#things feel so hopeless sometimes but I’m trying really hard not to let the despair overcome me

[fangbunny]

We just want to live.

-

Text:

“I cannot hide myself in a shell

Empty of all the speckling

that marks me as the “other”

I cannot change something as profound

As the skin that I live in

As the skin that I love in

Because it is an external show

Of everything that I am

In the deepest parts of me

I just want to live

I just want to live”

[slxtarchive]

𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 ✦ 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. where sam was there to help y/n when she had a rough day and resorted to unwinding in a not-so-healthy way.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭. okay so i was just thinking for a sam golbach fic reader relapses (self harm) cuz their mind has been getting too much lately, and maybe sam helps them clean up and then helps take care of them and makes them feel loved nd just like lets them know that they don't need to do that because he's there from now on?? if that makes sense. also maybe not an established romantic relationship but maybe it ends up that way? like sam tells reader he doesn't know what he'd do with himself if anything happened to them he just cares a lot about them and yeah

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. ANGST ! third person pov, talks of self harm, relapsing, descriptive literature, friend!sam, friends to lovers.

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. if anybody needs anyone to talk to i’m here! 🤍 sorry this took so long to post & write! this one hit really personal for me but id okay to say ive healed & im continuing to heal from my past. if anyone is going through similar hardships, you can get through it! i believe, love, & support you always.

y/n told herself she wouldn’t put herself in this position again. she wouldn’t.. but sometimes things don’t go as planned.

she had tried to stay strong, to stop letting her mind control every action she took; it just became too much. she sat on the cold tile floor of her bathroom, tears making their way down her flushed face. she gripped the item as she took the first swipe, lightly but firm enough.

just stop. she told herself. her hand shook as she went to repeat the action. she looked at her skin i just need to feel something, she thought. something other than what im feeling now.

she had been doing so good but somehow found herself back at square one. all that work that she had done was all gone. she felt hopeless, as if this never ending black hole of despair would stay with her for the rest of her life.

she took a minute to think on her life and what could have went wrong to cause her to relapse. all those thoughts had no specific effect on relapsing, its just her brain had begun to spin a web that caused her to get stuck in her head all day. what else can i do? she thought as she took another swipe at her skin. she planned on continuing until she heard her bedroom door open.

her heart dropped to her ass. “y/n..?” the voice had confusion laced in their voice.

sam.

it was sam.

the blonde boy was one of the things that y/n had in her life that truly made her happy. he was her best friend. she never told him that but she truly meant that with every fiber of her being.

y/n quickly wiped her tears when she heard the footsteps come closer to the bathroom. wiping the tears would make the tear stains disappear but the thing about breaking down, you’re left with that struggle of trying to catch your breath.

she couldn’t stop gasping, trying to breathe calm and collectively. that’s why as sam stopped right beside the bathroom. he heard a small gasp escape her lips that caught his attention.

his eyebrows raised in confusion. he put his head beside the door trying to hear something else. “uh.. y/n? you in there?” he knocked. he received no answer. multiple questions and thoughts ran through his mind before he opened the door.

sam had seen many things in his life, traumatic even, but this — it was like his heart had jumped, dropped, did a tumble, and self destructed all in the span of 3 seconds. he instantly became nauseous at the sight of y/n holding a blade to her forearm. the small cuts that had caught his eye before she covered her arm and hid the blade had his blood run cold.!

the second y/n had been caught she felt guilty and embarrassed. she felt pathetic, like she wasn’t strong enough to handle the hard reality of the real world. immediately, she stood up and faced sam. “i-im sorry you weren’t supposed to see that.. it’s not what it looks like.” she sniffled trying to contain her tears. “i… it just, lately everything has been so crazy and i haven’t … i haven’t done this in a while but… but everything has just been… too much.” she rambled out, trying to explain herself.

sam’s face of confusion faltered. he thought about her words. the way she mentioned in a while had him wondering what caused her to relapse and fall back into this situation. he scanned her face. she’s too pure to be suffering like this. he paused thinking of what to say but truly all that he wanted to do was give her a hug. so that’s what he did.

he pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her protectively. she melted into his touch. her lip quivered as she wrapped her own arms around him. her body shook as more tears cascaded down her face.

sam felt his own eyes sting with tears. “i’m sorry.” he choked up. “i’m sorry you’ve been going through all of this alone.” he rested his cheek on her head closing his eyes trying to stay strong for her.

y/n hasn’t said anything, still feeling guilty. sam pulled away and looked down at the floor seeing the blade and a tissue beside it. he picked them up and threw both away.

he turned back to y/n who had a tired look on her face. “as long as i’m here nothing will hurt you, okay? i will be here for you. you can depend on me. you don’t need to do this anymore to yourself y/n, i won’t let you.” he took her face into his hands. “i promise, i love you and im always here for you no matter what.”

y/n’s heart raced as sam’s words really effected her. she nodded pursing her lips and biting her cheek.

he brought her head to his mouth and pressed a light kiss on her forehead. “i mean it y/n. i don’t know what i’d do with myself without you. you complete me.”

y/n’s eyes scanned sam’s face noticing how his own eyes began to water and become puffy. the scene before her causing her throat to close. “m’sorry i promise i wont do it anymore. i love you sam and… fuck — i know i shouldn’t be doing that. i just didn’t know what else to do.” she leaned against his chest.

“i know, i know baby but from now on you can talk to me about it. about anything. i care so much about you. you truly have no idea how much i…” he stopped himself not wanting to overwhelm her. “just know you mean the world to me. you are and have been my priority since we met and that’s never going to change.” the reassuring words causing y/n to relax.

y/n started to get inside her head, wondering what if he got tired of her, if he’d leave her, what she’d do or how she’d feel if that happened — or even worse; if she would be a burden to sam.

sam noticed y/n zoning out. “hey, tell me what you’re thinking please.” his hands reached down to grab her own.

she took a deep breath. c’mon y/n. she blinked a couple times trying to sort her thoughts. “don’t wanna be a burden to you.” she admitted to which sam immediately shook his head.

sam brought her hands to his mouth kissing her knuckles. “you could never ever be a burden to me. you keep me pushing through every day because i want to be the best for you. to be the best friend you deserve and… and whatever the future may hold for us — i want you there always, okay? don’t ever forget that.”

his words wavered through the air and stood there so you could process what he truly meant. you thought on it, picking up some hidden message that you’d both communicate about later but as of now, he truly helped you feel understood and seen. as long as you had him you’d feel physically, mentally, and emotionally secure and protected.

© slxtarchive

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

In the face of recent news about our beloved Destiny, I think it’s more important than ever for us as a community to come together and support each other in numerous ways.

It’s been a very hard week for all of us, especially those who lost their jobs and outlet for their passion in mass lay offs. Losing a position that allowed you to craft magnificent stories alongside some of the most ambitious people in the gaming industry, especially in worrying economic circumstances, must be excruciating to deal with and I wish the best for all those laid off from Bungie.

For us fans, it hurts more than anything to see the game you care so much for get put in headlines for how little that care is shared amongst the people responsible for making decisions on it. I’ve been into Destiny since it first dropped, making it the love of my life for nearly two-thirds of my whole existence , and to hear about how it’s just another product to be sold when it’s everything and more to me is just despairing. I wanted to become a writer and concept artist to create a game for others that made them feel as cared for as I did when I played Destiny and now I’m sitting here seeing all the people who helped foster that feeling be treated as another expenditure.

It’s awful, a lot of us are feeling really uninspired and betrayed at the moment, not sure we even want to see what will happen to this masterpiece of a game in the hands of the current executives. We are also dearly missing the developers, artists, writers, and more who made Destiny more than a fps looter shooter.

But it is times like these where we are torn and confused that we must uplift one another and not let the bitter taste of Bungie’s actions make us speak with hostility. This is not about decisions on whether to support Bungie or the actual game, but about refocusing on what truly makes Destiny enjoyable to so many.

Its world is immersive with care put into every story and that clearly shows in just how eager fans are to create masterpieces for it. It was never playing the game or the notoriety that kept me coming back for more, but the joy of creation I could share with others.

It stings to see a disinterest in nursing the potential of the Destiny universe from the executives with motivations other than monetary gain, but when the executives won’t care, we can. There are still employees at Bungie who adore their work and we can continue to support them by speaking up against horrible industry practices and show that we won’t abandon their efforts to make Destiny what it is.

Make ocs, write fanfictions, follow the former employees wherever they go, draw til your heart is overflowing, join Discords, roleplay, share headcanons, create aus with friends, do whatever keeps Destiny alive and flourishing for you!

Destiny will never die to me, even when it’s long forgotten and the servers shut down, because Destiny made me who I am and I intend to repay that gift an infinite amount of times over. The characters and universe will be alive and well to me until I die, regardless of the fate of the game and Bungie.

So go out and prove that Destiny’s themes of the power of community and hope are more than just morals behind a screen, that they are life changing messages that we will carry on despite hopeless news!!

Reblog charming artists, message people about ships you enjoy, leave questions and tags that contribute to conservations, write essays about what Destiny means to you!!

My messages and inbox for questions are always open if anyone would like to talk (I’m trying to get better at answering them, even if they are months late)! You are all welcome here and I want to start reblogging and liking more freely even if those things scare me sometimes!

We can decide our fates and we can decide the fate of Destiny’s presence in our lives as well! We can choose to care when others won’t and refuse to make our enjoyment debatable!! In troubling times, we should be able to reach out into the dark and find hands to hold onto tight!!

[tarvastries]

once again rewatching fellowship and there’s something so awful and powerful about aragorn’s “I would have gone with you to the end. into the very fires of mordor” line because although this is him realizing the ring is too much of a temptation for the fellowship to bear, that’s also kinda how grief works isn’t it?

we lose people. we lose things. we’re given an impossible task — to move on and learn to live over and around this new person- or thing-shaped hole in our lives. an empty space where a mother’s smile used to be, a torn-open wallet that used to be overflowing with security and the future, days that stretch on and on because they’ve never been quite so empty before.

we lose these things and there is no getting around the weight of the loss. you can’t step around it or out of its way. you have to carry it with you, like a stone in your pocket, a bag on your back, a ring on a chain around your neck. you have to bring it wherever you go. many of us bring it to hell and back as we walk the long road not of forgetting the loss, but forgiving the world — and ourselves — for moving on from it.

people try to come with us on the road. they offer thoughts and prayers, and some actually mean it. some walk beside us the whole way, others for as long as they’re able. but we are the only ones who can see it through to the end. even sam couldn’t know exactly what frodo thought or felt during and after the journey to mount doom. he carried the grief, but it was never his to burn through, not really.

and although it doesn’t always mean much, not when we’re blinded by the hurt and loss, knowing that there’s someone willing to walk on coals with you, knowing that someone loved you, that they would try their best and hardest to share the burden that only you can truly carry… sometimes that means more than anything else in the world

we fight so hard in this world to shield ourselves from pain. we put ourselves through the ringer for safety, security, comfort, peace. it’s hard-earned and even harder to keep.

so when aragorn says he would have gone with frodo into the burning heart of despair and hopelessness in their world — a place no one ever leaves or leaves the same — it hits me right in the heart, where I’m still grieving some things. it reminds me that even though I am the only one who can cast my grief into the fire, the only one who can bear the entire burden and feel the full sharpness and weight of it, that there are people who are willing to put all survival instinct and common sense and selfishness aside to walk that broken path with me. to help me stumble to the end. even if they’re not able to, even if they have no choice but to let me go it alone… knowing they would is enough. it’s overwhelming. it reminds me why I’m grieving in the first place — love. it will always and forever be because of love.

there’s more I could say, but this is already too long. anyway, I don’t think I ever truly understood aragorn’s line until today. i’ll never look at it the same again.

[the-cult-of-russo]

No Going Back

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader 

Request : good morning. i wanna request number 8.  “Maybe you should just leave now.” angst/fighting dialogue. to be correct it is for billy russo right?

A/N: yes it's my Billy boy :') he a lil soft in this though but also an asshole lmaooo not gonna lie, this one had me swept up in the emotion. It hit quite close to home and now I'm sad :') 

Warnings: cursing, angst, sadness and heartbreak. Billy fucked up big time lol

Your hands were shaking as you slammed the door to your apartment. Tears stained your cheeks and you kicked your heels off before storming to your bedroom, grabbing a duffel bag and starting to pack his things that he'd left around. Heartbroken didn't even cover it. 

You knew this would happen, it's why you fought against it for so long. But you were stupid and ended falling for his bullshit and now you were a mess. 

You and Billy had been together officially for 7 months. You'd met a year ago at a bar and hit it off, but when he tried to take you home you'd denied him. That apparently piqued his interest even more. He'd always be at the bar every Friday when you went and it was always easy to just be yourself around him. You didn't take him up on his offer and he would offer every time. He never made it a secret that he wanted you. 

But as the months drew on, you both got to know each other more and it became a sort of friendship. You had to admit you felt something when you looked forward to seeing him. He'd asked you once why you were so against it and you'd been pretty blunt with him. You knew of his reputation and you weren't into it. You didn't do one night stands or casual sex. You wanted a relationship, someone to settle down with. You wanted something real. You told him you didn't think he was capable of that and he'd break your heart. 

Five months into knowing each other and he'd switched from just wanting to fuck you to wanting to actually date you and you'd still put up a fight. But as your feelings for him grew, he wore you down. The moment you agreed to that date, which he'd been over the moon about, everything changed. 

It had been so easy to be with him. He treated you like a queen, was more affectionate than you'd have thought, and you enjoyed each other's company. He was busy with Anvil a lot so you didn't see him every day but he'd call if he couldn't see you or send you sweet texts. He swore to you up and down that he'd never hurt you, never do what you'd thought he would do when you turned him down all those times. 

You'd see the looks women gave him when you went out together or were at an event as his date and sometimes you'd feel insecure. But he only had eyes for you it seemed and it reassured you. It lulled you into a false sense of security that he'd actually changed. That he actually cared about you. 

But you were wrong. So very fucking wrong and now you were paying for it. You'd been having dinner with a friend you hadn't seen in a while when it happened. Your eyes finding Billy across the restaurant. He was sat with a pretty blonde, very up close and intimate as they whispered god knows what to each other. You'd felt your heart crack but tried to deny it. It was just flirting, nothing more. But then… he'd leaned in and kissed her. 

You'd shot out of your seat so fast the chair fell over and ran out of the place like someone had lit a fire up your ass. And you knew he'd seen you because you heard him shouting your name as you jumped into a cab and left. 

You hated yourself for being surprised at what he'd done. You'd told him this was exactly how it would go but he'd swore to you. And you allowed yourself to buy into his bullshit because you loved him. 

Most of his things packed, you padded over to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine, pouring a large glass. You swigged it in one and felt the warmth bloom in your chest. It did little to ease the hopeless sorrow that consumed you though. 

There was a rough knock at your door and you heard Billy call your name loudly. You tensed, heart breaking all over again as the tears seemed to be never ending. You didn't want to talk to him, to even look at him. But this was it. You couldn't stay with him, not now. You'd never be able to trust him again. You knew you had to tell him it was done so you could lick your wounds and heal from the pain. 

"Y/N, please… open the door," Billy begged from the other side. You walked over, unlocking it but not opening it as you stormed back off to your bedroom. You knew he'd let himself in. You heard his heavy footsteps entering as you shoved another of his shirts in the bag, one you liked to sleep with.

"Can we talk?" He asked hesitantly. 

"No," you bit out, eyes snapping to him. His face fell when he saw you crying and he took a tentative step into the room.

"Please, Y/N, let me explain," he frowned. You laughed but it held no joy. Only a deep rooted pain that was latched onto your soul. 

"Explain? Really? What, you gonna say you tripped and your mouth landed on hers?! I saw it with my own eyes, Billy! You don't need to explain anything!" You roared, pure pain lacing your words.

He clenched his jaw as he shook his head, eyes glassy as he stared at you. 

"I'm-I'm sorry," he started softly,  reaching out to grab your arm but you smacked it away harshly. He looked like a kicked puppy and you hated it. He didn't get to be upset about this. 

