Jimin's best friend, Jimin's best man at the wedding being planned, is the one to give news of the bride's passing.

"Sung, is she really.." You trail off, not having the heart to finish your sentence.

It seems neither does he, as he responds with nothing but a simple avoidance of eye contact.

"HYUNG!"

You remember Jimin's faint and tired yet still firm voice as he calls out your brother, "Hyung, you saved her didn't you? You- you were part of the surgery. You saved her didn't you? Didn't you!?" Jimin is weak as he trails off his words as the effect of the syringe takes its course, but that doesn't stop him from reaching out to the three of you, "H-hyung. Tell me you saved her. P-please tell me you saved h-her."

Namjoon doesn't stop the tear that rolls down his hardened face as he only shakes his head, "I'm sorry, Jimin. We did our best. We really, really did. I'm so sorry-"

You remember the way Namjoon's voice trails off your hearing as your throat suddenly feels contracted. You remember the itching pain just within your chest as you find the struggle to breath, your hand clutching it harshly. You remember stumbling back just a little bit as you feel lightheaded, thinking that these were only from the overwhelming happenings in that moment.

But then you cough.

And you cough

and you cough

and you cough.

But no one notices you.

Not even yourself.

Your attention remains still at Jimin, who has now dropped completely to the floor, tears still continuously spilling out of his drowsy eyes. Short breaths are released from his trembling lips as he mumbles words that none of you can understand. He then begins to seemingly reach out for something, someone.

"P-please," He whispers.

And as you bend down almost immediately to attend to his calls, you cough.

And you cough

and you cough.

And still no one notices.

No one except him.

You cough as your eyes find his, barely open yet staring right at you from the lows of the floor.

You remember having to excuse yourself and run to the nearest restroom you can find, legs trembling and stumbling on your way there as you push against the winds of the almost empty halls, still coughing with every step you take. And just as you reach the doors of the restroom, you turn back slightly, just enough to catch Jimin's last sight while his body is being carried away to where you guess is a vacant patient's room, all this before his eyes ultimately close.

Eyes you found lastly staring at you.

You remember finally shutting the door and locking it, thanking God silently that you're in a family restroom hence there is no one else inside. You cough desperately, your throat beginning to feel exclusively sore and your lungs beginning to tighten from all the air being released as you cough and cough and cough again.

You reach out to the sink, gripping tightly onto the white metals as you cough and cough and cough again.

You then brushingly turn to the toilet, your eyes watering and lips numbing as you cough and you cough and you cough once more.

You practically clean the whole restroom, as disgusting as that sounds, from all the moving you made as you coughed anywhere and everywhere. You felt awful for the next person to come inside, now that your bacterium were practically in its every corner, side, and space. You cough again, this time harder, the worst one out of the previous.

You remember sensing a certain feeling rise up, something soft yet itchy, something light yet heavy.

And so you cough, and you cough, and you cough, and you cough,

and you bleed.

And amongst the red is a pink.

A single, individual pink petal from what you would soon find out is a camellia flower - the flower that is soon to be the latter symbolization of death chasing you, growing closer, inching nearer, just about to knock on your door.

So of course you remember Jimin's distraught. Of course you remember Sung's - his fiance's death.

Because her death was too, the ultimate beginning of yours.

taglist for part 2?

[xneens]

side to side

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: In which you're performing your hit single in front of your fellow Avengers cast-mates and Chris can't seem to take his eyes off of you, catching the attention of a few cameras.

"I'm here with the biggest pop-star of this generation, and she plays the very talented daughter of Tony Stark," the interviewer announced your name, smiling brightly at you as the camera panned your way. The hundreds of thousands of fans at home screaming when your face appeared. "How do you feel with all your nominations tonight?"

You smiled at the camera, giving a small wave at the people watching at home. "Honestly, I'm just glad I was even considered for these nominations. I mean, my girls Taylor, and Billie...they're amazing and I'm so happy to be put in the same category as them."

The lady grinned at you, her eyes twinkling. Or maybe it was her sparkly dress, the fabric nearly blinding you with how it shined under the lights. "If you ask me, you've got a pretty good chance at winning. I mean, your hit single—Side to Side—surpassed, like, a billion views in just a month? That's impressive."

"Well, I couldn't have done it without my fans." you replied, winking at the camera.

It was that time of the year again, where every artist, actor, and YouTuber hit the stage for the People's Choice Awards. With your crazy schedule, and the lack of sleep, you had planned to skip the award show until your friend, and co-star, Chris Evans—Captain America himself—convinced you otherwise. Even with the categories you've been nominated for had been more than a handful, but it was the begging and constant complaining from Chris that made you get off your tired ass and put it into a tight dress.

Your hit single, Side to Side, had everyone anticipated for your performance, unsure if you would be performing until the producers had put your name into the advertisement, making fans blow up Twitter. You were sure they had advertised your own song, along with your movie nominations, more than you ever had.

With nominations of Movie of the Year (Avengers: Infinity War), Action Movie of the Year (Avengers: Infinity War), Female Movie Star of the Year (Amara Stark), Female Artist of the Year, Song of the Year (Side to Side), Music Video of the Year (Into You), Beauty Influencer of the Year, and Social Celebrity of the Year, you had your hands full, which had only made your manager glow with happiness.

"Of course!" the interviewer agreed, glancing at the teleprompter filled with tiny words. "It was rumored that you wouldn't be coming, and a lot of us were upset, including me. Was that just a rumor or..."

"Actually, it's not that far off. I'm fucking—oh, shit—oh no!" you gasped, covering your mouth before anymore foul words could come out on live television. Instead of correcting you, the lady laughed, patting your arm softly. "Can't say that on tv. My bad. I, uh, with everything going on, I've been really tired, and I haven't slept in a week. I just wanted to chill, and accept my nominations at home but someone convinced me to come. So, if I say or do anything ridiculous tonight, I'm blaming him and my lack of sleep."

