#why did i have a vivid dream that God told me i only have a few months left to live before 'my secret illness' gets me

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

erm

[jinwoosbabyboo]

"The Sunset is Beautiful Isn't It?" pt. 1

The saying above is a beautiful way to bid someone farewell without having to say goodbye and I think it perfectly fits saying goodbye to our LaD Men because we can't keep hurting them. Someone has to end it. In first person p.o.v because it's you.

Goodbye Zayne

Your POV

I've been having dreams and I'm not sure I can even call them dreams. They're more like nightmares of a girl watching Zayne sacrifice himself for her. By the third sleepless night of terrors I've realized that girl...

is me...

These aren't nightmares they're slivers of time in the past. My past with him. These were not REM sleep hallucinations, I've been peaking through the eyes of my past lives. Foreseer, Master of Fate, Arctic Medic.....

Dawnbreaker....

A version of Zayne who rarely speaks. He never spoke a word to me, but showed vivid shock when I spoke to him in my dream. It was as if I saw through not only time, but space as well. I don't even exist in his world and even him I've hurt. I can feel his eyes on me as I sleep; our dreams intertwining with one another.

I've failed him. How can he smile at me now when I've failed to protect his smile time and time again. I can barely look him in the eye now without wanting to break down. He even became a cardiologist to help me. I want him so bad, but I can't do it I can't let this cycle continue.

One of us has to end it.

"Zayne...." He looks up from his paperwork that's sprawled out on his desk in his home office. "What's wrong? You look as though you have something heavy weighing on your mind" Just that simple concern made my heart feel like it was caving in on itself. My eyes burned with unshed tears as my words got caught in my throat. He quickly stands and briskly walks towards me, but I flinch away. He stares in disbelief at my sudden movement. "Did I do something?" I don't deserve his concern. I don't deserve his love.

I don't deserve him.

"Wh-" I swallowed hard feeling like thorns were piercing my throat. "Why did you become a cardiologist?" I whispered looking down at my feet.

"My parents are doctors I simply followed in their footsteps" He's so humble. "That's the only reason?" Before I could react his hands were cupping my cheeks and just looking into those green eyes that stared back in concern broke me. I sobbed as he held my face. "You may have also been a deciding factor....where is this coming from?"

It was then I knew why that past version of Zayne left without a word after I fell asleep. It really is too hard to say goodbye to the face of someone who looks at you as if you've hung the stars in the sky. "I'm just .... so thankful for you" I whisper.

Zayne's POV

She was always breathtaking when she didn’t know I was admiring her but that day as we sat on the balcony of her apartment the softest smile pulled at her lips. I could tell there was some melancholy in there as if she knew something I didn’t or there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t find the words.

She slowly turned her head and held my gaze. Dear God she was gorgeous and with just one look I was stumbling over myself. She spoke softly as she grabbed my hand and moved it to her lap. “The sunset is beautiful, isn’t it?”

All I could mutter out was a low raspy “Yes, yes it is”

…If I knew I’d never see her again after that day I would have held her hand tighter.

Goodbye Rafayel

Your POV

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" Rafayel poked me in my forehead following it with that rich giggle. We've been laying on his couch since he called me an hour ago to come over. He wants my full attention, but I can't stop my mind from wandering. I don't understand how he can still find it in himself to love me after everything I've done to him over the centuries.

"Why haven't you taken my heart yet?" He's shocked stock still as the words leave my mouth. I can see his entire demeanor shift from playful to somber as he looks away. "Raf your flame is dying..."

"Who told you?"

"I've been getting flashes of memories with you from a past I don't remember" He stands from the couch and begins to pace. "I know why there are pearls all over your house"

"Don't do this please" He's on his knees now holding my hands. Why is he begging to keep me around when our love is a tragedy?

"Raf you've got to save your home and your dying flame please just take my heart this pain is too much for me to bare anyway"

"I will not! I choose to love you I chose you and I'll always-"

I couldn't hold back my tears anymore. "Stop stop! Just stop please I can't do this Raf I've never been so depressed in my life I've ruined you and I can't live with this" I try to pull my hands from him but he has an iron grip around my wrists now. I struggle trying to get away from him sobbing as I fight in vain.

"I'll take care of everything I don't need your heart"

"Yes you do Raf" I finally manage to wrench my wrist from his grasp and I dash towards the door. Just as I grasp the handle and pull the door open he's right behind me slamming it shut.

"Where are you going?" His eyes are wild and full of desperation as they search my face for answers.

"I just need some air Raf ... I'll be back" We stand there staring at each other for what feels like hours before he drops his hand and I slip out of the door.

Rafayel's POV

There's three solid knocks at my studio door each one giving me even more of a headache. "Studios closed go away!"

"Rafayel..."

I knew that voice what's she doing here? I stroll over to the door cracking it open so only my face can be seen. "Aren't you going to let your aunt in?" Talia said with irritation in her voice. "Why are you here?"

"I have something for you ... it's from MC" I froze at her words. I hadn't heard from her in over a month. I quickly opened the door and finally noticed the white box marked with bio-hazard on the side.

My heart dropped I couldn't help but fall to my knees as my aunt slid the box into my hands. "Is this...."

"Its her heart ... she left this note for you as well"

I snatched the letter from her tearing into it in hopes this was some kind of sick joke. I would forgive her for it. I swear on my life I would.

My Beloved Groom, The sunset is beautiful isn't it? ♡

I couldn't do anything except lay on the floor and curl my body around the box that held her lifeline. Nothing but a piece of the woman who was my lifeline.

Zaynes fanart @/Shanyi708944594 on twitter

Xavier & Sylus here...

[glossysoap]

I’m back to cause more angst in my sadistic heart, I will send you my medical bill when I get out of this 9th circle of hell /lh

For rtc; imagine ghoap, in their grieving, having dreams where they think reader is “alive” and with them and the three are living a domestic life in some quaint home and they think “wow I was just in some horrible dream, they’re alive and we’re together!” and they go to dream reader and just tell them how much they love them and it’s all going so well until they try to touch reader and reader isn’t tangible and says “if only you told me that when I was still around” and it just spirals into some horrific nightmare and they just relive watching the video of reader getting stabbed but it’s like they’re right there-

Ahem… I’ve totally not been thinking about them all day today at work, nope nuh uh very normal thoughts in this house

-🌻

all an illusion

this is literally god tier, you're a genius <3

i can just imagine one of their dreams being so vivid (they all are but you know what i mean) and it’s a dream where you’re with the 141 just like normal!

this is going to become canon to the main fic very soon*

you were treating a patient that needed to be on a med-evac. it was almost a deja-vu from what led to your disappearance, except instead of you going alone, ghost and soap tagged along with you on the helicopter!

