#It very much starts with an almost suicide attempt and she talks him down and then they’re friends and thieving together

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads / storygraph

Natural Outlaws and Fractured Sovereignty

NA darkish fantasy

A thief and her friend who steal from the rich to save her dying father are caught, and offered a deal by the Governor for her father’s life and their freedom, if they travel to another country to steal from the royal treasury

she has to impersonate a noble lady and compete to become the arrogant king’s new spouse, staying in the competition long enough to figure out a way to pull off their heist, with her friends as undercover servants and the Governor’s assassin watching over her as a handmaiden

Aro bi MC & he/they nonbinary MC who become a QPR, lesbian and ace trans man SCs

[ofsappho]

Summertime Sadness (part 1)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Second chance romance, heavy angst, hurt/very little comfort

Later’s better than never… right?

Ten years ago, Simon and you met at the same therapeutic boarding school. You fought, he said some shit, he left. He thought he’d never see you again.

Until one day, a hospital calls and informs him that you’ve listed him as your emergency contact.

(title from the song by Lana Del Rey)

-

Tags: mental illness, abuse, addiction, self harm, suicidality/suicidal ideation/suicide attempts, angsty shit in general, Ghost being very mean as a fucked up 17 year old boy

There’s an old battered flip phone he hides in the back of his locker wherever he’s deployed. Ghost doesn’t turn it on all that often. Everyone who knows the number is dead.

But sometimes he does, just to stare at the contacts and click through the photos and remember what it was like to talk to them.

Today is one of those days.

He can only take so much talk from his team about families, friends, dogs waiting back home, and pretty girls before feeling the urge to break things.

So he excuses himself to hide in the bathroom like a fucking pussy and takes the phone with him. Simon can pretend he’s waiting for his own phone call from people who love him for a few minutes. Then he promises himself that he’ll put it away and not touch it for another six months.

It takes forever to power on. It’s still janky from the last time Ghost threw it at a wall, it seems.

One (1) missed call.

…What?

They left a voicemail.

His fingers shake as he listens to it.

There’s a long, tinny beep. “Hi, Mr. Riley, I’m…” A woman says in a rushed, businesslike manner. “I’m one of the nurses at-“ Ghost hears a bustle of background noise; faint murmurs, emergency sirens, doors sliding open and shut. “…Hospital. I’m calling because a friend of yours,” The nurse says your name. A name he hasn’t thought about in years. “…Put you down as her emergency contact when we admitted her to our psychiatric inpatient ward. Unfortunately, she did not provide us with anyone else. Please give me a call back at this number if you’d like to speak with her.” Click.

Ghost starts packing an overnight bag before he even realizes it.

Then he’s on a plane.

-

TEN YEARS AGO

“I hate you.”

You’re crying as you run after him in the forest. He speeds up, trying to lose you in the trees. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Simon. I’ll never bring it up again.” Snot covers your upper lip and your eyes are bright with tears.

He hates this fucking place. He hates this fucking school, the kilometers of wilderness separating him from his life because the fucking shrinks think he’s crazy. He hates you for trying to keep him here.

And just when Simon was about to fly the coop, you spilled the beans. “Leave me the fuck alone. Never, ever, ever talk to me again,” He barks, stopping abruptly and turning to loom over you.

When you reach for his hand, he slaps you away. “But you promised you wouldn’t leave-“ You end up on the ground, the pine needles biting into your bare knees as if Simon shoved you.

That makes him angrier. You’re too soft for a world like this. You’re practically begging for someone to hurt you again, someone like him, with your vulnerability and open, bleeding heart. Well, he’ll fucking oblige. You’re not strong like you think you are. You’re the weakest person he knows, and weakness is something Simon could never respect.

“I lied. I fucking lied, you dumb bitch. Didn’t you realize it?” Simon snarls, wishing desperately he’d never let you befriend him on his first day at this therapeutic program.

You're sunshine and innocence and friendship bracelets, the kind of girl who will always be a victim because this world devours little girls like you. Simon is nothing like you. Simon is a survivor. A warrior. Simon is steel where you are china.

Your American accent is almost as unbearable as your pathetic weeping. “…What?” Your bottom lip wobbles.

Hopefully this will teach you a lesson about tattling. Nobody likes a snitch. “Forever doesn’t fucking exist. You were the only tolerable person in this shithole, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to be friends forever. What are you, a fucking infant? God, you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass.” If anything, Simon is letting you off easy. You told the counselor things Simon told you in confidence about his dad because you were ‘afraid for his safety.’

But you just don’t get it. Simon can’t spend another day here. And the longer he stays, the angrier his dad will get. You just earned him another week of shit and black eyes.

“Newsflash. People lie. Everyone’s been lying to you. Nobody likes you, not even your mum. And I can’t stand you. You were useful, but I don’t need you anymore. I’m better,” Simon hisses as cruelly as he can, using every blade in his arsenal to cut at the sensitive parts of you where he knows you’ll bleed. Just like you did when you told.

You’re only stuck in this place because your mum left you here. You don’t have anyone, not like he does. He has Tommy and his mum. He has a future. You’ve got absolutely fucking nothing.

“I was just trying to help.”

“I’m getting out of here. I don’t need your help. I’d tell you to keep it, but it wouldn’t even help you.” Simon pauses. You’ve stopped crying. Good. A crying fox is easy prey for the hunting dogs. “They won't believe you. And you wanna know why?” It feels good to be the hunter instead of the fox for once. You make excellent prey.

“‘Cause I told them the truth. That you’re an obsessed freak who’s hyper fixated on me and you’d do anything to keep me here. That you’re a sick, compulsive liar and that you’re the one who’s a danger to herself, not me.”

You fall silent. Finally, blessed silence. You look up at Simon with glazed eyes and a still tongue. He feels better. Good, even.

“Goodbye. I hope I never see you again,” Simon says flatly.

-

TODAY

You picked a good place to get yourself locked up in. This is one of the nicest hospitals Ghost has been in recently. Shiny floors, no dirt caking the walls. New York City puts Kabul and Moscow to shame.

He’s wearing a plain black balaclava. Nothing identifying or particularly memorable. This is going to be a short visit. Ghost will see what you want and then leave. That’s it.

You look tired, exhausted to the very bone.

None of the shiny pinkness that drew Ghost to you in the beginning when you were fifteen and he was seventeen. None of the glow, the round cheeks, the wide doe eyes.

There’s dark circles chiseled into your face, so dark he almost thinks they’re bruises. A couple of IV bags run through a drip hidden under bandages covering your arms from wrist to elbow. Your eyes are as quiet as you are. A couple of marbles would be more lively. You look almost like a doll forgotten in a corner.

The nurse gave Ghost the run-down as she guided him to your bed. Police picked you up on a bridge trying to off yourself. Your fifth time this year. Unless you show some real improvement, the doctors will recommend an indefinite hospitalization.

You’ve been busy in the decade of his absence. Multiple addictions, more attempts than he can count, and some small stints in jail. A list of disorders he wouldn’t know how to pronounce. And nobody left to call.

Is this his fault?

When Ghost rounds the corner, you smile like he should be proud of you. “You came,” You say.

I have absolutely no business starting a new fic. Absolutely none. Idk. I have brainrot. No clue when this will be updated. But here, have it.

[alavestineneas]

Together

pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader

summary: Johanna hears the baker assure Katniss. District 12 tributes remind her so much of them. She was once seventeen, and she was once blindly in love. It irritates her—why are they allowed to be like this? Why did she have to hide?

warnings: mentions of suicide attempt, typical hunger games violence

''I think I'll retire quite sooner than I intended with that girl,'' Blight announced, flopping down on the sofa with a distinct sound.

Haymitch chuckled at the man's visible misery, passing him a glass from the nearest tray. ''Is she back at it again?''

Blight nodded in defeat. ''I tried to be understanding, you know, with all of that happening to her family, but my nose is bleeding for the second time this week.''

Haymitch mastered a sympathetic face.  "I've met a lot of monsters, but teenage girls are by far the worst beasts.''

Y/N rolled her eyes at them. ''I'll talk to her.''

Blight looked at her as if she had three heads. "There is no point unless you want a black eye instead of that makeup.''

''Well, I am also a teenage girl, which is what you are so afraid of,'' Y/N said as she stood up from the couch and straightened her dress. ''If I am not back after half an hour, call security.''

''Or doctors,'' muttered Blight under his breath.

"Or doctors." Y/N shrugged.

To be fair, Y/N was quite intrigued by Johanna Mason, the most recent victor. Cunning, quick, and violent—this is what the media tried to portray her as. Y/N knew better than to trust their vision—after all, according to them, she herself was the Capitol's darling, bathing in love and fame for the past two years.

Judging from the sound, somebody was moving furniture in the room. Y/N knocked, more out of habit than from need. The doors in the Capitol are never fully locked—another illusion for a fake sense of privacy.

"I said go fuck yourself, or did I completely knock out your brain?'' a girl's voice responded from within.

Y/N chuckled. "Is this how you talk to your elders?"

The pacing around the room stopped.

''Who are you?'' the Mason girl asked, obviously surprised.

"You'll find out when you open this door—not the best way to start a friendly conversation, is it?"

The loud thuds continued as if nothing had happened.

Y/N sighed. Why can't things be easy for once? She pressed the hidden silver button, and the door unlocked.

A girl with black hair looked at her with wide eyes. She was standing on the chair, holding a piece of rope.

''Hanging? Very original, I'll give you that.''

''What do you want?'' the girl grumbled, undoubtedly dissatisfied with the failed attempt.

''I want you to come down and get dressed,'' Y/N answered, glancing at the undone bed and shattered glass everywhere. ''As simple as that.''

''No.'' The girl looked determined, still standing on the chair. ''I am not going to another idiotic party with those fuckers.''

''Really? I hope you believe in ghosts, because you'll be dead tomorrow morning.''

''I don't care. I don't want to live anyway.''

''Has anyone ever told you that you are such an egocentric bitch?'' Y/N asked, leaning against the wall. She surely got Mason's attention with that—the girl looked at her, insulted.

''Excuse me?''

''You should've just died in that arena and given somebody a chance to live. Take my tribute, Elly. Do you know how much she wanted to survive? Why steal her chance if you'll waste yours anyway?''

"My entire family is gone, and you want me to smile for the cameras?"

"You are correct; they would have been overjoyed to learn that you honored them by killing yourself over a damn party."

The girl stared at Y/N, debating whether she should listen, before getting off the chair with a slight thud.

''I'm Johanna.'', she mumbled.

Y/N grinned.  "Nice to meet you, Johanna. Now let's show these bastards who they are messing with.''  

-

Y/N writes to her almost every week. Johanna has learned the schedule by now - she writes on Saturdays, and on Thursdays, a white envelope is sitting on the porch. She complains about life in District 8, the horrendous dresses she got as presents for her birthday, or how her make-up team appeared to lose their taste after changing the designer.

Johanna never answers. She tells herself it is for the best—she can't get attached to anybody. Mason keeps all the letters neatly stocked in the first drawer of the closet. She won't admit it, but she rereads them every evening. Then, it's easy to pretend they are just two ordinary 17-year-olds.

She doesn't allow herself to answer. Not until Y/N mentions that she is back at the Capitol. Johanna knows what it means—while her friend got to keep her family, it cost her a lot. Only then, she takes a pen and sits at the table, scribbling a response.

It looks messy—nothing like the nicely curved letters Y/N has. She rewrote half of a paper five times. Johanna shoves it into the envelope and sends it off before she can change her mind. She can't help but smile when she gets an answer. Y/N doodled a funny figure, suspiciously similar to Johanna's, covered in spikes. Mason gets the message—she will write more often.

-

Johanna mentors for the first time; her tributes are both alive, which has been rare for so long in the Games. The mentors' lounge is not as crowded as it was in the morning; most of the past victors take turns monitoring the arena. The quiet chatter is the only sound besides the screen. They talk about a dinner tomorrow, a new escort, stylists—anything but the Games.

Y/N is also here - the boy from District 8 is still hiding. They both know the game makers won't allow it for too long. Y/N anxiously fidgets with the rings on her hands, staring at the void. Johanna guesses they are never getting used to it—even older mentors are visibly uneasy, almost too drunk to walk a straight line.

A scream draws her attention back to the screen. A massive, tiger-like creature charged at the boy Y/N mentors. He tries to fight it off with the nearest stick, screaming in horror as the animal opens its mouth and takes a bite of his leg, tearing it off.

Johanna's head flies at Y/N; she is already watching, lips pursed into a white line. More screams ring in the now silent room, along with sounds of growls and what Johanna believes to be the sound of tearing flesh. Finally, the screaming stops; the camera changes to Career's pack.

The mentors try to hide their gaze from the Y/N's figure as she stands up from the couch and leaves the room, her steps echoing in the hallway.

The District Two mentor pours himself a glass of whiskey, downing it in one go; most mentors follow him, and the conversation completely vanishes.

Johanna tries to recollect herself, adjusting the hem of her shirt. The boy's blood-stained face still runs through her mind, so she doesn't notice a figure behind her until somebody places a hand on her shoulder.

''Go talk to her. I'll watch.''

It's a blonde woman from District One - Cashmere or Gloss, Johanna was not sure. She wants to argue but quickly changes her mind. The woman obviously means no harm. So, Johanna nods.

She finds Y/N easily - she is in the training room, sparring with animated figures with a spear. Johanna recalls Y/N telling her that the only reason she chose spears was because they resembled the sticks she used to practice with at District 8. Mason thinks she was joking - her friend was hitting every target with ease right now.

Johanna sits down beside the girl on the burnished metal floor. She was never good with words; it was Y/N who always seemed to know what to say.

''I'm sorry.''

''He was very happy to eat ice cream, you know?'' Y/N says, her voice faint.

"It was his wish?"

Y/N nods. ''It makes them feel better, I think. Hell, it makes me feel better about sending them to their deaths—to know I did something good for those kids.'' She looks down at her hands, her lips trembling. ''He was a nice kid and died such a horrible death, Jo, such a terrible, cruel death.''

Y/N's voice breaks.

She leans into Johanna's embrace, and Mason almost instinctively wraps her hands around her friend's shaking shoulders. It was the first time she saw Y/N like this. Without a mask Capitol made her wear, without the walls she built around herself. Just Y/N.

