#nothing can worsen this godforsaken show so why not

[tricksters-captain]

Weasley Twins/Cedric Diggory Imagines - Accidental Meeting - Part 3

AN: Another day... another part!! Honestly I can’t write this story down quick enough so I thought I’d post another part for y’all!! Let me know if you’d like to be added to a tag list!!!

Overall Summary: (Y/n), is a young witch who always kept her head down due to her complicated past; one day she bumps quite literally into one of the most popular boys in Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory, and that’s when (Y/n)’s plan of keeping her head down seems to go up into the air. Things only seem to worsen when two redheaded twins start to take notice too...

This Chapter: As Halloween draws near, you receive news from your uncle about your parents and the ministry. You try burying yourself in your studies to keep your mind off things when Professor Lupin only seems to make it worse...

PART 1 // PART 2

Pairing(s): Cedric Diggory x Reader, (Eventual) George Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Fred Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Oliver Wood x Reader

Word Count: 2,398

Warnings: None, Angst

You sat at breakfast beside Wood and Angelina, the Weasley twins opposite. 

“Looks like you’ve really caught his eye there, (y/n).” Fred piped up from across you. 

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows at the boy as you finished a spoonful of cereal.

“He’s looked this way about 7 times since sitting down.” George muttered, 

“Not to mention the other 6 when he walked in.” Fred added. 

You peaked over your shoulder to see Cedric sat with his usual group of Hufflepuffs. 

“You two are obsessed.” You rolled your eyes at the boys as you forced yourself not to turn and look again. 

“Mails here.” Wood announces as if the sudden eruption of wings and squawks didn’t alert everyone enough. 

You were surprised to see your owl fly into the great hall with a letter in its mouth. The only person who you ever sent mail or received mail from was your uncle. 

You reached up and grabbed the letter as he fell from the birds beak. 

You could see from the handwriting on the outside of the envelope that it was definitely from your uncle. 

It wasn’t completely strange to receive a letter from him during term time but it wasn’t a usual occurrence. 

“Who’s it from?” Oliver asked, 

“My uncle.” You admitted, contemplating whether to open it there or later in private. 

“Prob’ly asking whether you’re gonna come home for Christmas break or stay here.” Oliver said as he bit into an apple. 

“I already told him I’d be staying here as it’s your last Christmas at Hogwarts, I thought we’d stay here and celebrate together.” You stated, deciding to open the letter now.

“Get a broom closet you two.” Fred teased you. You retaliated by wrapping your arms around Oliver and resting your head on his shoulder, batting your eyelashes at the twins. Oliver just shook his head at you. 

You retracted your arms from Oliver and picked your letter back up to read it. 

(Y/n), 

The Ministry finally agreed to speak to me. They’ve claimed that the security in Azkaban has been double, tripled and that no other prisoners will be escaping. They specified that since Lorelei and Mikael are high threat that they will be watched consistently but Sirius Black was high threat too and look where he is now.

I feel they aren’t telling me the full picture. It was hard enough getting them to discuss Lorelei and Mikael at all. They just like to pretend Death Eaters don’t even exist anymore. Lock them behind bars and forget about them. 

I know we are all anxious about the idea of them escaping like Black did but I am keeping my ear to the wall. If anything is spoken about them or a possible escape then I should be the first to know. I won’t let them leave that godforsaken place without a fight. You should focus on your studies, try not to worry about your parents. Hogwarts is surrounded by dementors, I hear, so they will protect you for now. 

- Demetrius 

“What did he say?” Oliver asked as you closed the letter. 

“Just something about the Ministry.” You sent him a look that said you would tell him later as you felt it was too crowded to discuss your parents right now.

“What do you have?” You changed the topic by asking Oliver what he was doing this morning as you picked up your book bag.

“Defence against the dark arts then divination.” He told you as he rose from the table. 

“I have some study periods this morning so I think I’m going to go to the library. I’ll see you later.” You parted ways outside the great hall as you headed towards the library. You then tucked the letter into your bag and reminded yourself to show Oliver later. 

You found an empty table tucked away in a corner beween two book shelves, before finding a few books to help you with your study of Ancient Runes homework. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” A voice you were starting to know well tore you away from your parchment and you glanced up to see Cedric stood with his hand wrap around the strap of his backpack. 

“Will I actually be able to study if you sit with me or are you going to distract me?” You narrowed your eyes at the boy with a light humour. 

“I swear not to distract you.” He held his hands up in defence and you smiled, nodding your head to signal for him to sit. 

“What are you studying?” Cedric asked as he sat. 

“Distracting.” You announced, sending him a side glance. “Ancient Runes.” You caved and answered after the following few seconds of silence. 

“Ah.” Cedric nodded, taking his own parchment and books out. 

You both sat quietly, the only sounds being the turning of pages and the scratching of your quills but, after a short while, you found yourself sneaking secret glances towards the boy.

You watched his brow crease in concentration and his eyes flicker across the pages he was reading. A few locks of his soft brown hair fell forward and his lips parted slightly as he focused. 

Cedric caught you looking at one point, raising his head and smiling widely at you. 

“Distracting?” He asked, 

“Just making sure you are actually working and not writing down some quidditch strategy like Oliver does.” You were quick to come up with an excuse but Cedric wasn’t stupid. 

“What do you have next? I can walk you to your next class.” Cedric suggested. 

“Charms.” You told him, “If you walk me, you’ll probably be late to your own class.” 

“Why are you so worried about being seen with me?” Cedric leaned towards you, folding his arms on the chair in between you both with a curious look on his face. 

“I’m not worried.” You objected, “I just said you’d be late for your own class.”

“(Y/n), I’m no Ravenclaw but I can figure out when someone keeps saying no. I also see you looking around at everyone whenever I come up to you.” 

“Cedric.” You sighed, “Things are complicated in my life.” 

“And me walking you to your next class will somehow make it more complicated?” Cedric rose an eyebrow at you which made you sighed once again. 

“You can walk me to my next class.” You wanted to say that it would but you didn’t know how to explain why. 

Cedric stood up from his seat and packed his things away, you did the same before you both left the library. 

“I saw your owl this morning.” Cedric mentioned the letter from before and you felt your chest tighten a little. 

“Yeah. It was from my uncle. Asking whether I’d be home for Christmas.” You lied pretty effortlessly as the said-letter was lying at the bottom of your bag. 

“Your uncle?” Cedric hadn’t thought about who you lived with after your parents were sent to Azkaban. 

