#that i have been actively suicidal again because i am so burnt out

[avibero]

-

[corticalamity]

big old fckn trigger warning on this bad boy but i need to vent

because why i am quite possibly the most persistently and chronically and genuinely suicidal as i have been since i was like 16 and i don't know how much more give i have in me since i have felt this way for... like actual months now maybe even a year. i'm not even depressed i am just completely defeated and broken down

i miss all my friends but i am so terrified of getting covid again because of how badly it fucked me up the first time even fully vaccinated, and next to nobody will make accommodations for me, they instead just pretend that i don't exist. i'm lonely as hell, and i miss connection so bad. plus my grandma is in town and has been snarky about me wearing my mask the entire time, even when i tried to explain how disabling covid was when i had it. she's the one person who felt safe to me growing up and now that's all being ripped out from under me because i'm realizing it was just because she wasn't actively abusive and actually there are things she did that were really fucked up.

my to do list is miles long with no end in sight because things just keep adding to it and i feel so defeated there too because i need help with it but i don't get much if any, and quite frankly at this point i am begging for someone to take care of me because i'm so beyond burnt out and have been for a really really long time but i can't just ignore the things that need to be done unfortunately. so now because i am constantly every day even on days i work having to do stuff basically i have no energy for my passions. i havent made art in forever. i've hardly gone out in nature this year and its already june. i havent had time to plant my herbs or do any fun gardening. i've hardly had the energy or time to take care of my houseplants and theyre suffering because of it.

i cant keep fucking living like this. i dont know what to do. i'm completely at the end of my rope i feel so so so hopeless and so lost and so angry and hurt and lonely and desperate

i want to run away and live in the woods and never return

i can tell things are really really bad because all i do aside from fantasize about death is fantasize about living in a tiny house or van or whatever in the middle of nowhere where nobody has access to me and thats all i used to think about when i was a child

[five-rivers]

Long Night in the Valley Chapter 4

Trigger warning for suicide and suicide baiting.  Starts and ends at the * asterisks.  

.

There was something wrong with the school.  Other than it being entirely within Midoriya’s head.  It was… ominous.  Foreboding.  The way the walls joined together was wrong.  The colors on the posters clashed.  The incomprehensible background noise made by the bright blurs was jeering, mocking.

It reminded Aizawa too much of his old school, the one he went to before UA.  Of the looks and the hate he got just because his quirk frightened people.

But Midoriya had a straightforward physical quirk.  Correction: he appeared to have a straightforward physical quirk.  Even if he’d had the bone breaking problem, he shouldn’t have experienced anything like that.

Aizawa was shoved, hard, from behind, and that shouldn’t have knocked him off balance, but it did.  He tumbled, painfully, to the ground.  There hadn’t been anyone there to push him.

Except the blurs.

He cursed inwardly.  He had been too fast to dismiss them, he realized, as cruel laughter rose up around them.

“They can touch us,” said Aizawa.  “Be careful.”

“Yes, sir!” said Iida, sporting a black eye already.  “I apologize for my inattention.”

More laughter.  An older, but still indistinct voice rose above the sound, along with a taller blur.  A teacher.  The condescension in the tone made Aizawa’s teeth hurt.

He caught sight of Suzuki ahead.  “Come on,” he said.

“Let me try something, sensei,” said Todoroki.  He raised his arm, and ice filled the hallway, pushing out to either side.

The blurs ignored it.  The jeering increased in volume.  Aizawa could make out individual words, now, like ‘useless’ and ‘freak.’

“Good thought, Todoroki,” said Aizawa.  He tried not to let his trepidation show.  He had a feeling this was going to be difficult.

The children looked at him in horror.

“Sensei,” said Iida, “you’re being… encouraging?”

“Just follow them,” said Aizawa, pointing.  He wanted hazard pay for this nonsense.

“Yes, sir!” said Iida, zooming off.  He was immediately tripped again.

Luckily, Suzuki didn’t seem to be having much more luck.  The blurs, which Aizawa guessed were somehow Midoriya’s memories of his former classmates, were just as violent with him.  Aizawa couldn’t see Midoriya anymore.

Laughter.  One of the blurs scratched at Aizawa’s side and murmured tauntingly.  They passed a nurse’s office where nothing but cold words and cold winds emerged.  The hallways smelled like smoke and sugar and things that had to be related to quirks.

There was a loud ring overhead, and the blurs abruptly vanished.  Despite the burns Aizawa had suffered (when?) he forced himself to speed up.

He almost caught Suzuki before he entered the classroom.

Iida slipped on the tile floor, hitting him from behind, and all of them skidded into the classroom as a tangled mess.  Aizawa hadn’t been this clumsy since he was in middle school.  What was going on?

Midoriya was sitting at a desk, hunched over and muttering.  The desk was, to put it nicely, ruined.  Even from Aizawa’s current perspective, he could make out some truly hateful things carved into the wood and metal.

Aizawa dearly hoped that this was exaggerated.  Even so, he was going to seriously talk to Midoriya about therapy and taking legal action against this hellhole.

“What are you hiding?” asked Suzuki, roughly.

*

The classroom exploded into sound, blurs at the desks solidifying into outlines, into ghosts.

You’re also applying to UA, aren’t you, Midoriya?

Midoriya froze and buried his head in his arms.  Aizawa, halfway up with the intent to stop whatever this was, felt himself freeze as well.

This mindscape affected him far too much for his peace of mind.

The ghosts laughed, long and hard and cruel, the teacher did nothing to stop it.

Then Bakugou’s shade exploded.  Literally.  The smaller Midoriya barely had time to throw himself back, away from the blast.  Midoriya’s reflexes had much improved since middle school, but, honestly, even this much was impressive for someone of his age.

Come on, Deku!  Forget the crappy quirks, you’re totally quirkless!

… What?

Aizawa missed the next several sentences as his mind whirred, trying to comprehend what he just heard.  But then another explosion brought him back, and Bakugou’s next words were completely unmissable.

If you think you’ll have a quirk in your next life… go take a swan dive off the roof!

Just like that, whatever was holding them in place broke, the ghosts fading away entirely, leaving the classroom completely empty except for them and Midoriya.

Midoriya who was shaking, fists clenched, tears running down his face.

“Are you happy now?” he demanded.  “Are you happy?  Why couldn’t you just let me-?  Me being quirkless in middle school isn’t hurting anyone!”  He took several deep but uneven breaths, his shoulders trembling.

Uraraka stepped forward, and Midoriya flinched.

“Izuku?” she said, hesitantly.

Midoriya looked up, his expression guarded.

“The first thing I’m going to do when we get out of here is punch Bakugou.”  She said it cheerfully, one hand in a fist.

Midoriya gaped, but some of the oppressive, terrified, atmosphere dissipated.

Aizawa sighed to himself.  Now that the immediate danger seemed to be over, he moved closer to Midoriya.  He wasn’t sure if it was even possible to comfort a memory or a fragment or figment or whatever this was, but he wanted to be between Midoriya and Suzuki.  Especially given that Suzuki seemed to be able to manipulate the environment to some extent.

“Plus ultra,” agreed Todoroki.

“Uraraka!  Todoroki!” gasped Iida, scandalized.  “You can’t just punch a classmate outside of school supervised sparring!”

“I love you Iida, but you’re a bit of a hypocrite sometimes,” said Uraraka.  “Especially considering, uh…”  She gestured vaguely at Iida’s hands and then Midoriya’s face.

Iida turned a very funny color, then looked down at his hands.  “Oh my god, you’re right…”  He whispered, horrified.  “What have I become?”

“Besides,” said Todoroki, “Aizawa is like, right here.”  He gestured at Aizawa.  “We can ask him if we can—”

“No,” interrupted Suzuki, “that can’t be it!  Show me what you’re hiding!”  He started forward only to be jumped by three extremely annoyed hero students.  Just to be safe, Aizawa activated his quirk and kept it trained on the man.

“Mind the gun!” reminded Iida.

Ah, yes.  The gun.  Which the man may or may not have recovered at any point due to the impermanent nature of everything here.  Lovely.

“Midoriya,” said Aizawa, “he’s after you.  Get out of here.”

“Yes,” said Midoriya.  “Sorry, sensei.”  He bobbed in an incomplete bow and turned to the door.

And there was that stupid gun.

Aizawa wished he had his capture weapon back.

“What are you keeping secret?” demanded Suzuki, his voice echoing somewhat.

Midoriya clutched his head and screamed, falling to his knees.  His body vanished entirely, but the sound remained, somehow.

The classroom fell apart.

.

Very briefly, Tenya recognized Hosu.  The smoke, the alley, the distant, indistinct cries of Manual.  It wasn’t the alley where he’d found Stain standing over Native, however.  This was… this was Midoriya’s perspective.

The scene shifted again, rapidly.  They were now in the entrance tunnel to the sports festival arena.  The air smelled of smoke.  Todoroki startled, but—

It fell away.  A hallway in UA, the smell of coffee.  Then, one of the soundproofed conference rooms, papers on a table, the writing all blacked out.  Suzuki lunged for them, Aizawa punched him in the face.

Another shift, a dilapidated apartment with footprints on the walls and ceilings.  A microwave hummed in the background.  As soon as it dinged, they were elsewhere again.

Back on the beach.  The light was different.  A single car still remained and—

They were on a rooftop.

The wind blew mournfully.

Midoriya was standing at the edge, uniform in disarray, a burnt notebook clutched in one hand.

“Stop it!” he shouted, almost doubled over.  “Stop it, stop it, stop it!”

Tenya took a step forward before he could fully assess the situation.  If he tried to grab Midoriya now…  There was a good chance he’d go right over the edge.

“There it is!  That smile of his is just a mask—”

“Of course, it’s a mask, you idiot!” exclaimed Midoriya, angrily.

Angrily.

Midoriya rarely got angry.

“I am clinically depressed, and I have anxiety!  That doesn’t make me a villain.  Are you stupid?  Are you on drugs?  Is the whole commission on drugs?  All Might’s smile was a mask ninety percent of the time!  And don’t you dare try to tell me that Hawks’ smile isn’t a mask.  Do you do this to him, too, you sicko?”

Suzuki had gone very stiff.  “How do you know about that?”

“Because I have functioning eyes, unlike virtually everyone else, apparently.  What is wrong with you?”

“You,” said Suzuki, “are in no position to ask questions.  What are you hiding here?”

“You really want to know?  Do you?  Do you?  Huh?”

“Midoriya—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, I can’t take this anymore, this is so stupid.”

This Midoriya was… also not quite right, it seemed.  Beyond age.

“You want to know why this place is a secret?  Fine.  Fine!”  He threw his hands on the air.  “This is the first and last place I seriously considered suicide.  Happy?”  The last was said with such an incredible amount of venom that everyone took a step away from Midoriya.

“Suicide?” said Tenya out loud, unable to stop himself.

“I didn’t want to—Hero courses filter stuff like that out!  If they think you’re going to be a liability!”  He was breathing heavily.  “Are you happy now?  You have my- my deep, dark secrets!  You know what- what I was like before, and—”

“Midoriya,” said Aizawa, gently, “it’s fine.  UA doesn’t filter for that.  All you would have to do is attend extra counseling.”

“Really?” said Midoriya.

*

“That can’t be it,” said Suzuki.  “You…” He whipped his head around.  “There was someone else here.  Who stopped you?  Was this where All for One recruited you?”

“What is wrong with you?” demanded Tenya, activating his quirk long enough to skid to a halt right in front of Suzuki.

Suzuki looked past him as if he weren’t even there.  “Who was with you?”

A faint breeze picked up.  Without power, can one become a hero?  No, I should think not…

“All Might?” said Uraraka.

“All Might?!” repeated Suzuki incredulously.

The scene changed in a blink.  They were in a pedestrian tunnel.

Midoriya, as disheveled and tiny as he was on the roof, leaned up against the wall, clearly wary of them in general and Suzuki in particular.

First contact… whispered a voice that dragged across Tenya’s mind like the end of a silk curtain.

“First contact?” said Suzuki.  “What is that supposed to-?”

“Hey!”

They turned to see a figure standing beyond the tunnel’s mouth, in the sunlight.  They were tall and slender, perhaps as tall as Tenya, and wearing a hoody and disposable medical mask.  The voice sounded oddly familiar, but Tenya couldn’t place it.  It sounded like the owner was about their age.

“Ha!” said Suzuki.  “This guy definitely isn’t Midoriya!  You have to admit-!”

“Are these guys bothering you?” asked the boy in the hoody.

“Yes,” said Midoriya.

“Well, don’t worry now!  Because I am here!”

“Are you… a vigilante?” guessed Tenya as the unknown boy stepped into the tunnel.  Many of them had an appreciation for All Might.

“Sure!” said the boy, cheerfully.

“Mutation-based speed enhancement,” muttered Izuku, sliding across the wall towards the boy.  “Fire and ice user.  Five-point activation mass alteration.  Quirk negation with secondary minor telekinesis.  Some kind of thought or memory manipulation, possibly a form of telempathy that allows him to alter the local environment as a side effect.  May have a truth-detection component.”

A thread of ice wound down Tenya’s back.  Even if he didn’t believe that Midoriya was a traitor, that he was giving information about them so freely to this stranger, as if they were enemies, was chilling…  Even if it did evolve that this was just a figment of his imagination…

“Ha!  It’ll take more than that to get rid of me!” said the vigilante, pointing a thumb at his chest.

If Tenya wasn’t mistaken, however, there was a bit of a wobble in his voice.

“Mass alteration can act like freefall.  No conscious control of how much mass is altered, can only reduce mass,” continued Midoriya, now hiding behind the taller boy.  “Ceiling of absolute temperature alteration from average is lower for fire than for ice.  Speed enhancement can be used to power kicks.  Mind the capture weapon.  Scarf.”

“Gotcha!”

The vigilante lunged for Suzuki and threw him bodily into Aizawa.  While the adults were recovering, the students moved to flank the stranger.  He attempted to throw Uraraka in the same way, but she got him with her quirk and he floated towards the ceiling, which he kicked off, enough power in the movement to clock Todoroki in the jaw.

Tenya attempted to apply a kick at the vigilante’s exposed but still-floating back, but was nearly stabbed in the eye with a pencil by Midoriya.

“Sorry,” said Midoriya, breathlessly.  “Sorry.  I didn’t do this for real.  I thought about it.  But I didn’t.  Sorry.”

“You thought about stabbing me in the eye?”

“No.  Muscular.  The sludge villain.  I thought—Maybe I should have.”  His muttering rapidly became unintelligible.

Tenya was distracted enough by the muttering that he took a second longer than he should have to react to Midoriya going after his bad shoulder.  The tip of the pencil dug right into it.

“Sorry, sorry, this is a dream, I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

“Disengage!” shouted Aizawa.  “There’s no point in fighting these guys!”

“The hell there isn’t!” said Suzuki.

“Dissension among the ranks, eh, villains?” asked the vigilante.

“Hey!” complained Uraraka.  “Don’t lump us in with him!”

The vigilante, somehow, got a hold of Aizawa again.  Despite his young appearance, he had a lot more skill than Iida, or even Midoriya.

Aizawa managed to get a blow across the boy’s face, knuckles knocking his hood and mask askew, and—

He would recognize that smile anywhere.  Even if it wasn’t paired with the floppy bangs they had all come to know.

“All Might?!”

.

Toshinori tried to ignore his growing headache as he laid out supplies.  Izuku was sleeping, and they were safe for now, but it would be foolish of them to assume that the Hero Commission would just let Izuku disappear.  The infinite variety of quirks in the world all but guaranteed someone with a tracking quirk would be after them, and soon.

Thus, it behooved them to disguise themselves.  

In this day and age, the easiest way to do that was to make it look like you had a quirk other than your own.  The bulky coat he had selected included a high collar and an apparatus that covered everything below the eyes, suggesting a disturbing or difficult-to-control mutation.   Of course, he’d also have to wear sunglasses.  His eyes were unfortunately distinctive.  The hair would have to go, too.

For Izuku, though, he couldn’t stand the thought of completely cutting his hair off—it would look strange in someone so young, anyway—so instead he had retrieved the hair bleach.  White hair, combined with a suit and properly worn tie, would make him appear older.  Lifts in his shoes would add to that impression.

The computer pinged.  Toshinori went to it and made a face.  He wasn’t technologically inclined at all, but Six was and had been a different story.  The computer was old, but Six was very good, and large organizations only rarely changed their protocols.

The commission had their tracker, a young rescue hero named Trace.  She was on her way to UA.  The details of her quirk…  Yes.  They could potentially even keep her away from the safehouse, if they took the opportunity to cross their paths…  But they would have to start preparing to leave now.

Izuku woke with a gasp and an anguished cry.  The pain in it was echoed by a spike in Toshinori’s headache.

Toshinori rushed to the room.  “What’s wrong, my boy?”

“They’re not in my head anymore,” said Izuku, knotting his fingers in his hair.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” asked Toshinori, even as he knew it wasn’t.

Izuku shook his head.  “They’re not in my head anymore.  They’re in yours.”

[that-good-trash]

I’m Not Okay- Chapter 4 Midoriya x reader/ Bakugou x reader

Izuku Midoriya x reader/ Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: You have struggled with mental health your whole life so why can’t you seem to get it under control. Will you be able to keep the same mask even though two of your classmates have seen under it?

Warnings: Depression, Mentions of suicide/ Attempt at suicide, Angst, Anxiety,

Word count: 4,336

Comment: Thank you all for reading this series, I have two different endings I’ll be posting after this chapter. One will be for Bakugou, One for Midoriya. I’ve enjoyed writing this and I am so happy that so many like it. 

Once again you matter and any issues you have are valid!

--------------------------------------

You remember once, when you were little, watching a hero on TV save the day. What hero it was didn’t matter to you at the time. All you saw was this person risk their life to save someone else. You watched the emotions that passed over the citizens face, the relief and security they found after being rescued. You remember thinking that you wanted to save people. You wanted to be someone’s reason for feeling safe, a stable beacon of hope and strength. Oh, how foolish you were. Really a child with dreams too big for her bleak future.

A little girl with a quirk better suited for someone with confidence, for someone who truly believed they could save the world. You remember the excitement when it manifested. You ran around telling everyone you were gonna be a hero. There was no idol for you, you didn’t need to be like All Might. You just wanted to help people and with this quirk you were gonna do it. Other kids wanted to be hero’s for fame or power but you didn’t need any of that. You just wanted to make a difference in someone’s life. As you grew the dream was the same but the reason started to change. You wanted to make a difference in your own life, you wanted self-worth and thought being a hero could give you it. Selfish, that is what you thought you had become. How could you have gotten so lost? It wasn’t that you didn’t want to save people you just wanted someone to save you.

As you grew up each year brought on more and more emotional issues. You were convinced that you had brain damage or were dying of some brain eating bacteria. You weren’t completely wrong, you had issues, mental issues.  The first time you had gone to therapy you were six. You stopped getting along with other kids, stopped playing with toys, stopped being a child. Your family was worried, what could have happened that you lost all desire for life. A little kid not wanting to be a little kid was a strange concept. After therapy and some medication, you were back to being a child, running around and playing hero. You were ten when you watched the people around you go about their days like you didn’t exist. You found out the hard way that the world doesn’t stop when you are depressed. Still a child you had to realize that if you were gone the people around you would go on and eventually forget about you. You couldn’t understand this feeling of anxiety. You tried harder and harder to be noticed in the hopes that if you did disappear or die people wouldn’t be able to forget you. This plan back fired. Your family members, friends, and teachers started getting irritated with you. Your parents yelled at you to behave, your teachers scolded you about being loud, and your friends pushed you away not liking this version of you. Eventually you were secluded, an outcast. You were afraid of being alone so you cried. Crying became a norm for you. You did it in public until the judgement started. People didn’t feel bad anymore, instead they claimed manipulation just like Uraraka had. Crying eventually became a taboo thing you did behind closed doors. You learned how to sob silently, how to scream without being heard. That ten-year-old girl was aware of how painful life was and yet you hadn’t even felt true pain yet.

