#Tw referenced self hatred

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

38 or 46?

Ohhhhh, when I saw this I KNEW I had to do the AU where c!Dream is convinced c!Tommy is a Prime >:3

TW: Religious themes, religious delusions, kidnapping, isolation, mental health issues, references to self harm and self hatred, abuse, restraints, forced sedation, Tommy not always using the best terminology for referring to mental illness as an uneducated teenager (hes trying), and literal idolisation.

With shaking hands, Dream fastened the gilded necklace around Tommy's neck, the bell on it's chain ringing lightly. All Tommy could think is, fuck, that was going to be obnoxious and there was no way he was gonna be allowed to take that off either.

“They say the bells provide great joy to the Primes, you know.” Dream's voice was the sort of soft Tommy wasn't used to- not sickly sweet nor mocking, a genuine, wavering vulnerability to it. “I know you may not remember things before you were trapped in this form, Tommy, but maybe your fellow Primes will hear it, and…”

Tommy had long since learnt it was pointless to argue Dream on this fact, but it still made his skin crawl. He wasn’t something holy, and it was blasphemy to treat a mortal like a creation of the Gods. After all, they’d created the Primes to watch over the world in their absence- in a sense, the Primes were also gods, the sort that inhabited every shrine and meadow and lake. It was no less sacrilegious than outright declaring Tommy a God, yet nothing he said could change Dream's mind.

Something must have snapped in the prison, that’s what Tommy reckoned. When Dream had… y’know, the whole killing and reviving thing, he was normal. Normal for Dream, at least. But after he’d broke out, he’d been convinced that Tommy was one of the Primes, fallen from Heaven and unable to remember their power. And honestly, Tommy couldn’t help but pity that. In Exile, he'd been convinced the Primes talked to him through the logs- he'd saw them peeking up at him, beauty indescribable. Sometimes, he still saw them out of the corner of his eyes. He'd always seen shit, since he wasn’t even really a Big Man, but it had never felt so real.

He still fucking hated Dream, though. Pity didn’t change that.

“Are you feeling okay, Tommy? I really don’t want to hurt you, y’know.”

“Too late for that.” Tommy's speech still came out embarrassingly slurred, even though he'd tried his best to practice under the potion induced haze he was always in. Because, sure, Dream didn’t hit him anymore, but he still kept him locked up as tight as possible. To prevent the mortal world from corrupting him, he said. So he still had the thick, heavy cuffs around his arms and legs, chained to the wall tightly, and he had the stupid fucking IV injecting Prime knew what into his veins, making him all sleepy and shit. “You killed me, remember.”

Dream had a genuinely guilty look on his face, avoiding eye contact with Tommy. He suspected he might actually be tearing up. “I know you may never forgive me for that. Once you’ve regained my power, you may give me any punishment you see fit. I've been ensuring that I’ve been punishing myself in the meantime, to ensure I do not fall into sin.”

“You've been hurting yourself?”

“Of course. I need to go through your pain a thousandfold to repent.”

“No. No no no, no you don’t, don't fuckin' hurt yourself, man. That’s awful. I don’t want you to do that.” He coughed and added on. “As one of your Primes, I mean. That’s an order.”

Dream stared at Tommy with such awe it made him feel worthless. The kind of look of pure adoration and admiration a man would have for their God, a trust Tommy could never live up to. “I still remember the first time I saw you. I- I thought you were just a human- how little did I know- but your kindness, your unending mercy… it’s always been a sign you're not like them. Humans hurt and beat and torture me. Not a single fucking one has ever really cared!” He sounded incensed at that, before taking a deep breath. “But you? You're… you're made of unending love and compassion, Tommy. Not flesh and blood. You can’t be.”

Dream took a deep breath, and smiled. “If- if you think I shouldn’t debase myself through daring to think I could be the arbiter of my own punishment, I’ll oblige, my Prime. You are truly wise.”

“That’s not what I- sure. Okay.” Tommy would have rolled his eyes if he had the energy. “Yeah, if that’s what stops you from hurting yourself, go with it.”

Dream ignored him, like how he ignored anything Tommy said or did that didn’t play into his delusions- and he didn’t fucking say that to be disparaging, he said that because that’s what he and Puffy had been reading about in one of those big old dumb textbooks, to try and figure out what the fuck was wrong with him. He knew how fucking suffocating they were, and he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. In fact, he was currently wishing it to stop happening to his worst enemy because at least if he was normal Tommy knew what pain to expect.

Instead, he muttered a prayer under his breath, head bowed, eyes averted yet occasionally glancing at Tommy with the same reverent look when he thought he wasn’t watching, and Tommy felt the same skin crawling sensation as he always did. He wasn’t a fucking Prime, so this was an insult of the highest order to everything he believed in- everything Dream believed in. It was a heresy of the highest order.

Tommy groaned and wished he was dead instead.

[litnerdwrites]

Justice for Nesta recs (AO3)

Most, if not all, of these recs are in the Justice for Nesta/ ACOSF rewrite/fix-it vein. It will be updates as I find more fics, but feel free to send any recs you have.

TRIGGER WARNING! Many of these fics will be very dark, with references to suicide, ptsd, misogyny, and IC BS. However, I'll be sure to add specifics where applicable.

Fics For Those Craving Nesta JusticeI put all the fics I found into one collection on AO3 that, as the title suggests, are for those craving Nesta Justice. Please read the relevant tags for each fic, as many of them contain reference to PTSD, SA (both past referenced and in story), and general IC BS.

I'll also list every fic in this collection bellow, just to keep them all in one place. Feel free to also add your own finds or works if you have any. The collection is open, but moderated.

Those the Stars Cannot Hear by @kataraavatara An ACOSF rewrite where Mor makes good on her threat to leave Nesta in the CON.

Baby, now we got bad blood by Pumpkinspice_Lou They say you should never come between a male and his mate. Rhysand should've known better. Aka Cassian finally choosing Nesta. Completed two-shot.

A Court of Vice and Victors by Wishcamper Acosf rewritten by a therapist. Need I say more? Incomplete.

You Made Her Like That By BookWorm77071 A few days into their Hike from Hell, Nesta is able to form one coherent thought: I don't want to do this anymore. So she stops. Three chapter short story. Completed.

Nesta becomes a baby by Theladyofbloodshed Exactly what the title says. Oneshot.

A Court of Tangled Flames by Theladyofbloodshed A Neris fic where Nesta gets the love story she deserves.

ACOTAR snippet collection by Theladyofbloodshed A collection of Acotar what ifs.

Nesta vs. The Buffer by Theladyofbloodshed After Nesta finally snaps at another 'family' dinner, calling Cassian and Mor out on their shit, she begins to heal and fall in love on her own terms. With a certain shadowsinger. Completed. Nezriel fic. Anti IC but they kind of redeem themselves at the end. Completed.

AU Where We Pretend Acosf Didn't Happen by Theladyofbloodshed An alternative take to ACOSF, starting from post ACOFS. Nesta ends up leaving Velaris, starting herself on a journey of self discovery and healing. TW Beron Vansera, implied/referenced SA, IC being assholes.

Nightmare Dressed Like A Daydream by This_Immortal_Hope Nesta was a wolf. So, much like a wolf, she bided her time, accepting her exile with ice in her and determination in her heart. When she was ready, she tore their Court of Dreams apart with their own hypocrisy. One shot. No ship. Rhysand is thoroughly put in his place. Oneshot.

Second Chances by miryamdev Cassian apologises to Nesta after the HOFAS bonus chapter.

A trick of the light by closet_monster There was nothing condemning about madness or paralyzing fear. Nesta was familiar with both — they seemed to be a recurring theme in both womanhood and life in Hewn. Oneshot. TW Depression, self harm, and implied abuse. Please double check the tags before reading.

Burn for Eternity by rosemai Nesta is defeated and broken down by the words of her sisters and the IC, so she takes matters into her own hands and meets a group on individuals who could give her the help she needs. Incomplete.

Nesta's Truth by grovellingboyfriends After another year of leaving Nesta alone, Cassian finds Nesta in her apartment on Solstice, standing over a dead man. TW for implied SA, parental abuse, Elain is a bitch. 3/5 chapters published as of making this post.

Daylight by Flowerflamestar Nesta Archeron, banished and betrayed, ran from cold and hatred straight into the light of Day and found a place where she could belong. Completed.

Might I Suggest You Don't Fuck With My Sis by MacabreGiggles The intervention rethought, where the Archeron sisters decide to stand up for one another and put the IC in their place. Incomplete.

I died. I will die. It's alright. I don't mind. By MacabreGiggles Nesta resorts to other means to cope, like drugs. Incomplete. TW. Abuse. Alcolism. Suicide. Sexual assault. Drug abuse.

The Veil of Silence by Hrizantemy There exists a veil of silence, it shrouds our voices masking our truths, muffling our cries, our voices are muted, and dreams whispered. Incomplete.

You're a crisis of my faith by porque_nolosdos Nesta and Elain leave the NC, and upon seeing the IC's reaction, Feyre decides to ditch them too. Incomplete.

A thousand cuts by adelindschade It finally clicks for Cassian just how badly Nesta was hurting (it only took three TW suicide TW attempts), so he decides to try thinking of what Nesta would want. This decision leaves a ripple effect that will change the NC as we know it. Incomplete.

The consequences of normality by TheTeaQueen After the events of ACOSF, things seem relatively normal. Until Cassian realises that Nesta doesn't ask for things, or that self hatred still grips her, or the facade she puts on for her family. When she starts cutting back on training and work in the library, he begins to worry. Maybe things aren't as perfect as he thought. Maybe their methods in helping her weren't as effective as he thought. Incomplete.

Three little words by TheTeaQueen Cassian finally says those three little words that Nesta needed to hear. Oneshot.

Like fire, she raged by TheTeaQueen Emerie stands up for Nesta and puts Rhys and Feyre in their place. Completed.

Of Death and Resurrection by TheTeaQueen Part 1 of In the name of healing and happiness. Nesta was ready to die. So to save Feyre and Nyx, she did. Can Rhysand, the only person who can save her, bring her back from the brink? Completed. TW Implied suicide, rape/sa, anti Elain.

Of Shadows and Light by TheTeaQueen Part 2 of In the name of healing and happiness. Technically more of a Gwynriel fic, but does have some Nessian since it follows the aftermath of Of death and Resurrection, only Azriel, Gwyn & Elain are the main focus. Ties up a lose thread or two from part 1, and is 100% Anti Elain. Completed. TW Implied child abuse, implied suicide, torture.