“Yeah.”  You nodded, “Demetrius. He took me in after my parents were, you know... He never saw what they saw in you know who. He didn’t have the same beliefs. Not like he didn’t suffer for it. They tortured him for a long time but he survived. He’s a good man, not very paternal but it's better than nothing.” You almost found it funny how unaffectionate and distant your uncle could be with you but you knew he still cared about you, he just couldn’t show it in the way normal families could. 

“Is it just you two?” He asked, seemingly genuinely interested. 

“Yeah. Demetrius isn’t very old. He was only 20 when he took me in. He never got a girlfriend after that so has never married or anything. I think he believes that if he had someone else to  care about, they could be used against him. He saw a lot of what my parents did, you see. He worries about my parents; about them escaping like Black did.”

“Are you worried?” Cedric stopped as you reached your class. 

“I’d be stupid if I wasn’t.” You confessed. 

“We can talk more about it later if you like?” Cedric gestured to the classroom door and you bit down on your cheek and nodded.

“Hey!” You called as he started to walk away. “Thanks for walking me.” 

Cedric smiled at you before you entered the classroom. 

“Saw pretty boy Diggory walk you to Charms this morning.” Fred and George trapped you as they came up to you side by side. 

“Like I said... Obsessed.” You looked up at the twins as they walked either side of you. 

“You reckon Lupin’s got that surprise for us today?” Fred asked you and George.

“Hope so, Freddie.” 

“I hope it’s a potion that stops people from spying on you.” You retorted, making both the boys crack up.

“Welcome class! If you’ll follow me, I have the special treat I promised for you all today.” Professor Lupin announced as you entered the classroom for DADA. 

The class did as they was told and followed Lupin up to a larger room where an old wardrobe stood in towards the far side.

You couldn’t help but smile with excitement as you watched the wardrobe shake from something inside. 

“Would anyone like to venture a guess as to what is inside?” Lupin asked as the wardrobe trembled again. 

"Is it a boggart, sir?” One of the Ravenclaw girls, Samantha Penny, answered. 

“Yes, Miss. Penny. Now, can anybody tell me what a boggart looks like?” 

“No one knows. Boggarts are shape-shifters.” You answered as Lupin pointed his wand at you. 

“Very good. Now, can someone tell me what they do?”

“They can take the shape of whatever a person fears the most.” Samantha answered again.

“Well done! Luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel a boggart. Let's practice it now. Without wands, please.” Remus lowered his wand as he spoke, “After me. Riddikulus!”

“Riddikulus!” The class repeated. 

“Very good. A little louder and very clear. Listen: Riddikulus!” Lupin corrected any who made a mistake.

“Riddikulus!” You all repeated once more before Lupin selected an unlucky volunteer.

“Samatha, since you know so much, why don’t you give it a try?” Lupin encouraged her forward. “Now, what are you most afraid of?” 

“Snakes, sir.” She said rather nervously. 

“Snakes. Okay. Easy enough to change. You see, the incantation alone is not enough.  What really finishes a boggart is laughter. You need to force it to assume a shape you find truly amusing.” Lupin paced a few steps as he spoke. 

“Now, Miss Penny. I want you to think of something funny. The funniest thing you can think of and when you come face to face with the snake, I want you to imagine its turning into that funny thing, do you understand?” Lupin asked the Ravenclaw girl. She nodded and raised her wand. 

As the doors burst open, a large thick black snake appeared slithering towards Samantha. It rose upwards and hissed as it’s dark eyes fixed on the quivering girl. 

“R-Riddikulus!” She hesitated but soon cast the spell, turning the snake into a baby monkey in a dress.

“Brilliant, Miss Penny! On your first try too!” Lupin praised her as he laughed at the monkey falling over.  “Alright! Who’s next! Form a line!” 

The class rushed into a line with excitement and nerves filling the room. 

You watched a few students ahead of you try and succeed in turning the boggart from their fear to something funny and soon it was your turn. 

“I bet her worse fear is seeing Wood naked.” Fred whispered to you and his twin as he stood behind you. 

“Actually, it’s having to spend the rest of the year with you two.” You mumbled back with a smirk as you stepped forward. 

“Ouch, Seyler, ouch.” Fred clutched his chest above his heart and you rolled your eyes. 

Suddenly, coming face to face with the boggart, your amusement was gone. 

You shifted on your feet as you thought of all the possible things the boggart could turn into like a giant spider or a clown or....

Your eyes went wide as the boggart twitched and span around and transformed into a face you had only seen in your memories and pictures. 

Your mother stood in front of you. 

The whole class erupted with whispers and murmurs as you froze. 

Her dark eyes met yours, the small mole above her lip rising as her wicked smile grew.

“Come on, (y/n), don’t let the shape distract you. Say the words and she’ll be gone.” Lupin saw the shock on your face as he tried to encourage you.

Your mother stepped forward, holding her hand out towards you, her dark mark visible on her arm as she reached towards you. 

“Don’t touch me!” You shrieked as she came close to connecting with your skin. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from fleeing the class as your emotions over took you. 

You pushed past the Weasley twins as you darted to the door. 

“Miss Seyler!” Lupins voice carried down the corridor you were running down.

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened and breathing became much  harder. 

“Miss Seyler!” You heard Lupin call after you again. 

You threw yourself against an arched doorway, trying to slow your breathing as your mothers eyes flashed through your head. Her evil smile, the dark mark clear on her arm. 

You felt yourself slide down the doorway until you hit the cold floor. 

“Miss Seyler.” Lupin had found you. “Miss Seyler, breathe.” He knelt down as you failed to control your panic attack. 

“(Y/n). It was just a boggart. It wasn’t really your mother.” Lupin told hold of your shoulders as he tried to get you to look at him. “Your mother is locked up on Azkaban. She can’t hurt you.” 

“I’m sorry.” You finally looked up at him and he felt his heart squeeze at the sight of your red eyes. 

“Don’t be sorry. It’s quite alright.” Lupin helped you stand, slowly bringing you back to your feet. 

“What about the class?” You asked, looking up from where you had come from. 

“Class is dismissed. Come on, let’s go for a chat.” Lupin guided you to his office, his arm comfortingly wrapped around you still. 

(PART 4)

[star-spangledstud]

Like You

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (Female) Reader.

Word Count: 2800-ish.

Summary: Steve has a really shitty way of saying goodbye. 

A/N: My friend sent me the prompt: “If I knew then what I know now.”. I decided to play around with it and then this happened. 

Warnings: Angst at its finest. Such brief mentions of sex you hardly notice them. Heartbreak. 

You didn’t understand why he didn’t come back to you like he was supposed to. 

It wasn’t like the two of you didn’t have a solid relationship. You complemented each other when you walked into the room, the perfect blend of two different people that had come together as one. You hardly argued, barely even disagreed on matters that concerned the both of you and you never got sick of each other’s company. You were complete, whole when you were with him and he was with you. 