"How long have you been fucking her then?" You asked snidely as you grabbed the duffel bag, holding it in a death grip. 

"I haven't fucked her," he muttered quietly. You snorted deprecatingly and he bit down on his lower lip.

"Yet?" You asked knowingly. His guilty glance to the floor told you everything you needed to know. 

"How long, Billy? How long have you been cheating on me?" You asked, your voice wavered but your gaze had nothing but fire in it and he shifted where he stood. He couldn't look at you. 

"A month. It was always one night, I never went back to someone," he frowned. Pain clawed its way through your chest and you threw the bag at him hard. He caught it but stumbled a little and he looked at you forlornly. 

"Well, I guess that makes it better then, right?" You asked coldly and he flinched. 

You stormed past him back to the kitchen area and he followed quickly. 

"Please listen to me, Y/N. I need to make this right," he pleaded desperately. You whirled around to face him, face flushed and tear stained and you felt like you wanted to scream. 

"Why? Why did you just decide after 6 months together to do this to me? You promised me, Billy! I knew this would happen but you fought for this! For us! Why?! Just so you could break my heart?!" You bellowed, a mix of anger and utter despair in your tone. 

His lower lip quivered and he bit down on it, staring at the floor.

"I never wanted to hurt you. I swear, I didn't. I just…" his voice cracked as his teary eyes landed on you. 

"Maybe you should just leave now," you uttered. Your whole body was trembling and you felt sick. You couldn't stand to look at him. He stepped closer to you, dropping the bag on the floor but you took a step back. It would be far too easy to fall for his bullshit again and if he touched you, you didn't think you'd be able to get him to leave. 

It felt like pure pain ripped through your chest, the weight of the world crashing down around you. You slumped onto a dining chair as a raw sob clawed its way out. Billy was kneeling in front of you in seconds, his own cheeks now damp as he cupped your cheeks. You moved your head from his grip and shook your head. 

"I loved you, you know that?" You whispered brokenly though your tears. You'd never outright said it, mostly in fear of his reaction. But it had all gone to shit anyway. His lip trembled again, scrunching his nose up a little as he shook his head. He looked utterly devastated and it made you angry so you continued.

"I loved you with everything I had. I trusted you with my life. I ripped out my own beating heart and willingly gave it to you because you swore to me you wouldn't do this. You just took it and stomped all over it. How could you do this to me?" Your last words were strained as the tears flowed freely.

"Please let me fix this," he begged helplessly. He was crying openly now, not trying to hide it as he gazed at you from the floor. 

"You can't fix it. I'll never be able to trust you again. It's not just the sex, Billy! You've been lying to me for a month. All those business meetings or times you were away? And you just… you'd come back to me with a smile and tell me sweet words. Looked me in the fucking eye and not feel guilty," you choked out. He shook his head vigorously, hands clasping yours so tight you couldn't pull them away.

"You've got no idea how guilty I felt. It's been eatin' me up from the inside out," he lamented.

"Why would you…? What was it? You just got bored of me? Decided you didn't want me anymore? You should have just ended this because it would hurt less than this," you wept pitifully. He shook his head, clutching your hands tighter.

"Don't… Don't say that, I do want you. I know I don't deserve you, I know I'm an asshole. And… and maybe I shoulda left it alone when you told me this would happen, but I was selfish and I-I couldn't. You were never like the others. I knew that from the moment we met. But then… then things were gettin' serious and I just… I freaked out and went back to my default 'cause I didn't know how to…'' he cried, screwing his face up as he hung his head. 

You sobbed as you stood, his hands falling away and you moved to lean against the table as he stood. 

"It would be bad enough if I'd just got with you in the first place and you did this. But I wanted to avoid this. I tried so hard but you kept on at it. And it hurts so much more because you promised me you wouldn't do this and I believed you. I thought you'd changed, that you…" you ran a hand through your hair, tugging on it as the tears wouldn't stop.

He stepped to you, grasping your face in both hands and you couldn't bring yourself to fight it despite the pain it brought you. His endless eyes were all consuming, his cheeks wet from his own tears.

"Please… please, Y/N, don't do this. Let me make it right," he begged tearfully. 

"Without trust, we have nothing. Everytime you're on your phone I'd wonder if you were talking to another woman. When you're out I'd be paranoid about who you were with. I can't live like that, Billy. I can't live my life in… in an anxious, jealous haze. That's not a relationship," you whispered. 

He made a pained noise and it squeezed your heart so hard you thought it might implode. 

"I was never good enough for you. I knew that. But I wanted… I wanted to try and be-be a good man… for you. And I fucked up so bad and I just…" his words trailed off into a hopeless sob and you squeezed your eyes shut. You wished there was a way to fix this but there wasn't. You wouldn't be in one of those relationships without trust. Checking your partner's phone and always checking in. It would break you.

"You need to leave, Billy," your words were a mere breath and his hands on your face tightened for a moment before they fell to his sides. He looked completely broken and you were sure you looked the same. He opened his mouth before promptly closing it, his jaw ticking as he moved away and pushed the heels of his palms to his eyes. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself like it would protect you from the pain and glared at the floor. You could still feel his gaze burning into you. You glanced at him as he grabbed the bag and slung it over his shoulder. You had to fight the urge to grab onto him as he walked to your door. You felt like you were dying. 

He grabbed the handle but stopped, not looking at you as his body tensed.

"I want you to know… I love you too," his pained words felt like a punch to the gut and you covered your mouth with a hand but it did little to stop the noise that left your lips. He looked over his shoulder at you, still holding the door handle.

"I know that… right now you probably don't believe me, but I do. And I'm sorry. I-I never wanted you to get hurt. You deserve so much better," he muttered despondently. With that, he opened the door and slipped out of your apartment. Of your life. 

You fell to the floor as heaving sobs left your chest. It would have been easier if he came here being an asshole. Cold and emotionless like you knew he could be at times. But seeing him, his emotions so raw and on display, it cut you deeper than any knife could. And you believed him. You knew him well enough to believe that he fell in love with you and freaked out. You knew it would happen which is why you'd turned him down at the start. You believed he never wanted to hurt you. And you wished you could forgive him. You saw how much it hurt him too but you couldn't. You couldn't get over the betrayal and you didn't think you ever could. 

He'd sabotaged what you both had because of his inability to deal with what he felt and the bitter knowledge that if he'd just accepted it, how different your future would be with him, it left a sour taste in your mouth. Billy had opened up to you a lot in your time together about his past and you knew how much it had messed him up. You knew it left him struggling with emotions and relationships and you felt for him. For the lost boy who'd never felt love and didn't know how to cope with it. But nothing could erase the heartbreak. The hurt that he'd given you. Because even if you'd one day be able to forgive him, you'd never be able to forget.

[allmyspideys]

If you’re still taking requests, what about a angsty Steve Rogers x reader, where after thanos’ snap he rushes back to shared home and doesn’t find you and freaks out thinking you were apart of the snap since you were supposed to be home from work but you actually left to go to the store or something?? I’m not sure if this will stir up any inspiration to write, I hope it does, but if it doesn’t, no pressure at all!! :)

omg okay so I know it’s been like 6 months since you sent this, but I’ve had like half written since then and I just got some motivation back to finish it (and start more :) ) I hope you enjoy it <3 <3

*Snap*

Out radiated a feeling of dread, ruin, and hopelessness. That feeling hit Steve like a ton of bricks. It struck him in the heart and numbed his limbs.

At first it was confusion, but as Steve looked over to see his best friend turn to dust and drift away with the remnants of the radiation, the hopelessness set in. He was Captain America, specifically genetically engineered to be able to protect people, to protect the people he loved.

The people he loved... You...

The dread hit Steve as hard just as the hopelessness, as the realization hit him that you might have turned to dust just like Bucky. He'd be completely alone.

Rage coursed through Steve's veins, but it very quickly turned to ice as he realized that there was no getting you back.

Steve would never hear your laugh again or watch the way your eyebrows scrunched together when he came in the door after a long mission. He'd never feel the way your fingers would intertwine with his. He’d never get to kiss you again; he’d never get to hug you or hold you or hear your wild stories. He’d never get to breath you in deep and feel the way you sigh into his side; you were his comfort, just as he was yours. 

It shocked Steve and honestly, he couldn’t control himself until Natasha stepped him to bring him back. He was full of rage and heartbreak and despair, everything bad that he had no need to feel this deeply since meeting you. Dread continued to take over Steve’s mind as he tried to organize the remaining Avengers. It wasn’t just him that hurt; he could see that now. Everyone else was struggling just as much as he was. You always said, “put on a brave face and do what you need to do, even if you’re crying on the inside”. 

He couldn’t focus on you, not now. Not when he didn’t know if you were okay. So he began to pick up the pieces, calling team members, figuring out who was left. But you were a part of him, so really, he couldn’t help if his subconscious drifted to you as he delegated duties and called a plane to take his suffering team home. He saw the numbness on Tony’s face and looked around for the joking face of Peter. Of course he didn’t find it. 

As he thanked Natasha for doing everything she was doing, he thought about you. If you could see him now, oh boy. Though his face remained hard, the sadness shone through his normally bright eyes… You’d reach your warm hands up to cup his face as your eyes bore into his. He imagined your soothing fingers run across the creases in his forehead and down his eyebrows. “Old man eyebrows”, you’d joke. Steve could always count on your teasing to make him feel better, but he could never lie to you. He didn’t need to.

He could say, “It’s nothing,” but you always knew better. Somehow you just understood; you always understood. You may not have actually known, but you were there and that’s all he needed. Even now, that’s all he could imagine; the thought of you sitting at the window and glancing up as you heard him open the door brought a slight smile to his face, but it quickly fell. You were all he wanted, but you were gone. He was sure of it.

The droning sound of the plane was the only thing he could hear. It’s like there was something missing. He felt it through the waves that coursed through his body; the same waves that robbed him of his best friend, of his team, of his love. It was joy. It was love. It was hope. Entirely gone. Absent. 

It was like Steve was preparing himself for the worst; for the simple possibility that you wouldn’t be there when he got home. He always promised to come back to you, but you never promised him that you’d stay. You are my home, Steve choked back a sob. He couldn’t stop the negative thoughts racing through his head anymore as his breathing got faster and heavier. He’d never cried in front of his team, but the tears pricking the corners of his eyes told him that he was about to. It was Natasha that brought him back that time. It should have been her hands on his thighs as she kneeled down beside him. It should have been the caring eyes that looked over his face for any injuries, but instead it was her hope that brought him back. 

“She might be okay,” it was a gentle reminder that Steve didn’t truly know what had happened to you. It was that single light of hope within his darkness that carried his body as he got off the plane. His only thought was you. It was you curled up the couch as your soft snores warmed his heart. It was your hands intertwined with his while he spun you around to the music he knew. He didn’t really know when or how he got back to your apartment, but as the thought of your hands loving his body cleared and he saw your building in front of him, Steve broke out into a full sprint up to your floor. 

You were used to the times when Steve came back from a mission. It was the in-between of Captain America and Steve Rogers, where he wasn’t quite either. He’d walk in the doors and immediately smile brightly at you. Sometimes you’d go to him, but usually, he’d come to you, scoop you in his arms and just stay there. It was like you were his tether back to himself. It was a moment you loved, so when you heard the keys jingling, you always got excited. 

But this time, there were no keys jingling, there was no warning, the door just busted open, scaring the shit out of you. That scare paled in comparison to the fear you felt looking at the expression of emptiness on Steve’s face. He stayed like a statue in the doorway for a moment before you called to him.

“Steve?,” you asked tentatively. 

Relief washed over his face and the tears finally broke free. His arms wrapped around you and you felt the shakes of his body through your entire chest. They were tears of relief, lingering despair, and the realization that Bucky and half his team were still gone.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” he held you tighter, “I thought you were gone like the rest of them.” 

You sat in Steve’s lap on the floor for a while, but he never let up on his hold. Your hands rubbed soothing circles on his back as he explained what happened. Part of Steve felt selfish to be happy that you were okay while so many were not, but as you moved your fingers into his hair and massaged away the headaches, Steve realized that you were his strength. He could do everything that he needed to do and more, as long as he had you right beside him. It was a promise to everyone else that tomorrow he’d start finding a solution, but for now, all he wanted was his moment of selfishness and hope. 

Your hands moved down to cup his face and brought your lips to his forehead, smoothing out the tension with each feather light kiss. You placed a kiss on each eye, each cheek, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips, just to assure him that you were really there. Steve opened his eyes to see yours full of love and the little light of hope grew. You trailed your fingers back across his forehead and over his eyebrows. It was the glint in your eyes that brought a smile back to Steve’s face.

“I could never leave these old man eyebrows,” Steve chuckled and the little light grew even brighter, “they could try, but I’m not going anywhere”.

[lillotte17]

Blossoms on a Bough

Fix-it/filler for the end of episode 36!!!

~

The first thing Wen Kexing notices, once his mind has floated up towards any sense of consciousness, is a bright cool light shining on his face. His brows twitch downwards in irritation, the intensity of it stinging his eyes even while they are still closed. His body feels like lead, and his thoughts are thick and muddy. He just wants to ignore the light and drift back off to sleep.

Wherever he is, he seems to have landed on something relatively soft and warm. It is surprising, since his general ideas about the netherworld involve darkness and cold, but he is certainly not going to complain. Perhaps, given the long list of his transgressions, his soul flew right past the Yellow River and dropped straight into hell, and now he is being fried in a pot just like that chicken that had chased Chengling around the Four Seasons Manor. The thought makes him want to laugh, but there is an odd tightness in his chest, so the best he can manage is an incredibly weak cough.

A faint rustling of cloth sounds by his ear as whatever he is reclining on shifts slightly. There is a vague sense of presence nearby, but he cannot tell more than that. Almost against his will, he cracks his eyes open to see who might be trapped in the stew pot with him, but there is only a dark looming blur surrounded by pale watery light. It makes him think of Zhou Zishu; his face bathed in sunshine, in moonshine, in starlight. He always seemed to glow with something intangible and dream-like. And Wen Kexing -helpless little month- could do nothing else but follow after it.

“Ah Xu,” he exhales in the barest of whispers.

A scent lingers in the air around him, crisp and lightly musky. It reminds him of burying his fingers in long dark tresses. Of the tenderness and care taken combing the tangles out of them afterwards. Of sliding his own hair pin into the carefully twisted knot at the crown of Zhou Zishu’s head. He should have brought him a different one to replace it, he thinks blearily. The key was most likely lost or broken in all of that snow, and now he will have nothing to remember him by.

This place is strange, wherever it is. Soothing and disorientating all at once. Is it some sort of hallucination? Did his soul get lost somewhere between life and death? Is he a true ghost now, doomed to wander the world in hopeless despair, witnessing joys he can no longer take part in? Thoughts spin around in his head in a billion tiny fragments. He cannot quite seem to catch hold of any of them, or arrange them in a pattern that makes sense.

“Am I dead?” he wonders aloud, his voice thin and raspy, not expecting an answer.

“You fucking better not be,” a cross reply rumbles out from somewhere above him.

Wen Kexing blinks. The sun still burns his eyes, but after a few moments of intense squinting, the dark blur leaning over him reconfigures itself into a familiar and beloved face. Zhou Zishu, leaning back against a dusty wall with Wen Kexing pulled more than half way into his lap.

“What…happened?” Wen Kexing wonders, head positively spinning in bafflement. Now that he is waking up a bit more, he is becoming more aware of his body’s aches and pains. It feels like a horse kicked him in the chest and then he fell into a river and drowned. Even wincing hurts.

“Something went wrong with the ritual,” Zishu tells him. His voice is raw and his eyes are bloodshot. He looks as haggard as Wen Kexing feels. “You collapsed. Your heart meridians were severely damaged, and your hair turned white. You must have used too much of your internal force. It has been more than three days since you lost consciousness and…I thought…”

His voice splinters and he trails off, looking away from him for a moment.

