#i live for angst

[rebelspykatie]

Robin convinces Steve that Eddie is interested in him, just based on how frequently he flirts with Steve. Uses the same logic that Steve deployed to convince her to give Vickie a shot. Except, there’s no doubt about who Eddie could be attracted to. He’s gay and doesn’t really flirt much with women, keeps it more surface level. 

But with Steve, he’s all over him, getting in his personal space, tapping his chin, batting his eyelashes and draping himself over his lap during movie nights. Steve’s confident in his newly discovered attraction to men, and subtly tries to turn up the charm on his end. Flirting back, giving as good as he gets, but it never seems to affect Eddie. 

Steve’s gotten used to striking out. Never really catching anyone’s attention these days, what with the lackluster attempts at being interested in the mundane things some of the girls drone on about, to being afraid to sleep over for fear of a nightmare tearing him from sleep, to the way no one makes his skin buzz. He’s given up the pursuit of anyone else, setting his sights on Eddie, pushing gently at the boundaries that barely exist between them. 

Until the first time Steve and Robin are invited to see Corroded Coffin perform at the Hideout. He watches from afar as Eddie bounces across the room before the show. He hasn’t spotted them yet as he makes his way over to the bar. There’s a cute, older guy bartending, probably in his late twenties, buzz cut hair, ripped leather vest accentuating his arms. 

Steve watches in what feels like slow motion as Eddie leans over the counter to get as close as possible to this guy. That mischievous smirk that Steve’s used to seeing pointed at him is out in full force. Eddie is saying something, looking up at this guy, reaching out to squeeze a bicep and getting playfully batted away. Eddie lets the guy tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, almost a caress along the side of Eddie’s face. 

And there’s a moment where Steve feels like he’s floating on air, suspended in a moment in time before a catastrophic shift changes his trajectory. He’s careening to the ground at break neck speed and crash landing all in a matter of seconds. A vice-like grip squeezes his heart, reminding him that he’s not special. He’s dissecting every memory of Eddie flirting, finding nothing consequential there in the wake of this discovery. 

How stupid could he have been to think that it meant anything? That must be why Eddie never reacted to his advances, they were just a blip on his radar. He’s got this guy wrapped around his finger, just like he’s had Steve. Except Eddie’s never blushed like that around him, or let Steve tuck his hair away. 

As much as he wants to turn around and get the hell out of here, he promised he’d come to Eddie’s show, even if looking at Eddie right now feels like a shot straight through his heart. That inexplicable draw to Eddie doesn’t just disappear. He wants to cross the room and drag him away from this guy, but what right does he have to do that? 

He feels Robin’s hand slip into his, turns to look at her, sees a mirror image of how she looked on the grimy bathroom floor of Starcourt, letting Steve down gently. Their friendship past the point of needing to verbally communicate anything. Robin gently tugs on his arm to convince him to sit at a table, clasping his hand underneath it tightly when Eddie finally spots them and Steve has to pretend like he’s fine. And he is fine. 

But he’s also not. His heart is cracking open with each note Eddie sings, the fault line growing until it feels like he’s split in two, bleeding out on the floor of this disgusting bar. When is he going to get it right? When is it his turn to feel wanted? Nancy and Robin hurt, but he feels blindsided by this one. He was so confident he was right, that this time it was reciprocated. 

But maybe he’ll always be the fool.

[tanglepelt]

Dc x dp idea 65

Danny and Ellie were captured by the GIW. Held and experimented on for an extended period of time. Both having been branded by the GIW.

In case they ever escaped. In both forms it’s always visible unless covered up.

It was only recently they started doing the more invasive experiments. Let’s say they vivisect Danny and have plans to do the same to Ellie.

Before they can even touch Ellie somehow through the power of family love or something he breaks the suppression device on him.

Which leads to him being able to grab her. Managing to make a portal he didn’t know he could do.

Whether it the same universe or a separate universe. The portal dumps them right in a middle of a justice league meeting. Danny bleeding and passed out from power use. Then Ellie who is frantic an panicky on full defense.

So now the justice league had to calm down Ellie and help Danny as well as figure out what on the world is happening.

[shotmrmiller]

(so not too terribly dark, but still wanted to give the warning just to be safe)

but say that one of the boys get a pet. and they can't stop gushing about how cute and perfect you are, how you look so pretty in his collar. especially when they're on missions, you're all he can talk about. hundreds of photos of you, as his screensaver and lockscreen and everything in between. they show their brothers-in-arms the innocent photos of you. maybe the ones bordering on indecent, but nothing of your body or how you look underneath him, taking his cock and being stuffed full of him. absolutely does not show them the videos he has of you alone, the ones you send him for when he's away on missions to keep him company where you're whining and mewling and sobbing for him because your toy can't compare and you miss his cock so badly. definitely also doesn't show them the videos he has where he bends you over the counter, the sink, the couch, his cock fitting so perfectly in you, or the ones where you're on your back and your eyes are so glassy, so full of love and warmth and safety.

you meet the boys at the pub, after you've been with him for a couple months (more or less, depending). and they love you. coo and fawn over you, your ears and tail and the collar that sports your handler's name proudly. pressing up against him, all shy smiles and sparkling eyes and fitting into their little group seamlessly.

well, all except one, who spends the evening holding his tongue and masking his sneer, this darkness consuming him and eating him from the inside out as he watches your handler press soft kisses to your skin, plays with the charm on your collar and keeps you tucked safe to his side.

he hates you. your handler is supposed to be his.

and so he starts his game of getting your handler to distrust you, make him suspicious and wary of you.

you don't actually love your handler, he says. how could you move her into your flat after only knowing her such a short time. so trusting, too trusting of you, when you could be out playing with others while he's gone, fucking and fawning over someone else and maybe even bringing them back to his.

you're no good for him. he feels it in his gut, that there's something off about you. and your handler knows just as well how important gut feelings can be. they've saved his life — and his mates' — more times than he can count. maybe he's just blinded by you. it is a little suspicious how perfect you seem, never seem to put up much of a fuss and practically never disagree with him.

and slowly, your handler starts to let these thoughts bleed into his own. he's known his mate for so long — far longer than he's known you — so he'd be amiss to not trust his judgement. he'd do the same if he were in his comrade's position.

your handler starts to change. out with the boys longer, changes his lockscreen to something else — his favorite team, him with his friends, an actress he fancies. he's not as open with his affection. doesn't want to play as often. doesn't kiss you as much, doesn't bring you out with his friends anymore.

and you don't understand. because now his words are colder, harsher. and you cry and beg and plead for him to tell you what's wrong, what did i do please i don't understand but he won't give you an answer because this is another one of your tricks, manipulating him.

it comes to a head after a mission that took months. he didn't text you as often, definitely didn't call. you offered to send him videos, film some before hand for him, but he waved you off and told you there was no need. and then he comes home and he cuts your collar right off and he still doesn't tell you why.

but you're not his anymore, and you wonder how long you haven't been his, and it breaks something in you. but you eventually move forward — definitely don't move on. not yet, not now. maybe not ever, because you were so in love with him and you've never been so happy. didn't even think you could feel that kind of happiness before.

but you try. go out with your friends, maybe get more drunk than you should. and one evening, you and your group go the bar that he frequents. maybe he's gone, maybe he won't be there.

but he is, because of course he is. he doesn't see you. but you definitely see the arm he has wrapped around his mate, the kiss he presses to his jaw like he used to with you. and he sees. gives you a wicked, satisfied smirk as he leans more into your former handler's touch, makes you watch as he gets a kiss and pulled in closer, until your eyes travel down to where his throat is, and a collar rests there, your handler's name proudly etched.