You ate together, trained together, slept together in the same bed night after night. Even as the world burned after the big Snap, you stayed together, thankful every day for the fact that the both of you had made it out alive. You mourned the loss of friends together, tried to overcome the holes in your hearts together. It was an obstacle in the road that paved the way for your lives and you faced it together. When everyone was brought back, you couldn’t have been more grateful, because five years of learning how to rebuild everything had made the two of you stronger, more aware of how much you needed each other to survive. Most importantly, it made you aware of how all you needed to survive was each other. 

A power couple, that’s what they called you. Sun and moon, yin and yang. The perfect balance of work and play, of fun and professionalism. You kept each other moving, kept one another going with words of encouragement and wisdom, forced each other out of bed after half the world had literally vanished in the blink of an eye. It hadn’t been easy, but you expected the strain on your relationship to have been much worse. You got off easy compared to many other people. 

When the two of you first caught wind of the possibility to bring everybody back, of course, you jumped on the bandwagon. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to see your best friends again, for things to go back to the way they were. You knew it would be hard because people had moved on, started new relationships, new careers and had moved house, but you had faith that humanity could overcome it.

You still got chills when you thought of the orange portals that signaled everyone’s return. The distant memory of seeing the people you thought you’d never see again in the flesh for the first time in five years still brought prickly tears to the corners of your eyes, as did the knowledge that Natasha and Tony had given their lives to make it happen. They sacrificed their lives so you could have yours.

You hardly had time to notice the sudden change in Steve’s behavior. You were so busy trying to reintegrate half the population into the current day, that the two of you spent less and less time together. You were in charge of bringing back the positions of SHIELD agents that had vanished and offered your help to them both professionally as well as privately. Some of them had lost their families because they’d moved on and it was very hard on them to realize that five years of life had simply passed them by. 

Steve had been talking about retirement for years. You knew he wanted to finally lay down the shield once and for all and the two of you had been talking about it more and more as time progressed. Finally, he decided to bring the team back to its former glory, to rebuild the facility and to find new possible recruits, before he’d finally call it quits forever. 

Before that could be done, the Infinity Stones had to be returned to their respective timelines. Of course, he was the one to suggest to do it. You’d honestly be surprised if he didn’t offer to do it himself. You told him it was okay because you trusted him and trusted his judgment and if he felt like he could complete the mission successfully, you would stand behind him and support him because that’s what good girlfriends did. 

You remembered the way he gently kissed you before stepping onto that godforsaken platform all too well, the way his hand caressed the side of your face and hair, the squeeze in your shoulder. It was a kiss unlike any of the ones you’d ever shared before, not even the ones he gave you after Tony’s funeral, filled with grief, sadness and need. No, this one was different. You didn’t know it at the time, but you did know it when looking back. 

He was telling you goodbye.

“No,” you cried, “no, no, no!” 

Your arms and legs flailed miserably, chest heaving rapidly up and down in irregular motions. Bucky cringed with how horribly upset and distraught you were, unsure of what the hell he should do about you crying beneath him.

He was sitting on the edge of your bed, rubbing your back in soft, circular motions while you hugged your pillow tight to your chest. Your face was red, tip of your nose glowing and your cheeks were so puffy you looked almost like a clown. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t think words could suffice or make you feel any better. He was probably right. 

“Why?” You choked out, “Why did he leave me?” 

You could hardly breathe without Steve. 

Bucky could hardly understand what you were saying. Every word came out in hiccups, forced to the surface by the tension in your lungs and contracting chest. For a long moment, you stopped breathing. Bucky panicked immediately. His pulse quickened and grip on you tightened. Then, you took a deep, panicked breath of air with a high pitched cry.

All you could think of was Steve, how he glanced at you from his spot in the dead center of the platform. How his lips tightened into a sad line, how his brow creased and his eyes closed just before he disappeared on you forever. You should have fucking known, but how could you? He was everything you ever wanted and you thought you were the same to him. He never even gave you the indication that he was unhappy, that he didn’t love you. That he was going to leave you for her. 

“Shh,” Bucky cooed, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sam showed up at the door, which stood slightly ajar. His head peaked in, eyes following your heaving body and Bucky’s slouched form before resting on his face. Bucky shook his head. Sam quietly left. There was nothing he could do to ease the pain one of his best friends had caused you.

“Get some sleep,” he told you quietly after your sobs had silenced.

“Don’t leave me,” you managed to whimper, grabbing hold of his flesh arm and pulling it down with you.

You needed human contact, couldn’t stand the thought of being alone after being left by the love of your life.  

“Of course,” he replied, biting the inside of his cheek, “I’m not going anywhere, sugar.” 

You slept with Bucky by your side that night, still dressed in the clothes you’d put on while Steve was still lounging in bed that morning. The make-up you’d put on while Steve was in the shower had mostly come off on your sheets and on Bucky’s left shoulder. You clutched his shirt while you dreamt of Steve in short bursts, the desperate need for comfort so dire that you refused to let the man leave when he tried. He was angry too, angry with his best friend for putting the woman he loved so much through such pain. 

You cried as soon as you woke up the next morning, hand sore from fisting Bucky’s shirt all night. Your head hurt terribly, a pressure had built up behind your eyes overnight and it worsened as the day continued. Bucky eventually managed to leave you alone so he could get changed and talked to Steve, who was now an old man instead of the man who’d taken you to Paris on your first anniversary. 

You became indifferent to the saying ‘time heals all wounds’, because it no matter how many days passed you by, it never seized to hurt. Every little thing that reminded you of Steve would send you in a downward spiral. People recognizing you on the street for once being the most beloved Avenger began to walk around you with a wide arch because even they could tell something was terribly wrong with you. Soon enough, they all knew what had happened.

You hardly slept, because images of Steve dancing with Peggy haunted you all night long. Images of him, telling you he’d chosen her instead of you would flood your mind, along with pictures of the two of you when you were happy. You began to question it, all of it and wondered often what would’ve happened if you had been the one to join Tony on his journey back to the 70s instead of him. You wondered if he’d still be here, sleeping soundly next to you with his arms engulfing you in warmth. Now, there was only cold. 

You didn’t have the energy to be productive anymore. Life without Steve was no life and the void of his existence had taken away the importance of everyday tasks for you. Literally, everything you came in contact with reminded you of him, from the cereal you used to eat together to the movies you would watch. You couldn’t go to your favorite coffee place anymore, because that’s where you went to get his morning cup on the weekends. You couldn’t even stand to look your fellow teammates in the eye. They’d become afraid to be around you, walking on eggshells when you ventured out of the depths of your room for food because they were scared of saying the wrong thing. It happened once when Bruce made a comment towards Sam’s shield. His shield. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said as he watched Bucky carry you back to your room, “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault,” Wanda assured him, “She’s in a lot of pain right now. It could’ve been any of us.”

