#cw: implied suicidal ideation

[imfinereallyy]

“What are your nightmares about?” Eddie asked Steve as they both stared at the ceiling in the darkness of Eddie’s room.

It was colder than his last place. Sure, Steve had only truly been in the trailer the one time, and there had been a literal portal to hell in the middle of but still. It was warmer there. The new place was bigger for sure. A whole two bedrooms in an apartment building where the loudest thing you could hear was the floorboards creek or Eddie’s metal music at a respectable 5 pm. That was thing though, Steve thought. It was quiet here. Cold and closed off. There was no sense of home in the new Munson house. The trailer had character and depth. It had a story to tell. It welcomed you and asked you to stick around.

This place was just empty.

Steve knew it all too intimately how more doesn’t always mean comfort. It’s why he didn’t spend time at his own house very often anymore. It wasn’t much of a home.

“Everything. You name it, I’ve probably nightmared it.”

“That’s not a real word.”

“Munson, I think out of all people you do not get to comment on things being made up.” Steve turned his head to face Eddie in his bed. Steve couldn’t help but trace Eddie’s face with his eyes. Even in the moonlight that peeked through the blinds of the Munson’s third-floor wall up, Eddie was undeniably pretty.

Eddie kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. “First off, rude. Second, you’re avoiding the question.”

“Well, why do you want to know?” Steve whispered, matching the same tone Eddie broke the silence with. He wasn’t sure why they were talking in such hushed tones. No one else was home.

Eddie sighed, “You’re a pain Harrington you know that? I’m not sure who gets it from who when it comes to you and Henderson. It’s just—“

Eddie shifted around to his side to face Steve's head. Steve noticed the bags had worsened since he last spent the night here. Steve had thought Eddie’s nightmares were getting better over the last few weeks. Steve had been staying with him at night but hadn't been there recently.

Initially, Steve had told Eddie after Vecna that he should contact any of them if the nightmares got bad. Told him it would be good to have someone anchor him when he woke up. Steve had been Robin’s anchor for over a year. Robin had even told him once that he grounded her, and kept her sane on the bad nights.

Eddie had waved him off at the time. It had taken months before he fessed up to having trouble sleeping. Steve’s heart had warmed a little at the idea Eddie had reached out to him of all people. Steve knew he shouldn’t have been surprised but even though they had built a slow easy friendship, it was hard for Steve to believe that people needed him for more than rides.

It was nice.

Steve had thought Eddie was doing better though and wouldn’t want him around as much anymore. That Eddie wouldn’t want to deal with Steve’s own nightmares. So he hadn’t been to Eddie’s in a week. It was when Steve had another nightmare about Lovers Lake that he caved and called Eddie.

Eddie didn’t hesitate before saying a rushed “Come over.”

Maybe they both needed each other.

Eddie blew a breath across Steve’s face, he couldn’t help but smile at the man's antics.

“It’s just, I feel like my nightmares should be of Chrissy and the bats. Ya know? Like, I do get those. They make sure to have their reruns right on schedule. But the nightmares I get the most are either me waiting in the van while you all are in Warzone or me in Dustin’s arms after the bats. Not during but after.”

Steve stayed silent, careful not to interrupt Eddie.

“And every time I’m in that stupid trailer waiting and waiting and waiting. Sometimes nothing happens and I’m left to rot. Other times Jason Carver comes busting through to door with a gun pointed at my face. The worst one is when one of you guys comes in and tells me to get out, I’m not worth the trouble.” Eddie sucked his lip between his teeth and bit hard. “And when I’m laying in Dustin’s arms, I can never get words out. I’m struggling. But not even like I’m fighting to stay alive, it’s almost as if I’m trying everything but that. And I can’t get the words for Dustin. Everything is wrong. And sometimes…sometimes Dustin will tell me that I’ve “done something useful for once.” Eddie finished with a shameful grimace.

Steve thought about this new place. How it was cold. How it hadn’t become a home yet. As if Eddie was anticipating being ripped from it once again. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eddie, Steve realized, didn’t feel like he was permanent anymore.

Steve decided to be bold for once in his life about a good thing and pulled out Eddie's lip from his teeth. Steve let his fingers linger for a moment on the worried flesh before reaching out to gently comb his hand through Eddie’s hair. “Lover’s Lake.”

“What?” Eddie questioned, a little breathless.

“Lovers lake is what I have nightmares about the most. Not the bats. Not the Russians. That stupid lake.”

“I mean you were pulled into another dimension by a bat tail, I would call that pretty traumatizing.” Eddie leaned his head into Steve's soft movements.

“Here’s the thing: that’s not the part that scares me Ed’s.” Steve took a deep breath before he gives Eddie a piece of himself he thought would be his own forever. “It was the drowning that gets me. It’s the being able to break the surface to only be back pulled under again. The loss of control. It’s because this very thing is so mundane, even if the circumstances weren’t, it was something that could happen to me at anytime. There didn’t need to be an Upside Down or a Vecna. I could be pulled under the surface at any moment. I could be forced to leave you all behind, lose myself in something I should know how to do. My limited knowledge on even the things I should be good at isn’t enough sometimes. I am just vulnerable and disposable."

Steve pushed out a shaky breath. Eddie scooched forward into Steve's space. It was as if Eddie knew that the warmth of his body alone would comfort him.

"I'm not sure if I am making much sense. I'm not very good at describing things."

Steve could feel Eddie nod up and down with the light brush of his bangs against Steve's forehead. "No, no I get it. Don't do that. Don't put yourself down just cause your vulnerable."

"You noticed that, huh?" Steve looked into Eddie's doe eyes.

"Kinda hard not to notice things about ya Stevie."

Steve melted.

"Please continue," Eddie asked in a rare form of politeness. The metalhead was used to demanding things. Not when it came to Steve though, Steve had observed lately.

"Right. Well, I guess my subconscious picks up on like my deep fears and like mixes them with my trauma. Do not give me that look yes I learned those words from Dustin and Robin."

Eddie let out a snort. Steve couldn't help but smile. Even at his own expense, he was just happy to make Eddie feel a little bit better. "I guess what I'm saying is, I felt useless in that moment. Or even I had given the last useful thing about me to the Upside Down, to this evil awful thing, and no one would really care or know. That moment just took on every fear I've had and pulled me under. My gravestone would say: Here lies Steve Harrington. Never had control, useless thing that no one ever really knew."

"Sweetheart..."

Steve cleared his throat. "My nightmares have a funny way of bringing up my very human fears. The things I still can't get away from. There are some days that I even wake up gasping for air like there is still water in my lungs. And all I can think is no one is coming for me, no one cares. And I just sit there, staring at the phone on my desk, still gasping for air not bothering to call anyone. Because what if no one picks up? It is better to avoid than know the truth sometimes. That I was born alone, lived alone, and will most likely die alone."

