#seasonal depression comfort

[liminalpebble]

I Left the Lights on For You

Eddie Munson angst and comfort oneshot, Eddie x gender neutral reader, Eddie's a good friend and a sweetheart. Minors DNI

CW: Talk of depression around holidays, mental health issues, self-harm ideation (but not acted upon), drug use. (Positive ending, though) Minors DNI

Summary: The holidays are awful for you. In your darkest moment you turn to Eddie, your dealer, to get something stronger than the usual to ease the pain. Eddie, being no stranger to loneliness and sadness, senses something is very wrong and decides to reach out to you. Eddie Munson x gn reader.

A/N: Sorry for the dark subject matter folks, but I wanted to give some representation of how hard it is for many of us with mental illness this time of the year, and I'd like to think dear sweet Eddie would definitely hold our hands through this. Please, if you are feeling like this in real life, reach out to your friends here or in the 'real' world, to a hotline or a website. Hell, message me! Don't stay quiet and don't suffer alone. You're not bothering anyone. You're a beautiful human being who deserves love and care. Please, please stay. Here is a list of resources in various countries.

Much love,

Peb

I Left the Lights on for You

You trudged through the trailer park in search of Eddie's place, narrowly avoiding spots where black ice had plastered over the gravel of the lot. It wasn't that late but it felt like some kind of eternal arctic night as you trudged through the snowbanks and felt the icy air numb your face.

Having a weird sense of time and feeling numb were nothing new to you by now, albeit in a different way. This time of year was so miserable for you, but you kept that to yourself around everyone else, smiled and played along. Why spoil it for them? The few of “them” that were even there anymore. You'd done a pretty good job of shutting everyone out even before the Christmas depression put the cherry on top of that shitty mental illness sundae.

Even calling Eddie had been difficult. It'd been so long since you used your phone that it had begun to gather dust on the coffee table. You knocked the gray fuzz off with and dialed. Your fingers drummed nervously as the phone rang. Maybe he wouldn't pick up. Maybe this wasn't even his number anymore. Maybe he doesn't want to....

“Hello?” a cheery, lazy voice answered.

“Hey,” you breathed out, not sure if you were relieved or scared to talk to him, “ Hey Eddie, it's...”

“Aww. Sweetheart. Come on. I'd know that voice anywhere. How ya been? What can I do for you?”

You didn't know him that well. As with everyone, you kept him at an arm's length, but he had a persistent warmth about him, like he specifically wanted to thaw you out and liked the challenge. Despite your nerves you couldn't help but smile when he flirted. How long had it been since you smiled?

“Hey uh...well...my stash is running kinda low and I was wondering if you have anything? I'm sorry to call during Christmas break I know you and Wayne must be...you know...celebrating or whatever.”

Eddie busted out a bemused chuckle. You could practically see his big smile from the sound alone. “Nah, honey, don't worry about that. In fact, Wayne moved out with his sweetheart so I'm here all by my lonesome and Christmas isn't exactly my thing. Fucking hate it, actually.”

“Fuck, me too.” you said, with a relieved exhale. “It's nice to hear someone else feels the same way.”

“What was that? I didn't catch what you said after 'fuck me too'.”

You chuckled, “Oh fuck you, Munson.”

“Gladly.”

You were laughing hard now. A genuine laugh. It felt amazing.

“Listen. Why don't you come by the trailer? It's a little cold to do business in the woods.”

Your jaw clenched. You'd never been to Eddie's place. You'd only ever met on neutral ground, specifically, at the picnic table hidden in the trees. This felt oddly personal...intimate.

“Uh...are you sure? I don't want to impose.”

“No! Not at all. I got nothing going on and I'm bored out of my mind. Come on by. I can even smoke you out if you'd like.”

“Uh thanks. That's really nice of you. I'll be there soon, okay. Just gotta get myself together. Which number is your place?”

“Just look for the lights. I'll leave 'em on for you.”

You scrunched your face up in confusion, “Won't everyone have lights up? How will I know which is yours?”

He chuckled again. “Oh you'll know. Trust me. See you soon, sweetheart.”

----

You decided Eddie didn't need to know that just “getting yourself together” would be an ordeal. How long had it been since you showered? Since you'd eaten? What day was it anyway? Settling back into the oppressive darkness within yourself, after the flicker of Eddie's light, made it seem all the darker by contrast; suffocating.

Come on. Not long now. Just get it together...just once more.

The warm shower did feel nice. So did the clean clothes. You stared at yourself in the foggy mirror for a long time. Your own face, blurred around the edges stared back. That seemed appropriate. Seeing your tired eyes and drab shapeless clothes, you felt like a ghost in a human costume; like this was some kind of backwards Halloween. It felt weird and wrong and ill-fitting to try to be a person right now, nonetheless you grabbed your things and hurried out before you could convince yourself not to go.

----

And here you were, swaddled deep in your parka, weaving through a trailer park full of the tackiest yuletide displays you'd ever laid eyes on. Just when you thought you'd never find the one you were looking for, a eerie crimson gleam caught your eye.

Eddie Munson was standing in the doorway of his trailer, surrounded by strand after strand of entirely-red Christmas lights, punctuated by the glowing motifs of pentagrams or skulls. He gave a smirk and opened his arms in a showman's gesture, proud of his handiwork.

“What do you think?”

You giggled. “I love it” you answered, as you pattered onto the porch, eyes wide.

He held the door for you in a gentlemanly gesture, ushering you into the balmy warmth of the trailer.