“Can’t we do something?” Sam asked, hands on his head. 

Wanda shook her head, “We can support her, but she needs time to heal.”

You never knew heartbreak could cause physical pain, but the constant strain on your heart was exhausting. You went through entire boxes of Ibuprofen to ease the constantly looming headaches, but they did very little to ease the dull throbbing of the back of your head. Your eyes were red constantly and your skin didn’t glow anymore. Everything had dulled like Steve had taken your life light with him back to the past, engulfing you in complete darkness.

You’d never find someone like him again because nobody compared to him. 

You often reminisced the good times you experienced with him by your side. The fun you had while sparring in the gym room, climbing on his back as he tried to push you to the floor. You thought back to the many dates you had, fancy candlelit dinners inside of expensive restaurants that involved your favorite flowers at the beginning of the night and passionate sex at the end. You remembered holidays, Tony’s extravagant parties that were mostly just you and him eye-fucking each other in fancy clothing with champagne on your breaths until it was late enough for you to bail so you could fuck for real. 

It was holding his hand, kissing him hard and long on his beautiful mouth before he had to leave for missions that sometimes lasted far too long for both your liking. Placing fingers on his thigh while he was driving and toying with the soft fabric of his jeans higher and higher until he couldn’t take it anymore. It was walking on the beach early enough to see the sunrise and long drives back on the back of his motorcycle, safely hidden away from the world behind tinted helmets.

Now, there was nothing. No hand-holding, no joking around, no fucking each other in the storage closet because you couldn’t wait to get back to your room on the top floor. Nothing but emptiness, cold and dreadful and tiring like a weighted blanket made of snow that refused to thaw under your own body temperature. 

Even when you finally decided to become more active again did the emptiness not leave you. It followed you around like a ghost, always lingering in every corner of every room you entered. Bucky felt sympathy for you, but even he couldn’t help you. You had to pull yourself from the depths of the ocean by yourself, had to swim back to the surface without a life vest or oxygen tank strapped to your back and you constantly felt like you were going to drown. Maybe you already had and this was your purgatory. 

You couldn’t help but regret it sometimes. Getting together with him. It was when that looming darkness engulfed you that you allowed yourself to regret ever getting to meet him. You’d lay in bed at night and pray to the Gods to turn back time just once, allow yourself to make the choice that would’ve prevented you from getting to learn who Steve Rogers was because that choice ultimately led you to fall in love with him.  If only you knew then what you knew now.

You sat by the fireplace alone now, staring at the smoldering embers and the flames that licked slowly burning wood. You watched the trees move in the wind by yourself now, watched the rain drip against the window panes with your knees pulled up to your chest. How could loving Steve Rogers hurt so fucking bad?

“How you holding up, kiddo?” Bucky asked, taking a seat beside you on the couch that directly faced the window. 

“I’m alright,” you responded, voice raspy and dry. 

He offered you a glass of water, which you took gladly. At least someone cared about you despite your efforts to push everyone away.

“I talked to him this morning,” he said finally, “he misses you, I think. Might even regret his decision to leave.” 

Your eyes flicker to Bucky, then fall back on the fireplace, “I miss him too.”

“He asked how you were doing,” he said carefully.

“What did you say?”

Bucky exhaled, “I didn’t lie.”

A comfortable silence fell over you, allowing you to listen to the crackling of the fire and Bucky’s breathing beside you. Sometimes, no words needed to be said for them to be exchanged. You toyed with the shaggy blanket over your lap, twirling the fabric between your fingers. 

“I don’t think he has a lot of time left.” 

You scooted closer to him, allowing your head to rest on top of his torso. He patted your head and drew circles in your hair while you rested your eyes for a moment. You hardly slept the night before and were beginning to feel drowsy. You started napping frequently, finding sleep wherever and whenever you could because your bed was too empty and too large at night. 

“Will you come with me?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I will,” he said, nodding although you couldn’t see it, “I’ll come with you.”

“When?” 

Bucky’s shoulders rose, “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll make time.” 

Maybe you should’ve known that he’d go back to her if the opportunity arose. You’d heard stories, of course, Bucky had told you enough. Steve didn’t talk about her much, except for after her funeral, which he attended alone without telling you. You should’ve known it then with how messed up he was after her death. Should have known that he’d never been able to really get over her. You couldn’t even really blame him, either. She’d been ripped from him when he went into the ice and was already on her deathbed by the time he woke up. For her, a lifetime had gone by. To him, it felt like seconds. It’s how Bucky must’ve felt when he came back after the Snap.

Sitting with him on the couch, you weren’t sure if you would’ve changed things. You had a lot of good times with Steve, they largely overshadowed the bad. He’d made you a stronger person, made you appreciate your talents and weaknesses for what they were and he never made you feel less than your worth. He was a good man, you knew it deep down, but accepting that you might not have been good enough for him was a wound that would never heal, not even as you took your last breath.

Still, a small shimmer of hope began to grow somewhere deep within your chest like a seed had been planted. Laying with Bucky in silence, watching the rain pitter-patter against the window, made you think one thought before sleep engulfed you properly for the first time in months.

Maybe things were the way they were meant to be. 

[ivegotbreadinmypants]

Congrats on 100 followers! How about 22? ~when-a-humble-bard

“If you’re so cold, why didn’t you say anything? Come here.”

“Why would you ever think something like that?”

Since you never specified if it’s angst or fluff, I decided to add it together!

This is more of a ‘reluctant frienship’ trope where Jaskier and Geralt are still trying to find their ground around each other.

Enjoy!

–

If someone told Geralt he would obtain a sudden and admittedly, not very unwelcome travel companion in the course of a day, he would have—well, not laugh but certainly grumbled and glowered until he wards him off.

But even after days of barely rumbled out answers and cold glares, the bard just… doesn’t leave.

It’s perplexing to the highest degree.

Geralt has never had someone stay around longer than a day—hardly three weeks—and even then, they’re usually very standoffish, wary of golden eyes and his white hair, afraid of the freak of nature.

Unlike them, this little bard decided to hop onto the bandwagon without a moment’s hesitation, barely blinking at Geralt’s more unnatural features.

It’s endearing… in an annoying way.

But it has become clear to Geralt that even though Jaskier doesn’t mind his presence, he isn’t quite sure if the bard actually likes him.

Which is fair. The first time they met, Geralt didn’t hesitate punching him when that godforsaken nickname tumbled out his lips, or grumbling out his annoyance.