She nodded, clapping slowly. "I think that's fair. Is that someone, your onscreen father, RDJ?"

"He was one of the many people who unsuccessfully changed my mind, but no, it was Chris Evans. He promised me a day with his adorable dog, Dodger, and I couldn't refuse." you said, grinning at how his face had changed from hopeless to cocky as soon as he brought up Dodger.

"If I'm remembering this correctly, Chris Evans is that very handsome man you had kissed in your music video earlier this year. Into You, right? How do you feel kissing one of your co-stars outside of the movies your working on?"

"Technically, it was still acting, and I have kissed him before, so it wasn't awkward at all." you answered, glad Chris had accepted the role. Not only had it sky-rocketed the views and streams, but it made you feel better that it was his lips you were kissing and not a random model's. Yet, it didn't feel as professional as it had before when you pulled away after a take.

In scenes where you had to kiss the Boston actor, it was as professional as kicking Anthony Mackie's ass in Civil War but the kisses you shared on the set of the music video was definitely more personal. At the time, you had brushed it off as Chris being recently single, but now that you had broken up with Henry, you started questioning it again.

The interviewer nodded, squinting once more to read the words off the teleprompter before asking you another question that would certainly make the headlines. "I've been reading up on all those juicy tabloids and I've got one question that would satisfy my curiosity. Was Into You written about Henry Cavill or Tom Ellis?"

Usually, that type of question made you change the subject or altogether avoid the matter but this time, you wanted to joke about your failed engagement. "Henry, but Side to Side was written about Tom since I wanted more Grammy's considering the last album I put out won me a few. But this time, I'm gonna do it without an engagement."

The woman faked a laugh, surprised by the blunt honesty of your answer. "Um, you certainly do have a thing for British men, eh? I don't want to keep you up, but one more thing, for the fans. They've been dying to know if there's anything going on between you and Chris Evans. Any tea you wanna spill?"

"There's none to spill. We're just friends but it's always amusing scrolling through Twitter to find these edits of us." you replied, fidgeting slightly with the hem of your dress. Like usual, you had wondered if you should've worn something less extra but you had let your stylist play dress up with you for the past few months.

"Of course. Well, good luck to you, and I can't wait to see your performance." she said, giving you a little pat on the shoulders before announcing your name once again.

You got off the little platform, immediately taking Chris' awaiting hand, holding onto it as you climbed down the steps in your dangerous stilettos. Sighing, you leaned on him, trying to avoid the blinding camera flashes. "That was more exhausting than I thought it would be. You need to get me some caffeine after this is over because there's no way I'm making it to the after show without at least a few cans of Red Bull."

"So dramatic." Chris grinned, childishly sticking his tongue out as he guided you down the red carpet, stopping when told to take a picture. He let go of your hand, only to wrap it around your waist as you posed for the pictures. "Are you going to the after party?"

Posing seriously for a few seconds, you let your smile back on your face, facing the man beside you. "I was thinking about it, take a few photos, and head back home. Aren't you?"

"Actually, I was thinking we could ditch it and just hang out. You know, I did promise you some time with Dodger and you could waste a couple hours sleeping." he replied, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your waist. Flashing you a shit-eating smirk, he nudged you a little, pulling you away from the blinding flashes. "What do you say?"

You opened your mouth to answer only to be cut off by your manager, Alexandre coming out of nowhere to rip you away from Chris' arms. The latin man sighed in annoyance, glancing at his watch while giving you the look you've seen too many times before. "You're supposed to be in wardrobe right now. Get your ass backstage, and change before you miss your own performance. As for you, Mr. Evans, Megan wants your ass in a chair."

"I'll see you after." you say, getting dragged by your manager, winking at the actor before walking towards the changing area, the cameras following you until they couldn't enter the area.

Getting ready before a huge performance always calmed you down, maybe it was the smell of makeup or the feel of designer clothing made especially for you, but something about it made you feel comfortable and cozy. It was like a routine, especially with all the music videos and movies you had to film, the makeup, the hair.

They made you sit back, giving you your phone like a child while they made you even more sparkly than before, making sure you'd stand out against the flashing lights during the performance. A performance you made sure no one would ever forget. Smiling, you let your thoughts drift back to a certain super soldier as you were pampered.

—

"Welcome to the People's Choice Awards!"

The room darkened, the blue and pinks lights focusing on the stage as cameras all turned towards your shadow. Making sure your mic was set properly, tried to see past the darkness, to see a familiar face or two but with the headache coming on from the tight half-ponytail didn't help your case. The music started, the beat vibrating, you flipped your hair, and started.

"I've been there all night

I've been there all day (Nicki Minaj)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Let then hoes know)"

You rode the bike, belting out in your microphone, the attached headset limiting your movements a little. Gripping the handles, you made eye contact at the camera to your left, winking at it as you pedaled.

"I'm talkin' to ya

See you standing over there with your body

Feeling like I wanna rock with your body

And we don't gotta think 'bout nothin'

I'm comin' at ya

'Cause I know you got a bad reputation

Doesn't matter, 'cause you give me temptation

And we don't gotta think 'bout nothin'"

As you had sung, your eyes had adjusted to the bright spotlight focused on you, seeing a shadow of the one person you wanted to make you walk side to side. While you had answered the reporter's question, you hadn't been completely honest. Some of the lyrics had been written for the Bostonian; or to be more exact, your sex fantasies. With the chorus coming up, you let go of the handles, trying not to fall on your ass as you clapped your hands above your head, the claps matching the beat.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give you up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I..."

Trying to be bold, you stared at him, his face in particular. The spotlight had blinded you so much that you couldn't see what his reaction was—or anyone's for that matter—but maybe it was a good thing. After all, his gaze always made you blush no matter how hard you tried not to. Pedaling faster, you threw your head back, hoping the motion would draw everyone's—Chris'—eyes on your chest.

