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chrollohearttags · 6 months

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when the smoke clears • portgas d. ace

vice fire chief!ace helps comfort his subordinate after a rough call.

content + themes: fluff, comfort, ace being a sweetheart (and an asshole 😭), black fem reader, soft smut, oral kissing and hand holding, him + reader crying during 🥹, angst, mentions of arson + child death, so if that triggers anyone I’m sorry.

word count: 6.0K

📝: are y’all sick of me and my cheesy fire pun titles yet? 😁 sorry, I just really love this series and their dynamic. This was also longer than expected but I got carried away! 🫶🏾

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many things came with the responsibility of being a firefighter. It wasn’t an easy occupation by any stretch of the imagination. You saw and did things that the average person had the pleasure of not encountering..entire homes, entire families, generations and years worth of memories wiped out in an instant..you oftentimes risked your life with minimal reward whilst also being tasked with the heavy burden of saving others. But when you failed to do so, the weight of the world felt as if it were teeming on your shoulders and it was far too heavy to lift off on your own. Sure, there was therapy..perhaps even certain mechanisms to help you cope but there are some things you don’t forget. And all of that rang true for the newest recruit at Company Eight, (y/n) (l/n), who had just experienced your very first call that resulted in tragedy rather than a rescue. And needless…it had taken its toll…

“Oh!..Hi, Ace..so nice to see you.”

“Good evening, Miss Robin. How are we doing today?”

it was a chilly Wednesday evening..the impending onslaught of winter just around the corner for the big city. Snow had begun to fall, leaves wilting and turning to that beautiful rustic color that signified the turn of the season. It was such a delightful sight..but for you? The world seemed to be standing still, doused in gray and your heart may as well have turned black. Try as you might to hide it but the pain was still too sudden and fresh to just disappear so soon. Currently, you were home..the very spacious, four bedroom, high rise condo overlooking the city that you shared with your two best friends and roommates, Robin and Nami. Nami, who worked for The National Weather Center as a climatologist spent long hours helping to predict forecasts and track the weather patterns so that they can properly inform citizens of any impending storms. It was a rather unique and lucrative job..ideal for her! As for Robin, she was a professor at the local university, teaching archaeological studies and conducting research. She was a scholar; a woman of many academic achievements and just as your boss had arrived at the front doorstep of you guys home, she was preparing to head out for an overnight excavation, being led by other researchers in the field who needed the expertise and knowledge of someone like her. They were extraordinary, talented women who you were happy to call not only friends but sisters. Even so, with all of their intelligence, there was a topic that seemed too difficult to tackle, even for them…

handling grief. Grief that had accrued from your last call and perhaps the hardest one that the firehouse had seen in a while. It was weighing heavy on the hearts of everyone, even the more seasoned veterans but that didn’t make things any easier.

they had watched you traipse about the condo, in a stupor; spending your days off that would’ve been filled with productivity to do all of the things you couldn’t in your harrowing twenty four hour shifts to lie in bed, cry and sleep. It was awful and they couldn’t imagine what it was you were feeling at the moment. So they decided to call in someone with special expertise to help handle the situation. They had both met Ace prior through mutual friends at a gathering and they couldn’t understand why you held such resentment for such a kind, caring gentleman who seemed to really have a soft spot for you. Sure he gave you a hard time but only because your stubborn ass deserved it. If he didn’t put you in your place, who would?

“I’m doing wonderful. Please, come in.” So whilst the two of them were gone, they’d entrust your fate in the hands of the one person you probably preferred not to see but needed to. For the sake of your sanity and your job! With those deep set eyes, dark hair and signature grin, the vice fire chief made his way over the threshold, exchanging typical pleasantries with your roommate before she offered him warm coffee to help deter the cold and he’d happily accept. It was whilst they were at the table, drinking their beverage did the elephant in the room become addressed.

“So..how is she?”

“If you want my honest opinion? Not so great. We had to drag her out of bed for breakfast and a shower. I’ve never seen her like this before.” She’d also go on to explain how you’d woken up out of your sleep, screaming and reaching out to someone. Saying ‘take my hand’..only to slam back down to the mattress in a fit of tears. You’d laugh one moment, be angry the next and then a full sobbing mess afterwards..the realization was setting in for Robin, who was hurting for you. They were helpless and struggled to understand how it was you were feeling, less known to overcome it. Ace, however, had become accustomed to it and had a far better grasp on how to deal with this. Nodding his head, he’d take another sip before speaking.

“I see…y’know, it’s hard to imagine the girl who takes any opportunity she can to bite my head off actually crying. Just doesn’t seem like her..” but Robin could attest. What most mistook for anger or feistiness with you, your girls knew you were emotional at your core. You carried things much more intensely than everyone else. You felt it deeper than anyone else did and because of that, when instances like this happen, you didn’t exactly handle it well.

“She’s resilient..stronger than anyone I know but she’s also a lot more sensitive. (Y/N) has always had a knack for empathizing with others. It’s what I love about her..that kind heart. She always wants to help those around her..maybe that’s why she was adamant on becoming a firefighter. It’s strange..I wanted to stop her when she told us the news. To grab her and ask if she had gone crazy but…my fear didn’t stem from her rushing into burning buildings or an accident..it was something like this. Because she doesn’t just internalize their feelings..she internalizes their suffering, their pain. She tortures herself into believing that if she can’t help someone then she’s failed as a person. That tough exterior is nothing more than a facade, a mask to keep everyone from seeing just how fragile she is.”

it was then that Ace acquired a better understanding of not only your current mental state but you as a person as well. He knew now that the woman who hid behind these stoic faces and temperamental attitudes was actually a sad child who had never healed from past trauma. However, he couldn’t, in good faith..allow you to come back on shift until you were feeling better and if that never happened, then he’d be forced to resort to more permanent measures. Once the two finished up their coffee, Robin would gather her things and prepare to leave. “I'm going to go tell her goodnight and I’ll let her know you’re here..” With that, the tall, dark haired woman headed towards your bedroom. Her backpack, chocked full of exploration equipment and other necessities tossed over her shoulder along with a thermos in hand. She’d leave a faint knock for which you’d allow her in and that’s when she’d be met with the sight of you lying in bed, curled up in the blankets and cradling a stuffed animal. It was the only bit of comfort you’d had.

“Hey, sweet girl. How are we feeling?” Her deep and soothing tone brought you immediate peace as she sat at the edge of your bed, stroking along the side of your face. That nurturing touch was the only semblance of comfort you had felt in these past few days. Even so, you couldn’t bring yourself to admit the truth..the truth that would reveal the fact that you weren’t doing well in the slightest. Curled into a fetal-like position, (y/n) bundled the blanket up to your face. Almost too ashamed and frightened to face her. Abashed by the fact you were behaving this way. Although it couldn’t be helped..not when every time you shut your eyes, you’d relive the horrors of that night. Toiling with it over and over, thinking of what you could’ve done differently. It seemed as if no matter what scenario you went through in your head, it seemed as if the result would be the same. There was nothing that you or anyone else could do..even so, it didn’t stop you from shouldering the blame. However, you wouldn’t be sulking for long if he had anything to do with it. As Robin continued to console you, barely garnering a whisper from you, you’d proceed to tell her that you were okay. Which she knew was a lie but it was better than mere tears..

“C’mon, rookie. Are you really going to stay here sulking? It’s sad..”

Suddenly, your pity fest was soon interrupted by the very familiar and irritating voice of the last person you were hoping to see. Not only would he undoubtedly make you feel worse but you most certainly didn’t want him seeing you in such a state. Although he never voiced it, you had the sneaking suspicion that he thought little of you. That perhaps he bet on the fact that you’d one day succumb to the harsh conditions of this job and wouldn’t be able to handle it. Maybe you were proving him right. You’d feel the bed shift as Robin stood to her feet; only bending down to place a gentle kiss on your temple, telling you that she loved you and would see you later once she returned from her expedition. She’d also take Ace’s appearance as her cue to leave. She felt safe leaving you in his care. Today and any other day..

“..go away, Ace. I’m not in the mood..”

cradling the blanket into your fist, you’d slowly turn back over and avoid facing him. The last thing you wanted to be vexed with was his nonsense. But he wasn’t here to pick a fight or even argue with you. He was used to your anger, used to that foul mouth and bad attitude. What he couldn’t stomach the thought of was you being upset. Kneeling near the side of the bed, he’d press a hand to your covered hip and try to get a peak at your face. Hoping that he’d be able to soften you up. Although it’d be no easy task..that much he was aware of. Still, it wouldn’t stop him from trying his best to make you feel better.

“Yeah..I figured you’d say that.” releasing a heavy sigh, your superior would then rise back to his original posture, before doing something quite unexpected. Suddenly, you’d feel the weight of the bed shift drastically before you were greeted with the sight of him lying next to you! That same obnoxious smirk and deep tone that normally made your skin crawl. Without so much as a warning, he’d peel those covers back from you and reveal your gaze as well. “What are you?--” “There she is..that pretty face. Y’know, crying really doesn’t suit you. Neither does acting like a big ass baby.” As per usual, you wouldn’t get away unscathed without him taking jabs. But this was exactly what you needed. Someone to bring you back to reality! If anyone understood the gravity of the situation you were grappling with and how difficult it was, Ace was the one. He’d seen many tragedies since his time as a firefighter. From car accidents, crime scenes and horrible fires that had destroyed families in a matter of minutes. He had a sort of immunity to it and didn’t let many things phase him for his own mental state. That silly facade was his own coping mechanism. Otherwise, he’d be knee deep in a bottle again and that wasn’t a place he wanted to go back to. But even he could empathize with you on this. It was a brutal scene..one of the worst any of you had ever encountered..it was difficult but you were definitely taking it harder than anyone else.

“And what the hell would you know? Huh? Everything is always a joke to you. They died right in front of me..right in front of me, Ace and I couldn’t do shit!..Do you have any idea what that feels like?!” Just then, your voice would ascend into a higher pitch and you’d become hysterical. You’d become livid..just one of the many emotions you were experiencing. How dare he speak to you as if you were some petulant child throwing a fit? This wasn’t some small mistake you all could laugh off..a mere teaching moment. A family was broken apart at the seams, a mother burying their kids and a cowardly father who took his own life to avoid the consequences. And the only thing that you could do was stand there and watch the flames engulf them. See two innocent babies become swallowed after the support beams of their home fell in front of them. You’d try to run in and save them but were promptly held back by your fellow firefighters. You lacked the experience to tackle such a feat and the only thing your presence would’ve caused was another unfortunate casualty. You even sustained some injuries that hadn’t even hit you until after your adrenaline wore off. But none of that mattered..nothing compared to the pain of seeing two little kids yelling ‘help me’..only two feet away and there was nothing you could do to help them. Your other two teammates rushed in, barely escaping with their lives to assist them instead but by that time, smoke inhalation was what ultimately caused their demise.

“Who does that to their own kids?! What type of fucking monster would burn them up because he was mad at their mom?! Why couldn’t I help them, Ace? Why didn’t you let me?! Do you really hate me that fucking bad!—“

By this point, you were more than lively. A bit more than he anticipated and before he knew it, you were screaming, sobbing and slamming your fists into his chest. He expected this..hell, he blamed himself. As soon as he got the call, he should’ve told you to stay behind. But shielding you only would’ve felt like a slap in the face and he was doing you no favors by sugarcoating the severity of this job.

“Because I didn’t want to lose you too!” suddenly, you’d feel your wrists clutched in his grasp and him holding you close. But you’d also notice the welling tears brimming in his eyes. A true first! This was the very man you’d always catch with that stupid smug grin on his face and laughing. Yet here he was..mirroring your sentiment. He’d then try to feign them off and look away over his own shoulder. Trying not to let you see him in that state. “Damnit, rookie!..you think I did that to spite you? All of this, the whole situation fucking sucks and if there were anything I could do differently, I would. I failed, okay? As your superior and a firefighter..and I have to live with that. I have to face the consequences of my decisions but I couldn’t take it if something would’ve happened to you. I–...” it was only a matter of time before he crumbled and it was seconds later that you’d watch the once strong and upbeat chief fall apart. “I’m sorry, (y/n)..” but alas, his tears and apology didn’t sway your resolve. You were angry with him! Angry that he was yet again protecting you. Now face to face, the two of you sat there..only inches apart. His hand cradling your own and you refusing to let go. This was by far the most vulnerable that you had ever seen him and in a way, it almost made you feel sorry for him but you had to let him know exactly how you felt. Leaning forward, you’d move as if you were trying to kiss him but instead, went for a slap. Bringing him out of his self sulking trance.

“What the hell?!--” “If you’re really sorry, then stop treating me like a goddamned baby! Ace, this job means everything to me. I didn’t become a firefighter to sit on the sidelines and watch people die. And it seems like as of late, all you’ve done is try to coddle and try to shield me from it. I don’t get it..do you really think I’m that useless? How the hell do you think I feel? Everybody thinks I’m incompetent because of you. No matter what I say, I can never look that mom in the eyes and tell her how sorry I am. That I did the best I could because I didn’t. You took that from me, Ace..why do you insist on smothering me?!” and you wouldn’t believe him even if he told you the reason. It’d probably only make you even more irritable. But hell, now was as good of time as any to confess what was on his heart.

“..any man would want to protect the woman he loves, wouldn’t he?” You were still amid your rambling when the words seeped from his mouth. Just as flatly as any other phrase he had uttered before. Almost as if he were afraid to admit it but it was true..every bit of it. He had fallen for you over this past year or so and there was no way of denying it. All of his domineering overbearance was due to this blossoming crush..this deep seeded passion that had sprouted into pure adoration. “Fuck’s sake..swear you drive me crazy, rookie. Can’t believe I’m even telling you this..” That’s when he’d burst into laughter, now swiping the tears away from his puffy, dark eyes. There it was. That’s why he was acting this way..he didn’t want to tell you in fear of pushing you away or even be accused of showing favoritism just because you were a woman. He never once doubted or even questioned your skills. But his feelings? They had grown far stronger than he was ready to accept. He knew you could handle it but in that moment, his natural instinct was to grab you. Even at the expense of your own mental health and pride. Even if it meant you’d hate him for it. Hold you close and never let go..because he didn’t want his last memory of you to be walking to your death. Honestly, he wasn’t being entirely truthful because he knew it’d only make you feel worse but there was nothing that any of you could do. Even the most trained and skilled first responder would not have been able to change the outcome of this tragedy. You all went in and risked your lives for these children but it was to no avail. One step closer and it would’ve been a suicide mission.

“I know it’s selfish and honestly, you have every right to resent me for it but I can’t help myself. You’re a hell of a firefighter, I’ve said that a million times but you’re also the girl I can’t stop thinking about. The one I just want to keep safe and protect from it all but that’s not fair. I can’t ask you to hold back because of my sore feelings. You did everything right, rookie. This isn’t your burden to shoulder so stop sitting around here crying, worrying your friends. None of this is your fault, okay? Nobody blames you, not even that mother. She even came by the fire house to thank you for how quickly you rushed in to help her kids. I just..I can’t take knowing that you feel like this because of my fucking stupidity–”

Quite frankly, you’d heard enough of these pitiful excuses and half assed attempts at trying to do damage control. But most importantly, you couldn’t take anymore of this..no more of his heartfelt confession because then you’d be forced to confront your own emotions. The deep seeded truth that you loved him as well. After a year of intense, passionate hookups and going through arguably some of the worst scenarios together, you couldn’t help but to become close. Even if it went without the obvious mention. Amid his long winded rant, you’d gently cup his cheek into your palm before kissing his forehead and eventually, his lips.

“You’re right about one thing, you are very fucking stupid..”

Immediately sending the flustered chief into a pout. But it was obvious that he meant every word because his cheeks flushed red as he felt your touch. “You don’t mince words, do you?” “No, but I am thankful for you..even if you get on my fucking nerves.” To which he could only chuckle and place his head down. He wasn’t expecting some picture perfect, Hallmark moment with you. That was for certain but you were still just as crass as ever! Reaching over, you’d take his hand and gently caress his knuckles with your thumb pad. “Listen, Ace..I feel the same way you do. As bad as I didn’t want to admit it. Hell, I’d tell myself I was just being delusional but the truth is, you do make me happy..” he couldn’t ask for much more than that, honestly! He was expecting you to be utterly repulsed by his words and here you were saying exactly what he was hoping for. On the contrary though, there was still a tiny bit that he was missing.

“Still..love isn’t supposed to be suffocating or overbearing. I can’t ever grow or learn if you don’t let me. I don’t want to just be ‘the girl you love’, I wanna be your equal…I want you to acknowledge me as a capable firefighter. I don’t want to be coddled and held back. I don’t ever want to feel what I have been for these past few days ever again. I don’t think I can take it..” finally, you’d lean in and cup his cheek; flustered a bright red by your heartfelt words. “I learned from the best, didn’t I? So I think I deserve to prove it.” What more could he possibly say? You were so precious to not only him but everyone at Company Eight. You all were family and losses were never easy, especially when they were so young but you all should have been proud. Proud that they realized your weakness and held you back for your own safety. Proud that you all had done everything you could to rescue those children, even if the result wasn’t what you all hoped and proud that you were still standing here..as a vice chief and fellow friend, he was so grateful for each of you and as much as he wanted to internalize that burden as well, he did none of you any favors by pouting or feeling sorry for himself. The only thing any of you could do now was move forward and keep getting better. Keep training and learn from your mistakes. And if he wanted his team to continue to grow, he couldn’t allow his own fears and bias to cloud his judgment. Otherwise those feelings would swallow him whole and the only thing he’d do is push you away.