The heaviness was back in the air once again. Eddie grabbed Steve's hand between them and gripped tight. When Eddie squeezed it said I'm right here, I'm always right here.

"Until tonight. You called tonight."

"I guess I did. I guess I felt...I felt like even if you couldn't help me, didn't want me, you would still pick up."

Eddie's eyes filled with tears. "Always."

"Thank you, Eds. But now it's your turn."

They stared into each other's eyes as Eddie spoke, "I feel like I am drifting sometimes... like I am not really here. I know that I am wanted. By Wayne, by the kids, by you." Eddie said hopefully. Steve nodded. "Just... I don't have much purpose anymore. That maybe my life was supposed to end in the Upside Down. I'm not like suicidal or anything. But what if like I wasn't meant to be here. And that I am just bothering everyone. I don't—I don't feel like I am giving much. I don't play guitar anymore. Can't get through a solo without cringing. D&D has become too real. I'm not sure I can do it, at least not right now. I'm done with high school, the reasons why Higgin's gave me my degree doesn't really matter, I have my diploma. I'm not going back. No one will hire me, and I'm not even sure I want to work. I'm just here, wasting."

It was Steve's turn to squeeze Eddie back. His squeeze said in my space you are never wasted.

"Eds, I know I don't have much ground to stand on but I don't think there is a big difference between wanting to die and feeling like it's okay if you do. I should know, I spent years throwing myself in front of others. I think you should talk to someone, professionally."

Eddie gave Steve a look that said a bit hypocritical ya think?

"Okay yea, maybe I'm being unfair. It's just, Eddie, I need you to know something and I need you to listen close, okay?" Steve unclasped his hand from Eddie's and moved it to the right side of his face. Then, Steve removed his fingers from Eddie's hair a moved it down to the left side. Steve brushed his thumbs back and forth on Eddie's cheeks. "You are so much more than your hobbies. Then the things you do to fill up your time. Those things can change. They can switch, and turn back around. You're magnificent because you are you. You are Eddie Munson. A man who is much more a lover than a fighter. Who heals people with laughter and affection. He's the guy who steals the room with his "hello" alone. You are bright, you are beautiful and you are everything, even when you are wasting time. Because any of us, especially me, would be lucky to waste time with you."

Eddie's tears were now rolling down his face. "Really?"

"Yea Eds. Really. I don't want to speak for the rest of the party, but I can tell you that they think the world of you. I know you know you're wanted, but Eds you're needed. You are the lungs of this group. You help us breathe. Relief, laughter, life. All because of you."

Eddie released a wet laugh. "Not the heart?"

Steve giggled against Eddie. "No. Not the heart. According to the kids Mike has that role. Personally I think that's ridiculous but that may be because of my own problems with the little shit, so I'll let it slide."

Eddie fully chuckled this time. "Okay Stevie I'll make you a deal."

Steve continued to brush his thumbs on Eddie's face, this time he got to dig his thumbs into the dimples of Eddi'es cheeks. "Listening."

"I'm going to try more. Not try to make myself feel purposeful, but to just try. Try to be there, be present. Even if it's just so I can see that dopey smile of yours." Steve threw his head back and laughed. Eddie's smile grew wide. "And on the bad days, I'll try to talk. To Wayne. To Robin. To you. I don't want to hide anymore. I think I've spent enough time doing that. But you got to promise me something back. I need you to talk too. I need you to believe in yourself a little more. Because you Steve Harrington are extraordinary, and you are not alone. I am always here. And I will remind you every day if I have to for you to get that no one in this world compares to you. Deal?"

Eddie put his head against Steve's head, finally closing some of the space between them. Not all the way. Maybe someday.

Steve thought about how cold it was here. How he wanted to Eddie feel at home again, make him radiate that warmth he once held. He thought about how he would do anything to get it.

Steve brushed his nose against Eddie's, "Deal."

———

as usual i write a small thing that turns into a BIG thing. I am incapable of creating teeny works. I will try better lol. Anyway this came from me not being able to sleep and having massive anxiety so I decided to create it into something. Enjoy :)

[kagrena]

34. bauble

Dumac, who is neither a magnificent king nor a decorated general nor even a particularly celebrated diplomat (yet), but is instead a twenty-four year old legal assistant who stands in shadow to his tedious cousin – as instructed – and slinks between soirées in Bzanth-Vvarden's high spires when he is not giving maverick legal advice – which is not as instructed though largely tolerated – has just been given a gift he cannot receive. It's an awkward position.

"I thought... but this was your gift, was it not?" He looks to the gift-giver, who stands upright like a tower but refuses to meet his gaze. "Was it not gifted to you?"

The gift-giver is resolute. "It is a pretty bauble. The sort you like. I have no need of such things."

The 'pretty bauble' in question is, in fact, an ornate geometric hairpiece spun from glass-woven-into-brass by a Bzanthan master crafter. He is almost certain that it was gifted by the Chief of Crafts themselves. It is intricate, stylish, and - yes, exactly the type of 'bauble' he would covet.

It also is inlaid with a ring of Lzrenti sapphires. The sort that would have been impossible to find during the War of the Mountains.

He sighs.

"This is supposed to be a peace offering. A symbol of harmony between our clans. Would you really turn that down?"

"I don't want peace," says the gift-giver. He is reminded, again, that they are just nineteen years old. "Do you believe the Nords care for our petty disputes? We are all just 'dwarves' in their eyes. They'll slaughter us without discrimination."

Dumac steps forward.

"I understand where you're coming from–"

"No, you do not."

Lzrent is now smouldering ash. Bzanth-Vvarden is not.

"You are right," he says, "but if I may – while 'petty' to you, this gesture means something to the elders here. They'll need help seeing your perspective. Play their game a little, and it will be easier to convince them."

They shake their head.

"I have spent six months playing their games, being placated by diplomats at their ridiculous little events. This city is an extravagant shambles. When the Nords come for us–"

They cut themselves off. They try again–

"When the Nords come for us–"

Their hands crunch into balls. Dumac considers reaching out – but thinks better of it.

"Kagrenac–" he begins–

"I almost think I'd be better off raising an army."