"I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side

I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side"

With the help of a shirtless dancer, you got off your bike, taking the sheer jacket from him, and putting it on as you walked towards the front of the stage, moving your hips in to the beat of the song. Resting a hand on a shirtless dancer, you positioned yourself so you were grinding your ass against his crotch, throwing back an arm around his neck.

"Been tryna hide it

Baby, what's it gonna hurt if they don't know?

Makin' everybody think that we solo

Just as long as you know you got me

And boy, I got ya

'Cause tonight I'm making deal with the devil

And I know it's gonna get me in trouble

Just as long as you know you got me"

Sashaying to the little balance beam at the front of the stage, you made sure your hips swayed more than usual.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give you up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I...

"I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side

I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side"

A few seconds after your note ended, you strike a pose on the balance beam, posing for a few more seconds while the cameras turned their attention away from you and onto the queen of rap herself: Nicki Minaj. The leather, pink bodysuit was identical to yours except for the color, her attitude fitting the badass outfit. She began to walk towards the stage, never breaking eye contact with the camera in front of her while the men pretending to work out to the choreo.

"Uh, yeah

This the new style with the fresh type of flow

Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle

Come through yo, get you this type of blow

If you want a ménage, I got a tricycle

All these bitches' flows is my mini-me

Body smoking, so they call me Young Nicki Chimney

Rappers in they feelings 'cause they feelin' me

Uh, I-I give zero fucks and I got zero chill in me

Kissing me, copped the blue box that say Tiffany

Curry with the shot, just tell 'em to call me Stephanie

Gun pop, then I make my gum pop

I'm the queen of rap"

By the time she had finished her verse, you had caught up with the multitasking of both working out and singing, able to use your full singing capabilities for your high note. Nicki joined you on stage, hyping up the crowd while you built up for the high note, almost every camera pointed at you except for the one focused on capturing the headline-worthy expression slapped on Chris' face.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give em up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I...

"I've been here all night (Been here all night, baby)

I've been here all day (Been here all night, baby)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Side to side)

I've been here all night (Been here all night, baby)

I've been here all day (Been here all day, baby) (Ooh, baby)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Side to side)"

Both you and Nicki motioned for the dancers to come towards you, curling your index finger at the sexy men. Singing the refrain, you both made them drop to their knees in front of you, as if they were kneeling at your command.

Just as the last note was sung, everyone clapped, the majority standing up, and more cheered. You noticed Chris hadn't done either, still sitting in his motionless while two camera men pointed their cameras at him. Your eyebrows furrowed, thankfully after the spotlight had shifted over to the miniature stage where the two hosts were babbling about nominations.

You were ushered off the stage along with the queen of rap herself, taking a few backstage photos before quickly returning back to your dressing room to change into your tailored dress. Your mind had wandered to why Chris hadn't applauded—not that he was obliged too, but a little something would've nice, especially with all the days put into the performance.

Taking a deep breath, you entered the big room, filled with your co-stars and other A-list celebrities. Little did you know you'd find out the reason to your question in the morning.

—

The loud ringtone woke you up, the sound obnoxious and borderline abuse to your ears. Beside you, Chris groaned, rolling onto his stomach, trying to muffle the sound of the call with his arm draped over his head. Putting him out his misery, you lazily reached for your phone, pressing the green button with dread, seeing the name across the screen.

"Hello—"

"You're trending on Twitter." Alexandre announced, happy with the results of the previous awards show. While it wasn't something as big as a Grammy or Oscar, judging by the amount of awards you had taken home, you became the people's favorite. "Hold on, lemme rephrase that. You and Chris are trending. Number one, world wide."

Glancing at the man sleeping beside you, you sat up, confused by the information given to you. You blamed Chris for making you stay up so late for your confusion. "Um, why? Did I accidentally have another nip slip?"

"What the hell?" Chris mumbled, rolling onto his back, his arm grazing your bare stomach. He immediately took it back, sitting up to look over your puzzled face. "What's going on?"

You shrugged, putting your phone on speaker so Alexandre could explain. Your manager chuckled, knowing you had stayed the night with Chris. He was just waiting for the day you'd finally have the guts to speak about the growing sexual tension. "Okay, Alex, explain."

"As much as I would love to go into full detail, I have other stuff to do so, I'm going to give you the basics. Chris' reaction to your performance went viral, people are shipping the both of you, and there's been thousands of memes made." Alexandre replied, a smile evident in his voice. "Anyways, I have to go. Got some interviews to schedule. Have fun getting your way out of this, Chris."

Your phone screen went back to the home screen, a picture of your family dog, Buster, smiling widely. Looking at Chris, you saw his eyes widened, his hands coming to rest of his face in embarrassment as he fell back onto the bed with a bounce, his head nearly hitting the headboard. "Oh, fuck."

"Are you going to show me what your face looked like or do I have to scroll through Twitter until I find it? Oh! Maybe they edited it in my performance." you thought out load, tapping on the YouTube app. You hadn't trusted yourself enough to log into your official account, knowing you'd probably make a mistake so you opted for having a secondary account where you could watch cat videos without the anxiety of posting something stupid.

Chris' hand snatched your phone away, tucking it in his pocket, the sweats he had slept in was somehow wrinkled, and his shirt damp from the warmth. "You wanna get some food? I'll cook some bacon but you'll have to make the pancakes 'cause the last time—"

"I wanna see your reaction." you whined, reaching across his stomach for your phone. Chris turned his body away from you, shielding the phone from your reach. "Chris!"

He waved your attempt away, rolling off the bed, his feet hitting the floor before you could fall back on the mattress.You poured, getting on all fours, crawling towards the edge. Chris took a step back, brows furrowing. "It's not important. Let's get you some food."