As you aged beyond ten the headaches started, the voices told you horrible things, your smile had faded out of existence, and you constantly felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your therapy was pointless because no one knew why you were like this. It was trial and error. You’d be fine one minute and then you would have scratches up your arms and hollowed out eyes. You’d look like you hadn’t slept for weeks which was true. You couldn’t sleep because your thoughts were worse at night. When you tried napping during the day you were called lazy, told that you were slacking. How could you be a hero if you slept instead of trained and studied. Your parents meant well when they pushed you toward your goal. They just didn’t know the real you. The you behind chipping paint. You felt like an abandoned building left for the earth to take back. Your words were vines burying walls of concrete. The worse things got, the more you painted portraits and placed them in front of you. People admired your work, telling you how happy you looked, how hard you were trying. You were a success story but what was success when you were miserable and a step away from falling into a pit of despair.

One day things changed and for the first time in a long time you felt normal. You felt excited and happy, you looked forward to waking up. What happened to change you? You were accepted into UA. You had tried harder than you thought possible. Tears, blood, sweat, and a lot of profanity was released from your body on your journey to be a hero. All Might telling you in a holograph that you were good enough made you feel like maybe you were. You hadn’t smiled in a school photo until the day you received your school ID. There you were with a toothy grin staring directly at the camera as if to say ‘I did it’. That should have been the moment your life took a turn for the better. You should have been on an escalator going up and you were for the first year. Even after the attack on USJ, after the training camp kidnapping, after everything with overhaul you still fought with no doubts. You smiled even when you cried with your classmates. You had participated and enjoyed their company. Things had gone so smoothly for a while.  However, mental health issues don’t magically go away. One day feeling mentally exhausted turned to two days feeling useless and massive fatigue turned to ten days of sharp chest pain, uncontrolled emotional breakdowns, and drowning in self-loathing. That most fucked up part was you were dealing with it all alone. You couldn’t tell your parents what was happening. What would they say? They would think you were pathetic, not cut out to be a hero. But were they wrong? Did someone who constantly wished negative things on themselves have the right to be here. You found that you questioned yourself over everything. You wondered why you even tried if you were a failure. Why did you eat while others went hungry stressing over classes while you suffered academically on your own terms? Why drink water when you hadn’t put in enough effort to prove you deserved it. The thing that never changed was wanting to save people. You would die if it meant saving just one person. You wanted to change lives not ruin them. You wanted people to smile not scream and cry. You wanted to do so much more for people but had no energy left to try. Your flame had burnt out and you were running on what little smoke it still produced.

Like a steam engine your legs moved you up the dark staircase. Your fingers ran along the cold railing feeling every nick or chip. You wondered if someone touched you if they would feel the broken pieces. Could you cut someone with your shattered mask, with your fractured mental state. Was there a doctor, a quirk specialist, a magician, any person that could put you back together? all the kings’ horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put poor Y/n back together again. Or at least that’s what was going through your mind as the roof door opened with a swift kick that jolted pain through your leg at the heavy metal it was made of. You were so close to the edge. No one could stop you; no one could help you. No hero was waiting and you weren’t feeling heroic enough to try and stop this. All you could think was how you were just a few steps away. You had failed everything else. You couldn’t, you wouldn’t fail this.  

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You don’t have to remove your shoes since you aren’t wearing any. The roof is much windier than you expected. You jump slightly when the roof door slams from the force of the wind closing it. Your hair is reacting to the wind, trying to blow with it, which would normally bother you but you don’t care about something so trivial. You rub your arms from the slight chill the height and wind brought. Not much longer and you won’t have to worry about the cold, or anything for that matter. You close your eye tilting your head upward toward the vast sky. When you open them, you can barely make out the stars because your vision is warped. It’s like you’re watching the night sky as you sink deep under water. The tears that slide down your cheeks make you angry. Why were you crying when you chose this? You chose to climb the stairs and there was no turning around now. The large metal door wasn’t going to be the way in which you would be leaving. Your legs grow shaky as they move you closer and closer to the fencing. You push your hand against the fencing letting your fingers slip through the diamond patterning of thick metal wiring. This wasn’t going to stop you. Not when you climbed all those stairs and broke open a heavily locked door. You activate your quirk using the blades that appeared on your finger tips to cut the obstacle away. Your quirk allowed you to create blades on your body, they could range from small swiss army knives to sharp saw-like weaponry. A cool useful quirk wasted on a useless fuckup. Once there was a large enough hole in the fence you deactivated your quirk before tossing the damaged property aside. There was a little room between the outside of the fence and the lifted concrete ledge. Just enough room for you to move along the ledge trying to find a good spot. You ran your fingers against the cold stone feeling fragments of cement crumble away. You stopped after finding the perfect spot. You could see city lights in the distance and when you turned you could see the buildings you had run from. The rows of large dormitory building. Some lights were still on and you smiled wondering what these strangers were doing. Maybe some friends were staying up talking about nothing important just enjoying each other’s company. Maybe someone got hungry or needed to finish an assignment. The thing you truly hoped was that none of these lights were coming from a room where someone laid crying wishing for death as you had done for so long.

“Please don’t cry!” Your voice is carried by the wind and disappears into the darkness. You wipe at your eyes because you are yelling to no one but maybe you were yelling to one of those lights. Maybe you wanted anyone hurting to hear you, to feel that you cared. That you believed that they could get better, as a true hypocrite would.

“It’s okay to hurt!” The words weren’t yelled at max volume because your throat was tightening from holding back sobs. You were suffocating on them as you leaned your body over the ledge gripping it for dear life. This time no words came out but instead a scream. A scream that mimicked that of an injured animal, or someone who had witnessed everything they love be destroyed. You screamed until you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore, till your throat was raw. Your nails dug into your neck, palms pushing against your throat begging for your lung to work. Your body was breaking down and you could feel adrenaline pulsing through your veins. The word ‘breathe’ a mantra pounding in your skull. Maybe this is what you deserved for trying to preach something you didn’t practice, something you didn’t believe for yourself.

“I… I JUST WANT IT TO STOP!” There were rivers of sorrow moving like ghastly rapids down your flushed face. Snot dripped out your nose and you gave up wiping it away. You were ugly right now and that didn’t matter. No one was here to see you like this anyway. That was a good thing. You wouldn’t be able to bear the weight of judgement you’d receive from this nauseating display. “Please make it stop.”

Your grip on the stone wall tightened as you finally pulled yourself onto it. The edge crumbled slightly causing you to feel the smallest bit of apprehension. Why were you scared? Why the hell did you keep questioning yourself? The more questions that you asked yourself the more doubt arose, it was creating hesitancy. You were standing literally on the edge, there was no room for indecision. Eyes closing you think, think about everything that lead you here. The quiet disappointment of your parents, the withdrawn behavior that pushed your friends away, the pain of waking up. The bad wasn’t all you thought about, you thought about the good times. The way your parents cried and held you with worry after the USJ attack, the proud cheering for you at the sports festival even though you lost, and how they always text you to remind you that they love you. They supported you, loved you, and yet you just couldn’t use that as an excuse to feel better. You were still missing pieces of yourself, no matter how much love you received you still hated yourself which made their love feel invalid, undeserved. There were good times with your friends as well. The first day of school was the most terrifying and yet best day. You remember Bakugou getting scolded by Iida, you remember the way Midoriya’s eyes sparkled when learning people’s quirks, and you loved the anxiousness and thrill you felt holding onto that ball. You didn’t even know if you could match everyone else’s throws but that didn’t matter, what mattered was that you were even there amongst such amazing people. The time you spent with Mina was the most important, she was the first friend you made that truly loved and cared about you no matter what mood you were in. The first time you ignored her she gave you space but still checked in on you. She still told you jokes and complimented you. It hurt at first but then you realized that no matter what happened she’d be there for you. She made school easier for you. Other people soon approached you and you had become a part of different groups. Kirishima always invited you to train, Kaminari always tried to make you laugh and flirted playfully with you every time you seemed down. Every time you were lost in bad thoughts, when your body was amongst friends but your mind was in a dark place, Sero would tape Kaminari to the wall. You’d laugh, really laugh no matter how many times he did it. There were so many moments and memories you had shared with your classmates. What a shame they’d go to waste.

“I’m so sorry.” The words came out dejected. No fight left, no more energy. You were tired and ready. Oh god you were so ready for this to all stop. The slightest giggle broke the silence with as much pain the screams had. “I’m sorry.”

Your parents flashed through your mind followed by your friends. Regrets disappearing from your body as you inched closer to freedom. Midoriya would cry, he always cried. You didn’t want him to cry, sitting in that teacher’s lounge waiting for you knowing that you wouldn’t ever return. With you gone he could have friends, enjoy life without your negative energy. He could hold Uraraka close while you faded from existence. Bakugou wouldn’t show his emotions, he was really good at hiding any emotion that wasn’t anger. However, you knew he would be sad. You knew that he had blamed himself for All Might’s retirement. He would blame himself which scared you. This had nothing to do with him failing to save you. This had everything to do with failing to save yourself. You wondered if he would still make too much food out of habit and have to throw it away. Would he train harder as a distraction, potentially overwork himself? One final heartbreaking question passed your mind. Would Mina still smile, would you take her sunshine when you left?

One step and the world seemed to move in slow motion then all at once. The sky was beautiful as you turned to fall backwards. You didn’t want to see the ground. Just the gorgeous vastness of space. You fell with grace. Like an angel falling from heaven, like a shooting star, like someone who had nothing left to live for. Darkness surrounded you as your conscience was lost, as you plummeted toward the ground.

--------------------------------------

Bakugou and Midoriya collided as they rushed into the broken school doorway. The panic in each other’s eyes evident as they shared a look. Usually they were rivals but, in this moment, they wanted the same thing and it didn’t matter who got there first, what mattered was that they got there. Got to you. Finally sharing the same goal, they moved as a unit toward the staircase. How long did it take you to climb these stairs? Were your legs as heavy as your heart? Midoriya wanted to find you sitting on the stairs crying. Bakugou wanted to open the door and find you on the other side about to head back down because you couldn’t do it. As they ran, they both wished they could have done more but there was only so much they could have done. Bakugou wanted to go back in time and fought the people and situations that made you feel this way. Midoriya would have held your hand, dried you tears, reminded you every moment that you mattered. They will do these things if they stop you, after they stop you. Fear drove them up the stairs faster. The temperature getting hotter and hotter as Bakugou activated his quirk to move faster. The dark walls of the stairwell illuminate as Midoriya uses one for all to boost his legs further, skipping a copious number of stairs at a time. Passing a window, they hear you, the words you yelled to those distant lights, ‘please don’t cry’ ’it’s okay to hurt’ it was as if you were giving the validation you wish you had. The words were heartbreaking enough but the added tone intensified them, the broken scream that followed just about destroyed the boys. By the time they reached the halfway point you had begged for this to stop. Your words were like knives digging into their hearts, chests, and minds. How could you have felt this much pain and no one ever notice? What kind of heroes were they if they couldn’t save you? Though the most important thing for heroes to remember is that they can’t save everyone. Right now, they didn’t care if they couldn’t save anyone else, they just wanted to be able to save you.

“Don’t you fucking do it!” Bakugou’s voice matched the time he had broken down in front of Midoriya. Tears welled up in Midoriya’s eyes and his voice followed his childhood friends. “Y/N! WE’RE COMING FOR YOU!”

Bakugou turned and looked toward the doorway leading into the school halls. He didn’t know what possessed him to rush through the doors rather than continue up the stairs, but he was grateful. He ran at the window as he heard Midoriya scream from the floor above. Bakugou rushed through the glass and he wasn’t the only one. Midoriya had kicked through the window and launched himself outside to try and catch you. Bakugou used his quirk to propel himself downward after you. Him and Midoriya moving at the same speed. Fire blasting behind Bakugou while Midoriya kept running along the side of the building. You were passing the floors faster and faster. Bakugou screamed using the full force of his quirk. His hand reached out and grabbed your ankle yanking backward to pull the top half of you closer. His hand gripped the back of your head pulling you into himself. He could see the ground getting closer and couldn’t use his quirk without letting go of you. He would have taken the damage but didn’t. He never hit the ground as Midoriya kicked off the building grabbing the two of you before pushing against the air. He broke through the fourth story window hitting the floor and tumbling through the glass. He had let go of Bakugou who was still holding you, his hand cradling your head against his chest as he took the force of hitting the floor and glass pushing through his sleep tank top. Both boys were breathing heavy their chest pounding harder than when they were running. Midoriya got up rushing to your side. Bakugou moved you away from his chest. Your chest rose and fell in a very slow manner. It was like you were sleeping. They were scared that when you woke up, you’d try again, you’d fight them for saving you. Or maybe you would be okay. Maybe you just needed to be saved to know that it was possible. Bakugou wouldn’t let go of you and Midoriya wouldn’t leave your side. His fingers stroking your hair. The two boys shared a quiet promise to not tell anyone about their sorry states. Bakugou was crying, his eyes bloodshot. Midoriya didn’t look any better, he had to keep wiping his nose and eyes on his hoodie sleeve. There was the distant sound of sirens and the dark room flashed with red and blue lighting from below. Bakugou stood up holding you in his arms. Midoriya took off his hoodie shaking the debris off it before laying over you. Bakugou and him stare at you before looking at each other. They could tell how much the other care for you. Bakugou scoffed before walking ahead. Midoriya smiled sadly walking beside him. His legs were throbbing and he could see the singe marks on Bakugou’s knuckles. They walked down the stairs in silence, no words being shared. Nothing could be said right now, you were safe for now and they just wanted you to be okay. Police, EMT’s, and a fire truck were parked outside. Your classmates stood off to the side behind tape, every one of them. Mr. Aizawa turned with All Might to look at the boys than down at you in Bakugou’s arms. The medical staff rushed forward but before they could try and take you Bakugou pulled the hand supporting your head free. It sparked and his snarl threatened them. Midoriya moved his hand to replace Bakugou’s against your head. The officers told Bakugou to back down and give you over. All Might and Mr. Aizawa approached.

“Young Bakugou, Young Midoriya. You got to her on time. We are so grateful; you both are heroes but now you have to hand her over so they can take her to the hospital.” Bakugou didn’t want to let you go and before he could Midoriya spoke up. “We made it on time to catch her. We didn’t make it on time to stop her. She jumped; we were just able to catch her.”

There was this tension as the realization seeped into the two adults’ minds. You had jumped and that changed things even more. The two boys knew you needed help, a lot more help and they were determined to get it for you. They knew that you couldn’t be magically cured and that this would take time but they had time and were willing to be there through it all. The two boys nodded at each other before handing you over to the EMT waiting. They watched them hook you onto a gurney lifting you into the ambulance and then you were gone. As you were wheeled to the vehicle your classmates behind the tape watched. They couldn’t believe that one of them had been hurting enough to do this. The girls were quiet do to them being the last ones to witness your breakdown. Uraraka was crying and rubbing her hands against her eyes. Sobs broke from her as she realized that she was the one who pushed you to do this. Mina screamed your name willing you to sit up and smile at her but you remained unconscious on the bed. She watched you get taking away and she cried out your name while the students around her cried too. They never wanted this and wished they had been there for you. The thing is though, you would never want them to blame themselves.

“Come on you all get back to the dorms.”  Mr. Aizawa ushered his students away leaving Midoriya and Bakugou to tell the police what had happened. Bakugou was aggressive toward the officer when he seemed to not care about your mental health. They made it seem like you were crazy. Even Midoriya had to argue for your sake. They both left with All Might. They wanted to go to the hospital but only family was allowed to see you. All Might promised the boys that he would take them to see you as soon as you were allowed to have visitors. There was also a chance you wouldn’t want people to see you, or that you’d be considered a threat to others and yourself and be locked up.

While everyone dealt with this heart ache and remorse you rested peacefully for once. Not even aware that you hadn’t succeeded.  

[insane-control-room]

migraine

Am I the only one I know waging a war behind their face and above their throat?

Written with @randomwriteronline

warnings: migraine, depression, suicidal feelings

ao3 version here

Thunder in his head. Lightning in his eyes, flashing and pulsing, black seeping and rising and falling, like tidal waves crashing onto his thoughts, shoulders hunching like a beast unable to escape an unseen assailant. It felt as though someone had shot an electrified crossbow bolt straight into the base of his skull, tearing past skin and bone and shocking his very brain. It caused painful shivers across his limbs and tightened around his ribs, constricting his breathing and making his heartbeat viscerally loud in his mind, feeling each and every pulsation roar in his ears and neck like unresting waves shaken by an oceanic earthquake. A bubble seemed to form around the sides of his head, frothing outwards from his very cochlea and stiff jaw. His forehead felt like someone had placed a boa constrictor around the perimeter of his skull and allowed it to squeeze until he would scream.

Joey had a migraine.

The bright glow shining directly into his sore eyes from the light table beneath his work did not help. In fact, one might say it was making it all the worse!

His head hurt, his legs ached, and his arms were stiff and unwilling to follow his requests.

An indiscernible mumble growled around him and slipped into his ears before expanding across his entire brain, emanating outwards through his spinal column, a full body tension unleashing like a rubberband suddenly yanked by two fingers and thus pushed to its absolute limit.

Thank goodness it was Friday, because Joey was going to snap soon if that grew much further.

His hand had let go of his pen, and he was hardly aware of its nails driving in repeatedly between his radius and ulna. Another rumble like a plane taking off right beside him, rattling him to his very atomic being, each quark screaming in protest, making everything even worse, despite how insane that seemed to be. He could hardly breathe. However, with Friday came the dread of Sunday-- the day he would be completely alone. Henry would be away at the clinic. The children would go out to extracurricular activities. No one would be in the building except for himself, his bees buzzing outside his window, and his demons.

He was not ready for that. He had never been ready for that, and would usually hide away on his computer to ignore that short walk up to the roof, not eat for fear of entering the kitchen and finding an object which would be used not by himself, not drink to avoid the easy escape of pills and the winding thoughts that brought him far, far, far away from sanity and drowned him within the liquid. And then, when his family would come home, he would lie about it by not saying anything at all.

Sometimes, when it would be dark outside and the air soothing him with storms and snow, he would think about telling Henry, writing it down and silently handing it to him so that he could read the truth himself, devoid of any more omissions, but he always stuffed those letters away into the vault, sealing them forever.

“Are you even listening to me?!”

Joey once again wished he was not ever there to hear those words, wishing himself to be blotted out of existence another time, if only for a single neverending moment. He found himself gaping wordlessly at the air, a fish desperate for water, suspended before Abby without any excuse for himself, unsure what the matter was that she would be so testy.

“Can I h-help you?” he asked, demure.

“I asked you that,” Abby stated, hands on her hips. “I asked if you were okay, and you didn’t answer. Multiple times. Could you tell me what’s the matter, Mr. Drew? Or is there none? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just have been preoccupied with my depress…” Joey trailed on, trying to hide the panic in his eyes. His head hurt too much to filter, and his tongue had already slipped. “...ing thoughts.”