“You really are something else, rookie…I swear you make me want to be better than I was the day before..it’s crazy. But I promise I’ll become a chief worthy of your respect. I won’t ever hold you back ever again.”

For now though, he just wanted to be one with you. Be in this moment with you and not let go. To immerse himself in your skin, to touch you and know that he still had you by his side. “I love you, Ace..” tenderly reassuring him as the gap of distance slowly closed between the two of you. A gentle hand cradling his face and his tugging at your hip. There was no greater feeling in the world than this.

“Say that again, baby..tell me one more time.” By now, he had laid you back flat to the mattress and his lips honed in on your neck, suckling and slowly kissing your flesh. Around your earlobe and even your collarbone. You’d utter the words once more and like a wave of fresh water, you’d allow him to drown you in his affection. Giving you the comfort and warmth you so desperately needed. The kind you had been craving. The kind that only he could give you!

“Can you tell me it’s mine?..please?..”

“You sure are demanding today..”

in only a matter of moments, you’d find yourselves entangled in a passionate bliss. His arms wrapped around you and your hands scaled the curvature of his back. This was nice..the only thought that could cross your mind. A simple one but true nonetheless. This familiarity..the comfort of knowing, feeling something that you were used to was nice. A feeling you no longer wanted to fight..you wanted to give in, submit and let the overwhelming emotions swaddle you. Safety, affection, genuine care..they all felt so foreign until you met him. Despite the fighting, anger and resentment. They were the only false feelings you harbored. No matter how far you tried to push him away, he’d only find himself falling deeper.

“Yeah, but at least you’re smiling now so it's fine..” chuckling gently against your lips, causing a faint vibration as he brushed the side of your face. Right now, nothing else mattered. He wasn’t leaving this room until your mind was out of that dark, dreary place. And he knew just how to do the trick. Soon, you’d feel his tongue snake from his mouth and make a beeline from the starting point of your jugular, not letting up until he reached your belly button; pausing only briefly to rid you of the t-shirt that you had been sporting. Immediately sensing the tension in your body resolving by the second. Ace honed in on your very sensitive and erect nipples that seemed to draw forth and elicit the most lively reaction from you. Feeling you tremble, hearing those light huffs…it was all he needed. He'd then lean up to check on his beloved. Adorning your temple with a soft kiss..

“..can I make you feel better?”

and without hesitation..frazzled and with labored breathing, you’d nod your head and whimper. “Y-yes, please..”

from there, he knew exactly what needed to be done. From that point forward, he was at your mercy..in complete and total submission to bring you pleasure. To ensure that you were shrouded in nothing more than bliss. No pain, no tears..he missed that beautiful smile more than anything so he wouldn’t stop until it appeared again. Seconds later, you’d find your leg draped across his shoulder as he made haste in shuffling around to position himself flat on his stomach. It was then that your thighs would become parted and he’d expose your aroused core. Already dampened with warm slick from his previous teasing, he’d run a single finger down the center of your slit..brushing the pad over the surface of your swollen bud. With the liner of your panties still entangled around his digits, he’d keep the shield pulled back as he delved in to enjoy the scent and flavor of your essence. It was divine..just as amazing as always. He didn’t say a word..merely began to muffle his brims around your puffy lips. At this point, pure actions were the only atonement for his behavior. His failure as not only a leader but a lover as well. He hadn’t attended to your needs in any capacity and now, he was going to make it right.

“Ace…”

the words barely escaping above a decibel but he’d merely remain steadfast in his motions. Slowly and delicately tending to your folds. Running his tongue throughout the center of that sweet spot. His head burrowed deep between quaking flesh. Now wasn’t the time for snarky commentary or sarcastic retorts. He was going to prove that every bit of what he said was true. Without so much as a phrase uttered between the two of you, he’d give you the indication to keep grinding yourself against his mouth. Use him to your full advantage and derive all the pleasure you could from him. Ride out your orgasms and let him take away every ounce of your stress..right now, that was his only duty. Grasping for your hands, he’d keep you in place as you rolled and bucked those hips forward, nearly coming forth from the mattress. “Are you okay, baby? Tell me how you feel right now..” but if the faint ring of arousal around his lips and the way you were shaking was any indication, he had to guess that you were feeling pretty damn good! “I—so good..” that was the only thing he wanted to hear. To hear that you were okay. That you were feeling something..that you weren’t entirely numb.

“Thank goodness..here..” he didn’t want you to reach a climax just yet. That was something he wanted the two of you to achieve together. He truly wanted you to be one..

“Look at me..look me in my eyes, right now..” almost subconsciously, your head shifted to perfectly align with his own. Faces only mere inches apart as he bridged the space with slow, soft pecks. Ones that would undoubtedly leave you yearning for more once they concluded. But he wouldn’t dare to pause..dare put a stop to this sensual moment. Your energy meshed with his, your bodies so close and skin pressed directly atop one another’s…there wasn’t a single place he’d rather be than right here. This was more than just sex..a meager compensation for his shortcomings but rather, the birth of a new dynamic. Hoping to leave behind the days of trivial arguments and childish antics..he wanted to scream it from the rooftops that he belonged to you. No more the days of being immature to one another. From here on out, he wanted honest, effective communication. To be real with you in every aspect. To learn about you so that he could be attentive and love you even when it was impossible for you to do so on your own. In your weakest moments, on your bad days and roughest storms, he could be that brave protector you always needed.

“Hold my hands, baby. I’m right here, I promise…” you were barely speaking; eyes soaked and brimming with tears because you’d waited so long to feel this. For someone to come and take your worries away..

“Please..I need it. So bad..”

he dare not deny your request as he hastily removed those sweats, discarding them onto the floor, along with the pair of panties he glided down your calf until hit your foot..your body itself was more than a pleasure vessel. More than just the anatomy itself. Your breasts, your thighs, your center..it was more than that. This was home. Where he’d always come to find solace when he needed it most. Where he’d always return..so when he’d ease himself into you, one inch following the other..breathless moans ensued right behind it. The sensation of being sucked in and never wanting to let go. This is what true love making felt like. Eventually, you’d rope each of your limbs around his frame, coiling him in a tight embrace; mirroring the feeling of your insides around his shaft. Try as he might to push through, Ace was barely making headway..you were so tense still..almost as if you didn’t trust him. He’d heard your sentiments. The ‘I love you’ returned so sweetly but part of you still had reservations. Many nights had you given him your body, willingly without thought. Not searching for a thing other than menial pleasure..and he’d accepted! Selfishly taking you for his own needs and desires but could trust him with your heart? Could you trust him to hold something so fragile and protect it with his life? Would he truly love you the way you deserved?…

“..I’m sorry..”

just then, you’d hear him uttering in a shrill whimper. The warm dampness of his tears soaking your shoulder blades. He was crying!..for the first time ever, he had let go of all borders and barriers. He removed and shed all doubt he’d felt with other women. He was vulnerable..

“I’m so sorry, (y/n)..I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Still easing in and out. That member pushed through the sponge-like bundle of nerves as his words rolled off his quivering lips. Nipping at your earlobe with gentle kisses that sent chills coursing through your spine. He was so remorseful for allowing you to sit here in despair. What type of man was he? “But I’m here now…I’m here now and I promise I’ll never leave you again. You have my word, baby. I love you so much, (y/n)..”

He couldn’t change his past but he could atone right here and now..making a vow to not only you but himself. That he’d never desert you in your time of need..both entrapped in a bout of hysterics, you’d sob quietly whilst your bodies collided in a fit of bliss. The lewd movements became a mere afterthought. You were connected and ascending on a higher plane at the moment and nothing could take you down. “I..I forgive you…I love you too..please..don’t leave me.” Somewhere behind that tough exterior was that frightened girl..once too afraid after being harmed by so many, to confront this scary world was making her reappearance. She was no longer alone. She had friends, amazing coworkers and now? A man who adored her more than life itself. He’d instantly feel those constricting walls loosen at the mention of the apology and now he was swollen and pushing through. The bed would rock underneath your colliding frames and before long, those inevitable peaks drew near.

“So close, baby..just a little more.”

“Don’t stop..”

but he could hold out no longer and neither could you. The intense emotions proved to be too much and you’d succumb to those powerful feelings. The wave of climatic bliss washing over you both in only a few minutes of beginning. That sensitive core gushed with secretions and juices alike, signifying that you couldn’t hold back. And he wouldn’t make you.

“Let it out..there you go. I’m so proud of you, (y/n). That’s my girl..”

Coaching you through that orgasm before he even thought of reaching his own. You’d both release loud cries and tear filled pleas to follow. He’d hold you close and you’d cling to his skin as if you were mere seconds from crawling in. Reveling in the beautiful moment revered as afterglow. It was magical..a type of love that you wanted to experience until the end of time..

“And I’m yours. All yours..I belong to you.”

pain was a temporary sensation, meant to only last for a season. But love? It remained for a lifetime. And much like the flames of a burning fire, sparked from an ember, he’d fight through anything to ensure that what you had lasted. After the blaze was put out and the smoke cleared, no matter the circumstances or storm..he’d be right here. Forever and always!

@honeybleed 🫶🏾

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lisbeth-kk · 19 days

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May Prompts (22) Night

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 22)

I'm so sorry. Go get those tissues. I've used all of mine.

Summary: Rosie gets devastated news, and all she can think of is how her Papa is coping.

Twenty-Two Years Old

When Dad called with the news, my first thought was quite irrational: oh no, we’re never going to celebrate our twentieth anniversary! The second thought hit me with force and made me breathless: how is Papa doing?

“I’ll hop on the next…”

“No need, sweetheart. A car will pick you up in approximately fifteen minutes,” Dad assured me, and that’s when I started to cry.

***

Uncle Myc stood and waited for me outside the car when I ran to the kerb. His arms opened and I collapsed against him, heartbroken and totally devastated. He didn’t try to comfort me with words of nonsense, like it’s going to be ok, because he knew it would be a long time before any of us would be fine after this sudden and tragic loss.

“She seemed fine yesterday,” I told uncle Myc on the way home.

“Yes, so I have been…informed,” he sighed.

“How is he?” I asked, terrified of the answer.

“As expected.”

“Rock bottom,” I mumbled, and felt my throat tighten painfully from withheld tears.

“Indeed,” uncle agreed gravely.

***

It was worse than I expected. Papa’s loud voice boomed like a signal horn from upstairs when I locked us in.

“How could you not have seen the signs? You’re a bloody doctor, John!”

The words were spit like venom. I couldn’t discern Dad’s reply, but his voice was calm. He knew Papa wasn’t angry at him, but he needed to vent his sorrow, shock and devastation at someone. Luckily for everyone involved, Papa had chosen the right person for such an onslaught.

Before I climbed the stairs, I looked over at Nana’s door.

Gone. Dead. You’ll never see her again. There’ll be no more Christmas baking. She’ll never scold Papa for being petulant anymore. England has fallen.

The seventeen steps had never been so steep, my body never so heavy, and at the same time it felt hollow.

“Nearly there, Rosamund,” uncle Myc murmured from behind me.

I woke from my daze and realised that the shouting had stopped. In its wake came a sound so heartbreaking, it made tears flow down my cheeks. Before I opened the door, a thought hit me like a battering ram, making me lose my balance for a moment.

If Papa mourned Nana like this, he would be utterly destroyed if Dad died before him. Not even his biological family’s demise could elicit such grief from him.

***

Inside the flat, Papa clung to Dad, and it struck me how small he seemed in that moment. So lost and bereft. This was not a puzzle he could solve, or a culprit he could catch to make everything right again.

“Rosie’s home,” Dad whispered to Papa and reached for me.

I didn’t think Papa would let go of Dad, give me room, or even detect the words, but he did. My name seemed to have a magical effect on him, because he straightened, turned his pained face at me and lifted his arm to indicate that I was welcomed into his and Dad’s cocoon. We held on to each other for what felt like hours. Dad asking if we were alright, Papa muttering something under his breath, and I just clung to my parents, wordless.

Dad, always reliable in a crisis, remembered that there was another person present, and carefully entangled himself after kissing us both, guiding our arms to embrace. Papa mumbled his name questioningly.

“Just give me a few minutes, Sherlock. Take care of Rosie, yeah?”

Papa nodded and pulled me closer, cradling the back of my head, whispering my precious girland I’m so sorry you have to go through this, and she loved you like a granddaughter.

***

The days leading up to the funeral alternated between the three of us sharing memories about the core of 221 Baker Street, what we would miss most about her, and lots and lots of crying.

Dad was our rock in all of this, despite that he grieved his former landlady too. Some nights, Papa was inconsolable, and I thought his heart would literally break. He curled up in bed and sobbed full of despair. Only Dad could hope to console him, coaxing him out of the dark place he had locked himself in.

Both me and Papa agreed that we would honour Martha Hudson on the day of the funeral. Nana’s niece, Deidre, was her only living relative, and uncle Myc assured her that we would arrange everything if she weren’t able. From what Dad told me, she was relieved, having just started her tattoo studio, and she was quite short of money after the investments.

***

Leaving uncle Myc and his minions in charge of the ceremony, proved to be ingenious, as we all expected. Even Nana would’ve been pleased with him, I think.

It all took place at Pembroke Lodge in Richmond Park. The Grade II listed Georgian Mansion is a beautiful and tranquil place, posh, but not over the top.

The pleasantly warm weather allowed us to go dressed without jackets and coats. To honour Nana, all of us wore something purple, her favourite colour. Even uncle Myc acquiesced to leave his black suit at home, and instead he wore a light grey three-piece-suit with a deep purple tie.

Deidre showed up with purple nail polish, her black hair in spikes, the dramatic makeup intact, purple leather trousers, and a matching jacket with a black shirt underneath. Her Doc Martens boots were bright red. She was over the moon about the venue and to what lengths we’d gone to ensure a proper farewell for her aunt.

***

We didn’t know all the mourners, but I think I spotted a few celebrities who wore gigantic sunglasses and hats to hide their identities, which obviously had the opposite effect.

Ginny, who conducted the ceremony was a calming presence throughout, and informed the congregation that there would be one speech apart from her own, and musical elements performed by a pianist and Papa on violin.

Papa held it together through his potpourri of Nana’s favourite classical pieces. He had his eyes closed and lost himself in the music. It was heartbreakingly beautiful. Beside me Dad clasped my hand firmly and never took his eyes off Papa. Admiration, love, sorrow and grief washed over his face in quick succession. He rose when Papa lowered his bow and looked over at the coffin that was decorated with purple lilacs. I saw the moment his knees gave way, but Dad was already at his side holding him close whispering something in his ear. I went over to them to pry the violin and bow out of Papa’s limp hands and let him lean into Dad’s arms.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Dad murmured teary-eyed.

Papa’s sobbing was muffled by his face being buried in Dad’s neck. Dad’s hand cradled the back of Papa’s head like it was a delicate object made of china. Slowly, Dad led Papa back to his seat and he held him tight until it was my turn to honour my beloved Nana.

The night I decided how to do it, Dad and Papa asked if I was sure I would manage it on my own. I retorted that of course I would. I was not a child anymore. What I hadn't considered was that reading a poem out loud in my room was completely different than performing it in front of a crowd, not to mention the emotional impact this performance would have on me.

I got to my feet when Ginny gave the signal and walked over to stand beside the coffin and opened the book on the correct page. Dad and Papa noticed before I did. Something gave me away. Did the book tremble in my hands, did my legs quiver, or did my breathing start to go wild with panic? Whatever it was, they both stood, came over to me, embraced me with their backs to the onlookers to shield me.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Bee?” Papa asked with a thick voice filled to the brim with withheld tears.

“You don’t have to, you know. Nobody would…”

I cut Dad off abruptly feeling the soothing effect the closeness of my parents had on me.

“I’m sure. Stay, will you?” I said quietly.

“Of course,” they retorted in unison.

***

I took a deep breath, let go of my parents and we all turned to the other mourners and I started to read with one father on each side, radiating comfort and love.

Warning

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple With a red hat which doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells And run my stick along the public railings And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain And pick flowers in other people’s gardens And learn to spit. You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat And eat three pounds of sausages at a go Or only bread and pickle for a week And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes. But now we must have clothes that keep us dry And pay our rent and not swear in the street And set a good example for the children. We must have friends to dinner and read the papers. But maybe I ought to practice a little now? So, people who know me are not too shocked and surprised When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.