in this dream, the patient was completely different than nat. it could’ve been a child, or even a grown man. whatever the case, they were completely different than the redhead.

you would be sitting next to the patient, holding their hand and looking down at them with a sympathetic gaze, trying to calm them down.

ghost and soap would be sitting across from you in the helicopter, looking at you with love in their eyes. admiring how caring you were and how you were still so hopeful, even after seeing so much bloodshed from war zones. they would watch how you would let the crying patient squeeze your hand when they were in pain.

after a minute, you would feel their gaze burning into your head. you would look up at the two soldiers with a grin on your lips and raised brows. “what is it?” you would ask them with a chuckle, voice wary with nerves.

soap and ghost would be quiet for a few moments in the dream, the whirring of the helicopter blades filling the silence. in the dream, they were overwhelmed with a feeling that they could only describe as relief.

but why? why were they so relieved to see you? why did tears prick at their eyes while they watched you? nothing bad happened, right? you were just fine in real life. they were sure that if they woke up right then, you would be safe and sound, asleep in your quarters.

when you called their names, they were brought out of their thoughts.

“nothing. we’re just glad to have you, y/n.” soap would force out, his lips stretched into a grin. “we couldn’t imagine life without you, bonnie.”

“couldn’t have said it better than johnny, love.” ghost would croon, with a lilt to his voice, his honeyed eyes boring into your eyes. “you mean so much to us. more than you could ever know.”

they would both watch your face, taking in every detail in your expression as if you would disappear from their clutches again. committing every inch of your face into memory. every line, wrinkle and freckle. the way your brow furrowed and the way your lips quirked into a shy grin.

so when your brows relaxed almost instantly and your shy grin morphed into a sickly sweet smile that just didn’t quite reach your eyes, their hearts dropped. something wasn’t right.

“if only you told me that when i was still here.. when i was still alive.” you would drawl out, your smile turning into a snarl as you spat the last word.

the second that the words passed your lips, the entire scene around them changed.

in the blink of an eye, the dream shifted into the exact scene from the video tape of your capture. except they were stuck there in the helicopter — unable to save you.

they couldn’t even speak, let alone shout your name. their mouths felt like they were stuffed with cotton.

the climate changed from the sweltering heat to a biting blizzard. the pilot that was once a stranger was replaced with nikolai. the patient that was once a little boy was now that same redhead who tricked you, who captured you.

they were forced to watch that same redhead jump up from her gurney and break your left arm. they were forced to hear the sickening crack that resulted from it, and the cry of pain that left your lips.

“ghost! help me!” you would cry out, sending a knife through ghost’s chest.

“soap, please! help me!” you would sob, your eyes filled with tears as you pleaded for them to save you.

they were forced to watch as the redhead pulled a knife out of her pocket and plunged the blade into your abdomen, pulling a sob of pain from you.

“why won’t you help me? you’re just sitting there!” another punch to the boy’s guts.

they were forced to watch as she yanked, twisted the blade out of your wound and threw it at nikolai, killing him.

“why won’t you help me!?”

they were forced to hear your gut wrenching screams and see tears stream down your cheeks. the same tears were mirrored on soap and ghosts face.

“i thought you cared about me! you don’t care about me at all.”

they were frozen in their seats as blood pooled from that wound, drenching your uniform.

“i’m dying and it’s all your fault!”

then they would wake up, every time.

(….)

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

[jiihu]

너랑 나 (2) — 𝐲𝐮 𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧

﹅ summary — after months of no contact from the blonde doctor, you wanted to hate her. nevertheless, a late night visit brought some old emotions bubbling back up to the surface.

﹅ content — age difference (reader is 18, jimin is 27), power imbalance, doctor!jimin, suggestive

﹅ word count — 2.2k

"y/n, i can not do that!" aeri snorted, shoving your shoulder.

"why not," you pouted. "just gently close the door on my finger; just enough to sprain it." she sighed, rubbing her temples.

"you know you can just go talk to her, right? you don't have to hospitalize yourself for her attention."

"it's not that simple ri, and you know that." she shrugged, her eyes analyzing your own dejected ones.

"if you're not gonna talk to her, there's not much more advice i can give you." as she opened her mouth to speak again, you heard a ping from her phone. "fuck, i'm sorry. my mom wants me back at home for god knows what." she leaned over, pressing her lips to your forehead. "talk to her!" aeri shouted as she left your room.

you sat in silence once you heard the front door slamming shut, your fingers tracing the threads of your blanket. is it worth it to try to talk to her?

your mind wandered back to the last few months, which you mostly spent thinking about jimin. memories flooded your thoughts, painting a vivid picture of the moments, albeit short, you had shared with her. the stolen glances when she came to visit your parents, the meaningless small talk that lingered in your mind long after they ended, and the undeniable connection you felt whenever you were together.

you recalled the night you spent talking for hours, exploring the depths of each other's thoughts and dreams. the way her laughter filled the room, filling your chest with butterflies. the way she listened, truly listened, to every word you spoke, making you feel seen and understood. those moments were irreplaceable, and they held the promise of something more. at least, that's what you wanted to believe.

doubt crept in, questioning whether those moments meant as much to her as they did to you. what if she didn't feel the same way? what if she only viewed you as an immature child? the fear of rejection pricked at the back of your mind, making you hesitate.

letting out a sigh, you shook your head, closing the curtains to block out the sun. you climbed into your bed and tucked yourself underneath your covers. if jimin wanted to see you, she would've come by, or at the very least called.

as you lay there, the sound of aeri's words echoed in your ears. "talk to her," she had urged, her voice filled with certainty. aeri knew you better than anyone, and you always valued her opinion. but the thought that she may not feel the same way held you back, its grip tightening with each passing moment.

a soft buzz from your phone caught your attention, the light illuminating the dark room. with a hesitant hand, you reached for it, unlocking the screen to find a text from an unfamiliar number.

'Hey, it's Dr. Yu.'

'Can we talk, please?'

you found yourself frozen, staring at your phone, your thumbs hovering over your screen. despite wanting jimin to text you first, you couldn't help but feel a little resentment towards her. not only did she ghost you for months, but she walked out on you with no explanation, other than essentially saying you were ‘too young’ for her. so why does she want to talk now?

'jimin?'

'how'd you get my number?'

you picked at the skin on your fingers, debating how you wanted to respond to her messages. you didn't want to sound too eager, but you also didn't want her to think you had no interest anymore.

'Your father gave it to me.'

'I told him you wanted to speak to me about neuroscience.'

you wanted to respond. you really did. but you didn't know what to say, and especially how to say it. despite trying to play it off, jimin made you nervous, and months without talking to her only made it worse. while you were lost in thought, your phone buzzed in your hand again.