''We are going to be alright,'' Johanna says.

She hopes her words sound convincing. Of course, they're a lie - nothing is ever okay in this messed-up world. They both know this, but Y/N still whispers a small thank you.

Johanna's heart aches, and a familiar warm sensation spreads through her chest. She resists the urge to wipe the tears off her friend's face. They are friends, and Johanna is happy with that. It is still a lot more than she deserves.

-

Today is Y/N's birthday, and the Capitol is throwing a big party for "the favorite." Johanna doesn't ask why she has this title. Of course, they adore her - Y/N won the Games when she was fifteen. She grew up in front of the camera, and, what is more flawed, she grew up with people behind it.

It is easily seen when Y/N's face changes each time she walks on the stage. Her warm eyes transform into big doe eyes, and a picture-perfect smile appears. She is a perfect actress, quick to come up with a witty remark or play into the naïve girl they view her as.

She won the Games that way; Johanna has to remind herself. Y/N got a 3 as a training score, possessing almost none of the fighting skills. She did, however, know what the Capitol wanted: someone charming, attractive, and willing to put on a show. That and the desert arena got her where she is now.

The perfect victor now lays on the floor next to Johanna, her head on Mason's lap. They are both twenty-one now, not that their age ever stopped them from stealing the alcohol. The party is tomorrow, and Snow wants to put on a show. For now, they can live.

''Jo, can I tell you something? But you must promise not to be angry.''

Mason responds with a hum; she enjoys hearing her rash ideas. The braid she is making out of Y/N's hair is coming out not like she intended, and Johanna huffs in annoyance. ''Just spill it, would you?''

Y/N's face becomes serious. ''I think I am in love with you. And to be fair, it scares the shit out of me.''

The world stops for a second. Johanna thinks she did not hear it right, but there is no other way to understand this. She feels her heartbeat in her ears, loud enough to cover any other noise.

''Well. Yell, scream, or say something. Anything.'' Y/N sits up, a half-finished braid falling undone.

''We can't,'' Johanna says nervously, licking her lips.

''So, you feel this way too?''

"No, that is not the point. We can't do this.''

''Why?'' Y/N takes her hand in hers. ''They'll have to allow it. We can even be a secret if you want to. We'll figure it out, I promise.''

''No.'' Johanna shakes her head. ''You know what happens to the people I love, Y/N. One wrong step, and you will be dead. I can't do this, not again.''

Y/N pauses. "I think you are just afraid to be happy."

"No," Johanna whispers, "I'm afraid of losing you."

Y/N blinks, fighting the tears gathering in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but Johanna was faster.

''I'll go. It's late.'' If she stays any longer, she might lose it.

The door behind her closes with a loud bang. The realization comes suddenly - she lost the only person who loved her. Johanna lets out a few choked sobs, sliding against the nearest wall in a small, empty hall. The worst part is that she loved her too.

-

Johanna is mad—furious even. The Capitol already did everything in its power to break her, yet here she is, going back into the arena. Her reaping wasn't that much of a surprise; she is the only female victor in District 7. Johanna is convinced every name drawn wasn't random—a brother and sister from District One, Finnick and his sweetheart Annie, Y/N.

They meet in the bathroom before the interviews, of all places. Y/N is attempting to remove the mascara from her eyelid, and Johanna is trying hard not to laugh - if only the cameras saw her like this, she would undoubtedly win over all of the sponsors. No other victor radiated as much anger and determination as she does now.

''Stop laughing and come help me,'' Y/N grumbles.

Johanna grins. ''I wasn't laughing.''

''Yeah, whatever.'' Y/N watches as Johanna picks up a napkin and dips its end in the water.

''Close your eyes.''

Y/N does what she is told, the corners of her lips twitching. ''Yes, ma'am.'' She earns a slap on the hand from Johanna. ''Ouch! What was that for?"

"Not everything has to be a sex joke, you know?"

''Well, where is the fun in that?" Y/N opens her eyes. Johanna's face is inches away from hers. ''Jo...''

''Shut up," she mumbles, covering the girl's lips with hers.

Y/N throws her arms around her, pressing Johanna's body as close as humanly possible. The kiss is hard. Griping. Almost painful. It's like they can't get enough of each other. But Johanna wouldn't want it any other way.

Y/N pulls away first, watching Johanna take a few rushed breaths in. ''I thought we couldn't do it,'' she jokes.

Mason rolls her eyes.  "I liked your mouth closed better."

Y/N's face turns serious, her playful expression vanishing. ''Regarding that. Give them hell. For me.''

Johanna nods. ''I promise.''

-

It wasn't supposed to be easy, and Johanna is reminded of that by stupid birds; while she pities Finnick and Katniss, she is also jealous - they still have someone to care for. Mason doesn't know if Y/N is still alive - the last time she saw her was at the Bloodbath. She can't swim.

''They won't touch Prim!''

Johanna hears the baker assure Katniss. District 12 tributes remind her so much of them. She was once seventeen, and she was once blindly in love. It irritates her—why are they allowed to be like this? Why did she have to hide?

''Your fiancé's right. The whole country loves your sister. Forget the districts; there will be riots in the Capitol if they torture or harm her.'' Johanna turns to the cameras and yells. ''Hey, how does that sound, Snow? What if we set your backyard on fire? You know you can't put everybody in here!''

She feels the stares of her alliance on her, but frankly, she does not care anymore. ''What? He can't hurt me. There's no one left that I love.''

Finnick glances at her, eyebrows raised. He knows. Y/N was his friend too.

-

Johanna tries to meet her fate with anger at first. It served her well throughout her life, as she dealt with every adversity with sarcasm and insults. Mason maintains her arrogance, refusing to allow them to hear her screams or begs. Johanna refused to be turned into entertainment, even after losing. She didn't cry when they cut her hair or beat her. She told herself, "The help is near.''

It provoked them more. The torture becomes more violent day by day until Johanna is exhausted. She has endured it for weeks, and help still hasn't come. She just wants to slump in her chains and silently take it.

The breadboy's cells are next to hers; she hears his screams more than she does her own. Johanna wasn't sure how much time had passed until she heard another familiar cry.

It's Y/N. Mason can swear on the remains of her sanity that it was her voice. She was alive. It takes Johanna everything not to show how much those shouts affected her—it could mean more torture for the District 8 victor.

Johanna now awoke from Y/N's screams and drifted into unconsciousness with them, as if by clockwork. The torture was sometimes worse than electricity. Her biggest fear came true—she sacrificed their happiness for nothing.

Mason is drawn away from her thoughts by another couple of screams. The sound of water pouring fills her ears - it's all happening again.

-

Johanna finds herself even more isolated when they are finally rescued. In a sense, they were in this together in the Capitol; she could at least hear other people, even if it was just screams. Johanna was now completely alone; whereas Peeta had Katniss and Annie had Finnick, Johanna had no one to look out for her. Johanna doesn't want to fight anymore. She is tired. There is a void in her soul, and she doesn't know how to fix it.

The doctors here tell her it's okay not to feel understood, but Johanna knows old Y/N would. She always somehow did. Mason wonders why everyone in her life despises her - what has she done to deserve this? Why do others have someone to return to, someone in their right mind? Why couldn't it be them?

Y/N was still under the constant attention of the doctors. They meet twice a week under strict supervision. Y/N listens to Johanna attentively each time, but something about her gaze feels odd. She can't place it - Y/N is distant and quiet, but that's unusual. Mason tells herself that it was the outcome of the torture they had to survive and that she'll get better with time. It's not her Y/N, but Johanna can't be the one speaking. The Capitol changed them both.

It finally clicks for Johanna when she hears that doctors found a knife in Y/N's room. A knife that she intended to use. It was the absence of hope in her eyes that felt unusual; before, it was always there.

''You are such a hypocrite, you know that?" Johanna tells her. They are in a hospital ward. Y/N's face is tear-stained, and yet, she doesn't answer. ''Remember what you told me the first time we met? That you have to live for those who can't?''

Johanna is angry. She is furious, both with Y/N and with herself, as well as with everyone in this dreadful building. Why can't they understand?

''Well, maybe I lied.'' Y/N's voice is hoarse. It was the first time she had spoken since their rescue. ''There is no point in living anymore, Jo. There always was none.'' She shifts on her bed, looking up at Johanna. ''It never gets better. So it's fairer if we end it now and save ourselves a lot of suffering. ''

''No.'' Johanna's hands are in fists, and she comes closer to the woman in front of her. ''You are not fucking allowed to decide that, not when I spent all those days staying alive and sane for you. Do you hear me? Not for me, for you! I woke up and listened to your screams. I thought about you before I fell asleep because I knew we would get a chance to finally have a normal life when this was over. And now you're saying there's no point?''

Y/N's lower lip trembles, with glimmery tears running down her sunken cheeks. ''I'm sorry.''

Johanna sighs and settles in next to her. ''Look, I can't promise anything. I don't know if it will ever be okay. But we can try.''

Y/N looks at her, and her eyes are finally warm again. ''Together?'' she asks.

Johanna feels the knots in her chest loosening for the first time in a while. ''Together.'', she nods.

[bitchinbarzal]

hold on | J.Hughes

summary; just when Jack wants to give in, you tell him to hold on just a little longer

warnings; suicide, talks of death, ambulances, hospitals and substance abuse.

I took a more soft approach than I intended

Read at your own discretion

-

Jack should feel so blessed.

He has a great family; his two brothers and parents doted on him from day one, he had his dream job that he’d worked on for years and his friends were the very best friends he could’ve ever asked for.

So why did he feel this way?

Why was he allowing a girl to break his heart and make him feel useless.

Jack Hughes. Useless.

Layla had told him over text that she had slept with her roommate while he was away on a road trip to California. Jake. Fucking Jake.

Jack knew he wasn’t gay, like Layla had told him so many times when he brought up their flirting.

Jack didn’t want to tell anyone what happened, not on the road. He didn’t want the pity stares and the second guessing of his game.

So he kept quiet throughout the roadie. His game tanked in San Jose, he heard the comments in the media;

fraud

fake

not good enough

There was a break in games when the devils returned home, leaving Jack to sit with his own thoughts. Layla had attempted to visit but he wouldn’t let her in.

He let the media consume him, the news articles and TikTok videos. All calling him out for not being good enough, he was a bust.

His feelings started almost subconsciously. When he was out at the store he would pick up bottles of painkillers as if he’d not bought bottles the day prior.

He began ‘forgetting’ to call and text his family and friends. His way of preparing them to never hear from him again.

People began to get concerned for him, he wasn’t himself.

A week into his depressive episode Jack tried to get back out there. He ventured to Raya.

He started talking to a model, she seemed nice and they organized a date only for him to show up and she couldn’t stop talking about followers and social media, how being with someone famous like Jack would do good for her.

Jack paid the bill and he left.

Just another girl who saw him as nothing more than just another pretty boy.

The bottles lined up on his bathroom counter, caps off as he stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red and bloodshot and his palms were sure to have cuts from his grip on the marble countertop.

He took them, all of them.

The empty plastic bottles clattered against the floor once he’d tossed them, his chest heaving while they slipped down his windpipe.

He was sobbing and he wasn’t sure why. It felt right. To cry and mourn the life he was taking away.

It didn’t happen all at once. Jack expected it to happen faster but he felt fine.

He found his phone, texting ‘i love you’ to his friends and family. A few replied with similar

Others, his brother Quinn questioned him

what do you mean? what’s wrong?

Quinn called him. He declined.

Quinn called again. He declined again.

Quinn text. And again. And again.

When Jack declined Quinn’s call for a third time, he called 911.

“Hi yes my brother, he’s acting weird and I think — I think he could be hurting himself”

Jack sat on the bathroom floor as the pills slowly worked their way into his body, his fingers began getting numb and he became drowsy.

He didn’t know what was happening but he heard a lot of yelling and the door of the bathroom flew open.

On the other side of the door was you, chest heaving as you stared down at him

“My god, dude your doors are heavy!”

You dropped to your knees next to him, pulling out liquids and needles while you simultaneously turned jack towards the toilet bowl.

“Who?” Jack slurred.

“It’s okay sweetheart, I’m here to help. My names y/n, I’m a paramedic. I hear you’ve got an awfully concerned big brother” you explained, using the time he was distracted to slip the needle into his arm while held the liquids he was about to need.

“I Just, Go! I want to die!” He demanded, shoving you as much as he could.

You shook your head “I can’t let that happen Jack, You have so much to live for”

“No” he cries “I hate you, stop!”

You turn him towards the toilet bowl once more and you say “You’re about to hate me so much more”

And before he can question you, you shove two of your fingers into his mouth and hit the back of his throat. He gags and tries to pull your hands out but you grab the back of his head and stop him

“I’m sorry Jack, I hope you’ll forgive me at some point”

He’s puking all over your hand and although he’s in no position to, he feels embarrassed.

Once he has vomited a sufficient amount your second paramedic has arrived with the gurney.

“C’mon bud let’s go to the hospital” you mumble, helping him up. He holds onto you, his hands are shaking and you can hear him softly sobbing.

Your heart breaks for him as you watch him, confused, sit on the gurney and be strapped down.

When he’s loaded in, he’s looking around as if he’s looking for someone. You smile as you go to grab the keys from your partner when Jack reaches out and grabs your hand

“Please don’t leave me”

You nod, jumping in the back with him.

You sit in silence for a while, filling out forms and checking his meds until Jack breaks the silence

“You’re not gonna ask why I did it?”

You hum “It’s not my place to question you”

“You’re not curious?” He presses.

You sigh, putting down your clipboard

“Do you want me to ask? Do you want me to question why you, Jack, hate your life so much to want to end it? What, because you’re a hotshot hockey player you think mental health can’t touch you?” You reply.

Jack physically gulps “how did-“

“Jack, you’re worth so much in this world. More than hockey! You’re gonna be a dad one day and get married? You’ll take trips across the world with your friends and you’ll do loads of exciting shit!” You exclaim, the smile on your face put one on Jack’s

He looked down at his hands and you huffed before standing to adjust his saline bag

“It was a girl” he mumbled and you frowned

“Huh?”