Today, I will nudge you in the direction of AO3 and the end notes to give you some context

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

More tags in the replies

#may prompts 2024 #may 22: night (metaphorical)#sherlock fandom #rosie watson #sherlock #john watson #mycroft holmes #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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horangboosadan · 7 months

Text

ROCK WITH YOU [6/10]

episode six: baby, hold on, baby hold on (no matter where we are)

masterlist

previous | next

pairing: idol!lee chan x gender neutral!actor!reader

warnings: hate messages

genre: established relationship, fluff, angst, best friend!jun, actor au, smau, on screen lovers off screen besties

synopsis: after the release of your most recent drama, the world decides that you and your co-star/best friend would be the perfect couple. the influx of positive reactions are great for your career, his career, and the drama. however, it tears at you to lie to your fans and appear dishonest towards your boyfriend. being a k-pop idol, revealing your relationship can come with unforeseen consequences. how do you tackle the onslaught of people who want the inside scoop of you and your co-star, and your boyfriend in denial about his jealousy without compromising either relationship?

boo talks

this part was hard to write, but i really like how it turned out. this may be a dino fic but its woozis bday so happy birthday woozi! but on the note of dino, his concept photos have me dead, i cannot cope, please tell me im not alone😭

fill out this form to be added to the taglist

#caratlibrary #caratsland #svt smau #dino smau #seventeen x reader #dino x reader #seventeen #svt #chan x reader #lee chan #dino

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roomsofangel · 3 days

Text

LOVER, PLEASE STAY. . .

chapter six

synopsis you and wooyoung have been best friends for as long as you could remember, always overcoming everything in your friendship even after a few bumps in the road and confessions in the past. you could always trust that no matter wooyoung will always be there, right?

wc 10.3k (yes you read that right…)

chapter warnings oh lord.. okay so alcohol consumption, mentions of grief and death (yeosang), a lot of guilt and blaming themselves, seonghwa breaks down, wooyoung talks a lot about death and dying at one point, gets a little suggestive towards the end

a/n this fic is almost over </3 can you believe that? this chapter actually was even longer, including the full smut towards the end but i felt after writing it, it didn’t fit and i could possibly post it separately if anyone wants that. but with that aside— i hope you’re comfortable and have a few snacks maybe even tissues?? a lot is unpacked here

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated! ♥️

sitting on your bed, you bite your nails anxiously, your mind lost in thought as the complexities of your situation swirl around you like a storm. each circle of thought feels like a vice grip around your chest, making it harder to breathe. the weight of it all bears down on you, and you can't escape the feeling that you let wooyoung down, that you've failed yourself and everyone else. you let your head sink into your hands, and you take a deep, shaky breath.

the air in the room seems thick and stifling, and you struggle to find any solace in the silence that surrounds you. all you can think about is the tangled mess you've gotten yourself into, and the disappointment that you can feel building in the pit of your stomach. you know that you need to figure out a way to fix this, but at the moment, everything seems so overwhelming that you can barely think straight.

the weight of the day to come settles on your shoulders, and you can't stop thinking about the upcoming meeting with hongjoong, seonghwa, and san. you all know that wooyoung needs help, but the thought of having to confront your own grief along with his struggle felt like too much to bear. it was beginning to feel like an impossible task, and you can't help but despair at the thought of watching your best friend go through the same self-destructive path that your other friend did. how can you possibly find a way to help him, when you can barely help yourself?

you feel like you're drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions — grief, guilt, helplessness, and frustration. every thought feels like a weight dragging you down deeper and deeper into the tumultuous waves. how are you supposed to help wooyoung when you can barely keep your own head above water?

your own heart was beating out of your chest, and the phrase "too much" was just about all you could use to describe the overwhelming onslaught of emotions rushing through you. it was getting to be almost too much to handle, but you also knew — you refused — to give up on wooyoung. he was your best friend, and you couldn't bear the thought of abandoning him in his time of need. you just had to hang on and figure out what to do next.

you all sat in seonghwa's living room, the air felt heavy with tension as you all tried to figure out where to start. finally, san broke the silence, his voice cutting through the thick air like a knife. "how do we go about this?" he asked, his eyes flicking between all of you. everyone seemed to tense up at san's words, the reality of the situation crashing down on all of you.

you looked around at the others, seeing the worry and concern etched on their faces. hongjoong's jaw was clenched tightly, and seonghwa looked like he was trying to maintain a calm exterior, but the muscles in his neck were tense.

you all were trying to get by and cope in your own ways, while also trying to prevent a similar tragedy from occurring. how do you save someone who seems to not want to be saved?

it felt like an impossible task — trying to save someone who seemed hell-bent on self-destruction. how do you pull someone back from the edge when they're determined to jump? yes, you and the others were doing your best to cope and prevent a tragedy, but it felt like you were fighting a losing battle. you all wanted to save wooyoung, but he seemed unwilling to even try to save himself.

the tension in the room was palpable as you all sat there in silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts. hongjoong spoke up, his voice gruff with emotion. "we can't force wooyoung to change if he doesn't want to, but we can't just sit back and watch him destroy himself.“

“we.. we were blind to the signs before and i can’t risk it now,”

the words sent a pang of guilt through your chest. it was clear that hongjoong was blaming himself for not being able to save yeosang, and you could see the guilt and shame in the faces of seonghwa and san as well. you knew that you all felt responsible. hongjoong's voice broke the heavy silence that followed his words. "we all failed yeosang," he said softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

the weight of that statement hung in the air like a pall, and you could feel the guilt and self-blame radiating off of all of you. you knew that you had all failed yeosang, in your own ways. you should have been there for him more, should have noticed the signs sooner, should have done something to prevent his downfall. but you hadn't, and now it was too late.

you had all failed yeosang, and now you were desperately trying not to repeat the same mistake with wooyoung. but even as you sat there, trying to figure out how to save your best friend, a small voice in the back of your head was screaming at you, telling you that this time, you were going to fail too.

you couldn't shake the feeling that history was about to repeat itself, that no matter what you did, you were going to end up losing wooyoung just as you had yeosang. it was a heavy weight to carry, and you could tell that the others were feeling it too. the silence in the room was deafening, and the sense of hopelessness was practically suffocating.

the words escaped your mouth before you could stop them, your voice cracking with emotion as you spoke. "i can't give up on wooyoung," you repeated, determined to make them understand. "i won't let him down." your eyes flickered around the room, meeting the gazes of the others one by one. you could see the pain and sorrow in their eyes, but there was also a glimmer of hope — hope that maybe this time, things could be different.

they all nodded, silently agreeing with you. hongjoong’s jaw was still clenched tight, but his eyes met yours with a fierce determination. seonghwa looked pale, but there was a gleam of determination in his gaze as well. even san, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, gave you a solemn nod. they all wanted to save wooyoung as much as you did.

the room lapsed into silence once more, but this time, it was more determined than hopeless. you could feel the resolve in the air, the quiet determination to not let history repeat itself. you knew that it wasn't going to be easy, and that there was a very real chance that you would fail, but you also knew that you had to try. for wooyoung, for yeosang, and for yourselves.

as soon as you stepped inside your shared home, you could hear the faint sound of a guitar coming from wooyoung's room. it was a sound you hadn't heard in a long time, and it sent a pang of nostalgia through you. you couldn't remember the last time you'd heard him pick up his guitar, and a frown tugged at your lips as you realized how long it had been. you stood there for a moment, just listening to the quiet music coming from his room.

the sound of the guitar was soft, almost mournful, and it tugged at your heartstrings. you stood outside his door, listening for a moment longer, feeling a mixture of sadness and hope stirring in your chest. you knew that music had always been an outlet for wooyoung, a way for him to express himself when he couldn't find the words. maybe this was a small glimmer of the old him peeking through.

the music suddenly stopped, and you shook yourself out of your thoughts. you hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should knock on his door or leave him alone. you knew that he wouldn't want you to see him like this, but something was pulling you towards his room. eventually, you gently knocked on his door, trying to keep your voice steady. "wooyoung?"

there was silence from the other side of the door for a few moments, and you almost started to turn away when you heard a soft, muffled voice. "come in," wooyoung said, and you obeyed, slowly pushing open the door and stepping into his room.

as you stepped into his room, the memories of the past few days came crashing back into your mind. you hadn't been able to truly be in his room since that night, when you had found out what he had been hiding from you. and even looking at him had been difficult, ever since that surprising kiss. it was as if everything was becoming more complicated by the minute, and you didn't know how to feel about it.

you swallowed the lump in your throat and looked up at wooyoung, who was sitting on his bed with a defeated expression on his face.

his shoulders were slumped, and he looked smaller than usual. there was a hollow look in his eyes, and you could see the sadness etched on his features. the usually vibrant wooyoung that you knew had been replaced by this shell of a person, and it broke your heart to see him like this. you swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check, before finally speaking. "can i...can i sit down?"

wooyoung shrugged, gesturing lazily to the space beside him on the bed. "yeah, whatever." his voice was flat, lacking his usual sarcastic humor. you slowly took a seat on the bed, keeping a small distance between you two, and waited for him to speak.

the silence in the room was deafening, and you could feel the tension between the two of you like a physical weight. you watched as wooyoung fiddled with the strings on his guitar, his eyes downcast. you could tell that he wasn't going to speak first, so you took a deep breath and broke the silence yourself. "i...i missed hearing you play," you said softly.

wooyoung's fingers paused on the strings, and he looked up at you with a brief flash of surprise in his eyes. "you did?" he asked, his voice still flat. he sounded skeptical, as if he couldn't believe that you would miss something as small as his guitar playing.

you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the tense atmosphere between you two. "yeah, i did," you said softly. "it’s been a while since i’ve heard you play." you paused, searching for the right words. "i know....i know things have been rough lately, but...hearing you play...it reminds me of happier times."

there was a flicker of something in wooyoung's eyes, something that looked almost like a spark of recognition. his expression softened for a moment, but then he quickly looked away, his shoulders hunching up again. "happier times," he repeated, his voice bitter. "those days are gone, remember?"

you felt a pang in your heart at his words, the truth of them sending a wave of sadness through you. you knew he was right, that things could never go back to how they were before. "i know," you whispered, your voice thick with emotions. "but...but that doesn't mean there can't be happier days in the future too, right?"

wooyoung sighed heavily, his fingers picking up their restless fiddling with the strings. "what’s the point?" he mumbled, his voice low and defeated. "everything's just going to fall apart eventually, so what's the point of trying to be happy in the first place?"

your heart ached at his words, at the resigned acceptance in his voice. you wanted to reach out and shake him, to make him see that there was still hope, that there was still joy to be found in life. but you knew that it wouldn't do any good. he was too deep in his own despair, too focused on the negatives to see anything else. "that’s not true," you said softly, your voice gentle. "you can't just give up on happiness, woo."

wooyoung scoffed, finally looking up at you with a sardonic smile. "can’t i?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "why not? what’s the point of being happy when it's all just going to end anyway? when we're all just going to die in the end?"

you felt a wave of frustration and heartache at his words. "because that's not all there is to life," you said firmly. "yes, bad things happen, and people die, and everything ends eventually. but...but that doesn't mean there's no joy to be found in the meantime. life isn't just about the ending, it's about all the moments in between too."

wooyoung let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "you sound like a hallmark card," he said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "life isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. sometimes, it's just a giant shitstorm that drags you down until you can't see any light."

and you knew that he was right. life wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, and sometimes it was a giant shitstorm that dragged you down. you both had lost yeosang, after all, you knew all too well what life could throw. but that didn't mean you had to give up on happiness entirely. "i know that," you said softly, keeping your voice steady. "but...but that doesn't mean it can't be good sometimes too."

wooyoung’s shoulders sagged, and he let out a heavy sigh. "what’s the point, though? what’s the point of even trying when everything just falls apart in the end?" he mumbled, his eyes unfocused. you could tell that he wasn't just talking about happiness, but about life in general. he looked so lost, so broken, and you didn't know how to fix it. all you could do was speak softly, trying to break through his cloud of despair.

"the point is that life is worth living, woo," you said gently. "yes, things fall apart, and bad things happen, but that doesn't mean we should give up altogether. life is about the journey, not just the destination." you paused, trying to find the right words. "don’t give up on happiness. don’t give up on life, woo. please."

wooyoung's expression hardened, his shoulders tensing up. "easy for you to say," he muttered, his voice sharp. "you still have hope, still believe in this whole happy ending crap."

"and you don't?" you asked, your voice soft. wooyoung’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, avoiding your gaze

the room fell silent for a moment, the air thick with tension. you could see the internal struggle playing out on wooyoung's face, the part of him that wanted to believe in hope warring with the part that had given up. finally, he looked back up at you, his expression resigned. "i don't think i do," he said, his voice low and bitter. "it all just feels pointless now."

your heart broke at his words, and you could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. you hated seeing him like this, so defeated and hopeless. "woo—" you started to say, but he cut you off, his voice sharp. "don’t," he growled. "don’t try to give me some pep talk about hope and happiness. it’s all bullshit, and you know it."

you didn’t want to give up on wooyoung, you promised him. it might have seemed so stupid holding onto a promise the two of you made as kids but you held onto it tighter than ever before now, “but what isn’t bullshit is that i care about you and i refuse to give up on you.”

wooyoung’s eyes widened slightly at your words, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something in his eyes. vulnerability, maybe. but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a steely determination. "why?" he asked, his voice gruff. "why do you even care? why won't you give up on me?"

the contrast between then and now was like a punch to the gut. you couldn't believe that this cold, distant wooyoung was the same one who had sobbed in your arms, begging you not to give up on him. it was a sharp reminder of how far he had fallen, how much his despair had changed him and it hadn’t even been that long of a time gap. wooyoung was falling victim rapidly to his own despair and you can’t keep up.

you wanted to cry out, to scream at him, to shake him until he snapped out of this, but you knew that wouldn't help. all you could do was keep your voice level, keep your face neutral as you replied. "because you're my best friend, woo. because i love you. because i don't think you're completely gone yet. not yet."

wooyoung's expression flickered again, the coldness in his eyes faltering for a moment. "best friend," he repeated, his voice low. "right." there was a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you could see something else beneath it - a flicker of vulnerability, maybe even hope. he looked away, avoiding your gaze as he muttered, "i’m a lost cause, remember? too far gone."

"no, you're not.. not to me," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill over. "you're not too far gone. you’re still in there, woo. the boy who used to make stupid jokes and play pranks on me. the boy who used to chase butterflies in the park. the boy who was my best friend. you’re still there, somewhere."

wooyoung's jaw ticked, and he looked back up at you. "that boy is gone," he said, his voice hard. "he died with yeosang." but there was a hint of doubt in his eyes, as if he wasn't completely convinced by his own words. you could see him struggling, grappling with the conflicting emotions within him.

you took a deep breath, gathering your courage. "no, he's not," you said firmly. "he’s buried deep down, buried under all that pain and grief and despair. but he's still there, woo. and i’m not gonna give up on him - on you - until he comes back."

wooyoung's gaze flicked over your face, searching your eyes for any sign of dishonesty. but all he saw was determination and unwavering belief in him. a flash of something passed through his eyes - hope, maybe? or just resignation? he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped. "you're crazy, you know that?" he muttered, his voice gruff.

a small smile tugged at your lips at his words. "maybe," you admitted. "but i’m not giving up on you, woo. no matter how much you try to push me away. i’m gonna be here.”

wooyoung scowled, his gaze dropping down to his guitar. his fingers fidgeted with the strings, the sound of discordant notes filling the air. "you’re a stubborn idiot, you know that?" he mumbled, but there was no real bite to his words.

"and you're a stubborn, self-deprecating idiot," you shot back, a hint of humor in your voice. "but lucky for you, i happen to like stubborn, self-deprecating idiots."

against his will, a small huff of laughter escaped wooyoung’s lips, and he quickly covered it up with a cough. “you’re something else, alright,” he muttered, glancing up at you with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression.

“i guess that’s why i fell in love with you in the first place.”

your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt yourself flush slightly. it was still a surprise to hear him admit that he had fallen in love with you, even after all the mess that had come between you two. you tried to keep your expression neutral, but you couldn’t help the hint of a smile that tugged at your lips. "i guess you just have bad taste," you quipped, your voice light.

wooyoung let out a soft snort, his lips curving up into a small smirk. "yeah, that must be it," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. he looked up at you again, and for a moment, it was like the old wooyoung was back - the teasing, playful boy that you used to know. the glimmer of hope in your chest flickered brighter.

you could feel the mood shifting, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. you let out a soft breath, feeling a sense of relieved. wooyoung’s expression softened slightly, his gaze flickering over your face again. "you’re still a pain in the ass though, you know that?" he said, his voice gruff but lacking the usual bite.

you couldn't help but chuckle, feeling a sense of familiarity in his words. "yeah, well, you’re not exactly a picnic yourself,” you retorted, a hint of warmth in your voice.

he let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a jolt of warmth through you. "touché,” he said, his voice softer. he paused, his gaze flicking down to his guitar, and you could see the conflict playing out on his face again.

you waited in silence, letting him sort through his thoughts. you could see the struggle in his eyes - the part of him that still wanted to push you away, to keep his walls up and his heart guarded. but there was also a part of him - a small, vulnerable part - that was slowly breaking through the surface.

wooyoung took a deep breath, his grip on the guitar tightening. "you really won’t give up on me, will you?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper. his gaze flicked back up to you, searching your face for any hint of hesitation.

meeting his gaze unflinchingly, your heart clenching at the vulnerability in his eyes. "no," you said firmly, your voice gentle but unwavering. "i won’t give up on you, woo. i’m gonna be here, no matter how much you try to push me away."

wooyoung’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a heavy sigh. “god, you’re infuriating,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. despite his words, there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “why are you always so goddamn stubborn?”

you couldn’t help but smile at his words, feeling a warmth of affection for him. “because i love you, you idiot,” you said teasingly. “and you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

he rolled his eyes, but the smile on his lips grew wider. “yeah, yeah,” he muttered, setting his guitar down on the floor. he looked up at you again, his gaze softer than it had been before. “i don’t deserve you, you know that?”