'Y/N, please talk to me.'

'I'm sorry about what I said last time. I didn't know how to say what I wanted to say.'

'Just one more chance. Then you never have to see me again.'

as much as you wanted to hate her for disappearing the way she did, something inside of you wanted to give her a second chance. you wanted to see where this could go, and if there was a possibility that she could feel the same way you did.

'alright'

'come over tonight'

you were pacing around your room in your pajamas, squeezing a stress ball in between your fingers. you were thinking about dressing up for her, but you didn't want your parents to get suspicious. your mom already raised an eyebrow at you when she saw you taking a shower twice today, but fortunately, she didn't comment on it.

you felt your stomach sink as you came to a sudden realization. not only would your parents hear jimin coming from a mile away, but they would also immediately know who it was. you could already hear your dad interrogating you as to why dr. yu was coming over in the late hours of the night.

you walked over to your phone to text her, and you were interrupted by the sound of a car door closing. you leaned over and peeked through the blinds, only to see jimin stepping out of a discreet black car, parked right outside of the driveway. once her eyes met yours, she flashed you a smile and pointed toward her car.

you felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness as you hurriedly grabbed your jacket and opened the door. adrenaline rushed through your veins as you silently tiptoed down the stairs, hoping to avoid drawing any attention from your parents. opening the front door, you stepped outside and made your way to jimin's car, heart pounding in your chest.

as you got into the car, jimin reached over to give your hand a reassuring squeeze before starting the engine. "you okay? you look nervous," she spoke as if nothing had happened. as if no time had passed.

"you wanted to talk." you felt a pang in your chest when you saw the hurt look on her face.

"y/n, i apologize for the way i treated you last time we met. i shouldn't have walked away that night, and i definitely shouldn't have disappeared for so long. forgive me?" you looked over to jimin, watching as a growing smile spread across her face. you couldn't hate her.

"i guess. but if you do it again, i promise you'll never get another chance." jimin laughed, reaching over to rub your knuckles with her thumb.

"trust me, i won't need a second chance." you felt butterflies when you heard her words, turning to stare out of the window, hoping that she doesn't see how flustered you are. "also, how'd your parents let you leave out so late? your dad seems pretty protective of you."

"jimin, i'm eighteen. i don't need their permission to leave." jimin snorted, shaking her head.

"your dad barely wanted to give me your number this morning." she looked over to you, smiling at your exasperated expression. "you're right, you're an adult. i'm sorry."

you chuckled softly, appreciating jimin's lightheartedness. the tension that had built up within you began to dissipate as the ride continued, conversation flowing between the two of you like no time had passed. it felt good to be in jimin's presence again, to feel the familiarity and connection that had drawn you to her in the first place.

jimin continued to guide the conversation, telling you about random events that happened in her life in the time you'd been apart. "and then the other intern, who was also scared of blood by the way, left the exam room mid-surgery." she scoffed, seemingly still upset about the situation. "i mean, can you believe that? an upcoming doctor who's scared of blood?"

she shook her head as she parked the car, tapping her fingers along the steering wheel, seemingly deep in thought. you looked around to see you two were parked atop a hill, a dim light from behind the fence slightly illuminating the cabin of the car. "y/n, i know i messed up, and i'm truly sorry for the pain i caused you. i don't want to make empty promises, but i want to show you that i'm committed to making things right. can we start over? take things slowly and see where this goes?"

you took a moment to process jimin's words, feeling a mixture of hope and wariness. her sincerity was evident, and you couldn't deny the lingering feelings you had for her. even though you wanted to protect yourself from getting hurt again, something about jimin's words made you believe her. after a deep breath, you met her gaze.

"of course, we can start over." jimin's eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, hesitation evident from her hand hovering mid-air. "kiss me, jimin." she leaned over and pressed her lips to yours, her hand coming up to rest on the back of your head. she held onto you as if you'd disappear any second, her other hand trailing up your thigh. her fingernails gently traced shapes on your inner thigh, the hand on the back of your head moving down your neck. she pulled away, her eyes dark and her chest heaving.

"y/n. i don't want to pressure you or force you into anything. are you sure this is okay?"

"this is more than okay jimin, i promise. i've missed you so much." she held your gaze as you watched multiple expressions dance across her face; uncertainty, desire, nervousness.

"backseat."

you groaned as you woke up to your phone ringing, looking at it through squinted eyes to see the name aeri on screen.

"aeri? what's up?"

"hey, sleepyhead. did i wake you up? sorry, i just wanted to check in on you. how did things go with jimin?" you frowned, suddenly waking up at her words.

"how'd you know i saw jimin?" she laughed, and you could see her smug expression through the phone.

"you didn't text back all night. and i saw the way you looked when i suggested you talk to her."

"it went well. for now, we're just taking it slow but i truly think things are different this time."

"as long as you're happy, y/n. if she hurts you again, i swear…" you laughed as aeri trailed off, her protectiveness endearing to you. the call ended, and you smiled thinking back to the events from last night.

jimin took you home and snuck you in through the back door, kissing you goodnight and walking back around the house to get back to her car. she waited until she saw the light come on in your room, followed by your eyes peering through the blinds. you watched as she left, her car disappearing into the night. as you climbed back into your bed, your mind buzzed with thoughts of jimin. the taste of her lips lingered on yours, and the warmth of her touch still tingled on your skin. it felt like a dream, yet the reality of it made your heart flutter.

as time passed, you and jimin spent more and more time together, and you felt like she was genuinely trying to make up for her actions, even though you'd already forgiven her. although you didn't want to admit it, you'd already forgiven her the night she walked out.

"i love you so much, jimin," you mumbled into her chest as you two lounged on her couch. a movie was playing in the background, yet you were hardly paying it any attention and opted for observing jimin's features.

"i know." you scoffed and hit her chest, looking up at her only to see a playful smile that reached her eyes. "i'm joking. i love you too, y/n."

you knew that navigating this relationship would be difficult. between the differences due to the age gap, and knowing your parents would never approve of it, you couldn't help but feel slightly disheartened. what if she found you too immature and decided to break things off? or what if your parents found out and you couldn't see jimin anymore?

while you were starting to doubt your relationship, jimin leaned over you, pressing a kiss to your temple. her hand came up to rub your back, gently patting you as if she were soothing a baby to sleep. in this moment you realized, no matter what happened, you'd be fine as long as you had jimin by your side. and you knew that even if you were given the chance to start over from the beginning, you'd choose her every time.

[remscreams]

“why didn’t you say this to me when i was alive ?”

cw: university au, suguru x fem!reader, angst, mention of mental troubles, destructive behavior and death by su!cide.