“It was a girl that I was getting to depressed over”

You tut and sit back down on the bench

“She doesn’t know what she’s missing! You seem like a great guy Jack and you have a caring family, your brother was really worried about you is what dispatch said”

Jack’s lips created a thin line and he hummed before he said

“Do You do this a lot? You were really calm today”

You chuckled softly “You are the first suicide attempt I’ve ever been to and I am actually having a major panic attack internally right now”

“Oh” Jack’s mouth creates an O shape “Sorry about that”

You brush it off with a soft smile.

“You’ve got so much to live for Jack, I promise”

Once you’re at the hospital and he’s being pulled out of the ambulance he grabs your wrist once more, bringing your attention to him

“What do i have to live for? Tell me”

You give him a smile and hold his hand

“It’ll happen Jack, just hold on”

“C’mon baby, just hold on a couple more-“

“He’s here!”

You throw your head back and cry out “Jack! What does he-“

“He’s so perfect baby, he’s fucking beautiful” he cries, kissing your head repeatedly.

That night, the rooms quiet and jack is sitting in the chair next to you while your son sleeps soundly on the other side of the room.

You look over to Jack and give a sleepy smile

He smiles back and said “was this it?”

“Was this what?”

“Me holding on. Was this what I was holding on for?”

Your face drops remembering that day

“Was It worth it? What I described?”

“It Was everything and more, thank you for saving my life in more ways than one”

[savventeen]

places we've been torn (i'm always, always yours)

pairing: soonyoung x gn!reader rating: T wc: ~1k summary: you and soonyoung have been lying together for who-knows how long now, going back and forth asking each other about the various scars you both have. the stories have been mostly silly or stupid (or both), but it's as the night is winding down that soonyoung asks about the one scar with a story you're not sure you're ready to share. warnings: scars, mentions of suicide, past near-attempted suicide (reader) tags: fluff and angst, angsty fluff, reader is in a good place now but there was a time when they weren't, and soonyoung has to take some time to process that fact, i think this is still very soft??? despite the subject matter, but please please please be careful friends a/n: this is for @diamondyjh as part of my emergency commissions and she requested angst to fluff (tho this turned into more angsty fluff than angst to fluff, but i hope you still like it) and the title is from always by switchfoot

You're not sure the last time you felt so content.

At the moment, you and Soonyoung are curled up on his bed over the covers, feet tangled together and heads sharing the same pillow. The past few hours you've spent just laying there and talking, mostly asking about each other's scars but drifting off to other topics as well. For the past ten minutes or so, it's been quiet, the two of you simply enjoying each other's company.

Everything about this moment is warm — from the way his hands hold one of yours and press a kiss to your palm to the way your heart feels like it's melting in your chest and spreading all the way to the tips of your toes.

"What about this one," he murmurs into the silence, rubbing his thumb slowly over the soft skin of your wrist. "It's so tiny; I never noticed it before."

And the scar in question is tiny, smaller than a grain of rice, nestled right in the center of your wrist.

The story behind it, though, is so much bigger.

For the first time all night, your first instinct is to lie — to make something up and brush it off and clutch at the secret you've kept tucked away in your chest for so, so long. Excuses like oh, it's no big deal - it's nothing - I don't even remember all sit ready on the tip of your tongue. But you bite them back.

You stare at Soonyoung, marveling at how soft he looks in the warm lamplight — trusting the small but fervent corner of your quickly-beating heart begging you to be completely honest for once in your life, whispering that you can trust him with this.

He keeps tracing his thumb in gentle arcs across your skin, and you breathe in — slow — breathe out — steady.

“It’s from a knife,” you say at last, calm, and not at all like this is the first time in the ten years since it happened that you’ve told anyone. A buzzing has started under your skin, anxiety humming through your veins at a frequency you’re sure Soonyoung must be able to hear.

But he just wrinkles his brow in adorable confusion, lower lip jutting out just enough to form a soft, worried pout. “A knife?”

“Yeah.”

You can trust him with this.

You gulp and bite the bullet. “I was sixteen and... and I came really close to killing myself.”

A beat, and the world stops.

Your breath feels trapped in your lungs as you watch him blink, his thumb freezing as he processes your words. And for a moment, his face is blank.

But Soonyoung has always worn his heart on his sleeve, and you can easily read the emotions that start flashing across his face. First, a silent shock that bleeds into disbelief. His eyes find yours, searching, searching, yearning to find a falsehood somewhere in your words — a soft kind of horror dawning like a rain-soaked morning as realization sets in.

His grip on your wrist tightens, fear and worry evident in the way he takes a deep, steadying breath, and he pulls your hand to his chest and clutches it there, almost desperately. His other hand reaches out to cradle your face, stroking reverently, even as his exhale is shaky. It doesn't seem to be enough, though, because a moment later, he's scooting forward the foot of space between you and bringing your forehead to his. You lay like that for a moment, two, and then he's pulling you closer still, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder so that he can wrap his arms around you and squeeze.

You squeeze back, telling him with everything but your words that I'm not gone, I'm still here. I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. You let yourselves have this moment, burying yourself into his embrace as he holds you like you'll disappear if he lets go.

"I'm okay, Youngie," you murmur eventually.

His fingers curl into the back of your shirt. "But you weren't." His voice is a whisper, thick with the threat of tears. "You weren't okay."

You sigh, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of his head and gently scratch at his scalp. "No. No, I wasn't then. But that was a long time ago, now."

Between one blink and the next, he's pulling out of the embrace just enough to be able to cradle your face between his palms. He's staring at you with red-rimmed eyes, and you feel something crack in your chest.

"You'll tell me, right?" he asks. "If you're ever not okay again? You'll tell me, or someone, or—" He huffs a frustrated breath before pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead. For a moment that feels like your own eternity, he lingers there, lips against your skin — an invisible tattoo pressed into every thought floating around in your head. "Please promise me you'll tell someone, jagi."

"I will." You seal your vow with a kiss of your own pressed to his lips. "I promise."

And he must hear the truth of your words because you can feel the tension bleed out of him like he's a deflating balloon, and you deflate right along with him. You press another kiss to his lips, soft and chaste and full of all the reassurance you have.

"Hey, Youngie." You wait until he's looking at you, and then you let all of the warm, gooey feelings of hope and love and life bubble over into a beaming grin. "I love you, and I'm so happy that I'm here with you."