You don't know what you were expecting of Eddie Munson's habitat but “clean” was certainly not it. Glancing around, you could see that the place was shabby but very clean and tidy, and the tangy smell of lemony soap told you it was recently scrubbed.

“Did...did you just clean for me?”

His cheeks went red and he nervously tousled his hair, “Yeah. I didn't want you to run away screaming because of my gross bachelor pad.”

He looked so cute...devastatingly cute, with his red cheeks, dimpled smile, pajama pants and Garfield slippers. You'd never seen him like this. Every time you'd met before he was all decked out in chains, leather, and ripped jeans (although he was pretty great to look at in that too). You had the thought, not for the first time, that he would be great to look at in or out of anything.

You waved a hand dismissively “Eddie, you really didn't need to do that. My place is a disaster...just like me. I promise I wouldn't have cared.”

He smirked at that but then his big brown eyes scanned you. He could see the dark circles under your eyes, the twitch in your clenched jaw, the way your fingers and feet drummed and fidgeted. This was familiar to Eddie. He knew where you were at immediately because he'd been there himself, and he knew it felt like the bottom of the world.

He cocked his head sideways and looked down at you as he asked a softly, “Hey...are you okay?”

You twitched as if struck, blinked a few times, mustered yet another artificial smile, and nodded like a bobble-head. “Yeah! Yeah...of course. Totally...totally fine.”

He nodded, but his expression was still skeptical. “Well, can I get you something to drink? It's cold out there. Want some coffee or hot chocolate or...”

Your heart was beginning to ache at his kindness; kindness you didn't feel you were worthy of. You had to do what you came here for before you were distracted by it. “No...no. Sorry. Thank you but no.. just ah...let me know what I owe you and I'll leave you alone,” you said, gesturing to the little plastic bag of dried leaves between you.

“No! Really. You don't have to go! I promise. Unless you...you know...don't wanna spend anymore time with The Freak than necessary.” he said with an edge of hurt in his voice.

You came closer and grabbed his arm gently, assuring him, “No! No, Eddie, it's not like that. It's not that at all. You're so...you're so kind. I just...I'm not great company.”

He held both your shoulders, met your eyes with his sincere dark chocolate ones, and said, “You're perfect company. I promise. I'd been wanting to get to know you better and this is nice. Sit tight, take your coat off. I'll heat some cider and roll us a joint.”

You relaxed after his reassuring touch, peeled off your coat, then watched as he puttered around the kitchen. How long had it been since someone touched you? Talked with you? Assured you that you weren't a bother? Could he know how much that meant to you? You hadn't been able to feel much of anything lately except a blunt despair, and you hardly ever cried, so it surprised you when you felt the warm saline misting your tear ducts. You swallowed hard against the lump in you throat, attempting to talk around it. Thankfully his back was turned, so he wouldn't see your troubled face as you inquired, “Actually Eddie, I was wondering...do you have anything stronger?”

He paused with his back to you; movements stopping abruptly to listen closely. “Uh, I'm not sure. I might. What do you have in mind?”

You swallowed. “Ketamine...Vicodin...anything like that.”

He turned around now, brow scrunched and mouth dropped open as he thought, weighing his words and yours. “How much are you thinking? You gotta be careful with that stuff, you know. Space it out. Or with Vicodin...shit...I wouldn't go near that, honey.”

“As much as you can give me” you replied flatly, trying to keep the emotion from your voice.

“Why?” he asked slowly, eyes boring into you. You could tell, even though your gaze was on the floor, glaring hard at the tawny shag carpet.

“I just don't sleep right. You know? I'm nervous all the time. I'm just so...I need something to...to make it stop. Listen, I know it's expensive and I brought the cash for it, so please just...”

Eddie came up closer to you now. Before you knew it, you were mere centimeters from his chest, a Motorhead tee shirt dominating your field of vision. He smelled like detergent and cigarettes and warm skin and you wanted more than anything to snuggle into him forever. He took your face gently in both hands and guided your gaze up to his.

“Honey, look at me. Don't look away, okay?”

All you could do was nod, and swallow down the lump in your throat as you met his gaze. Eddie felt his heart break a little when he saw your beautiful eyes well up and spill over. He stroked your cheeks and said, “Just let it out and let me hold you. You've been holding onto it alone for too long.”

Before you knew it, you were heaving huge gasping sobs into his chest as his long arms encircled you. You panted and coughed like you had been drowning and finally...finally...had breached the surface as your rescuer pulled you up. He thought you felt so small and fragile, shuddering in his arms. He picked up one of his hoodies from the couch and draped it around you shoulders as he sat you down next to him.

When you were finally able to speak again you said in a raspy whisper, “I'm sorry, Eddie. I didn't mean to...”

“Shhhh. Cut that shit. I want you to be here. I'm glad I could be here for you.”

“Please, don't pity me.”

“I don't. I've just been where you're at,” he said knowingly, kissing your forehead and stroking his hand up and down your back in comforting little rubs. “Listen, I've always liked you a lot. I really wanted to get to know you but I thought you'd never want to hang out because I'm weird and intimidating.”

You laughed at that. “No! I was being the weird one. I never found you intimidating. You're so sweet, Eddie. I just couldn't...I was stuck inside...you know.”

He met your eyes, and his plush pink lips gave you a sweet smile. “Yeah. I know exactly the feeling. So please...just please stay. Talk to me. It'll be alright again one of these days. It really will. But for now let's just get through tonight.”

You nodded, wrapping the big hoodie around yourself like a security blanket. “Thank you,” you said and kissed him on the cheek.