“don’t start that whole ‘i don’t deserve you’ crap,” you said firmly, your voice a mix of fondness and frustration. “i decide who’s deserving of me, thank you very much.”

wooyoung let out a soft chuckle, his eyes glinting with amusement. “feisty as always,” he said, his voice teasing. he smirked at you, his gaze wandering over your face and down to your lips. “somehow, that makes me fall for you even more.”

you felt your cheeks heat up at his words, and you cursed yourself internally for being so weak for him. you tried to keep your expression neutral, but you knew he could see the effect he had on you. “you’re insufferable,” you muttered, trying to mask your flustered state with nonchalance.

“yeah, but you love me anyway,” he said, his smirk growing wider. he leaned back, propping himself up on his hands as he continued to gaze at you with playful admiration. “there must be something wrong with you, falling for someone as insufferable as me.”

you let out a huff of laughter, shaking your head at his audacity. “there’s definitely something wrong with me,” you agreed, a smile tugging at your lips. “must be some sort of masochism, loving a stubborn, sarcastic, self-deprecating idiot like you.”

wooyoung let out a mock gasp, his hand flying up to his chest in feigned shock. “how dare you!” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with mock outrage. “insulting my good name like that. and here i was, thinking you loved me for my charming personality and dashing looks.”

you rolled your eyes at his theatrics, a laugh escaping your lips. “well, your good looks do help make up for it,” you said, a hint of teasing in your voice. “but your personality could use some work.”

you couldn’t deny the wave of nostalgia that washed over you at the familiar banter. it was as if, for a moment, the old wooyoung was back - the one who would tease and flirt with you as easily as breathing.

you found yourself smiling, the heaviness in your heart lifting slightly. it was moments like these - the ones that showed glimpses of the old wooyoung - that gave you hope that he was still in there, somewhere.

when walking inside seonghwa’s apartment, you weren’t sure what to expect, and you found your heart sinking when your gaze landed on the way he was curled up on the floor, tears streaming down his face, your heart clenched in your chest. you rushed over to him, your voice gentle but filled with concern. "hwa? what’s wrong? what happened?"

seonghwa looked up at you, his eyes red and puffy from crying. his whole body was shaking, and he looked so small and broken on the floor. he was still in his pyjamas, his normally impeccable hair messy and disheveled.

he took one look at you, and a fresh wave of tears welled up in his eyes. “yn,” he whispered your name, his voice cracked and fragile.

all the usual composed and graceful image of him completely shattered in front of you. you didn’t hesitate for a moment, rushing over to him and pulling him into your arms.

“shhh,” you whispered, holding him tightly as he sobbed against your chest. “i’m here, it’s okay hwa.”

seonghwa to you like a lifeline, his fingers grasping at your shirt as if terrified you would disappear if he let go. he buried his face in your shoulder, his whole body quivering with the force of his sobs.

“i can’t do this anymore, yn,” he whispered, his voice broken and hoarse. “i can’t…i can’t keep pretending everything’s fine.”

you held him closer, your fingers stroking his hair in a soothing gesture. “i know, hwa,” you whispered back, your voice gentle. “i know…and you don’t have to pretend anymore. you don’t have to be strong for us all the time. let me be strong for you this time, okay?”

seonghwa let out a strangled sob, his body shaking even harder at your words. but he didn’t pull away from you, didn’t try to put up his usual walls and act like he was fine. instead, he just clung to you even tighter, as if desperate for comfort.

“i miss him so much,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a broken whisper. “and i don’t know how i’ll cope if wooyoung..” he couldn’t finish his words as he choked back a sob

you felt your own tears start to well up at his words, and you held him tighter, you knew exactly how he was feeling, because you felt the same way about wooyoung. but seeing seonghwa - the one who had always been the strong, steady shoulder for all of you to lean on - break down like this broke you differently.

you tightened your grip on him, the other arm moving to rub warm circles on his back. “we’re gonna get through this together, hwa. all of us. we’ll help each other through this, okay?”

seonghwa nodded, his fingers digging into your shirt. his sobs had quieted down slightly, but he was still trembling violently in your arms. he buried his face further into your shoulder, his voice hoarse and raw. “promise you won’t leave me too?”

you pulled him even closer to you. “i promise,” you whispered

seonghwa let out a shaky breath, his body relaxing slightly in your arms. he was still shaking, but it didn’t feel like he was about to fall apart entirely now.

he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes red and puffy, and your heart broke again to see him so broken. “i’m sorry for falling apart on you like this,” he mumbled, his voice small and ashamed.

“don’t be sorry,” you said gently, your fingers continuing to stroke his hair. “you don’t have anything to be sorry for. It’s okay to fall apart, hwa. you’ve been so strong for all of us…it’s okay to let yourself be weak sometimes.”

“especially with everything going on? hwa, don’t apologize.. it was bound to happen.”

seonghwa let out a shaky sigh, his body sagging against you. “i…i feel like i have to be strong for all of you,” he said quietly, his eyes dropping down to his hands, which were still clutching onto your shirt. “i feel like if i break, you all will too.”

“i still blame myself for that night.. all because i was weak for one moment.”

the guilt and self-blame was evident in his voice. you wanted to shake him, to tell him that none of it was his fault, that none of you blamed him. but you knew it wouldn’t change anything.

“hwa,” you said softly, “look at me.”

seonghwa lifted his gaze, his eyes meeting yours. his expression was heartbreaking - a mix of guilt, shame, and despair.

“you’re not responsible for us,” you said firmly. “none of us blame you for anything that happened, hwa. and we don’t need you to be strong all the time. we just need you. just you.” you lifted a hand to brush a tear from his cheek, your gaze steady on his.

“i just.. can’t help but feel as if he’d still be here if i hadn’t gone home early that night.” seonghwa whispered

“hwa…,” you began, your voice gentle. “you can’t blame yourself for this. there was no way you could’ve known what would happen. this isn’t your fault, okay?”

seonghwa let out a shaky sigh, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “i know that,” he mumbled, his voice quiet. “but i keep thinking…what if i had just stayed a little longer. or what if i had gone back after yeosang called me. what if…what if i had just been there?”

tears welled up in your eyes, and you struggled to keep your voice steady. “it doesn’t matter what you could’ve done, hwa,” you said softly. “you can’t change what happened. and you did what you thought was best. none of it was your fault.”

“…and i know yeosang knows that too..”

seonghwa let out a soft sob, his fingers curling tighter into your shirt. “i know he does,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “but…but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like i failed him. like i failed all of you.”

“you didn’t fail anyone,” you said firmly, your voice gentle. “you’ve been the glue holding us all together, hwa. we’d be lost without you.” you paused, your gaze dropping down to where his fingers were still clenched tightly in your shirt.

seonghwa let out a shuddering breath, his body trembling slightly. “i feel like…like i should’ve done more. like i should’ve known something was wrong. i feel like i should’ve been able to prevent all of this from happening.”

“because now wooyoung is going down that same path.”

“hwa, you can’t be everywhere at once,” you said gently. “you can’t prevent every tragedy, no matter how much you wish you could.”

seonghwa let out a soft sob, his head dropping forward until his forehead was resting on your shoulder. “but i wish i could,” he whispered, his voice ragged and broken. “i wish i could protect all of you.”

you laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a heavy heart. thoughts about wooyoung, seonghwa, and the others kept swirling through your mind, making it impossible to shut your eyes and sleep.

your mind kept going back to seonghwa, to the broken and shattered expression on his face as he had fallen apart in your arms. you couldn’t help but wonder how the others were really doing…what exactly have they been holding back for the sake of everyone else?

you couldn’t stand the thought of any of them suffering in silence, pretending to be fine when they were crumbling inside. you wanted to reach out to them, to ask them how they were really doing, but you knew it wasn’t that simple. they had all perfected the art of hiding their emotions, of masking their pain behind smiles and jokes.

you let out a heavy sigh, rolling over and burying your face in your pillow. the silence of your room was deafening, only interrupted by the occasional car passing by outside. your mind was still racing, refusing to let you rest.

you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on with the others — something they weren’t telling you. you knew they were all suffering in their own way, trying to hold themselves together for the sake of the group.

the weight of that focus was weighing heavily on you, knowing that everyone was pouring all their energy into trying to save wooyoung. and rightfully so - wooyoung was spiraling, his self-destructive habits threatening to consume him.

but in the process of focusing on him, you couldn’t help but wonder if the others were drowning too, silently struggling with their own pain.

the thought of the others suffering in silence broke your heart. you knew they were all trying to be strong for each other, to hold it together. but how long could they really keep it up? how long could they pretend to be okay when they were falling apart inside?

and how long would it be until it was you?

the question hung in your mind, sending a shiver down your spine. you knew you couldn’t keep holding up your facade of being strong forever. eventually, it would all become too much, and you would collapse just like seonghwa had.

but the thought of breaking down terrified you. you were the one they all relied on, the one who kept things together when they started to fall apart. if you fell too, who would be there to catch everyone else? who would be the one that catches you?

you rolled over in your bed again, pulling the covers up to your chin like a makeshift shield. you tried to take deep breaths, to calm your racing thoughts. but it was hard when you knew everyone else’s happiness was resting on your shoulders. it was a heavy burden to carry, and one you weren’t sure how much longer you could bear.

you were brought out of your thoughts by the sound of the shower starting, and you knew it was wooyoung. you couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing in there, how he was feeling. was he okay? were his thoughts consuming him, or was he just cleaning himself off after a long day?

you were tempted to get up and go check on him, to make sure he was okay. but you didn’t want to intrude if he needed some time alone. so, you laid there, listening to the sound of the water running and wondering what was going on inside his head.

the sound of the shower was like a metronome, steady and rhythmic. it was almost hypnotizing, and you found your eyes drooping slightly as you focused on it. despite everything, exhaustion was finally starting to catch up to you.

you let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing into the bedding. maybe you could get some sleep after all. the steady sound of the shower combined with the exhaustion of emotional turmoil was finally starting to take its toll.

you sat next to wooyoung on the patio, watching as he took a drag from his cigarette. the sunlight had just started creeping over the horizon, bathing everything in a soft golden glow. but you weren’t focused on the sunrise - your gaze was fixed on wooyoung.

he was beautiful like this, bathed in the soft light of dawn. the morning sun highlighted the sharp angles of his face, and you found yourself unable to look away.

the soft silence between the two of you was comfortable, familiar. you knew each other so well by now, knew each other’s silences as much as each other’s words.

you watched as wooyoung’s exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. he looked pensive, his usual carefree facade replaced with a thoughtful expression.

you wanted to reach out to him, to ask what was on his mind. but you knew better than to push him. whenever he was like this, he needed time to sort through his thoughts, to let the words come to him in his own time.

the silence was broken only by the occasional sound of wooyoung exhaling smoke or taking another drag from his cigarette. you kept your gaze on him, studying the way his features looked in the golden light, the way his fingers held the cigarette, the way his shoulders tensed with each inhale.

you knew him so well by now, knew all his little tics and mannerisms. there was something different about him this morning. he seemed more serious than usual, more troubled. you could see it in the way his jaw was clenched, the way his eyes were fixed on some distant point in the skyline.

watching as he finished the cigarette, he crushed it out in the ashtray sitting on the railing next to him. he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging a little as his facade of nonchalance slipped just a fraction.

you could see the tension in his body, the way his fingers curled around the rail as if trying to hold himself together. finally, wooyoung spoke. his voice was hoarse and rough with emotion. “i…i don’t know what i’m doing anymore,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the skyline.

you watched as he took a shaky breath, his knuckles white with how tightly he was gripping the railing. his eyes were still fixed on the horizon, as if he was afraid to look at you.

“i know i’m spiraling,” he continued, his voice low and rough. “i know i’m doing all the things i shouldn’t be doing, the things all of you have been telling me not to do. but i can’t stop. i don’t know how to stop.”

he let out a shaky exhale, the desperation in his voice tearing at your heart. you could see tears welling up in his eyes, “i can’t sleep,” he whispered, his voice choking up. “i can’t eat. i can’t concentrate on anything. all i can think about is how much i miss him…how much i blame myself.”

“and i hate it,” he continued, his voice ragged with emotion. “i hate feeling like this. i hate feeling so weak and helpless. but i don’t know how to make it stop. i don’t know how to make it stop hurting so much.”

you watched as a tear slipped down his cheek, his shoulders shaking slightly with emotion. “i just…i just want it to stop hurting,” he whispered, his voice shaky with emotion. “i just want to feel normal again. i want to be able to sleep without seeing his face when i close my eyes. i want to be able to eat without feeling like i’m going to be sick. i want to be able to concentrate on something other than the guilt that’s eating me alive.”

he scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing away the tears that were now streaming down his cheeks. you couldn’t hold back any longer. you reached out and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. he didn’t flinch or pull away; instead he leaned into your touch, like a drowning man grasping for a lifeline.

his shoulders slumped as he leaned into you, all the tension and pretense finally melting away. he let out a ragged sigh, his body shaking with the weight of his emotions.

you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. he buried his face in your shoulder, his arms encircling your waist.

his body was shaking, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. you could feel the wetness of his tears soaking through your shirt, but you didn’t care. all you cared about was being there for him, holding him together as he fell apart.

you held him there for what felt like hours, your arms encircling him, your fingers gently stroking his back.

“it’s okay,” you murmured, your voice soft and gentle. “just let it out. i’m here. i’m not going anywhere. just let it all out.”

he continued to sob into your shoulder, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. but slowly, slowly, he began to calm down. his sobs turned into ragged breaths, his shaking gradually stilling until he was simply slumped against you, his head resting on your shoulder.

your arms stayed wrapped around him, your fingers tracing soothing circles on his back. he sagged against you, his breath slowing and evening out. he didn’t speak, just held onto you like a child clutching a security blanket.

the sun continued to rise, the sky gradually turning a brighter shade of blue, but you barely even registered it. all you could focus on was the man in your arms. after what felt like an eternity, wooyoung finally stirred against you. he pulled back slightly, his head lifting from your shoulder. his eyes were red and puffy, and his cheeks were tear-streaked.

he cleared his throat, his voice rough and hoarse. “sorry,” he mumbled, wiping away the remnants of tears on his cheeks. “i didn’t mean to fall apart on you like that again.”

you reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair out of his face. “you don’t have to apologize,” you replied softly. “i’m here for you, no matter what. you don’t have to hold it all in and pretend to be okay around me.”

he let out a shaky exhale, leaning into your touch as your fingers stroked gently through his hair. “i know,” he said quietly. “i just…i hate feeling like this. like i’m weak and pathetic.”