The smile he gives back could rival the sun's, you think.

~~~

Suicide Hotlines in the US call or text 988 Spanish toll-free number 1-888-628-9454 Trevor Project/LGBTQIA+: text 678-678 or call 1-866-488-7386

[loveshotzz]

I see that your requests are open. I am a suckered for angst and Eddie Munson. And I have this idea for Eddie dies in the upside down from the bats and his girl can't ger over it. She is seriously depressed, stopped eating and sleeping, her friends and family are worried about her. She starts taking drugs to ease her pain. She is slowly killing herself from heartache. But Eddie didn't really die and has been trying to get back to her. He finally does but he is too late. She has died. Now he has to live his life without her. If you could this would be amazing. I thank you in advance.

I know you put this request in forever ago, I’m sorry it took me so long! I felt inspired by the song/music video for 11 Minutes following the five stages of grief. I kinda gave it a more ambiguous ending in case someone wants to believe it’s not too late. STILL NOT A HAPPY ENDING. I hope you don’t mind! It’s hard to hurt Eddie!

Thank you @myobmaya and @sweetsweetjellybean for reading this dark blurb over and over again, you’re the real MVP’s.

Warnings: Pure angst. Very dark themes under the cut read at your own risk. Mentions of Eddie’s death, severe depression, heavy drug and drinking use, talks of suicide, attempted suicide. Everything will be under the cut as to not trigger anyone. No smut but my blog is strictly 18 plus.

There’s still days where you wake up forgetting it ever happened. A sleepy hand reaching over searching for his warmth on the other side of a the bed, but when the coolness of the sheets hits your finger tips the harsh reality that he’ll never be there again rips through your chest hollowing out the heart that’s some how still there. A heart that you swore only beat because of him, his laughter making the blood course through your veins. If you close your eyes sometimes you can still remember it, the deep baritone of it. The way his chocolate eyes lit up, lips spreading over the expanse of his teeth. You hate that he’s getting harder to remember, that your have to really focus to see and hear the details of your favorite things about him. Clinging desperately to whatever you had left of him. Anything to remind you that the love of your life was real.

Denial:

You still remember when Dustin told you, with tears falling like waterfalls from his eyes the words leaving his mouth were jumbled with so much emotion you couldn’t understand anything he was saying. It was when he stuck his bloody hand in front of your face, Eddie’s guitar pick necklace dangling from his clench fist. It took you a minute to comprehend what was happening, staring from the sobbing boy to the necklace. Eyes flashing to the sullen faces of Steve, Robin, and Nancy it all starts to click but you still can’t stop yourself from asking.

Where’s Eddie?

The next few weeks are spent sitting on the metal picnic table in the middle of the trailer park. Eyes fixated on the rubble of what used to be the Munson’s trailer. The place that had become your home away from home. Another thing that was ripped away from you, the place that was was filled with almost all of your favorite memories. The place where all of your first’s happened, it was where you and Eddie could just be. Late nights left alone while Uncle Wayne was at work, the two of you got to know each other in a way that was deeper then anything you had ever felt. You two just understood each other, he was the only person that made you feel like you didn’t have to hide any parts of yourself. Even the parts you didn’t like, because he loved those too.

The wind catches and the corner of his handmade corroded coffin tapestry peaks from underneath the piles of bricks and glass. The deep crack in the earth only becoming worse with each passing day.

This can’t be real, he has to come back.

Every day you stare at the jagged edges of the ground hoping you’ll see those ringed hands come crawling their way back out of there. Maybe they were wrong. How could they know for sure? They just left him down there.

Anger:

It was all of their faults. Every single one of them. He didn’t need to go down there, he didn’t need to help be a distraction. They could have figured it out just like they always had before he got dragged into all of this. You needed someone to hate, someone to direct all of you anger at. Someone to blame for losing your soul mate before you even got to start your lives together. 86’ was suppose to be the year that changed it all for the both of you, saving up every penny to finally leave this shitty town behind. The resentment manifests itself so much you can feel it radiating from the furtherest parts of your body, rage burying itself so deep inside of you that you couldn’t see your way out. You didn’t have a choice but to cut them off. All they were to you was just a constant reminder of the fact that he was dead and they were alive.

Bargaining:

All you can think about is all the stupid little fights you two got in. The desperation to go to the past and take it all back, to treasure the short time you didn’t know you had with him. To hold him instead of yell at him, to tell him you didn’t care if he lost himself in a DND campaign that made him 40 minutes late to a movie you both had already seen. Maybe if you’d pushed him harder to study more he would have graduated a year earlier and you both would have been long gone before any of this could have happened. You could have had that studio apartment in the city, you could have watched him follow his dreams that were so much bigger then what he was born into.

Depression:

It had been two months since Eddie died, and yet it still hurts like the night you found out. A sadness so dark consuming you, it was becoming too much to be alive. You needed to forget. You needed to feel numb. It started off with liquor, drinking yourself till you blacked out every night. Sometimes it would back fire, the alcohol only intensifying the grief so much it left you crumpled on the floor before you’d slip into the darkness just to wake up in the same pain you were in before anything even hit your blood stream. It wasn’t enough. You needed something stronger. It started with K, it was a drug Eddie sold but it was never something you’d ever tried before. Eddie would never let you. At first doing it somehow made you feel closer to him and if you snorted enough of it you felt exactly what you wanted to feel, nothing. Eventually your tolerance became too much so you needed something even stronger. Scouring your mom’s medicine cabinet for her anti depressants, you started mixing the two. The combination enough to make your brain feel empty, the pain slowly fading away. Mixing the three of them had become your magic concoction.

The empty expanse of nothing became your safe space and this is where you decided you belonged now.

Maybe if you died, he’d be waiting. Maybe he’s been waiting this whole time.

Acceptance:

When you finally decid to kill yourself, it feels like a giant weight has finally been lifted off of your shoulders. You didn’t need to pretend to be a person anymore. You didn’t need to try to numb the pain, there wouldn’t be anything to run from anymore. No more new memories with out him, no more planning a life that wasn’t made for the two of you.

He’d be waiting, he had to be. The lights flickering on and off in your room the night you decide only encouraged you more. It was a sign, he was begging you to meet him. He missed you too. With a handful of pills and a belly full of rum, you snorted the last line off your dresser before you laid on the rough carpet of you room. The glossiness of the Polaroid in your hand catches your attention with your vision starting to blur you bring the picture up to your eyes, the smile on Eddie’s face still gives you butterflies.

The kind of peace that washes over your body when you feel your heart rate starts to slow down isn’t something you’ve felt since he died. When the room starts fading you swear you can hear his voice, a slow smile spreading lazily over your face at the sound. He’s calling your name and it’s clear as day, it’s almost like Eddie’s right next to you. It’s only when you see his big brown eyes hover over yours think you think you’ve made it to heaven.

He screams your name one more time before your vision goes black.

[kisuminight]

With the DSMP Blade System AU, I'm more vibing than I am coming up with a coherent story. But if I did have to come up with a story that I wrote out, I'd probably end it on an emotional triumph instead of a one based in combat.

So the Egg gets beaten. In the process, c!Dream would find out that he is part of the shattered Aegis and that XD is looking to put his original Aegis Blade back together. He would also find out that c!Philza is an Aegis Blade.

So he'd turn over a copy of the code that he and c!Punz worked on, to make the Memory Patch something that goes out in a general Universal Patch. And Phil would mention that just one Aegis can't make changes to what is/will be in the Universal Patch (for security reasons) and that they'll need to contact another Aegis.

What Phil trying to say: "This is great, I'll look over it. We can't do it immediately but I'll reach out to my Goddess and we will see if we can get other gods and their Aegis on board."

What Dream hears: "This Plan is fucked unless you, personally, find another Aegis on this server."

And Dream doesn't know another Aegis. But he knows that he used to be one. And he knows from the Revival Book that Aegis!Dream was attempting to create the Universal Memory Patch himself. So, theoretically, if he lets DreamXD bring Aegis!Dream back, then their problems are solved.

Dream doesn't want to die. But he's picked up that he has several similarities with Aegis!Dream. It wouldn't be a real death, would it? No more a real death than any other Blade goes through, when they revert to their core crystal without the Memory Patch. One Blade to save every other Blade, and if he makes it a condition of giving himself over, Aegis!Dream would probably be much better at working out Phase 2 of The Plan than he and Punz ever could alone.

Normally Dream wouldn't bother to leave a note. But this is the last impact he is going to have and he can be assured that c!Techno will remember him. So he does. And Techno comes down the next day and finds a letter that isn't outright saying anything but basically reads like a suicide note and that's... a Problem.

So he rounds up the people he thinks can talk Dream out of this--the syndicate plus Punz and Sapnap, basically--and they go try and stop Dream. Who has almost a full day's head start. And there's only one place where DreamXD is absolutely going to show up--the End Portal. So now it's a manhunt, using their combined knowledge, plus Phil's ability to sense aether, plus Techno's passive to try and track him down.

In a sense, they fail. They almost catch him, but Dream is 15 minutes ahead of them when he activates the portal.

DreamXD is just chilling when Drista brings Dream to him. Dream offers him his whole goal. To let DreamXD take his core crystal, to fuse it with the other pieces he's collected to resurrect his Aegis Blade.

But DreamXD isn't sure that he wants that anymore. He's been speaking with c!George, making friends with George, bonding over how it felt to have a Blade that you loved and then lost. George, who was dreaming at that very moment, astral projecting himself into the End, this time, instead of DreamXD going to him. George who has watched this entire conversation, even though Dream can't see him, and will lose his Blade, again, if DreamXD regains his.

Drista is watching too. She's been acting as his Blade for over 100 years at this point. Drista, who brought Dream to DreamXD without saying a word, serious and still like she never is. Drista, with whom the emotional bleed of the Resonance is tomb-silent and resigned.

"No." DreamXD decides.

At this point, the manhunt team come crashing into the End, all "Dream you idiot, you're not allowed to sacrifice yourself again!" and "Alright XD, you wanna do this? Then we're gonna fight!" And it turns into a very chaotic mess as Niki and Ranboo attempt to retrieve Dream out of the line of fire, Techno, Sapnap, and Punz go all in on the fight-XD bit, and Phil sidles over to Drista to head that bit off.

Final resolution would be that they all sit down and get the situation explained. Phil mentions that he forwarded the code to the Blood God's Aegis, and she is willing to help. Dream gets cornered with the fact that people love him and care about him and they're a little mad about past lies but that's not enough to make them leave. DreamXD gets a chance to confront what he lost and start the process of healing, finally. He teleports them all home, to the Antarctic Anarchist Compound, and then wakes George up and teleports him and Purpled to the group.

And like, there's still stuff that they all need to talk about. Reconciliations need to occur. Relationships that need to be sorted out. George and Dream absolutely need to have a shouting match about what they mean to each other and not be allowed to run away from it until they've both said everything and they've both said the truth. Punz is also going to make them crack open the ugly truths of how Dream made Sapnap feel, but also how Sapnap made Dream feel.

Dream and Punz need to get sat down to explain what all they've been doing/working on. If you think that DTeam + Syndicate won't shut down the Plan Phase 2, you're wrong.

When c!Bad and c!Skeppy finish recovering from the Egg, I think Dream and Punz will work with them, Techno, and Philza, to see if they can make it so that Blades can have an independent existence/be Awake without their Drivers (like in YWKON's finale), and still have a Resonance if they want one.

Life keeps going, with it's ups and downs. But this would be a sweet, happy note to end on.

[ssreeder]

HELLO

I didnt see that there was an update until now and i dont feel like discording and i just read the new chapter so here i am with my few main points bc i dont feel like doing a full live reaction👍👍🫶

Seeing Jeeto come into play in any capacity at all makes me feel like a proud parent watching their children grow. Its always wonderful like those are my emotional support middle aged fictional men. I watched them go from conspiracy to getting crumbs to now their "dates" and gossiping together. Youve gotta love it. Those are my children. Im so proud of them. But im also scared because you killed shen so obviously my feeligns mean nothing to you 🙄😒😒. (Im never going to get over that, im going to be 80 years old in some pst apocolypic enviroment with horrors all around me, but im going to be having nightmares about shen. Ill send you my therapy bill) (im going to get a tattoo in his memory istg)

Also its always really subtle but its funny to see your specific linguistical patterns in liab esp because i can never really explain it. Like ill read a random sentence and be like 'yeah that seems like sreeder wrote it' i just think its neat.

I also really loved zukka this chapter. But i always lovr zukka so its not a surprise. But espesially this chapter because its mostly soft zukka.

"Do you think we will stay together" NO Zukko divorce 🔫🔫. 🙅🏻🔥🔥🔥🙅🏾

The 'moving forward' ness of zukka in liab is so nicely written. Like ive been reading liab since (almost) the beginning and it has been a ride and its starting to feel more conclusive and that is SCARY but its also nice because you write it very well and i adore the way you write trauma and the healing of it and the ups and downs and the two steps forward two steps backness. Its very lovely.

I knew ara was going to have a suicide attempt (esque situation (idk if that counts)) i called it i win.

Idc what others say ara will always be amazing. I love her character SO MUCH

i feel like you can always tell the strengths of a writer in the way they write complicated characters and the way you write ara is very telling of that. Like the fragility and also harshness used for her is very realistic and i always enjoy her parts so much.

Like her deciding to move on independant of how zuko or sokka feel about it is and regardless of whether people thinks she 'deserves it' is immaculate.

And thats a good example on your specific strengths as the author of liab (being able to handle delicate situations well, and realistically and make them very thought out and not rushed, stuff like that).

But her 'i need to start getting along with other girls' is great because like,, RHATS SO TRUE. she is genuienlly one of my favorite characters of all time, i could write essays on why i love her. Exquisite.

REHO MENTION 🥳🥳💪💪💪💪

Thats my emotional support woobified early 20 something year old man. I adore him. If 30 people love reho i am one of them, if one person loves reho i am them if 0 people love reho i am dead (rip rehoes 😔) i will defend his (and aras) good names until i die.

Amazing chapter as always 10/10 *chefs kiss* im so excited for the series to finish and see what you do with everyone and the rest of the storylines and such.

Every time I think of Shen’s death I think of your utter devastation & how I wasn’t expecting you to be so distraught over it. I will say I had another commenter lately who was talking about how much they liked Shen & wanted an Iroh/Shen/Zuko dynamic and I kept thinking…. Damn it buddy, you’re going to be soooo mad at me in a few chapter haha…. oops.

ugh my linguistic patterns haunt me and I specifically ask my betas to check for them because I feel sooooo repetitive sometimes especially when there’s a lot of introspection lol. So it’s funny you mentioned that lol.

Omg I remember when I was still on RIA & someone in the server was like “dude I’m rooting for some jeeto.” & I was like oh no how do they know??? I created this fun divide between hakoda and bato just to push Bato into Jees arm!! Don’t spoil it haha, but whatever at least Dentys dead

Awwww thanks for the compliments it means a lot coming from you <3 but also yeah Ara is my delicate dumpster fire who says she going to make her existence everyone’s problem (most importantly sokka because damn girl could just LEAVE but she refuses lol) I love it. She’s fun, and any scene with her expect utter chaos haha.

every time I write Reho in a scene my mind says and the crowd goes wild,,, he’s annoying but I’m glad you like him.

thanks for this amazing ask you’re awesome

[apolloanddaphnis]

Liz and Billy

Synopsis: Minka Farrah is the screen siren of the Art side of Hollywood's. David Lynch's new muse, inspires designers the new Elizabeth Taylor. Despite her appearance, she's always there for her friends. Megan's one of her best, but it turns out Megan isn't the only one who needs a shoulder to cry on, her fiancé Colson Baker, known to the world as the notorious Machine Gun Kelly, needs a shoulder too, and what a lovely sweet smelling, empathetic shoulder it is.

Going to be a Colson x OC fic.

It's going to be an explicit fic.

Warnings for first chapter: Not proofread, mentions of suicide attempts, mental health mentions.

I. Giant

♡♡Minka's POV ♡♡

Megan wasn't doing good.

