#went from numb to crying to suicidal and back to numb

[girlgenius1111]

don't let this darkness fool you

arsenal x young reader [platonic]

part 1 of 2?

cw for intense descriptions of depression and suicidal ideation. this is a really heavy one, so please don't read if you don't think you should. there are other fics, and reading this one isn't as important as you being okay <3

loosely based on the songs call your mom and growing sideways by noah kahan

- - - - -

There was a song lyric that had resonated with you since you'd heard it. It rattled around in your brain on bad days. Days like today.

"It's better to die numb than feel it all"

You thought of it now, as you sat, staring hard at the pill bottle in front of you. Your chest ached, deep within you. It was suffocating, feeling everything. You'd been fighting, gasping for air, for so long. The way out, the way to numbness, to freedom, was sitting right in front of you. All you had to do was take the pills.

Google told you it would be enough. That by the time anyone thought to check, it would be too late. You'd scrolled past the suicide hotline number to read the information. It hadn't even been an option to call it. If you were going to call anyone, it would be one of your teammates.

Not your family. It all came back to them, in the end. Every insecurity and fear you had trailed back through your past, to the people that had raised you. No, that was wrong. You'd raised yourself. They'd brought you into the world, but hadn't bothered themselves with making your world a place worth existing in. Too busy drinking, fighting, making each other miserable.

Briefly, you wondered if they would feel guilty when they heard. You supposed they would. It wasn't enough, though, retroactive guilt. They couldn't undue what they'd caused. Even if they stood in front of you, begged you to stay, you were sure their words would have little effect on you.

Your mind flashed to your real family, your team. The thought of them did fill you with guilt. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and you shut your eyes tightly, fighting back against the images of their faces when they heard.

You could make your peace with most of it, honestly. The only thing that you didn't think you could deal with, though, was them blaming themselves. You knew they would, that was the kind of people they were. A note wouldn't be enough, you decided. Written words wouldn't be as convincing as your voice, promising that it wasn't their fault.

Looking back, you would wonder if you were ever really going to do it. Calling Beth like that, you had to have considered that she'd answer. the only thing you could come up with was that you didn't really want to die, not really. You wanted help, and you didn't know how to ask for it, weren't sure if you'd be able to.

Regardless, you dialed Beth's number, deciding on her because you knew she went to bed early. In was only midnight, and if you called anyone else, there was a chance they'd still be awake. You should have known Beth would sleep with her ringer on, though. It was the kind of thing she'd do, always concerned with the people around her, always reminding them to reach out if they needed her.

When she answered, you were frozen, not sure what to say. A part of you wanted to hang up, take the pills as fast as you could. The other wanted to cry, beg for help. The second part was just so tired; you stayed silent.

"Hello? Y/n, are you there?"

You must have made a sound, because Beth's voice lost it's sleepy tint, and she seemed much more awake.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

"No," you responded, all but forcing the word out of your lips. It was amazing, how she could tell that something was wrong, from so little information.

"What's going on, kiddo?" she asked kindly. It made tears prick your eyes. It had been a while since you had cried, and you were surprised. You weren't really sure how to answer her, though, the one word you'd uttered having been hard enough as it was.

"Y/n, honey, what's going on?" Beth asked again, and you heard Viv's voice faintly from the background, asking for the phone. There was some shuffling, and then Viv's firm voice was hitting your ear.

"Y/n, I need you to tell me what's happening," Viv demanded. She was smart- you didn't need soft right now. You needed someone to tell you exactly what to do, not ask.

"I'm not okay," you managed. You realized you were shaking, your teeth chattering over every word. "I need help."

Viv pulled the phone away from her ear, speaking to Beth before answering you. You don't know if she meant for you to hear or not.

"Call Leah, call Katie, they both live over there. Tell them to get to y/n's as soon as possible." The Dutch woman pulled the phone back to her ear then. "Y/n, Beth and I are coming to you. We're gonna help you, okay?"

"Okay," you replied softly. You were surprised, when the only thing you felt was relief.

"You're at home, right?"

"Yeah."

"Can you tell me if you're safe, physically?"

"I'm not hurt. I haven't taken anything yet," you tell her, mind too jumbled to realize you'd said yet.

"What do you have in front of you?" she asked, her tone returning the the firm one from before. You told her, reading the long name off the bottle. You heard Beth curse from next to her, speaking faster and more frantically into her own phone.

"Don't move, y/n. Stay right there, Leah is going to be there in just a minute."

Sure enough, your attention was pulled away from the phone, really from the bottle in front of you, but whatever, when your door unlocked. Leah had a key. You'd forgotten. Her eyes were wild when she rushed in, searching for you. She was wearing her pajamas, and you realized Beth had probably woken her. Somewhere in your brain, you considered making a joke about the Arsenal pajama pants she was wearing, but you realized you had lost the ability to speak. Leah had arrived fast, though, even though she lived only a few minutes walk from you. She must have run.

"Hey, buddy," Leah said cautiously, and you heard 2 sighs of relief at Leah's voice over the phone. You sat, unmoving, as Leah approached you, taking the bottle off the table where it sat, and carried it into the kitchen, still in sight of you. She unscrewed the cap, and you watched as she dumped the bottle down the drain, running the water to ensure every little pill floated away, out of your reach.

Again, you only felt relief.

Leah returned, taking a seat next to you, and grabbing the phone out of your tight grip. You weren't really paying attention to her, lost in your head, but the soft words she spoke to Beth and Viv calmed you, if only slightly.

Someone's hand was on your knee, and you turned your head to see Katie kneeling next to you. You weren't sure when she'd arrived.

Your body felt like it was caving in on itself; something about Katie's expression, filled with so much fear, forced you to see the reality of what had happened, how close you'd come. Maybe that should have been the scariest thing, but it wasn't. Instead, you thought about how your teammates knew now. There was no excuse you could give that would explain what had happened tonight. It was a horrifying realization; that you couldn't hide how bad it was anymore.

Katie was speaking to you, her lips were moving, but you couldn't process what she was saying. It was like the volume in the room had been turned down, and the sound of your blood pulsing in your ears was all you could hear. You forced yourself to move, to do anything, and your shaking hand covered hers, gripping tightly.

It was all you could manage, really. Somehow, Katie knew what you needed. She moved to sit on your other side, wrapping her strong arms around your body, pulling you into her. You went limply, allowing yourself to collapse into her. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to breathe, trying to think. You wanted to be anywhere else.

All of a sudden, you wished you'd done it. When you opened your eyes, you'd have to face it. Fight it. You'd been trying, and you knew your friends wouldn't allow you to stop. You'd missed your chance, and a part of you felt like it was shattering at the idea of having to keep going.

Hands were cupping your face, encouraging you to open your eyes. You complied, tears falling rapidly once you did. Katie was looking at you, and you could kind of hear her again, telling you to breathe. You hadn't realized you had been holding your breath. You inhaled a shuddering breath, before exhaling.

"One breath at a time, y/n, come on," Katie was saying. At her prompting, you breathed in again, hands clenching into fists as you stumbled to your feet. You weren't sure where you were going, you just needed to go. Katie and Leah were standing too, looking panicked, and Katie grabbed your wrist as you tried to head for the door. You wrenched free, stumbling on unsteady legs towards the door. Realistically, Leah and Katie would have stopped you.

They didn't need to. In through the door you were approaching came Beth and Viv. Your exit was blocked, even though you weren't really sure why you were trying to leave. It was like some part of your brain thought if you removed yourself from the situation, the feelings would fade. Instead, you fell to your knees, hands wrapping around your own abdomen, like you were trying to hold yourself together.

You didn't have the energy to hold yourself up anymore, evidently, because you were falling forward, and someone was catching you. You weren't sure you'd taken a breath since Katie had last reminded you to, because the world around you was closing in, blackening along the edges, and then there was nothing.

-----

You became aware of a soft hand pushing hair back from your forehead first. The cushions of your couch under you. Your friends were talking amongst themselves, about you it seemed. You were calmer now, thank god. You could breath again, and your brain had returned to it's regular state; somewhere between depressed and agonized, but nowhere near where you'd been minutes ago.

"Did she say if something happened?" you heard Katie ask, accent thicker than normal.

"No, she didn't say anything, really. Just that she wasn't okay, and that she needed help." Beth responded, her voice much closer to you. The hand on your head must have been hers.

Both of your teammates sounded anxious, so you forced your eyes open blinking up at Beth's face above you.

"Hey, kid," she said, her hand not stopping the motions on your forehead.

"Hi," you replied, voice all scratchy. You moved to sit up, swinging your feet to rest on the ground instead of where they lay in Leah's lap. it was quiet in the room, and you hated how all of them looked at you so apprehensively. You'd never liked when people worried about you, and this wasn't any different.

Wordlessly, Viv handed you a glass of water, and you took it, gulping it down because you were thirsty, and also because you weren't really sure what to say.

"What happened?" Leah asked softly. You dropped your eyes to the floor. Lying wouldn't do anything, you knew that. Still, the impulse to push them out was there.

"I don't know," you replied, somewhat honestly. Your tone reflected your feelings, though, and Beth sighed next to you, sensing you trying to force your walls back up.

"That's not going to work, y/n," Katie said. You looked up, then, meeting everyone's eyes. There was a determination there.

"I really don't know," you repeated, but you allowed yourself to breathe deeply, before speaking again. "Nothing happened, I was just tired. I'm really tired."

They nodded in understanding. They knew what tired meant in this context. Not the kind that sleep could fix, though you tried. The kind that sunk into you, gripped your soul in it's tight fist, and squeezed. Until you barely had the energy to move. Until all you could think about was doing what you'd almost done.

"You need help." Beth stated, almost like she was expecting a fight from you on it. She was surprised, then, when you nodded in response.

"I know," you paused. "I'm sorry."

You were apologizing for a lot; for acting miserable in the past few months. For ruining their respective nights. For being so difficult. A part of you was also apologizing that you'd called at all. Wouldn't it have been easier, so much easier, if you'd just done it?

"Don't say sorry. You called, you asked for help. That's all that really matters." Leah told you.

You recognized that maybe it wouldn't have been easier for them. Giving up was perhaps easier than trying to get better; for you at least. Right now. For them, though, they'd rather help you, a thousand times over, than lose you.

And help you, they would.

-----

honestly not really sure about the ending of this? feel like there could be a part 2 if you guys wanted, so i left it open for that if people are interested

also. writing this was a lot. reading it is probably a lot too. hope it serves as a reminder that there are people that need you, and the world is better with you in it. i know it doesn't always feel like it, but what you're feeling is temporary. it will get better.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hello I love your blog!

That being said woud really like to read your take on Harry's relationship with death and grief

And wich death do you think that impacted him the most

Thank you so much! I'm glad you love my blog!

I will warn this post mentions some suicidal ideation, mentions of self-harm, and a lot of Harry's grief methods and coping mechanisms, so be aware.

Now, Harry has a lot of grief in his life, and each death is one he reacts to differently, not only because of who dies but because his grief accumulates. So with every death, Harry is pushed closer and closer to his threshold. You kinda see this threshold in Deathly Hallows:

He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died. . . He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. Lupin, Tonks. . . He yearned not to feel. . . He wished he could rip out his heart, his innards, everything that was screaming inside him. . .

[...]

The images of Fred, Lupin, and Tonks lying dead in the Great Hall forced their way back into his mind’s eye, and for a moment he could hardly breathe: Death was impatient. . . .

(DH)

Harry saw Fred die, and he was sure that was it. After Sirius, Dumbledore, Hedwig, Dobby, and even Snape, no one else should be able to die, and then he sees Lupin and Tonks are dead and his mind doesn't even know how he's supposed to handle all this grief. He actually can't process it at the moment. He feels so much pain and guilt because Harry blames himself for each and everyone that died. Even though they were adults who chose to fight on their own, he didn't force them, but he feels responsible for their deaths.

Even for his parents' deaths as I mention later. This is really a theme with Harry's grief — he always blames himself. If he just called Sirius in the mirror, if he just knew Occlumancy, if he just drunk the potion instead of Dumbledore. At points, Harry actually wishes he was dead instead of having to carry all his grief and pain:

And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.

(DH) - is it just me who feels like crying every time I read this quote?

Obviously, his parents' deaths affected how his life went more than any other death, but Harry never knew them. He never really grieved them growing up. He grieved the childhood he could've had. That above scene in Godric's Hallow is the first time Harry truly grieves for James and Lily themselves, not just as a family he could've had.

Cedric's death was the first Harry had to watch, and it was mixed in with a lot of other trauma. So, Harry doesn't really grieve Cedric, not really. He is sad he had to die, but Harry mostly grieves himself. He doesn't want to think about the graveyard and the nightmares. He comes off as somewhat numb to Cedric's death because they weren't all that close and Harry is suffering and has no idea how to process any of it, so he pushes all of it aside because there are other things more important.

Sirius, I think, is the death that hit him hardest. I mentioned how Harry's behavior changes after Sirius dies. Sirius was one of Harry's only support lines, and then he was gone. Harry's reaction to his death is the worst too.

He tries and somewhat succeeds in casting a crucio on Bellatrix. He has his outburst in Dumbledore's office that makes me want to throttle Dumbledore and hug Harry whenever I read it:

“Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —” “THEN — I — DON’T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!” Harry roared, and he seized one of the delicate silver instruments from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall.

[...]

“I DON’T CARE!” Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. “I’VE HAD ENOUGH, I’VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON’T CARE ANYMORE —”

(OotP)

After that, we see this grief in Harry's behavior. He becomes more reckless, more mouthy. In the first books, Harry does a lot to try and avoid unnecessary danger. From the end of book 5, Harry just doesn't care about himself as much.

Sirius is a character Harry grieves. He mentions Sirius constantly in the early chapters of book 6 and I think we see him grieving Sirius all throughout the final few books as more deaths just mount on top of his guilty consciousness as Harry keeps blaming himself:

And Harry saw very clearly as he sat there under the hot sun how people who cared about him had stood in front of him one by one, his mother, his father, his godfather, and finally Dumbledore, all determined to protect him; but now that was over. He could not let anybody else stand between him and Voldemort; he must abandon forever the illusion he ought to have lost at the age of one, that the shelter of a parent’s arms meant that nothing could hurt him. There was no waking from his nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark that he was safe really, that it was all in his imagination; the last and greatest of his protectors had died, and he was more alone than he had ever been before.

(HBP)

Dumbledore is a weird one. Harry grieves Dumbledore for both what he was and what he wasn't rather than the man himself. Harry grieves not actually knowing Dumbledore and Dumbledore's perceived betrayal throughout the majority of book 7:

But he shook his head. Some inner certainty had crashed down inside him; it was exactly as he had felt after Ron left. He had trusted Dumbledore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: How much more could he lose?

(DH)

He mourns losing the trust he had in Dumbledore, not just the man himself. He mourns no knowing if Dumbledore really cared for him. He mourns not actually knowing Dumbledore and he mourns the loss of the one man Harry trusted would save him — his last and greatest protector.

Unlike Sirius, Dumbledore is a person Harry has a more complicated relationship with, so his grief for him is similarly more complicated. Where he thinks of Dumbledore the idea and Dumbledore the man as very different things and he isn't sure which one of them was more honest. And he mourns not knowing.

All of this is mixed up with his helplessness in book 7 and wishing Dumbledore had told him more to prepare him. All these frustrations affect the way he grieves. And, as we see, book 7 is Harry at his most reckless — because when Harry's in emotional pain, he throws himself into danger.

Harry's grief at Dobby's death is one that really stuck with me when reading DH, specifically this scene:

“I want to do it properly,” were the first words of which Harry was fully conscious of speaking. “Not by magic. Have you got a spade?” And shortly afterward he had set to work, alone, digging the grave in the place that Bill had shown him at the end of the garden, between bushes. He dug with a kind of fury, relishing the manual work, glorying in the non-magic of it, for every drop of his sweat and every blister felt like a gift to the elf who had saved their lives. His scar burned, but he was master of the pain, he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out. . . though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love.

(DH)

Harry is right in saying grief drove out Voldemort more than love. Harry's magic is very intuned with his emotions and pushes Voldemort out on instinct. I believe this is a type of Occlumancy.

See, Occlumancy requires a clear and focused mind, Harry, not knowing how to process grief, turns to manual labor that causes him pain. There is the pain from his blisters, pain from his muscles, pain from his scar — and he relishes in that pain because it makes him feel numb. It clears his head and allows him to actually practice Occlumancy.

This is a kind of self-harm. Not a super obvious act of self-harm, but it is a kind of self-harm. Working himself to the point of pain and exhaustion so he won't feel it all anymore. Just like he shouted at Dumbledore at the end of book 5. We actually see Harry in this almost numb state in book 7 quite a bit.

His recklessness is a form of self-harm too, in a way.