“I got you, sweetheart. I'll always leave the light on for ya.”

@leelei1980 @msgexymunson @take-everything-you-can @loz-3 @veemoon @elegantkoalapaper @ladyofthestayingpower @hellfirenacht @sweetsigyn @itsfreakingbats @fairyysoup @joejoequinnquinn @josephfakingquinn @eddies-house

[miiukkaa]

i wanna hear him give absolutely horrible speeches (everyone would go apeshit nonetheless)

[updownlately]

no, you don’t have to hide (the things you feel inside, i feel too)

| leah williamson x reader | hurt/comfort | 1.3k | a/n: heard 'lonely eyes' by lauv for the first time today and i got obsessed. whipped up a tiny little h/c fic based on the song! if you want the full effect of the fic (imo) listen to the song as you read! (it's linked above :)) sorry for slightly depressing content, im in a mood.... but anyways, happy reading!

~~~

"i don’t mean to be rude there’s things in myself that i see in you lonely eyes she had those lonely eyes i only know ‘cause i have them too lonely eyes no, you don’t have to hide the things you feel inside, i feel too ‘cause i’m lonely just like you ‘cause i’m lonely just like you"

-

“Had you not moved your arm a few seconds ago, I swear I would’ve called an ambulance or something…”

The words came from the blonde stood above you, her voice teasing yet cautious, softly testing the waters as she took in your sprawled out state in the middle of the training field.

It was much, much past the time practice had ended, Leah’s rehab session what brought her to stay after, to be there to notice your crumpled form on the pitch. 

You, who was still in your training gear, a light hoodie on you however, limbs sprawled out save for your left arm, which was haphazardly slung across your face, hiding your eyes. 

Your hum of response barely audible, had the midfielder’s eyebrows furrowing in worry, head tilting to the side as she crouched down beside you.

“Hey, you okay?”

The gentle words caused you to smile wryly, bloodshot eyes hidden underneath the protective cover of the crook of your arm as you did your best to make your voice sound normal.

Clearing your throat as nonchalantly as possible, you took a deep breath before speaking out. 

“Yeah….why wouldn’t I be?”

Sighing at how you were clearly not okay, the tear tracks on your cheeks very much visible in the setting rays of the sun, Leah shook her head to herself. 

You were stubborn- she very much knew it from having had the privilege of playing with you for the better part of the past season, and if there was one thing she definitively learned about you, it was that you hesitated to show any excess emotions, much rather choosing to let out whatever it may be on the pitch.

Right now though? Right now you looked utterly exhausted, the lack of games clearly taking its toll on you. 

Stretching her neck, Leah decided to take her chances at getting through to you, at least enough so that whatever it was you were feeling right now disappeared, her only goal at the moment to make you feel better. 

Gently tossing her water bottle a few feet away from where the pair of you were, Leah took a seat beside you, leaving a considerable gap so as to not make you uncomfortable.

Legs extended out as she stretched them, the blonde watched as your chest rose unevenly, almost as if she could hear each shaky breath as it escaped you, you still hellbent on trying to claim you were doing alright. 

“You can tell me you’re fine but it doesn’t mean I have to believe it…”

The words were hushed, just whispered quietly enough to stay between you two, even though no one else was around to hear it. 

The blonde eyed you warily though, her eyes scanning your face as she saw you register the words. 

Watching keenly, she saw you clench your jaw impossibly tight, shoulders tensing, you swallowing hard at the words as your breathing stilled for a second until you realized how you had frozen and quickly picked it back up again. 

“You might be doing a good job of hiding it, at least from the others, but- and I don’t mean to be rude- but there’s things in myself that I see in you…and those things aren’t fun, at least in my experience.”

You didn’t realize it, but you found yourself nodding subconsciously at the words, a part of you relieved that your mind wasn’t the only one this messy. 

Seeing the way your head moved had the Gunner beside you smiling slightly, glad to see your walls crumbling ever so slightly. 

Pausing to see if you would say anything, Leah patiently waited, head turning as she gazed around at the scenery around you two, bathing in the calmness of Mother Nature as she gave you a minute or so to collect yourself. 

So caught up in watching a baby bird as it shakily flew from one branch of a tree to another, Leah was pleasantly jolted out of her reverie by your faint voice, your words lowly mumbled, as your arm came to move down from your eyes, revealing your bloodshot eyes to Leah, your gaze not meeting hers one bit as you looked up into the pinking sky above.

“It- it sometimes gets loud, y’know?”

Your hesitant tone, coupled with the tired words and red eyes had the skipper’s heart quietly breaking, well aware of what you were referring to.

Staying silent to urge you to continue, the blonde leaned back on her elbows, humming near soundlessly, 

“The voices up there, they just don’t stop. I wish they did so bad, but they don’t…”

A bubble of comfort took over the both of you at the words, the breeze blowing between as you basked in the freeing relief of being understood.

It just so happened that the blonde unfortunately knew exactly what you were referring to- the little voice, sometimes voices, that never stopped. Reminding you of each mistake in a game, each misspoke or awkward pause in your conversations. Voices that held the weight of the fans’ emotions, their expectations, their disappointment, each and every criticism ever uttered into existence, all meshed into a voice that followed her everywhere, not a moment of reprieve, as the assault battered her down day by day, no matter how hard she pushed through it. 

Nodding in understanding, breathing deeply as she felt herself feel seen, Leah exhaled softly before speaking.

“I wish I could tell you it gets better, but I can’t promise that…”

Her words hung in the air as you felt another wave of emotions cross you, the sentiment not really what you expected nor wanted to hear at the moment. 

Eyes tearing up at the admission, exhaustive frustration seeping into your bones, you sunk deeper into the grass beneath you, too afraid of the hurricane of emotions within you to speak up. 

Doing your best to hold it together, you willed the tears to not fall, keeping your eyes open for as long as possible so that they’d dry out faster, hoping the unshed tears would disappear. 

You were almost successful too, nearly getting a grasp on your emotions, before you heard shuffling from the girl beside you, feeling your arms brush as you just barely tilted your head to the side, watching from the corner of your eye as Leah settled down beside you, joining you in laying down.

Feeling her body warmth near you, you took a shuddering breath, the heavy weight of being alone earlier slowly rising from your chest as breathing became a tad bit easier. 