“But…it worked?” Wen Kexing presses, trying to feebly grip at Zhou Zishu’s sleeve, “You can hear me talking again now, so that means that it worked, right? The rest is fine, so long as it saved you.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Zhou Zishu answers, the first traces of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Yes. You are here.” Wen Kexing echoes, as though he still cannot quite believe it, “And…I am here, too.”

“You are.” Zishu confirms, his arms tightening around him, carefully tugging him up until he is all but leaning into his chest. “It was a near thing, though. My medical knowledge is limited, and even with the Yin Yang book, I was not certain that I could heal you.”

“Rong Xuan’s wife allegedly used the teachings in the book to heal his heart meridians and other serious injuries when he was near death several times over,” Wen Kexing hums thoughtfully, casually tilting his head against Zishu’s shoulder, “But she was an experienced physician. You have had no training, and yet you saved me on the first try. You must possess some kind of natural affinity for it. Ah Xu, you have so many talents, I am having a hard time keeping track of them all.”

“It had nothing to do with affinity,” Zhou Zishu huffs, sounding exasperated and perhaps even the tiniest bit embarrassed, “It was pure dumb luck.”

“Eh?”

“The Four Seasons Sect has a special technique that cripples someone’s heart meridians,” he explains somberly, a humorless smirk on his face, “I used it against Prince Jin to keep him alive, but bedridden. My master taught it to me, and as far as I know, I am the only one left alive who knows how to perform it.”

“That is very interesting, Ah Xu, but I am not certain I understand what it has to do with dumb luck,” Wen Kexing says smilingly.

“My master…he also told me how to counter the technique, so that the person’s heart meridians could be healed again and their qi could flow properly,” Zhou Zishu continues, turning his head slightly to directly meet Wen Kexing’s gaze. “I did not have much hope when I opened the Yin Yang book. You were slipping away, and there was no time for in-depth research. But…when I found the section detailing how someone with damaged meridians might be cured, it was obvious that…the techniques I learned from my master were based on this knowledge.”

“So…that means…my parents…?” Wen Kexing looks a bit lost at the revelation.

Zhou Zishu nods.

“It is likely that Lady Yue Feng’Er and your parents shared this precious knowledge with their friends, and possibly even helped my master develop this skill. I was only able to save you because of this.”

Wen Kexing furrows is brows, his thoughts whirling and his emotions complex. He seemingly stares at the dark blue of Zhou Zishu’s lapels for what feels like ages, looking but not seeing, pensive and moody. Finally, he lets out a very tired-sounding sigh.

“And I only managed to save you because that dumb bastard Rong Xuan stole the manual for the Six Cultivation Techniques,” he says, sounding bitter, “But maybe no one would have needed all this saving in the first place if that old monster had never let his idiot disciple leave the mountain to begin with.”

Zhou Zishu frowns down at him.

“I know, I know,” he mumbles, a bit sulky, “The past is past. Zhao Jing was punished and the rest are dead. There is no point stewing on it now. I have just…been angry about it for so long, sometimes I forget that I don’t have to be anymore. Be patient with me, Ah Xu.”

“Hm?” Zishu blinks, as though suddenly coming back to himself. “Oh, it wasn’t about that.”

“Then what?”

“I was just thinking that…it really could not have been anyone else,” Zhou Zishu tells him slowly, intensity burning in his dark eyes. “I said it was only dumb luck, because I never believed in destiny all that much before. If you want to achieve something in this world, you have to be willing to create it for yourself. But…for things to end up this way… It had to be you, and it had to be me, didn’t it?”

Wen Kexing bursts out laughing, utterly delighted.

“I always knew you had a soft heart beneath that tough exterior,” he grins, slightly breathless, with an almost pleasant ache in his ribs, “But Ah Xu, I never imagined that you were secretly a romantic.”

“Shut up,” Zishu grunts, pinching his arm until he yelps, “Who is romantic?”

“Ai, there is no need to be shy about it now, is there?” Wen Kexing says pleadingly, giggling to himself all the while, “There is no one here except us.”

“That’s right,” Zhou Zishu agrees blithely, a truly terrifying expression stealing across his face, “There is no one on this entire mountain except for you and me.”

“Ah Xu, don’t do anything rash,” Wen Kexing cajoles with a hint of genuine nervousness, “I only teased you a little bit, and I am still in such a delicate state of health. If you throw me out in the snow and beat me, I really won’t be-”

Zhou Zishu kisses him then, and whatever he won’t be promptly flies out of his head like a startled flock of birds.

The kiss is softer than he would have guessed, if he had gotten a moment to anticipate it. Clumsy, but tender. Hasty, but sincere. The mouth pressed so suddenly against his own trembles just slightly right before it pulls away. A thousand years too soon.

It is nowhere near the first time they have kissed each other, but Wen Kexing is almost always the instigator. It suits his own preferences to take the lead in most physical forms of intimacy anyway, so he would never complain about it. However, it does make the times Zhou Zishu reaches for him first feel more…something. Something that makes his heart full, and his eyes itch.

It makes him feel as though he is not only being accepted by this man, but chosen by him, too. As his partner. As his equal. As his friend. Lovers and soulmates and all the rest.

Wen Kexing is not certain that anyone else has ever chosen him before.

Not when there were other, better, options on hand, at any rate.

He swallows thickly, gazing up at Zhou Zishu with wide, startled eyes. Little flecks of cold mountain sunlight catch in the dark sweep of the other man’s hair almost like snowflakes. His grin is wide and fierce. Buoyant and hopeful in a way he has never been in all the time they have known each other. He looks impossibly beautiful, and horribly pleased with himself for managing to derail Wen Kexing’s usual babbling. There might be the slightest touch of pink to his ears, though.

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing chokes out.

I love you.

But the words get stuck in his throat.

“What?” Zishu laughs, “Do you ever get tired of calling me?”

“No.” Wen Kexing offers him a weak smile in return, shifting out of his hold a little so they can sit facing one another.

Zhou Zishu heaves an exasperated sigh, but his eyes remain bright, his expression one of incalculable fondness.

“Is that all you were saying during the ritual?” he wonders, half joking, “You just sat there calling my name?”

“Huh?”

“You said earlier that you had tried speaking to me, but my hearing had gone,” Zhou Zishu reminds him, “What did you say?”

“Oh, yes, it was mostly just your name over and over,” Wen Kexing nods, “Plus a few embarrassing personal anecdotes I felt like sharing. Once I knew you had no way to stop me, I really couldn’t help myself.”

“Lao Wen.”

“Yes, Ah Xu?”

“After all we have been through together, what could you possibly still have to tell me that you think I would be unwilling to hear?”

Wen Kexing makes a face, caught outright.

“It…is not so much a matter of thinking you would not hear me out,” he admits carefully, “It is more that there are just things that are difficult to say to someone. The more important they are to you, the harder it gets, so between you and me… But when a man feels his end has come, all sorts of things seem to tumble out unwillingly.”

Zhou Zishu looks positively stricken.

“You could tell that the cultivation technique was backfiring?” he hisses out, gasping Wen Kexing by the shoulders, “And you still kept going?”

“What else could I do?” Wen Kexing asks helplessly, “If I had stopped wouldn’t we both die? Would it be better if I had starved to death with your corpse in my arms? Besides, that old monster promised me that this technique could save you, so no matter what the cost was going to be, of course I-”

“So, you knew there would be a cost already?” Zhou Zishu cuts him off, expression like a brewing storm cloud, “You knew this was likely going to injure you, and you did not even think to warn me first? We could have prepared beforehand! You could have looked through the Yin Yang book and point out things that I could use to help you in an emergency! Dammit, Lao Wen, I thought you were supposed to be smarter than this!”

“Was there really time for things like that?” Wen Kexing argues back, “Your senses were already dying out one by one, if we did not try the technique as soon as possible, you might not have been able to complete it! If I told you how risky it is, would you agree to it? Would you still let me try to save you?”

“I deserve the right to make that choice!” Zhou Zishu shouts hoarsely.

“You do!” Wen Kexing agrees just as hotly, “But I owe it to Chengling to save his family. And I owe it to our master to save his teachings. And I owe it to you most of all. I ruined your chance at happiness. To rebuild the Four Seasons with Chengling and the other new disciples. You threw it all away to try and avenge me… The number of people in this world who have been good to me are few enough to count on one hand. I would do anything for them, and you most of all. How could I live without repaying this debt?”

“And what if I hadn’t been able to save you?!” Zhou Zishu demands thunderously.

“I didn’t expect you to save me!”

For a few moments, the words seem to echo of the cold walls of the armory, bouncing back at them over and over. The silence that follows after them is deafening. Zishu’s eyes are red, and his hands are trembling on Wen Kexing’s biceps, but he looks as though he is about to breathe fire.

“Good,” he says finally, his voice low and deadly, “Very good. You feel like you owe me so much, but all you want to do is torture me.”

“What?” Wen Kexing baulks, “No! Ah Xu, that’s not what I-”

But before he can finish the thought Zhou Zishu has already pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, his breathing erratic, and his face buried in the side of his neck. Wen Kexing makes a pained grunt, his ribs still tender from previous injury. It only makes Zishu’s grip on him tighten, however, holding onto him with a furious desperation.

“In such a short stretch of time, I have had to see you dead or dying before my eyes over and over again,” he mumbles thickly into the silk of Wen Kexing’s robes, “You spent all this time chasing me down, pestering me to let you stay by my side, begging me not to die, and telling me to find things to feel hopeful about. But now it seems as though you are set on leaving me behind.”

“I never wanted to leave you,” Wen Kexing protests, but his voice seems to have lost all of its strength, “I just wanted to keep you safe. Even if I died, and you had to be sad for a while, you have so much left to live for, and I wanted you to have it. I just wanted you to be…happy.”

“Bastard,” Zhou Zishu laughs wetly, “Wen Kexing, you really are…the absolute worst sort of person.”

Wen Kexing sags in his embrace, his heart plummeting down into the pit of his stomach. His head droops, white hair falling across his eyes. Utterly defeated.

“I know.”

Zhou Zishu finally pulls back from him. There are obvious tear tracks down his cheeks, but he still looks fierce, regardless. He takes Wen Kexing roughly by the chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“You are also…my happiness.”

Wen Kexing gapes at him, for once in his life completely at a loss for words. Seeing an opening, Zhou Zishu takes the opportunity to kiss him again. Harsher this time. Brief and chaste and biting. It does not seem to help the other man’s sense of bafflement in the slightest. Indeed, Lao Wen looks as though his soul might have just flown straight out of his body.

Zishu smiles at him again, but there is still something sharp and wounded at its edges.

“Eternity would be an empty place without you,” he says quietly, “How could you leave me to bear it alone?”

“I…I’m…sorry,” Wen Kexing sputters, as though he does not know what else to say. He finally reaches back for Zhou Zishu, cautiously taking hold of his wrists. The ache in his chest seems to have spread outward, and he is shaking so badly that he fears he might not be able to sit up straight much longer. “I’m sorry. I just did not… I did not know how else to save you.”

“Mn,” Zhou Zishu nods in understanding, “I suppose I can forgive you for it this time, although some part of me still would like nothing so much as to throw you outside and beat some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

“I will accept any punishment you want to give me,” Wen Kexing tells him earnestly.

“Alright,” Zhou Zishu grins, “Then pay me back with your whole life. Stay alive, and stay with me. Always.”

Wen Kexing blinks in surprise, but the next moment he is laughing. Dizzy with relief and unexpected joy. Marveling at the gifts that fate has blessed him with after so many years of hatred and heartache.

“I can do that.”

~

When Zhou Zishu wakes up later that night Wen Kexing is sitting at the opposite end of their makeshift bed in nothing but his under robe. His back is facing him, and he takes a moment to stare at the snowy cascade of his hair. The living proof of what Lao Wen would sacrifice for him. It looks beautiful on him, as everything else seems to, but Zishu thinks he prefers the rich dark brown that he was born with. This new color comes with a twinge of guilt.

Not that he would ever say so.

“Lao Wen,” he calls softly, “What are you doing?”

Wen Kexing’s shoulders stiffen in surprise.

“Don’t come over,” he replies, “I’m not finished yet.”

“Ai,” Zishu grins, scooting close enough to lightly tug at a few strands of that bone white hair, “But that just makes me want to come over even more.”

“I have a knife,” Lao Wen says coolly, “I will use it if I have to.”

“You left our bed in the middle of the night to play with a knife?” Zishu laughs, not intimidated in the least. “Why?”

“If you stop pestering me for a few minutes maybe you’ll find out,” Wen Kexing snaps. Zhou Zishu is not fooled, though. He had caught the sharp inhale of breath when he had said the words ‘our bed’, and he is all but certain that Lao Wen’s threats are empty.

“But you’ll catch cold,” he coaxes, slipping his arms about his waist and pressing a kiss into his shoulder. He obligingly resists the urge to peek at whatever secret Wen Kexing is fiddling with, though. The other man sighs, but does nothing to discourage him, as expected.

“The next time you accuse me of being insufferable, I want you to remember this conversation,” Wen Kexing says wryly.

“It must be your bad influence,” Zhou Zishu chuckles.

Wen Kexing hums noncommittally, going back to whatever he had been working on before. Zhou Zishu sits patiently behind him, leaning into the warm curve of his back, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the faint scraping sound of a blade chipping away at something. The proximity is comfortable, and the quiet almost meditative, and before long Zishu is already half way back to being asleep.

“Alright,” Lao Wen says finally, carefully pulling himself free of Zhou Zishu’s arms and turning to face him, “You can look now.”

Zishu has to shake himself a little to wake up again, but once he does, he finds that Lao Wen is holding out what appears to be an oddly shaped icicle.

“…What is it?” he asks after a few moments of trying to puzzle it out for himself.

Wen Kexing frowns.

“It’s a hair pin,” he tells him, as though it should be obvious.

“Ah.”

“What do you mean, saying ‘ah’ with such a doubting face?” Wen Kexing huffs in annoyance, “Of course it is a hair pin, what else would it be? You lost the one I gave you before, so now I have to give you a new one to replace it.”

“I lost the one you gave me before?” Zhou Zishu laughs.

“That’s right,” Wen Kexing nods seriously, “But I promise not to be mad about it.”

“Philanthropist Wen is too kind.”

“It’s true,” Lao Wen sighs dramatically, “People are always taking advantage of my generous nature.”

He firmly places the hair pin in Zhou Zishu’s hands. Upon closer inspection, it looks to be roughly shaped like a tree branch. There are two lumpy circles that might be meant to be flowers attempting to bloom from it. The finished product is crude, but the ice is clear and crystalline. Pretty, even despite the skill level of the craftsman.

“It is meant to be plum blossoms,” Wen Kexing admits somewhat sheepishly, “One bloom for each of us. There was meant to be a bud for Chengling, too, but I accidentally broke it off. Hopefully, that is not an inauspicious sign for him.”

“I see,” Zhou Zishu says, because he does see, and just like the morning he had woken up to find the Four Seasons Manor cleaned and Wen Kexing diligently repairing his master’s old painting, he feels very much like he wants nothing more than to pull the other man into his arms again.

“Ah Xu, will you accept it?” Wen Kexing asks, slightly trepidatious at his lack of reaction.

“Of course,” Zishu smiles easily, “But it’s made of ice, after all. If I wear it, it will likely melt or break in a day or so.”

“If it breaks, I will just make you a new one,” Wen Kexing says, his eyes soft. He plucks the hair pin from Zhou Zishu’s fingers, reaching up and carefully sliding it into the loose knot at the base of his ponytail. “I can make you a new one every day, if I have to. With any luck, they will eventually look less ugly.”

He takes Zhou Zishu’s hands in his own.

“There are still things I am not good at saying,” he tells him, “Things that I want to share with you. Things that you deserve to hear. Right now, my skills are not enough, but just like with the hair pin, if I keep working at it every day, eventually I can give you something worth having.”

Zhou Zishu tugs him down into his embrace. He thinks about kissing him. About pushing him down and pulling his robe open and showing him, again, how very much he is wanted. But Lao Wen is still recovering from injuries, and it would be a shame to snap his new hair pin tussling around in the sheets. So, he makes do with holding him close, for now. Tangling his fingers in hair the color of starlight.