As he followed Bill back to the others a wry thought came to him, born no doubt of the wine he had drunk. He seemed set on course to become just as reckless a godfather to Teddy Lupin as Sirius Black had been to him.

(DH)

As I mentioned a grieving Harry is much more dangerous to himself than a happy Harry. He's angrier, more reckless, and more prone to outbursts. He relishes in his own pain and danger in a way he hasn't before. Add that to his PTSD from everything else, and... god, I feel so bad for my boy...

Then we have all the deaths in the Battle of Hogwarts, of which Fred affected him most I think. But by that point, Harry is half numb.

The world had ended, so why had the battle not ceased, the castle fallen silent in horror, and every combatant laid down their arms? Harry’s mind was in free fall, spinning out of control, unable to grasp the impossibility, because Fred Weasley could not be dead, the evidence of all his senses must be lying—

(DH)

They're in the middle of the battle and immediately after this paragraph, Harry shouts at everyone to get down and away as more curses start flying and the Acrumentulas come in. He pushes everyone to act and to move because Harry has become so accustomed to grief and pain that by this point it's second nature to him to be in a state of pain:

Why was it so easy? Because his scar had been burning for hours, yearning to show him Voldemort’s thoughts? He closed his eyes on her command, and at once, the screams and bangs and all the discordant sounds of the battle were drowned until they became distant, as though he stood far, far away from them. . . .

(DH)

I mentioned in the past that all mind arts require a focused and clear mind. This state of numbness from grief Harry pushes himself into is what allows him such good control over his connection with Voldemort and when and what he sees from it.

Harry only lets himself start to grieve Fred when he sees his body again in the hall. And he doesn't want to grieve or feel, so he runs to Dumbledore's office to view Snape's memories. At that point, towards his own death, Harry's in the mindset where he's willing to do anything to not feel the pain and grief and guilt anymore, so much so that when Dumbledore asks him to die, Harry does:

And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.” Harry seemed to be watching the two men from one end of a long tunnel, they were so far away from him, their voices echoing strangely in his ears.

[...]

His job was to walk calmly into Death’s welcoming arms. Along the way, he was to dispose of Voldemort’s remaining links to life, so that when at last he flung himself across Voldemort’s path, and did not raise a wand to defend himself, the end would be clean, and the job that ought to have been done in Godric’s Hollow would be finished: Neither would live, neither could survive.

[...]

Terror washed over him as he lay on the floor, with that funeral drum pounding inside him. Would it hurt to die? All those times he had thought that it was about to happen and escaped, he had never really thought of the thing itself: His will to live had always been so much stronger than his fear of death. Yet it did not occur to him now to try to escape, to outrun Voldemort. It was over, he knew it, and all that was left was the thing itself: dying.

[...]

Dumbledore’s betrayal was almost nothing. Of course there had been a bigger plan; Harry had simply been too foolish to see it, he realized that now. He had never questioned that his own assumption: that Dumbledore wanted him alive. Now h saw that his life span had always been determined by how long it took to eliminate all the Horcruxes. Dumbledore had passed the job of destroying them to him, and obediently he had continued to chip away at the bonds tying not only Voldemort, but himself, to life! How neat, how elegant, not to waste any more lives, but to give the dangerous task to the boy who had already been marked for slaughter, and whose death would not me a calamity, but another blow against Voldemort.

(DH)

Not for a moment does Harry consider not dying. He mentions he wants to shout out, and wants someone to care enough to stop him:

He wanted to shout out to the night, he wanted Ginny to know that he was there, he wanted her to know where he was going. He wanted to be stopped, to be dragged back, to be sent back home. . . .

(DH)

But he doesn't shout out, because the only home he ever had was for a year at Godric's Hallow, and that home was six feet under, where Harry knows he should be.

Just, all of Harry's thoughts as he walks towards his death, to me feel like a reaction to grief. He heard Dumbledore's plan when he reached his threshold of pain and grief. It's why he doesn't consider another option if there's another way. He doesn't want there to be another way. He wants to live, but he also wants it to be over.

And in death, Harry considers staying:

Harry nodded and sighed. Leaving this place would not be nearly as hard as walking into the forest had been, but it was warm and light and peaceful here, and he knew that he was heading back to pain and the fear of more loss.

(DH)

Staying where it's warm and peaceful and there's no pain. But he chooses to return, he chooses to live, and I think that is such an important moment for his character and his journey with grief. It's the moment he accepts life is pain and decides he wants to live anyway.

[mrsnancywheeler]

the river (2) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: the Capitol has taken you away from Finnick, the life you've been trying to build together and now he has to fight to get every part of you back

the end of a trilogy series

previous chapter / next chapter

masterlist

6.1k words

warnings: angst, fluff, self-destructive behavior, finnick's bias now so you can see how they both view the other as the more broken one, mental health issues, allusions to suicide, allusions to trafficking and trauma surrounding it, the opposite of a slowburn it's giving their soulmates, mentions of death/torture/violence/brainwashing, unedited, no use of y/n

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Seeing your face again could have sent Finnick into another frenzy, he'd been scared he'd forget it even though he thought about it every second of every day. But he couldn't do that, he needed to listen, hear your voice again. You had that smile plastered on your face that everyone could easily believe in, and had for years, except him. There was a mournful, numb look that would settle in the back of your eyes whenever you put on a performance, one that usually leads to dissociation. On top of that, you looked tired, the way you looked when after you'd won your Games and hadn't been able to escape the nightmares. 

Your voice was like music in his ears when you greeted Ceasar back, a tune that could soothe his soul if he wasn't so worried about you. It pained him to notice that in the midst of everything, of holding you captive, of the rebellion, they'd still managed to play dress up with you. Goosebumps covering your skin, the outfit barely covered any of you, you'd always run cold, and the Capitol seemed to know this. “So you're saying you knew nothing about the rebel plan?"

You shook your head emphatically, “No, I told you all how sure I was that I was never coming out of that arena. It was just as much of a shock to me." His clever, clever girl, trying so hard to play it safe.

“At the end you were screaming about forgetting something, what was that?" Caesar asked.

The tracker. The stupid tracker. "Finnick…" You trailed off, looking into the camera for a second like you were trying to reach out to him, “We had a special way of communicating with each other that comes with being together that long, I needed to find him, I still don't remember why.”

"So did he know about the rebel plan?”

Your foot was tapping slightly and Finnick prayed, for your sake, that no one else knew how anxious that indicated you were. “If he did, he didn't tell me." You looked at the camera again, addressing the citizens of the Capitol, "And I want everyone to know that if he did know anything, he would only do it if he thought it meant we could be together. He would never want this, the rebellion, the terror, both of us love all of you and Panem so much. His intentions would've been of love, not harm.” 

Finnick was so proud that your years of charisma for the Capitol was pulling through now. He felt like he was going to cry, the way you were defending him in the off chance that everything went wayward and he also ended up in Capitol clutches somehow. Maybe, if Snow really thought you knew nothing, he'd consider you more than just bait, maybe there'd be quite a few of these interviews left to boost morale for Capitol citizens. To see one of their favorite victors spewing out propaganda, it would also keep you alive longer, so out of all things that's what Finnick would place his hopes on. 

“Peeta called for a ceasefire, would you agree with this, that things should just be called off?” You glanced off camera, anxiously scratching at your arms.

"Yes, a ceasefire needs to be called.” Your smile reeked of discomfort and fear, and he was even more grateful that it was something only he knew how to sense from you. “The destruction being caused, the death, will get so much worse if this continues. No one wants that, this can all be sorted out. President Snow is merciful, but only if a ceasefire is called for.” It was sickening, the lies you were being forced to tout. Snow was anything but merciful, he'd probably throw the victors into the arena again, or just line them all up to be shot, or make death causing ‘accidents’ occur as soon as possible. Then you were crying and Finnick longed to hold you, to tell you it would be okay, to give any words of comfort he could. "I'm sorry, so much has happened recently.”

"Well us in the Capitol are glad to still have you with us." Finnick hated that they had you, that Caesar could still force you to perform for all of Panem and act like you're fine.

"I'm glad to be here with all of you too!” You mutter through tears and your signature, fake smile.

"Before we go, is there anything you want to say if the rebels are watching out there, if Finnick, your husband is watching out there?”

“He's not a rebel." You say quickly, with as much urgency as you can. Your eyes shut for a second and you're muttering to yourself, “He's my husband, he's not a rebel, not a rebel."

"Right, he's not a rebel.” Caesar says with what's supposed to be a comforting smile.

Your eyes open and you nod, wiping away stray tears, “And I'm just reminding everyone how badly we need a ceasefire, to stop all of this. To stop the suffering and all that could come.” Your smiling again, so forced it looks like it hurts and you're rubbing your necks until it's red, "Ceasefire, ceasefire, ceasefire is important.” It's like you're chasing a thought you're being forced to remember.

“Yes, a ceasefire is important." Caesar nods, "Well a big thank you to the Capitol Princess for her message here today.” Your smile drops as you nod at the camera before it cuts and Finnick has been once again abandoned with his thoughts. 

What are they doing to you to convince you to say things you would never believe? How sweet you are for insisting upon his innocence anyway you can, he misses you more than home, the ocean, the feeling of fresh air in his lungs, the sun shining down on his face, he would happily live without it all if you could just be here, with him. You'd looked so exhausted and he misses being able to hold you, keep you warm so you could rest and feel safe when you did. He longs to see your genuine smile, the way your eyes would soften and the way your nose crinkled when you laughed.

A fantasy he can drive himself into before the anger can fall back into place, how he needs to hijack something so he can rescue you. He'd rage to President Coin herself if he could force her to do it, but they barely even let him out of the hospital wing. He's sobbing again, calloused hands trying to clear his face of the tears. Maybe they think he hasn't seen it, so they aren't worried about his reaction, they probably assume he's sleeping or focused on tying his knots, but it's just the eye of the hurricane. He can only stain the plain, scratchy sheets with his tears for so long before the hysteria will return. But for now he can mourn. He can hate himself, wish the rope was long enough to let him leave, and wish you could've both just chosen to be together in death. It would've been better then torture he's going through now. How there's not a second he can't focus on you, what he misses, what he dreads could be happening to you, the dreams of your future.

Dreams where you could be at home, surrounded by friends and family having the traditional District 4 wedding, sea shanty's and all. Where there was no fear that Snow would manipulate the games to force your children to be spectacles so you'd had children, as many as you wanted. Who you'd take to the beach, teach them about the animals, teach them to swim, and be the family he knows deep down you'd both have wished for. There'd been a glimpse where that was possible and then there'd been the impending doom that it wasn't. That instead it would be the wish he had when they told him you were dead.

Death. You. The idea that death could creep up with its slender hands and drag you away into the cavernous pit, that would leave him forever alone. He'd gratefully dig the claws of death into himself to bring you back or lay with you in the lowest parts of the cliffs forever. Death. You. Him. Freedom. Chains broken, no more threats, no more needs, just the end with you. 

Instead he needed to face the brazen winds to return you to his arms. You'd looked so cold and he missed being able to warm you, for you to cool him down. He had to get you back and the frenzy was back. Finnick was back on his feet, tearing himself from the bed, not giving a care to the things around him, if they fell to the floor it was something else out of his way. This commotion did alert the medics close by and Finnick was instantly trying to run by them.

“We have to save her, I need to save her!” He urged, but they were used to his antics. They'd long ago retrieved the manpower required to overpower him when he got like this. That didn't mean he still wouldn't fight, he still had the strength it took to shove most of them off, react violently when they got their hands on him, and struggle when eventually a larger group had their arms on him, ready to sedate once again. Maybe that was a good thing though, it allowed him to fully focus all of his thoughts on you and everything you two had. 

             𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

He was early, but he didn't care, well he kind of did when he paced by the cobblestones not far from your house wondering when he should knock. Wicker picnic basket being moved between each of his hands, careful not to hit the bouquet of flowers he was holding, as he anxiously counted down. Finnick knew he said noon, but did that mean five minutes before would be the right time to show up? 10 minutes? Exactly at noon? He wasn't used to feeling this anxious, he'd adopted a suave personality for Panem to gobble up that had become nearly effortless, but now he wanted desperately for you to ignore that and just be perfect.

The gift he had for you weighed heavy in the pocket of his shorts. He wanted to give it to you, he hoped you'd like it because he really wanted to see that smile that he'd daydreamed about again. He checked his watch, 13 minutes, and the worry was still there. Would you be scared off if you looked outside to see him waiting so early or would you find it sweet? What if you were inside anxiously waiting for him because you doubted it was real, because you wanted it to be genuine, and he reasoned from what he did know it was probably the correct assumption. You were too full of self-doubt, of an unspoken want to be seen, to be realized, and he wanted nothing more than to really comprehend each intricate detail that made you, you. 

‘Fuck it,’ He told himself when he made his way up the cracked cement, the grass and weeds peeking through. All the way up the two steps on your crickety porch, light blue paint peeling away to reveal the rotting chunks of wood. Slowly he tapped his knuckles on the wooden door, hoping the knocks didn't seem aggressive, but were enough to gain attention. Since when had he worried about the way his knocks were perceived? Only to gain a chance to perceive you.

The door creaked open and there you were, glowing in another beautiful sundress. “Hi!” Your smile was enough to wash away most of his anxieties even if your own voice seemed riddled with them, he despised the fact you felt anything less than sure of yourself, then sure of his interest in you. 

“Good morning, angel." Morning? Afternoon? Did he care which one was more accurate, did you? Finnick pulled on his dazzling smile, feeling like he was swept up by you.

He pulled the bouquet up, "Um, I got these for you.” You stared at them for what felt like an eternity and made him blush, scared he'd misread something,"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I just-”

"They’re for me?” Features so soft it made his heart want to melt already, even the smile was so sweet and fond.

“Yeah, they're for you. These ones just reminded me of you." He wasn't about to say he'd spent hours at Mags this morning trying to pick the perfect flowers from her garden that he thought you would not only adore, but that gave off your very essence.

“They're perfect." You said in a soft amazement,"Really perfect.” Your fingers brush through them before you're ever so gently taking them from him,"Thank you.” 

Flowers were definitely a win, something that could rely on for you to adore. “Of course, sweet girl." You smiled as you smelled the flowers and he concluded that you didn't get many gifts, even one's as easy as that. He'd plant garden after garden to keep you smiling like that. You shut the door and it clicked behind you as you stepped towards him, porch creaking.

“Really, thank you, Finnick." To his surprise you hugged him and how cold you were was almost as shocking, you had such a warm, inviting aura that it was hard to imagine the icincess of your skin. Yet he melted into it, he'd always been so warm that it was nice to have something to contradict that, like when he went for his early morning swim. You smelled the peaches and the ocean, it was delightful and an aroma he'd always want to remember. He longed for your touch to return the moment you pulled away and suddenly he was just hot again. He must have stood there staring and longing for a while because your melodic voice stopped this, “So, are we planning on standing here all day?”

“No, no sorry!" He shook his head, breaking into a nervous chuckle as he tilted his head to the side. You laughed as you began walking down the rickety steps and he followed. “How was dinner?" Maybe he was jealous, he shouldn't be, there was really no good reason to be, but he was.

You looked at Finnick for a moment, confused, like it hadn't quite processed in your brain. “Oh, yes! It went well!"

“What'd his sisters have for you?" The fond look you gave him for remembering a small moment in a conversation made his heart swell and he swore he'd remember everything about you. 

“We like to try and find the prettiest things in the sand, seashells, sea glass, things like that and we all have little collections from each other. They're sweet."

“You're sweet."

“How would you know that, you don't know me." You said, fingers playing the flowers and trying to keep watch on the ground. The cobblestone was uneven, broken, crumbling apart and very just a tripping hazard.

“As you keep reminding me, it doesn't change the fact that you're sweet. ” He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. His free hand slides into his pocket, “Saw something else that reminded me of you." He pulls out a necklace, something a vendor had made of shining seashell fragments and the occasional pearl, but something about it just seemed so much like you.

“Finnick." Your steps halted and he did the same,"I don't need you to buy me things.” 

"I know, I want to buy you things.” The necklace dangled from his fingers, glistening in the rays of sun.

"But I don't have anything for you, so it's not-”

"You don't have to get me anything, I'm just spending time with you and I want to do it. Not because I feel obligated too, but because I like you.” Finnick reassured, this didn't have to be transactional, he just wanted to show you he paid attention, he cared. 

You closed your eyes and sighed before nodding, “Okay."

“Unless you don't like it, in which case you should tell me now for future reference.” 

“No, no, that's not what I mean, I mean I do, I just-"

“Need to get better at accepting gifts?" He finished, raising an eyebrow.

You scoffed, “I'm good at accepting gifts!" There was a beat of silence where the two of you both stared at each other, him with his brow still arched quizzically, before the two of you burst into laughter. “Sorry, that's not true."