Ah. I thought you were gonna send something about non-con or something spook.

yikes. im about to be dragged to the slammerrrr. anyway.

ouch. my heart.

TW: thoughts of death, suicide? drinking far too much alcohol and vomit, er anything else lmk

There is nothing left for you there. You simply accept the bitter truth. No point in hanging around where you aren't wanted. It hurts, of course it does.

But he is a part of your past, now. He's moved on, clearly. There's no telling yourself some self-soothing nonsense like how karma will get the new pet because you don't believe in that.

What you do believe in, is that the world is unfair, and there is just no changing that.

Every day, you wake up and there is no color in your life. Everything is just grey. Dull. Lifeless. Kind of how you wish you ended up, sometimes.

Occasionally, you see them both out in public. The ache is there in your chest, eating you alive, threatening to swallow you whole. You watch them for maybe a couple of seconds and turn your attention elsewhere because to do anything other than that is foolishness.

The truth will either come to light one day, or it'll be shrouded by the dark forever.

It is what it is.

Your body at this point, is just trudging along. Moving through the motions of staying alive.

How miserable.

You go out with your friends again, simply humoring them because 'you just look so sad, let's go out and have fun', only to see him there again. This time, you barely even glance in his direction.

Shot easily turns into shots until you're acting sloppy. Not in a violent sense, mind you, but your inhibitions are lowered. If you can't open your heart back up again, opening up your legs will do for now.

Stumbling inside the bathroom, you pull the random you're with inside, and shut the door, using your heeled foot to keep it closed.

He's pawing at your chest too rough. It hurts, yet it reminds you that you are still here. Alive. Finally, a different type of pain than the one in your sternum.

Your fingers are fumbling with his belt buckle, only for the flimsy door you're both behind is almost broken off of the hinges, and the random is ripped off of you.

You don't recognize who's interrupted you because you're seeing double, and you're far too pissed to try and resist the hand that grabs your wrist and drags you out.

Your head is starting to spin violently, or maybe it's whoever is manhandling you that's pirouetting, but it doesn't matter because your mouth is starting to salivate heavily, and there's an acrid taste on your tongue.

"I think...I think I'ma throw up."

Now you're definitely being tossed around because there's a hard, blunt pressure on your stomach, and the world is now upside down. Your skin is clammy with cold sweat, and you can physically feel liquid coming up your esophagus.

"P'me down. Put m'down. Now."

There's a harsh sound of a door being slammed open, and then you're outside. The frosty air bites at your flesh, pricks stinging at your arms and legs, and you're quickly placed on your feet, where you pivot and hack up all the shots and sugary drinks you've had all night.

The brick wall digs into your palm where you hold yourself up with a trembling arm as you empty your stomach on the grass and over your heels, and you can vaguely feel your hair being pulled back, away from your face.

You wipe the strings of saliva that hang from your lips away with the back of your hand, close your eyes, tilt your head up, and take in a deep, shuddering breath.

You are too sloshed to be coherent, and you try to slur out a thank you when the person who brought you outside cooly responds.

"Didn't think you to be the type. In the bathroom of a dingy bar? Really?"

A tiny rush of clarity runs through your body, and you're frozen in fear? shock?

It's your ex.

You dig your nails into the wall painfully, grainy stone stinging your fingertips.

"T'wha' do," you pause to swallow the excess spit in your mouth as bile tries to come up your throat again, "do I owe th' horror?"

He sounds sober, clear. Much unlike yourself.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

What were you doing, indeed? Nothing. Suffering. Poisoning yourself. Wishing you weren't alive. Hating him. Hating his new pet. Feeling nothing. Drowning in your own misery. Wishing you were drowning in water instead.

"Wha' y'want?" you slurred.

"You're proper pissed. Let's take you home." He grabs your wrist from behind you, and the bottle that held all of your emotions spills. Your reaction is visceral, turning around to look at him as you rip your wrist out of his grip.

"Don't touch me!" you shriek, "Don't fuckin' touch me!"

The shout was so vicious it scraped your already hoarse throat, and it sends you into a coughing fit.

He takes a step forward, attempting to reach for you but you flinch back and away from him, tripping over a mound of grass and falling onto your behind.

"Get, no, stay away f'me, yeah? You're no' needed."

You won't cry. Not in front of him. So you bite your tongue, and let your agony turn into a burning fury.

"Go away! G'the fuck away from me!"

His hands come up in a defensive stance, like someone trying to pacify a cornered animal.

"Will y—" You don't let him finish, instead you start screaming. It's blood-curdling, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard. And it does exactly what you wanted.

You get people's attention.

A group of strong, burly men forcibly haul him away— far away— from you.

Other women come running to your aid, crouching beside you and patting you down, making sure that you and your clothing are intact.

You start to feel overwhelmingly dizzy; your body is going slack and then there's nothing.

--

Your head pounds furiously inside of your skull, and you can't unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

Where are you? is your first thought, quickly followed by, I need water.

You attempt to sit up, only to lie back down with a loud groan when you feel a hammering inside of your temples.

"You're finally awake."

Who the fuck is that?

"You met me back when you used to wear a collar around your neck, doll."

Oh. You said that out loud.

You recognize that nickname. Definitely one of his little friends. Pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes, you let out another groan.

"How chivalrous of you, taking a drunk girl home, but you—" his tone is stern as he cuts you off.

"I know what happened."

Sigh.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do."

"I know why he cut off your collar."

"Is that why you brought me here?" you irritably asked. "You brought me here to gossip?"

You hear shuffling and his voice sounds farther away when he speaks again.

"There's water on the nightstand, also two pills for your headache."

You snort. "Not a whole bottle?"

"If I was sure that you wouldn't try and swallow the whole thing, sure."