“Say them, or don’t say them,” he says quietly against the shell of Wen Kexing’s ear, “Whatever they are, they have no bearing on your worth to me.”

“Doesn’t that seem like my current value is lower than mud?” Wen Kexing laughs nervously.

“It means you are treasured,” Zishu corrects him firmly, “There is no price that I would sell you for.”

“I suppose that means I can stop living in fear that you would truly try and sell me to a brothel.”

“You really are a brat.”

“Ah Xu?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

[mischiefthedreamerx]

To Never Give Up

Summary: By mistake, Loki takes a portal leading him to New Asgard, where he meets Thor who is broken & hopeless after the events of Infinity War. Thor is given some closure and Loki can finally say goodbye.

Pairing: Loki x Sylvie implied.

A/N: Idk how Loki ends up in New Asgard in but that's irrelevant. Towards the end I kind of lost inspiration & ideas so it flopped a bit but I wanted to finish it.

Word Count: 3k

- - - - - - - -

Loki landed ungracefully with a loud 'thud' against a hard cold floor. As he lay down in his new surroundings, the awful smell of the room hit him first, making him scrunch up his nose. Getting up to his feet with an exhausted sigh, he took in the room. It was small, dull and unkempt. Only a slither of light broke through the closed curtains. Empty food packets and cans of alcohol littered the table and wooden floor. Loki saw some controls with wires connecting to a thin rectangular box next to a TV. The stoned-wall room looked abandoned, claustrophobic. How could anyone possible live here? Blankets lay over a gloomy sofa as if someone was sleeping on it too.

Loki cautiously walked around the room for any sign of life, avoiding treading on the litter or touching anything for that matter. He thought whoever lived here would probably not be much of a threat. Outside, he heard the sound of birds squawking and ocean waves.

The next thing he heard was a sudden high pitch creaking sound of a door opening. Loki conjured up a small dagger, eyes narrowing to the direction of the sound. Someone was home. The door closed and within seconds, the resident appeared in front of the room.

Loki’s dagger fell to the floor as he froze in place. He stared openly, wide eyed, trying to process who this heavy figure was. The figure in turn dropped a white plastic bag of food.

"Thor..?” Loki gasped in horror. His brother wore a grubby white t-shirt and a knitted cardigan, hair long and tangled. At first, Loki wasn't even sure it was Thor.

Thor mumbled out a bunch of incoherent sounds before managing to form actual words. "Loki..? Loki! You're alive!" He let out a laugh as he pulled his brother into a tight hug.

Loki was left speechless. Tears prickled in the corner of his eyes, hesitantly placing an arm around Thor to return the embrace. A warmth spread through him. Loki did not wish to let go though Thor eventually did.

A bright smile crossed his lips. “You bastard! You had me fooled there, thinking you'd actually died again! And for good this time. You truly are quite the trickster, brother. " The laughter continued as he pat Loki on the back.

Loki swallowed. "Thor..I'm.." His stomach ached at the thought of telling Thor the truth. "I'm not from this timeline." He guessed since Thor was not on Asgard that their home had been destroyed on this timeline by Ragnarok and Thanos had attacked. Loki placed a hand on Thor's shoulder. "I'm not your Loki." He said softly.

"Wait..this isn't another one of your silly little tricks, right?" He kept up his smile despite the uncertainty in his gaze.

Loki raised both hands in an attempt to calm his brother. "Thor. I need you to listen to me."

But he did exactly the opposite. "Please come in! Excuse the mess. I-i wasn't expecting visitors. Not that I, er, getting any.." Thor mumbled as he hurried in, removing any litter from the sofa and tidying the blankets. Loki turned to watch Thor helplessly, unable to move from his spot. He sucked in a heavy sigh. "Have a seat." Thor spoke.

Loki forced away the numbness in his limps and slowly sat down. "Thor, please. Just listen to me." He said in despair.

"Right. Of course." Thor muttered, siting himself down.

"What year is this?" Loki asked.

"Um.." Thor frowned, scratching himself. "2023."

"I've come from the year 2012." Loki explained. Thor stilled frowned.

"This isn't a joke is it?" His little piece of happiness faltered.

Loki shook his head, a pained smile reached his lips. "I wish it was."

Any trace of a smile left Thor completely. "So.. you're from another timeline..which means.." He sniffed. "..you're still.."

"Dead." Loki said. "Your Loki is dead." Loki felt a heaviness in his chest. Dead.

Thor wrapped his cardigan around himself. "Then why are you here?"

Loki took a moment to gather his thoughts. "It's a very long story. I took a portal and by chance it lead me here. To you." His gaze met Thor's. There was no sign of that prideful hero left in those empty eyes. Nothing that once resembled a would be King of Asgard, a saviour to many. Loki wasn’t sure it was a good idea to tell Thor about the whole TVA situation either.

“How come you’re alive?” Thor asked.

“After New York, I escaped with the Tesseract. I’ve seen a lot..I saw the events that happened to my future, from the Dark Elves to Ragnarok and the attack by Tha—“

“No. We don’t say that name here.” Thor choked out, cutting Loki off.

Loki nodded. Thor had lost everything and so had Loki too, though in return he found Mobius and Sylvie to help with the loss of his family but Thor was alone. Not even the avengers came to visit him from the sound of it. Loki fought the urge to let his fingers curl into fists.

"Sorry." Loki apologised. "So this is your new..home?" His eyes scanned the living room.

Thor fumbled with his fingers. "It's not much. After the..well, you know, the humans were kind enough to offer us this village. It's a bit fishy but it's all we've got. They even gave us a sign too." Thor forced on a smile. "It's not quite like home." He looked down at his lap.

"Asgard is not a place." Loki said.

"It's a people." Thor said quietly, finishing off the common saying amongst the Asgardians.

Loki knew he should not stay too long, it would only hurt Thor more when he left but maybe this was what they both needed despite not being from the same timeline. Loki told himself to go. Was it selfish to stay for a little while longer? Maybe this was meant to happen?

"Why don't you show me around this new kingdom of yours?" Loki suggested with genuine smile.

"No, I don't really go out much."

Loki stood up. If he was going to stay for a while, he wasn’t willing to be confined in this depressing room. "Well I'll just go ahead on my own, if you don't mind?" He smirked. "I'll be on my best behaviour."

Thor scrambled up to his feet. "I don't think that a good idea. You're suppose to be dead, they'll see you."

Loki chuckled. "No they won't. You still underestimate me, brother."

- - - - - - -

Loki concealed his presence from anyone nearby, though it wasn't too busy, some had gone out on their boats. They both walked along the pier, Loki had conjured up a black coat due to the weather. The sky was hidden behind grey clouds, as a breeze swept across the ocean. Rays of sunlight managed to break through occasionally. Thor briefly spoke about their job with trading and catching fish for nearby villages in this place called 'Scotland'.

After about half an hour of wandering along the pier, they both stood on a hill overlooking the coast and houses of New Asgard. Thor bent down, placing in hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"Are you okay?"

"Don't worry about me. The exercise will do me some good." He said sucking in the ocean air before standing up straight, stretching his back. Loki gave him a moment to steady his breathing back to normal.

"So what are your daily king duties on this fine and wonderful kingdom?" Loki asked in light humour.

Thor scratched his brow in thought. "You know, king stuff, the usual. It's not like I stay inside all day shouting at a bunch of fools on a screen."

"Sounds..exciting." Loki said flatly.

"What about you? Causing chaos wherever you go?"

Loki thought of his words carefully, there was no need for Thor to know all the specifics when he already had enough to deal with.

"Something like that." He smiled. Chaos was too much of a small word to describe what he had gone through. "I've been protecting the sacred timeline." Loki joked with enthusiasm.

Thor frowned but did not question it. "Oh, yeah? And how's that going?”

Loki's facial features tightened. "Marvellous.”

Thor did not have the effort to ask Loki to expand on his response, he probably thought Loki was lying but it did not matter to him.

They both stood together watching the ocean. Loki closed his eyes, tipping his head back as he let the breeze blow against him, prolonging their time together. There was something about the ocean that brought him a sense of calmness. As Loki's eyes remained close, Thor turned to look at his brother who appeared to be so at peace, a feeling Thor had rarely often seen Loki experience.

"You've changed." Thor said absentmindedly, his voice mirroring the calmness between them.

Loki opened his eyes, a warm expression crossed his face. "I know. Seeing one's own life play out on screen was certainly an experience. I finally heard what I needed to hear for so long.” That he was loved.

"I met people I could trust.” Well, it was still an ongoing process for some part of it. “Someone who told me I could be anything I wanted to be, even someone good.”

A tinged of jealousy pinched inside Thor's chest. "Met anyone special along the way?" He nudged Loki with his elbow as he grinned.

"Well," Loki placed his hands in his pockets, letting out a nervous laugh. "it's complicated."

The shining grin remained. "I wish to hear about them.”

Loki shied away for a moment, trying to force his smile back but unfortunately failed to do so. "She's sometimes irritating and very reckless." His expression then softened. "She reminds me of how I used to be..so full of anger but deep down she's hurting, a lot. She doesn't trust, or let anyone in. Or even know what it’s like to love someone.”

"And then you came along with all that charm of yours.” Thor teased.

Loki scoffed. "Cut it out. We're..still figuring things out. I think."

"Truly, I am happy for you, brother. And what is this fair maiden’s name?" She was definitely far from a ‘fair maiden’...

Loki averted his gaze downwards, their last moment that they shared together played through his mind. "Sylvie." He said, almost as a whisper to himself. A name that weighed heavy in his heart.

"Sylvie." Thor repeated, testing the name. “You know, brother, for the first time in my life. I'm actually jealous of you. Who would of thought that?"

Loki frowned. "Jealous? Of me?" This would of once made Loki feel victorious that the roles had been reversed after many years but now it only pained his heart to see his mighty brother succumb to such sadness.

"I mean, look at you! All happy and in love. And then there's me. Barely even a king, I spend every day inside pretending I'm fine, it's not like most of my people haven't died when I was suppose to protect them or-or that half of the universe has been destroyed, that we failed them, failed each other and fell apart..” Thor rambled on. “We lost.”

"If this means anything to you; I still think you're worthy." Loki said softly. Thor turned with tears prickling in his eyes.

"I am?" He questioned, sniffling. “I’m not quite sure anymore.”

"You are forgetting who you are. You can't let Thanos take everything away from you. He is no god.” Loki knew mentioning Thanos would displease Thor but Loki knew the hard way that hiding your pain, forgetting that it exists, only made everything more worse. The only way out was to face it head on. Loki would certainly know.

Thor shook his head. “No, no. Loki, I can't. Not without you. I've lost everything." He trembled in his words. Loki regretted not leaving sooner. He had failed to comfort Sylvie, to save their trust within their final moments, now Loki had to find some way to bring closure to Thor who was possibly past his breaking point. Comforting others was a tricky task, a trait he had not quite naturally inherited from his mother.

"You don't need me. Our paths were destined to diverge." Loki had found a way to move on and Thor needed to do so as well. "All is not so lost, brother." When you live for so long, loss must be something you became familiar with but regardless of long you knew someone, there was never enough time for when you'd be ready to say goodbye.

"I know. I know." Thor mumbled to himself. Despite his larger size, somehow he seemed to cower into himself, making him seem so small.

Loki cleared his throat. "So the Avengers..they disbanded?" He asked.

Thor nodded. "Seemed that way. Not heard from them since the whole 'snap' disaster." They abandoned him, Loki thought in anguish, failing to hide the disgust in his features.

"The mighty so-called Avengers gave up, is that it?" Loki folded his arms across his chest.

"You seem angry, brother." Thor commented out of curiosity.

Loki shrugged. "They call themselves heroes, protectors against evil but when they lose, they go and hide away from their mistakes like cowards.”

"Then what makes someone a hero?"

Loki blinked several times, his annoyance was caught off guard by Thor's question. Someone who blindly follows the rules? Who uses their powers for fame and fortune? Those who believe they are perfect? But it seems after all, that they were anything but perfect.

"I don't know." Loki looked across at the waves, straightening up his posture and gave Thor his answer; "They are selfless, willing to sacrifice themselves for others without question. They don't just give up even when they lose. They keep on going." Loki attempted to keep his frustration under control but tendril of it managed to slip through.

A small smile portrayed across Thor's lips. "So is that who you are now?"

Loki frowned, turning his attention to his brother. "What do you mean?"

"A hero."

Loki chuckled. Him? A hero? He'd never stopped to think of himself as that. Loki had been many things, taken on many roles; the villain, a trickster, an outcast, a prince. But never a hero in the eyes of others or himself.

"Is that really such a bad thing, Loki?"

"I suppose not." Loki huffed out in uncertainty.

"Whoever said you could be anything you wanted to be was right." Then Thor repeated the words he once said to his Loki on Sakaar; "You could be more."

"Thank you." Loki spoke sincerely with a smile. Maybe he was thankful that he had stayed after all. A final chance to see his brother and for Thor to know that on another timeline, Loki was alive and well.

"No need to thank me, brother. I should be the one thanking you. I am glad fate has brought you here to me, to remind me of who I am."

"My pleasure." Loki nodded.

After a gloomy start to the day, the sun had won its battle against the clouds and shone its rays against the ocean, blessing New Asgard with its glorious light and warmth.

"Looks like the sun is finally making an appearance." Loki commented, looking upwards. "This place is rather melancholy to say the least."

Thor's eyes widened in bewilderment, his gaze switching between the sun and his brother. A tear trickled down his cheek. Fate was truly cruel in some ways. Loki noticed Thor's odd expression.

"Thor?"

Thor shook his head to escape himself from his thoughts. "I'm fine. And don't talk badly about my newly established kingdom. It's a...work in progress. Come back in a few years time and we'll have towers across these mountains."

"I'll take your word for it." Loki chuckled, though their happy mood soon faded. Loki would not be back here in a few years time. He would likely not come back at all. Thor picked up on Loki's sudden change of mood.

"Why can't you stay, Loki?" Thor asked despite knowing that he could not stay.

"As much as I would wish to stay with you, I can't. I.. have people wanting for me." He needed to find Mobius and Sylvie, to fix this mess that had unfolded, he will not run away. Thor nodded with a sniff.

"Will you at least come and visit?" He pleaded. Loki did not want to make any false promises, though he so easily could to make this less painful for Thor but in the long run, the guilt would soon eat up inside of him. He had enough of it to deal with already.

"Thor. I can't. I don't belong here."

Thor’s newly found confidence collapsed, hands beginning to shake. Loki made the decision to leave before the pain was too much to bear for both of them.

"No." Thor shook his head. "Don't leave me."

Loki placed a hand on his brother's quivering shoulder. "I have to. People need need me."

"To be a hero?" Thor managed to force smile as the tears shone in his eyes

"Well I guess." Loki smiled back before opening up his arms to embrace him in a hug. He let their embrace linger on.

"Don't give up." Loki whispered until they let each other go one final time. Thor did not have a chance to reply when Loki waved a hand of green sparks across Thor’s tear stained face.

"Goodbye, brother." Was the last words Thor heard before a gentle darkness overtook his sight.

- - - - - -

"Hey, man. You waking up anytime soon?" Said a voice. Thor felt something small and solid hit his face. "You're not dead are you?" Another minor hard object made contact with his cheek.

Thor had awoken, he was inside his beach hut, Korg stood above him catching a rock in his palm. "Sorry, hope that didn't hurt too much."

Thor ignored him, shrugging off his blanket as he stood up, stable onto his feet. There was a gleam of strength in his eyes that had been missing for far too long. A broad smile made an unusual appearance as the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Must of been some good dream you had there, buddy?"

"We need to contact the remaining Avengers." Thor demanded as he strode off towards the front door.

Korg scratched the back of his head. "Why?"

"Because heroes never give up!" Thor beamed.

Thank you, brother.