Geralt didn’t exactly make himself the most likable person on the planet.

Which is—

fine.

Jaskier may be the first person who has tolerated being around him enough to actually learn more about the Witcher or Witchers in general—Jaskier is always keen and listening when Geralt would give half answers to his Witcher-related questions. But that doesn’t mean Jaskier has to like him.

It’s fine.

But sometimes he just wished the bard wouldn’t be so scared of him.

Not that Jaskier is fearful of Geralt (no, no, Geralt would have scented that sour tanginess off of Jaskier from the moment they met) but it’s clear that whenever Jaskier needs a lending hand or wants to ask a small favour, the bard doesn’t voice his complaints.

He noticed it when Jaskier stopped asking to ride on Roach, even when the bard’s feet are clearly beaten red and swollen by the end of the day; when Jaskier didn’t stop by a stream to collect water for himself even though Geralt knows he hasn’t drank anything for hours.

He notices it again tonight when Jaskier never once complains about the cold, despite the shivers wracking his frame. It is nearing the mid of autumn, with the trees lightening to soft oranges and browns, but it also means it gets colder in the nights.

Their fire isn’t very strong, considering it rained in the afternoon and most of the wood they found is wet. It normally wouldn’t bother Geralt, thanks to his mutations and enhanced metabolism, but Jaskier, on the other hand…

The bard wouldn’t even ask for fur, merely sitting silently on his designated damp log with his lute strapped over his chest. His usually graceful fingers are shivering as they pick the strings mindlessly.

Geralt keeps glancing over Jaskier, waiting for the moment when the bard would open his mouth and ask for anything—a blanket, a fur, (even though all of them have been soaked through by the rain) hell even Geralt’s warmth.

But nothing. Jaskier doesn’t even look in Geralt’s direction, more concentrated on his scrawled over notebook.

By the time Jaskier has suppressed his sixth full-body shiver, Geralt just sighs and breaks the silence. "Jaskier.”

Bright blue eyes snap to his. “What is it, Geralt?”

The Witcher glances down to Jaskier’s shaky hands, fingers pale in the firelight. 

“If you’re so cold, why didn’t you say anything?” Jaskier stares, something flickering in those eyes. He shrugs, looking back down at his lute—though Geralt has a feeling it has more to do with looking away from the Witcher.

“Come here,” he rumbles out, his slow heartbeat thumping hard against his rib-cage. Jaskier sighs and places his lute down, pushing away his notebook. He gets to feet and crosses over to Geralt’s space.

“Yes?” the bard asks, hands on his hips, looking down expectantly. He looks much taller like this. Geralt swallows hard and scoots to the side of his log, giving space. He grunts, nodding.

Jaskier only furrows his brows but before he asks, Geralt says, “Sit here.”

Those brows shoot to his hairline, surprise over his features. The bard opens his mouth, but Geralt once again beats him to it, “Sit before I take it back.”

“Bossy,” Jaskier mumbles as shoots him a look but turns around to grab his lute. He stands in front of Geralt once again, his instrument in his hands, and slowly settles down next to Geralt. The apprehension in his eyes goes away when he feels the warmth radiating off of the Witcher,

“Well, that was odd. But I’m not complaining. Thank you,” Jaskier says. Geralt can see the teasing grin in the corner of his eyes, and doesn’t say a word.

The effect is almost immediate. Geralt knows he runs hot like a furnace, his body emitting heat like a human fever, and it’s clear his idea worked when Jaskier slowly loses the tension in his body, melting into himself as he goes through a mindless chord progression.

Jaskier even leans into Geralt’s space, getting closer with every passing minute until the Witcher feels a shoulder press into him. Jaskier seems to freeze, unsure if he’s allowed, but Geralt stays silent, afraid to frighten the bard away. 

Then, painfully slowly, Geralt feels the lean muscle of Jaskier’s arm press flush against him, a soft contented sigh coming from the bard.

Geralt rolls his eyes and huffs, eventually getting tired of this slow dance of theirs. He slinks his arm around Jaskier, who squeaks, jumping out of his skin.

Immediately, Geralt pulls away, regret burning in his gut, but then Jaskier’s fumbles out, “No, wait. It’s—It’s fine.”

Geralt turns to meet his eyes and sees nothing but shy earnestness. Jaskier doesn’t smell of fear, and doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable at the turn of events; he looks more uncertain of how Geralt would react if he asked.

Unable to receive and see such emotion in those blues, Geralt merely follows his request, arm returning back to its position around Jaskier.

A few minutes pass as Geralt goes through his provisions, counting the number of alchemy ingredients in his pack with only one hand. He can feel the soft humming running through his arm, the vibration coming from Jaskier. It’s an odd version of calmness Geralt hasn’t experienced. It’s not quiet, but it’s not grating to his senses either. Their shared silence is more relaxing than Geralt would admit.

But even then, he can’t stop the nagging curiosity in him. “Why don’t you complain?”

Jaskier snorts. “I thought you hated how I kept complaining.”

Geralt pauses. “I did. But there’s a difference in complaining and asking for something.”

The strumming stops. Jaskier sighs quietly.

“I just… don’t want to piss you off all the time. I know you can’t stand being around me so I thought it’d be better if I just kept my mouth shut,” Jaskier says, voice quiet over the crackling of wood. Geralt stares at the bard, unblinking.

“Don’t do that.”

Jaskier briefly frowns, looking over. “Don’t do what?”

“Keep quiet.” Geralt glances away. “I don’t like it.” 

Geralt licks his lips, and adds, “And I can.”

“Caaaan what, exactly?”

“I can stand your presence,” Geralt admits, forcing himself to look away.

Jaskier blinks, and a grin slowly overtakes his face, “I knew you liked me!”

Geralt huffs, the tiniest twitch of his lips showing his amusement. “Don’t let it get to your big head.”

“Too late! I knew you liked me like I like you! Or at the very least, half.”

At that, Geralt frowns, staring at Jaskier, utterly confused. 

“You like me?”

Jaskier grins wider, “Of course, you big oaf, it’s pretty obvious.”

While Jaskier smiles wider, Geralt’s frown grows deeper, lost in thought. The brightness in the bard’s face dims, light concern now shining through instead. “You do know I like you, right?”

Geralt shakes his head, feeling like he missed something. “No. You’re just here for the stories, bard. That’s pretty obvious.”

Jaskier gapes, spluttering, “Okay, ouch, maybe I was with you just for the stories but not anymore. Not for a while now.”

Geralt’s confused glower worsens, something in his chest twisting—but not in a bad way. That just can’t be true, can it? The bard doesn’t leave just for the tales, he does not stay for Geralt. That just can’t be true.