“What I can tell you- no, promise- what I can promise you is that I’ll be here beside you through it all if you’ll have me. We don’t even have to talk if you want. If you want someone to sit beside you when your mind gets a little too loud, your heart a little too heavy? I can do that. You don’t have to do it alone…I rather you not, to be honest.”

Lips turning ever so slightly as you closed your eyes, head nodding microscopically, you took in a deep sigh, flexing your jaw as your lungs loosened, the weight not completely off your chest just yet, but just enough that you believed for a second, for a moment, that maybe things could be alright.

“I think I’d like that…”

And when Leah intertwined your hands together, letting them rest between your bodies as you watched as the pink sky slowly molded into orange and then purple as the sun finally set, you took the chance to look over at her, her eyes meeting yours at the sound of your movement, two pairs of lonely eyes recognizing your shared emotions, any differences pushed aside as you stripped down to nothing but understanding and relief- grateful to find someone just like you, to be there for you. 

[esamastation]

Hey, so... Sorry for bothering you but your last post made me Very Concerned for Your Health and I just made an Tumblr account so I'll just ask... Are you ok?

I'm good, I'm good, just feeling kinda antisocial and Very Tired

[bonestrewncrest]

been hella depressed and the only thing i want to draw is my son boy. my son boy i shall draw until this passes

[s3wergh0ul]

⚠️TW SH⚠️ My seasonal depression has been hitting really hard this year. I’ve really been struggling with everything really, but also my SH urges. So naturally my comfort character gets the good hurt/comfort. Gettin patched up by your bro

[hitsujirui]

😢

[farfromstrange]

Angel On The Roof | Matt Murdock x f!Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x female Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Sometimes (or most of the time) suffering is silent, we don't often see or recognize the signs, and suicide can tear a huge hole into the hearts of the people around the affected person.

TW: SELF-HARM AND SUICIDE

Warnings: ANGST, hurt no comfort, self-harm, suicide, catholic guilt, mental illness

A/n: I intentionally wrote the warning seperately because this is... well, this was born from my brain in a matter of thirty minutes because I suddenly felt so fucking sad, and I had to somehow get these feelings out. I'm sorry. BUT I PROMISE IM OKAY THIS JUST HAPPENS SOMETIMES!!

Word count: 2.5k

DO NOT READ IF SUCH TOPICS COULD EASILY TRIGGER YOU! (And if you ever feel helpless, try talking to someone. You're not alone!)

18+ MINORS DNI

Mental illness speaks in silence. 

Unlike a broken leg, you can’t see a sickness of the mind. There is no physical proof for the scary truth that something is going not quite right inside of your brain. And because people can’t see it, they have a hard time believing the truth. They have a hard time believing that being sick in the head could even affect you this much, so they try to sell your pain as worth less than it is. How could thoughts possibly turn paralyzing? How could someone’s mind make them feel worthless to the point the affected person sees no other way out but to inflict pain onto themselves? Attention whores, it’s what those people like to call the struggling ones. Lazy, weak, selfish… every mentally ill person has heard one of those words being used to describe them at least once.

Mental illness speaks in silence because if we spoke louder, people would only sneer and turn their backs on us. Mental illness speaks in silence because suffering alone seems better than burdening someone else. And mental illness speaks in silence because those who are mentally ill live in a different world. Their heads work differently.

Mental illness speaks in silence because pain paralyzes, and silent acts are the only way someone so stuck in the claws of the faceless monster knows how to ask for help. By the time people consider questioning certain behavior though, it is often too late, and the person soon enough feels as if they’re being a burden once more because the judging looks are worse than admitting you need help in the first place. 

The monster that is mental illness is cruel and it has no regard for you or the people around you. It has set out to destroy you, and you feel helpless as it tears a knife through your soul and picks your heart apart piece by piece. And those who say, ‘just ask for help’ or ‘don’t be scared to speak up’ clearly don’t know how hard it can be to break out of such a circle once you’re already in it. 

Self-harm is considered a serious addiction on the roster, but most people see it merely as a symptom of many personality disorders or mood disorders. Those who seemingly know nothing about mental illness even like to call it a call for attention. As if self-mutilation would ever be a conscious choice made by anyone. You try to fight a pain that no one can see and only you can feel, and sometimes, when you feel so much - too much - it gets deafening and you need another pain to balance it out. 

Drugs aren’t the only thing hurting you that can result in addiction. There is a long list of things that harm the mind and body, and that is often used as a coping mechanism for the terrible things most people are forced to feel inside. 

Matt Murdock has stared down the abyss before. He knelt in front of a God he had long lost all of his faith in and begged him to take him back. He stood at the edge of the cliff, ready to end his misery. He wanted to be taken away to recover from the excruciating hole in his chest. He didn’t want this life anymore. He hated his body and his mind, and he lost who he thought himself to be. He lost all of his faith, friends, and trust in the world. He stared down the abyss and the abyss stared back at him, dark and glooming, and it was ready to dig its claws into his skin and drag him down with it. 

Though he pulled away before the darkness could consume him. He escaped death with only a breath on the tip of his tongue. He exorcized most of the demons in his mind after almost succumbing to them completely, and even now he still struggles with what the months of torture in the basement of Clinton Church did to him. The constant self-pity, the shame, the guilt, and the blame. He gave up on God when he needed them most. He found back to the lord because he strongly believed that in his time of need, he would always come back to him. 

He met her on a warm summer’s night on the roof of an apartment complex. He returned to his ways as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen in the makeshift black get-up inspired by whatever fabric he could find at church, but it had to be long after Wilson Fisk was returned behind bars. 

She assured him, “I don’t want to jump, I just want to feel.” And so he stayed by her side until the sun came back up, shoulder to shoulder sitting on the ledge of the roof and staring down at New York City. He could smell and taste the salt lingering in the air from the tears she shed, but as they sat together, she did not once cry and so he stayed silent, listening to her broken heart as the sun came up. 