Of course.

"Get some rest, I'll bring you back some soup for your hangover later."

His gentle tone as he offers to take care of you makes you irrationally angry. "You're not my fucking owner." What a Freudian slip.

"I could be if you gave me the chance," he offered. You don't move until you hear the door clicking shut.

What the fuck?

[itsnothingnowiguess]

[soothinglee]

➣STAB WOUNDS AND A SOMEWHAT GREATFUL PAITENT✓

Joel Miller x platonic! Reader | Ellie Williams x platonic! Reader

summary: after joel gets stabbed back at the university, it's up to you and ellie to try and fix him back together. but what if the actual thing that needs to be fixed is you and joels relationship?

cautions: heavy mentions of blood and injury, some cursing, lowercased words, somewhat bad writing, maybe some spoilers, description based writing, and could be ooc actions/dialogue, angst angst angst, some humor to cover up the big bulge of angst, and I wonder if anyone really reads this section of my writings.

word count: 1,889 words | 9,982 characters.

authors note: f uppercase words. it's been a while since I've watched tlou on hbomax so give me a break will ya? some of it may be inaccurate but I don't think it will kill you. also sorry for being gone for so long lol. if this fic was good, call it my redemption, if it was trash...call it a filler.

prompts: "You deserve a day off. Please, just take it." @creativepromptsforwriting

m.list | request | rules ☆

since joel got stabbed it seemed like everything started to slow down. you and ellie had managed to find an empty house in an abandoned neighborhood after throughly making sure that you were not being followed. after quickly going each floor making sure there weren't any clickers, you settle joel down on a dirty cot in the basement.

ellie looks at you after placing a ragged blanket on the unconscious man, "we need to clean him up."

glancing back at her, you kneel down to his level to peel back the blanket. the flannel he was wearing had rips in multiple places, a huge gap in the spot where he was stabbed. the dried up blood on the fabric had started to crust making the shirt stick to his skin. moving it gently to not hurt him, you take note that blood had no longer flowed from the wound, but there was a thick layer of something over it.

sighing, you place the shirt back and spare ellie a look, "i need you to do me a favor," ellie nods quickly, "i need you to try and find something to help clean up the wound. it most likely needs to be stitched up. i know it's a stretch and everything might be gone but we need to fix it up."

ellie agrees quietly and goes to the staircase leading to the main floor, but hesitates and retreats, "what...am i looking for exactly?"

you grab your discarded bag from next to joel's head where you left it when you first came in and start to rummage through it. your fingers hopefully dance around the limited items in hopes to find him something to eat until you can go out and hunt, "um," you sniffle, taking notice of the breathe in the frigid air, "a needle, scissors, chopsticks, i mean anything will work as long as it's sharp. oh! and some string. just bring me whatever you can find and i'll work with it."

ellie nods and dashes up the stairs, almost tripping on the last step. you roll your eyes and turn your attention back to joel who was still fast asleep. it had been a long time since any of you had the time to stop and rest so you decided it was better to let him replenish his energy rather than run on empty.

you let your fingers softly caress the crown of his head and sigh, grim and healing scars liter his forehead and cheeks, you lightly scratch at the dirt but give up after seeing it wouldn't go without a wash.

underneath your fingers joel shifts underneath the blanket, you retract and replace your hand on his cheek, he groans with every movement. face scrunching, tugging at the pain in his body.

you frantically look towards the stairs, wishing that ellie would hurry up just a little more. "ellie, quickly!" from upstairs a distance voice shouts "i'm coming!" followed by a hollow thud.

you internally cringe. there was a metal canteen tied loosely on the side of your belt loop with a shoe string, you swiftly untie the knot and spare some drips of water on a ripped cloth you found in your sack and drag it lightly above the grays in his eyebrows. a sudden and firm grip finds its way to your wrist, halting your movement. you look down and see joel now wide awake and alert, his bleak eyes staring back at yours.

"where's ellie?" a hiss comes after. unfazed, you remove his hand and drop it to his chest, continuing with the cleaning.

"good morning to you to sunshine," your voice monotone with a unamused smirk, he makes a taunting noise in return as if saying 'how funny', "she's upstairs getting some supplies," you ring out the cloth and dab the dry parts on his now clean forehead, "speaking of which- ellie!"

as if your voice commanded her, she stumbles down the stairs with an arm full of items, but stops short when she sees joel eying you down, “i’m here-! holy shit he's awake."

"yeah," you grumble dropping the cloth on your lap, "come say hi."

she runs over, not before dropping everything in your laps without a second look, and rushes to the old mans side. she takes a good look at his face, moving it around with her hands. a worried glint passes over her face as her eyebrows furrow, then as quickly as it came anger replaces and she weakly slaps him across the face. you suppress a snicker. "don't ever do that again! you know how scared we were?! we had to haul your big ass on top of callus and y/n was worried and frantically looking for a place for you to recover-" joel glances at you, you avoid eye contact, "and don't even get me started about how much blood you lost, we thought you were going to-"

you quickly cut ellie off with a nervous laugh, noticing the quick breaths coming from joels chest, if he didn't die from the infection then he was certainly going to die of high blood pressure, "oh-kay! that's enough from you, how about you go over there and read one of your comics while i fix him up?" you stand up and grasp ellie by her shoulders and start pushing her to a snug corner in the basement.

"but-!" she starts but you lightly shove her.

"that wasn't a choice, go!" you give her one last exasperated shove and turn back towards joel who was struggling to get up. "no!" you shove him back down, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder. in return he gives your hand a bewildered look, "you are hurt, you need to be patched up, or you will die. if you ever try to get up again i assure you that the infection isn't going to be the thing to kill you, you understand me?"

joel shrinks in his place and stares over your face, after a minute he reluctantly nods and his body relaxes. "thank you." a relived sigh leaves your lips, grateful that you don't have to fight him anymore.

you give a look over the items ellie gave you and- god bless, in the pile were a small needle, string, and a small bottle of jack daniels, along with a surprisingly clean dish towel. you give a quick glance at joel to see him looking at you already with a intrigued squint. "don't look at me like that." you mummer. taking the needle you dip it in the bottle of alcohol and place it on the clean rag and move everything to the side where the wound was.

after threading the string through the small loop in the needle, you take the rag and splash the liquor on it. before you could place it on the floor joel stops you and motions towards the bottle, "gimme it."

confused, you slowly had over the drink and he swipes it, chugging half the bottle down. deadpanned, you snatch it back and place it on the floor, "joel."

"what? if you were in my position you'd want to be drunk too."

"why?" you question, pulling the blanket down and pulling his shirt up. "you don't trust me?"

"no."