We've been friends since we met on the set of my film Poison. We bonded over our love for music and she was easy and fun to be around, after that we started spending as much time as we could together and texted everyday, when we weren't filming on location she made herself an unofficial resident at my French revival on Ridgedale drive. Claiming I give the best sleepovers.

The harlot loves stealing my makeup too, Claiming I have so much makeup like a department store I wouldn't notice it missing. I let her, it's not as if I couldn't easily replace it.

I was the only person she told absolutely everything to, perhaps that's why I never corrected her when she would irk me.

Pour example, when she bugs me about why I don't get down there surgery, or after my mother who was my best friend died how I didn't find her warm enough, she has a habit of dealing with tragedy in a way Jack Frost would; Too much silence, almost like she's watching a car crash. And let's not forget that every time I desired to come out to everyone about being a transwoman, she discouraged it because my career is far too successful. Which in my good opinion is precisely why I should, I owe it to my fans to every child or adult who feels trapped inside a body that doesn't belong to them.

I well ignored her well-intentioned advice and came out anyway, while I was a judge on RuPaul's Drag Race. The media lost it people lost it, many angry men who harbored illicit fantasies of me were outraged and women claimed I was far too pretty to be a man. The news beautifully purged me of my ignorant fans, the loyal and open minded remained, and my film career didn't hurt too terribly because I was already in a more artistic genre, people would say I'm the Elizabeth Taylor of Isabella Rosselini, a Bettie Page sort of Isabelle Adjani.

When backlash arrived, Megan lovingly pointed out it was expected because of how people are, I didn't need that. She's not like Anya, who is my warmer friend.

It can't be helped, it's just her nature, she has never dealt with emotions and high stressed situations well, I can accept that.

Despite that, whenever something particularly irks or disturbs her good moods, I'm the first person she calls, and like a dutiful friend I drop it all to run to her beck and call.

She's been starting to see the rapping singer Machine Gun Kelly, the gorgeously painted tower of a man. I never listened to his music and as a fan of Motley Crüe I found The Dirt inaccurate and ridiculous. But he did a very good job as Tommy Lee. I'll admit that.

Megan is mad about Colson, that's his name. She's peanuts and almonds about him, I think it mainly has to do with how apparently skilled he is between the sheets which I can definitely see. But, unfortunately Colson like many artists, suffer from mental health issues, and Meg darling little Nutmeg is not the best with that especially as someone so beautifully intense and tragic as Mr. Baker.

Pete and I have talked about this, my best friend, my absolute beloved, who is actually Colson's beloved best friend as well. So funny that the rapper and I have only met once at Pete's birthday party. He stared at me for a rather long time before offering me a cigarette, I asked if they were French and he laughed before some girl took him away. And that was that, I was called away to Budapest for that Polanski movie.

But Megan has been telling me her forever love has been incredibly paranoid, and blaming her for not being there enough. She was thoroughly upset, and this morning she called me at 5, she couldn't sleep. She told me they fought all through the night and she was glad Casie was at her mother's. I bit back asking about her boys who she spends less and less time with these days. I climbed out of my big, comfy bed away from my canine kinder and American Sable. "Boys, we're going to Auntie Meg's a little early this morning." I Yawned, removing my silk sleeping mask and headscarf. This wasn't the first time I woke up at this time of course, but I savored my days off.

I tie on my vintage circa 1980 Victoria's Secret robe and slip on my satin rabbit shaped slippers before turning on the light on my side table.

I opened the curtains of my French doors that opened up to my bedroom balcony before inhaling the sweet air of the rose hour, and walked through the connecting door to my hardly humble and spacious master bath. No time for luxuriating in my jacuzzi tub, it's a shower today. I rubbed my eyed and messily pinned up what I could of my raven bob, pushing it back by a satin headband and capped it before slipping off my robe and entering my four person shower for one.

The heat was high and delicious and I had to remind myself that this was to be quick, Chanel facial care was my friend and aveeno's oat shower oil and doves macadamia nut body polish were the lovers that kissed my skin.

Once my duties were done I shut off the well pressured shower and dried off with my egyptian cotton towels from the warmer. I rubbed on my toner, serum, essence, moisturizer, spf, eye cream and lip care. I massaged my aveeno baby lotion on and brushed my hair down brushing in the L'Oreal mythic oil, and washed my hands with L'Occitane before moisturizing my hands with their hand cream. I quickly brushed and water flossed my teeth and for makeup it was very basic for my usual, just L'Oreal serum foundation, reddish sweetbriar and rose oil comfort lip oil by Clarins, and Lancome mascara to accentuate my violet-blue eyes a little.

I neglected my underwear today and pulled on my black, v-dipped spandex shorts, and pulled on my white polo halter, backless cropped top that says Los Angeles in black old English text on my right breast. I perfumed my pulse points with eau fraiche by Chanel before rushing to slip on my black 90s slip on sandal wedges.

I washed my chiweenie and skunks faces and leashed them up, before grabbing my Coach black tabby and 90s Prada sunglasses.

I locked up the house and called my driver Kaiden. In record time he pulled up in my black Rolls Royce that I was still too afraid to drive. I'm afraid of driving, yes, and I know it's ridiculous but I can't help the irrational fear. "Morning Kaiden, I hope you had enough sleep."

Kaiden is an ex user. I was at the Beverly Center one day and I saw this hungry young man who happened to be homeless, it upset me so much. I can't stand seeing people on the street and there's so many, so I asked him if he could drive and he said yes, and I asked him how would he like to drive luxury cars for a living. I set him up in a luxury apartment on la brea, got him medical and dental and mental health care all holistic, a signing bonus. The rest is history, Kaiden is like family and he likes to act as my bodyguard as well even though I do have one, Jack. He's protective of me, forever grateful. I look after him, make sure he goes to his therapy sessions and I cook for him and take care of his laundry. I've got a soft spot for the twenty four year old.

"I did, did you?"

"Yes I was a good girl, no parties last night, got my full eight hours father." I teased. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No mother." He teased right back.

I smiled. "I'm going to make breakfast at Meg's, she won't mind you joining, how does that sound?"

"Like I'd ever turn down your food."

"Don't make me blush."

It takes about forty minutes for me to get to Meg's new Encino mans with her rakish knight.

Kaiden parks and takes my skunk, Nikki, as I carry Vince, my chiweenie. I text her that I'm here with Kaiden and she tells me to go around back to not wake Colson.

We do as we're told and Meg is there waiting for us in her pajamas that consist of booty lounge shorts, UGG slippers, a t- shirt that obviously belonged to Colson, and her ebony hair up in a messy bun. "Hi beautiful." I whispered softly before pulling her into a hug and kissed her cheek that was warm from sleep.

"I'm so glad to see you, babe." She said softly as she squeezed me. She waved to Kaiden and slid the backdoor back to let us in.

I set Vince down who followed Kaiden and Nikki, my inked driver knew the routine and headed to the den to give Meg and I privacy.

I slipped off my sandals and followed Meg into the kitchen. I went to the coffee station to start that. I got her and Colson a Nespresso machine and milk frother with many capsules for a housewarming gift.

I put in the rich chocolate capsule that was known for its creamy and chocolate notes, and poured oat milk creamer into the frother. "Okay, I want your guts on the table." I said to her with a smile.

She sighed and slumped her body onto the island. "I can't even like…Mink…" she said my nickname with such exhaustion.

I went over to her and gently rubbed her back aside and pushed a random object off the counter. I love Meg but she's kind of a slob, but a very cute slob. "Deep breaths, like you're using a straw." I encouraged softly.

She did the breathing exercise I taught her and l went to grab three mugs and filled them with coffee, cream, and sugar. I gave her a mug and kissed her head. "Sip some of this and prepare to let It all out, I'll be right back." I left her briefly to give Kaiden his coffee, he and the fur boys were laying on the couch. I then returned to an exhausted Megan sipping her coffee. I took my mug and sat beside her. "Okay, let it out, it's just me."

She teared up as she nursed the glass mug. "It's so fucking hard sometimes, Mink." She whispered. "I can handle it I can but…I mean I'm fucking human, I can handle shit like remember I told you about the accident with Brian."

Brian was her ex husband, only knew him from playing David Silver on Beverly Hills 90210, and he's the father of her boys. They went through a lot together between his ex, being victims of the Bling Ring, and his car accident that had him partially paralyzed for a while and not to mention her affair with Shia LaBeouf. She's right, she can handle a lot.

"But," She continued. "It's fucking insane when you get called up at work from your fiancée, and he fucking tells you you're not there…" her eyes are watery and her voice starts to break.. "And talking crazy shit like somebody's after him, a-and he has a goddamn gun in his mouth!" She whispered hysterically before crying on my shoulder.

I felt my throat run dry, my tongue heavy, I set my mug down and pulled her into a hug as she wailed. Colson tried to kill himself? When was this? He must be in some awful pain to feel like he needed such an awful way out. I took a deep breath to push my own floodgates back, because it's not about me. "He was using at the time, he stopped since then, but I can't get that out of my head, Minka. I fucking can't. Why the hell would he do that to me? And I have been there for him I'm always there, I'm starting to think he wants me to stop my career and keep me in this fucking house!"

My blood ran cold, no wasn't the time for Megan to make it about herself. She Knew what she signed up for with Colson, he trusted her enough to be vulnerable with her. I took a deep breath. "Meg, I'm going to run you a bath, relax, listen to a true crime podcast and I'll make you breakfast okay? and try to clean this place up." The sink was full of dishes.

She let out a shaky breath of relief before hugging me tight. "Bitch, I swear to God I don't know how I got along without you before."

I wiped her eyes. "Please, I'm just nosy." I took her mostly empty coffee and put it in the sink before we both crept upstairs. The bathroom was chaotic and I ended up doing a quick cleaning and made a mental note to have Petra order them that new kItty litter I saw on TV with the cat goddess. I found some Lush bath bombs and put them in the big, hot jacuzzi tub, poured Laura Mercier in and lit some candles. I had Alexa put on some true crime and had the towels set up in the warmer.

Once Meg was situated, I crept back down to the kitchen. I had music on low and gathered ingredients from the fridge and pantry. From scratch I made Russian, honey poppy seed roll, croque Madame sandwich, and fruit salad. I made orange juice from scratch and added turmeric-ginger shots. I was cleaning the kitchen with the vigorous intention of making it spotless, dancing to 'Giant' by The The, swaying my hips when a familiar voice breaks into the scene. "Am I interrupting something?"

I stopped abruptly holding the broom, and spun around to see none other than all 6'4 of freshly awakened Colson Baker. He looked Michelin level delicious in boxers that hung low on his hips and absolutely nothing else.

His cobalt blue eyes weren't looking at her, they were staring. They traveled down her body making her feel self conscious. Like most people, she's attracted to him, he has that typical Taurus beauty that has you hypnotized. No one would ever guess from her vintage, art house style but, the entire punk rock and tatted I just got on parole for good behavior look is her absolute favorite.

"I just made some breakfast, Meg's in a bath, would you like some coffee?"

He sucked his lip in before giving me another once over. "Yeah, have you seen my lighter? Shit it looks clean in here."

"I have and no, you're not smoking right now." I said as I handed him his coffee.

He smirked and sat down at the island with his mug. "Okay ma." He moaned as he sipped the coffee. "Damn I love this shit, even though it gives me the shits."

I smiled. "Everything gives you the shits because you're taurus, you guys have issues." I teased as I made his plate. Megan is the same, the beautiful actress is quite gassy.

"Meg told me you know a lot about astrology."

I set his plate down, and a glass of the juice I made. "My mother was into it, her great grandmother was a gypsy from Krakow."

"That's bomb, was she psychic?"

I gave him a secretive smile. "I'll be back." I had Kaidens plate and bowls for all the animals in the house. After making sure everyone got their food, except for Megan because she's still in the bath, I grabbed my plate and joined Colson, who was inhaling his plate. "Fuck, this is so what I needed. You can cook, you know that?"

I don't know why I liked hearing his approval, he's just one of those people you always want to impress perhaps. "Glad you like it, I love cooking, I believe a good meal can fix just about anything."

"Well maybe if you hosted Thanksgiving this year, it'll fix how fucked up I am." He finished his sandwich looking like he wanted to say something. "She told you, didn't she?"

I didn't respond, which answered his question. "Did you come here to check up on her? And chew me out?" He had a defensive tone, used to people yelling at him to get his shit together no doubt.

"Truthfully, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Colson…I know we hardly know each other, but I worry about you. And you don't need a lecture you need…" he needs someone to understand him, he needs comfort, he needs everything Megan isn't giving him right now. But I didn't say that. "A few good meals." I finished.

His eyes were on me as his teeth tore into the poppy seed roll. My eyes admired him, he's so beautiful, the way he was put together was perfect. How could someone so beautiful be so broken? I didn't want to give him the you're not alone spiel, but he isn't. He's a true artist, he feels more than the average person and has gone through so much, being proven again and again he's no one's priority. He just wants to feel that he matters that his demons are wrong. He doesn't need to be told how to deal with his mental health.

Anything Anything by Dramarama played on my Spotify, he perked up before bobbing his head to the moody yet bouncy rock music. "Yo, I felt that before. I like these lyrics."

"Yeah me too, I love music like this, that makes you feel so raw."

I sang along but stopped as Colson stared at me wide-eyed. "Sorry, I know I'm not good." I said sheepishly.

"No! No, you actually have a very beautiful voice. Why didn't you ever do anything with it?"

I could feel my skin heat up. "I…acting is more of my calling and I thought my voice sounded too squeaky to be any good."

"Well, you can do both, it's done everyday. "

I smiled as I finished up my meal. "After you're done I'll clean up and get out of your hair, Meg's plate is in the microwave okay?"

"Nah you can stick around, kinda having a calming effect on the house. Like human sage." He smiled.

My heart raced and I couldn't help but return his effortlessly pretty smile.

He spoke again due to me not answering. "If you're not busy, I know you got a lot going on."

I took out my phone to text my manager. "We're good, I pushed it back."

His eyes lit up. "Cool, you play Mario Kart?"

"Never have." I don't play video games but for Colson, I will. "I guess you'll have to teach me."

"You're so…"

I bit my lip. "What?"

"You're like someone went back in time and brought you here, it's cool."

I laughed. "Thank you, I suppose."

"Hey, for real though, where's my lighter? I was a good boy and ate my food."

"More like inhaled it." I teased before going to a drawer and pulling it out and handing it to him, our fingertips brushed and I swore I felt an electric jolt. How strange. Our eyes met and I laughed before gently stroking his nail. "I need to give you a manicure, your paint is chipped." I took his hand and pressed a chaste kiss to it. I was always affectionate to all of my friends, kisses and hugs, they always teased me that despite looking like a child I behave like I'm someone's aunt that hasn't seen them in a while.

Colson must have not liked it because he stared at me like I grew two heads. I got up from the table and took his empty dishes. "I'm sorry, I forget not everyone likes to be touched."

"No, I– it's cool, I…liked it. It's just, unless it's someone I'm with, I'm not used to being touched."

"Maybe you're platonically touch-starved." I suggested as I loaded the dishwasher.

"Maybe you could help me satiate that."

A shiver ran up my spine at him saying satiate and it shouldn't have. He doesn't need more people who lust after him or want him. He needs someone to care just to care and not to gain.

"I was in a mental hospital for six months." I said suddenly as I started the dishwasher.

It was quiet for a moment and my heart was racing because Maybe I said the wrong thing.

"Minka…you don't have to say anything…" His voice was soft and tender.

"I want to, I want you to, to…I'm not just blowing smoke up your ass when I said I understand. I'm not just placating and patronizing you to make myself feel better 'helping' or to say I tried." I took a deep breath and turned around to face him, my back against the counter. His eyes wandered over my image again. "Colson, I was bullied so badly and I didn't know what I was…it was all so confusing, so awful…I didn't react too well…I don't know what I hated more, the hospital or school. My mom couldn't handle me being away that long and took me back home. I'm glad she did. She made it a little easier and less confusing…I don't know what I'd do without her." The last word turned into a frightened whisper. "I lost her almost two years ago and…it hasn't been easy, I feel so empty. I know it was awful for you when you lost your father Colson, even if he wasn't the father he should have been." A cold tear slipped down my cheek and I closed my eyes and turned away. I took a drying towel and dabbed my eyes carefully. I checked my reflection in a dish and turned back around To face him. He stared again, always staring.