“I can tell!" When the laughter had somewhat subsided, he took another step towards you, lifting the necklace slightly, “Here, let me help you." He was thankful for another chance to let his fingers ‘accidentally’ brush against the skin of your neck and be cooled by it.

His nimble fingers secured the clasp, "This seems to keep happening to us.” You said, trying not to bristle when his warm hands did in fact make slight contact with yours.

"Maybe I'm just a mastermind.” His voice was so close to your ear as he gave himself an extra second of touch before forcing himself to step back.

"Or maybe you're full of yourself." You turned back around to face him before the two of you continued on the walk.

Finnick shrugged, “Two things can be true."

“Maybe not those two." He felt like a lost puppy dog who'd trail behind you, at your beck and call, every single time you spoke. It was terrifying, bone chilling, to think he'd become infatuated from afar and now it was like he'd been bewitched. As if your aura had its own siren song attached to allure his own in and he'd gladly crash his ship on the rocky shores for you. Yet the fear was combated with the fact that you, the core of you, was closer to the shine of the lighthouse, guiding him to safety. A thin line between destruction and refuge.

Banter has easily continued until he'd finally led you to the beach locked behind the gates of Victors Village, its view was truly breathtaking. He laid out the blanket on the warm sand, picnic basket on top, and you'd already been rid of your sandals. You stood, arms out as the breeze blew through your arms, inhaling the salty air and Finnick would've sworn you were some type of ethereal blessing gifted to the Earth from the ocean itself. Slowly he lifted the lid on the wicker basket, “Here." He said, holding up a peach.

You opened your eyes to look over and he could see the instant surprise on them as you sat down, “Finnick!" You didn't take it from him, just put your hands around it to draw it closer as you smelled it like you weren't sure it was real. “Oh my god!" You exclaimed when you caught a glimpse of the bag of peaches within the basket. 

“Thought it might convince you to not barter the necklace." He chuckled as if he hadn't been certain he'd buy the whole array of peaches to see you smile and hear your laugh, to see the spark in your eyes. 

You paused to touch the necklace, suddenly serious, “I wouldn't do that." Your eyes were so gorgeous, so addictive, so kind. The type of eyes he wanted to gaze into until everything else had faded away. Every piece of art, every sunset, every sunrise, every star’s beauty lessened in comparison. “Finnick Odair, you can't be real." That shining smile had returned and he couldn't help but follow in your footsteps to give one back. “Seriously, you have to tell me what's wrong with you before I become too attached."

Finally you took the peach from his hand to bite into it, “Afraid I can't tell you yet, angel, scared you'd run away on me.” His tone was light enough to be a joke, but deep down he knew he'd never be able to tell you about the things that he felt the most self-loathing for, how self-destructive he could be would be something he'd try to keep you away from.

"Well you've already got me; hook, line, and sinker.” When you smiled and spoke, your nose would scrunch up in what he imagined was the most adorable thing possible. You stopped taking bites and quietly sat on the bed, observing him.

"No need to stare, I'm staying right here.” 

"Oh my god, I could kiss you.” He wasn't even sure if you'd processed the words as you stared at him longer before your brain finally seemed to register what you'd said. The look of shock had barely begun to pass your face when he decided he'd just kiss you instead. Perhaps it was all too fast, a day for him to be tasting the peach on your lips, for his fingers to be on your cold face besides the slight warmth on your cheeks. Whirlwind romances were either tragedy's or a fairytale, so time would have to tell, but maybe it should've been a sign. The ending could be uncertain as it liked, but he was sure your souls were yoked in the first ocean tides to bless the world.

His nostrils filled with the scent of peaches and the salt air you had meshed with how you tasted like the peaches, once again, and vanilla. So calming, like he was being softly rocked in the waters, nothing less than perfect. When he finally pulled away from you all he wanted to do was be enveloped by the taste once again. You looked so flustered and taken aback, it was so precious to him. “I beat you to it, this time." Cocky smirk even if he was slightly breathless.

You nodded at him slowly with your eyes wide, like all thoughts had been taken from your head. Finnick would've said something else if it weren't for the refreshing chill of your hands grabbing his face to pull him in for another kiss. He'd never get sick of peaches when they reminded him so much of you, if he was ever to be away he'd spend his time learning endlessly about them just to feel near. Although it couldn't compare with the way your lips molded to his so easily. Then there were your hands in his hair, something he usually couldn't stand, but when it was your gentle hands he couldn't find it anything but endearing. Eventually you'd pulled away as well, chest heaving, yet it was like you couldn't say a thing. Faces and bodies mere inches from each other as you stared at each other, listening to each other breathe.

Suddenly you were quickly removing yourself from him, running forward in the sand. “Where are you going?" Finnick called after you, somewhat terrified he'd scared you off. But you turned back to him smiling like you hadn't a care in the world.

“Swimming!" You shed yourself of the sundress to be just left in the swimsuit you wore underneath, “Are you coming?" Now it was Finnick's to scramble up, chasing you towards the water.

You must have spent hours swimming, like there was no other world except the now. He'd swim under the water, scaring you when he'd pull at your ankle and you'd fight back by trying to dunk him under the moment he bobbed to the top. This was usually unsuccessful as he'd simply drag you down with him, except when he wanted you to feel like you had succeeded. He'd randomly lift you from the waters and you'd screech for him to put you down and once or twice he'd used it as an excuse to kiss you again. After hours of similar actions the sound of the waves hitting the shore was the only thing that could be heard as you both waded to stay afloat. 

Finnick stared out at the horizon, “I want to take you sailing when I get back."

“When you get back from what?" You asked, looking at him. Suddenly he was flooded with guilt, here he was dragging you along when he couldn't even be fully yours or honest about it. But he wanted to be with you so bad and for now that was all he had to cling onto.

It didn't mean he could look at you when he tried to explain it, so he looked down into the waters, “I'm supposed to leave for the Capitol tomorrow, just Victor related things.” He mumbled, shrugging off the mention.

"Oh, okay.” You didn't sound actually upset, "When will you be back?”

"A week at the most.” He peeked up at you through his eyelashes surprised to see you didn't look upset either, at most a little dejected that you wouldn't see him for so long.

"Well, we better have a killer party then to end all of this off, make sure you don't forget me.” You teased, raising your eyebrows.

"I could never forget about you… but you're not upset?"

You shot him a quizzical look, “Why would I be upset, we all have responsibilities, even if they come with different territory.” You shrugged and nearly fell backwards when he pressed his lips to yours again, steadying your back when you began to fall backwards. You had to be an angel who'd been sent to keep him sane and grace him, but a darker side of him urged him to realize he didn't deserve someone as understanding as you.

“You're so perfect." His arms held you and he looked at you with nothing less than amazement.

“I'm definitely not."

‘You’re perfect for me, we're perfect together,’ Finnick thought as he looked at you, water droplets running down your skin, breathing hard from all the excursions, eyes sparked with their usual twinkle and so many hidden thoughts he wanted to dive into. He accepted the conclusion that the only reason he would be feeling all this so fast would be because you were destined to be, all the stars had aligned for this moment, and the oceans had moved mountains to ensure this lifetime was no different. If you were Eurydice he had been your Orpheus, the Dante to your Beatrice, you would have been the Penelope to his Odysseus, regardless of any fate he knew there was never a life where you'd not been irrevocably bound together. 

             𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You were going to be rescued, saved from the Capitol's grasps, and what had brought elation at first was quickly ruined when he learned that he couldn't help rescue you. He wasn't quite yet considered mentally stable enough for it, even if slowly he'd been able to mask it all better. Instead he had to stay in District 13 and do nothing but beg the universe to return you to him. Hadn't there been enough tragedy in your short lives? Hadn't there been enough tragedy in every other ending, in every other life? They should've let him brave death to bring you back, it would've settled him more then the torture of not knowing. Especially since he'd caught every airing you'd had from the Capitol which made him grateful that Katniss had wagered for your immunity. Snow had you begging for ceasefire, showing off outfits to parade, as if there wasn't a textile shortage, and it broke him when you seemed to be getting less sure of questions regarding him, regarding you. Then had been when Peeta announced the planned attack on District 13 and seeing you scream when he was violently attacked for the warning. A scream that would have forced Finnick to be sedated if it weren't for the more impending doom of the bombs. 

Katniss was filming a distraction propo about Peeta, how he'd saved her, loved her from the beginning. It was intimate, but apparently not enough for Plutarch who was calling Finnick over. Or maybe he's thought of something when Katniss mentions Snow's own admission of the Capitol's fragility.

“The Capitol is fragile, Snow is fragile, if we can manage to make a major blow to that, it could take their focus off of the prisoners. Force them to focus on damage control instead." Plutarch explains.

“And you want me to say something that could do that?” Finnick looks down at his rope, you'd never been able to master the butterfly knot, and he can imagine himself going over it again to try and teach you.

“If you have anything worth sharing." Of course everyone knows he does, among the elite, the powerful, the other victors it's just an open secret. “It could help us save her."

"But you don't have to open that up, there's no guarantee it'll do anything.” Haymitch argues, he's been forced into sobriety and has maintained his aggression. 

“I have something, more than one." Finnick finally says once he's completed his knot and Plutarch can't hide how pleased he is with this outcome. Finnick swears he can hear the blood draining from his face and the nausea rising in his stomach as each second passes, but he persists to stand in front of the cameras.

"You don't have to do this.” Haymitch reiterates.

"Yes I do, if it'll help her.” There's no other option, if the only thing that stopped you from being safely brought to District 13 was the lack of a good distraction, he'd find a way to get a longer rope. He undid the knot before balling it tightly in his hand, “I'm ready." Finnick says to the camera crew and he thinks of you. He turns off any physical sign of emotions he may have because he knows if he doesn't it would lead to another damaging spiral.

The cameras click on and he's given the all clear to begin, “President Snow used to… sell me… my body, that is. I wasn't the only one.” Far from it, and Finnick wanted revenge for all of them, for him, for you, for Cashmere, for everyone Snow had forced into his scheme. "If a Victor is considered desirable, the President gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love.” What had happened to Johanna, what he'd been terrified would happen to you when you'd first been together. “I wasn't the only one." He repeats and this time it really is for you, for how much he had to watch it break you. The nightmares, how long it took for you to accept any form of physical contact, how even years after it still affected your own intimacy with each other. They stole it all, your girlhood, most of your spark, whatever they could they ravaged from you like vultures on a corpse. Wasn't the prize of winning supposed to be life? “But I was the most popular. And perhaps the most defenseless because the people I loved were so defenseless." Finnick would never have mentioned this to you, but he'd begged Snow to give him more rather than give you any. The President had said you were too popular for none, but had given you less than what you could've had in exchange for even more of Finnick's time, his so-called uses. “To make themselves feel better my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry, but I found a much more valuable form of payment. Secrets.”

That's why he was such a threat to Snow, he knew too much, he needed to be silenced, but he hadn't and now he could tell all of Panem each one. “And this is where you're going to want to stay tuned, President Snow because so very many of them were about you. But let's begin with some of the others.” And prominent name after name spewed off of his tongue. It felt like he was dropping chains off of his body to reveal them to the nation. Each one more heinous than the next, “And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow. Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you must ask yourself, did he do it? One word. That's all you really need to know. Poison." More names, victims of Snow's climb to power, the elite he trampled so he could trample the weak. Suddenly he's on fire, Finnick can't stop thinking about all the pain it caused you, about how it ruined his own childhood and life, how Johanna lost everyone she loved, how Cashmere worked so hard to protect her brother only for them both to be dead and he's so very detailed. Ensuring that it can't be swept under the rug and it's so harrowing that no one cuts the camera even when he's stopped speaking. There's too much shock, too much intensity, "Cut.” Finnick eventually intervenes.

Finally the stupor is over and people rush to air the footage, Plutarch is making endless comments that Finnick can't comprehend when he's so lost in his own head. Auto-pilot took control for most of the day, he tied knots until his fingers bled. You would've scolded him and bandaged them up, insisting it's why you didn't care for them even if you loved pouting for him to help you just so he could be so close by. Then he's got his arms wrapped around his knees, the day has been too slow, what if you were dead and he'd have no idea until they arrived and he would be at peak hope.

“Did you love her right away, Finnick?" Katniss' voice finally pulls him away from the endless myriad of thoughts.

“Not for the years when I knew of her and then I don't know what changed. She was just so herself in every way and I knew I wanted to just speak with her at least, but once I had a taste of it, yes. Like I'd been knocked over by a wave with it. For a while she didn't understand, but I didn't either, I just knew that there was no else for me." He feels like he's tearing up again when Haymitch rushes into the room.

“They're back. We’re wanted in the hospital. That's all I know." But Finnick feels like he can't move, he realizes he's scared of what you'll be like now. The Capitol had taken the you with her free-spirit and love of being in the moment and made her hate that she was able to breathe oxygen, which he'd so diligently worked to prove you were worthy of. Now they'd had you again, a version that was already hurt, untrusting, and self-destructive, and he couldn't imagine what they could have done to you now. Katniss is softly grabbing his hand to guide him upwards and he feels robotic. She guides him through the winding, gray hallways to the hospital wing. It's not until he can hear your screams that his brain clicks back into action. He has a responsibility to you, one of care, of love, of support in your weakest moments.

He's screaming your name as he runs from Katniss, searching for you desperately. Then he spots you on a hospital bed, pushing off the doctors trying to take care of you. Finnick needs to just be there with his soft words, let you know they're trying to help, so you'll stop. But that's not what happens when you hear his voice or see him. “Angel!" Your panicked screams become more shrill when you see him and in his confusion he steps closer, “It's just me." His voice is more broken then he wanted it to sound, more dejected.

“Get him away from me!" You're frenzied, scrambling to get out of the hospital bed or as far away in it as you can. The doctors are trying to reassure you as you scratch, and kick, and hit, and scream, begging for them to keep you safe from him. He feels the doctors trying to lead him away, hears Johanna laughing harshly in the background noise, but he's frozen. Your head is banging on the metal back of the bed which rattles. “Please, please.” You're sobbing and they're staying to sedate you, "He wants me dead, you don't get it, he's gonna kill me.” 

And Finnick is once again determined to get hands on a much longer rope. 

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you so, so much for reading I am so sorry this took me so long! I hope you enjoyed it and as always feedback, comments, likes, reblogs are all much appreciated. my ask box is always open and currently so are requests which I'm working through! love you all and thank you again 💋

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[sweetpupii]

i don't mean to say this in a "omg I'm so her lol XDD I'm so crazyyy" way, I hate that, I mean it in a "holy shit that's accurate" way. ( it also won't make sense bc I'm having trouble remembering some things about the series )

I genuinely love how jinx is written in arcane because they made aspects of her mental illness so real.

and I'm not talking just from her deep, deep depression in season 2 act 3 ( I think ); I'm talking about how she was clearly very unstable since she was a child. hitting herself while crying and destroying the stuff she was proud of after realizing that it wasn't enough for others. the hurt of being told by the person she trust the most that she's not ready yet, the way it confirmed what mylo said about her being a jinx and messing everything up.

she, in her own innocence and want of proving herself, willingly climbed up the building she knew vander and the others were at.

then, after all that happened, one might thing she's used to hallucinations—by the way she talks to them like they're actually there, but no. you can't fully get used to it. you can see it by the way she has to stop and try her best to push it aside and not be affected by the stuff she hears and sees because it makes her unable to think on her own.

sometimes it gets so hard to understand they're not real. I mean, you know that it's in your head but why does it feel so real? why am I hearing their voice like they're sitting right next to me? why does it make me feel like this?

I also like that they make the hallucinations sound like actual hallucinations. in my case it also sounds like memories sometimes and not just the aggressive, hateful whispers most movies represent them as. it's not always a voice telling you to kill yourself !!

you can see them progressively get more and more overwhelming as her life gets worse while finding out stuff that brings back painful stuff from the past. mylo who was simply a voice now is also fully visual. hunting her down on every thought.

and don't get me started on the psychotic episodes.

season two was just WOAH.

the way you can feel the emptiness just by looking at her eyes is amazing. you can see and feel how numb she is and how she stops trying.

her life seemed to start getting better. she had vander, vi, isha and even sevika had a better relationship with her but like everything in her life it all went to shit.

doesn't matter how but she's always finding a way to give up. even at the cell she's starving herself to death, scratching on her skin and then attempting on her life like she has probably done countless times.

I wanna clarify that self harm is not only about physically damaging yourself, is also about putting yourself through triggering stuff on purpose or staying in a place you know hurts you. forcing something with someone who only makes you miserable might also count.

I felt it so deep in my heart when she tells vi that she can stop worrying now, that she shouldn't feel guilty and be happy. her expression alone shows you how she's also carrying the blame for many things, if not all that happened.

seeing suicide as the only way to stop being a burden and keep causing trouble is such a real thing to have in my mind and it made me bawl my eyes out.

at the end when she finally understands that she's the only one than can break the cycle, just like silco ( or well, her mind ) told her, you can see peace on her face that you can't see in any other moment. after all she went through she was able to know that maybe it's not that they don't want her near or she's burden, maybe she's the one who wants to cut ties and live another life away from the past and all the things that hunt her down constantly.

a new beginning that she saw impossible.