The slight joking tone in Jaskier is wiped away immediately, brows furrowing further in concern. “Geralt. Why would you ever think of something like that? That I don’t like you?”

Geralt merely shrugs, his shoulder knocking Jaskier’s. “No one does.”

A pained expression flashes over the bard’s face and Geralt only gets more confused. He continues with, “Why would this be any different?”

“Well, uh,” Jaskier’s voice cracks, his voice impossibly soft, “how many of them followed you wherever you went? Didn’t care about the dangers of your ridiculous contracts? How many of them didn’t stop talking even though you reply with nothing but ‘hmm’s and ‘fuck’s?”

Jaskier’s tone lightens, a small grin tugging his lips, even despite the worry in his frown lines. Geralt rumbles. “Only you.”

“Right. And you think I would endure disgusting marshes and rotting corpses just for the stories? I don’t think so, Witcher.”

Jaskier’s eyes light up when he feels the slight twitch of Geralt’s fingers, digging into his side. Geralt only looks away, the bright expression on his face stopping his heart.

“Hey,” Jaskier says. Gentle calloused fingers nudge the side of his jaw, tilting to face Jaskier, and Geralt puts on his worst glare, but it dies away at the sight of Jaskier’s gentler gaze.

“I’m serious. I’m not only here for the stories. You should know I can get quite obsessed with projects but you’re not one anymore. You’re—You’re more than that. I like you,” Jaskier says firmly, each point accentuated by the slight pressing of the pads of his fingers against Geralt’s burning skin.

“Got that?” Jaskier asks, skies delving deep into molten gold.

Geralt grunts, his heart stuck in his throat, feeling like he’s trapped in bindings of chains, like he’s unable to leave until he accepts the bard’s version of the truth. Which is still difficult to believe. Geralt doesn’t have friends, trained to keep people away because of his dangerous work. It’s better to not get attached, no matter how small the bond is.

But this bard just breaks every rule in Geralt’s book, chipping away at his comfort zone until he’s bare and vulnerable. The only fact he can’t wrap his head around is that, well, he doesn’t hate it.

Jaskier keeps his inescapable gaze on him until Geralt reluctantly nods, at which the bard lets go of his face, seeming satisfied by what he finds in his golden eyes.

“Good,” Jaskier says simply, as if everything he just said didn’t turn Geralt’s world on it’s head, leaving him dizzy.

Geralt hums, deep in thought, and hides his grin when he hears the soft inhale after pulling Jaskier closer to him.

The next day, Geralt’s world seems to spin once again, but this time, it’s at the sight of Jaskier’s grateful grin when he sits atop of Roach. They don’t make a big deal out of it, but Geralt doesn’t have to ask before he has an armful of a shivering bard later that night.

[asherranceoftheheart]

First Meetings

Pairing/s: None, Platonic, General Character/s: Chase Brody, Antisepticeye, Mentions of other Septic Egos Genre: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort Fandom: Jacksepticeye Warning/s: Mildly Implied Attempt of Suicide, Bullet wound, Soft!Anti Note/s: Sort of inspired by @beerecordings scenario where Chase and Anti ‘first’ meets each other. (AO3 Edition of the Fic)

The circumstance in which he and Chase first met each other after Chase came home from the hospital for the very first time after the day of his ‘birth’ truly shifted the dynamics of their relationship if Anti had to say anything about it. Anti was pretty sure that if they met in any other way, he would have treated Chase in the same way he treated the others.

Anti could still remember that moment playing out in his mind like some crystal clear film. The sound of Jack falling down with a muffled thump on the floor as a massive amount of energy was drained out of him in a matter of seconds as a result of Chase Brody’s creation, the scream for help from Marvin when the newest addition to the house appeared with a bleeding bullet wound on his head, Schneep’s controlled barked orders echoing through the house as he calmed everybody down, and Jackie’s rushed footsteps as he set about on assisting everyone into taking control of the situation… Anti had merely watched the entire situation on with an intrigued gleam in his eyes as the air of panic and adrenaline descended upon his housemates as they raced against time to save the newcomer.

It took Chase nearly an entire month of recovery before he was allowed to be discharged from the hospital under the careful eyes of Henrik. The others warned Anti to be on his best behavior and to avoid Chase if he doesn’t have anything good to say. They don’t want him to hamper his progress, they said. Anti scoffed at the way they seemed to treat the newbie like fragile glass that will shatter with the slightest harsh tone. Jack was the only one who didn’t treat him like a villain. Instead, he patted the demon on the shoulder with a silent knowing gleam in his eyes and murmured a quiet ‘be kind to him, please?’ before he went off to visit Chase again.

Anti huffed and rolled his eyes at Jack back then. Kind? Jack must have forgotten that Kindness never existed in his dictionary.

But as the day Chase was about to go home approached, the other guys became even more overbearing until he couldn’t take it anymore. He resolved to avoid the new guy like he was carrying the black plague with him when he came home. Anti would prefer not to gain a chronic headache that the nagging bastards would heap upon him as they fussed over the new baby of the house.

With that decision in mind, he skedaddled over to the Iplier’s Mansion to pester Dark and help Wilford and the other Iplier egos in their shenanigans to worsen Dark’s chronic migraine from herding his gang of bastards. He spent around an entire week playing with them before he got bored of pestering Dark and darted back into the Septic HQ before the goth-reject asshole took his head off.

It had been three in the morning when he sneaked back into the mansion and the moment he stepped inside the house, his nose twitched at the aromatic scent of warm freshly-baked cookies wafting from the kitchen.

‘Cookies…’ Anti hungrily thought as his eyes gleamed with greed.

Unknown to most of the egos, Anti has a very severe sweet tooth that caused him to engorge himself on whatever sweet thing he could get his hands on in the household or anywhere else. Jack was the only one who knew it (because the asshole knew him inside out just as well as Anti knew him even better than he does) and often bribed him for his good behavior with promises of sweets that he’d possessively hoard in his bedroom which was completely off-limits to everybody else.

He peered into the kitchen through the doorway and blinked at the sight of the newbie’s back. Anti raised an eyebrow, briefly wondering why the man’s awake at this godforsaken house before he shrugged to himself. It wasn’t that rare to find someone else awake at this time of the day since most of them would be up to something related to their own interests.

His eyes were drawn to the cooling plate of cookies on the counter and he practically drooled at the sight of the big chocolate chip cookies. He glanced back at the man whose shoulders were slumped as if he was carrying the weight of the entire universe by himself before snuffling forwards soundlessly to grab a bunch of cookies from the plate.

“You have to wait ten more minutes before you can eat them,” Anti did not jump when the silent man in the room suddenly addressed him without looking at him. “They’ll taste better with some milk.”