- - - -

@cazzyimagines @maciswack

[astralaffairs]

How do you think Phillip would handle an anxiety attack/depressive episode? As someone with depression, I experience these a lot and having someone there with me is nice

hey honey!! i empathize w u 100% — I've struggled w/ depression for years. that said, i kinda struggled w this, since having ppl with me when i go thru depressive episodes can be difficult for me, so i'm super sorry if this doesn't 100% reflect your experiences!!! as much as ik where you're coming from, i think my own perspective n experiences kinda colored how this turned out (also it got v long n self indulgent oops)

-----

"Hey, princess, you around?" Your eyes widened at the words, echoing down the hall of your apartment from your living room. "Y/N?"

You didn't respond at first, weren't sure what to say. You liked hearing the sound of his voice; it was a comfort in itself, but you also weren't sure whether you wanted him to find you in your room, still in bed in your pajamas, your now-empty bag of Fritos perched on the pillow beside you. You almost regretted giving him a key. You were exhausted — it was no secret for anyone who caught a glance of your half-lidded stare, the bags under your eyes. You were propped up against a pillow at the headboard, but you were still slouched over into your bent knees, curled into yourself.

You could see that he'd flipped the kitchen light on, its furthest reaches flooding the hall toward your bedroom. You wondered whether that'd mask the light coming from your room.

Your phone lit up beside you, but you couldn't see what the message you'd received actually said. It was instead filed under the notification, 'Pip 🥺💞: 7 unread messages.'

You reached over to put your phone on your bedside table, but when you did, your bed creaked loudly. You winced at the noise. Apparently, it also catalyzed the footsteps that'd stalled in your front room to kick back into action, now headed in your direction.

"Baby?" His voice was laced with concern, now. "You back here?"

When he reached your room, he raised an eyebrow, knocked lightly on the doorframe, and you sighed. "Hey, is everything okay? Can I come in?"

You didn't respond immediately, hesitant to speak for fear of him hearing the apathy that you knew had taken root deep in your voice. Eventually, after a long moment of apprehensive silence, you said, "Yeah. Yeah, of course you can."

How quiet, tired your words sounded only heightened the worry in his knit brow. His actions were tentative as he approached you. Your body was tense as he took a seat at the foot of your bed. "What're you doing in bed? It's almost 6 PM."

"What, I'm not allowed to be in bed in my own apartment?" Your voice was unnecessarily combative, and his eyebrows shot up at the sudden hostility.

"I didn't say that. Of course you are," he replied, and how gentle his tone was had you immediately struck with a pang of guilt. "But your laptop's off, and I know you've been silencing your phone. I just mean... genuinely, what have you been doing in here?"

You shrugged halfheartedly, not meeting his eyes. "I dunno. It's my day off; I don't have to be productive all the time, Philip." Again, when you spoke, it was accusatory, and Philip pursed his lips.

"Did I do something? Are you angry with me?"

Being branded as 'angry' usually would've multiplied your frustration tenfold — no, you weren't angry, but he'd showed up at your apartment unannounced and proceeded to question your lazy evening in; didn't you at least have a right to be annoyed? — but his searching gaze looked so troubled when it met yours that you couldn't bring yourself to be. Ultimately, you shook your head.

"No, you didn't. I just..." When you trailed off, you'd intended to finish the sentence, but you realized you didn't have a decent explanation to offer him. He sighed.

"Something's wrong. Talk to me; c'mon." You didn't say anything, and he scooted across your mattress to sit beside you, discarding your empty, crinkled snack bag to the floor. "Y/N?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine," you murmured, and though you offered him a tired smile, he frowned.

"Hey, no you're not." When he reached for your hand, you flinched, more due to instinct born of the tension in your bloodstream than to any real intention. Nonetheless, it took him aback. He was about to pull away, but when you relaxed, he laced his fingers tentatively into yours. You didn't rebuke him. "Y'know I'm here for you, right?"

The smile you managed to contrive at that was, in your opinion, more convincing than your previous one. "I know, baby. I love you. But really, I'm doing alright. I've just been tired today; I wanted to come take a nap. Sorry if I'm being grumpy."

You thought your words would've assuaged his concerns; they had with everyone who'd heard them before. However, Philip let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. "Please, don't bullshit me. I know you too well for that."

Your light laugh in response felt like an adequate supplement, and you squeezed his hand. "Relax. I'm not bullshitting, okay?"

You held firm on your smile as he eyed you warily, and when he leaned over to kiss you, you relished in the touch, eyes fluttering shut as his nose skimmed your skin. He didn't pull all the way away, though, resting his forehead against yours.

His lips met your cheek, and against your skin, he whispered, "Stop hiding. I love you, and you're only worrying me more."

He took your chin in his free hand as he pulled just inches away, watching carefully when your eyes widened. "C'mon, what makes you think—?"

"I know you." He cut you off firmly, the words leaving little room for protest or contradiction. You didn't like how exposed you felt. "And I can tell that something's seriously wrong."

A moment passed in silence; your eyes darted across his expression, searching for any degree of uncertainty, but he was set fully in his convictions. You bit your lip. "Okay," you finally said, voice tiny. "I... I'm sorry, Philip."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I just want you to be honest with me." He reached up to smooth his hand over your hair, it eventually coming to rest at the nape of your neck. You nodded.

"I know." You ran your thumb over his knuckles, staring down at where your hands were interlinked. "But... I don't know what to tell you. Nothing happened, and there's nothing you can fix."

"Then what isn't okay?" he asked. "What can you talk to me about? What's weighing on you?"

How earnest his voice was only left you frustrated, sitting beside him with no answer to give. "I don't know what to tell you. I'm what's been ruining my day."

"What d'you mean?"

You huffed, tried to pull your hand away as you turned your head, struggling to articulate anything. You felt stupid; you knew whatever would come out of your mouth would sound stupid. But he didn't let your hand go, and you found yourself easing back toward his body.

"This whole day has just... it's been so fucking hard. And I haven't even done anything. I'm still in bed, for god's sake; I've been useless." Your own words made your skin crawl. You sounded so whiny; why couldn't you form a thought without coming off as pathetic?

"It's your day off, right? Why should you be productive?" he echoed your own words back to you with a kind smile, and your involuntary resentment eased in the slightest.

"Thanks, Pip. But..." You swallowed. "I'm so tired. Everything I try to do feels so exhausting. The reason my laptop's still off is because trying to find something to watch was just... making me feel worse."

He nodded. "I'm sorry." You were momentarily disappointed when he released your hand, but that same arm then snaked around your waist, and he paused, not yet trying to pull you into him. "This okay?"

How gently, how tenderly he was treating you your fatigued gaze slowly softening. "Yeah." You shut your eyes when he held you close, leaning you into his body. He was so warm, and he was so good to you. "Love you," you murmured.

"I love you, too." The small, weak smile you gave was all but imperceptible when he kissed the top of your head. "So, what d'you think's going on, then? Are you getting sick? Do I need to take you to the doctor? Pick up some antibiotics?"

The concern in his eyes had returned when you glanced up to him once more, and you pursed your lips. "No, no, it's not... I don't need the doctor, or any ibuprofen, or whatever," you murmured, and your tone sounded more hopeless than you realized. You'd burrowed your face into Philip's side, by then, and you couldn't see it when he pursed his lips. The despair in his eyes was heavier than you'd have guessed.

"Alright, princess," he said quietly. When a beat passed, you thought he was going to leave it at that, but his voice was apprehensive when he continued. "Is there... something else you know that has you so spent?"

The noise of discontent you let out into his t-shirt was almost a groan. You weren't overly pleased with his hitting the mark, but after a long pause, you gave a small, weak nod. "Yeah," you whispered. "But it isn't something you can fix."

He didn't hesitate, then, to pull you into his lap, though the action caught you by surprise. Both his hands were holding you to him by the waist; you shifted in his grasp, turning to rest against his chest, your arms looped around his neck. "Then it's a good thing you aren't broken." You lifted your head from his chest, turning it to look up at him curiously, and one of his hands left your waist, instead coming to cup your cheek. "My sister's been dealing with depression for most of her life. I get that I'll never know what it's like, but if you're willing to talk to me, trust me when I say I won't take it lightly."

His thumb sweeped across your cheekbone as you stared up at him in surprise. He furrowed his eyebrows. "What's up? Was my assumption off-base?

At that, you let out a huff, surprised but no longer bitter. "No. You're just too perceptive for your own good sometimes; you know that?" you murmured, and he laughed. You could feel it reverberate in his chest against your body.

"Not too perceptive for your own good, though, apparently." He raised an eyebrow at you, expectant, and you rolled your eyes. When you didn't respond, he continued, "How come you never told me?"

"I don't know." You sniffed. "Depression's just so fucking stupid. Like, sorry, your brain chemicals are fucked up, so you're going to spend the next week rotting in bed. What kind of deal is that?"

The droll annoyance in your words made him smile. Anything was better than the apathy. "Really, princess, who comes up with this stuff?" he replied, mirth laced into his tone as he plastered on a look of annoyance. You cracked a small smile.

"I dunno, but I'd like to have a talk with them sometime. Give 'em a piece of my mind."

He laughed, absentmindedly rubbing circles into your lower back. "You should. Stick it to the man." The way he nodded decisively made you purse your lips, small smile threatening to widen into a watery grin. "But until then, is there anything I can do for you right now? What have you done today?"

You let out a heavy sigh against his body, with that, once again fully present in your wreck of a bedroom. "I showered, and I ate a family-size bag of chips."

"Hey, so you got out of bed." He nudged you with his shoulder, wearing an encouraging smile. "That's something, right?"

"Mmhmm. And then I got right back into bed," you huffed.

"Alright. What have you eaten today? Anything?"

You raised an eyebrow. "We just covered this. Family-sized bag of chips."

"That's not exactly a meal, baby," he said, and his furrowed brow made you scowl. "Hey, I don't mean to downplay that; I'm really glad you ate. I just wanna know if I can get you anything else."

You shrugged. "I'm not hungry."

"Is there any food that you'd eat right now if you had it in front of you?"

There was a pause; you didn't move, gaze blank as you considered it, but again, you shrugged. "I dunno. Chocolate sounds nice. But I don't need anything."

"You need to eat."

"That's so unhealthy," you said quietly. Just your single day's worth of poor eating habits had you feeling beyond lousy about your body; you had no desire to see a mirror until at least the next day.

"What's unhealthy is letting yourself starve, princess." You rested the side of your head against his chest once more, having no desire to meet his eyes. You didn't want his stare to be judgmental.

"'M not starving," you mumbled, and one of his hands rose to the back of your head, holding you close as you leaned into him.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," he whispered, and his thumb brushed across the skin of your neck. "Relax. I love you. I can go and get you anything you want to eat."

"No, no, don't leave. Don't leave me," you murmured, and your hold on him tightened. "Just stay with me. Please. I'll deal with everything I've been neglecting in the morning."

He sighed. "Baby, you know I want to, but I'm worried about you. Someone's gotta take care of you if you aren't gonna take care of yourself."

"Later." You looked up at him, and he could see your distress in your gaze. "I promise, Philip. I'm just so tired. Just wanna stay in bed. Want you here with me."

"Okay." He kissed your forehead. "Okay, I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?"

"I promise, princess."

[fishmongeringstudies]

eleven: before the first day of the world

i always thought the quote 'we contain multitudes' was a john green quote because of the way its use had, over time, evolved from unironic to deeply ironic to some weird squeamish mix of the two that meant half of the audience would cringe when it was deployed while the other half would nod very seriously and lean back in their seats, thinking fondly about the summer of '97. for the record, i've always been part of the former. except for this one time in my anthropology class this spring where we were talking about the complexities of human behavior in different environments and i, seeing a glowing opportunity to inject some 2012 tumblr-era humor into the room, typed into the zoom chat: we contain multitudes.

unfortunately, we do. but not in the john green sense, which would mean we smoke cigarettes and want to contribute to world peace, or we crochet blankets and simultaneously want to destroy the small backwater town we grew up in with an electric chainsaw. i'm talking about something less looking for alaska and more i will rip all your hair out with a screwdriver. something that cuts at the fabric of your relationship with the people around you, something that makes it hard to figure out which path to take back to your dorm.

have you ever been ruined by someone who, after ruining you, skipped off happily to lunch with jessica who lives down the hallway and whom you would trust with your bank account number, and found yourself unable to do anything but give half of the lunch parade your blessings?

let's make it simpler: sometimes people are more fucked up than they're worth.

and yet i believe that there is no such thing as a bad person. the adjective-noun combination assumes that the noun always possesses the quality of the adjective, while the people who elbow you down the stairs and into the yawning mouth of hell and then wander off singing cheerily into the woods are the same ones who bring friends care packages when they're sick, who entertain long, thoughtful conversations about philosophy and the flaws of the world, who make great lab partners in group projects. the girl whose definition of love is a chain around the neck is a wonderful orator. the boy who only knows how to understand other people by cutting them up and putting them back together wants to design buildings that will save lives. people are inconsistent. we contradict ourselves and then, upon noticing the contradictions, panic, knock over a vase of flowers, and burn the whole house down.

it always comes back to fire when i write about the last fourteen weeks of spring. we're incredibly flammable, you and i. we're instant fire-starters. we're chemically insane.

at the start of the semester when i allowed someone to tell me in an awkward, prepubescent voice that i was broken i wanted to hate them. then i wanted to forgive them; then i wanted to be their friend. three months later i discovered how hard it is to stay on good terms with someone who knifed you without even realizing they were holding something in their hand to begin with, and yet he's still here. talking to the person who lives at the other end of the hallway. walking to the dining hall with the alligator stairwell, his hands shoved in his pockets. trying to graduate. trying to stay alive.

dear friend: i don't want to be your friend anymore. but don't die on me.

that's the sentiment i leave spring with. a bittersweet note that's more bitter than sweet, like ninety-seven percent cacao chocolate, the really awful shit, the stuff i like to think only white american yoga moms with fat apple-faced babies tied to their hips are willing to eat, and even then, only for the instagram sponsorship. when i think of spring i think of the aftertaste, because everything was sweet in the moment, in the immediacy of the screaming sun and the shifting sky above your head. everything looked like it was made of stars. it was only after i'd chewed up the burnt thing you picked off the ground and gave me, swallowed, and walked the long way back to my dorm, that i realized you'd handed me a pile of dirt.

it was pretty good dirt though, and you know the other day someone asked me, after scrolling through this blog with an eye on their watch and the other on the words flying across the screen, if i hated it here after all. if i wish i'd stayed in singapore, among the palm fronds and the pale, moon-white butterflies. no, i said incredulously, my spoon jammed in my kool-aid jello cup. this is the happiest i've been in ten years.

lately i've been trying to articulate the sense of hopelessness i experienced while growing up. how does one even begin to describe the endless staircase of the days, how each week yawned before me like an abyss with an immortal, unbreakable heart? how do you give a voice to despair?

this morning i went to target with my friend. we didn't find a rectangular frying pan so i bought a bag of mandarins instead, and it was sunny on the way there but on the way back a smear of white cloud dashed across the sky and wrapped its soft fingers around the sun's mouth, by which i mean it got colder, by which i mean that for a while, it felt like spring again. when we got back to our dorm i put the mandarins in the fridge and wandered back into my room and then put on the podcast i've been listening to all week, listened to them talk about monsters and knights and the intricacies of war, love, forgiveness. today i didn't sleep through lunch like i did the day before. today i sat in the garden and read a book.

i think the thing about growing up the way i did is that by the time i was fourteen it felt like it was all over. like i'd ruined everything before it'd ever really begun, and even knowing what steps i might take to mend the god-sized crater i'd dug in my backyard, i couldn't bring myself to take them. so things ended. and because life is a bitch and forgiveness never comes from those you most desire it from, you just kind of laugh and drag yourself through the debris.

i think this is why, in spite of the shouting and the cherry-flavored regrets and the hallways full of footsteps like thunderstorms, and the girls and the boys with their teeth like claws, their claws like daggers, their words careless enough to kill, i feel like a person here. because i came here with nothing. two suitcases, one weighing twenty kilograms and the other weighing nothing at all. i repeat: this is nothing at all. do you understand what i am saying? i was no one when i got here. and now i am no one with some prepubescent mistakes scratched into my forearm and a few ideas about self-preservation. but the pages of this book are still blank. they are inviting me to fill them with the illegible dancing chicken scrawl that is my specialty and the bane of every english professor's existence.

i look over my shoulder and my old bookshelf full of journals, red journals, journals packed with the misery of the last nineteen years shrugs its shoulders. it says they gave you bad books and you wrote half-decent stories; what else could you have done? you did the best that you could in the circumstances you were given. you're still doing that now. then, satisfied with its little speech, it burns itself down.

and that's all i need, really, to keep going.