"Minka…I'm so…sorry." His pretty powder blue eyes teared up.

I quickly made my way over to him and gently took his hands. "Goodness, you're tall." I put on a good smile. ''Don't you dare feel bad for me, and besides we're not making this about me. I just want you to know you can talk to me, be raw with me. You can be sushi!" I attempted to joke, he cracked a smile.

Unexpectedly, he pulled me into a hug. It was such a warm and comforting one, strangely it made me feel safe. I felt so selfish for thinking that way. I wrapped my arms around his slender waist. I think he needs a hug, but it's easier if he convinces himself it's for me.

We stayed like this for a while. He smelled like warmth and sleep and a little kush.

"Hey, I smell food!" It was Megan's raspy, sensual voice.

I pulled back from Colson fast enough to cause whiplash. Quickly I got her plate from the microwave and her juice from the fridge, handing it to her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Colson went over to hug her from behind and kiss her neck. She giggled and turned to kiss his mouth.

I felt rude being here as their kissing became more intense, quietly I left the kitchen and headed into the living room. "Kay, gather pups, let's go." I texted my agent to tell him nevermind.

Music in Chapter:

[zestyaahbutler]

Integra's Mom Lore Post

DISCLAIMER: suicide, mental illness, rape, and questionable dynamics, will all be present themes. 

Hellsing is a story about people that are never entirely good or people who make bad decisions. Nothing will be discussed in too much explicit detail. But read at your own discretion and I hope everyone enjoys Amulya. 

Amulya Hellsing is a twenty-two-year-old Indian woman who met Arthur Hellsing in 1973. She grew up in Mumbai and is the only child of a couple. She met Arthur while he was on a trip in the densely populated city. They would later be engaged shortly after her trip and she was brought back to England with him. They married after a year and she would get pregnant two years later. She gave birth to Integra in 1977 and later passed in 1980. 

Personality:

Amulya is a quiet young lady but when she is interacted with, people will find she is actually very opinionated and talkative. She can be seen as sassy and doesn’t hesitate to stand up against anyone that is addressing her flaws directly. She is sensitive when it is behind her back because she can’t do much about it. Even with her ability to retaliate, she is an incredibly sensitive girl that is prone to overthinking. She can come off as clingy but means well and wants the best for anyone she is attached to.

Looks:

Amilya is a 5 foot Indian woman. She has a slim body frame with more generous portions in her hips and backend while she is on the smaller side on top. Her skin is darker than Intera’s. She has big doe eyes that are innocent but can easily guilt someone into whatever she is playing for. Her eyes have more pigmentation on them which makes her have dark circles around them. Her smile makes her look a little cat-like. She boasts long black hair that hits right around mid booty. It is very curly and well-kept. Her bangs are long and aren’t styled in any particular manner. Her bangs cover the bindi she will occasionally wear unless she pushes them out of the way. She experiments with a wide range of hairstyles but will stick with just keeping it down if she is at home. Her style ranges from 70s Western fashion, Bollywood type of outfits, to saris depending on her mood. She loves jewelry and is drawn to elaborate earrings and interestingly patterned clothes. 

Story and Background:

Amulya grew up in a conservative family which practiced Hinduism. Being the only daughter, she was being raised to become a homemaker. When she was 13, she was kidnapped by an older man who wanted her as her bride. She was kept isolated for a year while he assaulted her and tried to get her to share his perverted delusions. As a way of survival, she pretended to be in love with him. With this, she was able to leave the house one day to go to the market by herself. She took this as a chance to find her way back home. She arrived home to see her parents, completely relieved to have survived such an event. Instead of much of any sentiment, her parents almost completely rejected her. Her story to them was heartbreaking but it meant she was damaged and unable to marry. She would still live with them but their relationship was strained. They barely acknowledged her besides helping them provide for the household and with chores. As any young girl, she made friends growing up but still never let go of that feeling of being unwanted or loneliness. She secretly was always yearning for some chance to be better for herself and to make her parents proud. Whenever she was 22 she had a chance meeting with Arthur Hellsing when he was on a trip in the city she lived in. She was out shopping for herself and he started to chat her up. 

His original advances were rejected by Amulya. She didn’t take his flirtations seriously. It wasn’t till a few other meetings during his time there that she began to warm up to him. She became enamored by his accent, humor, and eccentric personality. He was unlike anyone she had met. He made attempts to woo her further with expensive gifts which she tried to push back on. It was an overwhelming set of advances. This was on dates where they began to spend more and more time together. By the end of his trip, he popped the question to her as he would be sad to not see her anymore and hoped she felt the same. Without thinking much about it and considering her own feelings, she agreed to the arrangement. Amulya was able to tell her parents about the news. They were put off by their daughter running off with an older man till Arthur offered to pay them off for the troubles. With that she was off to England for a new start in life. 

Her engagement to Arthur was short, lasting 6 months till they later married after she was brought back to England. Everyone in the organization and people affiliated with Arthur were all equally surprised by his sudden commitment. 

Amulya wore a traditional wedding Sari with numerous kinds of gold jewelry. The ceremony was a mix of western tradition with Indian ones. Arthur planned the wedding closely with her. This even meant ever so slightly pressuring Pennwood into supplying some extra funds for the event for his dear old friend. Amulya’s family would not be present at the wedding.

Amulya was given no exact knowledge of what Hellsing truly was. It was a few years after Alucard had been sealed. To her knowledge, it was just an extra special military branch. Arthur did his best to shield her from knowledge of the supernatural out of not wanting her to worry and partly wanting to have a normal domestic marriage. 

Moving to England felt like a dream but the rose tinted glasses would fade. Not that she wasn’t ecstatic, she was but it brought a new kind of loneliness. She had no family or friends. She only had her husband to support her emotional needs. While she wanted to go to school, Arthur offered her a private tutor which only fostered that loneliness and isolation. Having a whole new culture to assimilate added new stress. She was judged for both her age and race. Almost anyone she was exposed to was an aristocratic British person. Comments made about her or Arthur behind her back often ate away at her.

Her servant was even switched by Arthur to Walter after a debacle with her last attendant which she never knew much about. Walter tended to her as best he could while he had his own work. If Amulya was bored or wanted someone to talk to, she would go to chat up the maids or pester him in his office. She was tenacious with the man and tested him during their conversations. Part of her wanted to see how genuine the butler persona was while she also just wanted to have fun. From asking him which color earrings she should wear and debate as to why, or pulling him out to have tea with her in random parts of the day, she made sure to push how much he could deal with her. While he did put up a polite front, it cracked if she pressed hard enough. Eventually he came to not mind her and even enjoy her personality more as time went on. He never reported to Arthur about Amulya pestering him during work as time went on.

Amulya took up many hobbies to pass the time. She read often about anything she could get her hands on. Her favorite was botany which made her take up gardening. Her and Walter had a routine of spending time there. This caused mindless conversations between them. Without realizing what he had implied, Walter mentioned his time as a child soldier. Amulya became sympathetic and concerned that Arthur had sent Walter out in a military mission at 14. Suspicion started to arise and it caused an argument between her and Arthur. Walter got to hear Arthur scold him about slipping up around her. 

Walter misconstrued the young lady’s concern as pity but this was cleared up later after a late evening conversation. While he didn’t disclose much about the organization, he became more and more personable with Amulya. Amulya did the same. She often discussed her mental state with him and daily stressors as it was somehow easier. More complex feelings would arise in the butler unbeknownst to her.

Amulya suspicions added as Arthur went on numerous nightly trips because of mission related purposes which he could never exactly tell her was for. 

Amulya would get pregnant with Integra two years later in 1976. Her pregnancy was very healthy. However, near the final trimester, Arthur decided to spring it up on her that Integra would become the successor in the Hellsing family. He also explained what Hellsing was, that the paranormal was real, and the vampire they have in the basement. Amulya did not take this wel in the slightest. Her world had turned itself inside out at this. She felt a mix of betrayal and fear. She wondered what kind of world Integra would be brought into. What world had she been in? Arthur and Walter both felt the full brunt of her displeasement. She warmed up to it slightly when Integra was born in 1977. Integra’s birth brought even more difficulties to Amulya’s overall health. She experienced postpartum depression. She was exhausted from giving birth and her mental state had never been the best. She had to get a ton of help from nannies, maids, and Walter with helping the care of Integra. There would be many times that she felt she couldn’t hold Integra just because she was too scared to. She had numerous intrusive thoughts of wanting to hurt herself or strangle Integra. The fear of this ever actually happening made it incredibly hard to connect with her. She adored Integra, feared her, and worried for her. She became more reliant on Walter as Arthur became busier with work. Arthur did pay attention to Integra but heavily relied on people he employed to help Amulya. 

Over the next two years, Amulya would get better with caring for Integra on her own. Walter helping with Integra and assisting Amulya while she was emotionally vulnerable made her more attached to him. While she was getting better, she was still prone to depressive episodes and even attempting suicide. 

While in an emotionally vulnerable state, she came onto Walter to somehow get any kind of support. Walter rejected her advances in respect for her not being all the way there at the moment and for her marital status.

Whenever Integra was three, she seemed to be fairly normal for a long time. But she was in the process of planning on a definite way to take her own life. She slit her wrists in a bathtub and died on December 17th, 1980. 

Mental Health Comments:

Amulya was always a fragile woman. While she was incredibly strong in certain situations, her past and emotional vulnerability always ate away at her. There was always that feeling of being weak and being considered damaged goods. Her reason for suicide was feeling trapped almost. She even had thoughts of taking Integra and just leaving. But she loves Arthur deeply and wouldn’t do that. She was worried that even if she was there for Integra, that she would be more of a burden and even hurt her more. 

Her mental health was dealable until Arthur decided to unleash nonhuman horror beyond her comprehension. 

Her death was the way to explain why she isn’t brought up. I don’t think Integra would know how her mother died, just that she was extremely sick. 

Arthur Stuff:

Arthur and her dynamic is sweet. They both truly do love each other. Whenever he was planning their wedding, he wanted her to incorporate her culture as long as she was comfortable. He never forced her into acting a certain way. He also always encouraged her to wear whatever she was comfortable with. While he was understanding, he never got the full understanding of how other people aside from him could make her feel. 

Inspiration:

Stories Featuring Amulya:

Amulya’s life as a young girl is inspired by an Indian novel called ‘Pinjar’ or Skeleton by Amrita Pritam. It’s about a young girl who is abducted by an older man. Ending she does end up marrying and living with her rapist. 

More Info On Her:

Amulya and Walter

Those That Grow in Their Place

Amulya Hellsing Artwork:

Initial Concept

Just me Talking:

Doodles

Her and Integra

If you guys have any further questions about her, I’d be happy to go more in-depth. I just wanted to give a quick rundown. It doesn’t go into the full psychology and emotions along with it because I would rather people ask questions. My inbox is always open and I don’t bite. :D

I would also like to deeply thank everyone who liked and reblogged my first post on her. It made my heart melt to find out people were interested in her. She is a ton of fun to think about and develop. She is a tragic character but I hope people like her nonetheless. She is very cute when she isn’t suffering! 

[branmuffins22]

of all the things to just not bring up again about the events of kings tide, im surprised to see that luz being very nearly petrified didnt make that cut. like, she was seconds or less from being irreversibly turned into a statue, while nobody was around to help, completely at the mercy of belos.

sure, we saw this once before with eda, at the end of season 1, but shes a full grown adult, with a lot more experience being transformed against her will (what with the curse and all), and she had at least a whole day to come to terms with her impending demise, not to mention the years shes known she had it coming.

not luz. shes a child, the closest experience she had to this body horror was when she bodyswapped with eda for an afternoon, and she had maybe a minute, tops, between when her petrification was started on a whim and when it wouldve been complete. she was just a kid trying to convince an old bastard to stop his religiously-motivated genocide.

and somehow, she kept a cool head, cool enough to find a way out, cool enough to talk her executioner into stopping, and cool enough to turn the situation around on him right afterwards, flawed though that plan ended up being.

luz seems to have become the kind of person to be remarkably calm and competent under life-threatening pressure, only to pass that dread into the future. we saw this near the end of season 1 when she managed to walk all the way from the emperors castle to the owl house before finally breaking down, again when she was run ragged at the blight expo before coming home and crashing, and another time when she broke down as soon as the action stopped after the trip into the emperors mind.

ever since the end of season 1, she hasnt done a lot of panicking under duress like she used to do (like running away during the duel at the covention, and running from grom, to name a few), but she almost always brings it up again eventually, from her pride over the piece of the emperors mask she chipped off in their first fight, to the constant angst about the revelations in hollow mind, she clearly processes the emotions from those scenarios eventually.

not so with her petrification.

i suppose i can chalk it up to another casualty of the cut, but its really a huge shame that all we get to worry about from the events of kings tide is "the child god is running loose on the boiling isles while were stuck on earth, unable to ensure the safety of our loved ones", and then theres the whole new/old thing of belos somehow still being around, and it just feels so disconnected from that plot.

their time on earth couldve been a deeply emotional unpacking of all the stuff theyve been going through while they try to make it back, mixed with whatever adventures can be had, repeated failures and lingering repression leading up to luz's attempted narrative suicide, but instead we got "look how sad this all is, but look at all the fun times weve had, but now look how much sadder luz still is than everyone else, despite all those fun times we just showed you, and wOAH WATCH OUT! BELOS!"

idunno, one of the biggest reasons ive gotten into fanfic in the last month has been to explore the emotional consequences of all that stuff. one of my favorite oft-overlooked traumas is that luz had to endure the encroaching effects of a rather horrific death while simultaneously lying her way out of it, succeeding by such a small margin that it may as well have been a fluke that she survived at all. lots of potential for angsty nightmares and such, but none of it explored.

[thedeathlysallows]

Anne

This is a dark!Caius Volturi fic and will contain the following: descriptions of murder, death, and suicidal ideations. Manipulation, coercion, religious trauma, witchcraft, sexism, sex, blood.

My warnings are not exhaustive. Proceed with caution.

Chapter One

“Anne,” the deep baritone of Father’s voice pulls me from my thoughts in an instant. His face, twisted with rage and disgust, is right next to my own as he grabs me by the elbow and hauls me from the tavern. The night is dark and the air is cold, filling my lungs with the crisp scent of Autumn.

I was so close. 

So close to freedom. 

So close to a life far from his reach. 

Of course, I thought it would take him longer to figure out he played right into my hand. I thought I would have a few days head start before he came looking for me to drag me back to his miserable home. All so he would have his own maid or so he could sell me off to the highest bidder. 

“We’re leaving,” he tells me. 

I tilt my chin up and meet his gaze, the fire in his eyes threatening to spill over and consume my soul. He hates me. I know he does. He’s hated me since the moment I drew my first breath and Mother drew her last. In his mind I’m nothing more than the thing that killed his wife and he’s always hated me for it. 

I straighten my shoulders. “I’m not going back home.”

He looks at me for a moment, the fire dimming before blazing even brighter. “No. You aren’t. Come along, Anne.”

“No.”

I can hear the autumn leaves crunching beneath heavy boots as two men appear at the edge of the dark woods, their figures looming and shrouded in the night. They move to my father’s side, ghostly and silent, and I can finally recognize them in the flickering light of Father’s torch. 