"remember your life is in my hands." you place you hand just above the wound and look towards him with the needle in the other. grimacing, you press down on his stomach, "brace yourself."

after a couple hours of white knuckles, gritted teeth, incoherent sorries and gut wrenching pain, you had finally finished the stitches. halfway through ellie had taken her spot across from you, occasionally patting joel's temples free of sweat with the rag you abandoned.

without looking at her, you reach out your hand and motion towards the canteen on the floor. getting the memo, she hands it to you and grasps the back of joels head gently, lifting it up for you to better access his face. "joel." you hum quietly, raising the canteen to his lips, pulling at the bottom one, "open up, you need to drink something."

he emits a grunting noise of protest but doesn't fight it when he feels the cool water fill his dry mouth. he was half asleep, the pain from earlier wearing him out, draining him of any energy he gathered form when he passed out before.

he opens his mouth but a hoarse noise replaces any words he tries to form. you give him some more water. he coughs and wets his lips, looking to you, then ellie, then you again. "d...did you search the area?" his voice slightly cracks.

you roll your eyes and drop the canteen, "what do you think i am? a fucking noob? of course i searched the goddamn area."

"did you search the house."

you give him a blank stare, "ellie did."

"did you-"

"why do you doubt me so much?" you wouldn't call your tone annoyed, maybe disappointed, ellie noticed a hint of sorrow, "i mean i got you this far, ellie's not dead, i'm not dead, you're not dead so I honestly don't see what the issue is. do you have something against me?" your voice pitches an octave up like someone about to cry, though there is not a tear in your eyes.

joels face scrunches up, as if he was taken aback and grunts.

ellie abruptly stands and dusts off her pants, "well i'm going to go," she motions to the two of you, "i don't know what the fuck is going on but i don't want any part of it. so i'll be in my corner reading and trying not to cringe."

you watch as she walks off, then look back towards joel with an annoyed glint in your eyes. after a moment of just staring at each other you shake your head towards him, "so?"

he says nothing, and you have to look away. you been with ellie and joel since loosing tess, and that was months ago. after being through everything with joel it wouldn't kill him to be a little kinder. hell you just saved his life and all he does is just stare at you. a wave of emotions comes over you without any caution and you have to cover up an aggressive sob with a cough. "whatever," you go to stand, kicking the items out the way, pushing the almost empty canteen of water towards him. "you've just been through hell, so you deserve a day off. please, just take it."

you over to ellie who was deep in her comic, "ellie, you have a gun right?" she looks up at you, her lips between her teeth and nods, "if he tries to get up shoot him."

her body shakes from her quiet giggle and mumbles nice. you walk to the wooden staircase and pick up the shotgun you left when you first came in. "i’m going hunting, i can imagine we're all hungry."

before you walk up the stairs you spare joel a glance, to find him staring back at you. his eyes furrowed, a deep frown prominent on his lips, his eyes watching you with despair. please don't go, they say but only if you could read eyes.

you sigh and walk out the door.

[riverbay11]

Wouldn’t it be so fucked if Timmy got into the habit of calling Cosmo and Wanda “mom and dad” like image having the memory’s of your honorary son but he’s not allowed to keep the memories of his honoray parents…..why am I like this??????!!!!!!??!?!

[shuaestheist]

seven minutes

characters: seungcheol/s.coups, jeonghan (seventeen) summary: "They say when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes in 7 minutes." word count: 1,307 genre: bxb, tragedy content warning: major character death. inspiration: in heaven (jyj)

one.

They say when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes in 7 minutes.

I've always wondered how that would feel. And what I would see. Definitely, I'd see Jeonghan a lot in it, then.

But there's no time to think about that. The sun blares its bright light at me, forcing me to open my eyes and look at the clock. Damn. It's already 8 in the morning. I'm utterly late. And so, I wash up, get my keys and drive to the office, passing by a nearby coffee shop to get my daily caffeine fix for the day.

two.

"Choi Seungcheol," the boss, Jonghyun, calls out my name. "Ah, yes?" I blink at him, pulled out of my daydream about Jeonghan as the quarterly meeting of the company progresses. "It seems like you're not listening to the meeting. Do you feel sick? Wish to be excused?" he says. "A-ah, no, I'm fine, Sir," I say.

All that plagues my mind is the last time we spoke. Jeonghan and I got into a fight recently and I, still, could genuinely not see where he was coming from.

I had no time for him, I didn't care about him. That's all that's coming out of his lips. He probably didn't remember the real reason why I was doing all of this: for him. For me. And for our future.

The thought wouldn't leave my mind, really. Should I apologize? Never mind, it's not even my fault.

The meeting ends with that thought in my head. Only scribbles fill my paper, not one bullet of discussion from the meeting. Damn. I sigh before closing up my notebook and heading to my office.

After a few more hours of work, I drive home. Oddly enough, as I flick on the lights of our shared home, Jeonghan was nowhere to be seen. That's really odd. But instead of worrying, I plopped on my bed, exhausted and sleepy. I'm sure he'll come back sooner or later.

three.

I woke up the next morning to my doorbell being rung. Groggily, I get up and was met by an armful of clingy Jeonghan. Smiling softly, I chide him for being away for so long. In apology, he shows me a bouquet of yellow tulips.

The kind of tulips I gave him on our first date.

Chuckling, I put the flowers where they belonged, on a pretty vase that Jeonghan had made long ago, while hugging him and telling him that we were fine. We are fine. And we will be fine.

We're different, he and I. Choi Seungcheol, a business major. Yoon Jeonghan, an art major. Seungcheol, whose life revolved around numbers and laws and strategies. Jeonghan, whose life revolved around pottery and paintings and aesthetics. No one would ever think that the two of us would ever be a match. But here we are, in a little quaint house, lives set in front of us for the rest of our days.

four.

Our anniversary is coming up, mine and Jeonghan's. I need to think of what to do, really.

Our first anniversary, I took him to Han river. We rode couple bikes there and just basked in the summer sun. We were young back then too, fresh out of college and ready to take on the world.

Lucky me got a good spot in a huge company, so I took him on a fancy date in a high-end restaurant for our second anniversary. We ate the perfect steak, drank the finest wine and listened to the violins and the cellos played by the band I specifically requested for this day.

And now, the third anniversary. What should I do?

I think, staring at Jeonghan's picture on my work desk. What should I do? Where should I take him?

I take out a pen and my notebook, listing down different possibilities. This has to be special, it needs to be.

five.

I tap my fingers on the desk in front of me. This is the day, the day where all my efforts will come into fruition. This is the largest project given to me yet, and I now have to present it to the board for approval.