It became a regular occasion. He would find her on numerous high buildings, always the same heartbeat, always stained with the salt of her tears and sometimes the tangy scent of blood on her sleeves. He never asked, he simply sat down next to her and waited until the sun came back up, and then he walked her home to make sure she would be okay. In the moment, she usually was. She smiled and thanked him, and he told her, “If you ever need to talk, well… you know I’ll find you if you call for me.”

He remembers asking her one day after he walked her home in the rain and she offered to let him in, still covered by the black mask but more than willing to learn more about the mystery woman that occupied his every thought, but he didn’t even know the name of. “Who hurt you?” he asked her. 

She placed a coffee mug before him, her shoulders shrugging weakly. He could smell a mixture between copper and metal in the bathroom, and her pulse beat heavier than usual under the long sleeves of her shirt - it was summer, no need for a sweater, but she always wore one. He didn’t like to prod. The darkness swallowed him once too, and the last thing he had wanted back then was to talk to anyone. He wouldn’t have known where to start anyway, and she was struggling with something he had no right to judge. Still, the more time they spent together, the more he began to care. 

“I hurt myself,” she had given him the simple answer. 

His hand caught her wrist accidentally one of those nights and she flinched away, eyes seemingly wide with shock and frustration. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Because I need to feel something other than this pain that is numbing me to the point I feel like I’m being burned alive.”

“Have you ever asked someone for help?”

“Why would I?” 

“Because there are people who can help when you’re hurting. People who have been trained for this. People who aren’t… people who can do much more than to just walk you home safe at night.”

She reacted rather hostile when he said it, and he couldn’t blame her, he still can’t. They were merely acquaintances. He came around when she felt alone and she enjoyed his company, but other than that they knew nothing.

“Perhaps you should go,” he remembers her saying, and then she pushed him away. 

Two nights went by without her. He didn’t find her on any rooftops or in dark alleyways looking for ways to get the edge off. When the third day rolled around and he didn’t find her again, not even her heartbeat in the masses of Hell’s Kitchen, he gave into the voice in his head and took the road he memorized to the apartment he often walked her to after a particularly draining night. 

He told himself not to cross that border because well, whatever they had, it meant nothing. But she was just human too, after all, and she was left alone hurting with demons in her head ready to tear her down. She was like him while at the same time, she was inherently different. He just knew she was drowning and if it was the catholic in him or just Matt Murdock who felt the need, but he had to protect her, even if it was just from herself.

Sometimes your head can become you worst enemy.

He entered the apartment over the fire escape. She kept her window unlocked, which wasn’t very safe. When he heard the sobs coming from the direction of the suspected bathroom though, he didn’t question why her window was open. Perhaps part of her took his offer to heart and she was searching for help, subconsciously at least. But he wasn’t the help she needed. He couldn’t do much but sit by her side and walk her home. Matt didn’t have much to give to her but even more pain in the form of his friendship. It never ended well for him.

He broke the door down at the scent of blood, and he was glad he did. He didn’t need sight to know that her arms were covered in cuts and the floor dark red with the essence of her heart. Her heartbeat sounded erratic in the small bathroom. 

He didn’t panic though. He grabbed a few towels and wrapped them around her wrists, and as soon as she felt his touch, she fell into his arms and cried. He held her as she did, the blood soaking through his clothes, but he didn’t care. He held her until she was too weak to fight back, and then he did the most conscious thing, took her to bed and stitched her up. 

She was quiet throughout, and even after. He couldn’t tell where her mind was at. Together, they lay on her soft mattress. He listened to her heartbeat and the tiny sobs passing her lips, all the while he still wore the goddamn black mask he once swore he would never pick up again. 

“Why do you keep doing it?” he asked her eventually. His finger ran over the bandage he had applied earlier. “Why do you keep hurting yourself?”

She shivered. “It wouldn’t make sense even if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“No, you wouldn’t understand. You barely even know me and I don’t know you. Why do you keep doing this, D?”

“Matthew,” he told her. “That is my name. And I do understand because I’ve been where you are. Not- not this severe, but I can try to understand.”

“I just can’t help it,” she admitted. “I don’t know why, and I don’t want to talk about it. But I’m glad you’re here, and I promise I will try not to do it again.”

He caved because her heartbeat told the truth. “Okay.”

She didn’t lie because she believed it to be true.

And she never told him her name.

But that night she took his hand in hers and asked him to stay until she fell asleep, and against his better judgment, he did. He stayed until her breathing evened out and the sun came up. Only then did he slip out through the window and back into his everyday role.

She found a note on her table, poorly scribbled but she could decipher what he had meant to bring across. 

It’s because I care about you that I do this, Angel.

That night, he found you waiting on a rooftop for him again. He heard the smile in her voice, and for a second he believed she was okay again. 

They shared one kiss. It was a Tuesday night. The rain outside pattered against the window, but inside it was warm. He walked her home again, and she asked him if he wanted tea. He accepted her offer.

“Will I ever see your face?” she wondered out loud.

He chuckled. “It wouldn’t be such a good idea.” The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen knowingly never does home visits. 

“Can you see mine?”

“No.” He didn’t tell her he was blind. Maybe he should have. Maybe telling her more about himself could have steered off the inevitable. If he had only allowed himself to hold on tighter without letting the fear take over, maybe she would still be there.

That night, she leaned in to kiss the revealed lower have of his face, and he had never felt so much dread yet happiness during a kiss before.

It was short and sweet, an act of kindness, and then she did the one thing she had never done before.

She thanked him. “Thank you,” she told him. “For everything.”

It was the first warning sign, but he missed it. He missed them all.