IN WHICH… suguru vividly dreams of you, about all the things he should have told you when you were still beside him.

disclaimer: i am not romanticizing these topics and if you feel overwhelmed by the topic please do not interact with this post, i will make plenty of others but your safety comes first and it matters! also if you need to talk this or this can help! take care of yourself please!

SWEAT WAS pearling on his forehead, his expression looking hurtful even though he was asleep. He saw you again, your beautiful hair, your contagious smile that you used to hide all your sufferance.

HIS DREAM was horrifyingly vivid. You were seating on his huge bedroom, telling him how it sucks that it was so empty.

“Seriously, everything in your room is white. Looks like a hospital if you ask me,” you complained, chewing on some snacks he got for you both.

“Good thing i didn’t ask for y’r opinion smartass.”

SMARTASS USED to be how he called you, he was your academic rival and this time, you beat him on a test. Your rivalry wasn’t the toxic kind, it was more like a friendly one and you asked him to never pity you on it.

IF HE knew back then, that your scholarship depended on your results he would’ve let you have the first place. Yet you didn’t tell him anything and he found it out the hard way.

“Why did you hide your condition to me ?” He asked, untying his usual bun.

“What you mean ?” You smiled like you usually used to when a something that you wanted to hide got discovered, a nervous and static smile.

“The situation with your aunt.”

YOUR AUNT, or rather your father’s older sister adopted you when he died by a sudden heart attack. She didn’t loved you, neither did her husband who always had his disgusting eyes on you. But as she could not conceive kids, she was having you as her daughter.

THOUGHT YOU were only her daughter on other people’s watch. Inside of her house, you were treated more like a housekeeper than any other thing.

the smile falls down, your gaze slightly blurred by the tears forming. “Why would i tell that lame story of mine ?”

“Because i cared,” he says, holding an eye contact with you as his hands cupped your face. “I would’ve been here for you.”

YOUR SKIN under his hold was cold, and his hands were radiating warmth. Oh, how much would he give to the heavens to make this moment real.

HIS WISH was to hold you, to tell you that you weren’t alone, nor needed to be afraid. If only you told him, or if only he could have seen the distress signs coming from you, Suguru would have been there by your side.

“God, i feel so sorry…” he said, shaking his head, as his silky perfect hair were following the gesture.

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

HE PAINTED you in his dream, as someone who wouldn’t like pity. Because that would have been the only reason for you to hide all the shit that was in your life.

YOU WERE a star, too bright and you exploded, unable to keep it all together. Home wasn’t home, working for school was making you overworked, insomnia was getting the last tiny bits of your sanity and last but not least, depression that made you hit the deep dark.

“I love you. I love you so much and i never fucking had the courage to tell you this. I remember all the good times that we had, the silly dances, the before exams sessions, the competition between us, and all those times when we almost kissed.” Suguru rambled, overwhelmed by the thought of losing you once again as he felt himself regaining consciousness.

“Why didn’t you say that to me when i was alive ?”

THE ONLY question that kept wandering in his mind, as your image was fading away from his mind. And it was one of those days, when he could only listen to the last voicemail that you sent to him before letting yourself drown in the river of the town.

ONCE MORE, he thought about how he missed you. But it was also one more reason to fight for his life and success. So at least, you would be proud of him.

[teddypickerry]

𝐀𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀!

pairings! steve harrington x fem henderson reader

word count! 900

warnings! none

summary! in which your (secret) boyfriend steve gives you quite a karoke show :)

a/n! this was very poorly written at 4am based off a very vivid dream i had about him last summer. was missing this bbg and so here you goooo

IT WAS A LATE WEDNESDAY EVENING one that consisted of dnd after school with the boys. leaving their babysitter and i alone upstairs. it was after dinner when steve and i were sorting through all my music. he was certain on finding a perfect record for the evening and had been flipping through my records for a few minutes now. the radio played softly in the background, a song by queen i hummed along to for the majority of it while i finished annotating my book. i shut the book as steve glanced over at me. i was sat on my bed, specifically the right side as i leaned against the pillow. the fluffy haired boy stood beside my record player at the end of my bed. a smile on his face as he held up the grease soundtrack. "you have the grease soundtrack!"

"it's dustin's." i rolled my eyes as i looked up at him as he looked at me in disbelief, a smile still present on his face. "i don't know why you hide it..." he mumbled as he put it away. a familiar beat echoed on the radio. steve looked at the radio and gasped "this is my jam."

"god, steve. could you get anymore boring?" i joked as he ignored my words, turning up the volume button and turned towards nothing in specific and began singing along to the words. "she's coming in 12:30 flight, the moonlight wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation."

i shook my head at him as he continued singing and began moving to the beat. steve harrington was a horrible dancer, let me preface by saying that. but he had fun with what he was doing. which made me always secretly love when he did so. his head bopped to the music as he swayed around. "hurry boy it's waiting there for you!" he sang, getting louder by the minute as his vocals were just below a scream.

my hairbrush randomly appeared in his hand as he grabbed it off my dresser and tossed it in between hands, holding it up to his mouth pretending it was a microphone. singing the chorus, turning towards me and singing it towards me. i let out a giggle which was music to his ears, and enough motivation for him to continue.

i grabbed my camcorder off of my nightstand as he continued singing the second verse. he wasn't as silly at this point, leaving that for the chorus. i pressed on as his voice belted TOTO's classic hit. singing the second chorus, now looking into the camera as i scooted towards the end of the bed. laughing as he sang into the hair brush and looked into the camera. some MTV shit.

he then pulled the camera from my hands as the instrumentals began, making me roll my eyes as he put the camera on me. "look at her. isn't she just the most beautiful woman you've ever seen?" he asked the camera as if it was a child. i stared at him as i rubbed my lips together and he smiled brightly. the song continued as he set the camera on the bed, facing me.

he continued to hop ontop of me, making me giggle at his movement. his body hovered over me, his hand holding himself up as he locked fingers with mine and pressed me into the bed. he looked down at me with a small smile. we had began dating only days ago, secretly, obviously. dustin would hardly handle the news. and nancy, even though she told me daily how cute steve and i would be and how he's practically head over heels for me, i didn't want to hurt her. because let's be real, best friends who sleep with other best friends ex's suck. not that we've slept together... yet.

so kisses in the kitchen and sneaking out of dustin's room into mine will have to do for now. and car make out sessions. never forget those.

his breath was warm, i could feel it tickling my neck as he leaned down. his lips pressing to mine as they moved together. it was a feeling of happiness, pleasure, feeling of ultimate right. being with him felt so right.

he leaned back as the song started up again. "hurry boy she's waiting there for you," he sang softly into my ear making me giggle. he pulled himself off of me as he stood up and began singing crazily again. this time pulling me up with him and dancing with him. i just laughed as i soon sang along. in between the giggles and singing and small kisses on the neck. we began belting the lyrics at the top of our lungs as we pranced around my room.

dustin and will entered towards the last verse as our loudness was curious to them. will smiled immediately at the sight. him and jonathan having talked about how steve and i were secretly in love with eachother but wouldn't tell eachother — as far as they know. while dustin looked at us confused, "what the hell is this?"