“We have a deadline for this episode, Mr. Drew,” she said, shrugging off his comment, “and we haven’t even gotten a storyline for it yet! Do you have writer’s block or something of the sort?”

His head shook almost bonelessly, carefully so as to not rattle his thoughts. Time seemed to be going so slowly, how long had he been sitting there working on that single frame? When was the last time that he had slept? Was he thinking or was he just moving along a sleepwalking path like a beast made of sludge and string? He blinked a few times and saw the drawings double as the rumble in his ears increased deafeningly.

“You don’t look so good.”

“I’m not as fine as I s-seem,” Joey said with a bright smile. He rose suddenly, the motion revolting to his body, and he nodded to her, still smiling, and he began walking out. “Pardon.”

He was outside, trying to use fresh air as a weapon against the pain. The roses were still just sticks, not yet able to blossom with greenery. His head was under his arms, and his ears twitched as they picked up the slightest change in notes that indicated an approach of someone, someone small.

Bendy crawled into his lap.

“See all those rose bushes, baby?” Joey whispered, holding him gently with his horned head pressed to his trapped chest. “That’s kinda how my head is right now.”

‘Ready to grow?’ Bendy asked, tilting his head. Joey smiled slightly, and corrected, “That’s a bit different then what I meant. I mean… don’t they l-look burnt?”

‘A little bit,’ Bendy answered, looking around. ‘But not really. No burns.’

“Mmm.”

The parent and child were quiet.

‘Do not forget this, Bendy,’ Joey silently remarked after a while, the sun moving by degrees across the sky so slightly it appeared to not go at all. ‘When I paint, I do not think, but I know what I do. I think behind my mind. Sometimes I draw things that are… disturbing, you know?’

‘Sometimes, but I think everyone does,’ Bendy replied. Joey wondered just where he could have gotten such a brilliant, compassionate and empathetic child from, what did he do to deserve him? ‘I think that drawings and writing are a peek into the door of a person's mind that shows things they usually would not share.’

‘Right you are.’ Joey sighed in amazement. He loved his little darling devil, even through the burning cloud of pain that stormed and shrieked like a thousand banshees in his head. ‘And some of those minds are like Pandora's box. Or worse. Even if you are curious, you should not open them. Ever.’

‘I do not think your mind is like that,’ Bendy remarked. Johan tried not to tremble.

“There’s flecks of… not good things.”

‘Still not bad.’

‘It’s a wreck, Benderoo.’

‘Not bad.’

“Oh, Bendy.”

Joey hugged him, closing his eyes.

“It’s v-violent in there, my dear.” he murmured. “I might be afraid of the o-ocean, but that surrounds the small spaces that I can stand upon. My thoughts are… are like tidal waves, Bendy. Ebb, flow.”

‘But that is how the world goes. We need the tides.’

“But sometimes the tide might try to swallow you. It might lunge for you, l-like a famished lion I must f-fight.” Johan shivered, not with the thought of a beast devouring him, but the mere idea of the sea. “Blood upon the maw and bones within it.”

Bendy played with his father's hand, the thin palm much larger than his own soft plasmic ink one, releasing it to respond.

‘You are good, Papi.’

“I truly hope so.”

‘You are, Papi.’ the little toon insisted. ‘I know you are. You are my Papi, which must be good, and you always do the right thing.’

Johan smiled wryly: “You are too kind with me, Bendibop. I don't deserve that.”

‘Of course you do, Papi.’

Johan caressed his child's little horns through those tufts of keratin so much like his own.

“You really think I can be deserving of that?” he asked softly. “Even as I am a weapon?”

‘You are doing what you can. Sometimes you need to fight.’ Bendy smiled, hugging him sideways. Thin dark arms wrapped around the little inky body and Johan tucked him a little closer to himself. His smile sweetened a bit. ‘You are not alone. You have us, and the studio. Your family.’

“I guess you’re right, d-darling,” he murmured, laying a kiss on his child's head. “I got used to bein’ alone a long time ago, I suppose it’s h-hard to remember that I’m not anymore.”

‘Maybe we should have a day off,’ Bendy suggested. ‘With everyone. And have a picnic. Take a picture of it to hold it forever.’

‘For what?’

‘To remind you that we have got hope and each other,’ Bendy answered innocuously.

Joey smiled.

“We’ve made it pretty far, kid.”

[finaledenialist]

Ok, so basically I haven’t written anything coherent in years. YEARS. I am not a writer guys. But something in me just snapped. And I kind of wanted to write something since 12x23, but never managed to. So anyway. Here it is. I have nothing in my defence. warnings: angst angst angst lots of angst; post 15x18; more angst; cas is dead; dean is sad; occasional Bad Word™, happy ending though, 2.8k words

*

This wasn't the first time Cas died, obviously.    Although it was the second time it felt truly permanent. Dean didn’t want to, but he remembered it all. Three years ago he was kneeling next to Cas' dead body, watching helplessly as the first raindrops started to wash away the trace of burnt wings on the ground. He couldn't believe what just happened, what he just saw. He doesn't quite recall how long he was kneeling there, but by the time he snapped out of this overwhelming feeling of disbelief, shock and helplessness, he was soaking wet. He remembers clearly as he looked at Cas' vessel, Cas’ body, laying in the mud and thought that no, not like this, he has to get Cas somewhere, anywhere from the dirty ground. Still in complete shock, he managed to grab Castiel's body and slowly lift him up. The trenchcoat was wet and dirty and smelled awfully, and Dean was barely able to get up and stand on his own two feet. His vision was blurry, and one thing he was sure of, it wasn't because of the rain. It was hardly the first time he ever had to move a dead body. It was always awful and generally hard to do. Moving an inert body took a lot of physical strength, and Dean was no stranger to it. Holding Cas though... This was some whole other level. 

The ground was slippery and boggy and Dean was trying to focus on every step because the other option was falling down and that meant Cas would once again end up in the mud and this was just too much. One step, two steps, three; towards the house. The sound of torrential rain was deafening but it was a good thing, at least Dean didn't have to listen to his own thoughts.  The scene of angel blade ripping through Cas right in front of him started replaying itself over and over and over again; Cas' blue eyes, looking directly at him, suddenly became full of light, and in the next second the blue, celestial light was everywhere, and it was bright and blinding, and Dean's eyes were burning but his whole body was paralyzed and he couldn't stop staring at the one thing he hoped he would never have to witness ever again.

And all of a sudden the darkness fell, almost darker than it was just moments before, and Cas was no longer looking at him; his eyes were empty and his body was sinking to the ground as Lucifer slowly pulled out the blade, smiling like Dean's world didn't just excruciatingly fell apart. Dean felt like he was experiencing everything in some kind of a sick slow motion. He knew his feet slipped on the mud, he knew he was falling, he knew his knees hit the ground but at the same time he felt like he was merely a powerless observer, who couldn't react. 'Dean', he heard from the distance, 'Dean!' Sam's voice slowly started to drag him back to reality. The reality he didn't want to be in. 'Dean!'    He blinked a few times, and there he was, again, in the dirt, on his knees, desperately clutching to Cas' body like it was his last lifeline. Dean glimpsed at Castiel's face, and by God, it was a mistake. He quickly looked up to Sam. 'Dean, the nephilim...', Sam cut off the moment he saw Dean's red, swollen, unseeing eyes, 'Oh my God...' Dean was still staring at him blankly. After a moment he exhaled, looked around and tried to get up without a word, still holding onto Cas. Everything was dirty and slippery, and ugly, and dark, and wet, and cold, but Dean had to stand up, he had to carry Cas inside, it was so cold... He didn't even feel Sam's arms helping him get up. He didn't feel anything. He was awake and unconscious at the same time. He was like a moth, instinctively drawn to the house lights.

*

He spent the night in the room with Cas' body. He recalls Sam trying to talk to him, but he just grabbed the first bottle that he found, chugged it down and passed out on the floor. It wasn't like he wanted to die, but at that moment he didn't want to be alive either. But now. Now was different. No, in a way it was the same. But at the same time it was different. By some unimaginable way this time was worse. Much worse. He always thought that it was impossible for something to be worse than what happened the night Jack was born. Castiel's death three years ago was shocking, unexpected, sudden and fast. This time? Oh, fuck. He was completely devoid of emotions and drowning in them at the same time. He felt absolutely nothing and everything all at once. What just happened has left him completely frozen and paralyzed. His body and his mind were actively refusing to process what he just saw.

And what he just heard.

He was just staring blankly around him, like he was looking for an answer, an explanation, written on the bunker's wall. His phone was buzzing, but he barely gave it a thought. The whole world might as well just end and disappear for all he cared; his own world was just taken away from him seconds ago (or was it hours?), so why, why should he give a damn if the planet kept on turning or not? And there he was, a sobbing mess once again, because he just lost. Again. At this point he should be used to losing, to loss, honestly. And yet this time it hit him harder than ever before. I love you. Goodbye, Dean, echoed in his head over and over again like a mantra, like a curse. Cas' eyes, more blue than ever, looking straight into his own. I love you, goodbye, Dean. I love you, goodbye, Dean, I love you, I love you, I love you. ‘I love you, too, Cas’, he whispered, with his face buried in his hands. I love you, too.

*

'Ready?', Sam's voice was uncertain and a little shaky. What they were about to do was risky and probably stupid as fuck, but— 'Sure', Dean lied. What if it doesn't work, what if something goes wrong, what if he won't find Cas, what if he won't bring him back, what if he comes back without him, what if everything goes terribly wrong... 'Ready when you are.'

It's been some time since they got rid of Chuck. It included Amara and Michael and all the strength they could find. To be quite honest, all the events just mashed up into one big cloudy memory for Dean. He felt like he was existing on autopilot all this time. Bottom line though, they got rid of the omnipotent bastard, got back all the people who disappeared... Well, almost all. But again, Cas wasn't 'people'. With all the help they could get, they finally crafted a spell to open up a portal to the Empty. Fine, not they, it was mostly Sam, Jack, Charlie and Eileen combining forces to read through all Rowena's spells and grimoires. Dean, on the other hand, spent most of his time locked in his room, not daring to hope.

And not being able to look at Jack. It was impossible but somehow happened anyway. The kid looked like a younger version of Cas, minus the hair. Every time he glimpsed at him, he felt his heart breaking yet again. And it was not just the looks. The last time Cas died was the night Jack was born. Dean looked at him and couldn't help it - the sight of Cas' dead body on the ground was always there. The burnt wings. And then, the Empty taking Cas. All these memories just rushed over him like a tsunami every time he looked at Jack. It was unbearable.

'I can't do this, Sam', he said one day to his brother, 'I just can't. I can't even think about this. If this thing... If this... Whatever you all are doing... If this eventually doesn't work out, I am not sure I am going to be able to survive this. So I just... I just can't help you with this'. Sam only nodded in agreement, desperate to get Dean out of his room, but at the same time understanding that if they don't find a way to open up the portal to the Empty, then all he was doing was giving Dean false hope.

And they already had Dean on suicide watch.

So, each day they buried themselves in the books, spells and lore, working as hard as they could to find anything that could help. Occasionally they caught a glimpse of Dean's shadow on his way to the kitchen or bathroom. Sometimes Dean even stood in the library's door for a minute or two, stared at them with a bottle is his hand, like he was anticipating. All they could give him was a reassuring smile. At the beginning they tried hugs, but Dean never let them touch him. It was like every touch hurt him. Little did they know, everything hurt.

After some time, they finally got a breakthrough. At the beginning they didn't tell Dean, but things finally started working out and the spell was ready in no time. Jack and Charlie were just high-five'ing each other, and they were all about to discuss who is going to get through the portal, when Dean appeared in the door. 'What is happening?', he asked quietly, and suddenly there was absolute silence. Everyone looked at Sam. 'I...', he finally grunted, 'I am not sure if you want to hear this'. 'Try me.' Sam took a deep breath. 'We... We found a way to open a portal to the Empty.' Dean blinked and then closed his eyes. 'Are you sure?' Everyone looked at each other, not daring to say a word. 'Yes, Dean', Sam finally said, 'We are sure.' 'Where is it', Dean whispered. 'Where's what?' 'Where's the portal', Dean said again, through his teeth, eyes still closed. 'We... We haven't opened it yet. We we just about to—' 'Do it. Now', Dean's eyes were now piercing through Sam. 'Dean—' 'Now.'

And here they were now, in front of an opened portal to nothingness. Dean's eyes were completely focused on the darkness. 'Dean... Remember. It stays open for an hour', Sam said, unsure if Dean was even listening to him. But Dean was, in fact, listening, the thing though? He couldn't care less. If he gets stuck, he gets stuck and stays there. It didn't matter. His life lately wasn't much different from what he was seeing right now in front of him. 'Yeah, sure', he muttered, and stepped inside.

*

It was... Dark. Not like Amara-dark. It was just all black. It was nothing. No right, no left, no up, no down. He was standing and floating at the same time and the feeling was... Honestly? It was liberating. He looked around but all he saw was, ironically, nothing. The silence was actually calming, though. He wouldn't mind staying. After all, one thing he was sure of — Cas was there, somewhere. Cas. The thought made his heart beat faster. Blood was pumping through his veins and he was suddenly starting to feel again. He blinked and tried to focus, steadying his breath. Cas. Cas was there somewhere. Well, this whole thing is at least worth a try. If he doesn't find him, he will simply stay here. An hour, Sam said. Dean looked at his watch, confused. 50 minutes left, he estimated and looked around.    But there was still nothing to be seen. 'Cas?!' he yelled in a raspy voice, 'Cas?!' His voice, his breath and his hands were shaking. 'Cas?!' he cried out once again. And again. And again. And again, and again, and again. He didn't know when he started to run around, more and more desperately, but it was dark, it was so dark and his voice was completely scratched from yelling, and it was cold, and there was no Cas, and he was all alone and— 'Castiel?!', Dean called as loud as he could, feeling the tears in the corner of his eyes, because damn it, when and why did he let himself believe that he can find Cas in this emptiness? At this point his whole body was shaking, and he heard a quiet sob escaping his mouth. But he also heard something else. At first he thought he made that rustle, somehow. But then he heard it again, and this time he didn't even move a single muscle. He didn’t even dare to breathe. He exhaled, very, very slowly. And even slower, he turned around. And then he saw it. A figure surrounded by light composed of every colour he ever saw. He had to squint his eyes; the light, albeit beautiful, was blinding. And he could swear he saw it before. Because he did. It was the last thing he saw before waking up in a coffin, what seemed like forever ago. It took him a second to recognize it, but once he did, the feeling of familiarity and safety surrounded him completely and all he could do was stare at the figure getting closer, and closer, and then all those feelings were replaced with just one — the long anticipated feeling of relief. 'Cas', he mouthed almost without a sound, scared to close his eyes, too afraid that the light and the figure were merely an illusion, about to disappear. But after he blinked, it was all still there. And it was Cas, his Cas; the dumb, self-sacrificing idiot whose absence made Dean's life completely numb and pointless and unlivable. He wanted to run to him, to wrap his arms around him and never let go. He was shaking more than ever, but somehow managed to take a first step towards the light, and then the next one, and the next one, and one more. Oh, God. Cas looked awful. Absolutely terribly. Like he has woken up in a middle of the worst nightmare. He looked confused and scared; no, he looked absolutely terrified. His eyes were unfocused and his steps unsure. And then he saw Dean. He stopped walking, and his eyes widened. His mouth opened in disbelief. He looked petrified. 'What...', he whispered fearfully, 'How...' 'Cas', Dean's voice broke, 'I'm here' 'You're not supposed to be in here' Castiel said, now completely frightened, looking straight into Dean's eyes. After a moment he started to frantically look around. 'Look, I don't know how, or why...' 'What?!', Dean cut him off, blinking away the tears, 'Why?! Why as in why I'm here?! Are you serious...' 'Dean', Cas didn't let him finish, 'Are you even real?' he added quietly and softly. Dean felt blood rushing to his head; he suddenly was in a fight mode once again, starting to feel everything all at once - the anger, the fear, the pain; like after weeks of being numb his mind decided to unleash every emotion a human being can possibly feel. No. Not now, Dean thought, Now focus. Focus, he told himself but his eyes were feasting on the sight of Cas, his Cas, like he was a blind man who suddenly was able to see for the first time in his life.  'Cas. Cas, we have to go. We have to go', he said, desperately 'I— I don't know how much time we have left, I—', I don't even know now where is the fucking portal, he thought. 'We need to go', he said instead with a broken voice. 'Dean, I—' But Dean had enough. He reached for Cas' arm, grabbed it and started walking. Towards the portal, hopefully. 'Dean—', Castiel’s voice was very weak, 'Dean. Dean!' 'What now?', Dean finally stopped to look at Cas. He looked like he was just chewed up and spat out by a cow, but once Dean’s eyes landed on him, he just couldn’t stop looking. Man, I thought I’m never going to see you again, he thought and exhaled. 'We really gotta go, Cas’. But Castiel was staring at him like he just received a revelation, like a man lost in the desert who saw an oasis after days of being burned by the sun and deprived of water, like— 'What if it doesn't work?' Cas said quietly and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were full of tears. No. Not again, Dean thought. 'Cas. Cas, look. Cas, look at me', he cupped his face, so he could stare directly into Cas’ eyes. 'We had that conversation, remember? In purgatory. And that conversation is over', he said, maybe a little bit too harshly. 'Although there is another one that is not over. Far from over, actually', he added more softly. Cas was looking at him, anticipating. 'Dean, I... What I said...' 'I heard what you said. And now we need to go. Understand?' 'Yes', Cas said after a while, 'I understand.’

[live-long-and-time-warp]

It’s hard to leave your toxic friends... but it’s so worth it

I don’t normally do this, but as I sat in a Saturday morning meeting thinking about all of the things I felt this past Friday, I felt compelled to share my story.

A brief background: throughout college and for several years afterward, I considered my tight-knit group of college friends as some of my closest. In addition to my best friend of 20 years, some friends from high school, my work team, and some other dear friends scattered across the globe and throughout the U.S., this group of college friends was who I considered to be my foundation. This group of friends was extremely important to me, but it was not without its bumps in the road.

In my senior year of college, I had a falling out with one of these friends, the ringleader I’ll call her. I say this because she is quite honestly the source of 95% of my problems with this group. She is a master manipulator, and an expert gaslighter. There were a few others that contributed to this too, but she was by far the worst.

I can’t elaborate on every single thing that this person said and did over our 7 year “friendship” but a brief summary would be: asking me point blank if I thought I might be a lesbian after coming out as bi (to this friend group and in her presence, I might add) only several months prior; asking me how much money I spend on books about “Chernobyl” every month with the implication that she’s concerned about my finances; telling me that my resume may not be as impressive as I think it is (I’m the deputy director of a nonprofit with both state-based and national projects and had been for close to a year prior to this conversation); would clean up the crumbs from in front of me while I was still eating and comment on my messiness; told me that one of our mutual friends doesn’t like discussing politics with me because I get too fired up (again, I work for a nonprofit that deals with social justice); telling me that crying while comforting my friend who had just lost a loved one to suicide after they began crying was weird and that I “stole her thunder” (we were slightly drunk, I’m an empath, and she was talking about some deeply personal things that moved me and crying was my natural response... and oddly, she was appreciative of my tears because I was “the only person that actually stayed with her”); and so much more that I know I’m forgetting.

There were many other things more insidious, including gaslighting me about my inclusion in several group activities and why it should have been obvious why one friend disliked me enough to not invite me to her wedding after years of claiming cluelessness.