“you’re not weak,” you replied, your voice firm. “you’re human. you have feelings and emotions, and that doesn’t make you weak. it just makes you human.”

he was quiet for a moment, mulling over your words. then he let out a soft sigh, his body slumping as he leaned into you again. “i guess you’re right,”

“of course i’m right,” you replied with a small smile. “i’m always right.”

he let out a snort of laughter, the sound ragged but genuine. “yeah, yeah. don’t get too cocky now.”

part of you should have known that the glimpses of the old wooyoung were just that. glimpses. because as you walked past his bedroom in the middle of the night, the only light being the dimmed one from the kitchen, you could see that it didn’t matter how much he was going to let you in now — he was already too far gone

the sight that greeted you was familiar, but no less heartbreaking. wooyoung standing in the middle of of his room, swaying slightly on his feet. he was clearly drunk, a half-empty bottle of soju clutched in his hand.

he was staring off into space, his eyes glassy and unfocused. it was like he wasn’t really seeing anything, his mind lost in a haze of alcohol and whatever thoughts were swirling around in his head.

as you watched him, he stumbled slightly, leaning heavily against the wall. he raised the bottle to his lips, taking a long swig before letting out a ragged sigh. it was like he was on autopilot, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.

you wanted to go to him, to pull the bottle from his hands and tell him that everything was going to be okay. but you knew it wouldn’t do any good. he was too far gone, too deep into his own self-destructive spiral.

instead, you just watched him in silence, your heart breaking as you saw him take another long swig from the bottle. it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, knowing what was going to happen but powerless to stop it.

he stumbled over to the bed, falling onto it with a heavy thud. he laid there for a moment, his chest heaving as he breathed in ragged gasps. then he let out a bitter laugh, raising the bottle in a mock toast before taking another long drink.

it was like he was mocking himself, his own situation. like he was laughing at the fact that he had let things get this bad. but there was no joy or humor in the laughter, just desperation and pain.

he laid there on the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he took ragged breaths. his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but you knew he wasn’t really seeing anything. his mind was lost in a haze of alcohol and thoughts, trapped in a downward spiral that he didn’t know how to escape from.

he let out a ragged exhale, his body going limp as the alcohol finally started to take hold. his eyes fell shut, his face relaxing as he slumped deeper into the bed. it was like he was finally giving in to the numbness of alcohol, letting it wash over him and drag him down into unconsciousness.

you step into the room, moving quietly so as not to disturb wooyoung. he’s passed out, his body sprawled haphazardly on the bed. you step over to him, gently prying the empty bottle from his grasp and setting it aside. as you do so, you take a moment to look at him.

his face is slack in unconsciousness, his breathing slow and steady. he looks so much younger like this, so young and innocent. it’s like all the pain and turmoil have been smoothed away for the moment, leaving him looking almost peaceful.

you reach for a nearby blanket and gently pull it over him, tucking him in as if he were a child. you watch for a moment as he snuggles deeper into the blankets, a small smile tugging at your lips.

it’s funny, you think. sometimes he can be so stubborn and bullheaded, so resistant to any help or support you try to give him. but in moments like this, he’s just a scared and lost little boy.

you stir awake, the morning light filtering in through the window. you turn over, expecting to find an empty space beside you. instead, you find wooyoung there, curled up facing away from you.

you blink in surprise, for a moment not quite believing what you’re seeing. when did he get here? you don’t remember him coming in during the night, and you definitely didn’t wake up and feel him climb into bed.

you look at him for a moment as he sleeps peacefully, his body curved into a tight ball. he looks so different asleep, so peaceful and vulnerable. it’s like all the bravado and bluster he usually has is gone, replaced by a quiet vulnerability that is almost endearing.

as you watch him sleep, you can’t help but wonder what brought him to your bed. was it simply him seeking comfort in his sleep?

you reach out hesitantly, your hand hovering over his shoulder for a moment before gently resting on it. you can feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

he stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake up. he just shifts slightly, nuzzling deeper into the blankets as if seeking out your touch even in his sleep.

wooyoung shifts his body, turning over to face you. he let out a sleepy murmur as he scooted closer to you, his body pressed up against yours. you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin, his face mere inches from yours. he was so close that you could see the flutter of his eyelashes as he slept, the relaxed expression on his face.

he shifted again, his arm coming up to rest on your waist. he pulled himself closer, his body spooning against yours. it was an almost unconscious movement. you could feel his breath against your neck, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. he was so close that you could feel the brush of his hair against your skin, soft and silken.

you could smell the faint scent of his shampoo, a soft, woodsy fragrance that mixed with his natural scent. it was a comforting smell, familiar and soothing.

and once again, he shifted, his leg coming to rest against yours. his body was completely pressed against yours now, every inch of him in contact with you. it was like he was trying to fit himself completely against you, seeking out every bit of contact possible.

you could feel the weight of his arm around your waist, the warmth of his chest against your back. his breath continued to ghost over your neck, the steady rise and fall of his breaths sending a shiver down your spine. he made a soft noise again, a sigh of contentment that was somewhere between a murmur and a hum. he seemed completely at peace, his body relaxed and boneless against yours. it was like he had melted into you, fitting against you like he belonged there.

you were torn between waking him up and letting him sleep a little longer. on one hand, it was kind of adorable seeing him sleep so peacefully and soundly. on the other hand, you knew he needed to wake up eventually.

you watched him for a moment, taking in the sight of him curled up against you. his face was relaxed, his expression peaceful. it was like all the stress and worry that usually etched itself on his features had melted away.

part of you wanted to just lay there and watch him sleep indefinitely, but you knew that wasn't practical. you reached out a tentative hand and gently brushed a strand of hair away from his face. he stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again.

you watched as he mumbled something incoherent, his arm tightening around your waist. it was like he was trying to hold onto you even in his half-conscious state, unwilling to let go just yet.

he let out a murmur against your neck, his voice sleep-rough and soft. "just... a little longer," he mumbled. "just a few more minutes... please..."

he tugged at you slightly, pulling you closer against him. his body was still relaxed, his muscles loose and pliant against yours.

wooyoung’s voice was soft, almost vulnerable as he muttered against your neck. "i just... want to pretend a little longer," he mumbled. "just for a little while, let me pretend like everything is okay..."

he pulled you tighter against him, his body pressing close against yours like he was trying to bury himself in you. his grip was tight, like he was afraid you would pull away and break the illusion.

wooyoung’s voice was hushed and raw as he whispered against your skin, his breath hot against your neck. "like i didn't... f-fuck everything up, you know...?"

he let out a choked gasp, his arm tightening around you like he was trying to anchor himself. he was clearly struggling to keep his emotions in check, his body tense and trembling against yours.

his voice was rough and ragged, like he was holding back tears. "i just... i just don't want to think about it for a little while," he mumbled, his body pressing closer against yours. "just... please, let me pretend for a minute. let me pretend like i didn't ruin everything."

you didn't know what possessed you to do it. maybe it was the vulnerability in his voice, or the desperation in his grip on you. but before you even realized what you were doing, you were cupping his face gently in your hands and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

his breath hitched as your lips met his, his body going rigid for a moment before melting into the touch. it was like he was starving for the contact, like he was desperate for any scrap of affection and closeness he could get.

his mouth opened slightly under yours, his tongue brushing against your lips in a silent plea for more. he was shaking now, his body trembling against you like he was barely holding himself together.

he was clinging to you now, his fingers gripping your shirt desperately as he pulled you closer. his lips were moving against yours hungrily, like he was trying to devour you. it was like he was pouring all his pain and desperation into the kiss, seeking solace and comfort in the only way he knew how.

his body was pressed against yours, every inch of him in contact with you. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the desperate way his hands roamed over your body like he was trying to memorize every contour and curve.

as wooyoung breaks away from the kiss, his mouth trailing down your jaw to your neck, he mumbles between kisses, "is... is this okay? are we... are we okay...?"

his lips are hot against your skin, his breath hitching as he nibbles gently at the sensitive skin of your neck. his hands are still holding onto you tightly, his grip almost desperate as he seeks reassurance and connection.

he continues to trail kisses down your neck, his mouth hot and possessive against your skin. every kiss is filled with a hint of desperation, like he's trying to make up for lost time and assure himself that everything is alright.

his hands roam over your body as he kisses your neck, his fingers tracing patterns over your skin as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging gently as he mouths at your neck. you thread your fingers through the silky strands, relishing the feel of his soft hair against your skin.

"we’re okay," you murmur, your voice soft and reassuring. "it’s okay. we’re okay."

he lets out a choked moan against your skin, his body trembling at your words.

wooyoung’s voice is barely above a whisper as he buries his face in your neck, his lips pressed against your skin in desperate kisses.

"i just... i just want to pretend for today," he mumbles, his voice almost pleading. "just for today, let me pretend like everything is fine. let me pretend like i didn't screw everything up. just... just please, let me live in this fantasy for a little while longer."

he’s holding onto you tightly, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go even for a moment. his body is pressed flush against yours, every inch of him in contact with you.

"please," he whispers. "please, just let me forget about everything else and just focus on you."

wooyoung pulls away from your neck, lifting his head to look at you. his expression is earnest and vulnerable, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

"if you don't want this," he whispers, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over your skin, "i won't be mad, okay? i promise."

you voice your concern, your gaze searching his face as you ask, "are you sure you're in the right mind to do this?"

he looks at you for a moment, his eyes intense and sincere. then he replies, "this is the only thing i’ve been sure about recently. you’re the only thing i’m sure about."

he continues to look at you, his eyes pleading and earnest. "i know i’m not making any sense right now," he whispers. "i know i’m not in the best headspace... but the only thing i am sure about is you. you’re the only thing that makes everything else fade away."

he grips your shoulders tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you even closer to him.

despite your reservations, your doubts and concerns, it's impossible to ignore the way your body responds to his touch. your pulse quickens, your skin heats up, your breath quickens.

but you know wooyoung well enough to know that he's not in his right mind right now. he’s vulnerable, desperate, seeking comfort and reassurance. and you know that you can't just give in to your own desires without making sure that he's absolutely certain about what he's doing. especially when your heart is also involved.

"i... i want you too," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

you reach up to cup his face in your hands, your fingers gently tracing his jawline. "i want you so badly," you murmur. "but i just... i need to make sure you're sure. i don't want you to regret it later."

you can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles are coiled tight like he's holding himself back with every ounce of willpower he has left.

wooyoung’s eyes flutter shut for a moment as he melts into your touch, his breathing ragged and uneven. "i won't regret it," he whispers, his voice low and rough. "i could never regret it. not with you."

he leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours. he looks desperate, almost pleading. "please," he murmurs. "please, just... i need you. i need you more than anything right now."

his body is pressing flush against yours, every inch of him in contact with you. you can feel the heat radiating off him, can hear the raggedness of his breathing, can smell the faint scent of his cologne.

"i can't pretend anymore," he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. "i don't want to pretend. I want this to be real. i want... i want you to be real. please. please just tell me this is real. that i’m not just imagining this."

his hands are grasping at you now, desperate and clawing, trying to hold onto you like you're the only thing grounding him to reality.

"please," he repeats, his voice ragged and hoarse. "please, tell me this is real. that you're really here, with me. that you really care about me. that you really... that you really..."

he seems unable to finish his sentence, his voice breaking on the last word.

"wooyoung..." you murmur, your voice soft and gentle. "this is real. i’m real. i’m here. i love you."

and with that, you lean in and press your lips against his in a slow, tender kiss.

his response is immediate, like a dam has broken inside of him. his hands come up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kisses you back with a desperate fervor.

he kisses you like a man starved, like he's trying to devour you, his mouth bruising against yours as his tongue tangles with yours. his body is pressed tightly against yours, every inch of him desperate to be as close to you as possible.

he murmurs your name against your lips, like a prayer, like a desperate plea. "please," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "please, say it again. say it again."

he needs to hear the words again, like they're the only thing keeping him grounded in reality. he needs to hear you say that you love him, that this is real, that he's not just imagining everything.

you repeat the words, your voice soft and tender. "i love you," you murmur against his lips, your fingers tracing gentle patterns over his skin. "i’m here and i love you."

and his response is to groan, his body shuddering against yours as if the words are physically painful to hear. he kisses you again, harder and more desperately than before, his body arching into yours like he can't get close enough.

his hands are restless, roaming over your body with a feverish intensity. he pulls you closer, his body pressed so close against yours that you can feel the rapid beating of his heart.

"i love you," he whispers, his voice thick and ragged. "i love you so much. please, don't go. please, just... just don't leave me."

he sounds like he's begging, like he's on the verge of tears. he buries his face in your neck, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

"please," he whispers again, “stay with me. i don't want to be alone.”

you tighten your arms around him, your body pressing even closer against his. you speak softly, your voice gentle and reassuring.

"i’m not going anywhere," you murmur, your fingers carding through his hair. "i’m right here. i’m not leaving you."

his body visibly relaxes at your words, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. he lets out a shuddering sigh, his shoulders slumping as he buries his face in your neck once again.

he mumbles the words against your skin, "can... can i be selfish with you?" he whispers. "can i... can i just be selfish one more time? just... just tonight?"

you nod, your body still pressed tight against his as you murmur, "yes. it’s okay. we can be selfish. just... just for tonight."

he lets out a low, guttural groan at your words, his body shuddering against yours.

your mind swirled. was this really happening? were you really about to take this leap? his body pressed closer to you, the heat and firmness of him enveloping you as he gently held your face in his hands and brought your gaze to meet his. then, he drew you into another kiss, the soft, warm press of his lips against yours igniting sparks within you.

previous . . masterlist . . next

taglist @special4u @vampzity @jwone @devastateed @fantasy2wonderland @fixedonlove @kyeomooniee @e3ellie

#. . ᯓ . lover please stay ✦༉‧#ateez fic #jung wooyoung fic #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez writing #ateez au #ateez ff #jung wooyoung writing #jung wooyoung fanfic #jung wooyoung angst #jung wooyoung smut #jung wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung ateez #ateez jung wooyoung #jung wooyoung #ateez wooyoung

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godasfarasyoureconcerned · 8 months

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in s2e1 izzy and the whole crew are dressed in their blackbeard getup to crash the wedding of course, and then the crew goes to go chill out below deck while izzy goes up to talk with blackbeard. the crew discuss their troubles and coping mechanisms, while izzy gets called a lightweight and dismissed, and then the next time we see all of them again, the only person who has clearly put effort into cleaning off the blackbeard getup is izzy. the rest of the crew look like they’ve just been sitting in it and haven’t bothered to wash it off, while izzy’s hair is grey again and it looks like the kohl around his eyes is intentionally lessened. compare the amount of black still in fang’s beard— izzy clearly put more effort into washing it out

to me, this speaks to the kind of comfort a community provides. the crew sit and talk with each other, eat and discuss the ethics of their cake, discuss ways to cope with their trauma and just unwind in general. it’s not an incredibly safe space, as they’re on blackbeard’s ship, but he’s not there and they have the solace of each other. with this time together, they can tolerate a few more moments of their blackbeard outfits, can tolerate a few more minutes of blackbeard discussion without further breaking down

izzy also didn’t take off the kohl immediately, but rather than go below deck and chill out with the crew, he went up to talk with blackbeard. he didn’t get to sit back in their relative refuge, but rather subjected himself to potential pain for all of their sakes, to tell him that they’re looking a tad worse for wear, and was ultimately dismissed for his inability to keep up with ed. i commend him for his effort, even if it didn’t accomplish what he was aiming for. but the next time we see him, he’s cleaned off the blackbeard makeup. even if he were expressionless, the toll of the conversation is obvious on him. it made him uncomfortable enough he had to wipe his skin of it before trying to get back to his duties, before he had the chance to have a seat below deck with the rest of the crew

izzy likely doesn’t spend much time “chilling” with the crew, but likely much more time now than he does with ed. it’s clear to me that the crew had a reprieve from the onslaught of blackbeard, enough to make them comfy enough to sit with it a little bit more, while izzy was so physically uncomfortable with it he had to take it off. maybe that’s a personal thing, maybe the crew doesn’t have the access to water at that moment, whatever, but i choose to believe that if izzy had gone below deck to hang out with the crew, he wouldn’t have broken down crying in such a jarring way after he returned.

can see him going below deck and further listening to the crew’s gripes while they all eat cake and then discussing how he’s been pushing through all this time “we do what we must, it’s about surviving when you can’t thrive” type shit and then talking with him about how maybe he needs to step back. really think it would’ve emboldened him to act against ed sooner. not that it wasn’t much sooner, but i think if he had some community time in his safe space, he wouldn’t have had to wipe off all his blackbeard attire as soon as he did. he likely took it off because he was already subconsciously distancing himself from blackbeard after he didn’t have the same break that the crew got. clearly got a break long enough to take it off, but instead of talking with the crew, he sits and thinks in silence before trying to get them all back to work and breaking down. his lack of community, as it were, contributes to his inability to moderate his emotions

#this is reason 758368259391104 of why i love him btw #i love him so fucking much #ofmd s2 spoilers #crew of the revenge #izzy hands #edward teach #blackhands #ofmd #mine #our flag means death #izzy canyon

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girlactionfigure · 4 months

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My mom bought me these boots from Zara in Denver a few weeks back. She could feel me sinking into a pit of rage, grief, and hopelessness. So, she came to meet me in Denver and upon landing, took me to walk the mall “just to get out and move through it.” My mother, a miracle, born to a father who was the sole Holocaust survivor in his family, knows a thing or two about battling anger and grief at a world fixated on annihilating Jews and our spirits.

I've been intimately familiar with the horrors of October 7th since it happened. Like countless Jews, I've meticulously followed every gruesome detail of Hamas' well-planned and well-funded genocide attempt. Every despicable act of torture, rape, and murder – etched into my bones. On top of that, I follow daily the relentless onslaught of people and communities celebrating, erasing, and justifying the slaughter, while denying our right to defend ourselves. Watching old friends ‘like’ and share posts constantly which dehumanize Jews and lie about Israel, putting our lives further at risk. Contending with all of this over the past few months has been unbearable. Like many Jews, I'm haunted both awake and asleep.

I've been debilitated, struggling to cope with all of it. How do we carry on in a country where so many wish us dead? How do we thrive in a place that dismisses our pain and disregards our countless contributions to society? How do I contemplate having children in a place where their lives aren't valued? How can I coexist with so many people who, at best, couldn't care less about the brutal murders of over 1200, the kidnapping and daily ongoing torture of hundreds more for over 119 days, while the world cheers for the rest of us to be annihilated? How do I sleep at night when all I can think about are the looming threats to Israel and the Jewish people, the treatment of our hostages, and the insidious web of hatred that constantly engulfs our existence?

When my mom handed me these boots, I thought they might be fitting for Israel, but I didn't really dwell on it. I knew the journey would be grueling. And while I thought I already knew the gruesome details, walking through the aftermath is a different level of knowing. These boots tread through miles of hell – the remnants of homes ruthlessly attacked by a kind of evil I couldn't fathom existed. An evil that deliberately targeted communities of Israelis dedicated to peace, only to be met with beheadings, rape, burning alive, and slaughter.

These boots tread through miles of desolation – the aftermath of thousands of terrorists and hundreds of so-called "civilians" perpetrating unspeakable acts against over a thousand innocent, peace-loving people. These vile rapists and murderers were the beneficiaries for years of those they heartlessly slaughtered. They were acquainted with so many of these good people, the very people they mercilessly killed. Several of these compassionate Israelis had welcomed these terrorists into their homes for years, offered them work opportunities, and tirelessly tried to help them lead a better life.