"oh, hi dustin!" steve greeted as he wrapped his arms around me and i let out a laugh and pushed him away. i smiled widely towards the boys as dustin still looked confused. "what you've never seen two best friends scream toto at the top of their lungs?" steve joked, as i pressed my lips together.

"you guys are weird." dustin muttered, exiting the room like the annoying little brother he is.

[oigimi]

. performances .

. arthur x reader . entry for day 2 of 12 days of arthur .

“Is he here yet?” I murmured to myself, trying to get a good look of the crowd from backstage. I had to do my best to not be seen, but god I wished I could get a good look at everyone present. It was closing night of our show. Six days of mayhem, six days of putting myself out there for everyone to see, six days of makeup that could make my skin break out like I’d never known before, and six days of hoping he’d show up. Any show came with aggressive advertising, and practically begging my friends to come see it, usually with some success. I’d seen my friends Theo and his brother Vincent, Isaac, Sebastian (who came multiple times), Leo, Napo, and everyone else in my circle. It was validating, having people come up to me and give me a big hug, couples with choruses of “You were amazing!” and “You were my favorite character!”

But none of it really mattered if he wasn’t there.

Arthur was the one I really wanted to see in the crowd. He was someone I’d only known for a few years, but I’d developed the biggest crush on him. His accent, his kindness, his talent, and his general sharpness encapsulated me. He was the kind of guy that someone can only dream of. Like a character in a story. He wrote a lot of those, too. His stories were so vivid, with imagery that was brewed in my mind like a stew with the finest ingredients. The characters, the settings, the emotions they felt drew me in so deeply I’d lose myself in them and blur the lines in my psyche to the point where I’d forget where I was at the end. And the most amazing part: He did all this while working his way into med school.

Poor guy had been so busy the last few weeks, but he said over the course of two weeks that he’d try his best to make it. With a confident smile and a twinkle in his eye, his promises eased my heart. But as each day came and went, as I came out for every curtain call, I hadn’t seen him. His sapphire eyes, the color and shine unlike those of anyone else in the world, were nowhere to be found. His smile was not in the sea of people rewarding our efforts with a standing ovation. “Don’t worry, he’ll be there next time,” I’d keep telling myself. But every time I didn’t see him was another crack in my lovestruck hopes that he’d be there. That hurt me more than anything, as I remembered his confident words of assurance.

As I retreated from my viewpoint, I came face to face with Will, who was performing in the show with me. He had a forlorn expression, making my heart pound a little harder. What was wrong? Was a light not working? Did someone get sick?

“We have sold all the tickets,” he murmured to me, and nothing more.

Will had known of my infatuation for months now, and he knew how excited I was about the idea of Arthur bearing witness to the show we had worked so hard to put on. He’d heard every time I gushed about him, every story I’d told about him and myself, every scenario in my mind where he would react to the show in different ways. And that’s why he had such a heavy expression, that only deepened as he witnessed the tears pooling up in my eyes.

“We are? But I don’t see him!” I whispered, so as to not echo my voice into the crowd. “He’s not here! Will!” I hugged myself and looked down, trying not to mess up my makeup I’d worked so hard on. A weep escaped me, I just couldn't help it. It felt stupid, especially because my other friends already came. It felt like I was being ungrateful, but through my rationale was the flood of emotions that I’d been hiding from Arthur the whole time. If he didn’t come to the show, it was like he didn’t return my feelings. It stopped being about the show a long time ago. I knew he was probably busy, but he’d promised. He promised me a sliver of his time. Honestly if he’d just said outright that he likely wasn’t going to be able to come, I’d probably have been spared a lot of heartache.

But the reality was that seats were filled, and Arthur wasn’t one of the people filling. The show must go on.

My presence in the wings wasn’t my presence backstage. As I stood waiting for my entrance, I did everything I could to suppress my feelings. I gulped, I sighed, I shook it all out, but it only worked a little bit. If I was being honest, nothing was really going to stop how I felt, but I could stop how I presented myself. I put my brave face on, swallowed my hopeless feelings, and stepped onto the stage with all the swagger I’d possessed before.

I did one last scan of the crowd, as a Hail Mary that maybe something would work out. Maybe the stars aligned and things would go my way. He’d be there. He’d be there just like he promised.

And what I saw startled me to the extent that I almost broke character. Sitting in the front row was none other than Arthur Conan Doyle, with the most focused expression I’d ever seen him bear. He was taking in every bit of what we were doing, eyeing the intricate set and the handmade costumes from our costumer Mitsuki. This changed everything. This absolutely changed everything!

All it took was one moment for everything bad I’d ever felt to evaporate. The rejuvenation was unlike anything I’d ever felt, like I had been born again. My lines became coated with a sort of vigor I hadn’t had until that moment. They came from the chest, louder and stronger than before. My triumphs, my losses, my highest and my lowest were all more pronounced than they had ever been. All thanks to the presence of the one I cared about the most. I had to do my best for him! I just had to perform like everything was at stake!

Like every show, it had to come to an end. The cast and I came out, hand in hand, to take our final bows. Our farewell to the months we’d spent crafting a play all of us were passionate about. One last hurrah before we parted forever. And as my gaze shifted back to the crowd, I could only focus on the blue-haired man who was the first to get on his feet. His confident grin wasn’t that anymore: It was a radiant, delighted smile that reached his eyes. His beautiful, brilliant blue eyes. This was it. This was the happiest I’d ever been post-show.

“You did positively fantastic, bird!” he laughed, scooping me up in a hug once we were able to meet in the theatre lobby. “I was starting to wonder if it was truly you, you are just wonderful at playing someone wholly different! I think you’d even be able to fool me one of those days with those acting skills of yours.”

“Oh no, I’m not that good!” I replied, hugging him back with all the force my body could muster. “I think you think too highly of me.”

“Nonsense, I don’t extend that praise to just anybody. You shone so brightly, even next to your co-stars.” He pulled away to get a good look at my face. “You’re quite red. Could it be that your performance was motivated by something else? Fueled with… Hm, I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

I gulped, trying to hide the growing redness that apparently bled through my makeup. “N-no, I always perform that way! What are you trying to get at here?” Through my defense, I anticipated another teasing jab from Arthur. Was he catching on? Or worse, had he caught on long ago? Oh god, the thought was starting to make me dizzy.