It is actually rather easy to imagine Kagrenac, the bold warrior queen, who unites the clans under a single fiery banner. Brazen and coarse and uncompromising, with all the blood on their hands. It is fanciful image, an almost impossible image, and it compels him as much as it makes him want to recoil. They have already been so many things. A refugee. A daughter of one of the Great Scrollkeepers in Clan Lzrent's Grand Library – reduced to ashes by the Nords less than a year ago. They arrived in Vvardenfell with nothing but rags on their back and pure hunger in their eyes. Sponsored by his grandmother in an act of unabashed self-interest, who seeks to apprentice them as an Architect. They are young and stubborn, they sulk during festivities and bicker with people five times their age. His cousin loathes them. Dumac, who has no younger siblings or relatives his age, for his part, well–

"You would be cut down in less than year," he says, simply. "You have no credentials, no family, and most Vvardenfell Clans have no great love for anyone in the Western Mountains. What little you would gather would be destroyed in a matter of minutes."

"It would be better," they snap, "than another year sitting and doing nothing."

"No, it would not." He wishes he could speak like an earthquake. That he could grasp them by the shoulders and shake them to their core. "It would be a year wasted. And what would that honestly achieve? Who would it serve, except your pride?"

They say nothing to this.

"Kagrena, don't waste your life on nothing. You're worth more than that."

They do not move.

Dumac sighs. "I'll take your bauble and even wear it, if it pleases you."

It takes a moment. Then, they shrug, suddenly, an awkward gesture that doesn't fit with their cutting words or their earlier poise. They place the bauble in his hand.

"I think it would suit you," they say quietly.

[windslar]

[digitaldoeslmk]

recollections of red and blue, or simple truths go oft-forgotten

it's been some time since MK's fateful encounter which changed everything, but Pigsy still won't forgive Wukong for what happened. Red Son is rather tired of this endless distrust and blame, and decides to remind the pigman of the kind of creature Wukong is. and maybe as important, the kind of creature that he used to be.

drabble where Hai'er sits down with Tang and Pigsy for a talk. beware the tags before proceeding. word count: 5.5k - AO3 mirror

"Alright, here we are. What did you want to talk about?"

The pig demon walked over to the other side of the bar with the familiarity of decades doing this. The few times Hai'er had been in the noodle shop, he could sense the love and dedication poured into every scratched bowl, worn balcony and faded tile. This place was the cook's whole life and soul, and he couldn't help but fix his jiasha a bit in respect before sitting down on a stool. It creaked a bit as it spun, and the pig man placed a cup of green tea in front of him. Probably from one of the thermos at one corner of the bar, no doubt, but Hong Hai'er sipped on it.

He had asked for a moment to speak with the old demon, given the past few interactions he saw between him and Wukong. While it was very amusing to see the pig try to get a rise out of a bodhisattva of all beings, it was also very distressing for everyone else involved, and this couldn't continue.

"You're a very stubborn pig." He said, dry and direct as usual. The human from the other corner of the bar choked a cackle into his fist, and Hai'er raised an eyebrow at him.

"Thanks, I work hard on it." Pigsy retorted just as dryly, but Hai'er had other immediate concerns.

"Are you sure he must stay?" Hai'er asked, nodding his head at the human.

"Oh good luck getting him to leave that spot, I've been trying for the past two decades and so far no luck." Pigsy replied, which earned a wide, stupidly cheeky grin from Mr. Tang.

"I see. You've out-stubborned him, that's an achievement." Hai'er said, directed at the human now, who preened at the not-at-all-a-praise.

"I prefer to think of it as perseverance, actually." He said, his grin gleaming in an insufferable way, and Hai'er rolled his eyes.

"I bet you do." He deadpanned. "But no, that one is just stubborn. Do you really insist on refusing to believe my uncle?" He asked, turning to the pig who was neating up the kitchen idly.

"Look kid, -"

"I'm older than you." Hai'er corrected, and the pig snorted, the interruption earning his anger and he rounded up on Hai'er, leaning on the counter.

"Whatever, kid! I don't believe him, and I never will. He can butter up the rest of these chumps, especially this one!"

"Hey!!" Tang whined, mouth half full of a half-empty bowl of noodles.

"But he can't fool me." Pigsy continued, "I know how important Sun Wukong is to the kid, but someone has to make sure MK doesn't fall on his face again cus he's too damn nice for his own good or safety, and if that  someone has to be me, then so be it!"

The demon finished in a snarl that was all tusks and fatherly care. Hai'er didn't react, not at first, but he sipped on his tea again as he considered how to begin. Pigsy gathered himself in the meantime, swiping a hand forcefully on his apron with a harumph.

"Mr. Tang?" Hai'er asks, and the scholar blinks. He didn't seem to expect to be included on the conversation again, but he hums in acknowledgment. "MK says you know the Journey to the West from head to toe, yes?"

The actual praise, even if paraphrased from the delivery boy, has the scholar preen again, pushing at his glasses.

"Oh, I do indeed! In fact, I'm in the process of my own independent translation, with quite a few new footnotes that--"

"Then you know the story of how I got these scars, right?"

Hai'er's interruption grinds Mr. Tang's whole rant to a halt, eyes wide as saucers as he seems to catch up to where Hai'er is going. His eyes flick towards said scars dotting his arm and neck, and those are just the ones in plain view.

"I... Yes, I suppose I do." He agrees, shrinking into his scarf like he would like to not have out-persisted Pigsy about his eternal bar spot after all.

"Of course you do. Tell it." Hai'er says, in that quiet yet stern tone that leaves the order implied but very much not up for discussion. Tang sinks even more into himself, and the rakshasa can feel Pigsy glare at him. Mr. Tang clears his throat, uncomfortable.

"Umm... You uh, Wukong and Guanyin both tricked you into... sitting on a fake lotus throne, but it was... made of swords." He says, meek as a turtle holed up in its shell. Hai'er frowns into his teacup; that wouldn't do.

"Oh come on, tell it right. I've seen it, you're a storyteller, born and true. You thrive in it, live for it." Hai'er says, pinning the man down with his brightening eyes, black coals ready to spark alive with indigo fire at any moment. "So tell the story as you should."

The moment of silence is heavy and tense, only the sound of the electric static of the lightbulbs about them to break it. Tang swallows and accepts his fate in the center stage, bracing himself before he begins.

---

"There you are, you wretched primate!! Come to face your demise at last?!" The brazen demon calls from his throne of basalt. His grin is fangs and rebellion, blazing eyes like a volcano's heart. His armor gleams under the glow of his bonfire hair, licking tall and proud into the air. Hong Hai'er calls to the figure in the sky blocking the late morning sun, a sad sight on his pearly cloud.

"Wouldn't count on it, nephew." Sun Wukong replies from on high, barely managing the cocky grin under the angry burns and scorch marks he still bears from last they met in battle. Hong Hai'er roars in rage, flames whipping out of his mouth.