Of Reopened Wounds and Retribution by TheTeaQueen Part 3 of In the name of healing and happiness. A trip to the human lands to discuss the treaty leads Nesta to face Thomas Mandray again. This time, she has family willing to go to hell and back for her. Incomplete. TW Implied rape/sa, panic attack.

Lady Death and Her Kingdom by TheTeaQueen Amren pushes Nesta too far, causing her to awaken a strange new power. TW Implied child abuse. Incomplete.

The Hike, Alternatively by TheTeaQueen An alternative take on The Hike from Hell, where Nesta attempt to TW commit suicide TW, and Cassian realises just how messed up their methods, and the events leading up to the hike are. Written for Suicide prevention month. Completed. TW Self harm, suicide, The Hike.

To Pay a Debt by TheTeaQueen When Nesta sees that Feyre didn't include her in any of the paintings, she does the only thing she can think of; Run. Incomplete. TW, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, mentioned sa.

Burning from the Inside out by TheTeaQueen An au where Nesta's secretly lived with Chronic pain her whole life, only for the cauldron and her new powers to exacerbate it. Complete. TW Implied/referenced child abuse, suicidal thoughts, ableism, internalised ableism.

The Whole Truth by TheTeaQueen An alternative take where Nesta's deepest secret comes to light when Elain explodes at the dinner table one night. This forces the IC and her sisters to reevaluate their perception of her. Incomplete. TW: Child abuse, suicidal thoughts/ideation, forced prostitution, sexual assault (underage!!)

Set my Soul Alight by moodymelanist Nesta finds solace in Autumn. No Nessian. Completed. TW Implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced rape, implied/referenced torture.

Falling by becauseofreading Another take on what happens after Cassian tells Nesta that everybody hates her. Incomplete. TW Self harm, suicidal thoughts, blood and injuries.

Destruction and Renewal by Vorbi Nesta is given the opportunity to form new alliances. Initially, she scoffs at the idea, but after a small, final act of disrespect from the IC, she decides to see where this new path leads us. Incomplete. TW Implied/referenced abuse.

No One Likes A Mad Woman by Separatist_Apologist You made her like that. Nesta has had her choices tripped away, so when Eris offers her an out, she takes it. No happy ending for Cassian. The Night Court gets no sympathy. Completed. TW Domestic violence

A Cup of Tea by shaziskhalid After realising that the Cassian of her dreams isn't the Cassian she's mated to, everything changed. (MCU! Wanda, modern Au). Incomplete.

Promise by Daughterofthesea Begins during that scene where Cassian follows Nesta, and ends with him understanding just how much pain she's in, and deciding to actually help her.

Stay here (I love you, but I need another year) by littleplease Nesta is tired, and losing the will to even try. Complete. TW Apathy, depression, vuage suicidal thoughts.

What you did to me (I'll spend my life trying to rise) by filthymouthedslut Nesta is done with the IC's holier-than-thou attitude. No ship. Incomplete (3/4) as of updating this post.

Everybody hates you by Booksandsushi A different take on the time Cassian tells Nesta that Everybody hates her. Incomplete.

Change is good by Booksandsushi Nesta figures her life out on her own. Complete.

Truth of the Heart By TheFreakPanda The months after ACOFAS leave Nesta presented with some new opportunities. Full of therapy and dancing. Completed.

I've Always Liked to Play with Fire by catalyste After her village is destroyed and family killed by Hybern following Feyre's revenge mission, you wake up healed in the NC. After Lucien leaves you there, you find yourself trapped with Nesta Archeron, who turns out to be an unlikely ally. The two of you plan your escape with the help of Eris Vansera. Polly, Neris/reader, with IC bashing, and dragons. Incomplete.

The relapse by Janes_Melodies Something broke in Nesta when she learned about the results of the vote, knowing it was a tie until Feyre. She was trying for her sisters and for Cassian, yet they still think she's cruel enough to create a whole new trove just to kill them all. For the first time in months, she gave into her desires. Incomplete. TW Alcoholism, Implied/referenced self harm, suicidal thoughts.

You're safe now by annieleonhardtsring Rewrite of the scene where Nesta falls down the stairs, and Azriel stands up for her. Complete.

Love her how she should be loved by julemmaes Cassian overhears his family making some not-so-subtle comments about Nesta, and it pushes him over the edge. So he goes to bat for her, blaming his friends for everything wrong with their relationship with his girlfriend. Modern AU completed.

The Nest World - The Next Life by bat_called_phil ACOSF canon divergence fic that starts with the intervention, but diverts when Nesta takes a stand for herself, and Feyre starts holding Rhys accountable. TW Implied/referenced suicide, Implied/referenced abortion.

A Court of Spite and Isolation by xxTAO Nesta choses the human lands, separated from the IC and the distractions from her trauma, she spirals. Incomplete (4/6) TW Suicidal thoughts, Implied/referenced alcoholism, Suicide attempt.

Come Home by Rhysanoodle Cassian learns how Nesta's been living since she came to Illyria, and which fears haunt her the most. Complete.

[system-of-a-feather]

For realsie though, I really wish I could look at the people who are diagnosed with DID and get upset at people "making it look like a fun disorder to have" with some level of sympathy or empathy, but I really honestly think that rhetoric is really honestly destructive as a means for self soothing and one I really just can't stand personally.

Like this disorder sucks ass and the reason it happened sucks ass and recovering with it sucks ass, but I don't see that rhetoric as any better than stating that "anyone who went through that could NEVER recover or live happy".

And I get where that comes from, I do, but at a certain point in trauma processing, stabilization and recovery, things start to click that trauma is over and PTSD inherently is referencing an event that has already passed. Trauma sucks. Severe chronic trauma SUCKS, but that's the past and - while its a LOT more difficult than it is to just say - that past REALLY doesn't have to define the present even a quarter as much as trauma makes it feel.

Of course, I understand and get those who feel like DID is horrible and a hell disorder - I 10000% understand that and its a valid feeling / opinion / statement to make, but to claim that it is impossible to have fun, be happy, and make casual content and just genuinely make the best out of a shit situation; or to claim that anyone with DID would be totally dysfunctional and miserable and unable to do XYZ - it's just... really self depricating and a huge negative self fulfilling prophecy don't you think? Also not to mention a LOT of projecting?

Other people don't deserve you forcing your self loathing and pain onto them. You are allowed to hate your situation, you are allowed to hate your disorder, you are allowed to feel and think and experience your experiences however you want, but a line is drawn when it comes to displacing that hatred, those feelings, those thoughts, and those experiences onto others and demand that they should meet your standards of misery.

I apologize, but I'm not going to pretend like DID stresses me out when I'm really not stressed by it anymore because most of our regular parts are actually decently connected and coordinated with one another. I'm not scared of them and they aren't scared of me. I'm not fighting them and they aren't fighting me. We got trauma but we also got, ya know, a life going and the trauma gets less and less prevalent and intrusive as time goes on so, life's honestly pretty lit and I really love to see other systems heading in that direction.

I think everyone should aim to be happy and at peace with their disorder. I don't understand, empathize, or support the idea that someone had to meet a standard of misery to be "real".

(TW: suicidal ideation and physical abuse mention)

If I take medication that makes it so I don't scrub my hands raw and have panic attacks over having not eaten a salad "recently" thus meaning I am going to rot from the inside out and die, does that mean I am faking having OCD? If I take medication and improve my life so that I only pluck my hair once a month, is my Trichitillomania faked? If I stop having suicidal ideation, does that mean I was faking being suicidal the whole time? If I stop having bruises, does that mean I faked being beaten as a kid?

(TW cleared)

Recovery and peace should and does not ever invalidate the truth of the pain suffered and the struggle overcome. Happiness and joy can co-exist with the truth of hurt, pain and suffering.

Trying to hold the two as mutually exclusive is a huge part of why a lot of people get stuck being miserable. If misery is vital for honoring your pain as real, it is very hard to let that go and let yourself be happy again, because if you are happy, what will attest to give your pain justice? But pain, justice, misery, and happiness - they can all co-exist and honestly, that's a really important thing to learn and understand in my healing journey as it really opens up doors to letting trauma go.

Your pain doesn't define your truth.

Your truth is your truth.

It will stay true regardless of if the pain persists or leaves.

[insoukokuhell-434]

Angst & Fluff - skk fics

The format I’m using is:

Title - writer (ao3 link)

Angst related to ( )

Fic length Time period (teen/mafia skk, 22! Skk, all ages) Additional tags (Tags in bold added by me for extra info) TW

Some fics have parts of the summary/ comments added for additional info

Willful Neglect - timeisdancing

Chuuya Dies (temporarily), Chuuya in Emotional & Physical Pain, Dazai's Grief and Guilt

27.9k 22 SKK Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, Not a death fic - It starts off as a death fic but it does not stay that way Dazai Being An Idiot , Dazai Being An Asshole , But he learns his lessons and comes around. Dazai also starts off distant and then goes full simp, Clingy Dazai Dazai needs a hug, Chuuya needs a hug, Mutual Pining, Cuddling & Snuggling, Soft skk, Chuuya Uses Corruption, Dazai Takes Care of Chuuya Grief/Mourning, Self-Hatred, Guilt, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Gaslighting, Manipulation By Mori, Mori Ougai Being An Asshole

hide the truth - writingfromtheshadows

Chuuya's Amnesia, Soukoku in Emotional pain, Soukoku Fight, Dazai's Defection, Dazai's Suicidal ideation

24.6 k 22 SKK Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Unreliable Narrator, Developing Relationship, Pining,  Implied Sexual Content, Post-Dead Apple TW- Canon-Typical Violence, Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions

Stay - the_most_happy

Dazai feels guilt, Soukoku Fight, Soukoku in Emotional & Physical Pain

23.6k 22 SKK AU - Canon Divergence Deaf Chuuya, sign language, Chuuya is so done, Dazai tries his best Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Chuuya in Denial, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Kiss Kiss Fall in Love, Idiots in Love, Love confessions in the rain because SKK are dramatic, Getting Together, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Skk's Unconventional Mating Rituals, Developing Relationship, Relationship Study, Soft skk Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Domestic Fluff, Canon Compliant, Sweet

Around We Go (And Back Again)- by zombiemarker

Soukoku Fight, Soukoku in Emotional Pain

24.2k 22 SKK ADA Chuuya, Angst and Humor, Fluff, Dazai Osamu is Bad at Feelings, Nakahara Chuuya Is So Done, Nakahara Chuuya Needs a Break, Hurt/Comfort, ADA Ensemble, Minor Shin Soukoku TW- Attempted Murder

What doesn't kill me (makes me want you more) - the_most_happy

Soukoku Fight

5.5k 22 SKK (Post-Canon, Post-109) Character Study, Established Relationship, Enemies and Lovers, Love Confessions, Possessive Dazai, Caring Chuuya, Resolved Sexual Tension, non-Graphic Smut, Pillow Talk, Sleepy Kisses, Soft skk, skk’s Unconventional Mating Rituals, Canon Compliant

hey look, the sky's falling apart - saffroncassis    

Child Abuse, Dazai's Depression & Self harm

24.8k TEEN SKK (16/17) AU - Canon Divergence Hurt/Comfort, Protective Nakahara Chuuya, Developing Relationship Found Family (the Akutagawa siblings, Oda's kids, Kyouka, Oda, Ango) TW- Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse and discussions of both these

Summary - "At age 16, Chuuya defects from the Port Mafia and drags his partner with him not so much kicking and screaming as silently begrudging, and the rest follow suit in time."