"Fine." you mumbled, an idea making you light up. Rolling off the bed, you glanced at his phone on the nightstand, exposed and easy to take. With quick reflexes, you grabbed his phone, rolling back on the bed until you reached the other side, making it impossible for him to reach for his phone back.

"Hey!" the Bostonian shouted, launching himself on the bed in attempt to get his phone back. He made a noise as you rushed out of your room, locking yourself in the nearby bathroom, laughing evilly when he threw himself at the door. He yelled out your name, his fist banging on the door. "I'm serious! Don't!"

Ignoring his begging, you opened his phone with your thumbprint. How ironic how much he didn't want you to look at his phone when he was the one who insisted you have the password to it. His arguments became louder as you opened up his Twitter, immediately heading to the trending section, seeing both your names at the number one spot.

"Damn, I look hot." you joked out loud, making Chris silent for a second before pleading for you not to continue. You smirked, scrolling through the tweets, trying to find his reaction. "Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you? Did you fall on your face or something?"

Chris groaned, banging his head on the door in defeat as he heard your almost inaudible gasp, that quickly turned into little giggles. If he wasn't so embarrassed, he would've broken the door down to hold you in his arms. "Oh, no."

Bursting out into hard laughter, you fell into the large bathtub, hitting your head on the wall but you couldn't care less. The expression on his face during your performance had been borderline comical, the wide eyes, the jaw hanging open, the open hand resting on his chin while his eyes stayed strained on you the whole time, never wavering from your body, the sexy choreography making his jeans tight.

Cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West, tears ran down your cheeks, your stomach cramping from the maniacal laughter. Lifting yourself up from the tub, you stumbled to the door, your loud laugh ringing out towards the whole house. You let Chris in the bathroom, his phone quickly taken from your hand but it was too late. The blush on his cheeks wasn't going away anytime soon. You leaned against him, your head resting on his chest, while you panted out a question. "Why did you look like you were trying to attract flies in your mouth?"

Chris groaned again, covering his eyes with a hand while the other rested on your back. "You're not going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Oh, God, no." you giggled, wiping the tears away, beginning to calm down. Glancing up at him, you noticed everything above the shoulders was gleaming red, the embarrassment too unbearable for him. "Chris, you looked exactly like the first time we were forced to share a bed together."

"Yeah, you have that affect on me."

"You gonna tell me why you looked so ... shocked? Or do I have to search through Twitter and go with whatever fan theory makes the most sense?" you asked, unable to keep the smug grin off your face. Chris closed his eyes, wishing he hadn't made you come to the awards show in the first place. You raised an eyebrow, fingers itching towards his phone. "You know I'll do it, Evans."

The man raised his hands, taking them off of you as he paced around the bathroom, deciding if this embarrassing moment was the right time to finally confess. "It's just, you know, the dance was so ... sexual and hot that I probably wasn't the only one looking at you like that. You can't exactly blame me for being shocked, watching the girl I'm in love with—"

Chris stopped as you be watched the colors drain out of your face, immediately freezing when he realized what he had said. Both of you stared at each other, eyes wide, not moving a muscle, barely blinking; the atmosphere so tense neither of you were breathing, waiting for the other to talk. But neither of you wanted to go first, terrified.

It wasn't until you started to feel dizzy that you realized you hadn't been breathing, letting out a huge breath, trying to relax while Chris did the same, his hands shaking, a nervous tick he got whenever he was anxious. You got the courage to speak first.

"What?"

It was better than nothing.

Chris was so nervous he nearly ran out of the room. There wasn't some kind of handbook or script he could read, helping him tell one of his best friends how head over heels he was for her. So, he said what his brain was stewing. "What?"

"What—what?" you replied, unsure if he even said the L word, so lightheaded by the sudden confession.

The actor stilled, eyes widening even further, while his eyebrows shot up his forehead. "What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"Say what one more time, Evans, and I will make nothing but mac and cheese for the rest of your stay." you threatened softly, getting tired of not having an answer to your one-worded question.

Chris took a deep breath, hands trembling as he clasped them together, hoping to find the right words, hoping his inner thoughts would come out clear, giving you the answer you asked for. "I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?"

"What you were saying before. You know, before you looked like you saw a ghost and almost stopped breathing. I think that would be a good start." you replied, backing up to take a seat on the plush chair. Chris mirrored your actions, putting down the lid to the toilet before sitting down.

"This isn't the way I wanted you to find out." Chris whispered, his blue eyes trained on the emotions that flashed on your face. Your uncertainty of the situation didn't help his anxiety.

"Okay, um, were you going to tell me in the first place?" you asked, playing with the hem of your shirt—it had been a borrowed Patriots shirt from him. Looking back, you realized all the little things he'd done hadn't been because his platonic love for you. "Or were you just going to keep letting it be this way?"

Fidgeting with his hands, Chris peered through his eyelashes, seeing the hurt flash across your face before you quickly composed it. "Scott was hyping me up, trying to convince me to tell you before you got into another relationship. Do you know the real reason I broke up with Jenny? It hurt like hell when you announced you were engaged. Fuck, I couldn't even pretend to be happy because you were going to have the life I wanted with you, with someone who wasn't me. It was selfish and I got really mad at myself for being a dick."

"But—"

"And then the horrible, horrible relief I felt when you called off the engagement." Chris continued, his heart clenching. "Truth to be told, that was the day I found out I was in love with you, breaking things off with Jenny. Of course, I wanted to wait until you moved on, hoping to be the friend you went to but with my schedule, that was impossible. So, you seemed out comfort in Henry fucking Cavill."

"You're in love with me?" you whispered, hoping this wasn't some kind of cruel dream. If it was, you wouldn't mind staying.

The actor nodded, waiting for you to call him names and rush out. "Yes. You can leave or slap me or whatever you want to do but I love you."

You got up, running a hand through your hair. "Okay."

Chris' heart sank, wishing for any other kind of reaction, wishing you'd do something. Taking a deep breath, he got up. "Is this a goodbye?"