But I just cannot ignore the blaring red circle that stares at me from my planner. JEONGHAN, it reads. Yes, it's our anniversary today. And yet, I'm stuck here in the office, unable to spend the day with him.

I tried calling him today, but there's no answer. Maybe he's setting up a surprise for me. Or perhaps he's busy and cannot pick up. Or he left his phone at home. Silly Jeonghan. Always forgetting stuff. I chuckle softly, but there's a gnawing feeling in my gut. And it keeps on growing. Something's wrong, I can feel it.

Project proposal? Jeonghan? Project proposal? Jeonghan? Project proposal? Jeonghan?

I hang my head, letting the confused murmurs of the board and the boss roll around me as I weigh out all my options.

Wordlessly, I ran out. Jeonghan. Jeonghan is more important than any of these.

six.

I ran out of the office and into the outside world. Where in the world could he be? Panicking, I look everywhere. I loosen my tie, running along the sidewalks to find him.

Not far off, I see him across the street. He looked so innocent in that moment, carrying a pot with a stalk of sunflower and clumps of baby's breaths. I waved at him but he didn't seem to see or answer me. I wave and shout, but still he didn't see nor hear me.

I look up and it's still a green light. I couldn't cross the street to meet him halfway just yet. And so, I wait for the signal.

However, a student ran through the traffic. A jaywalker, you know. I sigh and shake my head. Irresponsible children, really.

But Jeonghan followed. I look up the signal lights, it wasn't red yet. He followed that stupid jaywalker. The bastard passed through while no car was in sight.

Knowing Jeonghan, he'll take time to cross the road. He's not a big fan of hurrying up, but in that moment he really needed to walk faster. All of a sudden, as I turn my head to the right, a car speeds up along the lane that Jeonghan was currently walking through.

Goddamn it! I throw my tie and blazer to the ground and just ran for it. Unminding of the glares and curses from the drivers, I continued running. Luckily, the car carreens sideways. But there was another car coming right up behind him. Jeonghan, in shock, is rooted to the spot, the pot falling out of his hands and breaking on the asphalt.

But before he could get hit, I pushed him out of the way.

seven.

They say when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes in 7 minutes.

So this is what it feels like. Your memories flashing your whole life in a dreamy sequence. It's painful, really.

I couldn't feel my body anymore, I feel limp. I could feel arms lifting me up and tears pouring like rain over me.

But in that moment, I am happy. I am happy that I got to save him. I am happy that, even in death, I was able to protect him, keeping the promise I made to him when we started going out.

I'm happy that my last memory is of him, even if it's of him crying over me. The feeling of him holding me in his arms is enough for me.

I'm sorry, but I'll leave now. I wanted to say these words, but they can only be expressed by the lone tear that falls from my eye as I breathe my last breath.

I love you, Yoon Jeonghan. Forever.

[catsuro]

sad mode on : thinking about yukki who knows his vision isn’t getting any better and some days he thinks the world blurs a bit more so whenever you’re together he cannot keep his eyes off you, drinking you in with the softest look in his eyes as if to memorise the sight of you in case he doesn’t get to do this forever

[thedeal-if]

The angst ask answer for Aliyah has me wondering 👀 how would the ROs react to & comfort a dying or severely injured mc? Sorry if this is spoilery or anything!!!

Loving ur writing so far u are so epic <3 /gen

Thank you anon😭💕

The angst ask!

Nearly all death scenes (no one is safe here) are already outlined and rely very heavily on the moment and the plot! I don't think this is spoilery at all without context so yay!

I chose the severely injured angst bc I got a very specific death scenario ask too and I didn't want to answer the same thing for the two of you/blend my answers into one ask ^^

Crushing stage btw

Dante doesn't think it's physically possible for him to keep his distance from you—as if simply holding your hand would give you enough leverage to slip away from him, as you lay bleeding out. No, Dante needs to hold you. He needs to be the one whose hands press against your bleeding stomach, the one whose chest attempts to chase your heartbeat from behind.

And there it is, Dante barely remembers that he too needs to breathe. He speaks, speaks, speaks, and then he realizes he's not speaking in English. Dante switches languages clumsily as the words weigh on his tongue:

“I know it hurts. I know, I know,” you wince in pain, Dante presses his lips together, his palms grow warmer and warmer against your wound “I’m gonna get you somewhere safe, okay? Hang on a second.”

Lilith thinks, rather irrationally, that the only reason they can smell your blood so vividly is because of her monstrous nature. They convince themselves that yours is a nick and theirs is a delusion fueled by overwhelming care and worry. But Lilith is often wrong, and the scent of blood grows so thick they can practically feel it down their throat.

“Oh, love,” Lilith frowns, they wrap an arm around your waist and help you sit down “Breathe with me, okay?”

You nod woozily and Lilith worries—they often do, they have plenty of reasons to be concerned about you. The Succubus removes their jacket and presses it against your wound.

“I’m here with you, love, everything will be okay.”

Your best friend proudly wears the badge of ‘Person Who Worries Most About [Name]’, and the mere idea of watching you getting hurt is more than enough for Josh to feel queasy—he has that good of an imagination. Josh can't fathom the thought of seeing you getting hurt, but control slips between his fingers like water, and that very thing is proven when he sees it unfold before his very eyes.

It's much worse than anything Josh could have imagined, but his mind isn't catching up with such a line of thought. He's too busy catching you before you fall, keeping you awake, trying to do something, anything. At all.

Josh's ears ring.

“Shit, fuck. Shit,” your best friend looks around. Josh needs to find some help, he keeps his hand tightly wrapped around your wrist, feeling your pulse against his fingers. Is he panicking? Josh feels like he is.

Villanelle thinks she's seeing things. Maybe it's some kind of prank, maybe it's a dream. Maybe she'll wake up on her cozy bed. But that doesn't happen.

The young witch then thinks this is a vision. Villanelle feels detached from her body as soon as you start bleeding, like her soul was flung out of her body and into a movie theatre: a horror movie starring you.

But Villanelle blinks and finds herself standing just as she was, battling denial.

“[Name]!” the witch calls, wide-eyed and terrified. She runs to your side frantically, hand trembling, “Stand— Stand still. I think I might be able to help. Everything will be okay—everything is okay.”

Leather rustles together as Victor takes off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders—it doesn't warm you up, but it does make you feel ever so slightly safe. The Demon Hunter pulls you a little closer, checks your breathing and pulse, he checks you over carefully in case you're bleeding. He's so methodical you almost feel like you're at a doctor's appointment. Victor presses a hand against your bloodied side. He grumbles something, speaks up when you woozily tilt your head in his direction.

“I'll take care of this,” Victor assures you, his inflection betrays nothing, but his hands are steady as they support you “Focus on staying awake, [Name]. Can you do that for me?”