“Well you were simply the best on that stage,” he hummed. “No one else had that sort of passion you did. And it was only when we made eye contact that this all seemed to kick in. It seems my presence boosted your performance. And that, coupled with your flushed little face seems to imply… love, perhaps?”

I stood, completely at a loss as to what to say. He’d cracked the case, like he always did. Digging my hole even further wasn’t going to help me in the long run. I sighed the heaviest sigh and nodded. “Yeah, maybe a little bit.”

“Just a little bit? That disappoints me. I must say that I feel very similarly about you. You’re quite cute when you’re embarrassed, you know.”

“Hey, I’m not- What?! What did you say?!”

Arthur chuckled, relaxing a bit. “I return your feelings, love. The passion you feel for me, I feel it for you too. How could I not? So you don’t have to worry. You don’t have to be embarrassed any longer. I’m truly in love with you.”

I soaked in every word he said, still wondering if I was in a dream. It seemed too good to be true. Well, whether or not I was in a dream, I knew I had to act. I stepped forward and hugged Arthur again, mashing my lips against his, to which he returned the favor.

[rage-mode-138]

TMA spoilers for episode 123 and beyond. If you haven't listened to the podcast, I recommend it, but this is my own therapeutic rant about how @jonnywaistcoat made me feel.

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So. I have listened to the magnus archives three times at this point, and each time episode 123 gets me really hard. Johnathan Sims, the archivist, falls into a coma of six freaking months. While I did not experience six months, I did experience it for 50 days.

When I woke up, I had no idea what had really happened. I was vague on the entire situation, and I woke up in the middle of Covid with the world in its own tiny freaking apocalypse.

The voice acting John has in this scene is brilliant at expressing the feeling. Everything has continued around you. Things have changed the entire situation, has freaking changed, and you have to play catch up!

I missed Easter of 2020, but I didn't realize I had until 2021 because I got confused about what had happened to it the previous year. I had to be freaking reminded that it happened during my coma. While I was recovering my voice, my ability to move everything the world kept going. And you know what.

"There was just this great... gap of time where I wasn't". Where I wasn't appart of the world and God was that a terrifying thing to come to terms with.

There's this chunk of time before the coma, and after the Coma, that's so fuzzy to me, and being in rehabilitation until 2022 made everything seem like it didn't happen for 2 years. Like I wasn't part of the world. It's still hard to wrap my head around from time to time.

It hurts how vivid my dreams were in the coma. I had full on screaming matches with my mother, my bestfriend (ex girlfriend at the time, currently my girlfriend now) died in the dream, the world was coming to an end and I talked to a sweet little old lady who I am sure as heck was the grim reaper. It lasted from when I fell into the coma to when I got out and ironically my brain though I had spend 6 months in that coma, telling me it was the middle of October when it was only May.

I'm going to touch on that last dream because the conversation with Oliver in episode 121 it's Erie to listen to.

In the dream, I believe I was vaguely aware I was in a hospital asleep. I remember my mother fighting tooth and nail to keep me from being transferred, but when the hospital staff said that no more visitors were allowed, she scolded me. She told me I wasn't allowed to die. And I tried my hardest not to.

I had this older lady with a bob of white curly hair on the top of her head, and black scrubs came into my room. I remember her scrubs having fruits on it. Apples, bananas, and grapes. It was such a weird detail. But I remember because I was staring her down for what felt like days. I was exhausted, I wanted it to stop, but every time I would close my eyes, she would move closer. When I opened them again, she would move and sit back down in the chair by the door, smiling politely at me like she wasn't there to take me when I dropped my gaurd. After days of this routine, her standing up, inching closer to me, and me being reluctant to give up. She laughed at me. It was a small laugh, one of a parent who was aware of how fruitless a fight I was putting up before going to sleep. She said to me, "You really are determined"

Her voice was soft and soothing. Telling me it was alright. That I could trust her. I knew it was a lie, and I shook my head. And said I wasn't ready to go. That I didn't want to leave.

"Why?" That's all she said was why. A single word, but it was a lot to me. Why would I fight so hard. I hated my life, I didn't take care of myself, I had tried to leave the world before. So why, this time, was I so stubbornly holding on.

I was crying, and the tears hurt my eyes in the dream, but I told her I wasn't ready to go. That I wanted to try again and that I could make it different this time. She nodded at me and finally walked over without that ommission aura she carried over the rest of the time. She touched my cheek and told me, "Alright. You have this one shot. If I see you back here again, there won't be a next time." I nodded and she left.

I woke up after she talked to me. After I made my promise, my choice... like Johnathan did. She was my aspect of death, and i have a feeling I will be seeing her the next time I get ready to leave this earth.

Brains are funky squishy meat sacks that don't know reality. And I still struggle from time to time to process if this is reality. I have to check in with my friends and my loved ones if any of this is real.

But yeah. So I know how John felt after his coma. I know that desperate feeling to want to be near the one you love who you have been pushing away. And I know how it feels for people to move my freaking stuff while in my coma

Sleeping people don't need pens.

But I digress. That's it for this post. Maybe I'll post one on the other dreams I had during the coma. I have never really written them down because they are personal and a bit embarrassing if I'm going to be honest.

Thank you, jonnywaistcoat, for writing a damn good show. Thank you, @rqbossman , for producing it. I'm so happy I found this strange podcast by accident. I look forward to seeing what happens in The Magnus Protocol.

[oohnotvery]

Wherever Is Your Heart (Chapter 3)

A breakfast of toast and coffee helps soothe her stomach some, and an aspirin does the trick for her headache, but nothing can stop the anxious pounding of her heart.

She debates calling Mulder. Her brain tries to come up with a million reasons why it’s not as bad as it seems. Maybe he was drunk too and doesn’t remember much of it. Maybe she didn’t say or do all of the things she thinks she said and did. Maybe it was all just a horrendous nightmare, and she cabbed home by herself and then had a very vivid dream about trying to seduce Mulder.

Mulder.

Oh . . . god. Her one and only friend, her partner, her family. All of that, ruined in one terrible, mortifying stretch of evening.

Simply put, he told her no. Whether that was because she was drunk or because he simply didn’t want her, she fears she’ll never truly know.

For the millionth time since Melissa’s death, Scully wishes she could talk to her sister. To ask her what to do about this heartbreak, this humiliation, this rejection, this mortification.

How can she and Mulder possibly continue on after this? Every time he looks at her from now on, she’ll see his pity, his rejection, his secondhand embarrassment for her. Things will never be the same.

All morning, she debates calling him and apologizing. Really, that needs to be her first step. She acted out of line and if she wants any chance at salvaging the relationship, a properly worded phone call will do the trick.