Frowning, you walked up to him, taking his face between with your hands, pressing your lips softly to his. You could feel his heart beat, the little organ beating so hard. You pulled away before he could recover from his shock, before he could kiss you back.

"Hello."

[pluralismajestatis]

I'm not sure I have the right words for this, but I'll try, since it's been on my mind for a few days. My relationship to, and existing between, illness and health - embodying the slow-processing state of wasting away, approaching death.

It's not my primary purpose here, to be that balance or calm, but it's something I'm falling into... comfortably.

This is not about the body. Which to me, is something I'm struggling to understand even now; that the concept of approaching my death, living my last few... days, weeks, months, is no longer relevant, and I haven't had the time, or energy, to touch upon it yet. Meanwhile, the system finds comfort in my acceptance of it, my acceptance and understanding of the limitations of the body, its weakness and exhaustion. I am not worried. I have been dying for a long time. Decades. I don't know when it started, exactly. It's hard to say when the pain coming from the outside began to poison me from the inside.

We all know this is part of why I'm here. My history of growing up is the same as the system's history of growing up when it comes to poisons and being poisoned. We were both taught to fear, and fear became so deeply ingrained in us that it grew into something that was slowly killing the body it resided in. Mine, and ours. I'm an allegory, after all. I've always been one. A nod of acknowledgement to people eaten alive by their wasted potential, futures robbed of them by abuse, fear, and prejudice. The people meant to care for them and love them, support and encourage them. Protect them. Chronic stress is a silent killer. Pain, isolation, loneliness compound it. It eats at the body from the inside: the brain, the muscles, the veins, the nerves.

We used to fear death. Gradually, it's become less. In some way, I might just be the culmination of that growth - the peace we've made with our fragility. We've come to terms with things we keep to ourselves, that we don't talk about. Death, and the process of dying, seems to be a personal matter to us. It's talked about somewhat often here, on the inside. And now, me; I've already accepted that I will die. It doesn't frighten me. I submit to it, but I don't hurry it along. Like I said, I've not really internalised it yet that I might be well now; my soul is still in the process of dying, preparing for death. I am tired and I'd like to just be comfortable - rest, finally. I take this all minute at a time, focus on what is relevant now, because to me, there is no tomorrow, or next year, or any future to speak of that I'd still be a part of. I've played my part and I am ashes - it's someone else's turn, now.

They've described me as "only partially here." My mind is still elsewhere. My consciousness here is a fever dream. I was already losing grip of "real" on the other side I've left behind. But I bring calm to them, a sense of stillness we can all share together. No tomorrow. No future. Just now, and what matters now. Making ourselves comfortable; sating our thirst, hunger, regulating our temperature. Participating only as we wish to - not as is expected of us.

What I've already said is that I'd like to stay, but even for now, in the moment, I feel better knowing I've brought something positive with me to one family. I've been embraced here. The first nights I was with them, they stayed with me until sleep. They made me comfortable, showed kindness, and spoke in soft voices, moved slowly and deliberately so as to not scare me. I asked, am I welcome here? They told me, I'm wanted.

I can heal, but I hope healing won't make me afraid. All bodies fail, after all; it's a matter of time. I've lived with worse pain, worse nausea, worse weakness and deterioration than any of us feel here. Every piece of us here feels alive, where what I was before was dying, nearly dead. I feel warm here and no longer freezing in my bones. We have so much left to us still, so much that hasn't burned away. I wonder if, as I heal, as I stubbornly continue to survive, maybe the healing of the soul could transform into healing of the vessel as well.

[nightlight-stardust-and-rain]

Teen wolf fanfic idea centered on trans Derek because there are like. Four trans Derek fics and it's a SHAME. Anyway. Transfem Derek. She comes out to Peter like three months before the Fire because he's pretty much her best friend and coming out is scary okay. Peter is really supportive and calls her the right pronouns in private and discretely takes her dress shopping and teaches her how to do her eyeliner (because you can't convince me Peter doesn't wear eyeliner sometimes). It's nice :) until... Yeah obviously until the fire. Derek doesn't come out to Laura due to still not being sure if she'd be supportive or not but mainly due to enormous guilt. She feels that her family dying is her fault so not being able to be her true self and getting misgendered every day feels like a deserved punishment :( angst all around and then canon happens.

Thing is, Peter's memories are a bit jumbled due to, you know, being burned alive and in a coma for six years, so the last six months before the fire are a bit, a lot, hazy. So he doesn't remember Derek's coming out. He doesn't remember that she's his niece, not his nephew.

Derek isn't... Aware that Peter forgot, for a while. At first it's all a bit jumbled in the "my uncle is suddenly a crazy murderer and I have a newly bitten pup on my hands and also THE HUNTERS" whole mess. But then she notices that Peter keeps calling her "he" and "nephew" and at first she thinks that Peter is doing what he did since she came out to him : not outing her without her consent. Given how vicious Peter can be with his words, Derek is a bit grateful that he hasn't outed her to hurt her or said transphobic stuff. But then Peter is dead and then alive and then he kinda gets along with the pack and he... Keeps calling her Nephew ? She thought he would stop when they were alone but Peter keeps doing it even when no one else is there and it's - weird? When she came out to him, he was great at switching pronouns in private and now he's - not? Derek figures that maybe resents her for the fire and misgenders her to hurt her deliberately but even if Peter can be subtle he's usually pretty upfront when he doesn't likes someone and they've been getting along better lately so it can't be that.

She figures it out when she overhears Peter talking to Melissa about his memory issue (since, yknow, she's a nurse, she knows medical stuff) - she understands the issue when Peter says that the six months before the fire are a bit foggy. He simply forgot about her coming out. On one hand, it's nice to know he hasn't been misgendering her on purpose. On the other hand, coming out to Peter, her confidant and best friend, was way easier than the idea of coming out to Peter, victim of a fire that was essentially her fault and who doesn't seems to like her much these days. That and maybe... Maybe it feels like with Laura. Maybe the jolt of pain she feels every time Peter calls her nephew is deserved (we all know it's not but we also all know issues like that aren't logical). So she just... Doesn't comes out.