[livesworthlivingau]

Two Hats Lore Drop/Chapter -1?

So I decided that Two Hats went a liiittle bit differently in my fic, mostly because some things always kinda bothered me about it, like how even with craft exhaustion Loop is FAR too easy to fight, and that Siffrin would just kill them without hesitation basically. So I've decided to rewrite the fight portion! the lead up to it, and the post fight scene of Loop winning are still accurate to canon, but the in between went a bit different, most of the lines were kept though, albeit a little altered. Hope you enjoy my own rendition of Two Hats! CW: Blood, violence, mental spirals, suicidal ideation, and all the usual two hats CW implications.

-"Let's fight, you and I! Let's have a cute, miniscule, old-fashioned little fight like a bonded couple. Okay~?"

(You stare silently... You can't find the words to say... to imagine everything that Loop went through, to imagine where you would be right now if Loop weren't there to guide you...)

"Ha... Nothing to say, still? Haha... HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! STARS, killing you will make me SO HAPPY." (You watch as for a split second, their form blinks away into yours, before flashing right back. You stumble back a step.)

"Are you ready?" (You open your mouth to protest-)

"No, you don't get a choice! We're doing it!!! Let's go, Stardust~~~~~~!!!!!!" (Loop draws their weapon, their eyes showing a bright smile across their face... You can't tell if this one is fake anymore.)

"Let's just get right to it." (You hesitantly reach for your dagger. You don't want to fight them, you CAN'T fight them! Not to mention you're still exhausted from everything. Your body feels heavy, sluggish, weak... You slip your dagger from it's sheath, hoping you won't actually have to use it.)

(Loop takes a deep breath, as if to prepare themself for what's to come, before suddenly lunging towards you. You just barely managed to deflect it in time, but you're sent sliding back a few feet.)

"What's the matter Stardust, too tired for a little squabble~?" (They tease in that familiar tone, though much more manic now. Their eyes staring at you, wide, crazed, almost feral... You have to defend yourself, but... but you can't bring yourself to attack them. What if they're right?... I stole their happy ending... do I deserve this?...)

"Come now Stardust, it's no fun if you won't FIGHT BACK!!!" (They shriek as they lunge for you again, deflecting it just in time, only for your dagger to be sent flying out of your hands and onto the grass. You fall backwards and onto the ground, looking up at them and sliding back a couple feet.)

(Loop simply stares at you, nodding their head towards your dagger... They want you to fight back... they want to earn this... You try to craft a speed bonus, Make Up The Time. A wave of nausea rushes over you as you can't quite manage to produce it. Right... Craft Exhaustion... You slowly grab your dagger, watching Loop cautiously, getting back to your feet. They simply watch before giving a smirk once you're standing again.)

"You know, in a way, I am so very proud of you! You did so good, Stardust~! I am so proud, Stardust~! The Universe brought you to victory~! It only had to lead, and you followed~! And I suppose, what the Universe wanted from me, was to just shut up and take it! Everyone's favorite cosmic joke~! Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!"

(They suddenly rush forward again, you're not fast enough this time, their dagger slices across your shoulder. You let out a cry of pain as your hand goes to cover the wound, dark fluid slowly oozing out from under your hand.)

"From main character," (They take a wide slice at you, easily avoiding it. They're just thrashing about, not really trying to hit you yet.)

"To stage director," (Slice)

"To sponsor," (Slice)

"To CORPSE!" (ACK! That last lunge caught you off guard, slicing across your chest. You stumble back again, panting, shaking, the adrenaline pumping through you helps numb the pain and exhaustion, likely the only reason you're still on your feet.)

"... The king... It took me dozens, hundreds, thousands of loops, just so I could beat him a single time, did you know that? No matter how hard I tried, the King always defeated me." (Loop stares at the wound they'd left on your chest, still tightly gripping their dagger with their arms hanging at their sides. After another moment they snap out of it, that bright, fake smile visible across their eyes once more.)

"And yet, look how easily you beat him, your first time! Oh, you may think it was easy, but just seeing you succeed... I was so blindingly angry!!! Why did you manage to beat him this easily?! What kept me from defeating him?!? What script was I following that kept me from victory?!? IS THAT WHAT THE UNIVERSE WANTED FROM ME?!? THE UNIVERSE, THE STARS, THE KING... OUR COUNTRY... I HATE THEM ALL!!! I HATE THEM!!! THEY CAN ALL DIE!!!"

(They rush towards you again, you spot an opening, you have to fight back! You have to stop this! You grip your dagger tighter, ducking below their strike and slashing across their chest, you don't want to hurt them, but you have to do something to defend yourself.)

(They stumble some, gripping the wound on their chest, looking down at it, then back up at you... Their eyes twitch, looking raving mad at this point... They start to laugh... laugh and laugh and laugh, growing into a manic cackle, then practically screaming in a fit of hysteria. They lift their dagger, stabbing it into the star emblazing their chest. You stare in horror for a moment before...)

(Rewind SFX)

(Loop stands before you, their right eye glowing that visceral shade now, the wounds gone, just as if they never happened.)

"What? Surprised you're not the only one who can loop back? Did you already forget my little sob story~? I guess that's what you do best, isn't it, FORGET?!"

(Loop Just Attacks you, guarding just in time to avoid serious damage, but you're still blasted back several feet. Your heels dig into the ground as they skid across. You huff out heavily, your vision going hazy, you don't know how long you can keep this up...)

"... I finally saw your party, earlier. I did really well, this whole time. Made sure they never saw me. Made sure I never saw them. Those pale copies of the party I knew. I didn't want to see them, ever again. Didn't want to know. Hah, can you believe, I forgot their names, for a time? Despair and trauma does that to you, sometimes, doesn't it?... But... I had to talk to them, didn't I? I was ready to tell them everything... Tell them who I was, what happened to me, that they had to go after you... And yet... And yet, when they saw me... It was like they were looking at a stranger... Can you imagine how it feels, Stardust?..."

(Loop trails off, staring down at their dagger... your dagger... coated in your own blood. They glance back up at you, their eyes filled with pure, seething rage. You take a couple steps back, tears forming in your eye... You can't do it anymore... you can't fight back...)

"I loved them... I loved them... I loved them...!!! And yet, they didn't recognize me!!! Didn't remember me!!! Because, it never happened to me, did it? It happened to you!!! You're the one who got their perfect ending!!!!!! This... remembering the times I spend with them, when they can't remember me, this is worse! This is worse than forgetting!!!!!! I wish I could forget, Stardust!!!!!! Ooooh, Stardust, do you know how this feels? Can you imagine it? DO YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS, TO KNOW THAT SOME COPY OF YOU WON, AND YOU'RE LEFT WITH NOTHING?!? MIRABELLE... ISABEAU... ODILE... BONNIE...!!!!!! THEY WERE MINE, THEY WERE MINE, THEY WERE MINE!!!!!! THEY WERE MINE FIRST!!!!!!

AND YOU STOLE THEM FROM ME!!!!!!"

(Loop is right... You stole it all from them... You didn't earn it, you don't have the right to claim it, you're just a thief... Loop runs at you, dagger ready to strike once more. You stand still, dropping yours to the ground and closing your eye tight... accepting whatever comes next.)

(With a flash of pain, you're knocked to the ground. In another moment, Loop is above you, hands on your neck. They'll kill you, you know they will.)-

-------------------------------------------

[chiefdirector]

Remembering | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten

tw: some suicidal thoughts referenced (one sentence)

-----

“What do you know about your case worker, Kade Sullivan?” Grey said, still keeping his gaze on (Y/N) despite her looking away and back through the glass to watch Tim questioning Diaz. “We believe that he may have had some involvement into how Regina Diaz got to a position to leverage both you and the department.”

“Right. I never really saw Sullivan. He stayed away from me. I met him once, maybe twice. He likes to keep a professional distance.” She slowly answered. 

Grey lifted his coffee cup up and took a small sip. “You’re a good judge of character, (Y/N). Did anything seem off about him? I know it was a while back but anything helps.”

“He seemed a bit odd, nervous even. But I put it down to him being paranoid about the operation. I mean it can’t be easy for these caseworkers to not have consistent contact with their UC’s.”

“What do you mean? Did you not check in with him daily?”

“No.” (Y/N) said, looking down. Now that she said it out loud, it was strange that Kade never requested to check in with her and Williamson often. “He wanted weekly check-ups. He never said why though.”

“Is there anything else? At all because the more you can remember, the less leverage Regina will have to bargain with us.”

“I’m sorry, Wade. I really am. I can have a look through some of my journals from that time, I think Tim kept them.”

Grey nodded his head. “Please. I guess it’s now down to Tim.”

-----

“Hello Officer Bradford, I’m glad to see you back in here again after your break. You kept me waiting for longer than I had hoped.” Regina said, posed as a wall of confidence as she had done during every other talk with the detectives. “I found it rather rude.”

“Not my problem.” Tim retook his seat opposite her. He had stepped out when Regina had started to get irate with him, he needed her as calm and rational, well as rational as a drug queen-pin could be, before he could get anything viable from her. 

He remembered the day he had arrested her, how helpless and frightened she seemed. She was backed into a corner, but now she had a fighting chance and by God did she know it. “You wanted a deal. Let me say this one more time. Tell us about Kade Sullivan and I’m sure the District Attorney will be nicer to you.”

Regina smirked. “No. I have something you want. So I lay out the terms. You know what I want after our… exchange but I want something first. I think that is only fair, considering your situation.”

“My situation?”

“Oh you know. How (Y/N)‘s being back in LA will cause some problems for you and your colleagues.” Regina watched, laughing softly as Tim’s face twisted in confusion. “You really think that just because I’m sitting in handcuffs that I wouldn’t follow through on my threat.”

“Whatever it is, call it off. Now!”

“How about you do something for me first, Officer Bradford. Quid Pro Quo.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

“I want you to tell me how it felt two years ago when I forced (Y/N) to vanish. How it felt to lose your wife and not being good enough to find her.”

Of all the things he expected her to say, this was one of the last. He had thought that she would have asked to walk free, or a reduced sentence at the least, but she just wanted to relish in his pain. 

She wanted to know how numbing it felt for him to filter by day to day, his reason to carry on with each day painstakingly stolen from. She wanted to enjoy the powerlessness he had felt when each lead led to another heartbreaking dead end. She wanted him to be reminded of each day, and how they got more and more painful as time went past. Her demand was a reminder of the nights he would drink himself to sleep because that was the only way he could close his eyes and not see (Y/N) face in his mind.

It was a reminder of how he couldn’t look at daisies without crying, or enjoy music, or find a purpose. It was a reminder that he had become a hateful shell of who he used to be, and that even though she was back with him, he didn't know if he would ever get that piece of his former self back. It was a reminder of how he planned for an easy way out for himself if the grief got too bad.

Regina wanted to remind Tim that she had taken it all away before, and that she could take it all away again. And she wanted him to admit that.

“So, Officer Bradford. What will it be?”

Tim launched himself up so he could lean down on the table and over her, “You should know how I felt. It was probably the same way you did when your husband died when the LAPD raided one of his warehouses. I was there that day. I took him, so you took her. But I got my wife back, but your husband is still six feet under.”

“How dare you!” Regina screeched, as she rattled in the chains, trying to find her way out of the cuffs. For the first time since she had been arrested, she lost her well maintained composure.  

Tim took a step back from the table. “Thank you for cooperating. Prison transport will be here for you soon.”

“But what about our deal?! You won’t know what's coming without me.”

“I think we’ll be fine, Ms. Diaz,” Tim kept his back to her as he stopped at the door “because we now know that we were being hunted, so now we can prepare. So, thanks for the heads up. Enjoy prison.”

As soon as the door shut behind him, Tim leant against the door, trying to make sense of what had happened. Surely she was bluffing, they could monitor her calls and her visitation  to try to not allow her to give any command, but if she was as intelligent and conniving as she had presented herself to be, she would find a way around it. 

As he heard Grey and (Y/N) exit the observation room, he pushed himself off the door. Grey held himself strong, not showing any panic or concern at this stage, but his eyes darted in thought, clearly going over the possibilities of what could happen now. (Y/N) presented herself similarly, except her tell was the fiddling of her wedding band. She used to play with her engagement ring, but due to the dangers of the job and the possibility of it causing harm when in contact with a perp, she quickly replaced it with a plain wedding band, identical to Tim’s.

“So what now? You don’t really believe her, do you?”

(Y/N) moved to place her hand on Tim’s arm. “I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

“Then it’s settled,”  Grey said, “We hope for the best and plan for the worst.”

Part Ten | Part Twelve

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh  @kmc1989  @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e

Tags are open :)

[furiousgoldfish]

(tw mention of suicidal thoughts)

Alright so I am writing this because I can't find anyone to talk to, and my brain is letting me know that I need to talk about it somewhere.

I am falling depressed, and I'm unsure if it's genuine depression, or some sort of deep grief that is just feeling very similar. And I've already looked up what you're supposed to do if you're trying to break out of depression; I am sleeping full 8 hours on a regular sleep schedule, I shower regularly, I do my best to eat regular meals (sometimes it doesn't happen due to lack of energy), if I have any energy left in me, I take a little walk, I pay attention to my surroundings. I do my best to answer messages and to socialize, even superficially, with the people I see.

However, despite me doing all that, the deep feeling of sadness is persevering, in fact it gets worse after my walks, I end up going home in worse feeling of dread than before.

I was going to keep trying to break out of it, and then today something bad and triggering happened, and my mind just went very dark. Like what is even the point anymore? I started considering if anyone around me would be impacted by my suicide. And then just tried to dissociate from the bad thing that happened, tried to create reality in which it didn't. Like I could ignore it out of existence. Like maybe if I just curl up over there and never look at anything ever again, maybe then bad things would go away.

I tried to comfort myself thinking I could, at least, tell people around me and see if anyone would say anything kind or helpful, but people around me did not care at all, would go on about their troubles instead and looked at me like I was weirdo for complaining. Which again, made me feel like talking to people was the worst idea ever and like I was dumb for even engaging, I should have known I'm alone in this.

So now I'm back to sinking down in my grief, occasionally getting numb from it and sinking again. I had periods, years of grief in the past, and it just feels like you're slowly dying, right, and it doesn't stop and it feels suffocating and like you'd do anything for it to stop. But also in the past, I knew what I was grieving; it was the loss of my delusion of family, loss of hope that I will have family members who are in any way safe for me, loss of security and safety that comes with family, acknowledgment that I was abandoned and left with predators for the most of my life. I thought I was done grieving about all that, because for a while I just didn't think about it, and it didn't bother me. I don't think that's what I'm grieving now.

It's actually hard to pinpoint it, because my memories are mostly gone, but I think it's the loss of friendships in my life. I've tried hard to build connections with other people, even as scared and reluctant I was feeling about it, but it always fell trough, and left me feeling with less hope. The ends of friendships were so traumatic for me, that my memories of the entire friendships got deleted. And I can tell right now that hearing anything about people having friends, spending time together and helping each other, that usually sets my grief off, and causes me to start crying regardless of where I am. I tried to recall my past memories of friendships, but all I get back are things I never want to feel or live trough again. Every memory feels like enough reason never to interact with a person again, all of them cut so deep I have to dissociate from them right away.

And basically I don't know what to do. I am losing every bit of my willpower or energy to do anything. Even with my best efforts to stay upright, to interact with my environment and go to walks, I'm only out of bed while I'm working. And I'm randomly bursting into tears and collapsing while I'm doing my job. I am messing up basic tasks. There isn't any activity that isn't exhausting. And everything I cared about feels like nothing to me. I can't even imagine a future, which is usually what I did to pull myself out of bad moods, I would imagine a future where I had a home of my own, and security that I would be able to survive there without having to fight for my life. Now it feels like even if I had that, I would just still want to die.

I've been slowly falling into this place for months, but it is more real today than at any time before. I've put so much effort not to end up feeling like this but... it only makes me more sad to know I'm in this mess anyway. I don't know what to do. I've tried interacting with people, I've tried befriending people, every new interaction feels like it's going to drown me further.

[youling-the-ghost]

paralysed – a cliff & chip ficlet

TW: suicidal ideation When grief struck him, Cliff felt no sadness or anguish or anger, he simply felt...numb. (inspired by this edit by @i-may-be-an-emu) word count: 838

Cliff felt nothing.

Those words might feel like hyperbole, but they weren't.

Looking out the window, Cliff barely flinched as he saw a squirrel be reduced to a pile of blood and guts on the side of the road by some reckless driver. He should feel bad, he should want to rush out and cradle the squirrel in his hands and scramble to save it.