But she can’t bring herself to dial his number. She raises the receiver three times and slams it down three more times, unsure how to do this. How does one even begin to apologize for sexually harassing one’s coworker?

She’s standing by the phone debating her next move when it rings. She has the receiver to her ear before she can psych herself out of not answering.

“Scully,” she answers, digging her nails into her palm nervously.

But it’s not him. It’s her mother, triple-checking that they’re still on for Christmas Day. The tears that spring across her eyelashes at her mother’s voice surprise her.

“Dana?” her mother asks after a period of silence. “Is everything alright?”

Scully sniffs discreetly and wipes at her tears. “Everything is fine,” she promises as cheerfully as she can manage. She clears her throat. “I have a bit of a cold.”

She cringes at the lie, sinking deeper into the unenviable realm of self-hatred. It’s unclear whether Maggie Scully buys the fib or not, and they spend another few minutes on the phone hashing out the details of who’s supplying which pie.

Towards the end of their call, there’s another long pause that makes Scully grow fidgety.

“You know Dana,” her mother begins gently, “you can always talk to me if something’s bothering you. I know after Melissa died, you not only lost a sister, but a confidante.” Both women fall silent, and Scully imagines her mom wiping away tears of her own. Her mother’s voice is raspier when she speaks again. “But you can always talk to me.”

“Thanks, mom,” she manages to reply, her voice pitching higher with emotion.

After that, Scully takes a break from waiting by the phone. She tidies up her apartment, fixes herself a second coffee, and flips through a few magazines. But her mind keeps wandering.

Maybe Mulder will call to ask how she’s doing. Maybe he’ll call and broach the subject first, telling her it’s all forgotten, all okay. We never have to mention it again, he’ll say cheerfully after a few below-the-belt jokes.

In the end, the phone doesn’t ring again. She starts to wonder when exactly he left. Was it right after she threw up? Or did he wait til morning? And when did it get too much for him that he needed to physically remove himself from her space?

Her heart cracks open at the thought of their partnership floundering under this new embarrassment. She does not think she can carry on, not like this. It’s one thing to drunkenly ask someone for a romp in the hay. It’s another thing altogether to say I love you. That’s the part that hurts the most, the baring of her naked soul.

She tries to put herself in Mulder’s shoes. What would she do if he had gotten drunk, tried to seduce her, and told her he loved her? Well, it would be a very welcome change of pace, that’s for certain. If Mulder put his feelings out in the world so blatantly, she wouldn’t have left his apartment in the middle of the night. No, she would have stayed there so that in the morning, she could reassure him of her love.

But he hasn’t even called or checked in. He hasn’t even bothered trying to tell her that all is well. The cold, hard facts to which she so faithfully clings are a painful pill to swallow: he’s trying to distance himself from her.

Sunday passes in a blur of headaches, stomachaches, and reeling thoughts. She stays up half the night nervously wondering how Monday will be. She practices her speech. She will apologize, because that must come first. She will then ask him to please forget it ever happened.

But every time she gets to that part of her speech, a part of her starts to fantasize that he stops her in her tracks. “It was embarrassing, yeah,” he will admit with a slightly goofy smile, “but I actually feel the same way.” A very secret, very private part of her starts to hope that this will all turn out for the best in the end. And maybe this was just the first horrifying, awkward step in their realizing their feelings for each other.

It is on that wing and a prayer that she enters the office on Monday. Mulder is already at his desk spinning a pen between his fingers. With hope and bravery twin companions in her heart, she walks up to him and clears her throat. He swivels expectantly and she watches his face closely for a sign. But he just looks at her the way he always does—kind interest, open expression.

“Hey, Scully,” he greets her, and it’s so normal she almost falters.

She swipes at her upper lip as her cheeks turn pink under his gaze. “Can we talk?”

He sucks in his cheeks for a minute and then stands, nodding. She turns and shuts the door quietly behind her. The room is suddenly too constricting.

He leans hipshot against his desk and she twists her fingers uncomfortably. “I wanted to apologize,” she starts, the beginning of the rehearsed speech. “For what I did Saturday night. As I hope you know, after almost five years of working together, it was extremely out of character for me. Although there’s no excuse, I was intoxicated and I’d really like to just forget it—”

He nods a little and before she can continue, holds up a hand. “It’s okay, yeah? No harm, no foul.”

He’s playing it really cool, which she partially expected. She holds her breath for a moment, waiting for him to say something else. It wasn’t that your advances were unwanted; I just didn’t want to take advantage of you, he might say.  

“Thank you,” she finally says when it’s clear he’s done speaking.

“Alright,” he says with an eager look, “back to it?”

She is dumbfounded, stunned into silence. That’s it? That’s all they’re going to say about the absolute disaster that was Saturday night? She was half-expecting him to at least make a bad joke. And at the very most, she was hoping he would admit that her feelings were mutual. In stupefaction, she just nods.

They get called out to Washington State later that day and Mulder is booking them next-day flights before she can even wrap her head around the trip. She doesn’t know how to manage close quarters with him after the humiliation of their weekend, and starts to wonder if she should back out of it altogether.

She’s in the breakroom pouring coffee when she sees it. A woman—someone she’s never seen before—pulling Mulder into a private conference room. He sits down in a chair and the woman leans onto the conference table beside him, her hips touching his shoulders. They look comfortable together. Easy. Familiar.

The woman laughs at something he says with a pretty smile and Mulder grins. Her blonde hair swishes across a designer blazer and Scully watches in horror as Mulder taps the woman on the knee. Her bare knee. It’s so intimate that Scully overpours her coffee and curses as scalding liquid burns her hand.

It hits her all at once. Whatever hope she was carrying that maybe things weren’t so bad is now gone. Mulder wasn’t just rejecting her out of gentlemanly concern for her state of mind; he was rejecting her because he has no interest in her like that. She humiliated herself for him. She tried to seduce him and failed. And he rejected her.

Their professional partnership, she slowly realizes as she makes her way over to her desk, isn’t the only thing that matters to her. It’s him. It’s the personal connection with him. And that is being ground to dust before her eyes.

Scully lingers in the break room for a long time, wishing she could hear what they were discussing, wondering who this pretty blonde agent is. When ten minutes have passed, she gives up and heads back down to the basement, feeling defeated and on edge. 

At five p.m., she makes her decision. She will not go on the trip. She sends Mulder a short email, embedding in it a lie that he will or won’t believe—I’m too sick. Go without me. She hasn’t called out sick in years. Not even during her cancer.

The rest of the week passes without Mulder. They barely talk. There’s no reason to communicate across the distance. It feels healthy, almost, without him here. He doesn’t want her in the way she wants him, and the pain of that realization is easier to bear when she’s not face-to-face with his handsome jawline and disarming humor.