Fast forward to a few months later. Peter is getting along better with the pack. Stiles (because of course it was him) discovered Peter's memory issues and decided to try to help him. The solution comes in the form of Peter talking about the things he remembers, because maybe telling someone about it out loud will make him remember more things? (it's kind of like the rubber duck method, in a way) Surprisingly, it actually works, even if slowly. The pack also likes to listen to Peter talking about his family, because you know without the Hales they wouldn't be a pack so it'd kinda interesting.

It's during one of those sessions that Peter remembers something important. The moment it happens, he's talking about an outing he had with his niece. He went dress shopping with her, he says, and she looked cute in a nervous duckling way. Why was she nervous? Well she never went dress shopping before so she didn't really know what she was doing and... And, Peter stops, that's weird because Laura definitely had been dress shopping before, and he was never really close enough to her to go with her to buy stuff anyway. But he definitely remembers taking his niece to the dress shop. If couldn't have been Cora, she was too young. But then who was it? He remembers the way nervousness filled her... Green... Eyes-

And then Peter, who had lowered his head trying to remember, raises his head to finds himself looking right at the exact same eyes filled with the exact same nervousness.

His niece's eyes.

Derek's eyes.

Ah.

It appears that he may have been an asshole accidentally.

(Peter shoves the pack out of there and proceeds to have a very stern conversation with his niece about mental self-harm and he's sorry for not remembering. My imagination is running out, but you can bet there are cuddles, and those cuddles last a while, because I'm a sap)

[roguethewriter]

Writing Characters with Depression

Ah, mental illness representation! So accurate and diverse!

Said no one ever.

Depression is one of the mental illnesses that are slowly entering the mainstream and becoming less stigmatised. Still, media and literature get a lot of things wrong. You're reading this, so clearly you're interested in what they're doing wrong, so you don't do it. You want to give me a well-rounded amazing character with depression in which we can feel represented, right? WELL, THANKS ANGEL, LET ME HELP YOU.

A couple of things before we start:

‌This is mostly based on personal experience. Mental illness manifests and feels different for different people, so always aim to have a variety of perspectives.

‌Trigger Warning: We're going to discuss some aspects about depression that might upset and hit too close to home to some people, so proceed with caution.

‌I'm not going to go into detail about the symptons, causes and treatment, as this is not a medical manual, but a writing guide. So we'll be focusing more about positive characterisation of people with depression in literature/media.

Let's get to it. And why you're at it, have a Malteeser for everytime I say the D word here.

How depression might feel for someone who has it:

‌Lack of energy

‌A feeling of constant fatigue

‌Hopelessness, thinking things are never going to get better

‌Losing interest in things, even things you used to love

‌Inability to concentrate, even on simple tasks like reading something or watching a tv show

‌Not seeing the point of living

‌Feeling like everything bad that happens is your fault

‌Seeing things in a negative light

‌A lack of self-esteem and self-worth

‌Loss of sex drive

‌Feeling irritable

‌Feeling suicidal

How can it manifest?

‌Sleeping too much or too little

‌Eating too much or nothing at all

‌Being self-deprecating, even if it's in a funny way

‌Withdrawing oneself from social activities

‌Moving and talking slowly

‌Neglecting one's appearance, ie. Not showering in days, not brushing your teeth, wearing the same clothes over and over

‌Abusing substances like alcohol, weed

‌Self-harming

‌Quitting your hobbies

‌Having a messy room, or leaving dishes pile up as you're unable to perform everyday taks

‌Quick to snap and get irritable

This list is not exhaustive, and it's also good to do some research, but these are some clear common signs!

Now, let's go for the bad examples:

Common tropes of characters with depression that make me want to throw away the book/tv to the bin

‌The Oscar the Grouch type: Nothing will make this character smile. They are determined to be a negative nelly and have a big black cloud over their heads.

‌The Sleeping Beauty: how do we know they have depression? Well... They're in bed. People with depression spend all their time in bed, right?

‌The Emo Teen: they wear black, they have studded belts, they wear stripes and eyeliner and listen to MCR, and have a monotone voice... That means they're depressed, right?

‌The eDgY eDgE eDgEdton: Omg, they're depressed, that's so edgy and cool. They wear flannel and write angsty song lyrics with their marker over the wall. They flip tables and cry handsomely while smoking weed. That's depression, right?

‌The Undestructible Teen: Life is tough, parents are getting divorced and Jason has left us for stupid Leyla, but let's not address our problems. We'll cure our depression instead by partying everyday and chugging a bottle of vodka. Oh-oh, have we drunk too much? No worries! There are no consequences to our actions or any long-term impact to our health. We just need the Sensible Friend™ to call us out and we'll grow out of our depression, which brings me to...

‌The Miracle: Did they have depression in episode 1? Well, THEY'RE CURED NOW! And all they had to do is just a little pep talk and get out of bed!

WELL, TO THE RUBBISH BIN TO ALL OF YOU, OFF YOU GO!

Things to take into account when writing depression:

‌Depression is an illness, not a character trait. Although it's true that it shapes the way you think and view the world, depression doesn't define your identity, and people with depression have a personality outside of their mental illness.

‌There are many different types of depression. There is depression with psychosis, there is unipolar depression and then if it's paired with episodes of mania it's called bipolar disorder (comment if you'd like a post on that!). Also, depression can mix differently with other mental illnesses, such as anxiety disorders. Unipolar depression is quite common, but other types need more positive representation too!