For the Record - zombiemarker

Soukoku Fight, Dazai & Chuuya in Emotional/Physical Pain, Childhood Trauma

19.1k TEEN SKK  AU- Spies & Secret Agents Emotional & Physical Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Childhood Trauma, they get all dressed up and go to a gala, Implied Sexual Content, Literal sleeping together, Getting together, First kiss, Developing Relationship TW - Blood and Violence, Childhood Trauma

From tags: "Chuuya's a government experiment, Dazai's been with Mori for years, they've both got trauma now"

Love is not a victory march - osamuchuu

Dazai's Depression, Suicide Attempts and Drug Addiction

8.7k 22 SKK Soukoku taking care of each other, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mental Illness, Depression, Drug Addiction, Blood and Injury, Healing, Recovery, Soukoku Tenderness, Light Angst TW -  Dazai-Typical Suicide References and Attempts, Addiction, Drug Use

Grown on me - Jules_tea

Chuuya in Physical and Emotional Pain

16.9k 22 SKK Alternate Universe - Post-Canon Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Possessive Chuuya, Jealous Dazai, Caring Dazai, Chuuya Uses Corruption, a new mission but at what cost, Love Confessions, Getting Together TW- Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions

From Summary - "Or, a story in which Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu come to accept their feelings, one way or another… and Dazai helps Chuuya finally accept himself."

They Were Different - nillakit

Chuuya in Emotional Pain, Soukoku Fight

11.9k 22 SKK Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, They actually talk about shit

Lighter Angst

escalators to the moon - boyfangs

Soukoku Fight, Chuuya in Emotional Pain

20.6 k TEEN SKK AU - No abilities Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Emotional Constipation, First Kiss, Getting Together, Bickering, they’re both gay & petty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort Found Family (Chuuya, Rimbaud, Verlaine)

Learning experiences by BlowingYourMind

Chuuya's PTSD

13k MAFIA SKK Light Angst, Fluff and Humor, missed childhoods, let them be children for once please and thank you, Chuuya-centric,  Chuuya Is So Done, Panic Attacks, Flashbacks, Dazai is a Mess, Chuuya Takes Care of Dazai, Dazai Takes Care of Chuuya, Dazai Needs a Hug, Chuuya Needs a Hug, they both get hugs Chuuya Uses Corruption, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sharing a Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Soft skk, Mori Being An Asshole

From Summary: "Chuuya can't read. Dazai can't ride a bike. They both can't swim for one reason or another. All learning experiences they missed out on in their early childhood, though it seemed that they would need to make up for lost time."

Bitter/Sweet - Badwolf36

Chuuya in Physical Pain

4.1k Post-Corruption (Post-Dead Apple) Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Caring Dazai, Soft Dazai, Chuuya Needs a Hug, Angst, Stabbing, First Aid, Denial of Feelings, denial, pain

Please like/reblog if this helped u find a fic, I'd be delighted to know <33

Angst with a Happy Ending fics

Soukoku Fic Rec Masterlist

[aftgficrec]

Hi omg so excited it's open!!! This blog is the best, I love all the recs you give

I've been trying to find this fic I read a while ago that I remember really well but can't find anywhere. Content warnings: suicidal ideation for the whole plot summary

So Andrew is living with Nicky and Aaron and joins a suicide pact website and ends up pairing up with Neil who is living with wymack in this fic. After making this pact Andrew ends up changing his find because his relationships with Aaron and Nicky improve (aaron notices he's been down and I'm pretty sure there's a scene where Nicky finds out Andrew is gay and takes it well). The fic has a happy ending overall and Andrew is able to prevent Neil's attempt.

Thank you so much <3

Thank you for prefacing your ask with the content warning, anon. This story has high school-aged Andrew and Neil as two lost souls nearly consumed by their trauma who find hope again. Please read with care. -A

24 Floors by bazerella [Rated M, 9691 Words, Complete, 2021]

It wasn’t necessarily that Andrew thought he wasn’t going to go through with it in the end, it was more so in the back of his mind that this was his last feeble attempt at not being alone. - Andrew and Neil meet on a website used by people to find themselves a suicide pact partner. As Andrew fights his own battle inside of his head, and their pact date gets closer, Andrew struggles with his decision. He justifies his decision as being what's best for his family, but somewhere along the way he realizes that perhaps he deserves what's best too.

tw: suicide attempt, tw: suicide ideation, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: depression, tw: self hatred, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder 

[isleofdarkness]

Writing this I realized my main thoughts on Evie's backstory are "DIE DIE GRIMHILDE DIE", to which... wow, what a surprise, never would have crossed my mind/s

AAAAAAAAAA WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS WOMAN. How fucking full of shit you have to be to starve a BABY for them to not be fat. Who starves a newborn? Who does that? Genuinely, who the fuck does that? Oh god, I hate her so much.

You know what pisses me off the most? THIS IS REAL. I mean, obviously is not real, but like- this shit happens A LOT. PEOPLE STARVE THEIR CHILDREN. Like, is common. I can name three or five friends of mine whose mothers implanted diet culture and self-hatred into them and GOD- I hate almond moms with a burning passion. Anyways, going back to the review-

“If she wasn't getting those, doctors are sure she wouldn't have made it even another two years.” Im ok, everything is totally fine, nothing wrong, everythi

“Grimhilde made sure her daughter knew how to sexually attract and please men.” 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

“Her bedroom, which had once been her beloved refuge, had become a place she couldn't stand due to all of the horrific memories made in that room.” “Evie felt the boy go completely stiff, breath coming far too quickly but with practiced silence- who even developed the skill to hyperventilate silently?” You depict abuse victims so well and in a way that doesn't feel caricatured, they feel real. Thank you.

“He was terrified, shaking and tense, the same kind of terror Evie felt when her mother was angry.” Poor babies, they deserve the world :(

“When his blue eyes finally meet hers, he suddenly looks so much older. In her moments of vulnerability, when she dared look in her cracked mirror, she knew her eyes could look like that.” Is this about Evie looking younger due to undernutrition? (“...she's clearly underdeveloped. The poor girl looks like she's thirteen without her makeup.”)

Evie and Malcolm are the cutest, I want to hug both of them.

Also fuck that guy, whoever he is. I'm glad Agony beat his ass.

“Agony was the first girl her own age she had ever met. The first girl she'd ever been friends with- the second friend she'd ever had. Evie was absolutely thrilled.” I love them, Evie's so in love.

“Evie dared not get up as Grimhilde screamed at her. She screamed about the company Evie was keeping, using every racist term towards Black people that she knew, calling Agony a cripple and Malcolm a retard (along with several other derogatory terms for people with Down Syndrome that I won't repeat,) insulting them based on their backgrounds (Agony's "whore mother" and calling Malcolm a slave because of his mother-) if there was a way Grimhilde could insult the two, she used it. She blamed Evie for her assault, shaming her for "being a cheap whore instead of a princess" and acting as though Evie had consensually had sex and hadn't been a child raped by an adult. She forced Evie to apologize to her, then forced her to apologize to the man who'd assaulted her for the "trouble she'd caused" and having people "hurt an innocent man." ” I HATE HER SO MUCH. GOD. WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER. The fact a child rapist knew he could go to her and tell her about how he had assault her daughter multiple times and, not only not face any consequences, but also get that child to APOLOGISE TO HIM talks about how much of a shitty mother AND person Grimhilde is. Also, all the slurs? 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

I had two moods reading this "Evie, Malcolm and Agony are the cutest and deserve the best" and "FUCK GRIMHILDE, I HATE HER"

Thankfully, the worst part is about to be over. Now she has a friend with connections to people who can help her. Of course, better doesn't mean her life is going to be perfect.

(TW for starving a child and referenced child sexual abuse and assault)

The amount of times I've heard about people restricting how much a baby eats to give them a "slender figure-" babies are supposed to be fat! That baby fat they have is very important! And babies are growing so rapidly, they need a certain amount of calories so that they can grow and their bones can fuse and their brains can develop! I agree, it's messed up.

Children deserve to not worry about their weight. They deserve decadence and the joys of life. Yeah, they still need to be healthy, but children deserve to have candy and sweets and food that isn't always healthy. Their bodies are still developing, they need this stuff because even unhealthy things make up a natural part of their diet. They have a minimum daily calorie requirement and certain vitamins to help their internal organs develop properly. To deprive them of that and blame their perfectly healthy weight is not only cruel, it's medically dangerous. Let kids exist without counting calories and sabotaging their bodies by trying to stay slim.

Thankfully, she's getting better. It's slow-going and doctors aren't sure how much is going to be permanent, but she's getting better and the damage is starting to mend.

Absolutely horrific to put that on any child, especially one who is elementary school age, Grimhilde.

Thank you. I'm trying really hard to convey how horrific child abuse is, and I'm glad I'm getting it across.

They do deserve the world. They deserve the entire galaxy.