Victor drags you, but then he stops and hoists you up.

Aliyah grips your shoulder, keeps you standing straight as your head swims with the lightheadedness of the pain. Her demeanor is serious, her eyes are anchored on your wound—and how it bleeds, bleeds, bleeds—

“It’s not fatal,” Aliyah declares, so coldly and so surely, you don't know what to think “Not now.”

The Genie looks up at you, then down at your wound. She sighs, hesitates, presses a finger against your non-fatal injury. You see her smirk a little.

“Do you want to wish for me to heal you?”

The situation is so bizarre you nearly laugh.

“Are you going to stop if a say no?” you gasp.

Aliyah hums a little, your wound stings as she seals it shut, “I'll add it to your tab. Let's find your doctor friend.”

Panic seizes him like a constrictor around his stomach. There's an entire rave in Nathan's stomach.

“Shit that looks bad,” Nathan mumbles.

He makes no effort to touch it, or you, at first. His hands hang by his side for a few moments, then he lifts them and cups your cheeks, thumb stroking your cheekbone.

“You're not dying on me, okay? I'm sure it's not that bad. Breathe with me.”

Nathan helps you breathe, and he also tells you to close your eyes. There's a soft press of his forehead against yours, and a brief light that burns your eyelids. It disappears as quickly as it came, and Nathan takes a wobbly step back.

“There,” he grins “All healed up.”

Eden catches you before you fall—she nearly falls with you, manages to draw strength from some unknown place, and keeps the two of you from keeling over. She pushes every muscle in her body until you find yourself sitting, with Eden pulling your shirt up—taking her own jacket off—and pressing the fabric against your injury. Eden strokes your knee when she sees you wince.

“Bear with it,” her voice sounding so rough might be due to nerves and not lack of empathy.

“I’ll try,” you wince again, forcing a tiny smile so she doesn't worry too much.

Eden rolls her eyes—fondly—and looks your wound over, “It looks bad. But not too bad. Hang on, [Name].”

[mistamorgana]

Not going to lie NOBODY is going to probably read this shit (if you are check out my Emma birthday art instead I'm so proud) BUTTTTT I just.. love the Norman = James' son and Ray = Yugo's son theories so much like???

"But Ray was supposed to be the only one with a connection to his biological mother!" WHATEVER, WHATEVER

Also ouggghhh just the THOUGHT of Smee helping Norman in Lambda to atone for his past mistake of killing James (he'd lure him out of hiding with the news that he had a son, aka Norman and OH GOD then he'd kill him)

only for Norman to find out Smee killed HIS father, get mad at him and then BAM Smee dies ❤️ perfect angst AND gives Norman more reason to want to rid of all demons

When Smee told Peter James said "Tell him I'm sorry" after Peter asked if he had any last words that shit would so be meant for little baby Norman I'm so sorry

And for Ray and Yugo, it was probably something silly like "oh they took Yugo's DNA and used it to get Isabella pregnant eventually" but still like imagine how bad that would hurt

You also cannot tell me Ray is not a mini Yugo my ears will be closed I will not hear a thing you say

As for how Norman got into Gracefield? If his mother (I say Matilda) was a cattle child, since James was dead and Peter was in charge, I feel like Peter would send him to GF

Can't completely explain it but I feel he would for sure, BUT he did have the decency to 'save' Norman by taking him to Lambda

If Peter referred to himself as Norman's dad I just know James would be rolling in his grave

Anyway that's enough for me but I'd totally elaborate further in DMS these are my fav TPN theories

[marzghost]

Guys guys I haven't seen anyone talk about this yet but like hear me out. We all know about The crafting dead series scar did right and how some of us like to headcanon that that was c!scar's og world sometimes. Now now zombiecleo has been a part of hermitcraft since season 2 and scar doesn't join hermitcraft until season 4 now some of you might already know where I'm going with this but like imagine just imagine how THAT meeting went. Scar after years of living in a world where zombies are constantly attacking you where if you let your guard down for a moment you might just find yourself at the mercy of a hoard who after years of fighting simply gave up the fight not knowing what would happen next or if this would be it only to be waking up in a world where he's not the only one left where he is welcomed with open arms and slowly learning to let his guard down. Finally allowing himself the feeling of being a part of a family again. A place where he lets himself feel again only to then get invited to another world one where his brothers are also welcomed and excited to explore. He sees just how excited the others are to experience this and not wanting to be alone again he follows. He's shocked at the amount of people who stand waiting for them when they arrive and at first he's absolutely taken by this new larger community but that's when he sees it, he sees her. Suddenly he's breathing starts to quicken and his eyes are looking around for anything he could use as a weapon but he doesn't see anything. Cub is the first to notice his change soon followed by Iskall, Ren, and Wels. His brothers are asking if he's ok but they just sound like they're underwater and far away. He can feel their dead hands pulling at his clothes again. Clawing at his flesh looking for their next meal. She gets closer and he snaps. Cub finally understands why he felt stronger whenever scar was around and in that moment he and Iskall wrap their arms around the 3/4th vex hybrid making sure to hold him back from the others as he yells, begs, screams for someone to stay back and for everyone to run. Seeing as Scar wasn't going to calm down on his own Cub activates his own vex abilities and puts scar to sleep. Maybe the reason he wasn't at the meeting where everyone is being introduced is because he was still trying to calm down. Trying to accept that Zombiecleo isn't a threat that she isn't going to try and kill the family he had found for himself. Heck maybe he was trying to get over the fact that Cleo seemed to be like any other living person. Had he waited just a bit more would the flesh eating monsters that had at one point been people just like him evolved to be sane again? Could there have been a cure this whole time? Had he killed his own mother for nothing... Could she have been saved...could she have been a zombie like Cleo if he had let her change completely instead of pointing the gun at her the moment she had told him to pull the trigger. The angst potential is through the roof people! We need more.

[gracegrove]

Idyllic

tw warnings childhood trauma, child abuse, implied child abuse, implied child sexual abuse, blackmail

_________

He was struggling, a half-cocked grin under wiry and unkempt hairs as plain-clothed officers moved his father out the front door. "Billy? You do exactly as they say boy, you hear me?!" he barked, startling the moping child back to reality. A woman moved into the space, her brown paisley dress shifting as she squatted to his eye level.

"Billy?"

The boy looked up through watery eyes, the rhythmic beams of red and blue lighting up his face from the police cruiser parked outside. The woman stretched out her hand to wipe at his cheek, and Billy flinched, his face already bruised and yellowing around the edges from days prior.

"Honey I'm so sorry. We're gonna make this right." She put a hand gently on his shoulder. "We're gonna get you out of here," she promised.