‌People with depression still have sense of humour. In fact, some people with depression are actually some of the funniest people. Although depression can make you see everything in a negative light, humour is one of the best coping mechanisms. It can serve as a waybof deflecting attention from themselves so their loved ones don't get worried or making people laugh is the only thing that can lift up their mood. Whatever it is, characters with depression can still be the life of the party.

‌There is not only one way of going through depression. Some people are bed-ridden and have a complete lack of energy, but some people seem to be quite high-functioning, go to work, do the groceries, but feel miserable inside. Some people might even go through both things through their lifetime. The point is that depression affects everyone differently, and it varies according to the type of depression you have, your life situation, and even the stage in which you're in.

‌It's not just sadness. Sometimes, it's not sadness at all. It might be lack of energy, hopelessness, a sense of losing direction and purpose, and in the darkest of times, losing the will to live, to keep fighting. It's important to understand the spectrum of emotions if you're writing a character witj depression and not reduce it to just "a bad mood".

‌Depression is not always due to trauma. The majority of the stories of depression we hear is a person reacting to a major life event: the death of a relative, parents divorcing, losing a job... But sometimes there is not a real life trigger from depression. Sometimes, it's a chemistry imbalance or simply a hereditary cause (attach link). Some people with depression lead stable lives surrounded by loving people and still have the illness, and this creates a feeling of frustration and self-blame, because you feel you might be at fault for being depressed. This is something a lot of people with depression struggle with, but it's not widely talked about.

Okay, Rogue, so how do I write a character with depression?

Well, my little sweetling, let's do some Dos and Don'ts:

Dos:

‌Wonder why you want to write a character with depression. Is it to start a conversation? Is it to provide visibility and representation to the illness? Is it to show how the plot struggles have affected your character? Or is it just to give them "an edge" or make them somewhat interesting? Misrepresentation can be as bad as lack thereof so make sure you're doing it for good reasons.

‌Read own voices books and testimonials about people with the illness. When writing mental illness, most people go to the symptoms page on Wikipedia, but never think to research about how people affected by depression experience it. This will give you a bigger scope on all the different ways depression can affect a person, and will make your character less of a "manual mental illness" type.

‌Create hope for this character. Yes, things can go wrong when you have a mental illness, and suicide rates are high for people affected by them. We know those stories, and they are necessary that we're aware of them. But we also need positive stories. Chances are, someone with depression will read your story, and to see s character with a happy ending can give them a glimmer of hope that is so much needed during dark times. We need more positive stories about mental illness.

‌Use trigger warnings. Some aspects about depression (self-harm, suicide, substance abuse...) can hit too close to home for some people. It's important you warn your readers.

‌Make them interesting, please! Depression does not equal boring. Make them charming and funny and still hopeless, make them be surrounded by loving relatives and still feel miserable, make them be the most helpful friend or loving daughter and still be unable to help themselves. Giving a character depression is not going to be enough to make them interesting, so make sure they have a well-rounded personality.

Don'ts:

‌Romanticise the illness. Do you think depression is lying in your bed in your black clothes listening to Nirvana on loop? Then you're very far off. Although I previously mentioned depression looks different from everyone, things are likely to get ugly. Depression is more than drawing angsty black ink portraits in your sketch pad. It's having your eyes dry and hurt from staring at your phone screen all day. It's your bones aching from sitting on the sofa until 3am dying for some sleep yet being unable to move yourself to bed. It's blood streaming down the sink from brushing your teeth after not brushing them in days. It's the stale smell of the tracksuit bottoms you'be been wearing for weeks. It's your hair feeling like cardboard from all the product and dirt that's been accumulated after not showering for days. Yes, this all sounds tough, but that's because depression is tough and ugly for those who go through it. Show it.

‌Bash on medication. Some people take it, some people don't, but being negative about it in your content can put people off it, people who might actually need it.

‌Have the character "grow out of it". If they have depression in chapter one, they're very likely to have depression in chapter 10, or even in book 2. They might learn coping mechanisms along the way, but depression can take months, or even years to treat, so we won't believe you if you say they've been cured in 3 days. Or maybe:

‌They were depressed, but they have to save the world, so they grew out of it. Yeah, right mate, like if pep talks were that useful people would spend loads of money on therapy and medication. Riiiight. Your hero might eventually get up and save the world, but the depression will still be there, it won't get cured by saving the planet, it will be waiting for them at the end of the road, so be ready to write that.

‌Cure the character with a love interest. Ah, they had depression, until she came to their life. Now they are cured by love! Nah, mate, they will still struggle with depression even when they're madly in love with the most perfect love interest. Some people with depression have loving stable relationships, so this trope makes no sense.

In conclusion / TLDR:

‌Depression has a lot of different faces, not everyone experiences it the same way or is affected by it the same way.

‌It's not always triggered by life events; sometimes you get it and that's it.

‌It's more than just feeling sad.

‌Some people are quite high-functioning despite suffering from it.

‌Don't glamorise: show the good, the bad and the ugly.

‌Be consistent: if they're depressed in chapter 1, they won't be able to grow out of it in chapter 2.

‌Don't be negative about medication or therapy.

‌Use TWs for sensitive content.

‌Tell positive stories and give a glimmer of hope.

Wow! That's a lot, isn't it? You're probably thinking "this is hard to write!", and that's because it is. This is why I asked you to think why you want to do this. Hopefully it didn't put you off and you still want to give the community some good representation.

Anything I left behind? Any more posts like this you'd like to see? Hit me up with comments!

Good luck with your writing and please, hit me up with any questions or talk to me about your OCs and WIP about mental illness. Peace!