She kissed him, then thanked him, and then when he turned to leave, she said, “Goodbye, Matthew.”

If he had only known back then that this would be the last time he would get to feel her presence again, he would have stayed even long after the sun had risen. 

Three days later, a kiss, the sound of her heartbeat, and a distinctive smell in his clothes and nose are all he has left of her. He held her when she needed it, but even when she tried subtly telling him that something wasn’t right, he didn’t realize what she was trying to tell him. 

Mental illness is silent until it isn’t, and now Matt Murdock is standing in the summer rain over the grave of a woman he had only briefly met, her name scribbled on the stone by the only family she had left, and even they had already left by the time he joined her.

He finds himself standing at the grave of a woman so broken, she knew no other way out than this. 

“Did you know her well?” His mother stands beside him, hands crossed in front of her body. 

He scoffs, the honesty seeping off his lips like acidic honey. “I didn’t even know her name.”

“Then how did you…” the question got lost along the way. She nods, realizing, then paints the crucifix over her chest and heart, kissing the cross necklace he wears the same. “If it’s any consolation,” she says, “I do not believe that people who commit suicide go to hell. I think God has her now. I think he is taking care of her as we speak.”

“How did I not realize?” he whispers. His voice cracks, but he holds on. He knows she wouldn’t have wanted to see him cry. The rain hits his glasses and soaks his clothes, but even after more than one plea from his mother, he doesn’t move an inch. 

Mental illness is silent until it isn’t.

“I’m sorry.” The gravestone doesn’t answer. “I wish I could have gotten to know you better. I wish I could have realized… could have seen… I was a coward. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Please, forgive me for this. For all of it.”

He doesn’t want to cry, but it’s getting harder with each passing second of realization. The service was lovely, but without her, reality seems more like a bad dream than something actively happening to him.

He never really knew her, but he realized something crucial as he stands before the filled, wet hole in the ground, and it knocks all the leftover air from his frozen lungs. 

He loved her. He does.

But she took her own life to end a suffering no one but him was willing to listen to, and it would make him bitter until the day he, too, would move to the mansion of rest in the lord’s paradise — and he would pray until then that he would be able to meet her again and tell her the truth he realized too late. The stranger, the broken woman, his lost Angel on the roof. 

[mimiwrites2000]

‘stop saying my name like that’

Archive of Our Own

She looked around the room, as if she wanted confirmation from anyone or anything around her, to confirm that what she was hearing was true. Her eyes darted at the bookshelves, at the wooden chairs, at the photo frames, at the bottle of wine on the desk— but they didn’t speak, they just watched her bleed out.

‘I can’t do this anymore.’

He said to her.

‘It’s not working.’

He said to her, not waiting for her to say anything.

‘What do you mean?’

She asked him, and he sighed, taking in a deep breath, reciting the answer he had long memorized in his head for when she would ask that question.

‘We are broken, we are both broken beyond repair—’

‘But that was the whole point, we would heal together, we would heal each other.’

She interrupted him, getting up from her chair and walking towards him, towards the chair behind his desk in that small room on the boat.

‘We will heal together, I will heal you and you will heal me, isn’t that what you told—’

‘That was long ago,’ he interrupted her, ‘that was so long ago.’

‘It hasn’t been a year—’

‘It is a long time,’ he closed all the openings in her face. ‘I was a different person, you were a different person as well.’

She blinked, once, twice, thrice, the tips of her finger fidgeting with the golden band around one of them.

‘But we…’ she tried to say anything, but her tongue tangled in her mouth, and pushed against the roof of her mouth.

‘I…’ he hesitated, getting up from his chair. ‘I know this is not what I promised.’

‘So you are very aware of what you are doing?’ Annie asked him, ignoring the half empty bottle of wine on his desk.

‘I’ve been… thinking about it, for a while, and we are only ruining each other.’

Annie almost asked him if she was ruining him, but she stopped herself, because that was exactly what his words meant.

She was ruining him.

Annie shook her head, ‘I know we are broken, I know, but you’re not supposed to run.’

‘Annie—’

She shook her head, because he called her by her name, he renamed her as Annie, the endless months of my love blown away in one word.

‘You are not supposed to run, I am the one who runs, I am the one who hides, Armin, not you,’ she told him, ‘you can’t just… you can’t do this, we see each other everyday, we are both ambassadors, we work with each other, how are we going to live like this?’

‘I will try to stay out of your sight as much as I can,’ he told her, ‘I will stay away, I promise.’

‘Don’t promise!’ She said, her voice a few notches higher, ‘don’t give me your empty promises!’

‘Annie,’ he called her name, another stab into her chest, ‘I… I promise.’

She looked around the room, as if she wanted confirmation from anyone or anything around her, to confirm that what she was hearing was true. Her eyes darted at the bookshelves, at the wooden chairs, at the photo frames, at the bottle of wine on the desk— but they didn’t speak, they just watched her bleed out.

‘I am sorry, he told her, I didn’t want to let this go on for much longer.’

‘Why?’ She asked him.

‘Because stretching it out it would only make it harder—’

‘No no,’ she interrupted him, ‘why?’

He paused, only for two seconds, until he understood her question, then his answer came out fast and clear. ‘I don’t want to live like this for the rest of my life.’

But he meant something else, and even if he didn’t say it, Annie heard it loud and clear; ‘I don’t want to live with you for the rest of my life.’

He cleared his throat, ‘We’re not doing each other any good, we’re only hurting each other.’

‘You don’t hurt me’ she retorted, but then his words sank in, deep, until they laid on the bottom of her consciousness.

I am the one hurting him.

‘Right…’ she said, taking a step backwards, the first step she took out of his life, ‘right…’

‘I am so sorry,’ he said, reaching out with his hands, but she flinched away.

She never flinched from him before, not when he kissed her for the first time, not when he touched her for the first time.

‘Alright,’ she told him, taking another step backwards, her eyes looking at everything in the room but his eyes, because her sight was getting blurry with unwanted tears, and she didn’t want to see his dry eyes.

‘I’ll… I will go,’ she told him and turned.

She opened the door and stepped outside, but before she closed it, she waited for three seconds.

She waited.

One

Two

Three