"I've told you already, you're no uncle of mine! I, Red Son, would never call family someone who bows down to his foes like a whimpering fawn!" He bellows, the pines and firs bending at the heatwaves of his rage. Wukong doesn't deign him with a reply, and Hong Hai'er summons his flaming spear to his side.

"Allow me to put you out of your misery!!" He calls and shoots himself into the air, aiming his spear right at the monkey's chest. The sage parried it with his staff, and they sink into glorious battle once again.

The hellion demon is no match for the monkey, but he makes up for his lacking martial skills with his hunger for victory. A tiger smelling the trail of blood of a wounded prey, and stalking forward to a meal in the waiting.

The sage dodges an attack and jumps out of range. Again and again, always out of range!

"Fiendish freak, what are you doing!" Hong Hai'er screeches, frustrated.

"Well can't say I look forward to you using your fire on me again." Wukong replies, and Hong Hai'er snarls.

"You keep up with this and I just might out of spite! You come here to challenge me again, and you can't even do it right, what kind of man are you!"

Wukong cackles, choking on a sore throat in the process.

"More than you, that's for sure, nephew."

His flaming spear tears into the morning sky like a butcher's knife, "What did I tell you, you disgusting simian?!" The monkey dodges the strike easily and sails his cloud into the southern horizon. "You...! Hey, come back and die with some honor!"

Hong Hai'er chases after the fleeing monkey in a scorching blaze, careless of just how far or how fast they are going. It doesn't matter, nothing matters, except getting rid of this pesky beast. To end Wukong is to end this pathetic journey of his and to earn himself his prize. A plentiful feast and immortality!

A halo of auspicious light appears on the horizon, but the fire demon doesn't slow down, hot on the tail of the wretched fiend. A little more, a little closer... Wait, what?!

Wukong is gone, vanished into thin air and hallowed light. No. No! His victory, his prize!! The fire roaring in his belly eats at his sense, consuming his mind as well as his innards as he screams into the empty air.

"FIGHT ME, COWARD!!"

His wrath melts into the cold air and casts circles of waves in the water below him. Wait, water? This is... not a lake, but an ocean. Water as far as the eye can see. Red Son blinks, flames and sparks slithering from the corner of his eyes. How far did he fly?

A sound not unlike a wooden bell rings, and he turns to see the light in the distance dim and coalesce into a shape. A figure in draping silks, veil around black hair, and sacred jewelry that seemed to glow of its own volition. He knew this person, he noticed, and his grin turned almost feral.

"Ah, Guanshiyin. What luck!" He greets brazenly, dripping with ego and bloodthirst. "Tell me where that sad excuse for a sage has scurried off to immediately, and I might just spare you!" He orders, pointing his spear at the bodhisattva, who remains still and unbothered upon the floating lotus.

"Hey! I'm fucking talking to you!!" He roars, all-consuming flames roaring from his hair and eyes and fangs. "I said, where's Wukong?! Answer me!" Again, nothing. The nerve to ignore him, how dare!! With a bellow, he slashes at the enlightened figure. The streak of vicious fire licks at the water's surface and missing completely its target, since the lotus is now empty, as if there was never anyone upon it to begin with.

"Where did you-- Would you vermin cease vanishing and FACE ME!!" Hong Hai'er shrieks, the Samadhi fire eating at his bones and simmering at his skin. His ragged breathing is like blowing into a furnace, clouds of smoke and inflamed qi venting from his gaping mouth.

"Heh. You flee from me so swiftly, could it be the great Avalokiteśvara can't face my fire?" He asks the empty air, voice twisted and crackling from the heat within. "Hehe, hehahaha, AHAHAHA!! Very well then!!" He gloats, landing on the golden lotus. His feet fizzle against the cool seed pod, and he stabs his spear into it with a victorious growl.

"If you won't face me, then I, Red Son, Bull King of the Flaming Mountains, will take over your fancy old lotus throne! HAHAHAHA!!" He says, sitting down on the lotus and adjusting himself to lounge cockily on the feathery soft petals. He might have missed the monkey and the thousand-armed one, but this was satisfaction enough. Or so he thought, not knowing that both Wukong and Guanyin stood right by him, invisible to his un-enlightened eyes. Wukong winces in quiet rage at his disrespectful boasting, but Guanyin simply plucks the sacred branch of willow.

"Foolish rakshasa. Bear now the consequences of your crimes." Red Son startles at the sudden voice, looking about him for the source, but before he can even sit up, the willow beyond his sight waves in the air and the lotus throne vanishes. In its stead, rest the thirty-six celestial swords of Devaraja Li. Sharper than any wind, sharper than sunlight in summer, they all pierced right through his resting body in the span of half a heartbeat.

---

As Tang finished the story, the silence returned. Both men regarded the fire demon carefully, who didn't miss how their eyes flicked to the scars all over him pensively. Hai'er sipped on his tea one last time, the cup now empty.

"That's right. It hurt like nothing I've ever felt before or since. Even so, I tried to remove them, but the bodhisattva simply turned them into hooks so that I couldn't. All I could do was beg for it to stop." He said, knowing that those two needed some sort of reaction. He had none to offer truth be told, it had all been so long ago after all, and whatever he had to say was not for their ears.

Tang fussed with his sleeves, clearly unsure of himself and what to say, while Pigsy simply stood at the kitchen, folding and unfolding a wiping cloth.

"I... I'm so sorry." Mr. Tang said finally, and Hai'er chuckled.

"What for?" He asked, amused at the response he got. "I deserved it."

"No you didn't! Nobody deserves that." Tang said, and oh the sweet guy, he believed it too. Hai'er could just smile with fondness at the sentiment, even if it was misguided. He always forgot that mortals tended to get the wrong message from those stories; no wonder so few have ascended or devoted themselves to cultivation of late. Too many new-fangled morals.

He needed to remind them who exactly he used to be.

"Tang Laoshi, have you ever smelled burning hair?" He asks, and he feels the glare Pigsy throw his way.

"I thought you wanted to talk to me, not Tang." The cook grumbled, but Hai'er ignored him much to the scholar's dismay.

"Please answer the question." He said, and Tang looked between the two of them for a moment before nodding.

"Well, yes. Once, it was this little mishap you see! Me and Pigsy were still young, he had only just started the shop and I was--"

"Turn that smell up by a hundred, and you'll know what the smell was like when Wukong got hit by my Samadhi Fire." He interrupts the man's story again, earning him a flurry of baffled blinks from the human. "A patchy half-charred monkey is actually a pretty funny sight."

Neither of the men shared in his humor, instead looking rather uncomfortable by the sudden somber turn of topic.

"Uh, Shancai Zhuren? Is.... what is this?" Tang asks, looking sincerely spooked and lost in what's happening. Pigsy looks just as lost, but his fear manifests in a tense back and a wide stance. Someone with some fighting experience, at least.