Useful links:

Nhs website on depression

Mind guide for depression

If you're struggling and need someone to talk to

[ecotone99]

[Sf] let's go

PROLOGUE I don't know how it happened. Only that it was a slow process. First the weak, the young and old, the Ill and poor. They were the first to show signs. They slept more and more which wasn't that noticeable because they sleep all the time anyway. However we noticed the problem when they stopped waking up. Then the average people and even the well off started sleeping. This went on for the next six months. No one could figure out how to wake them up or to stop people from falling asleep. At the end of the first year all the people who were still awake moved everyone else to a central city. The sleepers were put in pods that kept them alive providing them with nutrients and other basic needs. The pods monitored them and recorded data in hopes of finding some answers. Every one else was also give a pod in preparation for the worst. Luckily the city runs itself so all we had to do was research and by the end the computers were doing that too. By the end of the second year I was the only one awake. Which I question every day. Why me? Of the millions in the pods why am I awake? CHAPTER 1 : AWAKE I started recording this as a precaution, in the case that I do become a sleeper or if someone wakes up I can fill them in on what happened. This camera is powered by solar panels with a backup plasma battery so I never really need to worry about it dying. ..... Dying that's something that you forget about when you have an entire world that just fell asleep. For two years now I haven't thought about death. Sleeping seemed so much more likely. The fear of going to sleep and not waking up. The ever present possibility of a necessity becoming a prison. That seems more real. Every day I do the same thing. I wake up it gets a little later daily, two years ago I woke up at nine am, a year later it was ten today eleven. After awake up I check the pods, I know the alarm will sound if anything happens. High pitched if a system failed. Low pitched if someone wakes, but I check away. Then I eat, the auto farm produces enough to feed everyone but I carbon freeze the rest for reserves. After breakfast I play pokemon go. It's dumb but it passes the time I carry two phones and play against myself, valor verses mystic, I take the gyms and hit the pokestops one day and the next I switch to the other phone. I helps me feel like it's the good old days. Not to mention it helps me stay active. I come back for lunch around two and after lunch I conduct my research. I'm not a scientist but you pick up a few things when there are ten people awake in the world and the other nine are fading fast so I learned everything I could and now I do the research while they sleep. Five o'clock is quitting time I eat dinner and shower then bed by seven. Then repeat over and over. When I'm lying in my bunk trying to sleep but being too afraid to let it happen, I often think of the days before. They seem like a dream now so surreal that it couldn't be the truth. That life had to be nothing more that a dream. CHAPTER 2 : DREAM I was a handyman before. Nothing special, not a man of science or a politician. Just someone to call when you needed a carpenter or a plumber. My dad always said that's something that will always be needed. They may have computers for everything else but they can't duplicate the human touch. The craftsmanship. So I followed his words. I served in the army first though. The draft for the war with Russia had just kicked off when I turned eighteen and sure enough three months later I was at Fort Benning, Georgia for basic training and infantry school. I served two tours in Siberia as forward forces against the attack on Alaska. When the sleep started taking people I thought it was the Russians attempting some kind of biological attack. But when most of Russia fell asleep I knew I must be wrong. I'd give anything to be back on that battlefield now. At least then I had allies around me and a clear objective. Now the gun shots are silent, the battle cries are only echoes in my head and the died are only sleeping. So it's my job to them wake up. I've had to become a scientist and put down my hammer spending hours researching book after book to find an answer that's never been found. Now instead of fighting with a rifle my fight is one of the mind. CHAPTER 3 : MIND I've been completely alone for about two months now. I have a routine which makes me feel safe. However I can feel my mind slipping. Talking to sleepers, talking to myself, Talking to walls. Desperate for something to talk back. To help me focus I've begun to play my recording back each night. Not to mention pokemon go actually really helps. I pretend that the other phone is someone else and I'll look at some of the other phones, if they have it I use them too. As a "guest appearance". CHAPTER 4 : APPEARANCE There is a lure! A pokemon lure! I didn't place it but it's there. I opened the app and there it was twenty five minutes left on a pokestop maybe 7 miles away. Someone else is here. Not me and not a sleeper but another person who is awake! They know I'm here and that I play pokemon go. So they've probably been watching me for some time now. Do I go to it and see what they want? Do I start building defenses and prepare for them to attack? If I get captured or killed there will be no one to protect the sleepers but this lure could be an olive branch and I have been extremely lonely. That settles it I'll go. I am taking a rifle and sidearm though, just in case. *The man moves out of view as he turns the camera around and straps it to his helmet* let's go see if it's friend or foe. CHAPTER 5: FRIEND OR FOE *The man rides his bike check the phone every few minutes to make sure he's heading the right way, once he gets close he drops his bike. He pulls up his rifle and starts moving forward, slowly moving his head back and forth between buildings scanning for danger* OKAY I'M HERE! What do you want? *A second voice answers from the shadows *"I'll answer with another question. What do you want?" I want to know who you are and why you've been watching me. "Is that all you want? How boring." Answer me and show yourself. " I am the reason your friends are asleep and I have been watching to understand why you are not yet asleep. I wanted to place the 'lure' to see how you would react. I will answer nothing else at this time. Goodbye" wait! I have more questions. *silence* Damn, what the hell just happened. *biking back as fast as he can the man arrives to the pods and does his checks* no harm has come to the pods so why draw me out? Was that really the voice of who ever was responsible for all the sleepers. If so how. A virus? A poison? What could it be? And who are they? Most importantly what happens next? CHAPTER 6: NEXT For the last five days I've rode back to the pokestop where the voice was but nothing else has happened. I'm more paranoid than ever now. I've built fortifications all around the area, trip wires that trigger alarms, and pit falls. However if they really have been watching they'll know exactly where to step. Other than to check the stop I don't leave camp. No more casual pokemon go. Who ever that was they definitely have pushed me closer to insanity. CHAPTER 7: INSANITY Its been a month since the event. A week since I checked the site. I have been hearing voices from the pods. The sleepers I think they are trying to tell me something. .... maybe if I close my eyes I can focus on the words. Yes I hear them. They know the secrets. They say they'll tell me. *the man sits quietly for a few minutes eyes closed face still. He then falls forward dropping the camera. As he lays there asleep foot steps are hear from behind the camera.* "finally the last one falls"

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