But he never called her, he never told her to stop, to come back, that he was wrong—

It never came.

So she closed the door, and went back to her room.

She sat on the edge of her bed, her heart yelling in her ears, and her lungs inflated with so many things to shout, with so many things to let out.

But she didn’t do anything.

She sat on the edge of her bed, the clock on the wall ticked.

Tick

Tok

Tick

Tok

Tick

Tok

Her fingers itched, she wanted to thrash at that clock and stop its arms, to stop time from moving, to stop the world from turning, to freeze time and place and life and everything, because how dare life go on when her chest hollowed with an empty void?

How dare life go on when her heart stopped beating in her chest?

How dare life go on when her ribcage shrinked on her lungs, suffocating her?

She got up, and on the dresser, a small velvety box waited for her.

They didn’t even get a chance to tell their friends.

She picked up the box and flicked it open. She took off the golden band from her finger, placed it in the box, and before she let herself sit back down again, she flung the door open and went out.

Her feet took her to his room, a path that had her feet print dented in it, a path she could take with a blindfold over her eyes.

She stood at the front of his door, and she thought about leaving the box there, on the floor, but no, she must finish what she started.

She knocked on the door three times, and in almost no time, she heard him say come in.

She stepped into his room once again, but she didn’t bother closing the door behind her.

She noticed his visible rigid posture hung over his desk, and she almost asked if he was alright, but pulled back the rein and instead, placed the box on his desk.

‘You didn’t have to give it back…’ he said.

‘I don’t want it,’ she told him.

He pressed his lips together, and then he swallowed. His lips parted to say something but she interrupted him.

‘I never should’ve trusted you, not with my body or with my heart or with anything.’

‘Annie—’

She raised her hand, ‘I was healing, I was starting to heal, I started to enjoy waking up in the morning, I started finding a reason to wake up every morning, but you broke me, you broke me beyond repair.’

He shook his head.

‘And you,’ she continued, ‘should have never wasted your life waiting for me in that basement, and I should have never expected anything from you.’

‘But I don’t regret it—’

‘And I don’t care what you regret or not, because I do regret every moment I spent with you, and I… wanted to give you all of my time, even though I had barely a few years to live.’

Annie continued, ‘and I regret it, I regret it so bad, I regret believing you, and I can't… believe you're doing this to me!’ She no longer controlled her voice; let everyone on that boat hear her, let everyone know that they were crumpling, piece by piece, with every word coming out of her mouth.

‘I don't understand–’

She interrupted him, ‘Yes you do! Or no, you don't! And I know you don't understand!’

Armin sighed, getting up, placing the velvety dark blue box on the desk, and Annie noticed the level of wine in the bottle was lower than before.

‘Annie, please, don't make this harder than it is.’

She shook her head, ‘you're such a liar, a cunning, manipulative liar–’

‘Annie–’

‘–and I see you lie everyday to others, behind podiums and in letters, all you do is lie and yet I believed you, I believed in you, and I believed everything you used to tell me.’

He took a step forward, hesitantly, watching Annie's reaction, carefulif she would flinch again. ‘I meant everything that I used to say.’

‘Liar.’

‘I meant it when I wanted to live the rest of my life with you–’

‘Liar.’

‘–I really did mean it! At that time, I meant it!’

‘You're a liar, you're such a liar,’ Annie took a deep breath and retreated two steps to the door. ‘I hate you,’ she told him, ‘and I hate myself for hating you, but I hate myself more for thinking we had a chance.’

She glared at him, then his image swayed and blurred. Spots on the carpet darkened with every tear dripping down her chin.

Drip

Drip

Drip

‘I hate myself for not seeing this coming,’ she sniffed and wiped one of her cheeks with the palm of her hand. ‘I knew you didn't want to be with me anymore, I felt it, I felt it in your hands, and I felt it each time you kissed me; it felt like you were doing it just because you had to.’

Armin shook his head, ‘That's not true, that's not true, I meant it, everything, I meant it, I really did, please Annie.’

‘Stop saying my name like that,’ she wiped the other cheek with the back of her hand, ‘you’re not bothering yourself with any risk, you're too scared to lose anything.’

‘Annie–’

‘Do you even have anything left to lose?’ She asked him, but she got an answer of silence. The waves outside lulled the boat to sleep, under moonlight, under the endless stars.

Annie left that room, leaving so many things within those four walls, her shoulders lifting up with all the weight left behind. She got to her room as light as a feather, as light as the day she was born.

She didn't give herself a chance to sit by the edge of the bed, instead, she immediately climbed onto it, kicking her shoes off, and wrapping herself with the blankets.

The night was cold, maybe a little bit colder than usual, or maybe it was just her, or maybe the tears on her face made chills of cold coat her body, maybe it was the shaking of her figure that made her fight for her breath.

He usually paced the room if he had a lot of thoughts thrashing in his mind, instead, he sat still behind his desk, watching the void black sea from the small circular window. He didn't bother getting a cup for the wine, he merely sipped it right from the bottle, until the bottle got too light that it slipped from his sweaty grip.

It fell on the wooden floor in a loud thud, then it rolled on itself several times, before it came to a halt, before it swayed again with the boat’s rockabye.

He closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath in.

No, that wasn't right, he couldn't do it.

He couldn't do it.

He got up, leaning on the desk until his sight stabilized and didn't sway anymore, then he left his room, and walked to her room, a room he knew way too well.

He stood in front of Annie’s door, his heart skipping a beat and shuffling through the next three, but despite it, he raised his hand to knock on the door.

Then he stopped.

Soft, low sobs wafted from the room, like snakes that smoothly wrapped around his body, one by one, warm and soft, until they squeezed, bit by bit, leaving his bones crushed and his lungs with everything but breath in them.

His hand hesitated.

Then he let his hand fall beside himself again.

He stood in front of that door, listening to silent cries, until the sun peeked from behind the vast blue horizon, announcing a new day, a new life.

Armin turned and went back to his room, an abandoned velvety dark blue box waited for him on his desk. He opened it, the tips of his fingers delicately picked up the circular golden ring; still warm from her hand.

This is for the better.

This is the best for both of us.

Forgive me, Annie.