These boots ventured through charred remains, blood-soaked grounds, and homes, bomb shelters, and once-beloved personal spaces and belongings torn apart, covered in bullet holes, reduced to pieces and char – all obliterated by hours of relentless assaults by terrorists armed with thousands of machine guns, fire bombs, and RPGs. Weapons funded, in part, by American and European taxpayers, whose leaders for years knowingly funneled billions into a terror operation whose sole objective is eradicating Israel and every Jew from the map before extending their genocidal ambitions westward.

After coming back from our third trip to the massacre sites in the south,

@JordynTilchen

insisted on me wiping these boots down before stepping into our rental, but the weight of what they carried was too immense. I couldn't erase the traces of blood and death that clung to them. Instead, I brought them home with me wrapped in several bags. These boots hold more than just grime; they carry the echoes of unspeakable atrocities and the silent cries of hundreds and hundreds of innocent lives ruthlessly tortured and taken.

I've decided to give them a burial here, to acknowledge the horrors they tread through, the shattered communities and homes they traversed, and to honor the remains of the once-beautiful lives torn from existence that cling to them. As I do this, I promise to honor not only those brutally murdered and taken hostage, but also those who are risking everything to defend the rest of us. I promise to continue to do my best to not be consumed by what feels like a tsunami of hopelessness, but to pick myself back up and channel this endless grief and anger into meaningful action and resilience.

Eden Cohen ✡︎ עדן כהן

@edencohentweets

#Israel #October7 #Hamas Massacre #Operation Sword of Iron #HamasislSIS #BringThemHomeNow #BringThemAllHomeNow #HamasKidnappers

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eretzyisrael · 5 months

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by Debbie Weiss

At least one-third of the 136 hostages still in the Hamas terror group’s custody in Gaza are at imminent risk of death, a disturbing report released on Tuesday found.

The report came a day after several former hostages, who were released during a temporary Israel-Hamas truce at the end of November, testified that those still in captivity in Gaza had been subjected to extreme forms of violence, including sexual assault at gunpoint and amputation.

“The testimonies from those who have been released reveal severe mental and physical abuse. This includes brutal sexual assault (men and women) mutilation, torture, starvation and dehydration, and a lack of medical care, with no access to Red Cross representatives. The worsening health of these hostages, both men and women, is alarming,” the report, released by the Hostages and Missing Persons Families Forum, stated.

The forum was established by families of the abductees who were kidnapped to Gaza during Hamas’ Oct. 7 onslaught across southern Israel, as well as by the families of people who went missing due to the attack.

A third of the hostages are suffering from chronic illnesses that need immediate treatment, including diabetes, Crohn’s disease, cancer, and heart and kidney disease. The hostages suffering from those diseases include young people — such as 22-year-old Omer Wenkert, who has ulcerative colitis, and 35-year-old Dolev Yehud, who suffers from kidney and thyroid diseases — and older people, Israeli Jews and Arabs alike.

A chilling testimony by Agam Goldstein-Almog, 17 — who was released after 51 days of captivity along with her mother, Chen, 49, and siblings, Gal, 11, and Tal, 9 — was screened at a rally in Tel Aviv.

“One day we moved from a house to a tunnel, suddenly a door opened, and we met six girls. We realized that there were girls who were alone. Many girls experienced severe sexual abuse, they are injured — very, very serious and complex injuries that are not being treated,” she said. “They dress their wounds themselves, or we helped them.”

In captivity in Gaza, “you live death,” she said.

“You don’t know when it will catch you and how it will look, if it will happen through torture or if they will just shoot you or even if it’ll be by the bombings from the air force,” she continued. “You’re always thinking about what death will look like.”

Goldstein-Almog’s mother, Chen, a social worker, said she saw some of the female hostages still being held in Gaza during her time there, and they had suffered weeks of isolation as well as sexual abuse.

“There were girls who spent 50 days and more alone. When they were sad, crying, their captors would stroke them and touch them. They described accounts of sexual abuse under gunpoint on a regular basis,” she said.

“Some of the girls were badly wounded and haven’t been getting proper medical care. Gunshot wounds, even lost limbs. They said they can cope with the disability but not with the manner they were constantly violated,” she added.

Chen Almog-Goldstein’s other daughter, Yam, 20, and husband Nadav were among the 1,200 people murdered by Hamas terrorists during their Oct. 7 massacre.

Eighteen-year-old Ofir Engel’s testimony, in which he described the pride with which he was shown off like a trophy, was also screened at the Tel Aviv rally.

“In Gaza we were immediately brought to a home, as if they were proud to show what they managed to catch,” said Engel, who was released after 54 days. “We were constantly told that we won’t return alive, that no one wants us in Israel, and that our families don’t care about us. Every day, they broke us a little more, and then a little more.”

Tuesday’s report, which was released to coincide with the three-month anniversary since Oct. 7, was accompanied by a letter from eight Nobel Prize laureates who urged the UN, Red Cross, and World Health Organization to advocate for the hostages’ release and to facilitate access to medical aid in the meantime.

Prof. Hagai Levine, head of the forum’s medical team, issued a stark warning: “All the hostages face immediate mortal danger. Some will not survive 100 days in captivity without proper care.”

A day earlier, Israeli media reported that the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) is aware of the exact whereabouts of Yahya Sinwar, Hamas’ chief in Gaza, but is refraining from carrying out a strike because the terror leader was surrounding himself with dozens of hostages as human shields.

#hostages #hamas #gaza #yahye sinwar

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altocat · 7 months

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I know we all know Genesis is the master of complaining. He is Howl's level of dramatic. "I am going to retreat to my chambers to DIE!!" When he has a slight head cold.

But Sephiroth? Sephiroth is the King of pouting. He can mope and huff like no one's buisness. While Genesis actually COMMUNICATES what's wrong in a ridiculous sort of way, getting Sephiroth to say whats wrong is like pulling teeth. He'll be curled up all gloomy on the couch and just not say anything no matter how much you prompt him. And he is going to whine and pout the whole time.

At least it's better then his violent outbursts?

Genesis vocally yowls and complains about the tragedies accosting him 24/7, throwing himself dramatically down on the couch, bringing up some easy tears, tumbling into his friends' laps because they simply MUST shower him with affection to prevent his untimely death by heartbreak. If anything, all he ever does is tell them EXACTLY what's wrong. So much so that both Angeal and Sephiroth are more than often secretly extremely amused and can't take him seriously.

Sephiroth, conversely, brings the entire room down with him whenever he's upset. There's him being grumpy, of course. That's typical. But when Sephiroth is moping around, the entire room is gray and miserable. He wants to be left alone but the universe insists on putting him out in the open where he can ruin everyone's day. All by just standing there looking sad and detached.

Rare alternative circumstances for both:

Genesis ACTUALLY being legitimately upset and depressed in which he mostly just curls up into a pathetic nonverbal ball and just lays there motionless for days on end. This is actually treated with concern from both his friends as it means that Genesis really IS in a bad way. He does this in extreme cases, crying softly under the blankets, avoiding everyone, just sort of not functioning or taking care of himself at all.

Sephiroth actually communicating exactly what's wrong...by exploding. Terrifying fits of blind rage and aggression that frightens everyone around him. Smashes the wall with his fist, hits something with the Masamune. Just a complete onslaught of boiling, unyielding anger and frustration that borders on demonic. He thankfully never lashed out against people. Or, at least, anyone except for Hojo. Angeal warns Sephiroth that he's gotta stop bottling things up. His temper is dangerous and he could really hurt someone someday if he doesn't learn how to cope properly.

Turns out Angeal...was right.

#asks #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #sephcanons #sephiroth #angeal hewley #genesis rhapsodos

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theephemeralflow · 1 year

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some thoughts about the ending of land of the lustrous and why I think it’s good

Spoilers ahead for Land of the Lustrous/Houseki no Kuni up to Chapter 100 (as of now that is the most recent chapter) and also (potentially) long post ahead (idk i haven’t written it yet)

A take i see often is “Phos shouldn’t have prayed for the Lunarians, fuck all of them” you know that kinda bitter revenge move, but I don’t think that while that’s the most cathartic (at least for the audience) move Phos could’ve made, I don’t think that it would’ve been the right one, and one that makes sense for HnK. HnK has never been a revenge story, it’s been a story about cycles and change. The three species have all had their own twisted form of humanity, echoing some of it’s worst aspects. The admirabilis willingly gave up their criminals to the lunarians, leaving them to whatever fate would befall them upon the moon. The Lunarians started an endless war. The Lustrous are the furthest from human of the three, immortal rocks, and not as in the immortal remnants of a soul. They would have no reason to even pack bond, to even talk to one another, it is only through Kongo’s influence that they developed as they did, he gave them eyes to see and a human’s education. The threat of the lunarians, plus the influence of a machine built by humans is what developed the Lustrous society and Culture, and we all know how well that is. In Lustrous society, what you are at birth decides what you’ll be forever. The strong will remain at the top, the weak will be left at the bottom, and this is how it must be to survive the onslaught that is the endless war the Lunarians wage. They are naturally unchanging, and of course they are they’re rocks, an inorganic material brought to life, now forced to fight for their lives. They don’t cope well, and how could they when their only fate is to learn and fight and lose, the legacy of humans screwing them over well past the point they were even relevant, but it’s okay, you may lose the battle but the war will never end, because new lustrous will be born and the cycle will continue. You are fighting for a future that is the same as the present but with different actors. And this can’t foster unconditional love, because you can only ever be what you started out as. If you were born weak you are looked down upon, you are dead weight, and you can never change. the only source of love you will get is from Kongo, but that won’t change the fact that you are unloved as a whole by the rest of your brethren. But Phos, might just be the best the lustrous could have hoped for, because they’re empathetic when they don’t have to be, to Cinnabar to Ventricosus. They want things to change for the better. And by the end of the story, when they are once again at the beginning, that has not changed. Phos has both changed immensely and not changed at all. “At last we understand eachother” and empathy: “ the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.” Phos has been once described by Aechmea as having nothing which made Phos the perfect candidate for a human, but if Phos had still been feeling the most human emotion, revenge, then they wouldn’t have prayed them away. The final prayer isn’t about revenge or forgiveness. It’s not about Phos forgiving everyone it’s about an act of empathy for themselves, Phos has never known what they’ve wanted to do besides being “useful” but now they know. Phos’s own desire for nothingness as well, in the beginning they had their own form of nothingness through the lack of bonds, and through this act they can go back to that state. And so they burn the bridge the professor told them to by praying. And the old cycle is ended, all the misery it brought has ended, and now something new can start, it’s the Beginning again and Phos is at that same starting point. And it thrives, new life comes and goes and it is content, Phos meets a rock less capable they were in their first form but this rock is content, and this simplicity, has been what Phos has been missing, the ability to just exist as you are and find happiness in that. If you don’t first love yourself as you are how can you take any other’s love as it is, especially when that love is conditional. And what if Phos hadn’t prayed? What then? Nothing changes, everything stays the same, old wounds fester and hurt remains. Kongo couldn’t pray because he loved like a human, Phos couldn’t pray because they hated like a human. Revenge isn’t the ultimate form of self love, and letting go isn’t the same as forgiving those who hurt you, I think the ultimate form of self love is knowing when to let go of grief, of hurt, not to excuse others, but to give yourself space to change for the better and for yourself. We the audience wanted Phos to not pray, we wanted revenge for Phos, because we are human because we feel revenge and empathy and it’s amazing that those two emotions are the catalyst for such changes within HnK, but it makes sense. It’s an ending that reminds me of a burnt down forest, everything is gone, burnt to ashes, but that doesn’t mean new things can grow. Everything happened, but it’s okay now. Phos has new connections and they have themselves. They are loved for being themselves, not for what they can provide. And I think that’s the best ending for a story filled with self loathing and hate.

#land of the lustrous #land of the lustrous spoilers #houseki no kuni #houseki no kuni spoilers #lotl spoilers #lotl #hnk #hnk spoilers #flowsis

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abandonedpie · 1 year

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The Sleepless Wake - Ending Summary + Bonus Content

Title: The Sleepless Wake

Series: Part 2 of 2 of The Breathing Dead

Words: 42,221

Rating: T

Fandom: Momma CQ

Summary: Fresh struggles to cope with his brother’s death and the onslaught of emotions it gave rise to.

Content warnings can be found in the tags.

[Part 1: The Endless Sleep] Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

[Part 2] Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Ending Summary

It’s been 84 several years. As you may know, I started writing this summary ages ago, when I reached the decision to officially let go of TSW and give it a proper send-off. Things happened and my motivation strayed, but I am now done writing out the plans I had for the final chapters, so all of you can see the end of Fresh’s nightmare of a journey.

I’ll start by sharing the 5.4k words I wrote of Chapter 5 before the story was discontinued, and then a summary (with commentary) based on what I remember and made notes for. To be clear, I don’t love all these ideas and scenes—I’d reconsider and change some things if I did want to turn them into full-fledged chapters—but these are the events as I originally wrote and planned them, unless otherwise noted.

Disclaimer: Despite the limited research I did on psychiatric wards and other subjects, I don’t expect all of this to accurately reflect the way things work in reality. I could have spent more time digging deeper into that research, but...this is a fanfic... I may take my writing seriously, but in the end, having fun and writing the story the way I want comes first, which sometimes means allowing for inaccuracy.

Anyway, at the end of this, I have a few extra TBD-related things to share.

Without further ado, I present the ending of The Sleepless Wake.

The psychiatrist, Dr. Henriksen, looked up from his notepad and began asking a series of routine questions.

“Do you feel like hurting yourself?”

Fresh answered with silence. He had struggled enough giving a choppy account of what had brought him here and his own psychiatric history (or lack thereof). This question had a much simpler answer, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit how far he had fallen, that he wanted to die. Not that it made much difference; he knew his silence said plenty, and it wouldn’t take Dr. Henriksen long to gather more information from Fresh’s doctor and CQ if needed. Still, Fresh needed to try harder. He had finally figured out what to do…right? This had felt like the right direction at first, but he couldn’t see where it headed, how he could make it that far, or if there was even an end in the first place. He still felt lost, adrift in the middle of the sea with no land in sight; but at least now, ever since he opened up to CQ and Asy, he felt himself moving again. He felt a current carrying him somewhere. In a way, it was even scarier than staying still.

Eyelights full of patience and understanding, Dr. Henriksen tried a few more questions with little success before moving on.

“I’ll need some time to determine which medications to start you on. In the meantime, you’ll have group meetings every weekday. I’d like you to attend them all and participate as much as possible, okay? Now, there are two goals you need to meet before we can discharge you. First, you need to complete detox, which should take about a week. But that’s just the first step. Addiction usually requires long-term treatment. To help prevent relapse, you’ll need to follow up with counseling and therapy, which we can get you started on while you’re here. Our second goal is to improve your mental state to where you’re no longer at immediate risk of hurting yourself.”

Until now, despite Asy’s mentions of therapists and medication, Fresh had somehow never connected what he was going through to mental illness. Was this not just how emotions felt? Wasn’t it only this bad because he wasn’t used to them, because he was weak and stupid and kept making things worse and worse for himself? That was just it, though. Emotions had roots in psychological and physiological mechanisms that his body had functioned without until recently. That abnormality was what had made him “sick,” but gaining emotions didn’t make him suddenly healthy. His soul couldn’t process them normally after fourteen years without them. This condition could, debatably, be classified as a mental illness, but because it was so unique, there was no precedent for treating it. Yet here he was in a psych ward for people with anxiety, depression, and other disorders.

Here he was in a psych ward. Him of all people, in a psych ward, in a wheelchair and a cast for the foot he had mutilated himself.

It felt unreal. Wrong. He felt wrong, like he was trapped in someone else’s skull, looking out of a stranger’s eye socket.

How had this happened? How had he become…this? Who was he anymore? What was he? CQ had said he was still in there, but Fresh didn’t see it at all. His old self had disappeared. Good riddance, he had thought. He hated that freak. But…something important had vanished with him. Something more. He wanted it back.

Dr. Henriksen finished talking to him, and a psych tech brought Fresh to his room, which had two beds. His roommate was a rat Metazoan named Emilio, who seemed far too cheerful and healthy to be there. He chatted to Fresh with little pause, going on about life in the psych ward and mentioning his plan to leave soon since he was feeling better. He didn’t pry about Fresh’s reason for admittance or how he got hurt; in fact, he seemed unbothered that Fresh hadn’t said more than a few words to him. Fresh knew it was rude to ignore him, but he was having trouble focusing on anything aside from the part of him he had lost.

Soon, the tech brought him to the small cafeteria to eat lunch with the other patients. She sat next to him, not only watching to make sure he ate, but taking notes on a clipboard as well. Fresh already hadn’t been hungry, and this didn’t exactly make him more inclined to eat. He ate anyway, trying to distract himself from the tech and his suicidal thoughts by assessing the patients he would be sharing this space with. Most of them, like Emilio, seemed to be of sound mind, but at least a few made Fresh feel less alone.

There was a girl with long, scraggly hair who seemed to be eating on autopilot, her face gaunt and her eyes glazed over. One guy sat fiddling with his plastic fork, shoulders and eyelids drooping. He spotted Fresh watching him, tensed up, and glared, even after Fresh looked away. Among a group of girls, one wiped at her eyes, quietly sobbing that she felt fat and couldn’t eat any more. She was the skinniest girl at the table, and her tray looked almost untouched.