Finally, the man turned around and Anti couldn’t help but stare at the deep black bags under the man’s red-rimmed clear baby blue eyes, and the stained bandage wrapped around his head.

He refused to think about how similar it looked to the bandages that were wrapped around his own neck.

The newbie gave him a smile that looked more like a grimace when he saw him.

“Hello Anti, my name is Chase Brody. I’ve been hearing a lot of things about you since I woke up and I’m glad to finally meet the notorious man who’s been striking terror and frustration in everyone’s hearts,” Chase was tired and sad and looked like he was about to fall asleep any second now…

But the curiosity and glimmer of eagerness to meet him was so painfully sincere.

“Your head wound hasn’t closed yet.” Anti bluntly said, immediately hiding the awkwardness he felt when he realized that Chase truly wanted to meet him. 

Literally what the fuck, Chase Brody.

Chase’s fragile smile wavered and his eyes dulled slightly at his blunt observation before he visibly pulled himself back together.

“Marv and Hen’s trying to find a solution to it,” Chase casually said before he looked down at the plate of cookies and tapped some of them to check their temperature. “Still a bit too hot…”

“They won’t find it,” Anti narrowed his eyes as he seemed to look beyond Chase and into the distance. “It’s not something a simple spell or some medicine could cure.”

Chase gave Anti’s bandaged neck a meaningful, understanding look before he pushed the plate towards the demon in a wordless peace offering.

“I still have a lot more baking,” Chase answered the wordless question Anti gestured towards him with a tilt of his head.

“You’re not gonna sleep?” Anti asked as he grabbed a cookie and shoved it into his mouth. He moaned in delight as the flavors started exploding like fireworks in his mouth while the choco chips melted into a heavenly chocolate goo on his tongue. “The fuck kind of drugs did you put in these?”

Chase snorted and breathed out a laugh at the mystified, delighted look on Anti’s face as he chewed on his cookie slowly, cherishing every bite on its own.

“No magic. Just some heapings of love and care,” Chase cheesily grinned at the look of utter disgust that shifted into Anti’s face from his words. “And no, I can’t sleep right now so instead of mulling over my misery for hours I went here to stress bake.”

A calculative gleam entered Anti’s eyes as he thought of the implications of more heavenly baked goods coming from Chase that seemed like they could satiate his sweet tooth. He glitched one of the kitchen chairs behind him and he hopped on to it.

“Well, Chasey,” Anti sighed with a feigned mournful droop to his body that yielded a look full of amusement from the other man, “As someone who doesn’t need sleep, I suppose I could grace you with my presence as long as you pay me with food.”

The younger man laughed and turned around to bend over and take out some of the trays full of cookies from the oven after he heard it ring when the timer ran out.

“Or you could just ask me nicely if I’d make you whatever you like as long as you play nice with me,” Chase placed the tray on the table and smacked Anti’s hand with his own when he saw the demon’s greedy hands attempt to steal a cookie from the tray. “I’ve already given you your stash you complete child.”

It was odd. Anti should feel infuriated and defiant that Chase was scolding him like a child with sticky fingers but one look at those teasing eyes eased the fire in his chest and he settled down on his seat with a childish pout on his lips.

“Jack told you about my sweets addiction didn’t he?” Anti narrowed his eyes as he made a mental note to toss the bastard off the window tomorrow or well… later.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking sweets as long as it’s in moderation,” Chase chuckled. “Although I did hear from Jack that you have a monstrous appetite…”

The kitchen room was filled with light banter and teasing between the two. Anti watched as the weary set on Chase’s shoulders seemed to ease up the longer they talked to each other and the longer he was kept from drowning himself in his own thoughts. Chase could see the demon relax his guard slightly as he treated him without any judgement or nagging about his own harsher than normal personality.

It was nice, Chase thought to himself, to have someone who doesn’t seem to act like he’s going to break any second now.

It was… peaceful, Anti grudgingly admitted to himself, and he actually liked the light camaraderie between the two of them.

A few hours later, time finds Henrik staring with a flabbergasted look at the unlikely duo napping together on the couch in the living room with an empty plate full of cookie crumbs on the table in front of them. Chase was curled up into a ball on his side, head lightly pressed against Anti’s thighs, while Anti was sleeping while sitting on the couch, legs propped up on the table, a drooling mouth gaping open in his sleep, and his arms sprawled on his sides with one hand buried into the floof of Chase’s hair.

Jack, after getting over his shock at the sight of Chase actually sleeping and Anti showing one of his vulnerable sides in public, took a picture of the sleeping duo on his phone for memories and dragged a still shocked Henrik away to let them sleep more with a brilliant smile on his lips.

[astudyingreer]

The Case of Sean William McLoughlin | Part 1

Since Jacksepticeye began to turn his channel toward storytelling with his “ego” characters, he started to exhibit some odd behavior that point strongly to Multiple Personality Disorder. One year later, and things are not the same--his case has worsened, and now even the doctors are starting to be baffled.

Two figures stood in front of the one-way glass, their eyes unmoving as they watched the patient on the other side. Behind them, several other doctors sat busy with their own work.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Six hours and... twenty three minutes.”

“With no change? The periods are getting longer.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, I’m the one drinking cold coffee and watching his every move.”

Seán shifted suddenly, and immediately the entire observation room was plunged into silence. They waited, for a moment, watching him blink almost mechanically at the blank wall. His skin was drawn and pale, his eyes glassy and red with sleep deprivation. His hands were folded on the table, shaking slightly. Sometimes he would twitch and look around the room as if looking for someone.

One of the doctors sighed, cracking her neck a little. “I’ll go in and talk. Is the translator here?”

“Yeah, he’s outside. I’ll call him in.”

With a nod the doctor slowly unlocked and opened the door, stepping into the small, silent room. Seán didn’t even seem to notice her, his eyes still facing forward. Without wasting time the doctor sat down at the other side of the table. An unbearable three minutes of silence ensued, then there was a soft beep from somewhere. After a few moments the door opened and the translator walked in, offering a small tense smile to the doctor. She couldn't find the strength to return it. Waiting for hours in this godforsaken facility had drained of her of all energy. She hadn't expected to be back here so soon after her last interview.

Almost immediately Seán spoke, quietly and rapidly. His voice was lower than usual, gravelly yet controlled.

"He didn't expect you to visit him," the translator explained quietly. The doctor nodded, clearing her throat.

"Just to clarify, we are talking to Henrik, yes?" the doctor asked evenly, folding her hands on the table as she made eye contact with Seán. His head tilted almost quizzically.

"Ja," Seán replied. A small smile touched his face, almost mechanical.