You know how children have this young look in their eyes? Like you can look into their eyes and tell that they haven't seen as much of the world, that they're innocent and carefree? It's like this beautiful spark they have in their eyes. Malcolm didn't have that spark. His eyes were serious, tired, filled with way too much experience for someone so young. Evie had seen that spark leave her eyes over the past year or so, and she had seen how it made her face seem older, more adult. A child without that spark just seems older than they are, and that's what Evie meant. Malcolm, like her, didn't have that innocence anymore. He'd been through too much, like she had, and it had forced him to mature far too early.

They're very cute.

He was just some minion. That was one of the only times Agony didn't regret using her power (most times have been on accident and, while this one was, too, she doesn't feel that sorry that it happened.)

They were already so important to each other.

Evie had found the first two positive connections to other people she'd ever had, the first two friendships, the first two connections to children her own age, and Grimhilde spent a solid hour insulting them. It was horrific. As for that guy, you'll be pleased to know that Agony told her uncle and that that guy is never going to hurt Evie or any other small child ever again.

Both moods are extremely valid and are exactly what I was going for. Thank you so, so much.

[emerald-onion]

Ink Gets Rizz Series (Passive Nightmare)

Because I don't want to post this at ao3 yet but I also want to know what people think about it.

TW (Just to be safe): Self-hatred, implied/referenced bullying

The sun dips behind the horizon, spilling saturated orange all over the hill. A chilly wind cheekily presses its cold lips against his cheek before it is off playing with the autumn leaves, trailing the taste of crisp apples after its footsteps.

It is calm. Peaceful. The only sound Nightmare can hear is the soft scratching of graphite against paper and the rustling pages of his book. A moment like this is rare these days, especially when Dream is busy hanging out with all of his brand new friends and the villagers doesn’t take kindly to his presence, and the Guardian of Negativity would hate to break it.

Nightmare knows, however, if he didn’t say anything now, this fleeting courage would skip from his fingers and the words he wants to say will remain stuck inside his throat to be choked down, to be another reminder of all the unspoken things that sometimes make it just a little too hard to drag his heavy body forward.

He takes a deep breath, hoping that it will fill the gaping chasm of uncertainty inside of him, merely waiting for the moment he’ll slip and fall into the jumbled mess of his own thoughts. It helps, somewhat, but not nearly enough.

Still, there’s no dwindling now.

“Hey, Ink,” he glances at his best (and only) friend. The artist is bending in what makes him feel uncomfortable just looking at it but is clearly what they are used to, a tongue pokes out in concentration. “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh-huh,” Ink replies absented-mindly, still focus on the drawing, their pencil flying on the paper with the grace of a skillful dancer. “Whatcha wanna know, Night-Night?”

As always, the nickname never fails to make Nightmare flush, but he pushes away the influx of warmth and presses on. “Why do you take your negative vials?”

Ink pauses. The dancer stills.

“I-I mean, you can pick whatever emotions you want to feel, right?” He hurriedly asks before the sudden silence can chip away at his nerve. “So why do you still decide to feel sad? Or angry? Or- Or fearful?”

Why do you still choose to stay with me? He doesn’t say, but the meaning is there anyway, anxiously tucked behind his words.

Ink puts down the pencil and closes their sketchbook, going uncharacteristically quiet for a very, very long time. Their eyelights shift, from oval to teardrop to crescent before settling on an orange hourglass and a cyan loading circle, an expression which tells Nightmare that they are thinking over their answer very carefully.

“Nightmare,” finally, they say. The Guardian of Negativity instantly straightens up, hanging onto their every word like a sprout trying to catch the rare droplet of sunlight. “What do you call a monster who can’t have negative emotions?”

“H-Huh?” He startles, having not anticipated the question.

“What do you call a monster who won’t feel guilty when they hurt others? Who won’t empathize if someone else is in pain?” Unbothered by his surprise, Ink continues, staring right into Nightmare and even through that. “Can we even call them a monster anymore?”

“I...” He stutters, scrambling to get his thought back on track. Ink is such an airhead that having their full attention has always been enticing baffling. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Exactly.” They brush a finger against their sash, thumbing the green, blue, purple, and red vials. “These emotions, they are mine, they are what make me me. Without them, I’m nothing but a shallow shell, a mere imitation of a monster.”

“But...” Nightmare whispers, ducking his head, the taste of warmth has faded away, replaced by bitterness. Demon! The villagers have screamed. You’re good for nothing! All you can do is bring misfortune! If so many people tell him so, there must be some truth to it, right? “But don’t they make you feel bad?”

“Yes, but isn’t it what being alive means? To fall and shatter and piece ourselves together and get back up again?” The smile on Ink’s face is so very wide, their cheeks flushing a dreamy rainbow. “Isn’t it exciting?”

Nightmare falls silent.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know if negative emotions are truly as good as his friend says. He doesn’t know if he can ever love this part, this abused, wretched part of himself.

But if Ink continues to look at him like that, like he is something important, something beautiful, something to be treasured...

Well, maybe he can learn to.

[ask-the-bone-boys]

TWs: Suicide attempt, alcohol, references to disordered eating, referenced abuse, manipulation

FINALLY got around to drawing some art for this chapter SO even though it's been up for like over a month at this point here is the official post for it!!!!!!!

This one's from Russ's perspective, and I am! quite happy with it!! I can't wait to get the next chapter done to finish it off as well, that one's a DOOZY

[ao3feed-gav900]

painkillers

https://ift.tt/cXgpPuD by Incenseburnerdreams Gavin can't handle being alone, or his own thoughts so when that's all he has he spirals. Massive tw for Graphic material, more descriptive tw in notes Words: 4083, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 20 of D:BH (Mostly Reed900) Fandoms: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed Additional Tags: Hurt No Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, No Dialogue, Angst and Feels, Hopeful Ending, Gavin Reed is Bad at Feelings, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Hurt Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Is Bad at Feelings, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Loneliness, Mental Health Issues, No beta we die like Allen, Not Beta Read, Triggers, Massive trigger warning for graphic material, Graphic Description, Depression, Dissociation, Overdosing, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human)

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Whumptober Day 1: Drugging / Truth Serum.

Canon divergence. After capturing Tommy and killing Tubbo when they tried to kill him in the prison, Dream forces Tommy to take some special potions to learn the truth behind the attempt. Warnings for referenced torture and mutilation, eye injury, restraints, drugging, manipulation, self-hatred, victim blaming, and dehumanisation.

ao3 if you prefer

— Tommy winced in pain as Punz kicked him in the stomach again, too tired to even scream anymore. The chains holding him in place kept him from crumpling to the ground, leaving him awkwardly kneeling while his arms strained. They’d already been long forced out of their socket from when Dream had beat him to death, so at least it didn’t hurt any more than usual, but it was exhausting.

Through a half-lidded eye, Tommy couldn’t help but focus on the blood staining Punz’s hoodie a deep red, the chunks of horn and fur still stuck to it. All that was left of Tubbo. He was far too dazed to process that thought- that Tubbo was truly gone, that he’d never see him again. It just felt like a bad dream, like he’d wake up in the bunker tomorrow and message him, and he’d send back a picture of Micheal trying to eat snow or something.

That’s what would have happened, had Tommy not screwed it up.

“Prime, Punz, you’ll kill him; calm down. We need him alive for questioning, dumbass.” Dream’s voice felt like nails on a chalkboard, and Tommy would have flinched if he had the energy. “Besides, I thought we agreed Tommy was mine. Go experiment on the other one, if you can’t keep your anger in line.”

“He killed you!” Punz’s protests sounded more like a child whining than someone actually concerned and angry. If he were more cognisant, Tommy might have been disturbed by how plainly that showed the differences in how the two of them viewed death from everyone else- like a toy cruelly ripped from their hands, not an agonising and permanent inevitability. Instead, all he could think was that he just wanted everyone to be quiet.

“Punz.”

Punz let out an exaggerated sigh before turning away, deliberately smacking Tommy in the face with a swish of his heavy tail as he walked off. The impact against his eye socket sent so much pain through his face that he couldn’t help but gag, even as exhausted as he was. The feeling of the axe tearing out his eye was impossibly agonising, but it hurt worse to have anything so much as brush the empty wound left.

He whined in pain as a gentle hand pulled him up by his chin, forcing him to look up. Everything blurred in Tommy’s mind, leaving only a blur of green and white broken up by the same red as Punz was. “Shh, shh. They’re gone now. It’s just you and me, Tommy. Just Dream and Tommy, like old times.”

The words didn’t really process through Tommy’s head, but he still let out an involuntary shudder. Dream laughed, the sound like another blow to the head.

“You thirsty? I got a drink if you need one.” The clink of a glass bottle taunted Tommy, and he was suddenly aware of how painfully dry his throat was. He nodded his head desperately and, finding himself unable to speak, mouthed the word please weakly.

The smell of magic, sickly sweet yet with the faintest hint of burning flesh, invaded the air as the cap popped out of the bottle, and of course it was a potion. Even in his dazed state, Tommy wasn’t even surprised, just resigned. What did surprise him, as the bottle was gently brought to his lips and he weakly took tiny sips, the insides of his mouth too torn up by his braces for much more, was that he didn’t recognise the taste.

It depended on how a potion was brewed, of course, but even with someone like Wil, who sweetened the shit outta everything, you could detect it behind the flavouring. Healing potions, for example, tasted remarkably like strawberries- Tommy wasn’t sure why, you didn’t use strawberries to make them, but they did- while invisibility potions tasted like cinnamon, and the T Tommy took tasted terribly bitter.

This potion, plain with no efforts to hide its effects, tasted metallic, like the blood on your tongue after a deserved beating, yet it also had a faint spiciness to it. Tommy wasn’t a picky eater- he’d survived mostly on raw meat and dubiously safe berries before Wilbur had taken him in- but the taste was still intense, if not entirely unpleasant. Still, he was so thirsty he could think of nothing but gulping it down as quickly as possible.

Dream ruffled Tommy’s hair as he drank, in what was probably meant to be a comforting gesture. “See, look. I’m not so bad, am I? Sorry about Punz, he just gets… protective, y’know?” He laughed softly, the sound slightly less piercing. “Now, this, I worked hard on. It’ll dull the pain of, y’know, all that, and… well, I’ll let it be a surprise, actually! That’s fun.” Finally, he moved the bottle from Tommy’s mouth, far before his thirst could be adequately quenched. “Don’t you love surprises, Tommy?”

“No,” Tommy whispered, the words forcing themselves through his throat. They came out dry and scratchy, hurting even at the quietest of tones.