The food tasted better than Fresh had expected, but it wasn’t long before he started feeling sick. The tech had warned him he would lose points for not eating; in other words, he might have to stay in the psych ward longer. Fresh wondered if they were literally on some sort of point system, but he decided that didn’t matter. His family would want him to eat well and be released as soon as possible. The nausea wasn’t too bad. He could handle this much food, so bit by bit, he choked down the rest. The only thing he wanted in his mouth for the rest of the day was his pills.

After lunch, nurses took all the patients’ vital signs and weighed them. Shortly after that, they had to go to their rooms. They were allowed to nap or do any other quiet activity for an hour. Emilio worked on a crossword puzzle. Fresh lay in bed, trying to sleep, but he knew he wouldn’t have managed to even if it weren’t for the scratching of his roommate’s pencil, his occasional whispers to himself, and the tech who checked in on them through the Plexiglas window on their door every fifteen minutes. Only painkillers could help him sleep. Quiet time finally ended, too soon.

The patients gathered for art therapy. From the moment it started, all Fresh could think about was Ink. How he might be doing. What Fresh had said to him. How he couldn’t take it all back, that Ink would never forgive him, that Fresh didn’t deserve forgiveness, he deserved to lose his friend, it wasn’t Ink’s fault, it was Fresh’s and it should’ve been him who died, not Ink not Error not Error—

Someone had wheeled him out of the room, into an empty one. She sat in a chair close to him, reminding him to take deep breaths and reassuring him that it would be okay. By the time he calmed down, his face was drenched in tears and sweat, and the art therapy session was almost over.

“Do you want to talk about what you’re feeling?” the tech asked. Fresh shook his head. “It’s important to address these things.”

For a couple of minutes, she tried to gently persuade him to talk, but all he did was sit in guilty silence, unable to get the words out.

He joined the other patients for an educational meeting about mental illness. While the woman leading the group spoke, he twiddled with the hem of his teal T-shirt. It and his pair of dull blue pants were among the clothes he had asked CQ to buy…was it only two days ago? It wasn’t as nice a change as he had imagined, wearing clothes that weren’t so bright. He felt less gross (that might have been because these clothes were clean), but without even one of his hats or pairs of sunglasses, they also made him feel fake, like he had betrayed a part of himself. This plain look wasn’t for him—his old self or the new. But the nineties neon look wasn’t for him anymore either. So what was? What did he even like? Who was he anymore? What was he? Nothing. Just a filthy parasite, taking up people’s time and energy and offering nothing in return. The world would be better off without him in it.

By the end of the meeting, he had forgotten what little information he had heard. He cursed himself the whole way to the day room. He had to start taking this seriously. Stop spacing out. Did he want to get better for Geno or not? Pull yourself together. God, it was hard. He was so tired… No, stop whining. Stop making excuses. He wasn’t even trying. He wanted to give up without trying. Lazy, selfish piece of trash.

On an intellectual level, he knew inadequate sleep impaired concentration and memory. He knew his mind wasn’t clear enough for sound judgment. He knew none of this was entirely his fault. But that didn’t change how he felt. His emotions had taken control over him, changed him, and left him weak. How was he supposed to fight something like that?

He was nearly in tears again as visiting hour arrived. CQ and Asy came in with a few other visitors, and they gathered in the day room with the patients. No privacy. They greeted each other, but Fresh didn’t return his mother’s hug.

“How is it here?” she asked as they sat down. Fresh shrugged. He’d rather be at home, or better yet with Geno, but complaining wouldn’t do him any good.

“Has anyone talked with you yet?” asked Asy. “A therapist, or…?”

Fresh gazed at his hospital wristband, not meeting their eyes. All they had asked of him was to try. He kept disappointing them, worrying them. He wished they wouldn’t worry so much. He knew how exhausting it could be, and it kept showing more and more clearly on their faces. Didn’t they have more important things to think about? That reminded him.

“Why ya even here? Uncle Asy.” He looked taken aback. “Ma said ya friend’s in a bad spot. It’s Book, right? Ya didn’t mention who ’cause I might worry? I don’t know him dat well, but…he’s important ta ya. Don’t ya need ta be there for him? Or is he better now?”

Asy’s hands clenched slightly.

“He’s doing all right.”

Fresh watched Asy’s face. His eyelights shifted, and Fresh’s body tensed. He felt sick again.

“No he’s not. Did he relapse?”

“He…”

“Forget it, I don’t need da details!” Fresh took a breath and lowered his voice. “What are ya doin’ here? Ya don’t need ta worry ’bout me. He needs ya more right now.”

CQ looked at Asy, worry knitting her brow. Asy hesitated.

“It’s fine. Star’s with him… And Fresh, you’re important to me too. I can’t visit whenever I want, so I have to come when I can.”

“Ya don’t…”

“I want to.”

Fresh watched them for a moment longer.

“How long has it been since ya set aside some time for yaselves? Forget about me. Dey lookin’ after me here. Ya need ta look after you.”

“Ah…”

They smiled slightly.

“You’re right,” said CQ. “I’ve been trying to take breaks here and there, but… I could use some proper rest.”

Fresh gave her a stern nod. Asy chuckled.

“Scolding your mother and uncle… Okay, we’ll look after ourselves, and you do the same. But we’re still going to visit. Spending time with family is good for us.”

“…Deal.”

CQ’s face glowed through her exhaustion. “Thank you, Fresh.”

His own face grew warm.

“Ah—it’s, it’s nothin’.”

“It’s not nothing,” said Asy. “You’re looking out for us. That’s your kindness showing.”

“Huh? No, I just, there’s no sense in puttin’ so much time an’ energy inta other people dat ya forget ta take care of yaselves.”

“Are you still trying to deny it? Don’t be so quick to downplay your own goodness.”

His face grew hotter. Okay, maybe kindness was a part of it, but this was also an ungrateful rejection of their own kindness.

“I’m just…” …not worth it.

He felt sure that it hurt to hear him say things like that, but they already knew how he felt about himself, and he wanted to practice opening up more. Maybe they could keep pushing him in the right direction. He needed their help…but wouldn’t it stress them out more to keep fighting his battle?

“Ya said…dat helpin’ me lightens ya load. But, ya both been tryin’ so hard for me, and, ya look exhausted…” He rubbed his eyes. He was no better. “I don’t want ya ta help me if it’s gonna do dis to ya.”

“We’re not exhausted from helping you,” said CQ.

“But…it’s still ’cause of me, isn’t it? ’Cause it hurts ta see me like dis?” The tears were back. “W-wouldn’t it be easier, if ya didn’t care?”

“Fresh… Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to stop loving you.”

He was trying hard not to break down in front of all these people. He could already hear their own conversations getting quieter, but not wanting to check if anyone was watching, he kept rubbing his eyes.

“Why? Why would ya do dis ta yourselves? I’m not worth it…”

“You are worth it,” said Asy.

He knew he couldn’t change their minds. The only way to help them was to get better, to stop giving them reason to worry. But to get better, he needed to let them help, and that meant sharing his pain, the parts of him it hurt them to see. Could he really not get better on his own? But…he didn’t have to. He was in this psych ward for a reason.

“Da people here are gonna help me get better, so ya don’t have ta try so hard anymore. Ya don’t have ta visit every day. If ya just wanna see me now and then, fine… But don’t worry about me. Please, just, take care of yourselves. I can’t watch ya hurt yourselves for me. I…I love you.”

CQ stood up and hugged him. This time, he hugged her back.

“We love you too. That’s why we have to help take care of each other.”

“Y-ya don’t… Ya don’t have ta fight my battle…”

“It’s not your battle. It’s our battle. We’re fighting to get better together.”

He squeezed her, still trying to steady his breathing, even as it kept getting harder.

“It’s okay,” said CQ. “We’ll take care of ourselves and trust them to help you. But try not to worry about us too much, either. If you ever want to talk to us, we’d rather you talk than keep it to yourself. Being able to help you, even just by listening, will make us happy. Okay?”

“…Okay.”

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

His mouth twitched into a smile. Asy stepped up behind CQ.

“All right, move over. It’s my turn to hug him!”

Fresh gave a shaky laugh, and CQ stepped aside. Asy wrapped his arms around Fresh, nearly lifting him out of his wheelchair. This was the lightest his soul had felt all day. The lightest it had felt since overdosing, actually. He tried to hold on to the feeling, but as Asy let him go and they sat back down, he already felt his soul growing heavy again. He fixed his smile in place and wiped away his tears. They were quiet for a moment.

“Is there anything else you need?” asked CQ. “Anything you’d like me to bring over next time?”

“Nah. Just a well-rested mom and uncle.”

“Of course. Maybe we can bring some kind of game to play together? We don’t have to talk the whole visit. It’d be nice to just do something fun and relaxing.”

“Yeah.”

He lowered his smile. It wasn’t working. There was something he needed to ask, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Ma?”

“What is it?”

He squeezed his own arm.

“…Do ya know how Ink’s doing?”

They fell silent again. Fresh drew a shuddering breath. He had just stopped crying, too.

“Could ya find out, if he’d be willin’ ta visit? I need to apologize…”

“I’ll ask him.”

Fresh nodded.

“Hey…” He looked up at her. “I’m sure he’ll understand you didn’t mean it, and that he’ll forgive you.”

Fresh knew she was just trying to calm him. It didn’t help, and neither did the next few minutes of reassurance. For the rest of the visit, Fresh sat sniffling while CQ and Asy tried to distract him with other topics. They stayed until the last second of visiting hour. After more hugs and a subdued goodbye, it was time for supper.

Fresh managed to eat only a little before stopping. There was no point in forcing himself if he was only going to throw everything back up. When had this become such a big problem? The tech was watching him again, so he explained how sick he felt. She assured him she would let his psychiatrist know.

He spent the evening in his room, refusing to leave for music therapy. It would stir up too many painful memories. Even from this distance, though, he faintly heard music, singing, and occasional applause. He lay in bed and tried not to think of Error and his violin. He tried not to remember the times he had sat in his room, listening to Error play it two doors down the hall from him and clapping when he finished. He tried not to remember how happy it had seemed to make him, or how little he had played it since the night Fresh suggested he let go of Geno.

Emilio walked in only half an hour after Fresh stopped crying.

“Hey Fresh! Dude, that was a really good session, you should’ve come!”

His grin faded. Fresh looked away.

“Eh, it’s fine. Maybe you’ll feel up to it next time.” Emilio plopped himself down on his bed with a yawn. “So how was your first day here?”

Fresh didn’t feel like answering that, but Emilio went on as though he had.

“You’ll get used to it soon enough. It gets pretty boring sometimes, but the people are nice. Well, actually, you should watch out for Jakob. And by watch out, I mean don’t watch him. He hates people looking at him. I think he hates me too. He keeps giving me these dirty looks!”

Emilio chuckled. Fresh didn’t get what was funny about that, but then again, nothing seemed funny when he was thinking about dying.

“Anyway, yeah, it’s not so bad here. My favorite part is music therapy. Especially when I get to play the piano. Though most people look forward to visiting hours…” This all sounded familiar. Fresh couldn’t quite recall, but he thought Emilio had said these things earlier, too. “…saw you with your parents. They seem really supportive.”

Fresh blinked and looked over.

“Ah, he’s not my… Dat was my mom and uncle… He’s not really my uncle, but…”

He trailed off, not sure why he was explaining. It didn’t really matter.

“Oh, cool! So, what about your dad?”

“Never had one.”

“Really? Oh, sorry if I’m getting too personal.”

“It’s fine, ya not…”

“So your mom’s raising you herself? Cool. Gotta respect that. My mom’s been raising me alone too since my dad finally went to jail.”

Silence punched a hole in the conversation. Emilio’s tail twitched.

“Sorry, I just made things awkward, didn’t I?”

He scratched his head, looking away. Fresh tried to think of something to say.

“What’s your dad in jail for?”

“Haha, you don’t wanna know.”

Emilio fidgeted for a moment before getting out a journal and letting the conversation die. Fresh stared at the ceiling, wondering if he had gotten too personal or if he was just that bad a conversation partner in this state.

Mandatory bedtime was at ten o’clock. A tech continued checking on them every fifteen minutes, just as they had all day. Fresh closed his eyes and tried to stop thinking. His head ached. They had already started tapering the dose of his new painkiller, which didn’t work as well as his old meds in the first place. It wasn’t enough. He still felt sick. His back hurt. He couldn’t even shift into a more comfortable position because his foot ached worse than anything, and he didn’t dare move it. All of this would go away if he died.

A breathy noise distracted him. Emilio was crying. A sinking weight fell through Fresh’s chest. Emilio had seemed to be in such a good mood before talking with Fresh. This was his fault, wasn’t it? No, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe something else was going on. Maybe Emilio hadn’t been as happy as he had appeared.

Fresh only got what felt like a few minutes of sleep, on and off throughout the night. In the morning, Emilio didn’t speak or even look at him. The tech who handed out their morning meds gave Fresh a new medicine alongside his painkiller, but he still felt sick afterwards, and he nearly threw up his breakfast from all the nausea and guilt. He wanted to sit out the first meeting of the day, but he had already lost points for skipping the evening meetings, so he joined the other patients.

The group leader had them all introduce themselves to Fresh and share why they were there. As Fresh had expected, several of them had been admitted for depression or anxiety. A few had eating disorders, two were bipolar, one was a recovering addict, and one had admitted herself for having the urge to kill her ex-BFF. Jakob, who Fresh recognized as the guy who had glared at him at lunch the day before, kept his head down and his mouth shut when his turn came. He seemed especially tense. Fresh tried not to look at him.

When Emilio shared that this was his third time admitting himself for thoughts of self-harm and suicide, Fresh felt numb. Lightheaded. He was trembling, sweating. The group leader asked if he was all right, but Fresh felt so far away.

He was slumped over, head on his knees. Someone helped sit him up. Before he knew it, they were bringing him out of the room. What was happening?

A nurse looked him over and checked his vitals. His head ached, and his whole body felt heavy. He felt sure he would throw up any minute. The nurse handed him a cup of water, which he drank obediently. Soon, they brought him to the room where Dr. Henriksen sat waiting.

“How are you feeling, Fresh?”

He looked concerned. Fresh kept his arms wrapped around his middle.

“…Sick.”

Right on cue, he gagged. Dr. Henriksen snatched up the trash can by his desk and held it under Fresh’s mouth, just in time to catch his vomit. Fresh gripped the trash can and spewed up a bit more. Dr. Henriksen gave him a moment to catch his breath, then offered him a water bottle. Fresh rinsed out his mouth.

“And now?” asked Dr. Henriksen. “A little better?”

“Yeah…”

He took the bottle and trash can back from Fresh.

“When did you start feeling sick?”

He got out his notepad and pen, and Fresh tried to think.

“After I got here yesterday…? Maybe before… But it gets worse…every time I try ta eat…”

“Did the medication you took before breakfast help at all?”

“No.”

Dr. Henriksen jotted something down.

“Okay, we may need to increase the dosage. Did you experience any dizziness or lightheadedness before this morning?”

“No…”

“How were you feeling emotionally before you passed out?”

Fresh lowered his head. Dr. Henriksen waited a moment.

“Did something happen?” The guilt had sealed his voice in again. “We need to address your emotions, especially when they start impacting your health like this. They’re just as important to talk about as physical symptoms. If you keep them to yourself, they could get worse and cause more problems.”

He knew that, but emotions were a lot harder to talk about. He needed to try. For Geno.

“I…was talkin’ with my roommate last night, and I think…I might’ve asked something I shouldn’t have… I think I really upset him, I dunno, maybe it wasn’t me, maybe it’s not my fault, but…”

“Have you asked him about it?”

Fresh glanced up. “No…”

“It is possible something else upset him. But if it was something you said, apologizing can go a long way.”

“I know…”

“Then, are you going to talk to him?”

“…I’ll try.”

Dr. Henriksen smiled.

“Good. Now… Aside from this and the nausea, have you been experiencing any other problems?”

“It hurts…”

“What hurts?”

“My head…and my foot.” He shut his eyes. “I’m so tired…”

“How are you sleeping?”

“I didn’t.”

The pen continued scratching on paper.

“Anything else?”

I want to die.

Fresh shook his head.

“How have you been doing emotionally?”

His body had grown stiff. Keep trying.

“Bad.”

“Do you feel like hurting yourself?”

Deep breath in, out.

“I…”

Dr. Henriksen waited patiently. Fresh squeezed his arm. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t…

“I want it to stop. But I don’t—want to hurt myself—I want…to get better.”

He pressed his hands to his eyes, teeth clenching.

“It’s okay to cry,” said Dr. Henriksen. “Crying is a release of emotion and stress. Suppressing your tears is unhealthy.”

He was just so sick of needing to cry as often as he did.

“It’s good that you want to get better. We’re here to help you do just that. For now, I’d like you to take it easy. I’ll have them give you something for the pain. If you still feel nauseous by lunchtime, let them know. Eat what you can. If you feel well enough later, join the others for group, okay? And if by then there’s no improvement, or if any of your symptoms worsen, please tell someone.”

“Okay.”

He lowered his hands. Dr. Henriksen was watching him.

“Lastly… Could you tell me what happened in art therapy yesterday?”

Fresh didn’t answer. He saw only one possible solution to that problem, and it rested entirely on Ink.