~~~~

author’s note:

Happy 1st of December!

I am sorry for writing this, and I’m sorry for sharing it But hey! I have over 20 stories about these two being in love!

I’m just sad, and seasonal depression is hitting hard, all at once, sooooo this is one way to cope… I guess?

[quevadilla]

got angst on the mind today y'all,,,,,

steddie angst below the cut

okokok so someone has probably already written this BUT

what if Eddie never tried to be a hero? never left that trailer in the upside down, never left dustin alone, etc. they both survive (I'm going with vecna was defeated so without someone controlling them they drop dead all at the same time)

but there's a frantic call on the walkie coming from Nancy

Steve is taken down somehow. Weak and still breathing, still has a pulse, but her and Robin need help moving him

Eddie and Dustin make it over as fast as possible

Eddie barely managed to get Steve out from under a near hysterical Robin. Steve is in and out of coherency, it seems like he took another hit to his head.

Eddie just keeps talking in an effort to keep him awake until they can get him to a hospital, to keep from breaking down himself.

"You know, never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I'd have Steve Harrington in my arms like this."

"You dreamin' about me, Munson?" Steve slurs back. He has the ghost of a smile on his face.

The frightened tears Eddie's been successfully keeping at bay so far suddenly threaten to spill. "Yeah, and I'll tell you all about it later, you just gotta stay with us, alright? Promise." His voice is shaking. He can feel Steve start to go further limp against his chest.

Steve hums as his eyes start to flutter closed. "'M gonna hold you to that."

Eddie tries to jostle him back to full consciousness. "Steve? You gotta stay awake, man, okay? Steve, you hear me?" Eddie loons down only to find Steve's face has gone totally slack; he can't tell if he's even breathing.

Goddamnit, Steve. Eddie breaks out running towards the gate that's finally in sight, grateful for the adrenaline still coursing through him. He'll be damned if Steve doesn't make it back, even at his own expense.

[tardis--dreams]

I'm currently going through one of the most severe depressive episodes I've experienced in the last few years. Of Course I'm going to rewatch beyond evil now

[phantomsercher-blog]

[94kyushi]

I don't think this is something I will recover from for a long fucking time. And after all the other shows I've seen this year that mentally destroyed me? Well...

Does anyone have any good show/movie recommendations that have an actual HAPPY ending?? P L E A S E

[overobsessedfanboy23]

Some voice in my head: Rewatch the Kuaidul episodes/all of Go Rush.

Me: But I want to watch a new show and not be overly obsessed with Yugioh.

The voice: KUAIDUL

[inspirational-places]

[garbagequeer]

the thing about beautiful riverdale is that there are a couple of people in my life who seem to have learned the trick to see me turn into the happiest person on earth with the biggest smile under any circumstances which is asking me about riverdale