“Why are you here, Henrik?” she asked, leaning back a little in her chair. If she was being honest, every muscle in her body was twitching on the edge of a fight or flight response. Nothing about this patient felt right.

Seán looked off to the window again, as if thinking. His bloodshot eyes darted, and he picked manically at his fingernails. For a moment it seemed like he had forgotten about the question.

Then he spoke, his words barely audible.

"To fix him," the translator said.

The doctor nodded. “Can I speak to Seán?”

Seán shook his head. "Nein." After a hesitation, he continued, but she couldn't recognize the words. He seemed to grow very sad all of a sudden.

"He says that Seán is asleep, and that he will wake after he's had some rest," the translator explained. "He has had a long recovery since the attack. He should not be disturbed.”

“I see.” The doctor took a moment to consider her words. Taking a long, shaky breath, she shrugged her shoulders and said casually, “I think it’s very impressive that you saved his life. Can you remind me what happened?”

Seán smiled softly, his eyes turning distant as he looked to the corner of the room. “Nein.”

“All right.”

There was a short period of silence before a unsettling itch at the doctor’s psyche caused her to glance behind her where the patient’s eyes were fixed. “What are you looking at?” she asked.

Seán squinted, his lips barely moving as he answered distractedly, tapping his watch without pulling his eyes away from the corner of the room.

The translator didn’t speak for a good few seconds before he finally said, “He’s been standing there for an hour and a half. I know he’s not real, but he won’t leave.”

The doctor swallowed, though morbid curiosity had begun to creep into her mind. A delusion within a delusion. Fascinating.

The rest of the interview continued per procedure, but all his vague answers were the same as they always were. He was like a walking shell of a man--he was sickly and thin, his blue veins showing through his skin like ink. The most eerie thing of all, though, was his hair–he had woken up today and brushed it neatly, parting it to the side. He had even trimmed his beard. Even the way he wore his glasses was intentional and distinguished.

He was still staring at the wall when she finally left, and apparently he stayed that way until it was time for medication.

[writerpyre]

You don’t need me then? You can ‘do it all’ by yourself?

Sure Mum, why am I here? I’ll just fucking off myself tonight and save you all the trouble. I’ve given up everything this last year, despite everything that’s been going on in my head for the last two and a half, and my ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE is on hold right now because you decided to be a fucking moron and not look after yourself, but yeah, sure, make fucking irrelevant every single bloody thing I have done and gone through for you while you were sick and needed a servant to take care of your daughters while you couldn’t, go for it.

You can wash the dishes and get your own lunch when you fucking well want to, but when I DARE to say something about how you and my bitch of a little sister are treating me when it comes to me doing what YOU want me to to do, you can’t fold a basketful of sheets. And yeah, it was a flippant fucking remark, I wouldn’t be so rude as to actually make you, but don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that you’re not allowed to do things for six weeks after surgery when it’s been nearly eight. You don’t get to fucking pick and choose, Mum, you pick and fucking choose when you want to ‘take it easy’, when it suits you or you want to make me feel guilty about saying anything you consider out of turn, I’m ALWAYS the fucking bad guy.

 You say you managed for twenty-something years without me before I came along? Sure, did you do that when you’d had your foot cut off, with a heart problem and an open incision? No, I fucking think not. That only happened within the last ten years, excuse me, and I’ve done nothing but try to help you as my mum, and give you the benefit of the doubt. If I wasn’t here, you’d be either dead because I wouldn’t be here to help get you to the fucking hospital, or your daughters would be taken away from you because you can’t care for them right now. That’s why my whole fucking life has been put on hold isn’t it?? That’s my role in life, and I can’t build or look forward to making my own because I’m stuck being this family’s bitch. Because without me, your daughters would be in care and you’d have no one to be your scapegoat would you? You’d have no one to use as the reason why you can come home thus and emotionally abuse them just because they dare to refuse to do something when you want, or disagree with something they say. I am sick to death of this. Is this going to be my function for the rest of my life? I don’t want to be here, I’ve told you. I don’t know why you think I’m your punching bag.

I don’t understand why you think I can take and take and take and take your bullshit without giving a flying fuck how all this has affected me. It’s always you, Samantha and Jenna and how things affect YOU first. I always come last or not at all. I’m done. I’m never going to get anywhere with my life, with my hopes and goals and ambitions because you and your bullshit always fucking comes first Mum. I have no qualms in helping you, because you HAVE been sick, you HAVE nearly died, and by God, you’re my mother, and the girls are my sisters and I love all of you, but I just don’t know why I deserve to be berated and shot down and denigrated for fucking swearing, when it’s the only damn outlet I have in this godforsaken world. I hope I die in my sleep tonight, otherwise I’m going to kill myself, and then you’ll find my dead body on the floor because I am going to take every single fucking one of the tablets we have in our cupboards. See how far you get when you ARE on your own with your daughters.

 See how you COPE, when your kidneys worsen and they take the girls away from you because you’re too sick to care for them, and there’s no one left to care for you. You’ll want me back then, won’t you? I won’t be here for you to manipulate and pretend you love me just so your need for someone to take your frustrations out on is satisfied. There’ll be only one selfish little bratty show-off to deal with then, and Jenna will be happy because I’m gone too, there’ll be no one left for her to challenge for your so-called ‘affection’ any more, and no one to ‘not do’ what is supposed to be done, and for you to perpetuate the double standards that exist in this house just because I’m so-called ‘normal’. She’ll have to do all of it theoretically, but that’s not gonna happen cos none of you will be living here. Samantha won’t know any different, but she’ll be happy for no longer having fighting all around her every day, but then again, she’ll be put in care with people who abuse her most likely, and it makes me sad that that’ll be the endgame, because out of everyone, that girl is just a product of her surroundings, but I’ve been holding this family together, but I’ve had no thanks for it. I can’t be held accountable for losing every trace of myself because I have to pander to everyone else but myself.

 No one cares about my emotions, about my life, as long as I’m here, no questions asked, no consideration given for the one who has to jump and say how high just because I’m ‘part’ of this so-called family. I’m still proud to be your child, but I am sick to death of living, period, and you don’t give a fuck as long as it benefits you; that you have someone to hide behind when people ask if you’re okay. You don’t even give me the thanks I fucking deserve for putting up with all your shit, you never defend me, you never support me, only when it damn well suits you and your idea of ‘respect’ and ‘love’. It only ever applies to you, never your fault when it’s the other way around, is it? I’ve been here through everything, and I get nothing back from you, even when I’ve TOLD you I want fucking out. You might say you went through what I’m going through, but if you did, you’re even worse at being empathetic than I thought you were. Fuck this.