With the new meds reducing his pain and nausea, and the fog in his mind smothering his thoughts, he managed to take a nap after lunch. A tech woke him just before visiting hour. She kept talking to stop him from going back to sleep, then helped him into his wheelchair. He wheeled himself to the day room and found the visitors already there. His eye snapped to the spot they had sat the day before, scanning to see who had come.

Just CQ and Asy.

Soul growing heavier, he approached.

“Hey. How are you?” asked CQ. Their faces told him they had heard what happened.

“I’m feelin’ better…” He gripped his own hand, keeping his head down. “What did Ink say?”

They paused.

“He didn’t say much,” said CQ. “But he wanted us to give you this.”

She pulled a card out of her purse. Full of uncertainty, she handed it to Fresh. It was completely blank except for three words in Ink’s handwriting:

Get well soon

There wasn’t even a signature.

Fresh stared at it for a while, a strange heat rising in his chest. He didn’t quite understand what this meant, but one thing was clear. Ink didn’t want to see him.

With this card sucking out the little energy he’d had, he tried to brush it aside and turn his focus to the board game they had brought along. CQ and Asy went along with the topic change, but for the rest of the hour, Fresh couldn’t concentrate enough to play properly or even remember much of what they said to him.

Still having no appetite, he ate supper and returned to his bed. Emilio came in a few minutes later.

“Hey. You okay man?”

Fresh didn’t move. Talking seemed too difficult right now. Maybe it could wait.

“Sorry… Was this because of me? You started looking really sick after I spoke this morning. Was that just, weird timing, or…”

“…What?”

“Uh, what do you mean what?”

With great effort, Fresh turned his head to look at him. Emilio was sitting on his bed, looking confused and worried.

“No,” said Fresh. “Why are you apologizing…? Last night, I… You were doin’ so well till I talked ta ya. I shouldn’t have asked about your dad…”

Emilio’s frown deepened.

“Huh? No! I’m the one who brought him up… I thought I was getting better at talking about it, but… Dude, you didn’t do anything wrong?”

“But…dis morning…”

Emilio paused. “Did you think I was mad at you? Oh my god, no. I’m sorry, I’m the worst at mornings, I’m basically a zombie for a good half hour—and I thought you were mad at me? I know I can be a bit of a chatterbox; sometimes people get annoyed. But you’re not?”

“No…”

Emilio laughed.

“Wow, looks like we were both worried for nothing… Guess I still need to work on communicating my feelings.”

Fresh grimaced. He needed to work on that a lot more than Emilio did. If he had apologized sooner, this wouldn’t have gotten so bad. At least Emilio didn’t seem upset with him.

“Hey, you coming to music therapy tonight?”

If he was going to hear the music and probably cry either way, he’d rather do it in the near-privacy of this room, but he hadn’t been to a meeting since that morning, so he forced himself to go. The music therapist started by going around the circle, asking each of them how they were doing (Fresh answered with a shrug). He then passed around some small percussion instruments and invited everyone to sing or play along as he strummed a tune on his guitar. Several people sang with him, some shook their instruments, but a few, like Fresh, only listened.

Fresh hadn’t listened to music properly since Error’s death. There had been music in the movies he tried to watch, of course, but he had never been focused enough to appreciate it. It had never struck him in the soul like this. Something about the song, about being in this room with all these people singing and making music together, drew out not just memories, but raw emotion. The song wasn’t even sad, in fact it was rather upbeat, but within a minute he was weeping. The therapist was kind enough not to draw attention to him.

After an exercise in improvisation and a brief discussion about emotion in music, the therapist had them all sit back and listen while he played a peaceful tune. At the end, he asked how they were now. Judging by the others’ answers, Fresh wasn’t the only one who felt more relaxed.

Emilio joined him on the way to the closure group.

“Pretty good, huh? Hey, if you like listening to music, uh… Well, I have permission to play the piano in there whenever we have free time, and some of the others like to come and listen to me play. We have a really good time. You’re welcome to join us, if you want. I’m gonna play a little after night meds are passed out.”

“Ah… Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

He did think about it, and after listening to everyone review their success or failure to meet the daily goals they had set that morning, he decided it should be good for him to spend more time with them instead of hiding out in his room. These people were dealing with problems and trying to get better, just like him. He needed the reminder that he wasn’t as alone as he felt, and isolating himself made that feeling worse. So even though he’d rather sleep, he returned to the music room where a few others already sat, some of them talking with Emilio. He smiled at Fresh and waved.

It turned out Emilio not only loved playing piano, he was really, really good at it. With his first note, the ache in Fresh’s soul sank deeper. Emilio didn’t just play the piano; he played Fresh’s emotions. He spun a story out of sound and drew Fresh’s soul along for the ride:

This is as far as I got. Yes, I stopped in the middle of a sentence, trying to figure out how to describe this experience where Fresh resonates with the emotions in his roommate’s music, forming a kind of empathetic connection between their struggles. From this point on, I think Fresh begins to get out of his own head a little more, indeed feeling a bit less alone as he spends time with and gets to know some of the other patients. He also develops a deeper appreciation for music, though that makes it hurt more to think of Error and his violin.

Soon, someone new is admitted to the ward: Decans. I can’t remember any definite ideas I had regarding the circumstances for his admittance (maybe I was still working them out), but in the alternate universe this story takes place in, where he and Fresh never met as children, suffice to say that Decans is not doing well. Incidentally, he was going to have his arm in a sling, and Fresh was going to feel like he’d seen Decans somewhere before... Which he did, back during his first visit with Geno after the stairs incident, while he was looking out the hospital window. I wondered if anyone would re-read that scene and realize it was Decans, but now I’m not even sure it makes sense timeline-wise for his arm to be in a sling for that long.

Anyway, he recognizes Fresh as his neighbor, and when they end up talking, Decans reveals that he was the one who called the police the day of Fresh’s fight with Ink; he admits to having seen and heard some of what had been going on lately next door, what with being stuck in his house most of the time due to his condition. He had gotten a really bad feeling when he heard the two fight and saw Ink flee the house, seemingly injured, yet Decans almost talked himself out of calling the police.

Whether he says so here, later, or not at all, I believe a huge contributing factor to him making the call was his memory of the night Error attacked Fresh—all the crashing when Error destroyed his room, seeing through his window when Fresh was taken to the hospital, and then all the sights and sounds he pieced together to realize someone next door had died. What with all the things going on in that house lately, even just as they were observed from the outside... Catching glimpses of his neighbor in such a bad state (and perhaps seeing some of his own bad state reflected back at him), Decans didn’t want to dismiss this last incident as nothing to interfere in. So he called the police, just in case.

Fresh struggles with some mixed feelings, but ultimately thanks Decans for making the call that saved his life.

After learning of Decans’ condition, Fresh is initially anxious he’ll accidentally hurt him, but as the days go by, they talk more and start spending more of their free time together. Fresh continues to struggle with his cravings, sleep, emotions and identity. Yet his detox proceeds more smoothly, and with the help of Decans and his other new friends, he comes to see that he still likes his old nineties style beneath all the self-hatred and his understanding of Error’s hatred toward everything he was—that the problem isn’t his style, but himself, and his old clothes won’t feel right again unless he can make peace with himself.

Now this is a new line of thought, not part of my original plans, but I like it: Fresh feels undeserving of how nice these people are to him, and for a while, he doesn’t know whether to accept their kindness based on a lack of true understanding or to tell them everything he’s done and thus lose their friendship. Finally, he decides he doesn’t want to lie or be fake or hide the truth of his ugliness. He wants to be open and real, not the person who put on a smile or a facade, who Error had hated. In private and/or during group therapy, perhaps taking multiple attempts because of how hard it is to talk about, he recounts his experiences to the other patients. And they praise his courage in opening up. Decans, Emilio, and at least a few others offer him understanding, forgiveness, and their continued support. Cue another flood of mixed feelings within Fresh, that take him some time to sort through.

The days go by, with no word from Ink. I severely miscalculated how many chapters this would take. One night, a sound wakes Fresh up. A figure stands over the other bed, suffocating Emilio with his pillow. Fresh panics and tries to call for help, but his voice won’t come out. Emilio claws at the figure, Jakob, legs kicking feebly, slowing down. Fresh tumbles out of bed, scrambles over despite his injured foot, and fights to drag Jakob back. He manages to pull the pillow off Emilio’s face for but a second, moments before a couple of psych techs burst in and restrain Jakob.

I don’t know Jakob’s motive or what brought him to the psych ward, and I don’t think either was going to be mentioned, but I can say he has personal issues and reasons for trying to kill Emilio, and I never wanted it to come across as a case of Insane Equals Violent. As to how he got into the room without being caught...I hadn't figured that out yet either I guess. I was making most of the story up as I went along. Now that I know more about the universe of Worldview, though, I suppose his ability could have helped him? Kind of a stretch, since I imagine there would be some kind of restriction in place to prevent any patients from using abilities that could cause trouble in the ward.

Jakob is dealt with, security tightens, and Emilio comes out of this unharmed. He thanks Fresh earnestly for trying to save him, and though his injured foot is paying the price (it’s not more broken or anything, but trying to stand on it has gotta hurt), Fresh’s burden of self-hatred lightens ever so slightly. His friends praise him for his heroic deed, even when he tries to dismiss it by insisting he wouldn’t have been able to stop Jakob and it was the psych techs who had really saved Emilio.

Not long after this incident, Decans is discharged from the psych ward, but he is reluctant to leave. Fresh, also saddened to see him go (and to hear Decans’ parents would be unlikely to let him visit Fresh here), promises to meet up after he too is discharged.

I had no plans for the rest of Fresh’s stay, but while he has gotten relatively better, it’s by no means a full recovery. The first thing he does after leaving is visit Geno. This little reunion isn’t technically part of my plans, so while of course it would happen, I don’t have anything in particular in mind for it, other than the two seeing that they’ve both recovered somewhat. Maybe Geno is out of the hospital at this point, in which case Fresh goes home to see him.

Soon after, Fresh stops by Com’s house to apologize to Ink and swear he doesn’t blame him for Error’s death. No notes on this visit either, but it seems fitting for Fresh to speak with a door between them, and Ink staying silent at first. Then I’d say that upon seeing Fresh’s progress and sincerity, Ink forgives him, at least enough for them to start moving onward from the fight. He forgives, but doesn’t forget.

My notes say that Fresh tries to pretend he’s better so his family doesn’t worry, but now, though maybe he slips into that habit a little here and there, I’d prefer to say he pushes past it and keeps trying to stay honest.

Then there’s a note about Fresh learning of Decans’ home situation and that it hurts how he can’t help; Decans assures him he helps plenty.

Late at night, Fresh texts Ink in the hopes of distracting himself from his suicidal thoughts. Ink comes over to make sure Fresh doesn’t hurt himself. The whole situation is clearly tense and painful for both of them, and Fresh fears that despite their efforts, their friendship and Ink’s trust in him are broken beyond repair. I’m actually tempted to overwrite this bit and say Ink doesn’t come over at all, just stays up texting until Fresh says he’s going to sleep. Maybe their friendship stays rocky, leaving it ambiguous through the end as to whether they ever work through it or remain somewhat distant. Either way, I can see Fresh starting to spend more time with Decans than with Ink.

Christmas comes around (painful memories everywhere), and noticing the condition of Geno’s scarf, likely stained or ragged or simply with a loose thread, Fresh recalls the other scarf he made with Error years ago, for Geno. With possible help from CQ, Asy and/or Decans, Fresh works up the courage to search Error’s room. He finds the wrapped scarf in the closet and gifts it to Geno. As the last present he will ever receive from both his brothers jointly, Geno treasures it, and he may be too anxious that something might happen to it to risk wearing it, at least until his old scarf someday becomes unwearable. Alternatively, he might feel it’s safer to keep it on him at all times.

Geno starts reading the journals that Error left him. Though he struggles to hold them up or turn the pages, Fresh leaves him to it (CQ or Asy helps him instead), too scared of what the journals might say or make him feel to give them a look himself. They weren’t for him to read, anyway. But one day, at Geno’s tearful insistence, Fresh caves and reads a page that his brother tries to show him: in the middle of Error’s last journal, his final message.

In it, Error apologizes for giving up and says there was nothing anyone could have done. It was Error’s fault, not theirs. And at the bottom of the page, tacked on like an afterthought, is a message addressing Fresh directly, apologizing for hurting him and failing to be a good big brother.

Fresh breaks down.

As much as this flood of emotion crushes him, beneath his confusion and guilt, it sweeps some of the weight from his soul.

He soon starts talking to Error’s dust, expressing aloud all the things he wishes he could tell his brother.

After a time skip to Error’s birthday, one of Fresh’s roughest days since reading Error’s message, Asy catches him absentmindedly scratching himself until he bleeds, and it’s implied that this isn’t the first time. (I think this would fit better if he last did it sometime before the time skip rather than during the skipped months, but I’d rather just exchange it for a milder sign of heartache.) Asy gives him a Band-Aid, and they talk.

“Everything will be okay in the end. And?”

“If it’s not okay, it’s not da end.”

This next note feels pretty unnecessary for the story, but Decans visits and mentions his parents are going to divorce.

Fresh and Geno open up to each other about feeling they were born “wrong.”

As a “birthday present” to Error, Fresh promises to be the best brother he can for Geno, even if he’s too late to do so for Error.

I wrote some possible final lines for the story. I imagine the last scene taking place in the front yard of the house, with a get-together of Fresh, Geno, Decans, Ink, Asy, CQ, and some of their other friends and family (like Com, Star and Book, who’s doing well now) chatting and relaxing in the afternoon.

Something about their faces, and even the air, felt soft and clear. It felt like Fresh had woken up from a long dream. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to go back to sleep. He had a different kind of dream to look forward to. He took in the sunlight, took in the air, letting it fill him, and breathed it out. He was alive.

The End.

Everyone, thank you for reading!

To start off the bonus content, I want to share a poem excerpt I found when trying to come up with a title for the series, The Breathing Dead. This is where I got it from:

And is thy soul so wrapt in sleep?

Thy senses, thy affections, fled?

No play of fancy thine, to keep

Oblivion from that grave, thy bed?

Then art thou but the breathing dead...

~George Crabbe (1754–1832), “The World of Dreams”

The Endless Sleep and The Sleepless Wake are both titles I made up myself. I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned this before, but I originally considered calling the second part The Sleepless End as a reversal of the first part’s title. Then I thought it might be too confusing or easy to mix them up, that they just sounded too similar, so I changed the last word, haha. The result definitely fits better. I do love me some titles with multiple meanings or interpretations. Layer ’em like parfait, yum yum.

Next up! As I recall, I mentioned a long time ago that I was working on a secret project. I’m not going to finish it at this point, so here’s a bit of what I did make...

A shimeji of TSW!Fresh!

And some rough drawings for a few of the sprites I didn’t get around to:

What a cute, squishable li’l marshmallow. It would be really neat to have the finished shimeji, but these things are a lot of work to make.

One of the last things I can think to share are the couple of side-fics I started (basically just self-indulgent fanfic of my own fanfic adjllsafhjdl), but I didn’t write enough for them to be worth showing anybody (also they’re kinda bad). One is a time travel fic where Fresh wakes up a few weeks in the past, in the hospital after his eye surgery, and has a narrow window of time to save Error. The other fic follows Decans, who discovers he can see ghosts—Error’s in particular. Error tries to use him to communicate with his grieving family, which naturally does not go too smoothly. A great source of more angst from both Fresh and Error.

And finally, I have a playlist for TBD. I wanted this to be an experience that flows seamlessly as it follows the story, but to finish ironing it out would take more work, so this will have to do. Keeping in mind that some songs fit better than others, I hope you enjoy!

The Endless Sleep:

Without You - Ashes Remain

Not At All - Get Scared

Anthem of the Angels - Breaking Benjamin

Say Something - A Great Big World ft. Christina Aguilera

Take It Out on Me - Thousand Foot Krutch

Nothing Left to Say - Imagine Dragons

If My Heart Was a House - Owl City

The Sleepless Wake:

I Can’t Breathe - Bea Miller

Give Me a Sign - Breaking Benjamin

Magenta - Nano

Hope of Morning - Icon For Hire

Don’t Wake Me - Skillet

Surrender - Digital Daggers

I Am Machine - Three Days Grace

Addict - Get Scared

Again - Crusher-P

Friend Please - Twenty One Pilots

Same Mistake - James Blunt

You Don’t Know - Katelyn Tarver

Second Guessing - Get Scared

Self-Inflicted Achromatic - Nekobolo (personal favorite cover: Mafumafu)

Tomorrow - Avril Lavigne

Ride - Twenty One Pilots

Never Surrender - Skillet

The Reason - Hoobastank

Thanks again for reading, and for supporting the story while it lasted, or even afterwards! It was quite an experience for me, with all its ups and downs. While things didn’t go the way I hoped, I definitely learned from writing this story, and I expect my writing will be better for it going forward.

If you ever have any questions about TBD, ask away!

#piewrites #mommacq fanfic #the sleepless wake #the breathing dead #teen!fresh #CQ #uncle asy #OCs #suicidal ideation #addiction recovery #attempted murder #self-harm #long post #piedraws #the word count is so close to having 420 in there somewhere I would LAUGH

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