Lounging, head tilted back against the concrete, Neil whistled a long flat tune. He was waiting on the detective to pull his ass out of bed. He continued piping out wistful ditties until a man approached his cell an hour later.

"Name's Detective Kasey, stand away from the bars. Remember that anything you say can be held against you in a court of law..." he droned wearily as he fumbled with a ring of keys.

Neil stood brushing off his wranglers and approaching, as the cell door swung wide and the detective entered. Neil held out his wrists to be cuffed but paused with a visible wrinkle in his nose. "Wait. Kasey? Duke Kasey, from Fresno High Class of '64?"

Neil leaned into the man's space, their eyes locking as the detective looked up at him suspiciously from bushy brows. "Who wants to know?" he inquired.

Pulling his cuffed wrists back, Neil gestured to himself proudly, "Neil. Hargrove. Remember me you sonnuva bitch?"

The detective nodded a fond smile. "Well, you bastard you're in a pickle now. Let's talk."

Coming to the interview room, the men both pulled up a chair, Det. Kasey opened the file sitting on the table. "Let's see what you've gotten yourself into this time heh?" Reclining, he flipped through the file, page by page, the soft expression falling from his face.

Neil sat opposite picking his nail beds clean. "How much's this gonna cost me? Community service? A fine?"

The detective didn't answer, lifting a page over and wincing as he finally reached the section with photographic evidence. "Jesus H. Christ!" he cursed. "This is bad Neil. Real bad. This ain't no pickle."

Neil frowned, resting his arms on the table. "I can't discipline my kid?" He stated calmly.

Kasey pulled a pen from his breast pocket and reached for the tape recorder. Clicking the record button, he stated the date, time, participants, and purpose of the interview.

"Neil Hargrove, are you aware of your rights?" Kasey asked.

"I am," he replied.

"And as previously stated do you hereby waive your right to an attorney?"

"I do. I got nothing to hide." Neil shrugged.

Kasey cleared his throat. "It's alleged that you have been harming your son, William, physically. On multiple occasions. What do you have to say to that?"

Neil looked around the bare room with an air of boredom, "The boy's hard to manage. Gets into trouble an awful lot. School. Home. Fights with neighbor kids." Neil slouched out in his chair, "What am I supposed to do? Someone's gotta raise that boy, teach him right. How to be respectful. Ever since his mother left, he's been an absolute pain in the ass."

"Is that an admission?" Kasey probed, scratching out notes onto a legal pad.

"An admission of being a parent who's trying their damndest? Sure." Neil reasoned. "You would understand..."

Kasey raised an eyebrow, "I don't think I follow."

Neil gave the man a baleful smile, "Your old man really was quite the guy."

Kasey bruskly paused the recording. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Neil leaned in across the table, canines glinting in the low light. "Easy Duke, we're just talking. We're old friends after all, right?"

Kasey scoffed, he and Neil had hardly been what you'd call "friends."

"All I want is this over with," Neil continued, "I need to be home. My boy needs me. And you're gonna help me do that." Neil sniffed.

Kasey closed the casefile, "And why would I help you?"

Neil looked at the other man in mock innocence, "Because I know."

"I know it wasn't an accident."

Kasey's face paled, "And just what would make you think that?"

His voice was dry and wary, as he licked his lips, nervously padding his breast pocket for a carton of cigarettes. Lighting it, he took a deep drag.

"My old man had a bad habit of mixing booze and cigarettes. The whole house went up."

Neil leaned over the table, snatching the cigarette with a cuffed hand and smirking. "He also had a habit of keeping you around when Mommy was outta town..." Neil chuckled darkly.

"You sonnuva bitch" Kasey snarled, fingers curling into fists. "I don't have to listen to another word of this shit!" He pushed his chair gruffly away from the table, coming around and grabbing Neil roughly by the collar.

"Up! Your ass is going back where it belongs!" Kasey growled.

Gingerly holding the cigarette with his bound hands, Neil casually blew out, "I'm sure your Chief would be interested to hear about all the 'quality time' you spent with Daddy. All the -" He took another drag. "love you two shared. The hammer you buried with his blood -"

Kasey's grip slipped on him, dropping him askew in his seat. Leaving Neil to reseat himself.

Kasey loosened his tie, a visible sweat covering his face and dampening his shirt. "Wha-what hammer?"

Neil laughed, "Oh come on Dukey boy! The one I saw you bury beneath the dogwood by your toolshed. The one I dug up..."

Kasey swallowed on thinning air. "You ha-?" Neil nodded. "Yeah. I do." Kasey came back around and slumped into his seat, the chair groaning across the linoleum floor.

Moments passed in slience, marked by the monotonous ticking of the clock in the room. "So, here's what we're gonna do Duke." Neil stated resolutely as he ashed his cig on the table top. "You're gonna make this go away. And then I in my gratitude to you, will leave and never return. How's that sound?"

The detective nodded his head numbly. "That's a boy."

_______

"I don't know what more we can do Marsha," the man said from his seat at the kitchen table.

Marsha was putting the finishing touches on dinner as they spoke.

"Henry, we have to keep trying," she said gently.

"Marsha," Henry pushed, "How much is there even left to try? He's fighting at school again. He's angry about everything. He never lets us help him. How can we help Billy when he's like this?"

He was exasperated, rubbing a hand over his forehead, his wife giving him a supportive pat on the back.

The foster parents that Billy had been living with over these past few months were reaching their wit's end. They tried their best, welcoming him with open arms. They were very kind, but when Billy rebuffed them and avoided them they were hurt and confused.

Just then a little boy ran in the kitchen door crying. "Ma! Ma!" Marsha pulled him into to her side, thumbing at his tear-wet face. "What's wrong Sam?" "B-Billy..." he blubbered out before tumbling into tears again.

Henry shot Marsha a look. Marsha sighed, ushering the boy to sit at the kitchen table, as she went out the kitchen door to find Billy.

"Billy!? Billy?!?!" Marsha called as she entered the yard. "Come here please, we have to talk." Looking around she spotted him hiding behind the large trunk of the oak tree.

"Billy...." she sighed in disappointment as she approached. "What did you do to Sam?"

"Go away!" Billy yelled, tucking himself further behind the tree.

"I'm not going away Billy we have to talk." Marsha pushed.

"No!" Billy yelled, running from behind the tree to find a new place to hide.

Marsha reached out, grabbing Billy and wrapping him up in her arms. "Stop running Billy. You're in big trouble!"

"NO! NO! NO! NO! LET GO! LET GO!" Billy screamed. He began kicking violently, throwing his head back and hitting Marsha in the chest.

"Billy stop!" Marsha groaned, tightening her grip.