“Oh, it works!” There was a childish glee in Dream’s tone, and Tommy felt a pit settle in his stomach at what that meant. Dream getting excited seemed to always involve horrible things happening. “Okay, so what this does is that it makes it so you can’t lie, and you can’t stay quiet to hide the truth either. I hate that I can’t trust you, Tommy, but trust has to be earned, okay?”

Tommy gave a blank stare, and Dream wheezed in laughter. “Yeah, yeah, probably too much for you right now. Let’s keep it simple, ‘kay? Can you tell me why the fuck you came into my house and tried to murder me?”

Tommy flinched at the slight hiss in Dream’s tone, preparing for a blow that didn’t come, as the explanation forced its way out. “I- I didn’t want to kill you, it’s just- you- you were gonna torture me forever, ‘cause you hate me, you told me yourself. So I had to- to do something first.”

“Oh, Tommy.” Dream sounded weirdly sad, and Tommy couldn’t comprehend why. “I promise, I don’t hate you. I mean, I stayed when Wilbur didn’t, right? I could be your new big brother! Do you like that idea, Tommy?”

“I don’t wanna be alone,” Tommy said pitifully, and he hated himself for it. No, he didn’t want to spend a single fucking second more in Dream’s presence! Dream had to be lying about the whole truth thing, because the idea that- that he could ever answer anything but fuck no was a lie. “I’d- I’d do that, if it meant I wouldn’t be alone anymore.”

“See, look? You could have just told me that when Wilbur left, and then Tubbo wouldn’t have had to have died. Do you think that’s your fault, Tommy?”

“I’m not the one who cut his fuckin’ head off.”

“But do you think he’d have died if you didn’t barge in here because you thought I hated you?” There was no venom in the tone, just a sickly sweet kindness, yet it brought tears to Tommy’s eyes. He knew that tone. It was worse than any vicious insult tearing him down could be.

He took a hiccuping breath, unable to stop himself from shaking his head. He made a strangled sound as he bit his tongue, muffling the no his mouth was already forming. He- it wasn’t his fault. It couldn’t be. This was a trick. Yeah. It had to be.

“Aww, don’t sulk, Tommy. I’ll let you have play dates if you’re good. I mean, I’ll certainly need a new subject to figure out immortality with, and that’s a fitting punishment for him, don’t you think?” Dream laughed, a mix of cruelty and childish innocence mixing into a static mess that hurt Tommy’s head. A drink had helped him be a bit less dazed, but he still felt like he was pushing through a wall made of jelly just to think.

“I- no. No, Tubbo- I dragged him into this. I deserve the punishment.” I deserve it. Tommy remembered that thought rushing through his head in Exile. Maybe… maybe it was true. It seemed easier, at least, to believe it. “I’ll take it. Just- just leave Tubbo-“

“Tommy.” Dream’s voice was a low growl, and it stopped Tommy in his tracks, air suddenly feeling so heavy he had to hyperventilate to get a single breath. “You both deserve punishment, I think. And that’s the worst punishment I can think of for you. Making you watch as Tubbo suffers the consequences of your actions. Maybe you’ll know better than to fight the truth.”

Was that what he was doing? Fighting the truth? Tommy’s head hurt at the thought. He thought- he thought he hated Dream, he thought Dream hated him. It was fucking confusing. Had he just been lying to himself all along? Was this… was this his fault?

He let out a small sob. “Please. ‘m sorry, Dream.” He wasn’t even sure what he was begging for anymore. Something fuzzy like television static had raced its way through his body, replacing agony with pins and needles in both his injuries and his head. “I’ll be good, promise.”

A gentle hand ran through his curls, and Tommy tried to focus on the soft touch and not the fear bubbling in his mind, the tingling in his fingers, the claws getting caught in his hair and tugging out strands. “I know, I know. Like in Exile, right? Did you miss that, Tommy? Did you miss me?”

“Mhm.” He nodded faintly, his eye half-shut as sleep felt more and more tempting. “I- I don’t- I don’t miss when you’d hit me, or make me cry and shit, but it made fuckin’ sense, y’know? It made sense, and- and I knew what I was meant to do. I knew what I was.”

“And what was that, do you think?” Dream sounded more curious than demanding.

“A- a puppet. A pet. A plaything.” Tommy felt sick saying it. Even exhausted, it sounded wrong, it sounded awful. Oh, he knew Dream saw him like that; he wasn’t stupid. But he- he wasn’t fucking okay with that. “And you- you were my owner. And it fuckin’ sucked. But it- it was so much easier than everything being all change-y. Even when it’s the good change.”

Dream hummed, sounding somewhat pleased with that answer. “That’s interesting. I’ve always wanted to know how you really saw me, y’know? I’m definitely gonna use that potion more. This is going to make fixing you so much easier.”

Tommy furrowed his brows. “Wha-“

“Ssh, shh. It’s okay now. You don’t need to try and speak any longer.” Dream reached up, releasing his wrist from the manacle with a loud snapping sound that made Tommy’s head feel like it was being hit by a sledgehammer, swiftly doing so on the other side. Without being held up, Tommy collapsed fully onto the floor, his face getting stained in his own blood. He tried to lift himself up fruitlessly but couldn’t even move his arms. “You’ve got a long eternity when you wake up, after all.”

The last thing Tommy heard before the static in his head finally lulled him into a dreamless sleep was laughter, both comfortingly familiar and chillingly a promise of worse to come.

[onlyroomforhope]

won't let go ('til we're scarred)

Link

Fandom: Welcome to the Table (WT3)

Relationships: California/Texas, California & Texas, California & States

Characters: California, Texas, States (mentioned)

Tags: toxic relationship, abusive relationships, implied/referenced abuse, (except it’s mutual), hate making out, like hate fucking but without the fucking part, mutually abusive relationship, california needs a hug, texas needs a hug, unreliable narrator, probably bad representation of mental health issues

Summary:

He knew it wasn't healthy.

Fingers curl through dark locks, tugging and tugging and burning.

He knew it wasn't love.

The craving to be loathed by another as deeply as he loathes himself.

He knew he couldn't afford to care.

(or; cali has emotional intensity disorder and deals with this via hate make out session with texas, as you do.)

TWs and notes: abusive relationship, physical and emotional abuse, steamy make out session but otherwise no smut, emotional intensity disorder / emotional overstimulation, implications of dissociation. written and posted 9th of october 2022, so also an oldie.

He knew it wasn’t healthy.

Their bodies pull each other close, a mess of hands and limbs, heat and desperation. Urgently grasping, holding, refusing to let go. He’s driven by the need to feel and the need to touch. To take what’s his. To be taken. His partner responds in kind, firm grip pulling him closer.

Hands glide up his side, trailing stings and dull throbs he knows will bruise. Lips and teeth clash, desperate for something, anything. Fingers curl through dark locks, tugging and tugging and burning. He nips at the expanse of flesh before him, scraping his teeth against the other’s skin and leaving splotches of purple and red. Hatred and passion and disgust and loathing well up, and he bites that little bit harder, grips that little bit firmer. The hands in his hair tug sharply, and he knows the loathing is reciprocated.

The pair wrestle for control, for some semblance of stability, for validation and for dominance. Their words are scathing and their hands are rough. The fingers on his jaw are demanding, scornful the breath mingling with his own. He responds with defiant fingers and smug lips and lilting, teasing words.

He knew it wasn’t love.

Words fly, aiming to injure and overwhelm and torment. Malicious names and mischievous brags strive for a reaction. Searching for that anger, hostility, hate. Seeking to excuse his own feelings; seeking to incite them in the other. The craving to be loathed by another as deeply as he loathes himself. The yearning to spit the poison his partner thirsts for, desires deep in his bones and twisted, thorny heart. The hunger for validation, for proof that neither is alone in their inherent apathy.

The salty flesh beneath his lips makes him sick. The arrogant smirk, the condescending words and the patronizing touches make him want to reach out and squeeze, destroy, mutilate until the too much too muchtoomuch goes away. Until he feels nothing. He knows his haughty simper, his supercilious demeanour and disdainful tone makes the other feel the same. He does it for a reason; to incite that self-righteous indignation he needs, feels, too strongly too strongly in the other man. To make the other man feel how he feels. To stop him from suffering alone.

He knew he couldn't afford to care.

When the aggression and hatred slows, when the fire subsides, when bruising touches turn soft and empty and listless, he thrives. He craves those moments of empty nothing. He craves those moments of idle tolerance, of futility. The moments where they lie, cuddling for nothing more than body heat, skin sticky with sweat but blood cold as ice, hearts firm as stone, eyes vacant as mirrors. The moments of unburdened peace, of fatigue that temporarily quashes the fires of detestation and hatred and loathing and too much too much too much. The moments where he feels blissfully empty. Where he feels nothing.

And he’ll regret it, when the numbness abates, when he feels again. When his inadequate heart is swamped with too-much-too-strong-too-full passion. When he feels so strongly about his own beliefs, his mouth opens of its own volition. When it talks and talks and says nothing of substance to people who don’t care. When he can feel their hatred and mocking incredulity and lack of interest.

But he can’t regret it for long. Not when another remark of “Shut up California.” interrupts his earnest streams of consciousness. Not when another joke is made at his expense. Not when fire burns within him and smoke streams from his lips and the skin bubbles on his back and he burns. Not when the states see this, and they laugh and laugh and leave.

Not when they always leave him.

So he returns to his only constant, to the mutual hatred he feels towards Texas and drowns drowns drowns until he feels nothing once more. And then he repeats, and repeats, and repeats hoping in vain, praying to a god he doesn’t believe in that he’ll stop feeling so empty while still feeling everything.

But nothing changes, and so California feels too much, and feels too much, and burns alone.

[steviewashere]

Decorate My Silence While I Figure Out How to Breathe by steviewashere AO3 Link

Okay. AO3 is back online. We've survived. Before I get into this piece I uploaded several hours before the great AO3 takedown, I do have some stuff to say. If you're in America, please call your local political offices and say that you are against KOSA (please look into all of this because I don't want to overwhelm this post with that info); but if this gets passed, AO3 and several other websites with queer and explicit content will be wiped. So let's think about that now that AO3 is back. Anyway.