In our senior year, I left that friend for the first time after she humiliated me at a party by commenting loudly and with condescension on my weight. When I cut ties with her, I felt as if I had just left an abusive relationship, and for a while I didn’t want to seek a friendship with her again.

But the other friends in our group still hung out with both of us, so eventually I allowed myself to be sucked back in. 

In the years after we graduated, I thought that this person had actually changed- I worked abroad for a year after college, and after returning I saw a marked difference in her demeanor and how she interacted with us. She seemed more self-aware of how her words and actions adversely affected other people, and I thought that maybe the ugliness of that horrible portion of my senior year was now just a faded scar.

But then things escalated very quickly. Over the course of several weeks at the beginning of this year, I started to feel myself questioning whether I had made the right choice in rejoining the group: I was so sure of how I felt after I left it the first time, I felt so empowered and free. So why did I allow myself to rejoin them? Was it really the right choice?

I got my answer a week after the insurrection at the Capitol. One friend who already had a history of saying hateful things about women (which I tried to put a stop to to no avail) finally went full white supremacist asshole, and instead of joining me in calling his comments unacceptable and defending me as he mansplained my job to me, the ringleader criticized me and told me that “I can work in activism and politics and be wrong”.

That’s the moment I finally woke up.

I left the chat that very moment. Every time they added me back without my consent, I left again.

Every time I got message from the ringleader that was full of gaslighting comments and false apologies, I didn’t say a word. Just deleted the message. Finally, I was able to gather the strength needed to block those toxic friends from all social media and my phone. One of these friends was someone I tried to make like me for years after I was told that she hated me for no reason, by her own admission.

Some may not agree with this approach, but I made the choice to cut contact and go radio silent on my own after consulting my friends, specifically my best friend who had been there for me during the incident my senior year.

As weeks went by, some of the true friends from that group reached out, and then immediately backed off after my polite request for space, indicating that I was welcome back at any time and they were always here for me.

The ringleader chose the opposite approach. She continued to gaslight me, made a group chat with myself, the white supremacist, and herself. She sent me messages from her second account, one that I remembered to unfriend but forgot to block. She told me that if I don’t “course correct” by a certain date she would block me on my account (too late, bro) and that “we wish you all the best”. This implies that it was on behalf of the entire group, something I know three of them would never do. However, at this point, I have had to distance myself from all of those friends so as not to give the ringleader the attention she wants from me.

I lost over half of my closest friends over night. It felt like my skeleton had been torn from my body. I considered giving in several times and reaching out to them. But now, over a month later, I understand how necessary it was to excise what was essentially a malignant tumor. The Chernobyl researcher in me wants to compare it to Acute Radiation Syndrome (ARS): an unseen poison that slowly infiltrates every part of your mind and body and rots them from the inside out.

2020 was an extremely hard year for me, as it was for so many. I am so lucky and privileged to have been in the financial situation that I was and had the support of my genuine friends and family.

But it was still the worst year of my life. I have suffered from pretty bad OCD for most of my life, and while I usually keep it under control, last year it became nearly impossible to do so. I also fell very deeply into clinical depression, and worked to the point of burn out and exhaustion. The primary thoughts I had during this depression were: 

“Why aren’t you working? You’re lazy.”

“You’re a failure, you’re 26 and haven’t applied to grad school yet.”

“You piece of shit, still living with your parents? What a disappointment.”

“What is wrong with you?”

It was unbearable. I’m honestly not entirely sure how I survived it, but I think a certain 3-year-old goddaughter of mine and a few close, real friends had something to do with it.

I worked very hard with my friends, a therapist, and a psychiatrist to overcome this depression and get my OCD back under control. Now, I feel like such a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I still have depression, and the OCD will always be with me (like a bad habit... literally?); but I am so much more happy with myself and my life, as I should be.

And I am very, very, very well aware that therapy was not the only reason I have recently begun feeling this way. It’s very hard to see that you’re being manipulated while it’s happening. Because of my trusting nature, sometimes manipulative comments would be interpreted as heartfelt guidance.

It wasn’t until I started the journey away from them that I saw just how much this group and their negativity (because even the best of them weren’t always the kindest) impacted my mental health.

The event that made me want to share this story is this: yesterday was a rough work day. As a full-time community organizer, I am pretty much burnt out all of the time. Breaks are taken, but with projects addressing issues from COVID relief to systemic racism and police brutality, it never feels like enough. 

I had to officially take a step back as a sole lead on an annual event that I organized for two years, and it was gut-wrenching.

Now, I cry often, but I don’t usually get to have therapeutic cries. You know what I mean? Like, as you cry, all of the tension that built up in your body by negative feelings is finally being released with every breath and sob?

Well, the dam finally broke in a team meeting on Friday. I started sobbing and couldn’t stop. And my colleagues were so, so kind. They let me vent, they let me cry, they would not accept my apologies for crying. They told me that I was strong for setting up boundaries, and that they were here for me.

We spent a lot of time at the end of the meeting each talking about our self-care routines. And as I sit here typing this, I am actively trying not to cry at the purity of their support.

This experience has taught me what real friends are. Real friends do not put limitations on your emotions and fears.

Real friends do not give you deadlines for processing your feelings.

Real friends do not criticize you for things that, while they may not agree with, do not affect anyone’s health or marginalize anyone.

Real friends don’t marginalize vulnerable communities.

Real friends help and support you with constructive criticism (when it’s asked for) and love, not patronization and manipulation.

I thought I knew all of these things before, but I know now that I am still learning... and that that is perfectly okay. I don’t regret most of the times we shared together. I am appreciative of the positive memories that their friendships gave me.

Three of the friends in this group are actually good people, and maybe one day when the dust is settled I’ll reach out to them and establish one-on-one friendships with them (if they want to). 

And I have to thank my real friends, including @tryingtobealwaystrying, for all saying the exact same thing: you deserve so much happiness and fuck all of those guys.

So, the point of this post is to tell everyone this: you can leave your toxic friends. It’s incredibly difficult, stressful, and honestly traumatizing. And there’s no shame in needing time or feeling unable to leave those friends now. There’s also no shame in returning to those friends.

But please know, from this nerd to the reader: anyone that makes you feel any less than the beautiful, amazing human being you are and doesn’t want to help you become an even better human on your own terms is not a true friend. They don’t deserve you or the light you can bring into their lives.

And every agonizing step away from those friends is a step closer to a happier, healthier life.

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Cancelling the rest of 2020

Okay, so, this is very much a heads up to my mutuals and people who have been looking forward to seeing me post certain things I’ve been working on.

In a nutshell - don’t hold your breath. I will still be writing - still plan on WIP Wednesdays, will still get things finished and polished and up, but I may not actually put anything new up on Ao3 until next year.

Why?

Well, not in a nutshell, my mental health is not doing well right now. Everyone agrees that 2020 sucks. My one bright point has been that I was healthy and my family was healthy (outside of chronic health problems that have been around for years).

My Dad just told me his older sister went into hospice care yesterday. For those unfamiliar with the term, it means it’s just a matter of time until she dies. It’s not a huge surprise - this aunt has ALL of those chronic health issues I mentioned, and has for years - but still not what you’d call cheerful. On top of that, the last last time we lost a family member was around the same time of year. Add a healthy dose of Christmas PTSD from working retail, being so burnt out on Christmas music that it makes me actively suicidal, and a lot of people think that idea is ‘really funny’ and respond by singing at me (or straight up don’t care because their right to listen to Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree is more important than my right to want to live)..............

Yeah. The next couple of months are going to be rough, no question.

I’ll still be here, but if I seem snappier than usual....don’t take it personally. Either I didn’t mean it or I’ll come crawling back apologizing. Or I’ll just sit over here feeling like a guilty PoS and not having the guts to apologize. I may honestly respond less.

I’m not going to get my Halloween piece in order by Saturday. I’m half way through, but life has arranged itself to kill my writing time, and my beta is a quarentined-stay-at-home-Mom who also writes, so she’s not terribly available. I’ll get it up when it’s done.

I am doing NANOWRIMO this year, as always. Using it as an excuse to do some things I’ve been wanting to do and further some other things, so when I do start posting again, I will hopefully have a Significant Amount of content.

And that’s pretty much it. I hope you’re all well.

[mc-dude]

For a character: Maedhros

How I feel about this character

How do I not feel about this character? Is there an off switch?

For real though, Maedhros is such an insanely complex character for having so few overall lines written about him. Every single thing jrrt wrote about him just leaves me with 8000 more questions.

We canonically know basically nothing other than: he was a dutiful son who was doomed as soon as he lifted his blade on the shores of Aman, he had a shadow of pain upon his heart and a great hatred of orcs that burnt so hot his eyes burnt as a pale white flame, and that he was a skilled negotiator who met with a tragic end over an oath too hastily spoken. There is so little overall detail about him but just those few things we know make for such a compelling character. He has an infinite sort of potential about him and his motivations and it really does make for endless headcanoning. I could poke around in Maedhros’ psyche for years and probably never get bored.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Honestly I get weirded out when I see him paired with anyone but Fingon. I forget that they’re not actually canon. He doesn’t really have any canonical connection to any other character and no one could ever top “going on a suicide mission to save your asshole ex-best friend because even though you hate him you also love him and would surely fade yourself if you left him in that dark place”. 

My non-romantic OTP for this character

AZAGHÂL!!! I hc them as drinking buddies. Maedhros is the only elf Azaghâl can stand because he’s straight forward and not as off-puttingly symmetrical as the rest of them, despite maedhros being 3.4 azaghâls in total height. Their friendship is very hard on maedhros’ poor knees. 

My unpopular opinion about this character

Idk it seems to be a popular opinion (at least, based on what recs I see people give) that Maedhros becomes ~uwu tortured baby~ after angband and needs to be coddled and completely relearn like every aspect of existing and it just… is not realistic for a man who went on to build one of the greatest fortresses beleriand ever saw and sat on the enemy’s front porch with a giant middle finger while commanding several armies and constantly being a general pain in the ass for hundreds of years to really be reduced to that.

I believe maedhros represses the shit out of everything that happened to him in angband and actively disassociates through large portions of the day in order to get shit done. he has no concept of a healthy mental state and doesn’t really seek to heal, and only to keep fighting until he hopefully dies. the only time he lets himself be weak is when he is utterly alone, and even then he hates himself for it. he never looks at his own body if he can help it and the only time he feels comfortable letting his guard down is when he is alone with fingon. idk if this is unpopular i am basically just summarizing a fic that i am writing at this point

another unpopular opinion: maedhros keeps his hair short after angband as his long copper hair was used against him in many torturous ways. he waits until he can get a handful around it and then hacks it with a blade. he uses hair pulling as an act of self-harm and even long after he’s mastered some of his other instinctual reactions he will still flinch if someone tries to touch his hair. he lets fingon comb it after they’ve been together for a long time but even then he can barely stand it.

one more while im at it: i don’t think his relationship with elros and elrond was healthy or particularly happy. he was at his lowest point when he took them in as not-quite-but-basically-hostages and that doesn’t lend itself to being a good parental figure. he might have cared about them but he was not a good role model. he taught them how to fight and discouraged any further closeness between them, if it was sought at all.

is this an unpopular opinion? maedhros would never have gone through with the 2nd and 3rd kinslayings if fingon had lived. he could not bear to disappoint him like that, not again

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I wish he would get a hug like at least once

barring that, since that is unrealistic, thanks jrrt, I have made a post about this in the past, but without like my dreams of him being happy being made reality the smallest canon-compliant change I could think of would be to have him realize at the end that his Oath was just words, and never held any power over him, and have that be what push him over the edge. I think it would have made for a more powerful message, but I don’t think it’s what Tolkien intended.

There is a power in words, yes, but there is also a power in actions, and in the end it’s about what you choose rather than what you have promised. Maedhros could have forsworn his oath and be potentially doomed to the eternal Void rather than kill the hundreds of elves he ended up murdering but he chose not to, and that is what he realises after he obtains the silmaril, and that is why he takes his own life; for the shame that he could not bear, and the excuse he could no longer cling to as justification.

[condemnthem]

LUDO (MARS, PETER, ARNOLD, DAMIEN, WHATEVER ELSE ALT YOU’VE WHIPPED UP LATELY), THE OWNER OF ONE OF US:

it’s been a long time coming, and you know why it’s all come down to this. you’ve manipulated enough people during your time on roleplayer.me that i’m sure you thought you’d get away with it forever. well, it doesn’t work that way. you get what you give, and you’ve given enough grief to last a lifetime.

you’ve put people who once called you friend through hell, and now you get a taste of it. and i want to make this point very clear: i do not care about your sob story. i do not care about how much you’ve been hurt. i do not care about how you got to where you are today. none of what you can say excuses the absolute hell you’ve put others through. take accountability. apologize. do what you can to right your wrongs. the pain you’ve caused is YOUR responsibility. you can’t put this on anyone but yourself. you can’t expect to hurt so many people and not be held accountable for it.

this case was rather personal to me because ludo likes to use his personality disorder as a crutch and an excuse to get away with his nasty abuse. i have the same disorder. by using your personality disorder as an excuse, ludo, you are glorifying it because you are making it your escape route. this disorder is NOT to be used as a crutch. no disorder is. you use it as a crutch as if you aren’t in crutches because of this debilitating disorder. you’re the reason our disorder is looked upon with suspicion instead of understanding. you cannot use your disorder as any type of “please forgive me” card unless you are actively trying to get better. and you aren’t. because you think therapy is a farce.

before i go into the evidence i wanted to ask for testimonies from those who were hurt. i was given this:

“There are a few things that should be said before you take your time reading all this. This is a place of roleplay and to escape. Unfortunately, some people use the hobby incorrectly. You ruin and sabotage the experience for others. A good amount of the users on this site may have a lot going on away from the screen, some don’t. Those who struggle are the victims of these narcissistic tendencies. Their emotions get involved without their control. They try to be there for someone despite their own issues. Sometimes they even try to put that other person first, which causes them to break. Then, there are some of us that cannot be emotionally manipulated and that is when these mind games go wrong. That is when the manipulator becomes so little and they try to blame other issues in life for their shit behaviour.

This place does not, and I repeat - it does not give anyone the permission to attack and belittle others because you have difficulty having a voice in your real life. It does not give you the right to attack someone's real life, because you said it yourself that you feel like you have not done anything great in yours. Your real life problems, your conditions, there are no excuse for those who have been degraded by you. There are a lot of them, by the way. Those people you still accuse of having abandoned you despite you being convinced that you were good to them? None of these people have abandoned you. They cared. They had to leave because you tried to show some sort of superiority and belittled them as a person. You tried to control them in and out of roleplay. They got tired of your negativity and your toxic attitude towards life.

A penny for your thought - have a muse, be honest, but don’t ruin it for others. You cannot attack people and  then expect them to be there for you. This place does not give you the right to manipulate others into a friendship that it is not wanted nor needed either. You cannot and should not hurt people's experiences by deceiving them. Something you still actively still do with the active alt in your own group who you introduced as your real life friend.  Think about it - if you punch a stranger in the middle of the street would you expect them to reciprocate with an embrace or punch you right back?

You cannot excuse behaviour you have radiated off yourself for months, targeted people with disturbing words, with lies, deceived multiple people that would have stuck up for you, all because of what you may be going through in real life. All you did was show who you really are. There is roleplay, and there is real life. If that line between those two worlds are so thin and so blurry for you - then perhaps this is something for you to reconsider.”

now for the evidence.

i made an imgur album of all the evidence as well as my commentary, so if you want to read it on imgur, there it is. i’m going to post the evidence directly onto here as well, however, just in case.

to start out we have an e-mail sent to roleplayer.me admins (basic rundown of ludo's offenses:

(roleplayer.me admins have done nothing so if that doesn't tell you they don't give a single shit idk what would)

here is the member who was reportedly “kicked” from one of us peacefully pulling their role:

the other member reportedly “kicked” peacefully pulling their role:

and here is ludo manipulating the situation to make it sound non-peaceful:

and ludo lying in a bulletin saying said members were “kicked out”:

now we have ludo speaking about his alts. here he is admitting to having a freelance (non-affiliated account):

ludo admitting to being another “member” of one of us, mars:

ludo admitting to using mars just to lure another member into shipping with them:

one of ludo's alts:

ludo posting one of us promos on his alt:

proof of one of us promo:

another one of ludo’s alts:

now lets get into his harassment and toxic behavior. here we have him harassing another member (18 YEARS OLD) through instagram dms:

(his instagram is rather well known with many members and he likes to post his music to make his members listen to which is connected to his instagram)

this shows ludo mixing ooc with ic and straight up lying about another member:

here one of his targets of harassment expresses their fear of him possibly stalking them:

the group owner from another group ludo was in countering ludo’s claims to peacefully leaving said group (reminder, ludo is damien):

a conversation between the owner of said group above and ludo about his harassment and stalking, as well as him shittalking to manipulate other people into believing his narrative:

here ludo tries to act like the victim and gaslight the owner:

here is proof ludo makes his “enemies” into villains for one of us and portrays them in a negative light (the name he used is their real name, making this 10x worse):

explanation from an rp ex of ludo’s about the harassment they suffered:

the screenshot shown above:

ludo harassing an rp ex over instagram dms and displaying classic abusive behavior (reminder, he has his instagram rather public to his members):

"i can genuinely admit when i am wrong" implying their ex cannot. also gaslighting because he can't admit when he's wrong. this will be further highlighted through these instagram messages.  "this does not mean that i take back anything i've said before, about how you've hurt me" contradicting himself when he said he can genuinely admit when he is wrong. "i thought our friendship was real... but evidently it wasn't the same for you" guilt trips. the rest i'm sure you can pick out on your own. it's all very obvious. 

"we're no good for one another. you hurt me a lot and i hurt you a lot." not taking responsibility and instead pulling the "we are the same, you and i" trope to minimize his responsibility. also further guilting them by writing a song about how they "abused" them. description: "Emotional abuse is just as bad as physical. Ask for help." (fun fact, i discovered this song before my birthday and related to it so much. it brought me to tears. fucked up it was used against someone in a moment of manipulation to make his target feel bad. peep the suicidal ideations in the lyrics)

ludo using an incident in their life against them:

"i miss you. also not like that matters" passive aggression and guilt trips.

gaslighting about spies.  guilt trips. also admitting to using exes' names in his storylines.

more guilt trips. more gaslighting. more excuses for exhausting his partner.

projection: "you just have this mentality where you constantly deny that you've hurt people so you can feel better about yourself." gaslighting by trying to make their ex's friend sound like they would "throw [them] under the bus in a heart beat")

here ludo is guilting their ex friend from above on line for not spending enough time with them:

self deprecation used to manipulate them.

here is a diagram shown to me by one of ludo’s ex friends:

they further detail their testimony in this google doc   and the text messages (between ludo and one of the members who pulled their role peacefully while ludo tried to say they were kicked) below will show you exactly what they mean:

using other peoples’ feelings to manipulate them:

dismissing the stress they are under with real life, gaslighting by saying they haven't done the effort when they are clearly burnt out. aggression:

guilt trips:

pushing them away. guilt trips. using others feelings to manipulate them. gaslighting by asking a clearly passive aggressive question and saying it's "genuine":

"i'm just relaying my personal frustrations" when he already has time and time again. let it go, damn. give them a break. stop being overbearing.

passive aggression. implying he means less to them when they are saying their friend put it into words they could understand.

blaming them coping with his abuse on them. that's like telling someone shouldn't retaliate to abuse because their retaliation is "hurtful" YOU DON'T GET TO TELL THE PEOPLE YOU ABUSE TO NOT RETALIATE AGAINST YOUR ABUSE.

twisting words. not taking responsibility for his lack of understanding and instead saying "what you said came off the wrong way". not their fault that you didn't get it.

this. THIS is what sent me. how DARE you use your mutual disorder as a way to guilt and manipulate. i have the same exact disorder as well and guess what? all THREE of us are different people. and don't say "change who i am" as if it's a BAD THING. YOU are the reason everyone leaves you. YOU are the reason no one wants to be around you. YOU are the reason you can't keep stable friendships. YOU DON'T GET TO FUCKING PULL THAT BULLSHIT. if you care for someone you will work on your goddamn self. you expect everyone else to change for you, but you can't do the same goddamn thing? IF YOU GAVE A SHIT YOU'D STOP THE BEHAVIOR THAT IS HURTING THE PEOPLE YOU CLAIM TO CARE ABOUT. FULL. FUCKING. STOP.

guilt trips. pity.

condescension. lose lose situation.