"I was a villain, Tang." Hai'er began, his calm and matter-of-fact tone only seeming to spook the human more. And he's hardly begun. "I burned goats and pigs to watch them suffer and the people lament their lost livestock. I extorted minor gods out of their offerings, because them losing their divinity was funny. I hunted travelers on the road for sport, to eat them at the full moon family dinners." He said, having crossed his arms to lean on the counter, a single finger tracing the edge of his chipped empty cup. He threw a glare at Tang who looked pale as a ghost. "I enjoyed it." He said, slow and deliberate, and Tang flinched. "I tortured my uncle, and I was ready to kill him. I wanted to more than anything. If Wukong hadn't gone to get Guanyin's help, I would have done it too. I was going to take his skin as a gift for my mother, as a coat. I'd have steamed the pig and seared the fish, and I'd have eaten the revered monk with my parents with sour sauce and a glass of rice wine. And I'd not have regretted a single thing."

Tang looked about ready to bolt right out of the service entrance just so he didn't have to get past Hai'er for the door, and Pigsy's tusks poked out of his twisted grimace.

"I did deserve it, every single blade of it." Hai'er said and saw the pig man lean from the corner of his eyes.

"What is this, free moping hours?! Oh, no pal, that ain't on the menu. You had better get to the point, or get out of my shop!" Pigsy burst out, jabbing a finger at the door. Hai'er l lifted a hand to placate the demon.

"I have a point. Well, two actually, but first of. You must have known all this. Doesn't take much to know that you have been overhearing Mr. Tang and MK tell these stories over and over."

"What's it to ya?" Pigsy snapped.

"And yet you trust me. I've only ever been a villain in those stories, and a dangerous one at that, yet I get more goodwill than my Uncle. You blame him for what happened to MK, but I couldn't stop it from happening either. What makes me special?"

"You're not making a great case for yourself, pal." Pigsy warned, but Hai'er waved off his threat.

"Humor me."

Pigsy regarded him for a long moment. With a sigh, the tension from his shoulders abated if only a bit.

"You helped MK. You called us, and you drove him here. That's, something. Certainly more than that immortal furball ever did."

"My uncle was in the Celestial Realm. Time dilation sucks." Hai'er retorted in a deadpan, and he could tell the pig demon was just barely holding back from throwing a spoon at his head.

"So what! He's enlightened or whatever, he should have known! He should have stopped it!" Pigsy said, poking at the counter so hard his large nails left dents on it. Huh, just like the floor of his home with his father's hooves. "If he really cared so much, he would have done something!!"

Red Son rolled his eyes at the response but sighed.

"Alright then. Humor me a bit longer so I get to my next point."

"Make it snappy, would ya?"

"As you wish." He said, and almost as a gesture of peace, the pig plucked the cup from his hand and filled it again.

"Even though that was the worst paint I've ever known, when the blades were gone all I could think about was vengeance." He picked up the story again, and sure enough, Mr. Tang piped in.

"Yes, you struck at Guanyin with your spear." The scholar said, and he nodded.

"I did. Because I knew that if I did, Uncle wouldn't hold back. I knew that if I struck at her, he'd defend her at all costs."

If the story from before had made the atmosphere tense, he was sure that the cook could cut it with one of his knives and use it for cartilage soup. The silence stretched and he could smell the moment the realization set in.

"You... You wanted..." Tang's voice wavered like a plucked string, and Hai'er took pity on the man and said it himself.

"I wanted him to kill me. I refused to be defeated and tamed by them, even if I had to die for it. Rebirth was preferable to captivity." He said, with the ease of someone who had grappled with that aspect of himself for centuries and made peace with it. Or someone reporting on the weather for the day, whichever worked. "And I would have too, but instead I got these."

The golden fillets at his wrist glinted under the fluorescent lights. Polished to a pristine mirror shine, unscratched and undented despite the wear and tear of centuries. Heavenly metal, not made to be tarnished my mortal means. His own gaze met him from the warped reflection on them, a familiar sight to him now.

"Master Guanyin saw this unrepentant, irredeemable creature writhing in rage, and she was going to drag it kicking and screaming into a second chance I did absolutely nothing to deserve." He said in a soft reverent tone, a hand cradling one of the circlets and feeling it warm under the touch.

The pigman snorted, unimpressed. "Is this where you tell me he's going to do that to me, eh?"

"I'm not done. The books don't tell this part of the story, so listen up.

"The first time I saw him again, I was gathering bamboo shoots for dinner. It oddly was the one thing Master let me do away from the groves, even though I had tried to poison her and the other disciples every time I got dinner duty. He showed up in my path, and he fell into a kowtow and begged for forgiveness for what happened. He said that I had left him no choice, but I could always call on him whenever I needed. That he would never shirk his duties to me as family." Hai'er told and huffed a little laugh. "I told him to get lost."

That at least got some amusement from the pig, though the scholar watched him with wide eyes, ever interested in a new tale for his collection.

"The second time we met, he did the same thing. Going on about how sorry he was, how he'd never surrender his duties to me or my family,  that he... still cared for us in the only way he could. I was so angry still, so upset over my fate, and seeing him pleading for forgiveness made me so irate. So I kicked him."

Tang sputtered at that, "You did??"

"I did."

"How did he take that?"

"He didn't budge, but I broke my big toe on his forehead."

Tang suddenly spits out a mouthful of broth, caught between a cackle, a cough, and a lot of choking. Hai'er considers patting his back, but the man seems to gather himself more or less while the pig man complains up and down about the gross mess he made of his bar.

"Oh I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to laugh, I--"

"It's quite alright, it's very funny." Hai'er grants, waving away the man's apologies. It had hurt like a bitch back then, but it was his ego that was more hurt than his toe. He gives the scholar and chef some time to clean up a bit the kitchen and their pride before continuing.

"I cursed him out so much for it, too. I told him I hated him and I'd hate him forever, because he didn't even let me say goodbye to my parents, that I was trapped in those miserable groves and didn't know if I'd ever see them again." There's a knot in his throat at the memory of those uncertain years, but he pushed them aside. "I promised him that if he hurt my parents, I'd tear off my own hands and feet and head to get rid of those fillets, and I'd haunt him to the ends of the world.

"All he said in reply was that it was okay. I could hate him as much as I needed to or wanted to, it didn't matter, but he would always embrace me as his nephew no matter what. I told him to get out of my sight and never show his face in front of me again."

He could feel Mr. Tang's eyes on him, ever kind and pitying and infuriating, but Pigsy just huffed unamused but not unkind. To Hai'er, that was an improvement.

"And? What about the third time?" He asks, and Hai'er chuckles.