William and Henry. Two boys the same age as me. Two boys whose fumbling attempts at seduction left me laughing in their faces. Two boys who swore revenge before Father had cast me out of his home. 

William refuses to make eye contact with me, but Henry at the very least has the courtesy to nod ever so slightly, his short shearn hair and neatly trimmed beard giving him the appearance of someone far older. 

“Best follow your father,” he says simply. 

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll be making this needlessly difficult.”

“And what is ‘this’?” The question comes out of my mouth unbidden. Deep down I know I needn’t ask at all. I know what this is. I know what’s about to happen to me. I’ve watched this same process from afar time and again. 

I turn to Father. “You hate me so much you would actually do this? Me, your own flesh and blood?”

It isn’t Father who answers. William suddenly finds his voice, face flushed pink in anger. “Witch! You seduce men with your silver tongue before selling our souls to the devil!”

“I-”

My voice fails me. Almost two decades of being able to talk my way out of anything, and now my gift fails.

William points to me, turning to look at Henry and Father. “See? She does not deny it.”

I’ve never minded being called witch before. I’ve never minded when people would balk at the bright red of my hair, whispering to one another as I walked through town. I accepted being the thing they feared. None of it bothered me because I always knew there was no evidence to any of it. I never left any. I have always been a step ahead of everyone else. 

I shake my head and square my shoulders. “I do not deny it because it is absolutely ridiculous!”

Father says nothing for a long moment. He observes me coolly, thoughtfully, before something finally clicks in his eyes. “Would you swear to it on your older brother’s life? Would you swear on Carlisle’s life that you are not in league with the same demons we hunt?”

And there it is. My loophole. I can promise I’m no friend to vampires without damning Carlisle’s soul. It might be too late for mine, but I can save his at the very least.

“I have nothing to do with vampires, Father. I swear on Carlisle’s life.

Father sighs heavily. “Vampires are not the only demons we kill.”

Henry and William seize me by my upper arms and drag me down the cobblestone road behind Father. We pass few people on our trek, and the ones we do meet quickly avert their gaze lest they be cursed by the witch. None of the three men stop until we come to the edge of a lake. The water ripples ever so slightly, as if someone got out in a rush, but it’s mostly disturbingly serene. No one is sure exactly how deep the lake goes, and the ones who do know will never be able to tell. 

The three of them walk me to the end of a small wooden dock.

Father turns abruptly and glares down at me. “Anne Cullen, you have been tried and found guilty of witchcraft. What is your reply?”

I bare my teeth, trying to get out of Henry and William’s grip. “I should have killed you the second I had a chance!”

He bends down, face inches from my own. He reeks of must and self-righteousness. “And I should have smothered you the second you killed your mother.”

I’ve imagined my life ending many ways many times. Perhaps I would jump from the belfry of my father’s beloved church. Ironically, I have even dreamed of drowning myself in the same manner Father seems to be preparing. Tie heavy blocks to my ankles and fall back into the water. Or maybe I would happen to stumble across on of his precious vampires and they would do the honor. What if I begged them to do the honor? Would they. Would a monster like them even want a monster like me?

William is the one to tie the ropes around my ankle while Father and Henry observe. Father watches each motion of William’s hands, watches my reaction to the bite of the twine against my skin. I do not flinch. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing anything save for cold malice on my face. Henry refuses to meet my eyes.

“Any last words, witch?” William teases me, his blue eyes hard as steel.

I smile before spitting into his face. “I’ll save you a spot in Hell, William.”

He grips my shoulder so roughly I almost flinch. “You should have just let me fuck you like the whore you are. You’ll spread your legs for every man but me?”

“I would spread my legs for a woman before I let that tiny prick of yours anywhere near me.”

William grabs a fistful of my hair and shoves me forward, dangling me over the lake. “Ready to die so soon?”

“I would rather die free than ever be shackled to a man such as you. Mark my words, I will haunt all of you for the rest of your lives.”

Water rushes around me, cold and unforgiving. It’s dark and silent as I sink down to the bottom of the lake. If I look up I can make out the three of them leaving, certain I’m dead, or at least very well on the way. My lungs scream for air and I desperately flail around, trying my best to untie the rope around my ankles. Black spots crowd my vision as my head grows light and fuzzy.

I can’t feel the ropes anymore.

I can’t feel anything.

My eyes are heavy.

I want to close them.

So I do.

[jackdawandicarus]

I hate that I have to put myself down in relation to my ex-friend group. They were shitty. I was shitty also. These things are not mutually exclusive. They made me feel fucking awful because I was attracted to men, and acted like I was the one being out of line when I asked them to stop going “lol imagine liking men” over and over and over, at least to stop doing it when I was around to see/hear it. They were impossible to talk to about my mental health, which was the lowest it has ever been in my whole life. It was only acceptable for them to have mental issues if I didn’t have mental issues around them. They didn’t even say anything when I confessed to attempted suicide the literal day before. When I started crying because people I thought were my friends actually didn’t care about me and it wasn’t just me being paranoid, they just carried on talking as if I didn’t exist. They would always find a way to sneak off away from me, changed where they hung out at lunch and didn’t tell me, and made group chats where everyone was in except from me. They told me I made being pansexual my entire personality. Wow, it’s almost like I felt the need to reiterate all the time that I was attracted to women to feel like I had something in common with them. If they actually bothered getting to know other things about me they might have realised that it was just a facade to get them to like me and that I wasn’t like that with my other friends and on the internet. That I actually had interests. I felt afraid of coming out to them about my gender, because one of them always went on about their 2020 non-binary “phase” and it made me feel unsafe. I came out to one of them but she never used my preferred name or pronouns. Considering how weird they were about men, I would feel even less safe about coming out to them as transmasc as I did about coming out to them as non-binary. Strangely, however, they had (actually I believe they still have) the most bigoted fucking male friend in existence. I hated that guy so goddamn much. He literally watched Andrew Tate and they still hung out with him. I was the only one who saw how weird this was for some reason??? He was also the one who told me I made being pan my whole personality and the rest agreed with him. I was very confused about him specifically saying this because his whole thing in the friend group was being bi and deepthroating sausages. Also this was said to me because the rest of the group didn’t have the same opinion about the fucking Titanic submarine as I did. Wow I said a guy on it looked like a Tory as a joke wow I’m so irredeemable. Oh, and I said that it was the guy who made the thing’s fault that it had happened because he should’ve known it was unsafe. This got me kicked off the group chat.

[lydianotdeetz]

My thoughts on an author

Recently I finished a book by one of my favorite authors 太宰 治(Osamu Dazai). The book is called "斜陽" (The Setting Sun) and it is the third book I've read by this author, the first one being 人間失格(No Longer Human) which is his most popular publishing so far and the second one being 道化の華(The Flowers of Buffoonery). Although Osamu died 75 years ago, his writing still touched a sensitive string of my heart. Much of his writing deals with disparity, hopes, and losses.

Spoilers about No Longer Human and The Setting Sun ahead

In the book No Longer Human, the protagonist Oba Yozo slowly descents into despair, his longing for (and the failure to achieve) fulfillment after a life filled with trauma eventually overtakes him and he attempts suicide and fails. One quote from that book still haunts me to this day:

“Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness. Everything passes. That is the one and only thing that I have thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell. Everything passes.”

The book explores the deepest corner of humanity, the length a desperate man will go just to find a sense of contentment, the protagonist Oba Yozo grew up in an environment full of abuse, which leads to him wanting resolution to these trauma, but that same trauma that sent him on this journey is also his burden, his stone of Sisyphus. He tries over and over again, from pursuing art to joining political groups, from becoming a surrogate father to a young girl to meeting and eventually dating someone. But no matter how hard he tries, something has to go wrong and I think that is what's so terrifying and so genius about this book. Osamu depicts in detail how a man who is clearly suffering tries to escape the quicksand that has trapped him, only to sink deeper and deeper into it. Much like Camus's absurd hero, Oba suffers because he has witnessed the absurdity of life, and he rejects it, he defies that absurdity, only for the absurd to embrace him and pull him into a a burning hell.

The second book I want to talk about today is The Setting Sun, same author and theme, but the method Osamu uses is dramatically different. In the book The Setting Sun, the protagonist is a young Japanese woman who was born into a noble family before World War 2 and the story follows how her family declines after the Japanese's surrender in 1945. Written only two years after the war, it reflects the general sentiment of the Japanese people at the time, it is a sense of loss, that they no longer know what to do. Osamu shows that emotion is a very unique way, he uses symbolism and critiques. In the book, a widely used symbol is Snakes, "In Japan, snakes have traditionally been revered as a god, a messenger of a god, or a creature that brings a divine curse when a snake is harmed or a particular natural site is disturbed." (Sasaki et al.) In the story, the protagonist Kazuko burns a pile of snake eggs which starts a series of calamities that eventually lead to the death of her mother, her brother, and her family. The entire time, the protagonist is powerless, she made a mistake, burning the snake eggs, and all of a sudden her life is falling apart, she is being punished by god, and all she can do is sit there and watch, watch as her family is forced to sell their house, watch as their new house almost burnt down and watch as her mother dies of tuberculosis. Much akin to Oba, she tries to stop the chains of disaster so many times to no avail. The story's theme is clear, "No matter how hard you try, you will never escape your past, you will face the consequence of every action you do, no matter how small you think the action was." Osamu uses these symbols to show not only the decline of Kazuko's family but also the dwindling of Japanese society. Osamu does not hide the crimes of the Japanese army during the war and by using symbolism he makes his points incredibly clear: "The Japanese people will face the consequences of imperialism and the horrid crimes they have committed to other nations."

I think about Osamu a lot, many of his books seem to be semi-autobiographical, meaning that they took inspiration from real events in Osamu's life. According to Osamu Dazai's Life and Literary by Kazuo Nohara, Osamu's father died of lung cancer just a month before he attended junior high school. This caused him to fall into a deep depression which caused him to attempt suicide in 1935, which he failed at. He then became addicted to morphine and was sent to a mental institution in 1936. His entire life, alike his characters is a constant downward spiral with only brief moments of peace, he found solace in literature as he battles depression. Writing over 75 works in 20 years. many of them, although short are filled to the brim of his thoughts and ideals but it was not enough. On June 13th, 1948, Osamu Dazai, along with his lover Tomie Yamazaki drowned themselves in the Tamagawa Canel. Many have speculated that this event was foreshadowed by Osamu himself in No Longer Human when the Protagonist tried to drown himself with his lover in the ocean.

Overall, I think what attracted me the most about Osamu is his candidness, how he is so honest about his emotions and ideas, and how he is not afraid of using incredibly heavy topics to convey his mind. He was a mistreated man and I hope he finds peace in heaven.

Work Cited:

Sasaki, Kiyoshi, et al. “ENDANGERED TRADITIONAL BELIEFS in JAPAN: INFLUENCES on SNAKE CONSERVATION.” Herpetological Conservation and Biology, vol. 5, no. 3, 26 Aug. 2009, pp. 474–485. Accessed 6 May 2024.

野原, 一夫 (1998). 太宰治生涯と文学 . 筑摩書房. . Accessed 6 May 2024.

[music-is-love-90]

I have some thoughts about Daemon and Criston and why Daemon is the better one despite being psychotic.

Let's start with Daemon. Low hanging fruit and all.

Daemon is as amoral as they come. What he wants reigns supreme and god help who ever gets in his way. Wanna be single? Kill your wife. Wanna prove your brother wrong? Make a suicide run. What you see is what you get with Daemon. For all his reputation of being this supremely villainous figure, we actually see him do very little manipulation and what he does try, he gives up fairly quickly.

Which brings us to Criston. He is all manipulation. We've all made and seen the jokes about him being an incel, being a Nice Guy tm, but it's not really a joke.

He acts the part of the perfect knight, attentive and upstanding. He is there to protect the princess and he does it well. But from practically the beginning, there is a hint of something else. The perfect knight openly taunts a Prince of the Realm on the bridge to Dragonstone. He takes it upon himself to try to kill the White Stag before Rhaenyra stops him.

And then the night. He took oaths, talked about how thankful he was to be elevated, his name written in the White Book, but the first time those oaths are tested, he capitulates almost immediately. Oh, he puts up a performative protest, but if his oath actually meant something, he could have walked away. Yes, Rhaenyra is the Princess, but she was risking just as much, if not more, by doing what they did. He could be killed, yes, but she would have to destroy herself to destroy him. Rhaenyra is savvy enough to know that that isn't really worth it.

But instead, he does what she wants and he breaks his oaths. (Also, let's not pretend that every Kingsguard has kept that oath. This is Game of Thrones world. If even half of them have, I'd be shocked, but I digress) He falls into her bed and decides that it is okay, because he's in love with her and obviously she feels the same, despite no evidence. And the moment she declares that something might be more important to her than him, his whole world crashes down.

And he blames Rhaenyra. He blames her for his loss of honor, refusing to take responsibility for his actions. Say what you want about Daemon, but he never shies away from what he's done. He doesn't openly admit, but he never blames anyone else.

We see both men savagely beat someone in moments of weakness and both go to commit suicide immediately after.

Daemon goes to end a war. Yes, the move is mostly selfish, he wants to stick it to Viserys. If he dies, his brother will have to live with it, but, if it works, he'll also be saving his men. He'll be ending a long, bloody war and finishing what he set out to do. And he survives because of his skill and the men he went to sacrifice himself for.

In comparison, Criston's suicide attempt is one last fuck you at Rhaenyra. He goes to the Godswood, a place he has guarded her in over and over again, where he knows she takes refuge and he tries to take that from her with his bloody death. And he doesn't save himself, he doesn't change his mind. He is stopped by Alicent. He protested being Rhaenyra's whore only to become hers because he couldn't stand that he might not be Rhaenyra's first choice when faced with a decision between him and a crown.

I'm just endlessly fascinated by the idea that the man who is the most selfish man in the Seven Kingdoms ultimately channels his anger into a selfless act to use his death to save others, while the pinnacle of virtue ultimately tries to use his death to hurt the woman he claims to love.

I gotta get over this show.

[justinewt]

Fall Into Despair - TMR REWRITE Chapter Eleven

[TMR REWRITE-MASTERLIST]

Previous Chapter 

Summary: They were in the final stretch. The last fight to bring down WICKED had started and the city was going up in flames. Thomas, Minho, Gally, Newt and Grace had to be quick and get out of there before they ended up in the fire but reaching Brenda and their friends was no easy task. Grace was exhausted from everything she had been put through and this one last effort might end up being too much for her to handle.

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: TMR Death cure spoilers, angst, mental torture, medical experiments, needles, restraints, violence, mention of suicide attempt, stabbing, blood, depression

With soldiers everywhere in the city, it was hard to go through it undetected. They had to crouch down and hide behind anything they could. Cars were blocking the street. The five of them took cover behind plants on the sidewalks. Grace and Newt were sat against the wall while Gally and Thomas peeked out, but they were stuck there.

“What are they waiting for?” Right Minho spoke, there was a huge explosion behind Thomas, making him jump and look around. A crowd came running and screaming while there was another explosion. Gally told them to get down. The soldiers started shooting at the people. They all lied down on top of each other. Grace held her hands to her ears when someone launched a rocket in the middle of the street. This was complete chaos, and they had to take this chance and run. Thomas and Minho grabbed Newt, Gally helped Grace with one arm, holding his gun with the other and they took advantage of the general mayhem around them to leave. In all the months that they had spent in this city, this was the first time she actually saw said city, and it had gone downhill.