"IT WAS A JOOOOOOOOOKE" excuse. "but whatever. i hope whatever has you in a bad mood gets better and you feel better" passive aggression. pretending to care. fake comradery.

"you gaslight me" is a form of gaslighting, especially when there IS NO GASLIGHTING. this is also an example of projection. making them walk on eggshells.

"i'm willing to sort it out of you stop being defensive" punishment and reward. "i'm sorry IF..." not taking responsibility. "this was my response" ie: this is your fault i'm acting this way, when he is the abusive one. "you constantly use my natural reaction as your excuse for not being around..." YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR REACTIONS WHEN YOU ARE THE ABUSER. STOP HAVING THIS "this is me take it or leave it" ATTITUDE AND THEN WONDER WHY EVERYONE FUCKING LEAVES YOU.

gaslighting. trying to say they were not coming around BEFORE he started calling them a shit friend.

"we both act some type of way when we're hurt and you know it" gaslighting, using their mutual disorder against them. AGAIN. YOU (ludo), ME AND THEM ARE THREE DIFFERENT PEOPLE WITH THE SAME DISORDER. stop acting like y'all the same goddamn PERSON. stop PROJECTING YOUR SHITTY ACTIONS ONTO OTHERS. "not even saying this to be a bitch" the "NO OFFENSE, BUUUUT" tactic to "lessen the blow" of the shitty thing he's about to say. USING OTHER PEOPLE AGAINST THEM, AGAIN.

"it's the only way i know how to be" THEN CHANGE IT. GET HELP. STOP USING YOUR DISORDER AS A WAY TO GET AWAY WITH SHIT. therapy isn't a con, you are.

and then, after he knows he has no control over people, he pesters. 

an ex friend requested this be used at the end. i feel it sums up the feelings of everyone ludo has wronged quite well.

[bleached-d-soul]

Capes and Cowls and Romances

Commission for @bunnykingrules!

Jaune was never an adventurous person. Sure, he could easily spend days dreaming of living through some amazing adventure but, at the end of the day, he fully realized that those were just hypothetical situations that he would never take part in. He wasn't a knight who would slay the dragon or the tough-as-nails badass who would put an end to some crazy tytant's rule.

He was just Jaune Arc, a mild-mannered reporter from a small farm town trying to make it in the world of the big city. He expected it to be hard. Everything was way more expensive than back home. The air was heavy and smelled wrong. And he still had yet to go a day without getting called a "fucking idiot" by someone on his way to work or back home. But that was nothing that he wasn't prepared for.

Catching the eye of the country's most infamous supervillain though? How was he supposed to prepare for that?

Cinder Ashen AKA Miss Fall was not your everyday supervillain. She didn't go around yelling out her evil plans and schemes. Neither did she dress up in tight spandex or a mask. No, instead she was the face of one of the city's most influential and powerful companies, the QueenCorp. From food to weapons, her company had a finger in each and every pie. Even when that involved cutting other people's fingers off.

When Jaune first arrived in Vale, he wanted to keep his head low and just live his own little life. But as time passed, he grew tired of writing the same meaningless articles on romances on set or horoscope tips. He wanted make a difference. Why become a reporter if you are not going to change something in the world, right? Expose a dirty politician. Reveal the conspiracy behind the city's damaged infrastructure. Or, in case of Miss Ashen, reveal her as the mysterious mastermind that supplied gangs all over the city with bleeding edge tech to fight heroes.

It was all by pure chance. A small tip from an anonymous source led him to the warehouse full of high-end tech. Some more digging landed him the hard witness evidence of Cinder being behind numerous villain attacks on her competitors, actual or potential. Jaune finally felt alive. He finally felt he was making the difference.

When Mr. Port canned his story, Jaune ignored the warning of a man about how guys like him tended to disappear. He continued to ignore hushed whispers and warnings from every publisher that rejected him. Finally, he was done with it. Tired and annoyed at how everyone seemed so eager to ignore the woman's double life, Jaune did what he thought the best option and published it on his own blog.

By the morning, the story had spread throughout the city and then the state. As people talked more and more about her, Jaune couldn't help but feel the sense of accomplishment.

He expected a lot of things. PR team of QueenCorp. coming after him. Being silenced by some of Cinder's gangsters.

He never expected an invitation to have a dinner.

"You are not eating," she stated in amusement. Jaune had yet to touch his utensils. "Afraid I ordered your meal poisoned?"

"Maybe I am just not hungry," he smirked, trying to play it off cool. Too bad that he hadn't eaten anything the entire day. His stomach growled before he could even finish the sentence. The fact that the steak before him looked and smelled absolutely delicious didn't make it better. "Look, is this the part where your men give me cement shoes and drop into the river?"

Cinder genuinely laughed at that. It was quiet and small, barely above the whisper. But it was there. And it was frightening. Them being alone in quite the spacious room of the restaurant only added to the dreadful feeling in his gut.

"Cement shoes? Sure, after all it is such a practical way to kill somebody," she took another sip of her wine. "I believe you will starve way before I could do anything to you. Trust me, Jaune, if I wished you dead, I wouldn't waste money on the restaurant. A simple bullet and a fake suicide note would be much more efficient."

The way she delivered that line - as if she was explaining the simplest most common stuff - made Jaune feel both worried and relaxed. He could tell she didn't poison his food. But he could also tell she woulkd get rif of him as easily as one would be disposing of trash. With that in mind, he took the first bite of juicy and tender steak.

If she planned to kill him, that was one hell of a last meal.

And yet the death had yet to come. Their conversation stayed far away from him exposing her. No veiled or direct threats to his life or family. No attempts to bribe or coerce him into calling his story fake. They talked about their own pasts and experiences. How he grew up in a small town in the family of eight. How she grew up alone in the giant mansion with only servants and tutors for company. How he paid his way through college. How she had been left to save a multibillion dollar company after her father ran it into the ground.

Was she trying to make him sympathize with her? Why was he sharing his past with the woman who could kill him that very night? As their desserts arrived, Jaune had enough and asked her straight-away:

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Nothing."

There was no lie in her words. But why?

"Why though?" Jaune's eyes narrowed. "I have literally exposed your shady arms dealing operation for the world to see. Your company's stock has been dropping like crazy for a whole week and-"

"- none of that will affect me as bad as you think," Cinder smiled. Not a fake smile she put on every time she opened a new hospital or school. But the real one that reminded Jaune of the cat that caught a mouse. "So my company sells weapons to the criminals and? If you honestly believe that will stop people from buying my products or services, you clearly overestimate the general public."

She took another sip of her wine and continued with the same serene expression, "Trust me, Jaune, the whole thing will be forgotten the moment some celebrity couple break up or my company announces a new phone. What you did was no more impactful than throwing a glass of water into the burning house."

"Then why am I here? If it is so small and insignificant, why did you invite me?"

She put down her glass and smiled. Before Jaune knew, the woman grasped him by his chin and looked him dead in the eyes. Two golden spheres stared straight into his soul, something wicked and powerful brewing in them.

"Because you interest me, Jaune."

He tried to back away only to find himself completely paralyzed. Was she one of the Auraborne - the people with special abilities? Or was it just the power a woman of her status had?

"That anonymous source that gave you a lead... You never tried to find from whom it came, did you?" She saw the shock in his eyes as the realization came down on him like a hammer. She was the anonymous benefactor. But why? What could she possibly gain from all of this? "I see you are confused. Allow me ask you a simple question then, Jaune: Why did you publish the story?"

Her eyes bore further into his soul.

"Honestly, why would you do this? Not only you risked your career and lifelihood, but your very life as well. When your employers refused to publish, you must have realized just how far my reach went. So why?"

He could feel the power in her gaze. The power to crush him if she wanted to. To crush him and everything he cared about and walk away without any punishment or even reprimend. And yet, he couldn't help but glare back as he snarled in defiance, "Because it was the right thing to do. I don't care how rich or powerful you are, I am not letting you hurt others."

He could have sworn something changed in her eyes. A small current of the power too outside of his world to comprehend. He expected to be burnt into ashes or have his skull crushed. And yet, once again, Cinder surprised by planting a hot wet kiss on his lips. Her tongue invaded his mouth, forcing him into submission as she desperately searched for something in the gesture of intimacy.

His mind was on fire, neurons all at work to try and understand what the hell was happening. Cinder deepened the kiss and all the brain activity died as he melted into it. Just what the hell did this woman do to him just now?

Finally, she let him go, looking no worse for the wear whereas he was out of breath.

"Not quite as innocent as I expected from a farm boy," Cinder chuckled. "I can tell we are going to have some truly fun times."

"I answered your question..." Jaune groaned after he finally gathered his thoughts. "So why not answer mine in return? Why did you send me all that info? Is that some sort of game? Or a way for you to prove just how untouchable you are?"

Cinder smiled - that damned cocky half-grin half-smirk.

"Because I wanted to find someone like you, Jaune," she said sincerely. "I have sent the same lead to several new reporters. But none of them proved themselves worthy of my interest. Some were too lazy to follow up on the lead. Some were to afraid to investigate any further once my name popped up. Some were too arrogant or greedy, barging into my office to try and blackmail me. But you? You actually managed to pull it off. I am impressed. I really am."

"And why do any of this? Why risk it all for a thrill?"

Cinder smiled.

"Because I wanted to."

She delivered the line with the same sincerity he delivered his, mocking how simplistic he must have sounded to her.

"Once you reach the top of the world, few things can excite you. I have no equals or rivals. I have no one to challenge me," her gaze fell on him. "Not until now, at least. I hope you will find this new relationship just as enjoyable as I do."

Relationship?

"When did I agree to become yours?"

Cinder smiled. Her eyes were like two burning suns as she bared her teeth.

"And when did I leave any room for discussion?"

S

Two years had passed since that fateful dinner and Cinder's declaration. Two long years of trying to stay sane in the world that no longer made sense.

Despite what many might have thought, Jaune wasn''t one to roll over with whatever came his way. He would fight, weakly and unsuccessfully. But he would fight. With every door to the news publishing cosed out of fear of QueenCorp. retribution, Jaune had little holding him back from his next step. He joined the Atlas - the world's elite taskforce. Quite the jump from a mild-mannered reporter.

Training was harsh and brutal. The lack of trust from his superior officers didn't make it easier. But Jaune refused to quit. And now here he was, the field agent of Atlas, armed and ready to take on anyone.

Anyone but her.

"You have strayed away from the herd, my little knight," the woman purred, fire dancing in her palm. "Came here to put an end to our game of cat and mouse?"

Jaune raised his taser gun only for it to burst into flames. Before he could pull out a stun baton, the woman was onto him. her lips burned against his neck as she hungrily ripped off his suit. It wasn't new or even rare. At this point, it was just the way things happened whenever the two ended up on the same battlefield. When he joined Atlas, the new villain appeared on the scene.

Fall Flame as the media christened her. She acted different from both Cinder Ashen and Miss Fall. More proactive on the field. More talkative and flirt with her enemies - especially him. He doubted anyone but him realized it was the cold and ruthless CEO and weapons dealer. The woman that traded weapons to every thug without powers. And now she had the powers of her own.

Good thing he picked up a few tricks as well.

"Ugh!" Cinder groaned as Jaune pushed her against the wall. Using the momentary surprise, he attempted to put handcuffs on her. "Kinky today, aren't we? But sadly, Jaune, I prefer to be the one in charge!"

He jumped away just as Cinder burst into flames. He tried to contact the rest of the team but without any success. He was all alone against the Auraborne. And he didn't like his chances. They continued on with the dance, trading blows and kicks. But it was only him who was losing energy as Cinder dodged and blocked all his attacks without any trouble.

Eventually, he found himself out of breath.

"You have improved since our last time. You definitely lasted longer," Cinder purred as she carddled his face. "But you still lost and your companions are now my captives. You do understand where I am going with this, don't you, Jaune?"

Jaune didn't even bother with resisting. Sometimes he wondered if Cinder created this persona solely to play with him. In an hour, his team would be released back and he would be locked up in one of Cinder's safe houses, which one he would eventually escape only to start the same game all over again in a month or two.

"You know," Cinder said as she led him towards the transportation cell. "Things would be much easier if you just joined me and my group. I assure you, our benefits package is quite favorable."

Jaune sighed at yet another attempt by Cinder to recruit him, "Let's just go to your safe house."

He didn't miss the way her lips curved into a smile at his rejection. What was it she said she enjoyed, someone challenging her? One might wonder why he even bothered to resist her if it only made it more fun for her. Jaune wondered about it as well whenever he was fighting her.

Guess he just loved the challenge too.

It was complicated, confusing and twisted. But in a way, he enjoyed refusing Cinder's advances just as much as he enjoyed doing anything against her. Refuse to join her. Always do the right thing when she offered him an easy way out through doing the wrong thing.

Maybe he and Cinder weren't so different after all.

S

The trip back to her safe house was surprisingly trivial. If one were to see the Atlas agent and the infamous criminal chatting about movies, work and food, that person would think they went crazy. But for Jaune and Cinder? It was just the way things worked between the two.

Cinder wouldn't tell Jaune anything that could compromise her plans. He stopped trying to get the information out of her a long time ago.

But neither did Jaune reveal anything about his side and their plans. Cinder had yet to give up on her pursuit of making him into her mole.

"I am going to have a shower. Wanna join me?"

Cinder smiled teasingly as Jaune took too long to refuse. "No thanks, I think I might need get some ice for my leg. No thanks to you."

She doesn't apologize or feign sympathy. Of course, she doesn't. Cinder never apologizes. Because in her own mind, she is never wrong.

The safe house is a lot more of a private house in the woods than one would imagine. No camouflage tech involved. No killer robots on the watch. Just a small piece of property away from the city and wandering eyes.

At this point, he spent more time here than he did in his actual apartment. This fact didn't bother him as much as it used to though, something that he would think on during more relaxed times. He still hadn't come up with an answer to that. He would, in due time.

For now though?

He had dinner to cook.

Cinder had many flaws. She was a sociopath, for starters, with very twisted outlook on the world and life in general. All people either had some use to her or could be discarded without a second thought. And when she was bored, she would stop at nothing to feel excitement. She was also quite stubborn and while always willing to improve, rarely acknowledged some of her more moral failings.

Despite those flaws, Jaune didn't find her company as unpleasant as he should have. Otherwise, he wouldn't be making dinner right now, now would he?

"So what are we having tonight?" Cinder asked as she wrapped her still wet arms around his waist from behind. "One of your classics? Or something new?"

He didn't bother to try and remove her arms despite the water seeping into his shirt.

"I was thinking of some stew and miso soup. I tried it a few weeks ago at the new place near my apartment. The chef was rude as hell but the taste I got out of it was worth it."

Cinder smiles before leaving to change. Jaune leaves the food to cook for a few minutes and changes into something more domestic as well. He had yet to get used to having his own room in here.

By the time he changed, Cinder was already at the table waiting for him to serve the food and drinks to her. It wasn't the same as when she waited for her minions to present the results of their work. Or when she awaited the CEO of some other company to surrender the controls over to her.

Instead, it was a more expectant but warm atmosphere that greeted him. It reminded him of the all the times he came back home from college to be greeted by one of his sisters. It felt comforting and peaceful. Not something you'd expect from the current public enemy number one.

They enjoyed their dinner, trading quips and jabs at each other. She commented on how the Atlas needed to better train its agents. Jaune pointed out that she was slipping up with her guys - after all, Roman sang like a bird once they got him.

There was no heat in their words, however. Not even the slightest bit of animosity that was present whenever they fought. As if the two of them were actors and their roles - a Hero and a Villain respectively - were taken off the moment they were here.

Jaune didn't hate the idea as much as he should have.

"You ever get tired of this?"

He breaks the question when they are done washing the dishes. It is something that has been on his mind for a while. And he no longer wanted to wonder on that.

"Whatever do you mean, Jaune?"

"I mean... This whole supervillain thing you got going on," he gestured vaguely around the place. "Building weapons, fighting heroes and et cetera... Since when was this a thing for you?"

Cinder reached for his face and smiled.

"Since I decided to have you for myself. The bond between lovers is strong... But the bond between the opposites? It is eternal, Jaune. Light and Dark. Life and Death. Good and Evil. One cannot exist without the other. And so cannot we."

Her eyes burned as he felt himself entranced.

"Which is why..."

They left the table.

"I am never..."

They were in the bed. Their bed.

"Letting you go."

The Light and Dark.

Good and Evil.

Agent of Order and Mistress of Chaos.

In that night - and many nights after - they were together as one. 

[dazailover69]

Eternal Agony- Leap Of Faith (Dazai x Reader)

WARNING: Suicidal Themes 

(Y/N P.O.V)

Darkness.

Its all I see, Its all I feel, Its all I know.

I feel empty. Gone. Lost.

       Am I Dead?

.

.

.

.

No. That would be impossible. Especially because my ability is always active. Its such a strong ability, but it's negative effects are what drive me to do insane things.

Blood. I feel blood, dripping down my wrists.

Oh.

I'm having an attack.

My, my, my, well yes you are~.

Every bone in my body chilled at it's voice. Goosebumps formed all over my skin, causing the hairs to rise.

"Please. Please. Not again. Not again," I weeped and begged, "I can't. I can't do this again." My voice quietened with the fear of whats about to come.

Y/N, Y/M/N, Y/L/N~. Now why would I hurt you~?

I grew still. My E/C dulled, as I come to the realisation I won't be able to escape this time.

I begged one last time, in hopes of a miracle, "Please. I need rest. Please, please, please just leave me alone."

Its laughter echoed within my mind.

But I'm your guardian angel, Y/N, It's voice darkened, leaving a burnt imprint in my head of the cold harshness of Its voice, I would never hurt you~

A miracle was all I needed.

I forgot miracles,

       hope,

       love,

    dreams...

   don't exist.

Ango gave me hope, he gave me a light that I might be free, but I guess its a lie. It always is.

I succumbed to the voices of It, letting It destroy all the little hope, love and happiness, be burnt by the brutal strength of its words. It will take control of me. When I awake from this nightmare, I know what I'll see.

My blood will scatter the entire room, coating every bit of wall with crimson colour of my blood. It doesn't matter though.

Why?

Cause no one will know. No one will see the pain It forces me to feel, No one will touch the blood that laces my room, and No one will hear my screams for help.

My ability causes me unbearable pain. But what makes it worse is that no one will believe or see or hear the true pain it causes me, because my pain is always healed by it.

Life,

I have an endless life.

But all I want is to die.

(Dazai's P.O.V)

Sunlight glimmered and burned my eyes. I was stuck walking in next to the simpleton in the world, while I we head to our next objective.

Y/N. We were looking for her. After what I told Mori, he wanted to meet her and find out her intentions.