05.31.21

[honey-makki]

Irreconcilable

Characters: Asahi Azumane X GN!Reader

Summary: Asahi’s mental health can be debilitating sometimes. Taking a toll on himself and relationships with others, but how far will they go to help him?

Warnings: depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts

Song: this is me trying- taylor swift

 Genre: angst/comfort

Count: 2k

A/N: please head the warnings. this discusses and is an explicit portrayl of anxiety and depression with references to suicidal thoughts. it isn’t “fun” but nevertheless i think its good. at least it felt good to write,

Asahi hasn’t left his bed yet today, rather listening to the rain and staring up at the ceiling, wondering how long it’ll be before he can fall asleep again. This isn’t an uncommon situation for him, his figure shrouded in darkness and enveloped by the blankets on his bed.  The occasional buzz of his phone goes unnoticed. 

The darkness of the room shifts throughout the day, casting heavier shadows on his bed in the afternoon, shadows that he can feel the weight of on his chest. They mirror the heavy feeling in his heart and the discontent in his head. Would sorry have made any difference? It’s just a word, a word I would have struggled to even say.

The passage of time seems like its just a theoretical concept until the gnawing pain of hunger starts to peek through. He’s not hungry per se, but his body is telling him that three days without eating is way too long. The tinge of pain is a welcome feeling, no matter how fleeting.

It would still be a few hours before Asahi made his way to the kitchen, long after his flatmates are asleep, hoping to avoid an uncomfortable conversation. There isn’t a reason he can articulate for the way he looks, hair messy and unwashed, deep circles under his eyes despite sleeping most of the time, and his thinning frame drawing in his seemingly oversized old volleyball jacket.

He doesn’t even think he would try to come up with an excuse should they see him, the effort seeming monumental for little to no reward. He’s gotten to the point where he isn’t hiding it, any actions to make it easier to deal with, like using the kitchen sparingly and only at odd hours, are just due to convenience not fear of response. 

Holding a bowl of cheese puffs and a long-forgotten packet of Takenoko No Sato Asahi makes his way back to his room, each footstep silent. Sitting in his desk chair he pops something in his mouth, not really sure if it was sweet or savory because to him they all taste the same, something akin to cardboard, or wood chips uncomfortably dry in his mouth. 

The milk carton he grabbed out of the fridge doesn’t taste much better. It feels thick, so much so that he isn’t sure he will be able to swallow (or stomach) it. He might as well be drinking a bottle of unscented lotion, and even then that might be better. 

He isn’t sure how long has passed since he keeps zoning out, but the bowl of leftover puffs look about as appetizing as styrofoam peanuts, and he knows that if he doesn’t get them out fo his room, he might be sick. Being sick is a lot more effort than sneaking to the kitchen, that is as long as it’s late. 

He finally checks his phone after what has been, hours? A day? Maybe three days? It’s not the brightness of the screen that hurts, or the way all the notifications make his heart race, its the background picture that makes it nye impossible to use. Its you.

Seeing your smiling face next to his, he recognizes every single square millimeter of your face, long ago committed to memory. He could paint it blindfolded if he needed to, but the person next to you? He doesn’t see himself looking back. The clear skin, the glow, the beaming smile, the light in his eyes. Maybe its liveliness, maybe its adoration, maybe its gratitude, but regardless, he doesn’t retain nor deserves any of those emotions. 

It’s his fault he’s here alone in his room staring at a bug climbing the wall. step. step. step. Each leg of the ant moving in unison, carrying it to some future that it can imagine. How depressing is it that an ant has a brighter future than I do? Every second he spends looking at the ant is one less second he is being drawn deeper into the tumultuous whirlpool of dread in his head. 

The buzz of his phone clacks against the ceramic bowl, discordant in the otherwise silent room. The noise acts as a life preserver he feels oddly obligated to take out of the water, looking down to see your name across the screen.  For the second time today, he feels something, earlier it was clearly defined and compartmentalized hunger, now? It’s a ceaseless swirl of resigned hopelessness, despair, anxiety, irritation, and a deep sense of being unworthy of all of these feelings. 

Its easier when he isn’t reminded of you.

He doesn’t plan on responding to your simple ‘hey.’but the follow up of ‘dai said you aren’t well, let’s talk’ still everything but his mind. He can’t breathe in, he can’t move his thumbs to lock his phone or reply to you, all he can do is think about is how this could only go horribly wrong, but that you cared, at least cared enough about him to check-in. Even after everything he did.

Asahi: We can talk on the phone later I guess, y/n

Y/N: i’ll be over tonight at 7, i still have a key.

7pm. That’s 6 hours away according to his phone. The concept of time mattering feels foreign, should he nap? Take a shower? How long are normal showers? Should he clean his room? Does his room even need to be cleaned? Wash his sheets? Before long he finds himself on the floor, head in his hands with tears streaming down his face. He doesn’t recall getting there or starting to cry, it feels like the tears have always been there, each tear track carving out a trail in his skin, creating invisible canyons. They’re always there, maybe invisible or dry, but the tear tracks are still there. 

The faint thud of his pulse ringing in his head is one of the only things his dulled sense can take in. he can’t place if he’s developed a migraine and the thud is twangs of pain or if he’s just, not here. Living what can only be described as the inverse of an out of body experience, everything else around him fading out into black, leaving him alone in an infinite black universe.

The weight of something on his head brings him back to earth. His head leans up and out of his peripheral sees your knees as you sit on his bed. A small whine leaves his throat as you begin to scratch and massage his scalp. Asahi can’t remember the last time he was touched by another person, and he doesn’t know how he lived so long without it. Your fingers are massaging fatigue out of his bones, undoing tension he’s caring in his shoulders. 

It’s illogical that the light touches from each of your fingertips on his scalp can undo so much damage to his body, but that’s a skill you honed over time, and you can visibly see him become grounded. 

“Asahi you know I can’t keep doing this. I would do this every day for the rest of my life if asked because I know it helps, but I hate seeing you like this. I’m scared that one day I’m going--” your chocked sobs are finally audible enough for him to perceive, “that you are gonna be too far gone. I wouldn’t be able to take that Asahi. Life without you is hard enough, I don’t want to imagine a world without you.”

He knew his mental health issues affected you, its the whole reason he left you in the first place, feeling guilty for you having to take care of him and him not making any progress. But he didn’t realize how scared you were. That he might just wither away, or suddenly not be here anymore. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought about it more than once, but never taking any tangible steps forward. 

He still hasn’t said anything, but after a few minutes of you both crying, he just nods his head. You aren’t exactly sure what that means, but his voice croaks out, “help. I’ll get help.” The admission wasn’t something you expected but the hoarseness of his voice from crying or nonuse makes it all the more real. That maybe you were right to worry, and you were right to set this ultimatum. 

A few hours later, you leave Asahi’s apartment, he fell asleep after you helped him bathe and changed his sheets. You left phone numbers of multiple psychologists and therapists, and an offer that you would make an appointment if he couldn’t find the willpower to do so. You have a cup of tea with Daichi before you leave, telling him about Asahi wanting to get help. You ask him to try to make sure that Asahi is doing at least the bare minimum or eating real food once a day and showering. Small steps eventually add up to a healthier person.

Months pass, where you and Asahi exchange a few text messages, detailing about he found a therapist, and his journey to find a medication that made him feel better and not worse. The conversations are long, but they always leave you hopeful about his progress.

You expected the knock on the door to be your take out but instead are looking at the chest of a much taller man. You look up to see Asahi’s face, a nervous smile looking down at you. His skin looks healthier, not as pallid or marred with deep sleeplessness, his hair is up in a bun, but you can see how much healthier it looks. The most notable change is that you can see light in his eyes. There’s something in there, hope maybe or just contentment with his growth. But there’s something, something that he made on his own and can hold onto.

Sure there are still signs that he isn’t fully back to the Asahi you met a long time ago, his hair is still thin, his frame is still not as filled out as it once was, but is definitely in a healthier range, his smile isn’t 100% confident and doesn’t seem to fully reach his eyes, but he looks good. And if he’s here, he must be feeling good.

“Hey y/n, I’ve been doing a lot better recently and my therapist said I should come and speak my mind. First, let me give you the most genuine and heartfelt thank you I can muster. If you hadn’t said what you did that one evening, I would never have gotten help and I honestly might not be here.”

His words are confident and sincere. They sound a little rehearsed, which is endearing. Asahi was never the most eloquent or poised person when it comes to feelings, but his declarations of love were always true in the deepest sense of the word. You couldn’t contain the smile on your face even if you wanted to, not when he’s done so much, not when he’s trying so hard. 

“I might perceive the world as darker and more hellish than it actually is sometimes, but I’m gonna try again and again to soothe my heart and pick the flowers growing in the midst of hell. You are one of those flowers, a light in the darkness that motivates and assures me that all is well. If you would like, I want to grab coffee with you, like old times.”

Your bodies are bathed in golden sunlight from the window behind you, giving your nod a lucent halo. The halo fades as you step out and close the door behind you, but the glow doesn’t, it’s part of him, part of you.

Tags

@ceo-of-daichi​ @haikyuuhotline​ @sugawara-sweetheart​ @nonexistent-social-life​ @laughingismorefun​ @iguessimastannow​

[mimik-u]

“Change Your Mind” Re-watch:

I’ve been dealing with this feeling on and off ever since I started “Diamond Days” earlier this week, but dang, I’m a little sad that I’ve reached the end of the show again. Of course, I’m excited to visit the movie again and see Future for the first time (!!!), but this episode above all really marks the end of an era. But things end and things change.

That’s the thesis of this episode anyway. And really, the nature of this beautiful show. :’)

Steven’s dream sequence is so haunting, both in terms of it explicitly showing us how Blue Diamond is currently recapitulating the very same cycles which pushed Pink away by showing us such a similar flashback from the past, but also by dredging up the horror of Pink’s memories. The idea that Steven’s gem still has access to some of his mother’s memories is used to its most visceral effect here, in which we get a nightmare heightened lens of how miserable she was, and often times, scared.

When the Diamonds stretched out their grieving hands through the cosmos and towards the world their youngest member loved, how did Rose feel to at once get a confirmation that she had been loved? Loved so powerfully that the Diamonds would try to destroy an entire planet to exact their revenge, and yet, at the same time, loved so terribly that they would never think twice about doing so, or that it took this for them to ever show it?

“This... isn’t normal. How many times did you lock her in here? How many times did you make her cry?” / “I didn’t... I... And I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” God, this exchange always undoes me. Not only is it Steven calling Blue out, but in a way, it’s him standing up for his mother, realizing what misery the Diamonds put her through and putting a name on it for Blue to recognize, contend with, and finally, accept. Blue tries to defend herself at first, but then, in the end, can’t. Because there’s no defense. There’s no excuse. And to horribly mangle a quote from Legend of Korra, by reaching that lowest point, Blue Diamond finally becomes open to the possibility of change.

It’s always so evocative to me that she collapses next to the tower window that’s at her eye level. Never explicitly stated, I think it really is implied here that Yellow and Blue have seen their fair share of this tower before, too, their trespasses of decorum excised out of them by White. In return, they tried to do the same to Pink. Cycles and cycles and cycles.

Gsleidjsneioeis, it never fails to make me laugh that Yellow is just sitting in the darkness, straddling her throne, waiting for Blue. Emo ass. I love her.

The Diamonds both look so shocked when Blue slaps Yellow’s hand away, as though neither of them can fathom, process, and believe what just happened. And yet, really, this is the climax to the schism between them that we’ve known since “That Will Be All.” They love each other—they loved Pink—but they have differed, fundamentally, on how to grapple with the pain of loving someone and losing her and existing from then on.

“When we thought Pink was shattered, when she abandoned us, I alone was there for you, and you would use your power against ME?” GO OFF, PATTI LUPONE EIEOSJSA. But this line gets me, too. Jesus. Yellow loves Blue so much.

“Didn’t we hurt Pink? She was suffering in silence for ages, just like our gems, just like me. And I know you’re suffering in silence, too.” HHHHHHH, AND THIS LINE. I think it’s significant because it’s Blue making a move we’ve rarely seen from her before—empathy. Her whole complex is that she’s been so lost in her own emotions that she forces them on everyone else, but here she does something monumental; not only does she acknowledge her own pain, but she uses it to recognize that others have been hurting, too. She and Yellow hurt Pink. (She makes herself and Yellow the agents of the action, therefore not evading the blame.) And so many of their gems have been hurt, too. Yellow has been hurting.

In her vulnerable expression that follows, it’s clear to the audience that Yellow knows her fellow Diamond’s words to be true, but she’s not ready to accept their veracity, to look inwards at the heart of her own misery. Also, help. I’m only 9 minutes into the episode.

“Does this look perfect to you?” And Yellow’s anger is stopped in its tracks. She looks immediately to Blue, literally smoking on the ground from the force of her attack. A fragment of palace crumbles emptily away. And this is the crux of the Homeworld Empire. It demands every gem, from the Diamonds downward, to sacrifice in the name of of perfection. But they’ve placed too much of an emphasis on appearance, numbers, quantity, and power, never interrogating the consequences that pursuing these ‘impressive’ entities bring: misery, hopelessness, despair.

“Stop... stop it, Blue. Stop using your power on me.” / “I’m not.” Hhhhhhhhh, I’m tender. And then, when Blue Diamond sweeps over to hold Yellow’s head?????? This is what being a Bellow Diamond fan is all about, okay rieososossnjaaj.

“You’ve made a grave mistake. Go to your rooms!” / “Uh, which rooms should we go to?” GJKHDFVHJNJJ. But yeah, White has definitely used the tower on Blue and Yellow b4.

Bismuuuuth, Lapis, Peri!!! God, I love Lapis’s outfit so much.

“Yellow and I will keep White distracted.” / Just go! Go! Hurry! She’s getting up!” Blue and Yellow know that in making this choice, they’ll face severe consequences, but still initially make the choice anyway.

And yet, Steven doesn’t let them make that choice. He doesn’t run away. Because he and this show fundamentally believe that change is effected through communication.

I still have thirty minutes of this episode left to go oskeodjsnsnsk, but now I need to symbolically talk about the Diamond mecha. It’s very on point that White’s ship can’t function if the other parts aren’t cooperating!!

The Diamonds finally expressing their vulnerabilities to the blankly staring ship is just so sad. They’re finally doing the emotional work that they’ve been neglecting for thousands upon thousands of years, and they’re almost literally meeting a wall.

“We Diamonds might be hard, but we’re also brittle.” / “I know my purpose isn’t to be happy.” Hhhhhhhhhh, these lines. The rigidity of the Diamond Authority has forced Yellow and Blue to become hard, to be unhappy. They, like all their gems, are suffering beneath the strain. Starting from the way it literally drains a planet of resources, this empire was never sustainable.

Cries bc the Diamonds are holding hands, AND THEN CRIES BECAUSE THEY’VE BEEN VIOLENTLY AND PAINFULLY PUPPETEERED.

THE FUSING MONTAGE!!! EKSSKSJ, I love how when he goes to fuse with Pearl, he does a few ballerina moves. AND I LOVE HOW 2.0 IS UNREPENTANTLY BRITISH. IT’S SO FJNNY AND RIGHT.

“AH! Steven, we fused!” She’s so happy!!!!!!!!!! Hhhh!!!!!