This piece that I'm uploading today means so much to me. And I'm devastated that I couldn't share it before. But this one is an angst, hurt/comfort with a hopeful ending. 10k words, oneshot. In this, Steve is depressed (though he doesn't realize it), and Eddie comes to help him out. That's about the whole premise, but please read the trigger warnings and summary before going to the full fic, please. Summary is below, enjoy the read <3

TW: Suicidal thoughts, Depression, Referenced suicide of a minor character (Eddie's mom), Self-harm without realizing what it is, and Self-hatred

"It's late and Steve is tired. Stuck in a dredge as sticky and lukewarm as the beer in his hand. The silver spoon he ate from as a kid is digging into his sternum; melon-balling his cigarette stained lungs and beaten, but broken heart, ladling his blood like pasta sauce, and pouring it across the world for all of Hawkins to see. For the demogorgons to taste. For the people he calls his friends to stumble upon, gag over because it's the essence of Steve Harrington spattered across the poolside, and scrub at like taping over a wedding video.

He aches and sizzles. Burns and shrivels. Drinks and drowns."

OR Steve is depressed, Eddie checks on him

OR Wanted to be gut wrenching for some reason, so here you go

Take care of yourselves!

[where-pain-is-so-pretty]

December Project 09

- The Boy In The Black Dress

Pairing: Joonas x Reader

Category: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

TW: Angst, Self-Hatred, Homophobia, implied/referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Bullying

Word Count: 1847

Request:

"Hello again this can be for the December thing. Joonas reaction to you ( partner) staring to quite drastically change how they look due to people not believing that they are a good fit. The partner being the complete opposite of joonas in style and how they are???? You can either make it into fluff/angst/smut. What ever you feel like ❤❤"

Requester: @biancathecool

Note: I loved the request so much you have no idea! I rewrote the story about 3x and originally didn’t want to make it into something so personal, it just happened 😔❤️‍🩹

I’m actually a bit sorry for hijacking your request to cope with some of my own struggles, but I needed that 🥺😅

Hope you still enjoy! 💜

~ male reader ~

Tears streamed down your face as you scrolled through the comment section of your boyfriend's latest post. Only days ago you had decided to make your relationship public. You had been with him for almost a year now. And he was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

The photo he posted showed the two of you, his arms wrapped around you as he kissed your cheek. You stood in front of him, happily smiling wearing a plain black dress, phone in hand to take a photo of your reflection. It was shot a few months back, in the dressing room before their show, you two wore matching make-up and nail polish. The caption simply read: "My love 🖤"

There was nothing wrong with the photo itself, but with you, at least that was what people made you believe. You were a guy, wearing a dress, make-up, and nail polish. And for some reason, it was okay that Joonas and the guys wore make-up and nail polish themselves, but it was not for their partners, at least not if they were male. It should not be that much of a problem in 2022, but it was. The comments under his post went from insults, like "faggots" to "He should have chosen a girl instead". And these were nothing compared to the disturbing headlines going through the finish rainbow press ever since you made it official. "BLIND CHANNEL GUITARIST GAY?!" "WHO IS THE GUY IN A DRESS NEXT TO BAND HOTTIE JOONAS PORKO" "WAS JOONAS PORKO FORCED INTO THIS RELATIONSHIP?"

Each comment and caption increased your self-hatred and your wish to simply eraser yourself. The post was supposed to take the weight off both of your shoulders and end the hide-and-seek. Show the world how much you loved each other. But sadly most fans did not take it well and the press made a big fuss about it to generate more clicks and views. Of course, none of this came unexpectedly and you two were prepared to get some hate and backlash, but you thought it would not hurt that much.

And maybe today was the right moment to put the black dresses down forever and start dressing like a decent man. To show those haters, that you were a good match for Joonas. You wiped away a single tear as you threw your black dress into the closet. …………………………………………………………………………

This was about a month ago, and oh you wished you were over it! You still got insulting messages or even death threats almost daily. And Joonas had people swiping into his DMs telling him to break up with you. There were weird edits on TikTok, rumors spreading over Twitter, people leaking personal information about you, and so on.

On the outside you remained strong, not wanting to make Joonas worry or feel bad or even guilty for coming out and making your relationship public. In the past weeks, he had found you more than once in bed, crying your eyes out and you were sure he was already sick of your whining.

Honestly, you were incredibly proud of him for taking the step and not making a big deal out of it, and you were even prouder to be on his side. His bandmates were supportive as well, they also were the reason why you two started dating in the first place, but was another story to tell. You were glad for him having such great friends and for you they had already become a family as well. And with these guys having your back you almost could ignore all the hate being thrown at you. That was until one day some girl attacked you at a bar, spilling her drink over you when you and Joonas were out for date night. That's when it simply got too much for you.

All this bullying made you relive your darkest memories from your childhood and school days. You had always dressed more femininely and loved to play dress up with your mother's clothes and make-up. You had been expelled more than once for violating the school's dress code. While growing up various people told you that boys were not allowed to wear dresses and skirts and that make-up and nail polish was for girls. You had been bullied over your bold outfit choices, and you could not count the times you were beaten up or had your clothes ripped and ruined.

You thought you had left these memories behind the day you moved out of your parent's house, but all this recent hate had opened up old wounds which you thought had been healed years ago.

Now you found yourself in front of your closet, searching for an outfit. You held back tears when your fingers brushed against the soft fabric of your newest dress, the one you were supposed to wear for the award show tomorrow night. Instead, you took out a suit jacket and a white buttoned-up shirt, hanging them next to Joonas' outfit. You had not worn a dress or skirt in weeks now, hoping people would stop commenting about your looks, sexuality, and relationship, but it did help, in fact, it made you feel vulnerable because now you felt like walking around without your armor.

"What's that?" Joonas appeared behind you, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, blond curls still wet from the shower he just took. "My outfit for tomorrow." You said, trying your best to sound happy while you searched for a matching pair of pants for the jacket. "What happened to the black dress we bought?" He sounded slightly concerned lifting his brows. Him mentioning the dress brought new tears to your eyes and you swallowed heavily, trying to get rid of the knot in your throat. You two had found the dress in your favorite vintage store, the day after you two had made your relationship official. Originally you had bought it to provocate people and show them an imaginary middle finger, but now you felt more like burning it, together with your whole existence. "I felt like it wouldn't fit the occasion…" You mumbled the answer into the closet, not wanting to face him and hoping he would just stop to ask questions. "Sweetheart, are you okay?" He stepped closer, lightly touching your shoulder. You did not react, still pretending to search for the pair of pants, although you had already found it. "Y/N, please look at me!" Reluctantly you turned around to him, looking at his feet instead of meeting his gaze, hiding your tears. Joonas cupped your cheeks, forcing you to lift your head, his blue eyes full of worry when they locked with yours. It broke your heart to see him like this and you wished you could pull yourself together, but a sob escaped from your throat, new tears following seconds later. Joonas brushed a few of them away, before pulling you into a tight hug. You could not hold back longer, all the negative thoughts now crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You collapsed in Joonas arms, sobbing into his naked chest, barely noticing that he carried you over to your shared bed and pulled you into his lap. His hands drew soothing circles on your back as he patiently waited for you to calm down.

You held on to him, the contact of his warm soft skin slowly helping you to get back to reality, as you buried your face in his chest. Soon your sobs turn into even breathing again. He kissed the top of your hair, causing you to slightly lift your head. His eyes were gentle on you but you could see the worry in them. And you could not help but feel pathetic for your breakdown, you should not have let it out on him. Joonas shifted and sat up against the headboard of the bed, his hands not leaving your back as he loosened the embrace to examine your face better. "Wanna talk about it?" His voice was soft, still, you could feel it vibrate in his chest. You swallow heavily, trying to find your words. "I just can't do this anymore…" He looked down at you in shock, realizing what you had just said. "Are you about to break up with me?!", the sadness in his voice almost made you tear up again. "No…I…I don't know, wouldn't you be better off without me?" you stammered out. "Hell no! It's still about what these dumb people said about us online, isn't it?" You nodded silently, not capable of answering without starting to sob again. You did not want to break up with him, but you felt you were the main reason for all his troubles and he deserved so much better than this. Joonas took both of your hands in his. "Y/N! Is that also the reason why you changed your clothing style?" He lightly squeezed your hands. "I…I didn't want to embarrass you. I didn't want to cause any more trouble." You looked down at your intertwined fingers, exhaling sharply. "You are not causing any trouble! Fuck those people and their opinions! I love you for who you are and I don't want you to change for these idiots!", one of his hands found your cheek, wiping away another tear with his thumb. "I saw how happy you were the day we bought the dress for the gala, and in these clothes, you don't look happy." He went on, gesturing to the clothes you were wearing as well as to the jacket and shirt hanging next to his. "But…" you wanted to disagree again, telling him that the press would have their eyes on you two tomorrow night, and you did not want his band's success to be overshadowed by another wave of weird headlines about his sexuality and relationship. "No buts! We are going to prove them all wrong tomorrow!"

Your vision was still blurred from tears when Joonas leaned in for a kiss, to prevent you from talking back again. Lost in the kiss, your eyes closed and you finally felt yourself relax. One last tear rolled down your cheek as you realized how much you loved him.

He broke the kiss after a while, his hand still lingering on your cheek.

"Do you think I could pull one off?" he suddenly broke the silence.

"A dress? Absolutely!", you told him instantly. Joonas was the type of guy who could wear almost anything without looking ridiculous; although Joel strongly disagreed with that.

"Can I borrow one for tomorrow?" He had a sly grin on his lips and you needed a second to understand what he had just suggested. His question made you smile, probably for the first time in a week or so, and you could feel happiness spark in your chest. "I love you so damn much!" Was all you managed to say before you pulled him in for another, more passionate kiss.

"I love you more…And now let's get you out of these clothes…"

[little-cereal-draws]

The Third Sarcophagus (mktober day 20, tomb)

Tw: panic attacks, blood, injury, implied/referenced self harm, confined spaces

Jake opened his eyes and had to double check they were open. Everything was pitch black; it made no difference if they were opened or closed. He reached out and found a wall a few inches from his face… and his sides… and pressed up against his back. A box. He was in a box. Actively working to keep his heart rate steady, he thought back, trying to piece together how he could’ve got here.

They were in the tomb… they found the ushabti… Layla came… Harrow came. He felt his stomach drop. Harrow being the last thing he could remember and then waking up in a box was not a good sign. He squoze his eyes shut, like that would do anything, and tried to remember something -anything- else. Pain, pain, pain, was all he got. Pain, so much pain. He opened his eyes and his hand settled over his chest absently. What about Marc and Steven? What had they done? Were they ok? He turned inward to check on them and found… nothing. They were gone; his head was empty.