So now I'm strolling towards my mission, in the heat of the streets of Yokohama. I guess it was a beautiful day, for an ordinary person but for me I knew it was awful. The constant nagging of my orange haired counterpart, only made death more desirable. If I wanted, I could possibly die from dehydration going hand in hand with hyperthermia, although it might take around 2 days.

I sighed, "Too slow."

Chuuya screeched, "HEY! SOCIAL MISFIT! WHAT DO YOU MEAN TOO SLOW?!"

"Sorry, would mind not talking to me? I'm busy breathing right now." I replied coolly.

Angrily replying Chuuya said, "I'm going to rip your head off, you suicidal maniac"

I turned around to face him. "Somewhere out there a tree is working tirelessly, producing oxygen for you. You should apologise to it" annoyance clearly evident in my tone.

"AYE, SHITRA-!" Chuuya's screaming got cut off by the sound of something making contact with the ground.

Keyaki Dori Avenue. We were on that street, right next to Yokohama Landmark tower. Someone must've jumped. It's the only logical reason. Screams of the crowd reached my ears, causing a multitude of people to surround what fell. Faintly, I remembered the soft brokenness of Y/N's words.

Because mine won't let me die.

It's her. It has to be her.

I managed to weave through the crowd, pushing pass;

every parent covering their children's eyes,

every teenager looking away crying,

every person cradling their loved ones

and finally pushing pass every person running towards the body.

I ignored every scream and curse of Chuuya telling me to come back.

I was right.

. . . . .

It was her.

Y/N.

She lied on the dark grey concrete, lifeless. Lifeless. Her H/C was scattered in multiple places, with new gushing blood, flooding from her skull. Crimson. Y/N's blood was dark crimson red. Her E/C eye were wide open, but her iris held the same broken sadness, she felt the last time we met. Her clothes, a pure white dress-shirt with dark black pants, were bloody. She's gone. She's dead.

While do I feel a slight pain in my chest? Why am I hurting? I don't understand.

I turned around, letting my gaze fall to the floor. My head swarmed with so many thoughts that I couldn't control. It was like an endless swarm of thoughts that not even a Tsunami could compare. I wasn't thinking right. I don't like this. Why am I hurting? Make it stop. Make it stop please!

"DAZAI!" Chuuya's voice broke my internal conflict.

Sweat beads were falling down my face. I sat hugging my knees on the concrete, rocking slowly back and forth.

How did I get here?

Oh.

I had an attack.

I stood back up, Chuuya holding my arm incase I fell again. "What the hell, Dazai" Chuuya calmly asked, "What the fuck just happened?" My gaze fell onto Y/N body. Why did she give me an attack? She makes me feel things I never wanted to feel. But I don't know what that is.

Although, something brought my attention back to reality.

Her body, eyes, blood-

A white glowing cult like circle surrounded her body, similar to what my ability looks like when activated. Every drop of blood slowly returned back into her body, while all the open wounds healed. She slightly levitated off the ground, before her ability deactivated causing her to drop to her feet. Her eyes opened, letting the dull E/C attach immediately to my dark brown eyes.

Y/N's soft sorrow-filled voice caught me off guard, "Do you believe me, now Dazai? Or do I have to jump off another building?"

My voice went dark and hoarse, I was sick of what she was doing to me. "Not until you answer my question. Who the fuck are you?"

Her gaze turned sour and slightly annoyed. With a soldier-like tone, she replied, "Y/N, Y/L/N. I am an ability user. I have the power to live through even the cruelest of deaths, at the expense of something invaluable.

My ability is called...

                                               Angels Of Death "

____________________________________________________________

Authors Note:

hello~ i've been busy lately but im going to try to post here every sunday 6pm PST time. also i decided to give this chapter earlier than what was intended. enjoy this chapter~

cya~

(Word Count: 1172)

[gayglitterqueen]

the effects of holy water on angels

Rating: Teen and Up Warning: angst!! then fluff but first angst Words: 6525 Pairings: Ineffable Husbands Notes: aziraphale doesn’t get sent to heaven and finds the holy water in crowley’s apartment Summary: As all Angels should, Aziraphale loves all of God’s creations, and She had many ones that are easy to love. So, as an immortal, it is impossible to go through existence without feeling the loss of them. The emptiness. There have been a handful of people, animals, even places, that have been lost to time that he has mourned.

But this?

This is a grief that Aziraphale is sure that not even Hell could imagine. A grief that Aziraphale would have believed only came with the feeling of losing one’s Angelic wings in a fall. A grief that he would never experience.

AO3

Humans somehow are both quite gullible yet very hard to convince, which is a frustrating duality that brings Aziraphale to his current predicament.

In another, very similar but slightly different universe, Lance Corporal Shadwell believes he exorcises the not-known-to-be-an-Angel Aziraphale by backing him up into a portal to heaven. After this, a series of events would follow that would lead to a burnt down bookshop and a Demon drinking heavily as he waits for the end of the world. 

But this universe is just slightly different enough that those events do not happen.

Aziraphale, instead of letting himself be pushed back into the circle by Shadwell, manages (with a slight miracle) to duck under his arm as Shadwell grabs the supplies and instead leads the Corporal in the opposite direction.

So, when Shadwell points his finger at Aziraphale, instead of bursting into bright blue flames as he ascends to Heaven, silence fills the air as nothing happens. The two men are left staring at each other, not quite sure where to go from this due to very different reasons. Once and then twice more Shadwell points his finger at Aziraphale as if it will make some sort of difference. Aziraphale blinks.

Well, at least no one stepped into the circle.

“I- I don’t understand.” Shadwell’s face screws up in confusion and he brings his finger close to his face, almost crossing his eyes in the process. “Yer a demon, this should work! Bell, book, candle!”

Aziraphale glances at the clock perched on his wall. “Well, I, hm. I do wish I had time to explain this to you, but unfortunately, the Apocalypse waits for no Angel.” And with this Aziraphale snaps his fingers, miracling Lance Corporal Shadwell asleep and into his bed at home. A rather big miracle, much more than he usually likes to do, but wholly necessary at the moment.

After a brief search for Agnes Nutter’s book, which Shadwell had tossed to the side after using for his attempted exorcism, Aziraphale starts to rush out the door. When he suddenly remembers, yes, he has wings and, yes, they probably would be faster than going through London traffic.

Faster is better when considering in a few hours it would be the End of the World, the only problem is that it doesn’t give Aziraphale much time to consider what to say to Crowley. And there is Much to Say. Lots had happened in just the past day between them, much more than he ever thought could happen. Now he isn’t exactly sure where they stand, where anything stands at all, or what to say to make any of it better. He has some things he knows he wants to say, but not all of it could be said in the short time they have. Perhaps if they drove to Tadfield at Crowley’s breakneck speeds they would have a chance.

So much to say.

I’m sorry. It isn’t over between us. We are on our side. I am on our side.

I choose you.

With thoughts of Tadfield and Agnes Nutter and Alpha Centauri scrambling through his mind, Aziraphale lands at Crowley’s front door. Not that he couldn’t land inside the flat, but things have been testy between the two of them this past week for obvious reasons and Aziraphale doesn’t really want to push it.

He reaches up to knock, which is just a formality and more a warning to Crowley that someone is here because he fully intends to just walk in anyway, when he pauses. The front door is already cracked open. As if someone had forgotten to fully close it behind them. Or hadn’t bothered to.

Alarm bells go off in Aziraphale’s head. In six thousand years of knowing Crowley, he has never ever done something like this. Even when he’s completely plastered, barely hanging onto Aziraphale as he attempts to drag them to Crowley’s flat (wherever it may be at the time) Crowley always remembers to close and miracle the door locked behind him.

Hesitantly, Aziraphale presses the tips of his fingers against the door and watches it sway open. Beyond the soft creak of the hinge, the flat is otherwise completely silent. If Aziraphale’s body wasn’t merely modeled after humanity and instead was completely human he would now break out into goosebumps. Perhaps a shiver would run up his spine. Natural instincts would alert him to leave the scene, a threatening aura hanging heavy over the flat like a thick fog. But he is not human, and while some part of him is still aware that nothing good resides beyond the threshold, he steps in.

The silence of the flat screams as he walks in. It’s not the sort of silence that comes from an absence of Crowley in this room or even Crowley asleep somewhere. Aziraphale can always sense his presence, but the flat is cold and alone and empty.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale calls because he’s not sure what else to do as he moves through the flat. This isn’t the first time he’s been in this particular one so it isn’t hard to look around and spot any signs of trouble.

Memories of the first late night visit to this flat come to mind. Several champagne bottles spread around a newly miracled living room as music hums softly in the background. Crowley had fallen asleep on the couch and Aziraphale had miracled a blanket for him, one that he knows is tucked away in a closet somewhere in the flat because on cold nights Crowley still brings it out. So far, nothing looks out of place. But no signs of Crowley either. “Crowley, my dear, are you here?”

He moves through the flat, past familiar furniture and towards Crowley’s plant room, the place he most often is when Aziraphale comes to visit. There is no sound of the typical shouting, but it’s a better place to start than any. The father he goes the more he starts to notice a distinct smell. His nose wrinkles and the pit of his stomach twists, unfamiliar with the strange stink that he seems to be walking towards.

Another door, also cracked open, stares Aziraphale down. That is where the odor seems to be coming from and while every fiber of Aziraphale tells him to move away, he forces himself forward. “Crowley?” He calls out again as he pushes the door open.

Immediately he’s hit with the smell tenfold. It’s powerful enough to send him staggering back, the hand that isn’t holding the book reaches up to cover his mouth and nose. It smells hideous, it smells acidic, it smells like pure death.

Aziraphale’s heart plummets into his stomach as he spots the obvious spot the smell is coming from. He takes a step back as if to get a closer look, and then falls back once again until his back is pressed up against a wall. He drops Agnes Nutter’s book to bring his other hand up to his face, pressing his palms against his mouth so hard he comes close to cutting the inside of his lips on his teeth.

Even if he couldn’t tell what the gooey, tar-like substance on the floor was, he could sense the holy water just by being near it.

“No… no, no, no, no, nononono-” Aziraphale gasps, sliding down the wall until he hits the floor. All he can see is the puddle of water and former demon, it encapsulates his vision, searing itself into his mind. He can no longer hear himself chanting no, even as his voice grows louder and more shrill in his growing panic.

Aziraphale can’t feel much right now, a cold bucket of shock having been dunked over his head just as quickly as the panic began to get in.

“Nononono – no, Crowley, no –”

A suicide pill, he had called it back in the 1800s. A painful way to go that there was no coming back from. No discoperation, no new body, no more Crowley. A suicide pill that had looked better than whatever Hell could come up and, apparently, the End of the World.

Elsewhere in London, the bell above Aziraphale’s bookshop door rings out. The bookshop is completely empty, while the sign reads closed even the owner is nowhere to be seen. The only source of light in the room is a circle lit by candles, faintly glowing. Crowley almost walks right back out when he sees it.

It’s an instinctual response. Demons aren’t supposed to want to go back to Heaven, not like they’d be welcome anyway, so any sort of portal to anywhere holy sends even the dumbest Demons running. Crowley is not dumb, especially for a Demon, but he is rather desperate, so he takes a deep breath, holy energy stinging his nose, and continues into the shop.

For a brief moment, his chest is seized by panic – the thought of being abandoned in the End of the World far worse than how it felt being the one who was going to run off. Was Heaven really that alluring? Or was Crowley and the promise of the universe just not enough to hold Aziraphale? These thoughts creep over his mind, covering it like a quickly growing moss. But then Crowley sees it’s not just the candles glowing, but the entire portal. So it’s been activated, but unused.

He lets out a heavy sigh of relief, entire posture slouching, before passing by quickly. Best not to look too hard at the holy light. He practically dives in the back room, as he does so he calls “Aziraphale!”

No answer. No answer when he calls throughout the bookstore, the back, and upstairs where the small living quarters are kept.

An empty bookshop with a portal to Heaven smack in the middle.

“For the love of – oh, forget it. Aziraphale, where the hell are you?” Crowley mutters to himself. He pulls out his phone, looking at the dozens of unanswered calls he had put through in the last hour. If the world wasn’t ending he would be heavily embarrassed for several centuries by how desperate it looked.

He could be embarrassed for as long as he wanted once they got to space, all he had to do was fucking find Aziraphale first. An Angel lost in the middle of London, might as well ask him to dig through a haystack while he’s at it.

And right at the End of the World. Just what he needed, a time limit.

“Couldn’t have just stayed put, could you?” He hurries outside to his Bentley, completely ready to drive down each street of London if it’s what it takes to find his angel.

It feels like another six thousand years have passed before Aziraphale can feel his body again, but it couldn’t have been. The entire world would have already ended, not just Aziraphale’s. But here it is, the world around him still intact. Still in Crowley’s apartment. Still facing the remains of his former best friend. Still solid and physically present in reality.

As the shock loosens it’s hold, Aziraphale gains feeling back. Such as the fact that he bruised the inside of his mouth by biting his cheek so hard it’s drawn blood. And that his hands had pressed so hard into his face that his nails had left indents on his cheeks. And even the tears that continue to pour down his face.

His throat aches, which is the only reason he had stopped chanting no to himself. His tongue feels swollen against the roof of his mouth and everything beneath his chest feels numb in a fuzzy sort of way, like his whole body has fallen asleep.

Thoughts piece themselves together slowly as if he’s trying to stitch a pattern for the first time. Only the end result still doesn’t make much sense, but the shock is wearing off just enough to let panic seep back in.

Crowley wouldn’t - Crowley wouldn’t. Only for emergencies. It was a last resort. We’re not in last resort territory yet. Alpha Centauri. Another option, another option, so many more options. Hell, even just the moon. The moon. The moon, the apple tree, Eden, the wall of Eden, a snake, black wings and golden eyes- No, no, no. It can’t be Crowley – it has to be Crowley, who else would it be? He promised it was only for the last case scenario, the end all of all emergencies-

Only. He hadn’t.

After caving and giving Crowley the holy water, Aziraphale had spent the next few days endlessly fretting, calling much more than he ever had before since the invention of phones, until Crowley had threatened to throw out his phone just for some peace and quiet. A week-long panic attack he would later come to think of it. But even in the midst of that, there was no promise made. Anything of the sort was all just implied, nothing verbal. Nothing truly binding.

But implied had always been binding enough between them. They had become adept at reading between the lines and following what they read. Spoken word was too dangerous most of the time, could never tell who was listening, so trust was formed that even if not said it was still expected. But this, this was nowhere in the realm of expected.

Had the End of Times been the breaking point? Were between the lines were no longer enough?

Aziraphale can feel himself drag his hands past his face to grip at his hair. His head falls between his knees and even though he is no longer looking at the puddle on the floor, it’s all he can see. He makes no conscious effort to do any of this. He is hardly conscious at all.

As all Angels should, Aziraphale loves all of God’s creations, and She had many ones that are easy to love. So, as an immortal, it is impossible to go through existence without feeling the loss of them. The emptiness. There have been a handful of people, animals, even places, that have been lost to time that he has mourned.

But this?

This is a grief that Aziraphale is sure that not even Hell could imagine. A grief that Aziraphale would have believed only came with the feeling of losing one’s Angelic wings in a fall. A grief that he would never experience.

Now, though, in the midst of it, it is a grief that he would trade his wings for in a moment. If only to get the pain to subside for a second. If only to have Crowley back here, in his arms, one more time. But nothing happens. He hears nothing from above, feels nothing, and knows that it would be pointless to even attempt to ask.

Yet another six thousand years could have passed in the time it takes him to get up, but no, the world around him is still here. He makes sure not to look at the open door. Aziraphale has to leave this place, as much as it hurts him that puddle of goo is no longer Crowley and the smell of his best friend’s death is filling his head. Whatever grip on reality is quickly fading the longer he stays. He hardly remembers to pick up the book, but he isn’t sure why he feels the need to. Today is the End of the World and now that Aziraphale’s world has been taken, there’s not much point in saving the rest of it, now is there?

The world is ending soon and Crowley has no idea where the fuck Aziraphale is.

“What, did he just decided to pop out on an afternoon stroll?” Crowley snarls under his breath and he jerks the steering wheel of his Bently, narrowly missing a pedestrian standing on the edge of a crosswalk. “Oh, last chance to really admire the last time London will ever see the sun, simply must take advantage of that. Course, of course!”

This doesn't make Crowley feel any better, especially since he’s not angry at Aziraphale and more the whole situation of everything in this goddamn week. But he can’t seem to stop himself. He hisses out curses and sharp barbs pointed at everyone and everything he can think of. If he doesn’t stop soon he’s sure that his tongue will revert back to how it was when he was actually a snake and the only way to tell if that’s happened is to listen for him drawing out his S’s. Another sharp turn and another shouted curse at the universe.

He’s nearly back to his flat with the route he’s taken. It’s a silly thought that Aziraphale would go there, he had made his stance on Crowley’s proposition perfectly clear, so it’s unlikely that he’d come to Crowley.

A quick driveby can’t hurt all the same. If Aziraphale isn’t in Heaven then he’s somewhere in London and Crowley will rewrite the laws of time itself to make sure he has enough of it to find Aziraphale in this city.

Luckily, no attempt at changing the cosmic writings of the universe is needed. Crowley slams on his breaks so hard the Bently shakes as if it’ll pop out of its tires, skidding to a stop about a block away from his flat. There, walking in the direction away from Crowley is Aziraphale. Back turned to him, but Crowley would recognize that blond hair and that now questionable taste in clothing anywhere.

The Bently shudders as it comes to a complete stop, but Crowley is already out of his car and jogging to catch up with Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley calls and frowns when there’s no obvious reaction. It’s not like there’s a lot of foot traffic near them, he should have no problem hearing Crowley. “Aziraphale!”

As Crowley gets closer it becomes more obvious that Aziraphale is tensing up with each call of his name. His arms are wound tightly around his torso and his hand is loosely hanging onto a book, one that looks like it will tumble from his grasp with just the slightest breeze. Okay, okay, this isn’t what Crowley needed from Aziraphale today, but he can work with it. Hey, at least he actually knows where he is, that saves a whole lot of time running around Earth unnecessarily.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley all but shouts as he finally catches up. He reaches out and grabs Aziraphale’s shoulder, physically stopping him since nothing else seems to be getting through. And that seems to get through. If that’s what you want to call it.

Crowley isn’t sure what is going on with Aziraphale, but not even his best guess could prepare him from the reaction he gets. A full body shudder before a violent jerk away. Aziraphale almost stumbles to the ground but catches himself just in time to spin around to finally face Crowley.

Oh. Oh, this is not good at all.

If memory serves the last time Crowley saw Aziraphale anywhere near this upset was the height of the Bubonic Plague, but even that has little on this.

Aziraphale looks as if he’s seen a ghost. His face is drained of all color, except the red splotches around his eyes from obvious sobbing. His hair is all askew and he hugs himself tighter when he sees Crowley. Whatever has upset Aziraphale this much is serious, perhaps more serious than the End of Times itself.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asks again, taking great care to soften his voice. One wrong move looks like it will send Aziraphale miracle himself halfway across the globe. He doesn’t dare reach out to touch him, not sure if any more physical contact will worsen the situation. “Aziraphale, what happened?”

They stand like that for a moment. And then another. And then a third.

“You…” Aziraphale whispers and his voice croaks so bad it makes Crowley’s ache as well. “You- you-... I don’t-... I can’t…”

“Shh, shh, Zira it’s- it is, hmm, it’s going to be alright.”