"Noooooo!" Billy bellowed, flailing and fighting even harder. Digging his heel harshly into her shin, Marsha yelped and let go, Billy running free.

He fled from the yard and was out of sight. Throwing open the kitchen door Henry looked at Marsha, "You wanna go after him?" Marsha shook her head vigorously, catching her breath. "No."

The doorbell rang. The couple composed themselves and came to the door. "Can we help you?"

The man smiled, "Good afternoon, I'm Neil Hargrove. I'm here to get my son."

[finnzcorner]

There's a gremlin voice in my brain telling me to write ranchers' angst

Here's a Tango doodle for your troubles :>

[turbulenttrouble]

I cried just a bit more when I saw Crowley drive at a surprisingly slow speed at the end.

[thatfuckinjester]

brother but it's party poison and kobra kid.

[hairupintheair]

Never Leave Me

Summary: Viva is working through some stuff, okay? Word Count: 1,263

It's short enough that I'll just post the fic under a cut, if you prefer to read here rather than over on Ao3:

Sometimes they agree on a sleepover, and she's always giddy with the thought of it. With the thought that they now have this, a whole lifetime of this, to look forward to: parties in the daylight and nights spent laughing and close. That it wasn't taken from her the way she thought everything else had been.

Her family, her friends, her people, her home. Everything gone. But not anymore. Like the laws of physics changed. Like reality twisted itself into something that shouldn't be possible, something she doesn't deserve but will do anything to keep. How can you thank someone enough for coming back from the dead? How can you be worthy enough to earn back a family stolen from you?

The first time she's ecstatic. Even knowing what comes with the night, with the darkness and the quiet. It doesn't matter. She has a sister again, and she's not going to let anything get in the way of that. Not ever again.

And then the night is here and so is Poppy, and it's wonderful and fun. There's music and snacks and giggled confessions by the mushrooms' soft glow for hours, long into the night... But then the talk starts to peter out into exhausted yawns and sleepy murmurs, and the darkness starts closing in on Viva's back, pressing against her spine like a heavily breathing animal.

And Poppy boasts that she can go all night, that they're going to stay up to watch the sun rise together, but Viva can see she's already fighting it. Her eyes momentarily close like a shade being drawn down over a window, until she jolts back up and they fly open. But it's a losing battle and Viva can feel it, like a vise tightening around her chest.

Finally Poppy's halfhearted murmurs trail off into nothing, drifting off even in the middle of her sentence, and Viva's own voice stutters to a nervous halt. The only light comes from a cluster of small blue mushrooms casting a faint glow around the room. The pod is silent. Her ear twitches. From somewhere far away something in the forest croaks.

She feels her heartbeat growing in her chest, faster, louder. Cranked up just as if something has been waiting for this exact moment, biding its time all day, waiting through the parties and the excitement, ready to pounce and dig its claws into her as soon as everything slows. A voice that stalks her mind for the quiet moments in order to wrap her in insidious words of her weaknesses and failings. Her heartbeat now is loud and clamoring. She presses her hand against her chest to try to contain it, fearful that it will escape and wake Poppy and reveal all her worthlessness.

She doesn't want to think about it. Doesn't want to remember the suffocating dust of the tunnels or the thudding of giant feet overhead, the worry that the next moment, the next step, would bury them alive. They say she fought off Bergens that day, but she knows the truth. She knows that all she's good at is running away, with fear taking up every space inside of her. A small, scared animal fleeing for its life.

And during the day there were new trolls to meet and everything new to see, keeping the voice at bay, but now it's just the two of them in the pod with the darkness and the quiet, and Viva swears she can taste dust in the air that a moment ago was only scented with marshmallows and nachos.

Her eyes dart around the room. Her sister is flopped on the floor next to her, sprawled in a sleeping bag of pink-tinted leaves, head pillowed on her arms. She's so still and so, so quiet. Not like it should be. Not like her at all. Not like she's alive and full of life and sunlight. Like she's...

Before Viva knows it her hair is wrapped around Poppy's waist, pulling her close, and she presses her face into Poppy's side to try to control her shuddering skin, her panicked breathing. One ear presses against Poppy's chest to listen to the air going slowly, easily, steadily in and out of her lungs.

The strong beat of her heart and the breath in her body combine to make a song that drives back the dark voice lurking in the silence, and Viva wraps her hair around both of them and her arms circle around her sister's waist because inside the golden cocoon she's HERE and she's SAFE. She's sleeping and that means she won't hear the mocking voice that lives in the back of Viva's mind, reminding her that she's not good enough, she's never been good enough to stop the most terrible things from happening, and now that she's been given this gift, it can be taken away again at any moment.

Viva couldn't let that happen. She couldn't lose anyone, ever again. She'd die first.

But the voice rises up against the tempo of Poppy's heartbeat, a counterpoint of cruel laughter that destroys the gentle song. Mocking. Taunting. Reminding Viva that no matter how good she gets, how hard she works to protect everyone, the silence will always be waiting for her, and the uncertainty will rush in to fill the quiet void any time Viva stops. Any time she's not big and vivacious and loud. It's waiting for her, there in her own mind. Where she'll never escape it. Because you can't escape the truth.

And then Poppy is suddenly awake and staring at her with the roundest, widest eyes Viva has ever seen. Viva cringes, forces her wince to morph into a big, toothy grin. Her voice takes off without consent and words prattle down between them like raindrops, all about the fun they had and the more fun they will have the next time, and the time after that, and the time after, and the--

And then Poppy's hands are on her shoulders, on her cheeks. Their eyes are inches apart, and she presses a soft kiss to Viva's forehead, between her eyebrows. And Viva lets out a sob of relief as the words falling from her lips and the mocking voice in her head both fall silent, at last.

She waits for the next attack. A reminder of another failure. For something. Anything. But the horrible voice is gone now, as banished as when she used to ask her daddy to look for Bergens under her bed before she went to sleep. And Poppy is looking at her with a light in her eyes like she understands, like she can see the horror in the back of Viva's mind and doesn't judge her for it, doesn't think she's crazy or a failure. Viva's quiet sobs turn into a pained wail, a tidal wave she didn't realize how desperately she was trying to hold back. Poppy's hair threads through Viva's until the two of them are wrapped in a spiral gold and pink cocoon that shakes with the force of her cries.

It takes too long for the torrent to peter out. Her throat is raw and abraded, her vision blurred. She has to speak. Viva gathers her courage, forces raspy words out between sniffles and shuddering breaths. And Poppy's touch is like cool rainwater and her words are promises that wash away old grit and dust from her wounds, until there's nothing left inside the cocoon that isn't strength and warmth and love and healing tears.

"Never leave me. Please."

"I never, ever will."