But he didn't.

He tried that once before; tried cradling her head, did everything he could to try and save her life, cried and screamed and begged. And yet here he was, sitting on the couch, the familiar weight in his lap no longer there.

Cliff took a sip of his drink. The tea had long since turned cold.

He wasn't sure when it started—last week, maybe? All he knew was that one night, he went to bed with tearstains on his pillowcase and woke up unable to cry.

His co-workers told him that it was a good thing, that he was finally moving on. Cliff tried to believe them.

"Dad?"

Cliff turned to look behind him. "Yes, Chip?"

Chip's eyes glossed over for a split second before they blinked back to normalcy and he said, "Um, I need you to drive me to school."

"Ah, yes, of course."

Chip was Marie-Claire's nickname for her darling son. For Cliff, his son was always "kiddo".

Cliff got up from his couch and looked at his son, his precious son that he once adored with his whole heart and more, his son who had Marie-Claire's eyes and Marie-Claire's smile and a hint of Marie-Claire's French accent when he talked. He felt no affection in his heart, even when he tried squeezing it dry.

Cliff grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

The steering wheel was cool against his hands. Cliff ignited the car and let the rumbling noises ring out.

"Um, dad?" Chip's squeaky voice piped up. "Your seatbelt..."

"Oh, right."

Frankly, Cliff didn't care to do up his seatbelt.

The seatbelt secured with a quiet click.

Chip stayed quiet as the car drove forward. Normally—no, formerly—Marie-Claire would blast rock music from the speakers and Chip would giggle at the songs that he recognised and Cliff would chuckle helplessly because he knew none of the songs. BBC News muttered some burglary case from the speakers.

Neither Cliff nor Chip knew how to connect their phones to the car speakers.

How unfair the world was, Cliff thought as the car approached a red light. So many rules and regulations and standard in place, just to ensure the safety of the people. And yet, one wrong move and it all comes crumbling down.

He could die right now, Cliff mused. There was nothing stopping him from letting go of the steering wheel and stepping on the gas pedal and crashing into some undeserving house.

But he didn't.

The school was visible through the light fog now. Cliff stepped on the brakes and stopped as a line of children marched down the crosswalk. He thought back to the squirrel. It was probably long dead by now, its skin cold and its eyes lifeless and its mouth curled into the slightest hint of a smile as it used the last of its strength to whisper—

Cliff sped back up as the children all made it safely to the other side. He drove into the drop-off zone and parked. Chip stayed silent the whole time.

"Take care, kid—Chip," he said as his son stepped out of the car with a backpack that was almost twice his size.

"Bye, dad," said Chip in a strained voice. Then he was gone.

Cliff sighed and turned his head back to the road.

Should he just leave?

It would be painful, his bones would hurt, but at least it would be something. He could be with his love again, and there would be no one in this realm to love him anyway. Cliff despaired at the way his heart didn't so much as clench at the idea of ending his own life.

"Wait!"

Cliff snapped his head up. It was Chip's voice.

There Chip was rushing towards him, his backpack swaying from side to side like a squirrel's tail as he did so.

"What's up, kiddo?" Cliff didn't catch himself that time.

Chip leaned through the car window and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I love you, dad," he said with a smile—one of those pure smiles that only a child could wear. And he was off again. Cliff watched as his son sprinted towards the main doors and was scolded by the principal for disdemeanour, and his heart clenched in affection.

He seemed to have forgotten about the one other person who loved him.

Cliff unparked the car and went on his path home. A squirrel obstructed his path, and he slowed down to let the rodent pass.

He will live. For Chip's sake, for Marie-Claire's sake, and, maybe one day, for his own sake too.

[little-bloodied-angel]

This morning I woke up and my right leg was screaming. The pain was so intense and brutal it was what woke me; I had to sink my teeth into my pillow and scream, too. Every cell from hip to knee is (yes, still) burning, liquid acid going through my veins; and the calf is strained and cramped and protesting the extra work as hard as it can.

I still had to use the bathroom; when I tried to stand up it buckled, like a lightning bolt went through it, and I went to the floor. Even just rotating in bed to get out was agonizing on my hip. My foot was numb, full of pins and needles for lack of proper circulation.

I limped there, dragging my leg behind, supporting my weight on the wall and gritting my teeth. The process of sitting down and standing up almost made me black out.

Over the sink, I looked at myself in the mirror and willed myself not to cry. When I came back into my room I caught sight of my medications on my bedside table, the myriad of pills I'll be taking for as long as I live. The Tramadol on top of them was mocking me, and I did cry then.

I remember everything my body could do. I remember flying. I remember the fall, too, the agonized animal screams that seemed to come from outside my body, the brutal audible SNAP of muscle and tendon, the bone against the hardwood, the hushed whisper-shouts of "get help -she can't move -she can't walk -god, her leg!"

The doctor's office and his placid smile as he told me I was "lucky" because my ACL didn't require surgery at the same time he delivered my death sentence, or what may as well been.

"A career in ballet is no longer an option for you".

I know he didn't understand how people who dance with the goals I did live and die for that dancing. He thought I was young and I'd find something else to do. I was young and a part of me died in that accident and I had to bury it.

I remember a different doctor, a different office, her worried face scanning my psychiatric history like she thought I'd kill myself right in front of her because of the diagnosis as she told me what I already knew.

"You have fibromyalgia. I'll prescribe medication to manage it, you have to be careful with it. But..."

But it'll never get better. You'll always hurt. It'll get worse. I already knew that. I just wanted someone to sign on it, because it turns out that when doctors perceive you as female, complaints of chronic pain tend to fall by the wayside, particularly if you have a history of mental illness. She took me seriously. She warned me about my leg, about what a flareup would do somewhere I'm already hurting all the time, and I kept myself from barking at her I fucking know, that's part of what it's been like for almost a decade because at least she believed me.

I mourned my body again, all the same.

I lay in bed gripping my thigh, trying to will the spasms down, trying to decide between yelling and sobbing, trying to figure out why: had I slept on it wrong? Was it the weather? It had hurt after walking too much on Monday, but not as much as I expected; a delayed reaction? It didn't matter, in the end; it wasn't going to take the pain away.

I thought of Izzy, as I tore my lips apart with my teeth to feel something that wasn't my damn leg. I thought of how real he felt, the tears and the screaming, the gritted teeth, the suicidal loss of identity. The loneliness. I thought of his stubbornness, his progress. How much both of those realities meant. How they thrashed it all, in one moment, and all but told us, the ones that feel like him, "when the desire to die comes back just do it. You've outlived what you were, so who you are has *had enough*", and my mouth tasted like blood for more than one reason.

He meant so much. He could have meant so much more. And we have to wipe the spit of this insult from our faces and carry on and accept it was part of a happy ending.

He might've forgiven it all; he was a character and you made him. I don't. I won't. I'm still here, with my pain and anger, and I refuse to die so the people who want me gone can live in peace. And I refuse to be quiet and accept that for a happy ending I should fade away.

If you can't understand this anger, at least don't insult me and others like me by telling us there's no reason for it.

I'm hazy with pain and aware that I'm rambling. But whatever I don't bleed in ink will poison me.

[darkfire359]

What could have been: sympathizing with Ed in season 2

I've talked before about how much I love Ed and all his complexity. I've written more fanfic about him and Izzy than any other characters, in my entire history of fandom. And unlike many people, I wasn't unprepared for the dark direction his arc took in season 2; I wanted him to commit MORE atrocities, and I happily made comparisons between him and another one of my favorite characters, Hannibal Lector.

But one of the key things I wanted after he committed atrocities was for him to feel bad about it. And I thought we'd see that! After all, S1 Ed was so tormented about killing his dad (who was abusive and violent towards) him that he never killed (directly) again! He was so broken up about trying to kill Stede in s1e6 that he ended up crying in a bathtub. Just like he cried in the window sill after committing all the kraken horrors in s1e10. It seemed like this was a guy scared of his own inner darkness, convinced he was a monster, who would go around saying things like "I'm not a good person" and "You were always going to realize who I am."

And so even when s2 went darker than anyone expected—when he cut off more of Izzy's toes, and shot him in the leg, and made crewmen fight to the death for experiencing love, and sailed the entire ship into a storm to murder-suicide his crew—I was still ready to accept all that moral ambiguity and give him a hug afterwards. Because of course, I figured that after Ed was brought out of that dark place and those suicidal urges, he would feel horrible remorse. How could he not?

I was looking forward to seeing him break down crying, convinced he was an irredeemable, unforgivable monster. (Which of course, would make it all the more touching when people inevitably did forgive him, and when he did redeem himself). Maybe Ed would even go too far with trying to atone, like in Mercy, one of my favorite post-s1 fics. Probably, I figured, Ed's quest for redemption would be one of the main themes in the second half of season 2.

So it was strange to watch e4, when Ed looked nothing but annoyed at everyone for chaining him up and banishing him, and then he went to hang out with his old friends like he'd done nothing wrong. When after the crew unanimously voted him out, Stede brought him back to the ship literally that same evening, and Ed saw no problem with that. Okay... maybe he's still processing?

Then e5 came, and that episode was about Ed's redemption. Yay! Except... Ed didn't seem to care? Other people made him wear the bag and the bell. He asked how long it'd take people to get over it, guessing "like a day." He gave an influencer-esque non-apology to the crew. He said "I took a man's leg" rather than calling Izzy by name. He literally doesn't remember the circumstances of pushing Lucius off the boat. He does ultimately give a real apology to Fang—for tormenting him years ago, rather than anything from his actual kraken era. I love e5 for the Izzy+Stede dynamic, but watching Ed be an unrepentant asshole here is painful. There is nothing about this that convinces me Ed wouldn't slide right back to being evil if Stede were to leave again.

And the thing is, it didn't have to be like this! We could have gotten Ed breaking down crying with guilt like in s1e6, and it would have made him much more sympathetic—not to mention the fact that Ed really is just an adorable cryer. Alternatively, we could have had some real deep diving about why Ed never apologizes (is he afraid of seeming weak?) or why he's so uncaring about others' pain (has he seen too many friends die over the years, to the point of going numb?)

By episode 6, it seems like most characters have moved on. Stede says something about Ed turning poison into positivity, which feels completely unearned. He pays for the party—but he'd previously tried to make the crew throw their cut of the loot into the ocean. He makes some attempts to best Ned and protect Stede, but Stede ends up saving the crew instead—from a pirate who only showed up in the first place because Ed was intentionally trying to piss him off. Ed is sad that Stede kills someone, and this would be a great time to again make Ed sympathetic! To have him talk about how he doesn't want that for Stede, because his own violence has weighed on him so deeply. But nope.

E6 does see Ed actually apologize to Izzy—and he's terrible at it. He's just like, "Sorry about your leg," makes no eye contact, and flees immediately afterwards. We do see some hints that this shitty apology isn't really indicative of Ed's true feelings, given how he has those flashbacks to the scenes of hurting Izzy seemingly haunting him; but it's very brief. It would be a great time to address Ed's horrific tendency towards conflict-aversion and avoiding awkward conversations in relationships—the same tendency that made s1 Ed never inform Izzy that the plan to kill Stede and the Revenge crew had changed. This would be another great opportunity to help us sympathize with Ed again—to have us see how it's not that he doesn't want to communicate these things, it's that these conversations are terribly stressful and anxiety-inducing for him. But nah, why would OFMD need to include those things for Ed?

E7 happens, and still nothing. If anything, there was a great opportunity for Ed to at least show himself to be a kind person to Stede—maybe nobly stepping in to save the day, even though he's annoyed that Stede's getting all this attention now. You know, like Stede did for him back in s1e5, when the situation was reversed. But nope, Ed runs off to be a fisherman, not having learned any of the earlier season's lessons about whims. He only stops being a fisherman because he's bad at it.

I was still hoping for something big in e8–some huge selfless, gesture that Ed would do to cover for all of his inability to do the little gestures. Ed is good at grand gestures! Swimming back to the ship after he left, then taking the Act of Grace in s1 was HUGE. Very selfless, very sweet! He could have done something like that for Izzy, Lucius, and the traumatized crew. Some kind of heroic gesture to help others more than himself. But nope. In some sense, Izzy dying is one of the greatest indications of Ed's wasted potential, because we narratively had a great opportunity for Ed to be able to save someone... but he didn't.

(Admittedly, Ed is not a complete dick here—he helps Izzy when he's limping, he says some genuinely apologetic stuff when Izzy's dying, and he finally gives Izzy his attention and care. But then after the funeral, he's still like "Well, that's that.")

It's so frustrating. It's not that I don't want to like Ed, or that I don't want to sympathize with him. I really, REALLY do! I don't even need Ed to successfully do anything to earn forgiveness! I'd take Ed trying and failing. I'd take him wanting to try, but being so convinced of his monstrousness that he never makes the attempt. But give me something. Anything other than the unexamined apathy that he has so much of the time.

The thing is, s2 lost the ability for Ed's mistreatment of people to be just another "of course he's violent, he's a pirate" quirk. They were pretty explicit about how abusive Ed was (Jim's comment in e1, the joke in e4 people assumed Ed had hit Stede) and how much he traumatized people (Lucius and the whole crew very clearly have PTSD in episodes 4 and 5). This is serious stuff, which he did to other main characters, which is going to make a lot of viewers look at him pretty harshly.

And that's manageable—Hannibal Lector managed to be most textbook-abusive asshole in the world, committing atrocities and generally being unrepentant left and right, and viewers STILL found him lovable and sympathetic. You can do that! But you need to:

a. make it clear that anyone with the relevant information calls them out for being awful, even multiple episodes later

b. make it clear that they care deeply and genuinely about their wronged loved ones

c. make them willing to actually make REAL sacrifices

I watched so many people start to dislike or outright hate Ed in season 2. It made me really sad. But I couldn't blame them for feeling that way. For all that Ed is supposedly one of the two protagonists in OFMD—a character whose mistakes should be the most understandable, whose mental state should be the most resonant—the show seemed to entirely drop the ball on writing him as such.

[kissorkill16]

Fill My Empty Heart: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: After Mya's death, Aaron committed suicide. Mr. Peterson, desperate to have a family again, kidnaps the depressed and heartbroken child across the street, Nicky Roth.

Chapter 12

Trinity banged her head on her desk, so hard that she was sure it was going to leave a bruise. Good, that's what she wanted anyway. She wanted to hurt herself.

"Babe, please stop that -!", Enzo said, trying to calm her down. Trinity turned around to angrily look at her boyfriend.

"No! We went to save him and we just left him there as soon as Mr. Peterson spotted us!", she yelled, tears pooling in her eyes and her voice starting to choke up a little.

She went to the right side of the wall and started punching it, her knuckles beginning to bruise.

Enzo stood up from the chair he sat on and went to hug his girlfriend. Despite her resistance, she eventually melted into the hug and relaxed in Enzo's hold.

"We left him there.", cried Trinity, "He's still there because of us."

"Shhhh...it's okay, sweetie.", said Enzo, "I know we failed, but I have a plan, and we're going back tomorrow night to save him again. Okay?"

Maritza rolled her eyes, "Are we even sure Nicky's going to be alive tomorrow? Mr. Peterson's probably killed him by now. And judging by that bear trap, there's no way he could've -"

Enzo flashed his sister an angry look, and Maritza quickly shut up. "Sorry.", she said.

Trinity took a deep breath, "Thank you, Enzo.", she said. She gently broke away from Enzo's hold, and dusted herself off. "And you're right. We can still save him. Mr. Peterson hasn't shown any signs of planning to kill Nicky yet, so we're still really lucky.", she said.

Enzo and Maritza exchanged a look, then a nod. "Tomorrow night.", said Maritza.

Trinity looked out the window of her room, "Oh, Nicky...", she whispered. "You're probably so scared right now."

Meanwhile, Nicky was waking up, still feeling a little woozy. He sat up when he realized he was in Aaron's bed, and his eyes widened when he saw the cast on his leg. He felt a gentle hand push him back down on the pillow.

"Not so quickly, dear. You just woke up.", said Mr. Peterson. "And you lost a lot of blood, so that's another thing."

Nicky turned his head around to face the wall, not daring to look at Mr. Peterson. He knew he was in big trouble, after all, who knows how many rules he broke? Even he forgot.

He turned his head back around to see Mr. Peterson holding a bottle of water and a small container of pills. "Take these, they'll numb the pain more.", he said.

Nicky felt like he rebelled against Mr. Peterson enough today, especially with the broken leg, so he took the water bottle and pills, put one in his mouth and swallowed it with the water.

Mr. Peterson sighed the deepest of sighs.

"This is why I told you not to go outside, Nicholas. Something like this is always bound to happen.", he said. "And not only that, you went and snuck a sharp object and didn't even ask me for my permission to use it. What's worse is that I specifically told you to stay in your room because you were still sick."