Perhaps Aziraphale fell asleep against the wall, can shock do that? Can it drain someone so completely it knocks them out into a comforting dream? Or maybe this is a dream but he isn’t asleep. Is that something shock can do? Aziraphale can’t seem to remember.

Crowley – the figment that looks like Crowley – looks far too calm for the situation at hand. The world is ending and he’s already dead. Shouldn’t he look more upset? Well, he looks upset, but it isn’t an oh-I’m-dead-instead-of-discorporated kind of upset and more of a filled with concern type. His hands are slightly outstretched just close enough to not invade Aziraphale’s space but far enough away that they hover unsure in the air.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers, but the name feels bitter on his tongue. Coppery and metallic.

“Yep, that’s right, angel.” Crowley nods and tries to smile, but Aziraphale knows - knew - him too well and sees right through it. Concern is seeping into a panic. “I don’t- I don’t know what’s gotten you so upset, but I need you to come with me. C’mon, we gotta go.”

It’s clear Crowley is trying to be gentle, but he can’t hide the rush in his voice. He says “we gotta go” when he means “we should’ve been the hell out of here twenty minutes ago come on”.

“Why?”

Crowley leans back in surprise, arms dropping to his sides. “Be… Because it’s Armageddon? End of days and all that? Aziraphale?”

“So?”

It’s clear that Crowley isn’t sure how to handle this and part of Aziraphale does feel bad for leaving him so wrong-footed. It must be hard enough to dead already, Aziraphale doesn’t need to be making it any worse. Crowley looks around them for a minute, as if checking to see if anyone is going to spring out and shout boo! “I don’t, pff,” Crowley blows out a puff of air between his teeth and reaches up to drag his hand through his hair,” angel, what happened?”

Aziraphale can’t help but let out a laugh at that. Well, it’s more of a strangled, chocked off version of a laugh, but it’s the best he’s got in him. After the first one happens the rest just start bubbling up until he’s leaned over slightly, clutching his stomach, body raked with shakes. “What happened? As if you don’t know Crowley. I killed you!”

Silence from Crowley’s end as Aziraphale continues to laugh.

“Okay.” Crowley huffs, and oh Aziraphale is so glad this figment can do that. It was always cute, that frustrated huff Crowley would do, especially since he only ever seemed to do it around Aziraphale. “Okay, clearly, something, something bad, very very bad has happened in the short time since you opened that Heaven portal. And we can deal with that later, I think, but Zira, c’mon I need you to get in the car.”

Aziraphale can’t mark the exact moment when his laughs, hysterical now, dissolve into sobs. Whole body-wracking sobs.

“I- I killed you, Crowley.” Aziraphale continues between his sobs, finally able to look back up at the figment. “‘S all my fault. Wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t in Soho. Should’ve been up in space, then you would’ve stayed.”

What. The fuck. Is happening.

Aziraphale clearly isn’t completely back into reality yet. If the Crowley he runs into on the street isn’t enough, then the fact that one minute he’s standing on the sidewalk crying his eyes out and the next he’s sitting in Crowley’s old Bently without knowing how he got there is quite a big hint.

This must be a dream then. The Bently isn’t something he can imagine while awake and still feel the way it rumbles as it goes, feel the bumps on the road as Crowley speeds along. He digs his fingernails into the palm of his hands and flinches in surprise when he finds it hurts.

Not a dream?

“...How did I get here?” Aziraphale whispers, staring down at his palm.

The car around them speeds up and Crowley hums, matching the purr of the car. “Well you stood on a sidewalk crying and saying complete nonsense so I… let’s go with helped, helped you into my car. Sorry, angle, as much as I understand a good cry session to let all that pent up stuff out, you picked a pretty shitty time to do it.”

The casual tone to his voice is horribly forced, causing Aziraphale to look up. It is indeed still Crowley next to him, but his body is far too tense to be from Aziraphale’s imagination. He always preferred Crowley at his most relaxed, but this one is trying to replicate that look. The tilt of his spine against the seat is much too rigid and his hands grip the steering wheel much too tight. His lips are mashed together into an attempted neutral expression that if anything makes him looked even more anxious.

“No, I mean… This isn’t possible.” Aziraphale shakes his head. “I killed you.”

“Hmm, you keep saying that, but I seem to recall it’s been several hours since we’ve seen each other. If you did have time to kill me then I’m quite impressed that I hadn’t noticed.”

“No. No, not like that.” Aziraphale shakes his head because real, imaginary, dream, Crowley has to understand. Understand it as Aziraphale understands it. “The holy water. I gave you the holy water. Therefore I killed you. And- and I told you it was over. We were over. What other choice did I give you but holy water?”

Crowley slams on the breaks so hard it’s a miracle itself that they don’t go flying through the windshield. (It’s very unclear if the miracle belongs to either of them or just one from everyday life). Instead of stopping in the middle of traffic, like Aziraphale’s heart tells them they are as it jumps into his throat, Crowley quickly miracles their way into a parking space next to a bunch of shops.

“Holy water?” Crowley whispers, his grip on the wheel somehow tightening. Any more so and it’ll snap. He looks up at Aziraphale, horror plain on his face even with his sunglasses on. “Aziraphale, no, no, no-”

Ah, there it is. The understanding. The same understanding that Aziraphale had to come to. Was the problem just that Crowley didn’t realize he’s dead? Is a reminder always needed in situations like this? Ghosts aren’t exactly his department up in Heaven. Can celestial beings even have ghosts? The rules about all this sort of thing are quite unclear, which is very frustrating considering how much Heaven loves documentation.

Crowley turns his whole body in the seat and pulls off his glasses, setting them into his lap. Now Aziraphale can fully see his wide, golden eyes, but can’t stand to look at them for more than a moment. He squeezes his own eyes shut, but then he can only see the flat, what is left of his best friend.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley whispers and Aziraphale can feel hands cupping his face. His eyes blink open, wide and taken aback, to see Crowley staring at him. His touch is more gentle than it has any right to be, more than any accidental brush of the hands between them has ever been. “Angel, that wasn’t me. I, I wouldn’t-. I did use the holy water, but not on myself.”

“What?”

Crowley’s thumb brushes back and forth against Aziraphale’s cheekbone, lighter than air. “Hell figured out losing the Antichrist was my fault, so they sent two demons after me. Drag me back to hell ‘n all. Didn’t seem like a great option so I thought now's a good a time as any to break out the holy water.”

“You- But I- You-” Aziraphale sputters, mind blank with static as he tried to wrap his head around this brand new reality.

“Doused one with holy water and trapped the other in my answering machine, yeah.” Crowley shrugs in what is obviously meant to be an off-handed gesture, but the action is ruined by the look on his face. Without his regular sunglasses, there is nothing to hide the absolute burning - something - in his eyes.

“You… You’re here.” Aziraphale lets out a long breath and feels himself go boneless - not literally, he hasn’t lost that much control over his physical form - and collapses forward into Crowley.

The divider between their seats makes the new position slightly uncomfortable, but Aziraphale hardly notices it as he presses his face into Crowley’s neck. His hands grip the back of Crowley’s jacket, wrinkling it beyond anything but divine repair, and presses them together as much as physically possible. Crowley is real and solid and here and Aziraphale feels like he can never let go again. Crowley himself tenses up at this new development of closeness but quickly shakes it off to wrap his arms around Aziraphale as well, cradling against him. Aziraphale can feel Crowley shiver every time he lets out a breath against his neck.

“You’re here.” Aziraphale whispers once more, pressing his face so hard into Crowley he can see stars behind his eyelids.

“Yes, yes, I’m here, angel,” Crowley whispers back, tilting his head down so it presses into Aziraphale’s hair. “I’m so- I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think-. I thought you wouldn’t come to me, so I headed to the bookshop. If I, if I knew I wouldn’t have just…”

There they sit, wrapped in each other's arms at the end of the world ticks ever closer. Outside the world continues as normal, unaware of its own fate. Inside everything has ground to a screeching halt. Nothing exists outside of this moment. Everything building up for the past day releases in their hold.

It only lasts a minute but feels like an eternity.

“You trapped a demon in your answering machine?” Aziraphale whispers, knowing that one of them will have to shatter this moment eventually. And, well, that seemed like the best ice breaker on hand.

Crowley laughs, lighter than he has in days. “Uh, yeah, I did. Well, I mean, not after threatening him with fake holy water?”

“How can you fake holy water?” Aziraphale’s words are slightly muffled by his position, but he isn’t in any rush to move.

“Well,” Crowley drags out the word in a typical Crowley fashion and it makes Aziraphale’s heart squeeze. “You melt one with the stuff and then point a spray bottle at another they’ll come up with their own conclusions. Called my bluff, though. Still fell for the answering machine trick.”

“Oldest trick in the book.” And for the first time in many hours, Aziraphale smiles.

“Pretty sure it’s not, angel.”

“I suppose you would know.”

Crowley laughs once more and the last of the fuzziness that had encompassed Aziraphale dissipates. He clenches his hands on Crowley’s jacket once more, just one more reassurance, before slowly pulling back. Immediately he notices the missing warmth of Crowley’s body and sees where he had gotten Crowley’s shirt wet. Crowley still isn’t wearing his glasses, but he looks closer to actual relaxed instead of a falsehood put on for Aziraphale’s benefit.

As Crowley had done to him, Aziraphale brings his hands up to cup Crowley’s face. Almost immediately red creeps up Crowley’s neck at the contact and his eyes widen, gaze flittering back and forth as if they were about to be caught by someone. His mouth parts slightly, but no words come out.

Aziraphale smiles, truly smiles as a heavy weight is lifted off his chest, and briefly considers pushing himself forward into Crowley once more. A kiss would be much more effective at saying what’s needed to say than any words. But he decides against it.

If they can survive the apocalypse, he decides.

“Well. Now that that’s been cleared up, we really should be getting going.” Aziraphale pulls his hands back and rubs them together, doing his best to memorize the feeling of the touch. “Not much time to get to Tadfield.”

“Tadfield?” Crowley asks, raising an eyebrow. He reaches down into his lap to pick up his sunglasses and slip them back on. Aziraphale can practically see the question Alpha Centauri? on his lips.

Aziraphale nods and settles back into his seat. “Yes, Tadfield. We should have just enough time to stop the end of the world.”

And Crowley presses down on the gas.

How much time should be allocated to let someone decompress from an Almost-Apocalypse? If you were using as it an excuse to get out of work, how many days would your boss allow you before you were fired? Or how many times could you use it as a reason that you couldn’t go out with friends? Sorry, I’d love to, but I’ve just been mentally sucker-punched by the realization that everything almost Ended so I don’t think I can come out for drinks tonight, maybe next weekend?

Crowley ponders this as he pours two mugs of tea. One is in a white cup with a small pair of angel wings as a handle. The second is an exact copy only painted black. The second one is new, presented to him just a week ago. He had accepted it with a huff of indignation, but it makes his chest feel all warm whenever he pulls it out of the cupboard.

The tea is still piping hot and would most likely burn any human who tried to pick them up, but instead, it’s a soothing feeling in Crowley’s hands. Must be a side effect of Hell’s impossible temperatures. Currently, he is in Aziraphale’s bookshop. It has been a month since the world almost ended, they narrowly avoided death from Heaven and Hell, and Crowley had started spending almost every day with Aziraphale. The bookshop is where he spends most of his time now. Sometimes he sleeps over but usually, he does go back to his flat by the end of the day, mostly just to make sure his plants haven’t been slacking off in his absence.

When he does sleep over he spent the first week sleeping on the couch until one night Aziraphale had mentioned how dreadfully uncomfortable it must be and well, one thing led to another and now Crowley is quite well acquainted with Aziraphale’s bed.

Which is where he currently is heading.

It is two in the morning and ten minutes earlier he had been awoken from his sleep by a clingy Angel. This isn’t the first night he has been woken up like this and gone to make a midnight cuppa, and it most likely won’t be the last. Both of them are still decompressing in their own ways.

Crowley has been watching his back with a bit more paranoia than he ever had, even when he was lying to Hell through paperwork. Aziraphale has been getting nightmares.

“How ironic.” Aziraphale muses as Crowley walks back into the bedroom and hands him his cup of tea. He is sat up against the headboard and still buried beneath the hefty stack of blankets that are piled on the bed every night (those had been added for Crowley’s benefit as he liked to sleep much too warm for any other living being on the planet, but on nights like these they are a comfort to Aziraphale as well). “Between the two of us, I could have guessed you would be the one who would have issues like this with sleep.”

“I did always like doing it more.” Crowley agrees, crawling into his side of the bed - when did he start referring to it as his? When had it transformed from completely Aziraphale’s bed into two halves shared by them? “Good way to past the boring decades.”

“I still don’t see the appeal,” Aziraphale mutters into his teacup before taking a sip.

“I never said you have to sleep with me every night just because I prefer it.” Crowley points out, soaking up the tea’s warmth. It’s a fifty-fifty chance that he actually drinks any of it instead of just letting it heat him up. “I wouldn’t mind if you spent your nights doing whatever it is you usually do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to just leave you here to sleep alone. What kind of manners would those be?” Aziraphale huffs but looks off to the side as he says it.

Crowley sets the teacup on the bedside drawer next to him before turning onto his side to completely face Aziraphale, a big toothy grin on his face. “Oh? Manners, hm? Is that the only reason you’ve taken to sharing a bed with me? I hadn’t realized that twenty-first-century etiquette has evolved in such a way.”

Aziraphale coughs and it’s only because Crowley has known him so long that he can tell he’s attempting to stifle a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“Nah, I’m not quite sure that I do.” Crowley scoots closer under the blankets, just inches away from Aziraphale when he props himself up on his elbow and rests his chin on his palm. “Care to explain, angel, where in the world you acquired this new manner rule?”

Aziraphale’s lips twitch and he takes another drink.

“Ooooor,” Crowley drags the word out, “perhaps it’s not about manners at all. Is that it? Perhapssss it’s about… this!”

And with that Crowley pushes himself forward and latches onto Aziraphale where he can reach. His legs intertwine with Aziraphale's and his arms wrap around his middle, pressing his face into Aziraphale’s stomach.

It is purely out of surprise that Aziraphale lets out a loud giggle. Crowley peeks up to watch Aziraphale try to move the teacup away from them, tea sloshing at the edge just threatening to spill Crowley knows it won’t. “Crowley!” Aziraphale’s scold is ruined by his following giggles. “Be careful- what do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh, don’t act like this isn’t why you let me share a bed with you, angel.” Crowley grins up at him before pressing his face back into Aziraphale’s stomach.

“I would prefer you didn’t do it while I am holding hot tea.”

“Hm, well, that’s the risk you take. Sharing the bed with a snake, we’re known to cling.”

“Oh, are you?” Aziraphale’s voice is terribly deadpanned, but Crowley knows he’s still smiling. Good, as long as Aziraphale is smiling then tonight has been a success. Crowley would cuddle with him forever as long as it made him forget about the nightmares.

Nightmares that are very well warranted considering the week they had a month ago. Aziraphale hasn’t told Crowley everything that happens in them, just a few things that Crowley could have easily guessed on his own. The actual end of the world, the war between Heaven and Hell coming to fruition, Crowley actually dead. Normal trying to cope with the Nearly-Apocalypse nightmares.

So this is what Crowley does on nights like these. Wakes up, gets Aziraphale tea, cuddle him, and does whatever he can to make the Angel smile. It doesn’t always work. But tonight it has. Neither of them will go back to sleep, they both know that.

But right now that is okay. They are okay.

[eikon-whisperer]

Hoping now I can move on

Note: This will contain some triggering topics, so please be mindful when reading this. Thank you.

[I apologise to mobile users who will see this long ass post] 

I know I disappeared out of the blue and I have done this on multiple occasions, but right now I just need a place to vent out how I have been feeling for quite some time.

I am not normally one to vocally express my personal issues as I feel like I am burdening others, but I think now I just really need to lay everything on the table as I feel even now a lot of things still affect me.

..............

I joined this community back in 2014, a friend (now ex-friend) introduced me to the idea of League of Legends RP and it did take me a month or so to figure things out. Another reason I joined as well because at the time I was in a very emotionally, mentally and manipulative relationship with a guy named Tejay. months later I finally built up the courage to leave him and I have you guys to thank for helping me recover.

During my time RPing on here I became very well known. At the time I was the only person I knew of from New Zealand, so I think that contributed to helping me stand out from the rest. I roleplayed a Genderbent Twisted Fate at the time, but was still trying to stick as close to the lore and character personality as possible. The big thing I always asked myself “What would Twisted Fate do if he was instead a woman?” And to my surprise it worked.

In 2015 was when I made many, many friends and when I would tell people who I was would freak out, almost like a fan meeting a celebrity they like and it was weird because in my real life I never really had many friends, so being popular was new to me. My blog did bring in some unwanted attention though, people making sexual comments on anon, it was pretty creepy, but most of the time I would delete them.

Mid 2015 I got dragged into some drama, which surrounded people I knew. It was a moment where one side of the story was made public and then people blew the situation out of proportion and forced a person out of the community. I got really angry, I always do when I get dragged into things that don’t directly involve me. When people start drama it just makes me not want to be in this community.

Late 2015 I got a job, but still manged to fit RPing in on the weekends and did my best to stay active. I did start noticing a theme however, people seemed to only message me send me prompts on Sinday. Back then I was not very comfortable with sexual topics, in some cases it was fine because it happened naturally, but most of the time people tried forcing it in when it was not necessary.

Some time in 2016 I was spending more time RPing as my OC Sam and was wanting to build her up into something way more. I got sick of all the people being thirsty for my muse that I stopped. I was also mentally not in a good place in my life and so I decided that I wanted to make the switch, during this time I was also regularly going to see a counselor. PEOPLE WERE NOT HAPPY WITH THIS CHANGE AT ALL. I told all the usual people I RPed with and I swear after that change, I lost so many friends. The friends I made, gone. I was very lonely and certain people I felt took advantage of this and someone went as far as to sexually harass me. I remember at one point I was having a lot of suicidal thoughts, this year was pretty shit.

In 2017 I started my studies in Game Art and Development. I had no time for RPing apart from on Discord and so I was gone for about 2.5 years. I tried coming back a few times between then, but everything had changed, like there were all these rules to be able to RP with people and I was just so perplexed by this, like really? Some people are gonna hate me for the that comment, but I don’t give a fuck.

2018 was...Soul crushing. My teachers were putting so much unnecessary pressure on me and I tried to talk to my friends about it, but they just did not seem to listen and pushed me away as well as actively avoiding me. My mental health started to decline again and at the beginning of the year I was having a lot of epileptic seizures due to very high levels of stress. Later in the year I got help again, it was hard because I was forced to go to groups I didn’t want to because my parents wanted me to get better it seemed very quickly.

This year has been a mess...I have lost more friends, one of my friends abandoned all his long time friends for a guild in a game. Most just did wrong by me and so I cut them out, because I don’t have time for toxic behaviour. I did somehow after being overly burnt out and the change in medication I had, I managed to graduate my studies. I did after try to come back and while I was away I did change my characters a lot, but most people didn’t even seem to care.

I feel like I was putting all this work in for nothing and so I left. I still would like to RP, but I think the thought of all the drama is making me not want to return. Currently I am working and having issues with looking for a new job. In a sense I kinda of want all my friends from this community I had back, most of you I miss dearly. I am also trying to get back into streaming and art and promised myself that if I can’t find a job here by the end of the year, I am gonna move overseas and start new.

If you have read all of this, you are crazy, if not then that’s ok, this was just mainly to get everything out of my head so I can hopefully move on.