Now he was really struggling not to panic. Being injured in some way, probably kidnapped, and waking up in a tiny box -a coffin more like- was less than ideal but he could come up with a plan and figure it out. He always had a plan. But his head being quiet and alone was not something he could fix. There was no plan for that. Almost instantly, he started thinking of a million horrible possibilities. His first thought was that by using ancient magic or something, Harrow had somehow managed to separate them and was holding Marc and Steven hostage somewhere else. Or maybe he was going to torture them. Or keep them as leverage. Or maybe he just simply killed them.

Jake’s breathing came faster and faster. He needed to save them. He needed to escape. He needed to get out. He needed to think. He needed to breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? There wasn’t enough space for him to sink to the floor as his knees gave out so he just pressed up against the wooden back, face turned upwards in hope of some light.

After what felt like an eternity, but also a couple of seconds, of pathetic gasping and halting breaths, his heart slowed enough for him to think. He wanted to massage the ache out of his head but instead ran his hands over every surface he could find. He needed to get out now. There were cracks between the sides and the front, but he couldn’t get his fingers into them.

In the middle of mentally assessing what he had on him he could turn into a crowbar, his chest was suddenly gripped again. But this wasn’t his own panic, this was a surge of emotions he knew well, far too well. Marc. It was Marc. The anger, self hatred, emptiness, and destruction that came when Marc was going to do something… stupid. Jake could feel his thoughts looping, his wrists and arms burning from being far too exposed, the wave that threatened to swallow him up. Usually, Jake would take the body here before his hands could find anything sharp to close around but now…

Jake tried to jump to the front and was met with a face full of wood as he slammed into the heavy front of the box. He cursed and held his nose for a second before trying again. And again. And again. Nose pouring blood down his front now, he felt Marc's hopelessness and destruction turn into passiveness and defeat. Someone else had stopped him. Jake closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief that sunk his whole body down as far as it could. He rested his head on the front and tried to wipe up his nose but it felt like fire on his face each time he touched it. It was probably broken.

“Coño,” he whispered.

He stood back up, assessing the cracks again. At least he knew now that Marc was alive. Not doing well, but alive. And if he was alive, Steven probably was too. That gave him a bit more time. He had to stay calm and keep a level head, that’s how you get out of situations like this. He didn’t have anything to use as a crowbar so he opted for just shoving his shoulder against it. Which, admittedly, wasn’t a great plan but he couldn’t think of anything else. The first two shoves had him holding his shoulder and cursing quite loudly. That lid -he had decided it was a lid- was quite heavy.

After a couple minute break, he was gearing up for a third shove when his entire body nearly collapsed. His heart was going too fast, too slow, he couldn’t breathe, there was too much oxygen, everything was wrong. He leaned against the lid, eyes wide, trying to understand what was happening but there was too much of it. Anger, fear, guilt, curiosity, shock, disbelief, denial, confusion, grief. Steven was emoting now too but between him and Marc both going on whatever wild ride they were on right now, Jake may never stand up or think straight again, let alone get out of his prison. He wasn’t used to this. He didn’t feel the feelings of his headmates, but he did experience the physical responses they had to those emotions. Normally he could handle it but both of them responding like they were dying at the same time was too much. Steven felt cold, wet, and his heart was beating out of his chest in fear. Marc felt apprehensive but was panicking just as much as Steven was. Adrenaline was coursing through their veins but Steven wouldn’t quit -how did he know that? Steven never quit, he just wouldn’t. That’s why Jake had to keep him safe- and he could tell by the acceleration of their heartbeats that time was running out. Normally this is when he would step in and remove Steven from whatever situation he had got himself into before he could get hurt, but now…

He knew it was worthless, but he tried again to take the body. And again was met with a hard wooden slap to the face that sent off fireworks behind his eyes. He had to get out, he had to save them. That was his job, to save them.

“Malparido!” he wailed as he pushed and pulled and did everything he could to get out. He scratched at the wood, faster and faster and faster, his own adrenaline fueling him, until his nails broke and his fingers were bleeding. If there was anything to see, his vision would’ve doubled.

Their hearts beat faster and faster, and so did his own, until his head was spinning and he was slumped against the lid, breath coming far too quick, shallow, and jagged, one hand still slowly dragging up and down, mostly just smearing the blood around at this point. Helpless. He was helpless. They were helpless. Some protector he was. He was supposed to be strong; he couldn’t even get out of a damn box. They were all going to die. Because of him. He had failed.

Just when he was sure he was about to pass out from lack of oxygen, both Marc and Steven’s heart rates slowed. Not a lot, but enough for him to take a few deep breaths and get some air back in his lungs. It felt like he was drowning and had just been able to claw his way to the surface.

And thus it went for… well, Jake didn’t know how long he was in that coffin. Marc and Steven would calm down and he would start a more strategic plan out but then something would threaten them again and he would turn to desperate scrabbling. Over and over and over. Except after each time his heart would begin to slow, his head would fill with horrible ideas of what could be happening to them. He was sure they were being tortured. He needed to get out now. But he had to stay calm. He could do this, he would get out. He had to.

After what felt like an eternity in the darkness, he got a wave of panic that was almost at the level of the first one they had. Most of them after that first one had been smaller, and he could push through them but this one brought him to his knees again. But as horrifying as the actual panic of it was, the really terrifying thing came after it.

Which was nothing. Nothing came after it. No Marc forcing his heart rate back down and Steven calming his shaking hands. No feeling of their chests slowly releasing and the flow of adrenaline slowing to a drip. No feelings of pain, no feelings of pleasure, nothing. It felt like a recording of an orchestra getting to the climax of the piece and then someone just turning the music off. Empty but ringing with glaring absence.

They had died.

Oh, god. Harrow had finally killed them. And where had he been? Unable to escape his own grave. Maybe this was Harrow’s plan all along. This was his punishment. He was to die slowly and cruelly; utterly, utterly alone.

A high pitched sound came out and it took him a second to realize he had made it. It broke at the top and crumbled into sobbing. Tears, so many tears. He was tired. So tired. He had no energy left to do anything but cry. He would give up.

“Harrow…” he choked out, “tú ganas. Me… me rindo.”

A fresh wave of tears overtook him and he clutched at his blood soaked shirt, screaming out a mangled sob.

“Estoy cansado de pelear. Tan, tan, cansado. ¡Tú ganas! ¡Tú ganas! ¡Me rindo!”

He hugged himself and rocked back and forth, tears falling down onto his shirt and pants, mixing with the blood. He choked and sniffed and whimpered, almost glad in a way that there was no one here to see how weak he really was.

He was so caught up in his despair he didn’t notice it at first but slowly as he came back to himself, he felt it. Glowing, warmth, happiness, relief, love. Life. They were alive. Both of them. His tear stained face split into a broken smile and he choked out another sob but in relief this time. They were ok. He didn’t fail them. They had made it and that meant he could too.

He stood again and felt around for the cracks between the side and the lid. After being sure he knew where it was, he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and rammed his full weight into it. His shoulder screamed in protest but he had to get out. He had to make it to them. He ran into it again and again and again until it finally gave way, spilling him out into the garish white light. He hissed and covered his face, the harsh light stabbing his eyes after all that time in the darkness. Blinking the spots out of his eyes, he looked around through his eyelashes and saw that he was indeed in a coffin of sorts. A sarcophagus. It made his guts twist to know that he really was entombed alive but it was quickly replaced with a slight chuckle as he thought of how much Steven would love it. He would probably be ‘jazzed.’

Shoulder slightly dislocated, blood dripping from his head and hands, eyes still struggling to adjust to the light, he limped out of the room -he was in a mental hospital?- and down the hall to what looked like the main doors. He pushed them open and…

Well, he was in the Duat. Definitely not where he thought he was but he would have to roll with it. He expected himself to be surprised but honestly, he was so tired at this point that nothing could surprise him. Not even the giant hippo goddess who looked up at him from sweeping sand off the deck of the ship when he opened the doors.

“Oh dear, did you die again already? That was so quick! There’s usually a bit longer before people come back here; I guess you were just unlucky. Oh well, you tried and that’s what counts, doesn’t it? Most humans don’t even get that far. So I don’t really need to weigh your heart again but it’s just procedure, you know, so let me… see.. it.”

He held out a hand to stop her and she looked at him, ears twitching. She took in his bloody clothes, red watery eyes, and unwavering determined look. “...You’re another one, aren’t you?” she asked after a second.

He couldn’t muster up the energy to speak so he just gave her a singular nod.

“Well... shit. Your friends just left. If I had known there was another one I wouldn’t have rushed them out so quickly. Ok, ok, ok.” She ran over to the side of the boat and looked out at the sand. “There’s still a bit of time but I don’t know if we’re going to make it.”

She ran over to the main mast and threw her entire weight into unfurling the sail to its full length. The boat lurched forward and Jake was nearly bounced off his feet. The front of the boat raised up in the air a bit as the boat gained speed.

“Ok, listen to me!” she shouted. “You have to run through the Gates of Osiris. I’m going to try to get us as close as I can and when I say ‘run,’ you jump overboard and run like hell ok? There’s not very much time!”

Jake was holding on to the side of the ship, finally feeling back in his element. He was free, he had a plan, and he was coming to save the day. The wind dried his tears and woke him up from his after-cry slump. A mischievous smile crept over his face and he gave her a thumbs up. “¡Sí, Señora!”

“Alright, now hang on!” She turned the rudder and the boat turned sharply to the left. It creaked and groaned but kept gaining speed. “Ok, RUN!”

He launched himself off the ship, stumbling for a second when he landed in the soft sand, but quickly regained his balance and ran. He could see the doors closing; there was maybe about a foot left for him to squeeze through. He was running out of time, he was running out of time-

Turning sideways, he slid through the doors with only a couple of inches to spare into the white light… and opened his eyes.

Pain, pain, pain. All he could feel was pain. But this was the pain he knew the best; the pain of the body. He was back in the body. He had made it.

He did a quick check for Marc and Steven and was so relieved to find them both there. Marc was struggling to try and take the body again and Steven seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness. Jake turned his attention to the threat that was causing them so much trouble and found… Harrow. Of course it was Harrow. He was shooting some kind of purple magic out of his cane and it hurt like hell.

Jake’s wicked smile came back under his mask and he pushed himself up to standing. He was going to enjoy this.