"Rushing the story, are we."

"Yeaaaah, he does that all the time, don't mind him." Tang comments, waving a hand dismissively much to the pig's disapproval.

"Well you're clearly on talking terms with the guy, so there must be a third time where that changed. So spill it."

Hai'er smirked at that, amused. The pig was the direct cut and dry type, which he could appreciate.

"The third time was much later on. I had grown a lot already by then, was much calmer and collected. I was past being resigned and just trying to live in this new normal I found myself in. I was making the best of it I suppose. Maybe even started to enjoy it.

"He showed up because he had crossed paths with my parents, which led to quite a conflict. In the end, Nezha had taken my father to the Jade Emperor for judgment. When I heard the news I was so sure my father was dead, executed long before I even heard of his arrest. I... I cracked.

"I was wailing on the ground and tearing at my hair, but then Wukong grew ten times his size and held me. He let me cry, and reassured me that it wasn't what I was thinking. My father was still alive, but serving penance. He had pleaded to Nezha and before the Jade Emperor himself to spare his life. I asked him why, and he looked at me with such open kindness and warmth. He even laughed a bit when he told me that as long as he breathed, he would not have me separate from my parents. He wouldn't break up our family like that. I didn't understand why he still cared for us so much, not when he was supposed to be detached from worldly ties and not when we had caused him so much trouble already. I tried to kill him, I wanted to, and yet he still cared enough to spare my parents. I didn't understand him at all, but it didn't matter, because I knew then that he meant every word of it.

"After I stopped crying, I asked him once he was finished with his Journey, if I should call him Great Sage or Enlightened One, and he said that just Uncle would suffice if I chose to. He's been Uncle Wukong to me ever since."

The ending to his story hung in the air, along with the lingering scent of stew spices and the buzzing of the electric lights. Mr. Tang looked ready to say something, probably of the awkward yet ever kind variety, but the chef beat him to it.

"And the point is?!"

"Pigsy!"

"The point, Zhu Dachu," Hai'er interrupted, "is that you can scream and blame and rage and whine and winge and kick and throw whatever you want at the walls. None of that will change the fact that my uncle cares for MK. And I mean truly, genuinely cares and worries for him, whether you believe him or not. Even if MK for some absurd reason decides to turn his back on him, shun and curse him from the twelfth heaven to the eight hell, Wukong will still, to the Universe's dying breath, care for him."

His gaze bore down on the pig, as if he could someone stare his words into the man's thick skull.

"That's my point. I hope you'll at least consider my words, though what you do with them is entirely up to you." He finished, leaning back in his seat and it creaked with the movement. For what it was worth, Pigsy gave nothing away, but something in the air had shifted somehow, whether for better or worse was too soon to tell. Regardless, he simply cradled his empty cup, now gone lukewarm from his hands.

Their staring contest, or at least heated sparring, was interrupted by Mr. Tang's not-so-subtle thorat clearing.

"That's very kind of you to share this with us, and we'll definitely take it heart, Shancai Zhuren." Mr. Tang said, ignoring Pigsy's grunt of offense on the "we" he tacked on his words.

"I think at this point, we can go with just Shancai, yes?" Hai'er offered with a small smile, not seeing the need for formalities with these two. Not when he's shared such a personal story of his with them.

"Oh! Yes, Shancai, thank you." Tang thanked, looking genuinely flattered and more than a bit close to squeeing for joy. Hai'er rolled his eyes in exasperated fondness.

"Now I gotta ask. Why is it Shancai for us, but MK gets to call you Hai'er?" Pigsy asked, seemingly done stewing on his story. Hai'er shrugged.

"That's just how it is." He deadpanned. No need to tell the man about how his son's glazed eyes lit with recognition once he was able to put a name to the stranger with him, how somehow ranting about the novel's chapter in a parched throat helped him ground himself to some semblance of normal after the horror he was put through.

Shancai wouldn't have done anything for Xiaotian then, but Hai'er did, and he didn't feel like breaking that connection. Not when somehow, Hai'er was someone Xiaotian trusted, and even liked having around. That's just how it is.

"Well, it is late and I think I've taken up enough of both your time. I shall leave you both to it." Hai'er said, sliding off his seat and giving them a bow. When Tang made to follow him to the door, he waved him away. "No need, I know where the exit is. And wouldn't want you relinquishing your hard-earned seat on my account."

Mr. Tang gave him a good-natured laugh at that, and he counted that was a good note to end on.

"Goodnight, sirs. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Pigsy gave him a short nod and Tang waved him goodbye, and with that, he was out of the shop and back into the cool city night air. Not as cool as the deserts, that's for sure, and for a moment he kind of wished it was. Brisk and bracing, enough to make his skin climb into goosebumps.

He did his part. Whether it would go anywhere or not, was out of his hands. But his ears could catch the two men's hushed tones past the walls, though he didn't bother trying to pick their exact words. He had a feeling he's left them with plenty to discuss in the coming days, and he was glad to be left excluded from the specifics.

Taking a deep breath, he returned to his car. He couldn't wait to be out in the desert, with the cool dry breeze to wash him clean from the day's affairs. No more broth spices, city smog, engine grease, bamboo sawdust, lotus incense smoke, or stardust metal and sticky copper and bile.

Just the sunbaked breeze of the sands and his thoughts.

At every stop sign, his gaze lingered down to his arms. Bandaged and glamoured, bound by celestial metal, scarred down to his bones. He was long past caring, vanity was a far away thing to him now after, but sometimes looking back at those memories stirred something in him.

Not regret, or bitterness or shame. He had faced those foes long ago and emerged victorious, with no small amount of effort. Not even nostalgia either, he couldn't miss those troubled days if he tried, not with the wisdom he now wielded.

Instead, he missed that feeling of realization. Held in his uncle's massive arms, almost drowning in his own tears, and realizing that he wasn't alone. He never was. He always had his uncle, even when he believed as sure as the sky was blue and the earth was solid, that he had no one.

He missed his family. How could he not? He missed the simple filial love of his childhood when he could reach out to his mother and be held in her arms, or jump on his father's lap and be brought to sit on his shoulders. It was easy as breathing then, for all of them, but those days were long past.

As clockwork, that little voice in his head muttered at him, peaceful and solemn as his Master's voice at lectures.

Let go.

He should listen. It was about time he did, it's been centuries and it's brought him nothing but suffering, and if he just let go then it would go away. He could finally fully commit to his Master's teachings, take the vows, and maybe join his uncle in enlightenment.

Instead, he pressed a few keys on his on-board phone, letting the call come through.

"Zhizi? What's up?"

He couldn't believe he was so damn weak.