“I’m here. I love you.” Steven says this before fusing with Garnet, and there’s nothing else that could have ever been so fitting for a fusion who prides herself on being here and being made, so beautifully and entirely, of love.

Sunstone always looks and sounds like they’re two seconds away from breaking the 4th wall on a Sunny D commercial from the 1990s, and that’s amazing.

OBSIDIAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNN. Everything about them is FUCKING EPIC. (Also, if you haven’t listened to the S5 soundtrack yet, you need to go listen to Obsidian’s track without background noises!!!!!!! It’s so motivating! I listen to it when I’m studying sometimes!)

I’m still soft about Bismuth giving Connie her own sword. Let them b sword buddies 2k20.

BIG FYCKING LAVA SWORD!!!!

The animation on this episode is absolutely insane. God, the Crewniverse did so good.

“Poor Yellow. Her impurities absorb all the blue in her light. She’s so strong, but so weak when it comes to Blue.” 😭😭😭 What do you mean I’m still emotional over the fact that Yellow Diamond’s one perceived weakness is Blue? Hahahaha.

“Ah, and Blue. Her impurities soak up all the warmth in her spectrum. She thinks she needs you, Pink.” 😭😭😭 She needs Pink to be warm.

“But you’re a part of me, the part I always have to repress.” White doesn’t yet realize it, but this is actually her revealing her own flaw. Not only does she repress her love for Pink, but she represses her own sense of pinkness, too. So cerebral and so detached, she’s allowed herself to exist for these past 6,000+ years in the gaping maw without Pink as a being who has subjugated the entirety of her emotional expression. Just as Blue and Yellow are equals and opposites, so too, were Pink and White.

“Insecure, dependent, obsessed.” God. Another thing about White Diamond’s powers in relation to Pink is that White has the capacity to know a gem’s thoughts once she possesses them, whereas Pink was able to relate and empathize with their emotions. And indeed, that’s how Steven came to know and help the Gems’ problems over the course of the entirety of this show—through empathy, relation, compassion, and understandings, concepts so foreign to White Diamond. Simply alien.

POV: You’re Connie Maheswaran, and you have to fight a possessed bastardization of the Gem who once lovingly taught you everything you know about how to wield a sword.

White Diamond so simply and so precisely plucking Steven’s gem out of his stomach is the single most terrifying visual on this show. Jfc.

“SHE’S GONE.” The animus of the Pink Diamond gem prmordially screams the truth that White Diamond refuses to accept. Pink is gone. There’s no undoing death. There’s no separation from gem and body. There is only, just as there has always been for fourteen years, Steven.

He is not, and never will he ever be, his mother.

Oh, my God. This show.

And just as White Diamond parting Steven from his gem is the scariest moment in the show, Steven reuniting with him is the most transcendent. He laughs. He hugs himself. He dances. Because Steven Universe is entirely his own being.

And he loves himself. That is the crucial part. That is the beginning and the end and the resolution. Oh, my GOD. This show.

“I am a child. What’s your excuse?” KWIDIDOSJSKSKSISOSMA, GET HER.

Steven walking over to comfort Pink Pearl, even though he doesn’t know her, even though the only iteration he has seen of her has been her lobotomized version—forbidding and detached—is so tender.

WISOSJSJS, I know this is emotionally deep and indicative of just how ingrained their psychological complexes are that they don’t know how to deal with vulnerable expressions of emotion, but White, Yellow, and Blue being so dramatic about White blushing is honestly hilarious.

Sadie singing “Let Me Drive My Van into Your Heart” is so good, but what’s even better is that two second shot of Greg blushing listening to his song being sung. ;-;

Oh! Oh! And Barb is in the audience! Character development! Growth!

“No more hiding! No more running! No more Diamond Authority!” KWOWOEJDKDOSJSJSISSJSJ.

Lion padding up to Lars in a silent recognition that they’re the same ;-;-;-;

I think Sadie and Lars reuniting with such drastically different appearances and mindsets is simply just one of the coolest ways this show has come full circle. This show’s about everyone changing. Look at these two. Look at where they started, and now, where they’ve begun again.

Genuinely crying at the last few shots of the show again. Oh, my GOD. The pure, unmitigated joy. Nephrite and Steven. Bismuth and Biggs. Garnet and Pearl. Jasper and Amethyst. The Diamonds.

This show really is about love and forgiveness and healing, y’all. 😭😭😭😭

AND THEN THEY COMPLETE THE SHOT FROM THE INTRO. I AM UNWELL. IT’S 8AM.

This show, in every sense of the word, is a miracle.

Thank you, Crewniverse for this comet of epic proportions.

[somedayonbroadway]

Hello! Could you please write some angsty Sprace? Thank you!

@badthingshappenbingo

Rock Bottom

Trope: Backhand Slap

Fandom: Newsies

Word Count: 2,634

Characters: Racetrack Higgins, Spot Conlon, Jack Kelly (mentioned)

Summary: Race was free falling. But the bottom had to be close. It had to be.

TW: Character Death (no one was supposed to die...), swearing, alcohol abuse, abuse

“You can’t keep doin’ this. You cannot keep doin’ this—“

“You don’t understand! You neva’ did!”

“So help me understand! I’m tryin’ ta understand!”

“You can’t—“

“Try me!”

“Could you stop trying to control me?!”

“I’m tryin’ ta save you from yourself—“

“I don’t need you ta save me!”

Once upon a time, they’d been the perfect couple. In fact, they’d been in love.

Sometimes they forgot what that felt like. They supposed that it was bound to be this way. After all, once they’d made it to the top, to the happiest part of their lives, things could only go downhill from there. The worst part of it all was, neither of them knew how much farther rock bottom was.

Judging by the backhanded slap that seemingly resounded off of every surface of their apartment, it was easy to have hope that they were close. They had to be close.

Race froze, standing in shock as he watched his husband’s face snap to the side, a big red mark beginning to swell on his cheek. The blond gasped, not moving, not even speaking. He just waited for the inevitable.

It wasn’t long before Spot recovered with a small, bitter laugh, grabbing his wrists and slamming him back against the wall. Race hardly felt it. The bottle was wrenched from his fingers and thrown across the room, shattering against the wall as some leftover beer dropped down onto the hardwood floor. Then Spot let go of him. They were still nose to nose. “You wanna fuckin’ hit me, Race, fuckin’ hit me!” the slightly shorter man dared, scowling and glaring daggers at the younger man who tried to stare back down at him angrily.

Silently, his mind reeled. This is what Spot said would happen. He couldn’t believe this was happening again. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t think. He didn’t want to. All he knew was that he was unmistakably, without a single doubt, completely and totally wasted. He just wanted to drink himself to sleep, maybe even further. It helped with the bad thoughts. It helped with the bad days. It just helped.

Except for when it didn’t.

The anger had worn off a bit. Honestly all Race wanted to do was cry. But he shoved those thoughts away with all the other ones that swirled around in his broken brain. “Get the hell offa me, Sean,” he growled, his voice slurring only a little.

“Make me,” Sean challenged, standing his ground. It was no secret that the man was strong, but even though he might not look it, Race was too. They were evenly matched. “I can’t keep goin’ through this with you Tyler— Tony— whatever the hell it is you wanna be called these days! You’re out of control n’ I can’t watch you keep spiraling!”

The blond growled a bit. “Then leave,” he spat.

The words hit Spot harder than Race ever could. He backed away, feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut as he forced himself to say, “Fine. I’m done.”

The world slowed down for a moment as Race watched the man he’d loved for so long walk away from him. Everything was a blur after that door slammed shut. All Race knew was that he had to get out, he had to do something. He couldn’t just stand there. Anger and despair rose up in him and the alcohol swirled it together before Race let out a bitter laugh.

He couldn’t remember what happened after that.

He woke up in a holding cell. It wasn’t the first time. If he did say so himself, he’d gotten very good at sleeping in the stiff benches that were built into the ground. It didn’t mean it made wake up any easier. His head pounded and his mouth was dry. He felt stiff and sore and nothing felt right.

Running a hand over his face, Race stared up at the ceiling. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut when he tried to move his gaze. The lights hurt. “Hey! I want my phone call!” he tried to yell, but his voice was coarse and his head was pounding. All that came out was a broken whimper.

“You already made your call, Higgins,” someone said. It was a vaguely familiar voice but Race didn’t care to look up to see a familiar guard.

“Does it count if I don’t remember it?” he groaned, knowing he must’ve screwed up big time.

No one answered him. So he let out a heavy sigh and just lay there, trying not to break at the bits of last night he did remember. His memories always came back in fragments. He ran a hand over his face and then dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.

He really didn’t want to remember.

Finally forcing himself to sit up, Race found that he wasn’t alone in the room. On the other side of those bars a man was staring at him, leaning against the wall and as much as Race wanted to cry right then and there, he didn’t. He just walked over to the bars that divided them. “Spottie…” he muttered, unable to look at his own husband.

“Asshole,” Spot shot back quietly, not moving from his place against the wall.

Race’s heart dropped when he managed to look up for just a moment. A bruise and a split lip was prominent on the man’s face. His gaze shot back down the second he caught a glimpse. “I’m sorry—“

“Bullshit, T,” Spot spat, still quite comfortable on the other side of those bars. “If you were sorry at all, this wouldn’t be happening again. It’s been goin’ on for too long, Race!” The shorter man shook his head, looking vulnerable for just a moment as he pushed himself off the wall and walked closer to the person he’d walk through hell and back for. “I’m tryin’ ta hold on for you, but I can’t do this forever n’ we both know it.”

Daring to look up when his husband came closer, Race felt the tears prick at his eyes but he refused to let them fall just yet. “I… I thought you were leavin’...” he whispered, leaning his forehead against the cold metal that kept him contained.

Rolling his eyes, Spot shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah… I made it about halfway through packing a bag before I found out that you were trying to break into someone’s house.”

That’s when a few thin tears began to fall down Race’s face. “I-I didn’t call you, did I?” It wasn’t a question. He knew very well that he hadn’t called his husband. No, there was someone else he needed to talk to, someone else he had to hear from.

With a small sigh, Spot pulled out a phone that wasn’t his own and managed to find, through a cracked screen, a voicemail message.

“H-hey… l-look this time I knew he wouldn’t pick up… I just,” Race heard himself break off into a sob. “I just really needed ta hear his voice right now. B-but I know you’re there, Spottie.” Every word was shaken and squeaked and broken. Race let his tears fall listening to it. He just sounds so hopeless and desperate. “I… I… God, you’re probably gone already. N’ I can’t blame you f’r that…” he slurred a bit, clearly still drunk, but his mind was clear enough for him to think at least somewhat clearly. “I guess I just wanted to, uh, go home… I wasn’t thinkin’, Sean, I know I wasn’t I just wan’ed ta see him again.” Race was crying now. Both in the message and right there in that cell. He had just wanted to go home. “I’m… you don’t have ta come… but… if you’re leaving just know that I love you n’ that I’ll regret everything I did till the day I die…” The young man tried to make the tears stop, he scrubbed at his face. “Anyways… uh… goodbye, I guess…”

By the end of the message, Race could no longer lift his gaze from the floor. He felt so heavy, like gravity was pulling him down even harder. He didn’t speak. He had nothing left to say.

With a quiet sigh, Spot put the phone away, walking up to the bars. He wrapped his hands around them. “You wanna look at me?” he asked.

“No,” Race admitted, his voice watery and broken. He shook his head and pressed his forehead up against the cool metal in front of him. “No, I wanna stand here n’... realize for the first time that I’m only wearin’ one shoe,” he sniffled, almost laughing. That just made him want to cry even more. “Jesus, if he could see me now…” The words came in a breath followed by a bitter laugh. “I can already hear him—“

“‘Kid, you’re an idiot’,” Spot imitated. He used to do it a lot more often. Not so much anymore. “Yeah, I know that lecture.” They both knew that lecture. “Then he’d give you his shoes and take you home and make you breakfast but refuse to make you bacon because it’s the only thing you’d ask for n’ it’s the only way he knows how ta punish you.” It was true. That’s exactly what would happen.

The tears only fell so much faster down Race’s face as his throat tightened. He wrapped his arms around himself. He wanted to make a joke. It was his first instinct, even if they had gotten darker in the past eight months. He wanted to ask Spot if he was just going to leave him here, in this cell, just to get even, but words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t speak, all he could do was close his eyes and pray for shoes that were a size too big for him and a long lecture that would never end and a big breakfast with everything but bacon.

Swallowing hard, the young man raised his head to find the face of the man he loved with a handprint bruise on his cheek. “I-is this rock bottom?” he asked desperately, needing it to be over.

“Baby, you broke right through the floor,” Spot sniffled, looking right into those broken blue eyes.

They hadn’t been the same since the crash.

“I thought my back hurt,” Race tried to laugh, but he couldn’t. Not when he looked at Spot’s face. He reached out to caress his husband’s cheek. Spot only barely flinched. “I really am sorry,” he breathed. “I shouldn’t a’ said any a’ that… I shouldn’t a’ fuckin’ hurt you, I—“

“Shut up, Racer,” Spot sighed. “Just, shut up. You do this every time. You do somethin’ magnificently stupid n’ you think an apology will fix it,” he shrugged, only feeling slightly bad for being so blunt. “That ain’t gonna fix it this time. You need help. N’ you know it.”

Race shook his head. “You still don’t fuckin’ get it,” he grumbled, letting himself stumble back a bit until he slouched onto that bench.

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit anymore, Tyler!” Spot spat, making Race flinch a little bit at the name he’d been called. It hurt to hear. “You really wanna keep tellin’ me I don’t understand? Like I didn’t lose someone too?”

“You weren’t there, Sean!” Race cried pathetically, his voice breaking despite his attempts to keep it strong and together but it wasn’t working. All he sounded was broken. “You… you weren’t there…” He squeezed his eyes as he let his head fall into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. “You didn’t hear them tell you that it was him or me. You didn’t hear him begging me to let him go—“

“Race, stop,” Spot insisted. “Just, stop.” He’d heard it all before. So many times over again. “I know I wasn’t there. I know that. And I know that you somehow think this is your fault but it ain’t.”

Groaning, Race looked up at him, his eyes red rimmed and tired. “I don’t wanna do this right now—“

“Well that sucks, sweetheart, because you’re stuck in here right now n’ you got nothin’ ta do but listen, so ya better shut your mouth and chill,” the shorter man said, looking down at his husband. “What happened to Jack was not your fault.” Race twitched at the sound of that name. He could hardly say it anymore. Spot had never seen someone so deep in grief. It had been painful to watch in the beginning. He hated that it was so familiar now. “He wouldn’t have wanted this for you—“

“Yeah, well, he’s not here, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Race spat, glaring now. It was easier to be angry than to be broken. And damn it, Race was angry. Race was angry because there was no one left for him to blame but himself.

The words hurt to hear. “God, you don’t really believe that do you?” Spot breathed. “Tyler, I know that you think I’ll never understand. But I didn’t just lose my best friend in that wreck, I… I fucking lost my husband too…”

It was true. That day had changed Race forever and he knew it. All of it was so painful for him and the only thing the kid knew how to do was distance himself, even going so far as to change his name, try several times to change his look and refuse to visit his nephew who looked too much like a man who was never coming back for him. Spot watched as the boy he loved so much slowly faded away into a drunk, drugged up disaster.

Still, Race only scoffed. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he whimpered with a shrug. “That… h-he was my brother, Spottie. He raised me. H-he… he gave up everything he had for me n’ then he…” The blond shook his head. “N’... every time I think I can breathe again, I see it happening all over again n’ I just…”

“You need a drink,” Spot finished for him. He sighed, holding out a hand to the man he loved so much, waiting for Race to take it. When the blond did, Spot pulled him up towards the bars and guided his hand to his own swollen cheek. “I want you to get help, baby. Real help. Please.”

Looking down at his own handiwork was heart wrenching. Spot had been Race’s friend for nearly a decade. Race had watched him grow and get tougher and stronger and better throughout the years. Spot Conlon was the strongest person that he’d ever met and yet here he was, standing beaten because he didn’t hit back. He never hit Race back. Not really. “I need help…” the young man admitted, terrified, as was evident in his trembling voice. “Fuck, I need help.”