Everything that was happening forced them to hide in a coffee shop whose front window had been blown up. Thomas used the radio to try to make contact with Brenda. The situation was becoming critical, and they were running out of time to help Newt, who was getting worse by the eye. To watch him deteriorate in front of her eyes was very difficult for Grace, especially after she was put through. She agreed to be used and tortured to make a fucking cure and she couldn’t give it to the one person that mattered. She saved a child but saving Newt was more important in her eyes because he was her friend. He didn’t deserve to end like this when there was an actual way of helping him. She would never forgive herself if he didn’t make it out of this city, alive. Grace didn’t even dare look at Newt. She stared at the fire outside the building, only turning her head towards her brother when she heard Brenda say something about “their ride”. Apparently, she was coming to them. Thomas looked at the four others with confusion on his face. He didn’t know what she was talking about either.

They resumed their journey, trying to move quickly through the city which was falling apart around them, to quickly find Brenda and the others. They had to arrive before it was too late for Newt, before he was too far gone. Thomas and Minho were once again helping Newt while Grace tried to walk on her own, one hand gripped onto Gally's shoulder who was leading the way, holding his gun in front of him, ready to fire if needed.

“All right. Newt, we’re almost there.” He said, looking at the three behind him. Mere seconds after he spoke, an explosion sent a burning car flying across the road. They all jumped, losing their balances. Grace got so startled she loosened her grip on Gally's bulletproof vest and almost fell but he had the reflex to catch her with his free hand. He told everyone to stay back as he ducked behind the wall, giving Grace his arm for support. A crowd of people ran down the road, yelling and holding their weapons up in the air or shooting at the soldiers ahead. They glanced at each other before looking up when they heard an engine hum in the sky. A helicarrier flew overhead.

“Okay, that’s them.” Thomas declared.

“Go without me, man. You should just…” Newt tried to argue when Minho and Thomas went to pick him up, coughing up black blood. He looked even more sick than before, wheezing and panting. Grace looked away, holding her arms softly. She sighed heavily but quietly, feeling her stomach starting to ache.

“Minho. You gotta run ahead, grab the serum, and get back as soon as you can. Minho, go.” The latter was obviously reluctant to leave them here.

“He’s right. I can cover.” Gally added before standing up and going to the corner of the street. Newt grabbed Minho’s arm, streaks of blood flowing from his mouth onto his chin, his eyes bloodshot.

“Thank you, Minho.”

“Hey, just hang on. You hear me?” After a second, he finally gets up and follows Gally. Grace stayed with Thomas and Newt since she would have greatly slowed them down in their quest for the serum to cure Newt. The serum made with the experiments conducted on Grace for months. If that bloody serum was going to save anyone, it was Newt. She didn't really care to know that a little girl had been healed thanks to her. Everything she had to endure had to be used for something, otherwise she could tell she was going to lose it. The guilt that would hang over her head for failing to save him would be too much for her to handle. She knew it. Thomas leaned towards Newt as his breathing quickened. Grace jumped when he raised his voice, trying to get his attention on him.

“We’re gonna try this, okay? We gotta move, now. Let’s get you up, come on. Let’s go, come on. Grace you can walk right—” He glanced at the latter while addressing her but turned his head back to Newt when he spoke up. She watched anxiously.

“No. No, Thomas.”

“No, Newt. Later. Later. Really gotta go.” Newt grunted as he snapped a necklace from his neck and handed it to Thomas as they argued. He yelled for Thomas to take whatever this was, breathing sharply. Grace noticed a small pendant capsule and it only took her a few seconds to realize that he had put something inside for them. The idea that he knew he was doomed and had written them something broke Grace's heart and she kept saying in her head that they had to succeed in saving him so that they would never need to discover what could be in this small capsule.

“Please. Please, Tommy. Please.” He begged, short-winded. Thomas eventually took it, exchanging a look with Grace and they were both equally worried about the outcome of this whole situation.

“All right. I need you to give me everything you got. Come on, ready? Here we go.” Newt grunted loudly as Thomas lifted him off the ground. Grace leaned on the wall Gally had seated her against and managed to get up. It was more complicated with no one to hold onto, but for once her legs weren't shaking so much that she collapsed to the ground. They were shaking and the steps she took following her brother were hesitant and jerky, as if she was a toddler taking their first steps, but she kept up with them. Watching Newt struggle in front of her was terribly nerve-wracking. They walked through the street, seeing bullets fly before their eyes. Thomas sometimes looked at his sister to make sure she wasn’t too far behind. He often called out to her, telling her to keep going. Knowing that she hadn’t walked that much in months, or even at all, it really was a miracle that she managed to do so.

They got to a deserted area, going through doors with panes broken into a thousand pieces. They were almost there but not quite, and time was soon to run out for Newt. Grace heard Newt gag and fall over. She staggered and stopped in her tracks, staring at them. Thomas caught him in his fall, toppling over. He crouched around him, grabbing his arm to carry him and drag him the rest of the way and seeing his face, Grace held back a sob, resuming her walk until her brother collapsed. She called his name in a low but piercing shriek. Still feeling that her body was tired and weak, she knew she couldn’t help in any capacity so she could only watch. She had never felt so useless in her life. He held out his palm to stop her from coming closer and the moment she came to a halt, she felt her legs go numb and fell to the ground.

“Grace—”

“I’m okay, it’s… okay. I—” They both raised their heads when they heard a voice call out to them through the speakers. It resonated all throughout the city. She was probably talking to them directly from WICKED labs.

“Can you hear me? I need you to listen to me. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I need you to come back. Thomas, you can save Newt.” He stood up and glanced at Newt before turning back to where the voice came from. “There’s still time for him. There’s a reason Brenda isn’t sick anymore. It’s your blood. Yours, and Grace. She isn’t sick, because you cured her. She doesn’t have to be the only one. When we had Grace, we made a cure. An actual cure. It saved a little girl, Thomas. She had been infected for weeks, and Grace’s blood cured her. Do you understand? All you have to do is come back. And this will all finally be over.”

His back to her, he didn’t see Grace lean on her hands and push herself up on her feet. Teresa probably wanted him to come but Grace was ready to go back there if there was a guaranty Newt would be saved. Going back would mean death for her. If they took anymore of her blood, she wouldn’t wake up from the next medically induced coma they would put her in. The lights reflected off his glossy eyes. He saw Grace walk in his field of vision and turned his head, grabbing her shoulders to stop her.

“No.”

“Thomas...”

“Minho is bringing the cure. I won’t let them use you again.” His eyes moved anxiously over her face. Grace didn't say anything but when her head slowly turned to look at Newt, Thomas followed her gaze, letting go of her as they watched their friend get up on his own. There was a brief but heavy silence.

“Newt?” She called out to him, and Thomas held out his arm in front of her to make her step back. It felt like time was suspended, until he turned around, revealing his dark eyes and drooling mouth. Her brother barely had time to tell her to step back, Newt growled as he lunged at Thomas to attack him. Grace was pushed abruptly and grunted as she fell heavily on her arm, gasping in pain as she held her arm and rolled on her back. He shouted at her to stay away, asking if she was okay but all his focus was on Newt who was going berserk, throwing himself at Thomas. He fell, got back up and ran toward him. Grace watched them roll on the ground. Newt got on all four, panting and looked at Thomas, begging the latter to kill him.

“Newt, I’m here.” He took a few steps towards him, but Newt jumped on him, pushing him down, trying to bite him. Thomas struggled, crying out to him. Newt seemed to have a moment of clarity and he got calmer but only for an instant. He reached for Thomas’ thigh holster and brought the gun to his head. Thomas yelled and knocked the gun off his hand. It skidded on the ground and was stopped by Grace's leg. She pushed herself up into a sitting position but did nothing with the weapon. Newt let out a crank-like growl right Thomas’ face. Grace sobbed when he grabbed a knife from his belt and attacked him with it. Staring in fear and shock, she could only watch Newt try to stab her brother as he struggled against him, pinned down. She started crying, shouting for Newt to stop as Thomas screamed when the tip of the knife's blade digged through his skin, right above his heart. She knew her cries wouldn’t change anything and that he was driven to madness by the flare, but she felt so helpless watching them fight. Thomas kicked Newt’s back, pushing him away and punched him in the jaw. They got up. Newt swinged the knife around until he got close to Thomas, and they suddenly froze. Grace gasped, staring at them. Her heart pounding in her chest. Thomas had the same expression of utter shock on his face as he held Newt against him. Grace crawled and got on her feet. Thomas took a step back and she didn’t dare take a step closer. When she saw the knife in Newt’s chest, her stomach sank to her feet, making her feel like her guts literally dropped to the ground. A feeling of sickness washed over her, and she had a hard time standing up.

Thomas fell to his knees, calling out to him while Grace stood there, unable to take her eyes off his face. The silence that followed his calls was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She took a step forward and collapsed, bringing her trembling hand to his face, tears flowing down her eyes as she sobbed. She didn’t cry that badly when they were taken away from their mother. The realization that everything she put herself through to make this cure had been for nothing, she wailed. Grabbing onto Newt’s jacket, she let her head fall forward, her forehead resting on his shoulder which stifled her gut-wrenching cry interspersed with sobs. Her scream was so piercing that her throat was sore, but she didn't stop. Everything and everyone around her had stopped existing. She didn’t even realise her brother had walked away until she lifted her head to look at Newt and saw Minho and Siggy approach. Her scream became shaky as the weeping took over and she quietly stared at his dark eyes. They looked empty and blank. Minho and Siggy were on their knees, with Gally and Brenda in shock a few feet away.

Grace began to apologize to Newt, over and over and over again even though she was aware he couldn’t hear it, and that he wouldn’t respond to her words. She cupped his hand with hers. His body was still warm, but his hand was limp, and she just sobbed and kept saying how she was sorry and how this had all been for nothing. She had undergone all this torture for absolutely nothing and it was tearing her apart. She wished she could be gone, right there and then. She wished Janson had gotten what he wanted and emptied her of all the blood in her body so that she would be dead already. If she was dead, this pain and guilt that overwhelmed her would be gone altogether and she wouldn’t hurt anymore. She got quiet as her eyes looked at the knife in his chest. She didn’t care if it hurt for a moment. It would be just that. A moment and then she wouldn’t feel anything anymore. The reflection of her standing in front of this bathroom mirror, holding a gun to her temple flashed before her eyes. Her hand wrapped itself around the handle of the knife as she saw her index finger get on the trigger. She heard voices around her, but they were deafened. Her brother coming in the room to stop her. Her friends calling out to her. She could hear her and at the same time, she couldn’t. She wasn’t there anymore until she felt pain shot through her arm and she saw Minho’s hand holding her. She then realized that she had removed the knife from the body and although she saw Minho next to her, without looking at him directly, she still didn't let go of the knife.

“Grace. Let go off the knife. Please.” She stared at the knife; her face scrunched up as she began to cry again. It was only the second time in her life that she felt such bottomless despair, as if she was falling in a dark hole and she watched the light become smaller, with no way of coming back up and the only solution was to resign and let herself fall.

“It was all for nothing. I can’t— I can’t live with that… He died, and I couldn’t help him!” Her sobs were suddenly interrupted by her outburst of anger, and she shouted. She instantly felt regret for screaming in Minho's face, but it didn't compare to how remorseful she was for failing at helping save Newt.

“It’s not your fault, Grace.” His eyes were shining from the tears that filled them up a moment ago and his voice was tainted with sadness and grief, just like her. He obviously wanted to talk her out of doing something stupid. Maybe he thought he could, but Grace knew she wouldn’t let go off the knife unless it pierced her heart and somewhere deep down, she knew that none of the people here would let her go through with it, let alone Minho. Newt and Thomas' best friend, and a close friend of hers as well.

“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice got quiet as she stared at the knife again, already plotting something in her head. With tears in her eyes, rolling down her already wet cheeks, her voice trembled as she spoke, slowly tightening her grip over the handle. “They took my blood, for days on end… they made a fucking cure… and it still wasn’t enough to save the one person that needed it, so why does it matter?”

“You did all you could. That’s what matters.” He didn’t know what else to tell her, because she was right. Every single word she spoke was true and he couldn’t argue with her. Grace rested the knife on Newt's chest and maybe Minho thought she wasn't holding it anymore, so he let go off her arm and he went to help her get up but next thing he knew, she had drawn her hands close to her body and she froze in front of him. It felt like she had been hit with a hot iron. Minho screamed her name and caught her before she hit the ground. Siggy and Gally ran up and joined Minho around her. She was drawing sharp and quick breaths as her hands shyly letting go off the knife. Her eyes were wide as she watched the blood soak her tee-shirt, a red stain growing over her stomach. She quickly felt dizziness kick in and Gally held her head as it fell backwards while Minho applied pressure around the wound. Grace thought she would be successful in her attempt because they would have to leave at some point, or they would be stuck in a city going up in flames and it was oddly comforting. For some reason, she couldn’t think of her brother and how this would affect him. She could only think about her pain and guilt. Her body started feeling cold as her eyes closed and opened with difficulty. She was still crying but not continuously anymore. The pain from the wound, her arms and Newt’s death were all overlapping with each other, and she couldn’t make out anything. When she closed her eyes, the cold, the hurt, the exhaustion, the grief, everything went away.

It was her nightmare all over again, her falling in a dark water except that she couldn’t feel any water. Voices echoing around her, mingling in a sound that rocked her. Then suddenly, the silence became uncomfortable, and she opened her eyes. She stood in front of this mirror again. There was an infinite number of reflections spreading around her. As she turned around, she felt a sharp pain in her stomach. There was a knife in her hand, dripping with blood. She looked up and every single of her reflection held a gun to their head. They were staring right at Grace with these dark, bloodshot eyes and their drooling mouth with this black blood falling down their chin, just like Newt. All together, they growled and fired.

Grace sat up in her bed, sweating and panting as she slung her legs over the bed. She had been tormented by these nightmares since the day Newt died. And since their arrival on this island where they had created a real Safe Haven with the members of the Right Arm and their friends who survived, she had not known peace. Every day she saw Newt, both smiling in the Glade and when he was turning. His face was always there, as if it was tattooed at the back of her eyeballs. Whether she closed them or not didn't matter. She was always seeing these memories of him, overlapping in her mind. And the guilt she felt since then was eating away at her and it was worse torture than what WICKED had ever put her through. Not a day went by without her wanting to see an end to this silent torture, but Thomas kept her close. They shared a shed in the Safe Haven. He was there for her, and so were Minho, Siggy, Gally and their everyone else, though not all of them knew about how she felt inside. Moonlight faintly illuminating the room, she glanced at her brother, sleeping in his bed. She stood up and quietly opened the door, her feet sinking in the sand as soon as she stepped outside. With one hand rubbing softly the scar on her stomach, she walked all the way to the memorial stone where they carved in the names of all who were dead. She looked at them. She didn’t carve Newt’s name, Minho did. She couldn’t bring herself to it because it would force her to accept his death. Thomas had added Teresa’s name too, but she didn’t look at that one too much.

She circled the large stone and walked on the beach, quickly feeling the sand become wet under her feet. When the tide washed over her ankles, she glanced down but kept walking, the bottom of her pants getting soaked as she advanced. She was staring at the horizon, her eyes riveted straight ahead. Newt had left Thomas a letter. That was what was in the small pendant capsule he gave him that day. A message of hope, asking to take care of the others that were left, telling him how he missed the sun rising over the Glade. She did too and she kept thinking about, incapable of moving on. She hadn’t been herself since he died, and she had only one solution to how to get rid of this grief and guilt. She hated how days passed and turned into weeks and months, pushing them further away from that day. She didn’t know if she would ever move on.

All she knew was that she wished she could see just one more time the sun rising over the Glade and join Newt in the garden and tend to the crops.

[The End…]  

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Published (03/07/2023) by Andrea

Taglist: @cathrin2405​ @kika64