[frostinmyshadows]

I’m high right now, so forgive me if I write like shit. But I have to write this now. My heart is fucking shattering. I need you to understand this. You. Didn’t. Kill. Me. Syd. Stop doing this to yourself. I know you take it all back. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so, so fucking sorry. I had been suicidal for months. I had been saving pills for a really long time. I was so fucking sick. I had lost everything that had made me, me. My body wasn’t my own. My mind wasn’t my own. I felt so powerless, so out of control. I was too sick to go to school. I was too sick to do anything. And nothing I did helped. I was hopeless. You were my only hope- which I now know was wrong. But in the moment, you were my everything. My reason for getting up in the morning. My reason for trying to get better. I gave you so much power and stake in my life. I should never have done that. Because the moment there was the threat of you being gone from my life, I couldn’t imagine continuing on this endless journey of suffering alone. It’s sad, because my following actions made it certain that you would be gone from my life. I know you hate yourself for what you said, and I hate myself for what I did. I need to make this abundantly clear: I forgive you. I don’t blame you. I blame myself. I was the one who chose to overdose. It was me. What you said was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back... the camel was already there. You didn’t kill me. My depression had been eating at me for ever since I could remember. I’ll post a poem I wrote back then in a second, so you understand how much it was eating at me and how much I hated myself for what I was doing to you. I read this poem in poetry club and a guy named Nate gave me his number to call if I ever felt actively suicidal. In the ecstasy that you gave me by being my friend, I was still so mentally ill and there was nothing anyone could do to help it. Don’t blame yourself. I know you’d take it all back if you could. If given the chance, I would take what I did back. I would do everything differently from the beginning, actually. I would be less self-absorbed. I would give you the love you so desperately deserve. You deserve so, so much. I was so concerned with me and being sick that I forgot to spend the time showing you what you meant to me. I hope it’s not too late. You were everything that I needed.  Meeting you was like breathing air for the first time after drowning for years. You were perfect in so many ways. I wish I had been perfect for you. I’ll never forgive myself for not being what you needed. For not doing more. I understand that I was too sick to be the person that I wanted to be for you, but looking back I don’t fucking care. I should have done more. Somehow. What you say about being the over-giver with your bags packed at the door, ready to pretend not to have cared when things go south, choosing not to address your feelings, all of it- I know in my bones how true that is. I’m glad you’ve done this self reflection and have learned these things about yourself. I’m glad you’ve had personal growth. I have too. There’s so much I want to tell you. You are NOT hard to love. It’s so fucking easy to love you. Everyone is drawn to you like a magnet- you are fire. You are euphoria. You are beautiful and bright and vibrant and captivating and so fucking wonderful and I don’t have the vocabulary at the moment all I know is that my heart can’t contain the love I have for you. The heartbreak I’ve been feeling for the last few months has been indescribable and the last few days it’s been the worst it’s ever been. You are not hard to love, Syd. It’s harder to try not loving you. The guilt can stop. Both of us need to stop. We have both paid the price for our actions. This pain is unbearable. I think it’s time we let ourselves be free of this agony. Your journal entry has me fucking sobbing. I too am terrified that I will spend the rest of my life loving you, without you even being here. I don’t want to live my life like that. You know me and love me better than anyone. All these little things you’ve remembered, I just can’t even begin to describe how much it means to me. All these feelings hurt so bad I don’t know what to do. Lately I try to escape them by getting high, but to be honest when I’m high I’m even more emotional. I can’t seem to ever get you out of my head. At school, at work, at appointments, in the car, at night in bed when I can’t sleep. You are my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night. The book I read to you was The Host. Jesus Christ I wish I could go back to that day. Laying on the floor reading to you. You seemed so captivated by it. And I was captivated by you. I miss being so close to you. You didn’t fail me. I failed me. I’m healthy now, and it’s maddening. Why is it that me being healthy and us being together couldn’t align? There’s so much more to say, but above all I need to say that I love you. My love for you is so fucking powerful. It’s hard to keep it in my chest. There is no outlet for it, except for when I write to you. I wish I could pour my heart out to you in a more eloquent way right now. I miss watching Twilight with you too. I watched one with my mom the other day and was in tears the whole time. It was the third one I think, the one where they get married, and Turning Page plays at the wedding. When I had that realization I swear to God it tore me apart. I constantly have moments like this where I flash back to our memories and it kills me. Why are you just a memory, now? You shouldn’t be. You can’t be. I won’t let you just be a memory. I’m not willing to believe that you will just be a memory for me. This can’t be over. It can’t. Terrible things happened. Fucked up things.  But we deserve to be happy. We deserve to be more than memories to each other. I don’t want to live in a universe where you are past tense in my life. I’m With You by Vance Joy is a favorite of mine too. I was just coasting until we met. You showed me how good it could get. You burst into flames for me, and it burnt you up. But what if we could shine for each other without it consuming us? I fantasize about seeing you again every single day. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane. The best part of my day is visualizing you walking through my door.  I start crying. You start crying. We run towards each other and embrace. We just hold each other for what seems like eternity. And in those moments everything that has happened is absolved. Everything is okay. The months we’ve spent apart don’t matter anymore. We are okay. We are together. Or maybe someday in the future I enter a coffee shop where you are sitting down, reading. You look up from your book and we freeze. I slowly sit down next to you. I feel like my heart is jumping out of my chest and I start crying uncontrollably. And then basically the same things happen as they did in the previous fantasy. There are many versions of this I’ve built up in my head. I’m not living for you anymore. My life doesn’t depend on you. I’m learning to live for myself, not for the sake of anyone else. I’m learning to believe that I will be happy. And that it’s my responsibility to make that happen. But Syd, I don’t want to live without you if I have a choice.

I’m forgetting your laugh. It’s killing me. I watched the video from my birthday where the candle on my cupcake was lit and it started to burn my hand and I’m shrieking and you’re laughing and I could spend every moment for the rest of my life replaying that video and others like it just to hear your laugh on a loop. 

I want to get lost in your eyes again. I want to study and appreciate every inch of your face. I want to hold you and never let go. I never should have let go in the first place. You mean everything to me, Syd. I love you with every fiber of my being. I don’t want to live without you. I don’t know what to do. I can’t let you go, Syd. I’ve tried. But the thing is, I don’t want to let you go. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You were the sun in my life. You were yellow. You gave everything taste, color, oxygen. You. Are. Everything. I’m with you. Every step of the way.

[go-whump-in-the-night]

Backstory for my OC, Ren (back when he was still Tsubasa), about his last evening as a bunraku puppet at the Komorebi Club, and his introduction to Yuudai, the ex-yakuza who rescued him. Pretty dark whump followed by a rare comfort moment! Yay! Word count: 2641 TW: implied/referenced noncon, implied/referenced self-harm, referenced suicide attempt

  The transdermal patch was pressed into the back of the puppet’s neck, just below his hairline, and microscopic pins pressed into the grooves worn in his skin. Almost immediately, the dizzying sensation of the drug began swirling around Tsubasa’s head, and he felt himself growing nauseous.

“Lay him down. Tilt his head to the side.”

The pale young man watched as his view changed, limply slumping back on the bed’s dark brown silky blankets , then looking over to his left as large, cool hands turned his face in that direction. The light from the artificial treetops danced across the suite’s wall. He had been told by Minami-sama that this light was a simulation of the light one might see breaking through the treetops on a sunny day.

Tsubasa wondered what sunlight was like. He had been told it was warm. A warm light. He could barely comprehend that concept.

People were talking, softly, as if aware that Tsubasa listened in on the conversations of the management here as often as he could. Other than the personasofts, it was his only source of information.

He strained his ears to listen even as he felt his limbs growing weaker, even his lungs having slight difficulty expanding.

“This is not good. If Minami-san knew how close he came today...he’d have our skins.”

“Minami-san won’t know. Minami-san won’t find out. The only ones who know are you and I.”

“Yeah, but the cameras-”

“There aren’t any cameras in the suites, dumbass. Same reason he’s got that data filter in his head. “

“What did he even use? There was a lot of blood, but...there’s nothing he could’ve stabbed himself with, is there?”

“...I think he used his teeth.”

The pair of Yakuza fell silent and Tsubasa trailed his dark eyes down to look at his hand, which lay limply in front of his face. His wrist was wrapped in clean, white bandages.

After a moment, one of the guards said, “He couldn’t’ve actually killed himself, though. He’s weak, even without the Dopadrine.”

“That’s by design. But even then, him getting hurt at all is bad news, and if he was actually aware while he did it…”

“It was a glitch with the ‘soft. I’m sure it was. Don’t get so fuckin’ ominous.”

“Let’s just get ‘im put away and then try to figure out a way to explain this to Minami-san.”

Hands grabbed hold of Tsubasa, one pair under his arms, one at his legs. He felt limp and numb, nausea still swirling around his stomach. The group moved through one of the doors, carved with the shape of a maple leaf on its front, and into another warm-coloured hallway. Dark mahogany floors, burnt orange walls, and that ever-present dancing light, that dappled light of the sun through trees.

They brought Tsubasa to his room and put him on the bed. The door locked behind them as the pair left.

Darkness. Darkness. Darkness.

This room was so dark it seemed endless. Dark. An eternal blackness; no smell, no taste, no texture. Just a blackness so deep that Tsubasa could not see if his eyes were opened or closed.

Slowly, numbly, he raised a hand to his face, holding it in front of his eyes. He couldn’t see it. Then he moved it back to the back of his neck, feeling the silicone patch over his spine. He ran his fingers over its surface, smoother than the skin underneath.

Time didn’t pass here. It was soundproofed. He had seen it with the light from the hallway outside, enough to know that it would, under normal circumstances, be a nice, if spartan, room. His bed was firm but not uncomfortable, and there was room to walk around.

Tsubasa wasn’t in here enough to grow stir-crazy, but sometimes he wondered what the less-popular bunraku went through, in here for hours, even days, not even put on display so that they might have a chance to get out of the darkness.

Foolishness, thought Tsubasa. I’m always in the darkness. Even when I’m out there in those swirling, false lights, even when I’m surrounded by people, it’s dark. I can’t see anything. Nothing.

Nothing.

No

thing….

Tsubasa shut his eyes again.  He listened to the dull throb of his head, feeling it washing around his head like the ocean. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, rubbing them gently. His fingers felt cold, tingly. In fact, he could hardly feel them at all. They kept this area cold, and Tsubasa didn’t know if it was to save money or to somehow keep the dolls more docile.

Maybe people are like food, Tsubasa thought sardonically to himself. Perhaps we last longer if we’re kept cold.

He regretted the thought almost immediately. Tsubasa felt sick.

Nauseous.

He felt as if his limbs weighed a million tons.

He didn't know how long he was in there for, as his thoughts spun around in his drowsy mind. Premeditated suicide was not a luxury Tsubasa was allowed; he didn't spend enough time in his own head to make those sorts of plans.

He hadn't gone into that room with the idea of killing himself. It had just happened. He had been put in one of the luxury suites, and was waiting for the personafix chip to be activated. He had felt a dull dread deep in his chest, pulling and tugging like a fish-hook.

And he had looked down at his pale, slender wrist, seeing the delicate blue veins beneath the flawless skin. A hatred had risen up in him, a loathing for that perfect skin, for that carefully cultivated body that felt as if it belonged to someone else.

He felt trapped in his skin.

He felt imprisoned here. In the darkness. In his body. He wished he could be free of it. Of all of it. Now, before his mind was entrapped in itself again. Before that cell door was implanted in his skin and he became someone else.

There was a tearing, a taste of hot coppery liquid, a startlingly brilliant red flashing out against Tsubasa’s pale arm. Red rushing out at him, washing out that darkness.

But Tsubasa was never far from one of Minami’s men, and too soon, he was being restrained, held down, the drug patch pressed into his neck. Everything slowed down, and he watched through a haze as his arm was stitched up and bandaged.

A click of the maglock on the door broke Tsubasa out of his thoughts; he looked over in the direction of the noise, flinching at the sudden light as the door slid open.

“Tsubasa. This will not happen again.”

Minami’s voice never wavered from the calm cadence that he always spoke in, the voice of a man who had flags in a lot of different mountains, and knew few people were foolish enough to try to plant their own. He was a professional, a businessman, and Tsubasa was both fascinated by and terrified of him.

“My men tell me it was a malfunction with your personafix chip that caused this little incident,” said Minami, “But I'm not a fool, and nor, do I think, are you. The chip hadn't been activated yet, had it?”

Tsubasa was silent, just lying on his side and staring at the wall.

“Answer me,” a slight edge worked its way into Minami’s voice.

“No, sir.”

“Precisely,” Minami continued, voice calm once more, “Let’s not have any reservations with each other. I am well aware of how intuitive you are, how adaptive. It’s what makes you such a valuable asset to Komorebi. None of the other bunraku have lasted as long and provided such good results. You are consistently the most requested offering in this company. You are one of our selling points, and it’s precisely because of how durable your mind is, how resilient.

You know all this, Tsubasa.”

Tsubasa nodded, shutting his eyes. This was the most he could recall Minami ever saying to him. Fear gripped his chest like a vice.

“I have offered you a certain amount of freedom which the other bunraku do not receive, because I have interest in maintaining your position as my top selling item. However, what you did this evening, and what you were attempting to do, has made me reconsider this. You are the only bunraku at the Komorebi Club to be given occassional recess from your personafix software. I believed that this would preserve you for many more years. I believed that I was securing an investment. I have decided to rectify this mistake.”

Tsubasa’s eyes snapped open, and he looked over at Minami, heart pounding.

“Your personafix chip will be activated permanently, and you will be kept on Dopadrine when not working,” Minami’s voice had gone quiet, icy, “Your body is mine, Tsubasa. Literally, legally, and up until now I have allowed you to continue using it. But I will not tolerate you damaging my property. You will continue to live and earn money for this company until I decide I no longer have need of you.”

Minami said, “It is regrettable. You had been surprisingly good at resisting the mental strain of the personafix chip. Your original personality wasn't even entirely  undesirable. It's deeply regrettable that it will have to be locked inside that mind of yours from now on. Deeply regrettable.” He took a step backwards, hands clasped in front of him, watching Tsubasa for a moment. Then, with a quick turn on his heel, Minami stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Tsubasa was shut into the darkness again, trembling, his freshly-stitched wrist tingling slightly.

As the young dark-haired man lay on his bed, he listened to the sounds of the Komorebi Club closing for the evening. Tsubasa wondered what it would be like, to no longer be himself, ever again. To think his last lucid thought and then be gone.

Was Tsubasa the body? Or was Tsubasa the mind? Will I still be Tsubasa when I’m gone? Will this body still have my name?

He looked up at the ceiling, throat burning as he tried to keep his repressed sobs silent. He had to take in as much as he could. As much sound as possible. As much smell, as much sight.

Would this be what the rest of his life was like? Locked forever in the darkness of his own mind, unable to act, only able to watch as he was used by the patrons of this business? Unable even to scream?

He felt the warmth of tears streaming down the sides of his face and into his hairline as he looked up at the black ceiling, so dark it may have been endless.

He listened to the noises of the Club’s activities slowly transition from afternoon to evening to early morning. The sounds of talking and drinking, of soft music and footsteps. These transitioned into hushed conversations in Japanese, and to Minami in particular, speaking to his men. Then, hours later, the doors of the building being closed and locked, and the very faintest noise of a car driving away.

It was still so dark. He placed a hand over his face, feeling the cool skin, shutting his eyes and inhaling a pained gasp of air. How many more movements would be of his own command? How many more thoughts would be acted on? How long would it be before he no longer could remember who he used to be?

What if this isn’t who I was born as? What if they created this personality, too? What if Tsubasa is as much a fiction as the rest of them? As fake as this skin and this damned room?

Who am I?

Who are my parents? Do I even have any? Do they know I’m here? 

Did they sell me to Minami? 

His chest hurt, as if the Dopadrine was actually impeding his ability to breathe. It hurt...his chest...his heart...he wanted to scream and claw at his skin, to rip apart Tsubasa, because Tsubasa was what Minami wanted. He wanted to destroy the body these men paid so much money for. He wanted to rip himself apart until there was nothing but his mind.

This body is just a vessel. 

My mind. My mind is who I am. I can’t lose my mind. They can’t take my mind. They can’t take it. They can’t take my mind.

 This body isn’t me. This body isn’t me. This body is a vessel. My mind is me. They can’t take it. They can’t. I can’t lose this, too-

A loud crack sounded in the tiny room and Tsubasa’s eyes snapped open. He stared at the door, around which he could suddenly see just the tiniest crack of light, as if it had been pushed slightly in. How the hell-

As Tsubasa thought this, another loud report sounded as the door visibly shook. Tsubasa shook, his breathing hitched; but he couldn’t move. The drug patch in his neck...he couldn’t even lift his head.

With one final, startling crash, the thick, reinforced door slammed open, banging against the wall as it was pushed inward. Tsubasa flinched, a brilliant blue light driving into his eyes.

Light. Light. Light.

A beautiful...brilliant blue light.

“Get up. Come on, quick, kid. We gotta go.”

A voice was sounding from the source of the light, a terse, but not frightened voice. He was speaking Japanese, very informal Japanese, and he sounded fairly young, though Tsubasa wasn’t sure how young. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the figure.

“Come on,”said the man, stepping into the room. Bright blue lights illuminated the tiny space; the figure was tall and lean, muscular. He was wearing a semi-opaque, skintight black mesh shirt, black PVC pants and tall, heavy neon blue boots. He was Japanese, pure Japanese, obviously, and...he was so vivid. So bright. Bright fiberoptic cyberdreads, bright neon lines running down his arms to pvc fingerless gloves. An unsheathed katana stringed with matching LEDs was on his toned shoulder, and his eyes: intent, but also excited, and a beautiful glowing blue.

“Wh...what…?”

“Are you deaf?” the man frowned, looking legitimately confused, “We’re going. I’m rescuing you. Get it?”

Tsubasa stared dumbly at the man, unable to understand his words. He was clearly speaking Japanese, but it didn’t make sense. Going? Rescue? Had Tsubasa gone completely mad?

“What...do you mean...going?” asked Tsubasa softly, brows furrowed.

The man rocked back on forth on his heels slightly, and then he grinned, and the grin was more blindingly beautiful than anything Tsubasa had ever seen. It had no malice in it, no cruelty, no lust. Just...excitement. Tsubasa would almost call it...joy.

Then he said, “Listen, I’ve been working here for a while, and I’ve decided I need some good karma. I’m breaking you out, okay, and leaving,” he frowned a bit, “What does it matter why? Just get up and come on.”

“I don’t...I mean...that is, I can’t…”

“Eh?”

“The drugs...the patch on my neck...I don’t think I can move...I’m sorry…”

The man tilted his head to the side, then crouched, glancing around at the back of Tsubasa’s neck; the younger man felt as if his skin had warmed by a good ten degrees.

“Dopadrine?” the dread-locked man sounded dismayed, “They give you guys Dopadrine??”

Tsubasa shrugged, frowning lightly.

“Fuck, they give that crap to orcs. I’m surprised you’re even conscious. Alright…”

He crouched, and in a swift motion, lifted Tsubasa onto his back, hooking his arms around the young man’s legs and draping his arms around his neck.

“I’m Yuudai, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Tsu…”

“Huh? What?”

“No, I...I don’t have one.”

Yuudai fell silent for a moment, then laughed lightly, looking over at the boy and grinning. That grin made Tsubasa feel like he was flying.

“Well, why don’t you start thinking of one?” asked Yuudai, “A new name. A new start.”