[whump-or-whatever]

Whumptober Day 29

Prompts: What doesn’t kill me… - sleep deprivation | defiance | “better me than you”

Tw: self-harm (referenced)

Fandom: Doctor Who (reboot)

Context: Erin is an OC companion

Summary: The Doctor blames himself for the death of a species and punishes himself. Erin thinks that if he blames himself he should blame her too. They get into an argument, then a bit of a fight (sort of Dark!Doctor?). River finds them afterwards.

• • •

Erin had been on the tardis for a few months. By this point, she and the Doctor had visited many planets and times together. Their last trip was three days ago, a long time to wait for the Doctor. Erin knew that it had been rough on him, though. An entire species had been enslaved, and despite trying to save them, the president of the planet had activated a self-destruct that he had installed in all of their brains. All of the species had died, and the Doctor clearly blamed himself.

After three full days of the Doctor brushing past her without a word, Erin was extremely concerned. This is why, when he walked past her where she sat in the control room she grabbed his arm to get his attention. What she wasn’t expecting, though, was for him to withdraw his arm with a visible wince. Erin looked at the Doctor with knowing eyes.

When the Doctor first met her, Erin had been in a bad way. He knew she wasn’t unfamiliar with self-hatred, and he knew she wouldn’t let it go.

“Doctor,” she said, standing up slowly. “What’s wrong with your wrist?”

He averted his eyes, but did not move. In his current state, he had not the energy to care if she found out. Erin approached him slowly and took his hand in hers. Rolling up his sleeve, she revealed the criss crossed cuts covering his forearm. Erin’s face was unreadable, which disturbed the Doctor slightly.

“Why did you do this?” Erin asked calmly.

The Doctor gave a short, derisive laugh. “Why do you think? I killed an entire species.”

Erin gave him a leveled look, releasing his arm. “I was there too,” she said, “I am equally responsible. If you deserve this then so do I.”

The Doctor shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t have been there if not for me.”

Erin was having none of this. “Bullshit, that’s absolute bullshit. If you deserve to be punished for their deaths then so do I,” she chided. “You’ll do it to yourself but not to me? What type of justice is that?”

The Doctor’s eyes turned dark. “I wouldn’t push it right now, Erin,” he said coolly.

A bold grin flashed across her face. “You’re a coward,” she said taking a step toward the Doctor. His fists clenched at his sides as he stepped back. She advanced further despite this. “You selectively apply your rules depending on your mood. You’re too scared to follow your own moral compass or uphold your own beliefs.”

The Doctor stilled as his back hit the wall. Erin stopped mere inches from him. “Erin,” he said, his voice shaking with hidden anger, “back up. Now.”

It was a warning, and Erin knew it. She hadn’t made her point yet, though. “No,” she said, “if you deserve this, then by your own logic so do I.”

The Doctor’s eyes flashed with rage as he pushed Erin back from him roughly. She fell back onto the floor and turned in time to see him advance on her. His eyes showed none of their usual kindness or recognition, only fury and darkness. Erin jumped to her feet just in time for him to punch her hard across the jaw.

She felt her jaw crack and pain went shooting through her face as she fell to the floor once again. Erin hadn’t even opened her eyes before the Doctor had hold of her shirt, pulling her up. His fist connected with her nose, resulting in blood gushing down her face and over her clothes. He dropped her back to the floor where she groaned, her eyes squeezed shut tight at the pain.

Giving her a once over look, the Doctor pulled his leg back and kicked her in the ribs. Erin rolled away with a cry of pain, but he followed her. Judging by the pain when she breathed, Erin guessed at least one rib was broken. She had come to a rest lying face down, breathing raggedly in an attempt to get through the throbbing in her chest.

The Doctor approached and stomped the heel of his shoe down on her right hand, causing her to whimper as her fingers were crushed. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her to make eye contact with him. The second their eyes met and he saw the pain written clearly on her face, the Doctor stumbled back in shock, seeming to snap out of his anger.

“Oh my god,” he muttered as he covered his mouth with his hands, eyes not leaving Erin as he slid down the wall to a sitting position and let out a choked sob. Erin’s head fell back to the floor as she moaned through the pain, pulling her mutilated hand in to her chest. She breathed heavily for a few moments until she felt she could manage the agony.

Pushing herself up with her left hand, Erin grit her teeth at the pain shooting through her. She crawled slowly over to the Doctor, leaving a trail of blood dragging behind her. As she reached him, she collapsed with her head against his chest, breathing heavily. Wrapping his arms around her, he buried his face in her hair as his tears began to flow freely.

Erin became vaguely aware of the Doctor muttering, and she strained to hear him saying, “I’m so sorry,” over and over again.

“I forgive you,” Erin said as her eyelids grew heavy with the amount of pain coursing through her body. “I forgive you.”

• • •

Erin awoke to a soft hand caressing her cheek. Before she opened her eyes she could feel the doctor still wrapped around her, asleep judging by the consistency of his breaths. Cracking her eyes open, Erin was met with the cloudy sight of a woman with bright curly hair. Her mouth was moving, but it took a few moments for Erin to register that she was calling her name.

“Erin!” River said firmly, hand cupping the aside of her face. River had decided to investigate after she heard news of what had happened. She knew the Doctor would not take it well, but she never expected what she found when she boarded the tardis. She found the Doctor sitting on the floor of the console room, unconscious and wrapped around Erin, his most recent companion. Both Erin and the Doctor were covered in blood, which had clearly sourced from Erin’s nose. Bruises covered the left side of her face, and her right hand was mangled and clutched closely to her chest.

River’s heart had dropped at the sight, and she immediately attempted to wake Erin. The minute the younger girl opened her eyes River could tell she was not in a good state. They were unfocused and listed aimlessly, struggling to hold on to any particular point of reference. “Doctor, what have you done?” River murmured to herself.

“S’not ‘is fault,” Erin slurred, cringing as she moved to extricate herself from the Doctor’s arms. “I pr’voked ‘im.”

River shook her head in disbelief, grabbing hold of Erin’s shoulders to help her to her feet, then supporting her weight as she stumbled. “Why in the world would you do that?” she asked.

Erin gave a soft, lopsided grin. “I’s makin’ a point,” she said. The smile quickly left her face as her body was wracked with a coughing fit that left her wheezing in pain.

“We need to get you to the infirmary,” River said, noticing how the colour drained from Erin’s face as she swayed on her feet. River helped Erin to the jump seat before returning to the Doctor’s side. Without a moment’s hesitation, River slapped him across the face, startling him awake.

Grabbing the side of his face with a startled yelp, the Doctor’s eyes scanned River with a confused look. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same question. Now get up and help me,” River said angrily, quickly returning to Erin’s side.

As the Doctor’s eyes found his companion, his blood ran cold. He stood up quickly and rushed over to her, cupping his hands around her face. “Oh my god, Erin,” he muttered, “I did this. I did this to you. I’m so sorry.”

Erin opened her eyes, which had fallen shut, and focused on the Doctor’s face. She smiled weakly and reached up to place her hand lightly over his forearm. “Then you had better apologize to yourself as well,” she said.

River looked between the two of them, confusion written on her face. The Doctor’s eyes were sad, but clearly a profound sense of understanding had passed between him and his companion.

Erin let her hand drop as River and the Doctor helped her to stand up and the three of them made their way to the infirmary. Laying Erin down on the bed, River sent the Doctor to retrieve the medical supplies she needed. He returned with a wet cloth and a first aid kit, setting down the kit to begin wiping blood off Erin’s face. Her eyes scrunched in pain as he went over her bruised face.

“I need to know exactly what happened so I know what injuries will be present,” River said matter-of-factly.

The Doctor was silent for a few moments before he responded quietly. “I-,” he started, “there were two punches to the face, one kick to the ribs, and a step on the hand.” He looked sick as he said this out loud.

River just nodded and began prodding Erin’s ribs. She paused when Erin cried out in pain and curled in on herself. “At least one broken rib, but it’s not puncturing anything. There’s not much I can do about that,” River said before moving on to look at Erin’s hand.

Having finished wiping the blood off, the Doctor stood beside the bed wringing his hands worriedly. Erin drew in a shuddering breath the second River touched her hand.

River knew that the hand was broken just by looking at it. The swelling and bruising was severe, and two fingers stood at awkward angles. “I’m going to have to set your fingers,” River said, looking at Erin, “it’s going to hurt.”

Erin nodded, trying to appear brave, but the fear was apparent in her eyes. River gave an apologetic smile before quickly grabbing hold of one of the fingers and re-aligning it. Erin bit down hard on her lip, whimpering at the pain coursing up her arm. The Doctor was by her side in a second, grabbing on to her left hand to give her something to squeeze.

“Breathe,” River reminded her, running her hand through Erin’s hair soothingly. Erin gasped, having not realized she was holding her breath, and panted in a bid to regain it.

Less than a minute later, Erin screamed as River set the second finger, no longer able to hold back the tears that escaped through squeezed shut eyes.

“Shhh, it’s done now,” the Doctor whispered, rubbing his thumb over the back of Erin’s hand. When she looked at his face there were tears running down it.

“Why can you not shed a tear for yourself, Doctor?” Erin asked, looking at him with sad eyes.

He looked down at their intertwined hands. “Because I don’t deserve it,” he said quietly, “I’ve hurt so many people.”

Erin shook her head, “so, you think that the way to make up for accidentally hurting people is hurting someone else?”

“No!” he responded quickly, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Doctor,” River said, “she’s talking about you.”

He shifted awkwardly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

River rolled her eyes, “sweetie, we’re married. I already know all your dirty little secrets.”

He looked at her for a moment, stunned, before conceding, “alright, the point was made. I do not, however, approve of the method.” At the last bit, he turned a scolding finger on Erin.

“Nor do I,” River said, putting her hands on her hips. “That was stupid and reckless.”

Erin nodded, “yeah, well, we can talk about it once you’re done. The infirmary creeps me out.”

River put splints on Erin’s fingers and wrapped her hand. When she was done, Erin sat up with a groan.

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” River asked, placing a hand on Erin’s arm.

“Anywhere but here,” she responded.

The Doctor gave River a look that told her this was not a hill to die on. Sighing, River helped Erin to stand up. She swayed slightly on her feet but was otherwise fine. Although the pain shooting through her was less than pleasant. The Doctor and River managed to help Erin to her bedroom to rest.

• • •

Fin