"Shushu, do you want to have some tea at my place?" He asks, and there's an amused chittering laughter from the other side.

"It's been a while! I thought you'd never ask." Wukong replied, and Hai'er had to sigh.

"Me too." He agreed, his tone quieter than he had hoped it.

There was a quiet pause that he knew meant his uncle was staring at him across the line, and he took some comfort that he wasn't actually present.

"Meet you there, then. You better not skimp on me like last time, I know you hoard pu'er like a magpie." He teased, and cut the call before Hai'er could even reply.

Ah well, so much for detachment of worldly things. He had time. Yeah, he had time to do better and to finally let go of these illusions. Until then, he had his uncle and he could always call him for tea when the longing was like blades on his ribs. Until then, that was enough.

---

vocabulary

jiasha: mandarin, borrowed term from the sanskrit "kasaya". Piece of patchwork cloth worn by Buddhsit monks over one shoulder, once used to distinguish monastic schools of geographic origins.

wooden fish: a kind of bell used in Chen Buddhism to mark the pace of reciting sutras and prayers, often depicted in the shape of a fish.

Hong Hai'er: "Red Son/Boy".

Guanshiyin: full mandarin name of the bodhisattva Guanyin.

Avalokiteśvara: sanskrit name of Guanyin.

Devaraja Li: also known as Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King Li, chinese analog of Vaisravana. Father of Jinzha, Muzha and Nezha.

Tang Laoshi: "teacher Tang", respectful title for anyone who teaches.

Shancai Zhuren: "director Shancai", respectful title for someone in a high management position.

Zhu Dachu: "chef Zhu", mandarin dub name for Pigsy, also serving as a title.

Zhizi: nephew by the male line.

Shushu: uncle, father's younger brother.

[laurzzz]

Majestic Oppositions: The Full Series || Chapter 1 - Strangers And A Proposition

FIC INFO BELOW THE CUT!

Word Count: 10k+

Fic Summary:

“I don’t suppose you’re here to court me.”, you raise an eyebrow at the stranger, nearly forgetting of the mask you’re still wearing. “Well then, what do you suppose I would do here, princess?”, he speaks with an omen that foretells danger seething from his smile. It doesn’t faze you, not in the slightest. “You’re here to kill me.”, nonchalance glazes over your speech. Your hands cling on to the coat covering you with your back relaxing further against the balcony’s barrier.

Chapter Summary:

“Princess, we are certainly aware of your desires to forsake your soon-to-be-title of Queen.”, you take the cup from his hand and drink from it with an expression of disinterest. Sun walks behind you, gently clasping his heavy hands down on your shoulders and nudging you sufficiently back down to the picnic table’s seat. He, clearly, wants you to hear them both out. “And I suppose both of you think I’m anencephalous enough to believe two assassins hiding behind their hoods and masks like cowards?”, your voice slithers an unimpressed taste, but not from the tea.

Author's Notes:

A year later and I'm back on this AU! Ahaaa, alright. I am doing lots of research for this series so please enjoy! Also I suggest listening to 19th century playlists as background music to give more visuals on the setting (/nf!) Not beta-read, we die like Y/N's hopes for freedom. All mistakes are on me. Chapter Warnings: Implied Suicidal Ideation

[patchwork-crow-writes]

In Absentia Cws: Implied suicidal ideation, swearing. In which Susie goes missing, Kris checks out, and a decision is made.

Well, here it is at long last! Gods, this took a while... hope this makes up for the year-and-a-half long wait :P Here's also hoping it stands up to scrutiny!

All feedback and interactions appreciated! Let me know what you liked about this, if indeed you did like it :P

[onippep]

When you got up that morning, sick as cattle, determined to head into work anyway, you looked at me next to you. You changed your mind, didn't you?

When you sat on the couch with me with those gifts I got you, I smelled the gears turning in your head. It took a long time. I know it was painful, I know it wasn't something you were sure about. But, with that little present bow on my head and those coupons on the couch cushion... you changed your mind, didn't you?

When you went home that evening from the parade, sweaty and worn and ready to drink, you became sad. Maybe more than one drink... but I put my hand on your shoulder. You changed your mind, didn't you?

When you took him out to the festival and nervously asked him out, and he was excited about it, you were shocked. You couldn't believe how easy it was despite every needle of trauma holding you back from commitment. Before this, you reconsidered. You changed your mind, didn't you?

When I scrolled through our inbox and your computer and found those old half-written documents, titled concerning things and ending with empty threats... I saw the dates of them. You changed your mind, didn't you?

When you came back into the livingroom after that phonecall with your mom, you were livid. Your family is in shambles, no holiday would be the same ever again. No more. After silence, sitting on the floor with me, you looked into my eyes. Your phone lights up with the warm gestures of friends that love you. It took some time, but... You changed your mind, didn't you?

When you woke up that morning next to him, frightened at the prospect of letting him in, you looked over to him and saw how happy he was. Seeing the relief on his face was enough to give relief of your own. It was then and there... that you changed your mind, didn't you?

To love is to change. To live is to change...

You chose to change. Chose to love. I love you.

-Oni

[thecommunalfoolboy]

Im like if an evil mad scientist wanted to kill himself

[anruraiocht]

parts of me died in the house i grew up in

(cw: suicidal ideation)

"I want to go outside," is the sentence that falls from your lips at the sound of your door creaking open.

Without tearing your gaze from the window, you can hear the count shift awkwardly in the doorway. A few short years ago, you would have run over, little hands tugging at his coat, desperate for human contact.

"...My lady, today is..."

When you were younger, it had been a question, a young princess seeking permission to go outside and play. Now, it is a command fulfilled less than half of the time.

"Conomor."

"Have you..." He treads carefully, not wanting to set off your temper. "...Slept, my lady?"

You finally rip your gaze away from the window, showing the count your haggard face. The answer to his question is obvious just from looking at you. He stiffens, concern furrowing his brow. He, too, looks worse than the last time you saw him. Another streak of grey peppers his dark hair.

"I want to go outside," you reiterate.

You haven't slept. Of course you haven't. How are you supposed to sleep when the sound of screams keeps you awake all night? It's your father wailing in despair for his lost kingdom. It's your mother, keening in grief for your late father. It's the screams of someone you don't recognize, but they haunt the castle, nevertheless. It's the screams of your people as the Empire invades your home. It's your own screams, shredding your throat into a raw, bloody mess.

It doesn't really matter who it came from or if your mind is just playing tricks on you. If you stay in this room any longer, it's going to kill you, just like it did your mother and father.

"...Forgive me, Your Highness."