Mr. Peterson took Nicky's chin in his hand, tilting his head to meet his stern gaze.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it. I told you to stay in bed, you didn't listen. You broke the rules, and now you've made me even angrier at you than I was before."

At that moment, Nicky felt himself begin to cry. It only started with tears running down his face, but then sobs started escaping his throat. He pulled away from Mr. Peterson and buried his face in his hands.

He probably knew that Mr. Peterson put that bear trap there to keep him from escaping, but he was too sad to think about anything else right now. All that was occurring in his head right now was how his kidnapper was angry at him, and Nicky was sad about it.

"Oh dear...", said Mr. Peterson, he gently pulled Nicky close, wrapping his arms around him in a warm, comforting hug. "Don't cry, sweetheart. I'm not so angry anymore."

"I'm so sorry, daddy! I don't want you to be angry at me!", cried Nicky. "Please don't be angry at me!"

"Shhhh...", Mr. Peterson gently rubbed Nicky's back. "I'm not angry, sweetheart. Not anymore. I'm just worried now. You got so hurt and you were already going through a cold, I don't want you to add more pain."

As Nicky cried in the man's chest, Mr. Peterson asked him something that he just realized.

"You miss your friends, don't you, honey?"

A moment of silence passed through the room, then Nicky nodded, "Yes. I miss them so much."

"Is that why you tried to sneak out?"

The boy nodded again.

"Oh sweetheart...", said Mr. Peterson, "Darling, if you missed your friends, you could've just told me. I would've happily allowed you to see them, just not in the way that you think."

Nicky didn't say anything.

Mr. Peterson gently laid Nicky back down on the bed, "It's still not a valid excuse for you to disobey me, so I'm still going to have to punish you. This time, you are definitely not allowed to leave this room. I will bring you food, and I will come here to check on you every other time, but you're not allowed to leave until your leg is healed and your cold has passed. Do you understand?"

Nicky nodded.

Mr. Peterson smiled warmly, leaning down to kiss Nicky on his forehead. "Good boy.", he said, and he was about to leave the room before Nicky called out for him again.

"Dad, wait!", said Nicky. "I don't want you to leave me alone yet. Can you maybe stay in here a little longer?"

Another warm smile from Mr. Peterson, "Of course, darling.", and he went back to the boy, sitting down next to him.

He stayed beside Nicky until the boy fell asleep again, and that's when Nicky finally accepted this as his new home and his new normal.

And the strangest thing was that he didn't seem to mind one bit.

[jungkookslipring]

I Will Never Make You Lonely: Ch 4

Summary: When your life is falling apart, your 8 best friends are there to lift you up

TW: mentions of de&th, su!c!de, su!c!de tendencies, su!c!dal ideologies, depress!on, anxiety, crying. If this is in any way triggering I’d steer towards more of my happier works. If you or someone you love has thought of or acted on suicide, there is help and there is hope 

Call or text 988

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, non-idol AU

PSA: this in no way represents the artists. While their birth names are used in this story, this is in no way a reflection of the artist or artists in real life.

AU/Chapter TW: Mentions of su!c!de, su!c!dal thoughts, graphic descriptions of panic/anxiety attacks, and so much crying. If any of this is triggering please refrain from reading this chapter.

CH 4

The car accident wasn’t an accident. There was no animal in the road that caused her to swerve and hit the tree; there was none of that, she planned it. Your brain went numb but your body felt a sharp pain like someone took a dagger and rammed it into your chest. It was getting a little harder to breathe. You got up from your bed and started pacing. You had your hands above your head trying to expand your lungs, but you were already too far into your panic attack to get back down. You let out the first sob since Carter’s death. 

Is this what dying feels like?

“Y/n?” Changbin called out.

As soon as you saw two of your best friends at the doorway, your vision got blurry. Chris could see how broken you were and he felt like crying right there. He was almost relieved that you were grieving properly, but this wasn't the way he wanted it to happen.

“Sweetheart…” Chris approached stepped foot into your room and you ran towards the boys, their hearts breaking into pieces as you covered your mouth, muffling another heartwrenching sob.

“Oh baby girl, come here,” he said gently as he pulled you against his chest. You spent a lot of time trying to distract yourself from the truth, doing anything and everything to avoid facing it. But eventually, you can't keep your mind numb forever. You cried and buried your face into Chris's shoulder, and he held you while Changbin rubbed your back for comfort. Your tears soaked into Chris's sweatshirt as he swayed you back and forth.

“We got you, we got you,” Changbin whispered as he threaded his fingers through your hair. You gripped Chris’s sweatshirt until your knuckles turned white. The sadness and anger that you kept under the surface came out without warning, and you completely lost it.

“Please bring her back, please!” You cried at whatever higher power was out there. Chris held you tightly as you cried into his shoulder. Changbin's hands had let go of you, but another set of arms reached out to comfort you. Though you missed Changbin's touch, you were grateful for Chris's warm hands on your shoulders, which helped steady you. Unbeknownst to you, your breathing had become more rapid.

“Hey y/n, hey let's take a deep breath okay? We don’t want you passing out on us, yeah?” Minho said calmly. You don’t know when he got in the room, but you were so out of it you didn’t know everyone was in your room. Before you knew it, you started panicking. 

“I c-can’t, I can’t breathe,” you exclaim shakily. You cried harder than you have all month, and maybe even in your entire life. Your body was convulsing with sobs so forcefully and rapidly that you found yourself gasping for air. You knew that you would never see Carter again. No more trips to the lake, no more spontaneous visits to the Space Needle, no more concerts, no more walks to Pike Place. All of it was gone. You held your chest tightly as you struggled to take in air. Your mind was in a fog, you felt nauseous, you weren't getting enough oxygen, and it felt like you were living through a nightmare.

“I *cough cough* I want her *gasp*, back *gasp* *cough cough* please” you pant out. The younger ones were in a state of panic. You were hunched forward with your hands on your knees. Changbin walked to the center of the room and embraced Seungmin, who was frantically reaching out for his hand. Hyunjin was hugging Felix and cradling the younger's head, who was shaking in fear. Han was standing in shock with his arms wrapped around Jeongin, who was hiding his face in his shoulder blade. Minho moved a little closer and spoke as gently as possible.

“Y/n? Honey? Can I touch you?” He asked, waiting patiently until you nodded. Chris slowly let go of your shoulders once Minho had a steady hold of you. He took his time to gently take your hands off your knees, squatting in front of you so he could look you in the eyes. He slowly stood you up and put your hands behind your head so your lungs could expand. 

“Breathe with me love. Let's do it nice and slow, alright?” He asked gently. Minho led you through a series of breathing exercises until you were able to control your breathing. Once you were no longer hyperventilating, you collapsed and Minho caught you, slowly lowering you to the ground and into Chris's arms. He embraced you from behind, holding you close to his chest with one hand on your forehead to help calm you down and the other arm wrapped gently around your waist. You covered your eyes, hoping to escape the overwhelming pain.

“Why did she have to go…” you wailed, relieving all the pressure that built up over time. The hurt, the sadness, and the anger were all being let out as Chris and Minho let you crumble because they would be there to pick up the pieces once you were done.

“Y/n…” Jeongin said tearfully. Your heart stopped. Shit. How long were they in your room? You could hear Felix crying into Hyunjin's neck while the taller of the pair gently shushed the sweet boy in his arms, shedding his own silent tears. You kept your hand over your eyes, not wanting to see their reactions, especially the kids.

“Binnie, can you take the kids into the living room please?” Minho asked calmly and kindly. Changbin nodded immediately and guided the Dongsaengs out of your bedroom. Chris held you close and kissed the top of your head. His lips lingered as he rocked you gently back and forth. 

“Oh bubs…,” Minho whispered as he watched you break down. After what felt like an eternity, your hysterical crying died down to hiccups. Chris continued rocking you gently and Minho was rubbing your knee with his thumb.

“I’m *hiccup* I’m so sorry,” you said, working yourself up. Chris quickly and quietly shushed you. He couldn’t bear to watch you go into another panic attack. 

“Shhh shhh shhh it’s okay, you’re okay, y/n,” he whispered as he petted your hair.

“Why are you apologizing, honey? You did nothing wrong,” Minho asked. You shook your head as more tears streamed down your face.

“D-did I scare the kids?” you ask tearfully. You swore you heard someone else bawling in the hallway; it sounded like Jeongin. Chris shook his head while rubbing your stomach with his thumb. 

“They’re just worried about you, we’re all worried about you, angel,” he said calmly. 

“What did I do w-wrong? Why couldn’t she come to m-me? D-did she really think I can just live without h-her??” you beg for someone to have the answer, but Minho only looked at you with sadness and confusion. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours and Chris’s. You grab a hold of your skull, your head pulsating. 

“Carter…t-took…she took her own- *hic* oh my god,” you cried as you dug the heels of your hand into your eyes, Chris and Minho exchanging looks of terror. Chris rocked you while kissing your head repeatedly, and Minho took both of your hands into his. Outside of your bedroom, Changbin guided the younger ones down the hall and into the living room. A bunch of them were sniffling, but Jeongin was crying hard. Changbin pulled the youngest into his side, handing Seungmin off to Han. 

“Hey, hey we’re here baby, Hyungs have y/n” he reassured the youngest, but the poor thing couldn’t calm down. 

“I got the others, Binnie Hyung, we’ll be okay,” Hyunjin said, never letting go of the sweet freckled boy in his arms. Changbin nodded as he led their youngest to the bedroom, the rest of the guys going the opposite direction to sit on the couch. Changbin opened the door with one hand, keeping a secure arm around Jeongin. 

“Binnie Hyung?” Jeongin whimpered. Changbin rubbed Jeongin’s shoulder. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” Changbin whispered. More droplets fell from Jeongin’s eyes.

“Y/n…” he said brokenly before Changbin pulled him into a hug, running his fingers through his hair.

“Shh shh shh, she’s going to be okay. I promise she’s going to be okay, baby,” he said while trying to keep his voice steady. They were all a little shaken up from what happened, but Jeongin seemed to be taking it the hardest. 

“I want to see her, Hyungie, I want to see if she’s okay,” he cried, gripping the back of Changbin’s shirt. 

“We’ll get to see her love, but first we need to calm our bodies, okay? Can you do that for me?” He asked kindly as he rubbed his back. Jeongin nodded as he got into bed. Changbin promised to send you over to Jeongin once you were ready. After tucking Jeongin under the covers, he sat beside him, soothing him by wiping away his tears. Later, the three of you settled down in your bedroom, with Chris propped up against a pillow and you cuddled up on his side while Minho lay next to you two. They comforted you with soft touches and even whispered words of encouragement long after your tears had stopped. They waited until your breathing was back to normal before speaking.

“I know you want nothing more than to sleep, but let’s get you cleaned up, y/n, does that sound okay?” Chris asked as he moved a stray hair out of your face. You nodded as you let out a tired sigh. They took you to the bathroom and had you sit on the toilet lid. You looked in the mirror for a brief second before turning away. Your face and eyes were extremely puffy and red. Once he found the makeup wipes, Minho gently held your chin as he oh so carefully used a makeup wipe to remove the mascara that trailed down your face. You thought he’d stop there, but you were wrong.

“Minho it’s okay we don’t have to do all of that,” you say when he starts pulling out all of the products you use for your nighttime skincare routine. He gave you a kind smile.

“What kind of friend would I be if I let you go to bed without your holy grail, huh?” He asked with the sweetest smile, holding up your sleeping mask he gave you as a Christmas gift. You couldn’t help but giggle and you gave him the okay to proceed. Once the makeup was all gone, he took a warm washcloth and dabbed under your eyes and around your cheeks. You let out a sigh and closed your eyes; you were exhausted. Minho applied all the products necessary, because your routine was exactly like his, and hummed a random medley out loud to help with the tension in the bathroom. He wiped off his hands and put his hands on your shoulders.

“You are the strongest person we know, but don’t ever feel like you have to go through this by yourself, yeah?” He pulled you into his arms and rubbed your back as Chris smiled at you two fondly. 

“It's just really hard…” your voice breaks as your eyes sting. Minho continued to rub your back.

“I know sweetie, I know, I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now…” he whispered.

“I wanted to handle everything on my own, so you wouldn’t have to see me like this *sniff* so we wouldn’t be where we are now,” you admitted as Chris comes up beside Minho and throws his arms around the both of you.

“You’re grieving, y/n, and that’s okay, it’s perfectly okay, happy or sad, stressed or angry, we have your back no matter what. We love you, sweetheart, let us be there for you,” he said gently as he rubbed a hand up and down both yours and Minho’s back. You sniffed looking up at Chris.

“You’re always there for me,” you said with so much gratitude in your voice. You looked back at the clock before looking at the boys. 

“Can I go out there and tell them what happened? So they don’t have to worry?” you ask hesitantly. They both nodded, even though they knew you weren’t okay, you were at least okay physically… sort of. The younger ones were going to worry regardless, but maybe they would feel a little better seeing you. The two let them know you don’t have to feel obligated to, and that you could just get under the covers, but you wanted to see the kids. They helped you up and guided you into the living room where four of the guys were. Two were missing. 

“Binnie Hyung is with Jeongin right now,” Han whispered. Your heart broke even more if that was even possible. You nodded as you sat down on the couch. After a few seconds of silence, you spoke up. 

“Are you guys okay?” you ask, cringing at how much your throat was hurting. You heard sniffling immediately after you started talking. You looked over at the source of the sniffles and then immediately looked down again. Felix’s face was red with dried-up tear tracks that trailed over his freckles.

“Y/n, shouldn’t we be asking you that?” Han asked, voice laced with sadness. He was wondering how even with everything that just happened, you continue to put their well-being over your own. Now you were questioning if you wanted to tell them the news, seeing how they reacted to you having a panic attack. Anxiety filled your chest before Changbin squatted in front of you and pulled you into a hug. When did he come back out? 

“Breathe for us y/n, breathe,” he shushed you gently as he rubbed your back. Seungmin came up next to Changbin to hug you as well. You took a deep breath. 

“Peyton found a note,” you said as Seungmin’s breath hitched, his arms wrapping tighter around you. 

“Oh y/n…” Changbin mumbled as he rested his head against yours. As the tears streamed down Seungmin's face, you started rubbing his back in circular motions hoping to provide some comfort. You tried to compose yourself so that you wouldn't break down again, and everyone could see that. While you were in Seungmin’s embrace, Changbin carefully pulled back and gently took your face into his hands.

“Hey…you know you don’t always have to be so strong,” he said reassuringly. Hyunjin still had Felix in his arms while you looked back at him. He got up from the opposite side of the couch, knelt in front of you and tenderly held your face, wiping away the tears under your eyes with his thumb. Seungmin and Changbin got up so you could wrap your arms around Hyunjin's neck. Hyunjin kissed your cheek, and rocked you in his embrace. Felix got up soon after and came to kneel behind him, grabbing onto the side of your shirt. You reached behind Hyunjin to stroke Felix's hair; he looked just as devastated as everyone else.

“You’re allowed to lean on us y/n, you don’t have to go through this alone,” he whimpered as he wiped away your tears. You loved your boys so much, and they loved you more than anything. You pulled Felix’s head in to kiss him on the forehead. The three of you held onto each other until Changbin spoke up. 

“You’ve had a long day, let's call it a night, yeah?” he asked gently as he patted your back. You nodded while still in Hyunjin’s hold, and the two didn’t let go until you did. Changbin wrapped an arm around your waist and walked you to your room. Everyone else scooted impossibly closer together and did a brief wellness check on each other. Back in your room, Changbin grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that you stole from Han and handed them to you with the kindest smile. You silently thanked him as you went into your bathroom to change. After you came out, Changbin smiled at you. 

“How many of our clothing items are in your closet?” he joked. You shrugged with a chuckle, and even if it was small, he would take that over anything.

“Not too many, I’m usually fighting with the kids over Chris and Minho’s clothes,” you giggle. Changbin smiles even bigger and pulls you into a hug. You hold him tight and let out a deep sigh. 

“Do you think he’s still awake?” You ask Changbin as you pull away from the hug.

“He might be; he was hoping to see you,” Changbin said. You nodded looking into the hallway. Changbin squeezed your hand one more time before you walked out. Back in the living room, Chris suggested everyone get some sleep. Han roomed with Jeongin but he decided to go bunk with Seungmin. Once all of the younger ones were out of the living room, it was just Chris and Minho. Minho was about to walk out of the room before he felt a hand circle around his wrist. He looked back at Chris questionably.

“Hyung?” He asked. Chris looked at him with sympathetic eyes. 

“How are you doing?” He asked gently. Minho shook his head.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re asking, Hyung,” he said quietly, looking down at their hands. He did, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I know that was a lot,” he said as Minho looked away, pretending like he didn't feel stinging behind his eyes. He let out a shaky sigh. Chris’s eyes softened even more. 