Spot nodded, clearing his throat before turning to the guard. “You can let him out now,” he supposed, watching as the guy went to unlock the door that held Race inside.

For a long moment, Race didn’t move. He just stared pathetically at his husband and shrugged. “What do we do now?” he asked.

The shorter man sighed and walked up closer to his husband, the man he adored above all else. He took his hand gently and looked up at him. “We take it one step at a time,” he breathed. “You ready?”

Race swallowed hard, nodding almost numbly as he looked past his love out into the cruel world before him. “Yeah… I think so…” he lied.

Still, Spot turned and tugged Race’s hand.

They walked out of that cell together and each step, still weary and uncertain, was easier than to one before.

Okay, before ya’ll come asking, I have no idea how Jack died. All I know is that it was some kind of situation where only Jack or Race could be saved, whether someone deliberately did that to them or they were in an accident of some kind where they were both gonna die but the EMTs got there and figured out to to save one of them, I don’t know. I’m not that medically creative, but there you have it. If anyone has an particular ideas, I’d love to hear them. 

I’ve really been beating on Jack lately. It’s oddly satisfying and so sad.

Anyway, let me know what you guys think!

Thanks for reading!

[apathetically-hopeful]

5/22/21 Learning

I’ve always prided myself on being reasonably intelligent. The phrase my family and those I care about always used was “book smart”. Coming from a family that is somewhat rough around the edges, sometimes this felt like a backhanded compliment. Like maybe they didn’t view me to be as strong as them emotionally or to be able to handle real world experiences. I always found that I took some level of offense to that; and I think I let it shape me more than I know.

The thing is; I’m starting to learn that I am actually, incredibly emotionally stunted. Spending years wearing my sense of apathy like a suit of armor, hid the fact that I was actually rotting from the inside out. There was a certain level of arrogance in my ability to justify my actions and emotional shortcomings by way of logic and reason. When people around me would become overly emotional I would often retreat into myself even further; often becoming annoyed or even angry by someone’s inability to control their emotions.

The realization is finally starting to dawn on me though; these people weren’t weak. In fact they were far stronger than I ever allowed myself to be. I spent so long thinking that not giving myself an opportunity to feel what my emotions were trying to tell me, allowed me to maintain a level of cold rationality in my decision making. Being so emotionally closed off only ensured that I would continue to fail in reaching my potential in life. All these people that I felt were slaves to their emotions were actually gaining far more valuable knowledge than me.

I’ve fallen so far behind in this race that I’m struggling not only to catch up, but also just to catch my breath. I’m learning now that not everything needs to be ruled by ruthless logic. The answers to some of life’s difficulties rests in our hearts. If I’d followed my heart more, and just allowed myself to feel what it is I needed to feel, then I think I would find myself in a much better position in life currently. This is definitely a new curriculum for me, and it’s time I started learning.

This past week has been full of trials to test my emotional aptitude; most of which I have failed miserably. I think my first lesson was the failures themselves. What I discovered was that I wasn’t as discouraged and hopeless as I’d been in the past. The lesson was found in the fact that I needed to completely reshape my approach to how I’ve been handling things lately. Taking responsibility for all my newfound emotional vulnerability was the task that I set for myself. Due to my need to constantly try to place my perceived needs and desires on others, led me to the precipice of nearly losing everything I was working for.

I almost lost myself this week, I was working so hard at what I wanted, and not nearly hard enough at what I needed. It became imperative for me to really take a step back and listen; to try to find a way to validate not only my emotions, but the emotions of the people around me. Compromise and communication will truly take you places in life. The compromise part of this was something I always half committed to. Compromise for me usually meant getting just about everything I wanted, whilst giving as little ground as possible. It took someone, that I care very deeply about, putting their foot down to me, and me nearly losing that person completely, for me to understand that this was a zero sum game. I didn’t want to win anymore if it meant that she lost. 

Bringing one’s self to the brink of despair, in order to start learning from your mistakes, is a dangerous game of chicken that I want to stop playing. I don’t know where this need to always feel like I’m fighting for my life came from, but I want to stop the cycle. Learning to just let things be, and to deal with life as it happens, is difficult when you’ve always gone to war with yourself. But I find that I’m starting to slowly make my peace with it. Each day is starting to seem a little more hopeful; and the dive that I’m taking inward seems a little more promising. Even all the things I want seem a little more achievable than when I was relentlessly pursuing them. I’m learning to grow, and that if I want the chance to turn things around with myself and others, then I need to stop doing things how I’ve always done them.

There is wisdom in loving yourself, and allowing external love to come to you when it is ready. Love always,

Trevor.

[fairycosmos]

chloe what do you do when you feel really suicidal? but like not like before- but NOW that you are grieving such a painful loss? dont need to answer but i read your a. to the anon that felt trapped and like they couldnt leave now bc their sibling died too and like you and that anon i feel the same. im so so suicidal chloe. i cry every day and night and i feel despertate but my parents just lost their child so. how do you cope... as much as its possible. what do we do? fuck.

dude i am so sorry you're in the same position as me and you are going to hate me for saying it but there is no satisfactory answer 😔 it's a cruel joke. we're in the worst pain we've ever been in, and our instinct is to want to make that stop. but we can't because now we're obligated to stay alive, where all the hurt is, because we're one of the only ones left. and we dont want to cause more of this feeling by ending it all. it's like a contract you didn't agree to and are now trapped in for the foreseeable. grief is the absolute heaviest thing a person can carry, it's a fucking nightmare. it doesn't make any sense, it doesn't have a cure and it's disorienting as fuck. it's ok to be exhausted by it. reality has been irreparably  worsened and it's an absolute tragedy,  it's completely unfair. personally i'm more suicidal than i've ever been, but like you, i know i'm not going to do anything.  and in moments of great pain, where i want to act on those thoughts, i find myself coming back to that fact. i watch the idea of suicide run its course through my head and then i acknowledge the reality of things, that i can't leave. that it doesn't matter how sad i am and how tired i am, because i'm still here, and processing these emotions is a part of that. the urge to kill myself is there, but the actual act of suicide has never been less of an option than it is right now. so i can feel whatever i need to feel, but there's no point leaning into it or daydreaming about it. because it's not going to happen. sometimes i'm screaming and crying to myself in absolute agony while this is all going on, and sometimes i'm just sitting staring at my phone, numb. the desperation is very real, and i understand that. but it is not as urgent as it feels in the moment. no matter how many times i think i'm at my limit, i know that there's going to be tomorrow. and at the moment that sounds like a really bad thing. but i know that by waking up my parents aren't getting a call saying i'm dead, which for now is kind of the whole point. i am living to minimize their trauma, i am living for them, and an optimist would have hope that that could keep me alive long enough until i get to the point where i can eventually live for myself again. i could definitely see that for your future, even if you can't. the thing is you don't have to know what to do and you dont have to look for ways to fill the void that has been left behind by your sibling. you just have to learn to exist alongside it, and i do mean just exist. as awful as it is. waking up, putting one foot in front of the other, crying and crying and crying. that is good enough. i know it doesn't feel like much of a life, but. it's the short term answer, or so it seems to me. another thing i remind myself of is how it all comes in waves. waves are the nature of both grief, and strong suicidal urges. maybe they're always running in the background, but the moments of pure despair where you feel like you're bursting at the seams, they're so strong and harsh that they flare out faster than you realize. and they feel unbearable, and i know those moments are very frequent when you're in our position, but it's good to remember that the intensity of their nature makes them temporary.  especially if the grief is fresh, every little thing triggers an avalanche of hopelessness.  but some part of me believes these experiences will either a. become less persistent with time or b. become a part of us we learn how to navigate.  at the moment, the simple act of being completely broken by these episodes means you're surviving them. i think it's not a matter of knowing how to cope, but knowing that if you're here to ask these questions - what do i do, how do i go on, etc - then that is proof you have been coping. and it probably doesn't feel like you have been. i think there's a common misconception that coping is thriving, letting go, having positive memories. and sure that's a part of it. but there is a lot of darkness and absolute horror to work through before that. additionally,  there is no rule book on how exactly to work through it. theres just time, experience, learning what works for you and hanging on. i'm trying to hold my own hand through it, i'm trying to look at the present moment i'm in and just think about what i need at that very second.  not what i'm going to do tomorrow, not what i should've done yesterday, but what i have to do right now to make it through.  a lot of the time the answer is nothing, and i just sit and stare or cry, because like i said, ultimately nothing can fix it. theres no epiphany that can change what happened. 

as far as practical things you can to do combat suicidal thoughts goes, i have a few suggestions that i really hope you consider as viable choices: talk to your doctor/therapist - idk where you live or what your financial situation is like, but if it's at all an option i would really urge you to seek professional help. at least let your GP know what you're dealing with so maybe they can refer you to a therapist, or give you some mental health resources. grief counselling is also a step in the right direction. having someone to talk to and implementing positive coping mechanisms into your day to day life, even if it's the last thing on earth you want to do, can work wonders. understanding your own suicidal thoughts, why you react the way you do and what you can do about it, can really come in handy when you're breaking down. it's ok to reach out. it's ok to visit different counsellors until you find one that fits you. it's ok to treat your emotional turmoil as seriously as you'd treat any physical disease. there is always support and treatment options available in some form, and it is always worth looking into.

call a (grief or suicide) hotline - i've had the hotline number open in my browser for days. if you are in a moment of crisis, it can absolutely help to have someone talk you through your emotions, listen to your pain, and then give you some gentle recommendations as to what you should do next or where to go from here. you don't have to tell them your name, you don't have to say anything you don't want to say. you're in control of the call and they care about keeping you going. you're not alone. theres also online grief support groups - i'm in a sibling loss group on fb.  it's absolutely crazy how many people are in this position. 

talk to your parents/family/friends - i know saying 'this is a tough one' is a giant understatement.  idk if it's the same for you, but i've been isolating to cope and i don't want to tell anyone what i'm thinking because they're already having such a hard time grieving my sister. but if there's anyone you trust, i just want you to know it's alright to lean on them. it's up to you how much you open up, but the urge to keep to yourself leads nowhere. those around you can relate (to an extent) with your grief, and sharing it, talking about memories and crying together - it's fucking awful, god it's the worst thing ever, but it's necessary. and i don't want to say it helps, but a shared burden is always better than trying to shoulder it alone. you deserve to be listened to and supported. and if you think you're being an inconvenience to your loved ones, that's your inner self hatred talking. they would likely rather be there for you when you need it, than have you harm yourself because you kept it all pent up. it's a lot easier said than done, but it's important to keep in mind that it's an option.

try to create a safe space - try to remove things from your living space you could use to harm yourself with, and make the environment as comforting as possible. refer back to safe coping mechanisms/ distractions that have worked in the past - this can be as simple as going for a walk, watching stupid shit on your phone, meditation, having a crying session, writing to your sibling or just about how you feel in general. these are not suggestions that will solve anything or cure mental illness by any stretch of the imagination.  they just get you out of your head. that can really make a difference. 

create a crisis plan and learn what triggers you - this is a bit of a process but that's alright. being able to identify what sets you off, and being able to recognize your own toxic thinking patterns/behaviours, is the first step towards combatting them. another idea is, if you do end up talking to a loved one or a mental health professional, come up with a plan with them regarding what they should do when you're suicidal and your judgement is impaired. you can even start by just making one for yourself, like writing down a few suggestions as to what you should do when you're in a crisis, what your other options besides suicide are. 

i think that's all i've got right now. i'm sorry this got so long, especially when i know nothing truly helps. i just know what it's like having all this useless life in front of you that you're going to have to fight through without the one person who always should've been there. i keep thinking about what she'd say to me if she could see me, and i know she'd be livid if i threw my life away, but. that doesn't change the fact that she didn't get to live hers, and that i miss her so so much it aches. i keep coming back to the idea that our relationship will continue to grow beyond  death. i can still talk to her, reminisce  with her, understand her, love her. so much of this reality was shaped by her. it's not the same as when she was here, but it's not total absence  either.  anyway, i'm so so sorry for your loss and i hope you can just focus on taking care of yourself, love. because your life still has so much worth and you deserve to see your own future even if you cant stand the thought. moments of happiness and peace are still 100% possible. it's just never going to feel like it did before. and it's ok if you spend the rest of your life struggling to come to terms with that fact, because at least you got to live the rest of your life. i'm sending so much love to you and i'll be here if you need a friend. one day at a time.

*no pressure to read all this you can just refer back to it whenever you feel the need

[inkykeiji]

Clari, may i ask you to explain why you love twin peaks so much? i want to start watching it and instead of googling reviews or watching trailers i want YOUR opinion over anyones lmao

AH OKAY ANON SORRY IT TOOK ME A FEW DAYS TO GET TO THIS but i was finishing up bmb and i wanted to be able to take my time on this ask and give it my full attention so!!!

WAAAAAAAH okay, first of all, david lynch is just one of my favourite directors ever. i love him so much, i love all of his work, and it’s so difficult for me to put into words WHY, because lynch’s work focuses so much on FEELINGS; or at least, it does to me!! they’re quite bizarre but they’re so DREAMY. they evoke so many feelings in the viewer and honestly watching one of his films is literally a whole experience in and of itself. i’d even argue that he borders the line of the art film, too. see aaah i’m already having trouble explaining what i mean here, but it’s like idk you’ll watch a scorsese film or a carpenter film and yeah, of course, it evokes emotions but we almost instantaneously know why we’re reacting that way. does that make sense??? they’re a little more straightforward in their messages, in their story/plot, in their characters, etc.

i personally feel that lynch’s work goes a lot deeper than that; it really makes you think and question and it’s almost introspective in that way as well??? because (to me) with his work, it instills all of these emotions in you, but sometimes you aren’t exactly sure WHY you’re feeling the way you’re feeling--it’s a little challenging, and you have to do more work to understand the film or understand your personal reaction to the film. i also just love everything lynch thinks about art in general; i find his presence very calming and i agree with many of his sentiments surrounding art as a whole. okay now that i’ve rambled about my love for him

twin peaks is a fantastic intro to lynch (although of course he didn’t direct/write every single episode, but the show itself is truly imbued with his whole presence and all of his themes, just toned down a little. most of this was due to abc in the 90s; which means fair warning, season 3 is much more lynchian than the first two seasons, and it is honestly more of a 18 part movie than it is a television show!!). to be honest with you anon, i’d say twin peaks is one of the biggest influences on my own work!! i love the dreaminess which is almost infused with these feelings of hopelessness and despair, i love how bittersweet it is, i love love LOVE how the universe as a whole is a few degrees removed from our actual reality, i love the characters and their relationships,  i love the way it plays with drama and the human subconscious, i love the aesthetic, i love the air of mystery that surrounds the whole twin peaks universe, i love all of its beautiful surrealism...it’s so STRANGE in such a lovely way, it reminds me a little of the original twilight zone too.

it’s so hard for me to explain it anon, but it’s so much more than a murder mystery (and tbh it knows this; it’s self-reflexive to an extent, especially with invitation to love, which is a satirical fictional soap opera in the world of twin peaks). i feel like it deals with the human condition in a way??? because there’s significant focus on emotions, dreams, hallucinations, death, morality, etc etc all wrapped up in this thin translucent element of the supernatural.

give it a try and see if it hooks you from the beginning or not!!! i’m sorry this is a bit of a mess ehehehe, interpreting twin peaks feels especially personal (i relate to some of the characters a LOT and the town itself reminds me of my hometown so much its scary) so i’m not sure if you’ll feel the way i do when you watch it, which is totally okay and completely valid!!! the fandom is STILL cooking up theories etc honestly there are ENDLESS theories for the twin peaks universe as a whole (it spans books + a movie as well). with that being said, please let me know if there’s anything you’d like me to expand upon here or if you have more specific questions!!

i’d also just warn you that you will not get closure with this show; it is extremely open-ended, so keep that in mind to if that isn’t exactly your thing!! aaaah i hope u give it a try n like it tho anon!! <333