He kneels low to the floor, head hanging. His answer won't change even if you pester him like a petulant child. But aren't you a child to begin with? No matter how much he tries to shrink his body or emphasize your title to defer to you, you're still just a little girl. No matter how much you kick and scream, he can't give you what you want.

Today, you're too tired to be angry.

Your gaze sweeps to his hip where his empty scabbard hangs. He always makes sure to remove his sword before entering your room. Now that you're older, you understand why. On days like this, you resent him for it, even though it's not his decision. They're careful to never allow forks or knives to remain in your room after your meals, just in case.

You are of no use if you're dead, after all.

You turn your head back to the window, rejecting his stilted attempt at soothing you.

"Leave me, then. I wish to rest."

Count Conomor says something back, likely a wish to rest well, but you've already tuned him out. The dull sound of the door creaking shut hardly registers to your ears.

Alone once more, you draw your knees up to your chest, folding into yourself. You can't sleep, not on your bed, where your mother and father had kissed your forehead when they had tucked you in. Later, you will fall asleep here on the windowsill, as close to the outside as you can get.

[milgramoutofcontext]

[Text Transcription: "Maybe it's ok to try to keep on living"]

[sinnful-darling]

more reasons to keep going when you feel like giving up :

money. you can buy pretty things and have yummy meals.

you can adopt an animal and become their world.

the forest. it’s beautiful.

your favorite food. wont ever be able to taste that again if you go through with it .

live for someone else. like your sibling or your mom or dad or someone you’re close with.

think about who has to find you.

think about funeral/cremation costs. it’s enough to deter you, trust me.

if you like coffee, think about how you’ll never be able to taste coffee again.

think about the things you liked to do. you’ll never be able to feel that happiness again.

if you like learning about space, you’ll never be able to hear about another update or another discovery.

if you like going to the beach, you’ll never be able to do that again.

you’ll never be able to go to the lake or to the mountains again either.

you’ll never get married. or have another kiss. or go stargazing if you give up

[rattusn0rvegicus]

Dude seriously, what's it like to just be able to be grateful for the positive things in your life without feeling like you are personally responsible for why everyone else has negative things in their life, what's it like to not dread when good things happen to you because it means you're now terrified of something bad happening to someone you love?

Like, I just saw a bunch of people online talking about how they hate their bodies. I don't hate my body - I'm pretty neutral about it. Therefore, my immediate thought was that the reason they hate their bodies is because I siphoned up all the ability to not care about what your body looks like.

(It doesn't help when I regularly see people online and elsewhere talking about how jealous they are of people who have things that I have and they don't have, bc it JUST reinforces it in my mind. And lol I promise you it's not that great when you're scared and miserable BECAUSE you have good things and are convinced you are a leech)

No amount of Facts or Logic can get me out of feeling/thinking this way and it's like my whole life is just me trying to distract myself from it and tell myself it isn't true. I just try to keep my head above water bc if I go to deep into this stuff I may not ever come back out.

I don't know how to unlearn this. I've been in therapy for years and I've never unlearned this! I just know how to distract myself, and take my meds so these thoughts don't overwhelm me and drag me to a place where I wind up hiking out into the deep woods alone to pick the spot where I want to die.

[green-eyes-and-orange-ties]

🍋 Lemon Boys 🍋

Sparked from the Season 2 poster of Sebastian wearing Augur uniform and the idea that Sebastian might move in with Styx. I like the idea of him staying with Styx and feeling safe because of Styx's magic.

Key, latch, door. *Thud* Bag.floor.

As Seb dropped his bag he could feel the floor rushing to meet him, but two hands grabbed him first.

"Hey hey" then more gently, edged in concern "Bas?"

The Irish lilt brought his mind back from blankness, as he realised he was only half standing, propped up by Styx. Eyes closed, arms lead-heavy at his side. Seb didn't even attempt to move, what's the point he'd probably just end up on the hallway floor.

"mmfine"

Seb went to move away but as soon as his head lost contact Styx's shoulder, he lost contact with reality. A single hand guided him back, the other hadn't let go of his jacket. 'I should take that off' Sebastian thought vaguely.

"Like hell you are! you're dead on your feet! Whatd they make you do today?"

No answer, but Styx could feel Sebastian grimace against his shoulder and his own jaw tighten in response.

"Yea yea NDA blah blah. Come on let's get this off ya"

Styx started helping Sebastian roll the Augur jacket off his shoulders. The jacket bit was easy, swapping out Seb's shirt? That was harder, it relied on Seb being able to stand unaided and right now that seemed alot to ask.

"mmjust" Seb paused waiting for his breath to catch up "mmjust tired"

"Yeah, and I'm just old. Whydya have to and sign the flamin contract anyway ya eejit?"

No response. Not that Styx had really expected one. Just as he hadn't been expecting the new bruises making a patchwork of new and old across Seb's torso. It's hard to believe there was even space for new ones.

"Easy. Easy does it." Styx could have cursed the person responsible... would have if he knew who... or even where. Instead he settled for hissing through his teeth.

"Mmmfinedontworry" it came out more slurred than Seb had intended.

Does it count as slurring words if you sigh them all together? The thought floated through Seb's mind, as he sounded about as coherent as the rest of his world. Styx pulled an oversized shirt on to Seb ignoring his tired attempts at reassurance.

"You gonna sleep tonight?" Styx half asked, half instructed.

"You ever feel you've outlived your usefulness? Like maybe on the ship I ..."

"Fuck off with that right now."

"I just mean, sometimes feel like yea I survived ... but was I meant to? I feel like now I'm in a timeline that doesn't want me ... you know?"

"What I know is that you're here and that there's no use tryna guess what the 'universe' - or whatever - thinks of that."

Silence.

"Come on you'll feel better after you've slept." Styx threw a pillow at Seb.

Sleep. The word itself seemed to have a soporific effect on Seb and he felt his eyes welling up at the thought of being able to go to sleep.

"Look ya don't have to sleep in the bedroom, I was gonna watch something - if I can get the feckin screen to work - you can join if ya want."

Seb crumbled into corner of the sofa mumbling something about 'wards' and 'staying up' as sleep took over.

"Yeah, yeah, don't ya worry about that. I'll stay up and keep em goin" though Styx wasn't entirely sure whether Sebastian heard. Throwing a blanket over Seb, Styx glanced at the TV screen

"Yeah. No. Fuck that piece of shite."

He pulled a book from the stack on the coffee table and settled in to 'keep watch'. What did missing one night's sleep matter, he had forever to catch up anyway.

[windslar]

[the-gayest-sky-kid]

mental illness is SOOO funny the last time i felt happy and free n actually wanted to live was my birthday 2021 lmaoo

[greaterstolenlandspolycule]

How many people in this party have gone through an at least somewhat suicidal phase.....