"Min, if you need to cry, it's okay," Chris said, as he rubbed his thumb over Minho's wrist. Minho had always been the strong one for his brothers, but even he had a breaking point. His lip quivered when he made eye contact with Chris. The older of the two gently tugged on Minho's wrist, pulling him into his arms. Minho closed his eyes and let the tears flow. Chris rubbed his back as Minho silently cried.

“You did well Minho, you did so well,” he praised as Minho sniffled. He drew circles on Minho’s back, bringing up his other hand to leave gentle touches on his nape. 

“I’ve n-never seen her like t-that,” Minho stuttered thickly. 

“Neither have I,” he whispered. “But she’ll be okay,” he said. “She’s going to be okay,”. He wasn’t sure who he was reassuring, but they both needed to hear it. After some time, Minho and Chris parted and wiped their eyes. 

“Are you ready for bed?” He asked kindly. Minho nodded.

“Yeah,” he whispered. As Chris was about to head to his room, Minho grabbed his hand. Chris stopped and looked back at Minho. The younger one didn't say anything, but Chris knew what he was going to ask. He gave Minho a warm smile and squeezed his hand, pulling him to their shared bedroom. Once they were under the covers, Chris held Minho in his arms, and the second youngest buried his face into Chris's neck. Chris ran his fingers through Minho's hair and over his neck, while Minho rubbed his hand up and down Chris's arms. They lay in silence for a while until Minho finally spoke up.

“Do you think y/n will want to go back to America?” He asked hesitantly. They knew that your internship was highly competitive and that you wanted to stay in Seoul, regardless of whether you got selected for it or not. However, considering the recent events, Minho had been wondering for a while if you would get homesick and want to go back to stay with Peyton. Chris took a moment to ponder upon it.

“Gosh Minho….I’m not sure. I want her to stay here but if she wants to go back, that’s her decision, you know?” he answered. If he was being selfish, he wanted you to stay, they all did, but they respected your wishes if you chose to go back to Seattle. The idea of not seeing you every other day if not every day made his heart ache. Minho nodded. 

"I know... I just... I don't know... I want her to know she's her own person and is allowed to make her own decisions, but... the thought of her not living here anymore..." Minho couldn't finish his sentence. He pushed himself closer into Chris's hold.

"I know, agi, I know," Chris whispered as he pulled Minho even closer and stroked his hair when he felt wetness on his shoulder. The two lay there in each other's embrace, and by the grace of whatever higher power was up there, they fell asleep. As you walked down the hall, you ran into Han who was stepping out of the bathroom. He noticed the sweatshirt you were wearing and smirked.

“I was wondering where that was,” he said cheekily. His eyes were a tiny bit moist. Your heart hurt and he sensed that.

“If you need anything at all, we’re always here for you y/n, I hope you know that,” he said before pulling you into a tight hug. You let out a deep breath and nodded. 

“I do, thank you, Hannie. Same goes for you, yeah?” you said. He chuckled. Their health was always your priority, they wished you could take care of yourself the way you took care of them. He squeezed your hand before retreating to Seungmin’s room. You took a deep breath and knocked on Jeongin’s door, waiting patiently for a response.

“Come in,” he quietly called out. You opened the door slowly. Jeongin gave you a sad smile.

“Hi,” he said quietly. He was wrapped up snuggly in a bunch of blankets; you remembered Changbin tucked him in. 

“Hi,” you whispered. Jeongin sat up in bed once you closed the door.

“Are you okay?…” you asked. You knew it was a ridiculous question given you could see he clearly wasn’t okay but you still wanted to ask. Jeongin nodded slowly as you saw tears fill his eyes.

“Please don’t cry, sweet boy,” you whispered. Jeongin’s lip wobbled. Turned out he heard your conversation with Chris and Minho before everyone went into the living room.

“I just don’t- I…I can’t, I can't even fathom going through what you're going through right now,” he whimpered. You quickly sit down and pull him into your arms, and even though he is taller than you, he feels so small in your hold.

“I’m so sorry y/n” he choked out. You rested your head on his temple, shushing him gently. Jeongin’s tears were immediately soaking into your shirt.

“I can’t lose you, I-I can’t lose any of you” he cried out, fear evident in his voice. You cradled his head as he let out one of his worst fears.

“Shhh shhh shhh shhh…you boys mean so much to me, more than you will ever know,” you said, kissing his head and rocking him gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out, I am so sorry.” He shook his head. 

“I’m not m-mad I n-never could be. I-I understand. Just- you can always talk to us y-you know?” he said whimpering. 

“I do know that bug and I love you all so much,” you said sincerely as you pet his hair. 

“We love you too,” he whispered, hugging you impossibly tighter. Before you could respond, there was a small knock at the door. The door creaked open slightly and there stood a Felix, looking at the two figures huddled in the dim lighting.

“Are you two okay?” He asks, voice a little raspy. You look up at the angel and gave him a small grin.

“I think we will be, thank you Lixie,” you say stroking Jeongin’s head. Felix nodded and whispered “love you” before closing the door. You both stayed cuddled in each other's embrace, trying to provide comfort to each other, both absolutely exhausted from earlier. Eventually, you got under the covers and held each other tightly. Jeongin rested his head on your shoulder, and you were soothed by the sound of his even breaths. Finally, you both drifted off to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @felixmainacc @felixburneracc @myforevermelody143 @dunno-wut-to-do @itzsana-kiddingmenow

[aannonn]

★ ─。colorful text , strong colors , bold text , brief mention of suicide , implied/referenced grief , swearing

okay i know we are all excited about the actual short that just came out but let me ramble a bit about Red cause im getting emotional about this stick ... ( before my motivation to type all of this ends and i dont feel emotional anymore lol )

Red in season 3 went through so much istg ;; not only did he and Sec went through a very tense (and needed) fight which almost caused the end of their friendship (+ Sec was clearly in the winning side here, or Red was just really terrified of her at that moment given to how he tried to run away from her - of which i will probably talk about it in a later post maybe), but he was also really fucking tormented in monster school (i felt so bad for him in this episode i legit wanted to cry)

+ after all of this fiasco he really went ahead and carried this thing (of which, given to how he hit it on the ground and it made a soft thump, it must have been heavy asf) all the way to the other side and??? fucking smashed King's chin which made him fly to so fucking far ;; which means he literally used all of his strenght to carry this staff, and dropkick King with it, even if it was so hard he almost even dropped it at first

AND THEN HE JUST. PROCEEDS TO PASS OUT ON THE FLOOR CAUSE HES SO FRICKING TIRED AND EXHAUSTED AAWRGHWS

there are also other moments where i think he really deserves a break tbh ;;

he lost a pet. i have a pet myself and just the thought of ever losing him hurts so fucking much to the point i can feel my oof'ing urges coming back.

;; granted; it was a minecraft pig and it was high with all the potions, and also tried to kill all of them, but he clearly atleast had some care for that pig ... (the fact that he immediately stood up and spawned another animal makes me think about that one post/tiktok (i dont remember the user) i've seen ; which talked about Red possibly hiding/bottling up his sadness from others , in order to stay happy and positive or because he doesn't think his struggles are important enough compared to the others' - which i think it make alot of sense since you rarely see him cry or something, just going numb and/or looking down in despair - the only ever time we ever saw him cry was when Green supposedly died.)

i haven't talked about this actual short before since i had no desire to , but damn bro the way i felt bad for Red in this(っ °Д °;)っ he just wanted to have red stuff for him aswell, since apparently it wasn't dropping for him for some reason???? okay he should have included green and blue stuff aswell instead of possibly removing them but. still. Green and Blue were so fricking wrong in this

and !! his and Sec's tense relationship in the past seasons ... i love Sec he's literally my fav out of them all but i cannot defend xem on this. i know she had her reasons and im not saying Red was in the right either but, gosh ... pretty ironic given he's the one who inspired xem to break in in their site and join them in their battle

... i dont even need to explain do i

he lost a pet ... again. and because of his own fault aswell ! he knew the possible dangers of fusing the command block and the staff together , given how he almost got possessed alongside his friends the first time something like this happened , and yet ... he did it anyway . and beeper died as a consequence . i cant imagine how much guilt he must have felt .. (probably one of the main reasons why he didnt put up a fight when they put him in the timeout box)

i think he wanted to cry at this scene ngl ,,,

thinking about this ; they are all really tragic characters tbh ,,, stepping away from the heavy angsty all of c!Alan's stickfigures go through , rygb goes through a lot of shit aswell , and tbh i just feel bad for all of them ; they are all such tragic characters that deserve a very well-needed break break/_ \

since we are in this topic aswell , i would like to mention how i really love Blue and his immediate rush in being a comfort for the others<3

i used to think Yellow was the therapist friend but we only ever saw him comfort Blue lolll ( i love him anyway ;; i think Blue is more of a therapist friend than he is though )

[starcrossedreaders]

Authors Note: YALL ARE FEINING. Here's part three THE FINAL PART, Enjoy!

Here's part 1 and part 2

Warnings: sad coming home, mentions of thoughts of suicide, mental breakdown, FLUFF, AND NSFW (YALL FEINS ARE BEING FED) P in v, cock warming!

Fumbling with your house keys you fell into your quiet, lonely apartment. These past few weeks you have been living in a melancholic state of depression and solitude. Days have been short as nights have been long. Each waking second you spent crying or questioning what to do next with your sad lonely life. You were even questioning the 'what if's', even if the thoughts were not so great.

Although tonight was different. Tonight was supposedly 'fun' and 'exciting' as your friends took you out to the club. Despite going against your best wishes they came and drug you out of the house stating the alcohol and bright lights will "heal the soul". It in fact did not. Instead, it left you sitting at a table alone drowning your sorrows. You were upset because you could have been doing this at home without everyone around.

The mass amounts of alcohol you consumed left your legs numb and your heart even number. At this point you wouldn't care what happened to you, as long as you got to see Leon again you would be happy. But no, the universe had to be cruel to you. Like it has been your whole life. Leon was the only good thing that has ever come out of your 25 years of living, and yet. He was brutally taken away from you.

Your dark and messy apartment greeted you, mocking and mirroring your current state of mind. Slamming the door shut, you locked it as you treaded to your even messier room. Clothes were thrown everywhere, and your bedsheets needed to be washed. But, you were too afraid to lose the true musk and vanilla scent of your late lover.

But tonight, tonight was different. Your bed was made, clothes neatly folded and put away, and a candle was lit as the tv lit up the room. You had to rub your eyes, once, twice. Your brain wasn't playing tricks on you, and your room was clean and set up how.....

How Leon would keep it.....

That's impossible

Leon is gone

Gone

gone

gone

He will never come back. That's the exact thought that haunts you at all hours of the day. The exact thought that has left you in this state. The exact thought that has been pushing you to the brink of sanity and it just took its final shove.

You pulled at your hair as your breath got stuck in your throat.

He's gone.

Throwing your bag on the ground you paced your room.

He's gone. He's gone. He's gone. He's gone!

Screaming you rush and start throwing your clothes out of your closet and on the floor. Your throat hurt as your lungs burned from the lack of air.

"HE'S GONE," after throwing half of your closet across your room you turned to your perfectly made bed.

The white comforter and folded blankets pushed you even more. You swiped your arms across the large bed sending blankets and clothes across your room.

"HE'S GONE. HE'S GONE. HE'S GONE!" You pushed out the last of the air from your lungs gripping the comforter.

Before you could throw that a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into their warm strong chest.

"Shhh baby, I'm here. I'm home," That angelic voice.

The angelic voice that has talked you through so much. Has yelled and cried and laughed with you.

Your eyes widened as your body went limp in his arms. The scent of musk and vanilla floated to your senses. You gasped as everything you cried and prayed for was wrapped around you.

Your bottom lip quivered as a loud sob racked through your body. Your shakey hand rose to cover your mouth as your body shook.

"Oh my god...." your whisper was barely audible as you slowly turned around to face....to face...

Leon.

Leon your home.

Leon your best friend.

Leon your lover.

Leon your soulmate.

Another sob racked through your body as your eyes met his piercing blue eyes. You really couldn't believe your eyes. You couldn't look away. Afraid that once you blink or look away he will disappear. Your brain has a knack for sick jokes like that.

"L-Lee?" He could only nod his head, as tears of his own slipped down his cheek.

Finally letting go you cried. You cried and cried. Hiding your face in his chest, soaking his shirt with your tears. Leon rocked your body hushing your shaking form as he rubbed your back.

You don't know how but you ended up on your bed with you in Leon's back.

"Y-yo-you're home," You hiccupped as you pulled back to look at Leon.

Your head was light as the alcohol from the night wore off as your throat ached from your yelling.

"I'm home," He dropped his head on yours connecting your foreheads as his hand came up to your cheek. His thumb rubbed back and forth as he look lovingly at you.

"I'm home...I'll never leave you again," More tears slide down your cheeks at his words.

"I thought I lost you. I thought-" You had to take a deep breath.

"I know love...I know." His grip around you tightened.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Your brittle voice was on the verge of breaking again.

"I'm sorry for everything I said to you that night. I never met them, I=I thought I lost you forever and I would never be able to say sorry and tell you... Tell you I love you. I love you for everything you do. I love your perfections and imperfections. Your weird sweet tooth. Your lous ass snoring, your protective behavior. I love all of you." You took in deep breaths as you finished your small rant.

"I love you to the Milky Way and back. I love your weird obsessions and weird cravings. I love the way you always have my favorite snacks, or how you always keep the apartment cold even though you hate it. How you can read my body and know when I want to go home, or how you make my lunches in the mornings. I love how patient you are with my job, how you understand and worry and care. I love you."

As the moon faded and the sun woke your bodies lay heavy as you slept in a deep slumber. This would be the first night you actually slept. Being pressed up against Leon's warm body put your body at ease causing you to drift off into a deep slumber.

Leon was happy to be home with his baby. He couldn't handle being away from you, knowing the lies that were fed to you. He would never leave you like that, ever.

Leon played with your hair as he admired your sleeping form. Purple bags sunk into your eyes, and a small crease lay between your eyebrows. That wasn't there before he left. Frowning himself, he brought his hand down, using his thumb to rub away your crease.

This small touch pulled you from your slumber. Fluttering your eyes open, you scanned your surroundings. Last night felt like a fever dream, you were scared to go to sleep afraid that your mind was playing a cruel trick on you. But, your body went against your best wishes and floated you off into a deep sleep. So when you opened your eyes you were a little shocked but very relieved to see Leon was still here, with you.

"G'morning love," His deep husky voice sent a wave of hot pleasure down your body.

"Morning," you smiled a little as you sat up to stretch.

"How did you sleep?" Leon's lazy boyish smile made your heart flutter.

That was the same smile that you first saw. The smile that caught your heart and will hold it in captivity until the end of eternity.

Leon wrapped his hands behind your thighs to guide you on his lap. Wrapping your arms around his neck you smiled. "I slept better now that you're back." You looked like a hopeless fool in love. Your hair was knotted as a faint blush painted your cheeks.

"Me too love," His thumbs drew small circles on your thigh.

Getting more comfortable you slightly ground on Leon semi-hard on causing a moan to leave the back of his throat.

"Baby- stop moving," HIs voice was stern and full of command.

"m'sorry," You mumbled. You just missed Leon so much, his touch was overriding your senses and all you wanted to do was fuck him.

"I missed you s'much, need you," Your whiney voice was filled with need as you ground your hips into Leon's, hoping for any type of friction.

Leon groaned as he shot his hands to your hips in a bruising grip. "Fuck- hold on love," He lifted your body up moving your underwear to the side as he fisted his cock out of his boxers. A shiny pearl sat atop his slit, but it wasn't enough, despite spreading it along his dick.

Bending over slightly he let a line of spit fall past his lips onto his dick. Rubbing it down he guided your hips down towards his. He teased your soaking hole by gliding his tip between your wet folds. Going back and forth a few times he finally gave in and dipped his tip into heaven. The feeling of Leon stretching you out had you gasping. Squeezing your eyes shut you laid your head on his shoulder. The further Leon went, the more stars blurred his vision. The feeling of your warm walls wrapping around him had him on a different planet.

Leon slid his hands from your hips down to the back of his thighs bringing you closer to him. Your warm cunt swallowed him whole leaving you guys to sit there in pure bliss.

Leon's hot breath ghosted over your neck as he ran his hands up and down your thighs. Wrapping your arms around his neck you sat there taking in his scent. Leon mumbled sweet nothings in your hair as he kissed the crown of your head periodically.

With Leon's hands roaming your body and him stuffing you full you swore your sleep could wash over, taking you under. Keeping your eyes closed Leon could feel your body weight getting heavier.

"Love?" The only response Leon got was a soft snore leaving past your lips.

Leon smiled slightly before he kissed your head. "I love you."

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Taglist: @hermizery @alewesker @ballorawan740 @lastaceylia00 @lazycig @littledreamybeth @aussiepineapple1st @chunnies @sonicsolos

[wandasreallover]

Wanda maximoff x reader| drabble

Warning-suicide, Wanda's death, this is low key sad

You stood on the edge of the cliff, your eyes glued to your wife as she used her powers to bring down Mount Wundagore,which would get rid of the dark hold for good but also take her life in the process. You had begged her not to do it, to find another way, but she was determined to do whatever it took to stop the threat that was endangering the multiverse-herself.

Tears streamed down your face as you watched her, knowing that this was the end.you couldn't tear your eyes away, couldn't leave her side even as the rocks began to fall around her.

You could see the strain on her face, the effort it took to control such immense power. And just as you thought she couldn't possibly take anymore, she mouthed the words, 'I love you.'

Those three words were enough to break you. You wanted to run to her, to hold her and tell her how much she meant to you. But you knew you couldn't, not with the danger that surrounded her.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and turned to see Strange standing beside you. He could see the pain in your eyes, the desperation to be by your wife's side.

'Come on, we have to go,' he said, trying to lead you away from the scene, his views on her may have changed but yours hadn't you knew she wasn't a monster.

'No, I can't leave her,' you pleaded, trying to break free from his grasp as his hands now enclosed around your waist preventing you from getting to your wife.

'I know, but it's not safe,' he replied, his voice filled with understanding.

You shook your head, tears falling freely now. 'I can't lose her, not like this.'

'I know, I know,' he repeated, pulling you into a hug as you broke down in his arms.

You could hear the rocks crashing down, But all you could focus on was your wife, the love of your life, sacrificing herself to save the world.

Suddenly , everything went quiet. The rocks stopped falling, the dust settled, and you could see a shadow of your wife, lying motionless on the ground.

'No, no, no,' you sobbed, trying to run towards her.

But Doctor Strange held you back, using his powers to keep you from getting any closer. 'It's not safe.'

You collapsed in his arms, your heart breaking at the reality of losing her.

You stayed like that for what felt like hours, until the tears eventually slowed into small hiccups and your chest heaved and ached at the lack of oxygen

leaving wasn't something you wanted to do that day you wanted to scream and cry for strange to do something anything to bring your beloved wanda back.but you knew better, that's not what she would have wanted. So that's why you're here now with an empty bottle of pills and a half empty bottle of whiskey which you don't even like, something you took a liking to as it numbed the pain for a while. Steven would understand he knows grief himself. So you sat there before you were reunited with your wife once more.

[steviewashere]

3, 7, 14, 20, 29 Numbers for the Drabble! Can I get really angsty here with like Eddie being depressed and almost dying and Steve saving him?!

Okay, I don't know if I went the route you were thinking, but I tried. Also, I definitely think I went a different way with the 'saving' thing, but here we go. This also got way longer than a drabble.

3: "Please, don’t leave.”, 7: "I almost lost you.", 14: "Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”, 20: "You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”, and 29: "I thought you were dead.”

CW: Implied/Referenced Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Eddie's Sacrifice Being Referred to as a Suicide Attempt

Established Steddie, Pre-Season Four Relationship

——— A voice low and raspy floats through his head. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,” it says. There’s a pressure to Eddie’s hand. The firm squeeze of somebody else. Somebody who doesn’t remind him of his uncle. He can’t pinpoint who it is exactly, but it’s somebody familiar. A person who knows him, most likely. A person who’s willing to talk to him in the in-between of somewhere and nowhere.

Though, it’s not the first time he comes to hear this phrase. Uttered to him day in and day out. A constant reminder that he’s not gone, but he’s not there. Not with this person. This somebody that seems to care about him. And he should know, because their voice is familiar. Strong and urgent and pleading and soft, all at once. It’s the burn of a mid-winter fire in his backyard, tossing butt-ends of cigarettes into its mix, drinking spiked eggnog until he can’t sense the numbness of his cheeks and is lost in the glorious laughter between him and his uncle. It’s the push come to shove.

The shove that he needs to wake up. And wake up he does. Startled and groggy, too. Choking in the back of his throat. Jump the wire with hands out in front of him, clawing at his mouth, at the contraption stuffed down his throat. Then, in a blur of motion and noise and light, it’s gone.

He can breathe. He can blink. He can smack his dry lips and suck down on the plastic straw offered out to him. Offered to him by a shaky hand that doesn’t have the same rugged, aged quality to them that his uncle’s do. He can see, so he looks. Up the person’s arm and to this stranger’s face.

Yet, he’s not a stranger. No, not at all. It’s Steve.

Steve Harrington, the guy he’d been kissing back at his trailer nearly every night before the bullshit came to bulldoze him. The guy he’d held on the couch when he had concussions number one and two. The guy that makes him cry.

The cup and straw is set aside hastily. Outstretched hand to his uninjured cheek. And a thumb, steady and warm wiping at his tears. “I gotcha, baby,” Steve murmurs. Leans tight and close, pressed warm against Eddie’s side. And kisses at his overheating skin, at the tear tracks, and his hiccuping chest. “I gotcha,” he coos again. “I almost lost you, but I have you. I have you.”

Days move like that. Nearly like that. Eddie wakes up sobbing and choking, too warm and agitated. And Steve holds his face, kisses his cheeks, and brushes back his hair.

It works until it doesn’t.

When he’s discharged, he moves into a drab apartment. Too far from his childhood home. Away from a room that was brimming with him and his love for all the people and all the things he’s ever known. He’s lost everything. Lost tattoos, patches of smooth skin, books with margin notes, tapes and records, poster and banners, clothes and old stuffed animals. It’s all gone from him. Anything he’s saved from his and Steve’s time together, that’s all away from him, too.

Even as he unpacks the boxes of things that replace that of which he’s lost, it doesn’t soothe him. Nothing does. He had expected to never see the daylight again. To have left everything behind, with Wayne and Steve and the other people he’s come to know. That he wouldn’t have to see it again, but even if he had to, it would still be there. But nothing is. Then, he doesn’t graduate. Doesn’t even want to try again; just tells everybody, “Oh, it’s fine. I’ll get my GED or something, y’know? Maybe just go to trade school.”

Though, he knows that’s a lie, too.

Because he’s ten times worse off than he was before. Nothing to stick to his name. A distance that stretches between him and everything he’s ever had. It’s noticeable in the way he’s prone to lash out more. Prone to laying in bed, tight under his blanket, not doing anything. How quiet and how unnerving he’s become. Staring off at nothing, caught in flashbacks and blinking lights, holding to himself tightly as if he can will the normal to creep back into his body. He figured if he had died, sure there would be a bad taste to his name, but at least he wouldn’t have to keep making up for things he didn’t do. He wouldn’t have to justify who he is. Or find a way to hide in broad sunlight.

Everything he’s ever known is twisted backwards and shoved up where the sun doesn’t shine. He tries to do the things he loved, but all that it reminds him of is playing a demented concert, creatures come to life, bites and scars and blood and screaming. And death. Sometimes, he wonders why he didn’t just die down there. How he survived.

So, he asks. He asks because it’s his story, too. He deserves to know, right?

It’s during a stay-in date night at his new apartment that he asks. “Hey, Steve?” And part of him grimaces at the last time he used those words, in that exact progression, in the moment that should’ve been his last.

Steve startles on the couch. Untucks himself from under Eddie’s arm. And full body faces him. Wide eyes, tight mouth, and wrinkled brow.

“Nobody’s told me how I…how I managed to survive. Will you tell me?” He asks quietly. Even his voice is as tired as his brain is. He used to be good at masking this. The waves of discontent that flood from his body every once in a while. It was manageable because it was just about his parents, or his living situation, or the bullies at school. But now it’s just him. It’s him as a whole, as a person who shouldn’t have lived. How nobody’s written Zombie Boy on the side of his van, he isn’t sure. He isn’t sure about a damn thing anymore.

But instead of answering, Steve just shakes his head. Tries to tuck back in close.

Eddie won’t have it. He scoots farther away. More distance. Why is there more distance? His emotions are haywire, he knows that. Something sparking red inside his chest, ready to light up in bright shades of orange through his mouth. “Why not?” He questions, though it falls flat and bitter. “Tell me,” he demands. Has practically skipped over the pleading stages, he’s done begging.

“I—“ And something in Steve’s eyes harden. Jaw setting with an unsubtle twitch. “I can’t tell you, Eddie,” he bites.

“You won’t tell me,” he accuses. “Which, I don’t get why you won’t. It’s something I want to know, don’t make me go to Dustin. Or Robin. They’ll fucking tell me.” The words fall from his mouth dark and slow. Dripping from him like the hot churn of tar. And he should regret how sour his tone has already gone, based on the hurt creeping into Steve’s face.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs. “Please don’t make me fight you on this right now. I—I literally can’t bring myself to say it. It’s…I shouldn’t even have to explain this to you, but it was one of the worst moments of my life. Is that not enough of a reason for you?” He could take this all back, really should, but Eddie just shakes his head stubbornly. Furrows his eyebrows and wags his hand as if to gesture for Steve to keep going. Instead, Steve stands from the couch and makes way to the door, hand stretched out for his sneakers. “I’m not fighting with you,” he states calmly. “I know that you’ve been curious or…or that you’ve been trying to come back to yourself or whatever, but it’s not something I’m willing to share. And it’s certainly not something I want to argue with you about.”

“Whatever,” Eddie scoffs. “It’s probably bullshit anyway.” The fight leaves him all at once. As he leans into the couch, head at his lap, picking at his sweatpants. He sniffs, an attempt to rescind the tears that want to fall down his face.

But instead of leaving, Steve stays by the door and sighs. “Why do you want to know so bad?” He asks. Before Eddie can give him the same response, Steve quickly adds, “Don’t tell me that it’s ‘part of your story’ or whatever. I know it is. It’s just…Something’s different about this.”

He used to be unreadable. Unfathomable. Jumping between all kinds of things, unable to pinpoint him in a single way. But he shrugs. Goes quiet again. And mutters, “Just go, Steve. It doesn’t matter.” Even if he wants to say something about how he was supposed to die, or how he should’ve. Even if he wants to show all his cards: I’m lost, I’m different and everybody can tell, I’m falling apart, I’m close to death anyway. 

Steve still doesn’t move.

“Go, Steve. I said that it doesn’t matter,” Eddie snaps. He raises his head. And for some reason, Steve is still there. Concerned and confused and sad all at once. He hates it. “I’m not gonna make you talk about it! Why are you still standing there?! You can go! I’ll find out one of these days, so stop looking at me like that!” He shouts. And he hates that, too. But he lets himself loud and angry, red faced and harsh lines. Because why won’t Steve just—

“You’re being a real dickhead, you know that?” Steve asks rhetorically. “I’m trying to save myself the fucking heartache I went through, and you—What, you think bullying words out of me is going to get you an answer?! I just don’t get why you’re so curious about what I saw! You’ve never pushed before, y’know, back during Starcourt or after Billy or whatever, but now it’s—“

Eddie groans and stands. Interrupting with his own words, “I’m not forcing you anymore, so let’s just drop it!”

“—Why does it matter in the first place?! You know what you did! It’s nothing different from—“

“Nothing different?! God, do you hear yourself?!”

“—Seriously, why does this matter so bad?! I don’t get it—“

“Because…Because I—“

“I thought you were dead!” Steve screams, just as Eddie shouts back:

“I wanted to die down there!”

And then the room fills with suffocating silence. As they stand merely four feet apart from each other. Wide eyed, red in the face, shaking. Immediately, Eddie looks down to the floor as Steve stops closer. Stepping back when he thinks they get too close to touching.

He doesn’t say anything about wanting to die, even now. Doesn’t say how even when Steve is doting on him, massaging his scars with lotion, taking care of him all sweet like—Eddie still wants to crawl outside of his skin and bury himself under the ground. Won’t say something about how he thought about all the ways in which he should’ve died, or could’ve died, or could still die now. Won’t.

Now, he understands why Steve can’t talk. Because he’s realizing he can’t talk either.

Steve’s voice is wet and heartbreaking when he asks, “What? Baby, why would you…”

Eddie just shakes his head. Heaves his own little wet thing. A sigh or a sob, it’s hard to tell. “I shouldn’t have pushed, I’m sorry,” he says first. “Please…Please go, Steve. I think I should lay down.”

“Hey, wait—No, Eds,” Steve calls out, his hand brushing briefly with Eddie’s wrist. But he can’t grasp. Not with how Eddie turns away, down the hallway, and slams his bedroom door behind him.

They don’t see each other for a week after that.

Eddie stays closed up and silent in his bedroom. Under his comforter. Unmoving. Briefly gets up to go to the bathroom. In which he tries to avoid how his uncle stares at him. Doesn’t want to eat, can’t bring himself to eat. Not with the guilt that fills his stomach anyway. Steve shouldn’t have heard that. Shouldn’t know that that part exists inside of Eddie, but it does. And it festers. 

Festers uncaring that Eddie doesn’t want to feel this way. Just lingers heavy on his shoulders, tight in his belly, grumbling in his chest. It, that desire, tingles in his fingertips. As he takes his medications, holding onto the plastic bottles longer than he needs to. When he carries a cigarette between his two fingers, eyeing the embers sparking over his bare skin. It’s in the haunting images in his nightmares, where he lays bloody and exhausted and finally in solitude. But he wakes up sobbing anyway. Grasping to his elbows, rocking back and forth in his bed, biting down on his comforter or his blanket as to not wake up Wayne.

It’s still there when he sees Steve next.

A knock to his bedroom door, hesitant and small. Then, the bustle of movement clambering through. His shadow standing over the end of Eddie’s bed. “Eds?” Steve’s voice is low and cautious, standing on eggshells. “Baby? I—uh—I got a call from Wayne saying you were…That you weren’t feeling good. Just wanted to check on you.” Eddie pulls his head out from under his blanket and just blinks at Steve. He takes that as some sort of cue, though, and comes closer. Hesitantly sitting on the edge of the bed. He lays his right hand over Eddie’s forehead and frowns. “You don’t feel warm or anything. How aren’t you feeling good?” He asks. And his face is all too soft. A little smile. The creases at the corners of his eyes. How his body language is still so sweet and caring and…It just doesn’t make sense with how Eddie treated him last.

So, without a response to give, Eddie allows himself to weep. A quiet thing at first, but that bubbles and pops and explodes from out of him in the next moment. Tumbling from him admits blubbering, apologies and terrible explanations and how he didn’t mean to push. Steve startles lightly, pulls his hand away, but doesn’t get very far. Eddie plunges his hand out from under the blanket, grabs to Steve’s retreating hand, and holds on firmly. “Please, don’t go,” he pleads, “Don’t go, Steve. I don’t—I can’t—“

Carefully, Steve burrows himself into Eddie’s blanket. Flush against Eddie’s torso. Arms wrapping around his shaking shoulders. Lips to his forehead, murmuring, “Hey, hey, Eds. You’re okay. I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.” And when Eddie’s crying only gets louder, Steve squeezes impossibly tighter. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always, Eds. I’m right here with you,” he attempts to placate.

When the crying gets hoarse and Steve’s words are just sticky kisses to Eddie’s forehead, does he calm down. Sniffing loud, burrowing in close to Steve’s warmth, scratching his chin with his wild and unwashed hair. “I didn’t mean to say it that way,” he mumbles, “It’s true, but I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

Steve lets out a carefully measured breath. “I just hope that you don’t think like that now,” he murmurs. A tinge of sadness at the edges of his voice.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and the scream in his chest. The quiver in his palms and the thoughts in his head, he tries to steady. Of course this isn’t easy. “I do, sometimes. I don’t like it, though. And I’d never…But I thought my life was over at that point, you have to understand that, Steve,” he begins to explain. “And like—My life now, I may have some things. I may have you still and Uncle Wayne. I have Dustin and Mike and Lucas, our game and whatnot. But I can’t…Things that used to matter to me, they don’t mean anything at all. They just make me think of that place. It’s just…My life feels drastically different now and like there’s nothing to fix it.”

Above him, where Steve’s chin rests on the top of his head, he hears and feels the hum Steve emanates. He swipes one hand down the center of Eddie’s back. The other holding tight to the back of his head. “I think fix is the wrong word. Maybe just…You just need to be guided. But I don’t think I’m the right person to do that.”

“I know,” Eddie mutters. “I’ll have to find something because I’m not putting the people around me through—I’m not going to let you lose me,” he states determinedly. “Just please don’t go. And know that I really am sorry, that I am grateful for what you’ve done for me, but I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“It sucked,” Steve admits. “But I’m right here with you. By your side through the thick of it. And I forgive you, as long as you stick by me.”

All Eddie can do is burrow in closer, nod, and let himself succumb to Steve’s warmth. To be saved from near death is one thing, but to be held away from it is another. And Steve has done that for him. He kisses Steve’s chest, where his heart is, and makes a silent promise that he will find a better tomorrow for himself.