When he returns to the office on Friday, as chipper and unbothered as he had seemed on Monday, Scully makes a decision. She will not pine for him; she will not waste time on love unrequited. It’s time to move on.

[cutesharkstudios]

Lumity Comfort CH. 4: I will be okay

(This chapter takes place two months after Watching and Dreaming but before the epilogue)

Luz tossed and turned in her sleep. She was having a vivid nightmare of Belos, who had risen from hell to kill her. In her nightmare, the bodies of her loved ones covered the feild, lifeless and limp. She heard Belos cackling, his laughter growing louder and louder and LOUDER AND-

Luz then shot up out of her sleep, panting like a marathon runner. Amity woke up right beside her, and quickly comforted her sweet potato. Luz then told her about her nightmare.

Luz: He then said something. He said "You cast me into the fiery pits, where all I will know for eternity is weeping and nashing of teeth. All because you didn't let me repent."

Amity: There is no way he would have repented for his crap. He tried to commit genocide.

Luz: You're right, you're right.

Amity: Luz?

Luz: Yeah?

Amity: You never explained how you beat Belos. You don't have to elaborate, but you may if you want to.

Luz: You'd probably think I was making stuff up.

Amity: After the events of the past few months, I'm willing to belive anything, especiallly from you.

After relaying what happened, Luz hugged Amity.

Amity: I'm just glad you're with me. So, you met the Titan. What was he like?

Luz: He was kind, funny, really inspiring. He reminds me of my dad. Hopefully they meet in Heaven, the Titan would love him.

Amity: I take it he meant a lot to you.

Luz: More than you know. And I'm glad you're here with me.

Amity: Luz?

Luz: Yeah?

Amity held out her hand.

Amity: I know my last oath was made out of pettyness and spite, and I didn't even plan to keep it for a day, but this one comes from a genuine place. I vow to be by your side for eternity, if you accept.

Luz: You sure? I know how sensitive that moment is for you.

Amity: That should tell you how much I mean it.

Luz held out her hand, as if to accept the deal, only to hug her girlfriend.

Luz: Your word is good enough. I won't hold you to a deal I know you will keep on your own terms.

Amity began to tear up. Comparing those two moments made her realize just how far she and Luz had come not just as a couple, but as people.

Luz: So, that whole "give up being a witch thing" wouldn't have lasted a day?

Amity: Even after the incidents.

Luz: Adds up, I know you wouldn't be so cruel.

Amity blushed

Now let's get some sleep, tommorow's friday.

(Morning)

Luz was at school, leaving Amity alone with Camilla. Camilla then asks Amity something that has been on her mind for a while.

Camilla: Hey Amity, I was wondering. Is Luz keeping something from me? I know it's nothing evil or wrong on her part, I know my daughter, but more like something that happened to her that she doesn't want me to worry about. If it's senisitive on either of y'alls part, I will drop the question right here and now. I just hope I don't do something that might ruin our relationship.

Amity: Well, Luz did open up to me about something, but I don't want to talk about it behind her back. I'm just glad she's okay, and that we don't have to worry about the future at the moment.

Camilla: Amity….

Amity: Yes?

Camilla: (inhales) I know about Luz dying.

Amity: WHAT?!

Camilla: Si, I knew from the floating lights that she had passed on. But I also saw during the fight with Belos that she, somehow, was brought back.

Amity: Well, then why ask? Why didn't you say somehing?

Camilla: Because I wanted you both to tell me on your own terms. I didn't know how sensitive that topic was for you, so I kept my mouth closed on the matter.

Amity: I see. Well, thank you for having faith in us, but I think maybe Luz should be in on this as well. If she was afraid it would scare me, God only knows how she thought it would affect you.

Camilla: She should be coming home soon, so I'll ask her when she gets back.

Amity: Would you like me to give you two some space?

Camilla: That would be for the best. Thank you.

Amity went for a walk. By the time she would get back, Luz would probably be done with her conversation with Camilla.

And surely those two would be okay after this, right?

[highnsleepdeprived]

Tw and this will be the longest post I will ever make and have ever made. But I need to get this off my shoulders I need to say anything to anyone who may or may not listen. If you read this, do me or comment I need input. I guess this is a sort of aita or just how do I make ppl happy without destroying my mental health in the process? I need balance, I need something, anything. Really, I’m not sure what I need. But any words are encouraged. I know I’m not gonna get answers. But just, is this normal ? Am I being too much? Should I keep to myself? Is any of this worth it anymore?? Anyways, bless your heart if anyone reads this novel lol.

Anyways.

I’m a week sober now.

I thought life would be so much better. But my old repressed problems arose so fast and out of nowhere. It’s been extremely difficult.

Every night I have dreams of trying to use and I never get to in my dream. I wake up before I can get high at least in a dream. Then I’m awake and have nothing to satisfy the urge. So I go back to sleep. Then, The dreams get violent, terrifying, and too real. I wake up screaming, sometimes yelling my boyfriend’s name. He’s always in the other room. Used to run in and hug me tell me it’s just a dream etc. Now he seems to get annoyed, doesn’t come in now, and seems to like it better when he doesn’t know what’s going on in my head. Everyone seems to like it better actually.

My ptsd has come back with a vengeance during sobriety. It feels like the (tw) rape, near death experiences, guns to the head, knives to the throat, no one coming when I’d scream even in a house full of people…being drugged, the attempts on my life, overdoses, the hundreds of hospital and psych visits, the physical and mental abuse, the homeless months doing things I wouldn’t ever have thought I’d ever do, getting beat the shit out of for no reason other than being an easy target, even just little things I regret.. the general trauma I guess..it’s all replayed all over again in my brain, many times a day. It’s like I’m really there again. I’m always brought back to those moments, those feelings. My god it feels so real. It’s so vivid, I can smell the air of the memory, I can feel it all happen again, I can see the surroundings like I never left In the first place. Worst of all is seeing the look on their pleased faces after all is said and done. The pain in my stomach. The bruises and suffocation. The guns and knives to my head, my neck. Every detail of it all. I feel it. I see it. I smell it. I’m back there, like I’ve time travelled somehow to the worst times of my life.

So I got the courage up to tell my boyfriend, and my mother. I explained only the fact that the ptsd is back and the nightmares. I said I feared if I didn’t let someone know I would do something reckless and irrational trying to make it all stop in my head. I asked if they could check up on me sometimes, or even just support me in this hard time.

My god was that ever a mistake.

I was told me telling my struggles and my cries for help are abusive..I’m told I’m burdening the people I love. That I have control over myself and my mental health. That no one should have to hear about it because it’s not their issue. My mother said “why are you telling me this? Why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to you?” Like I had said it was her fault or something. It was like I explained it all word for word, said it was her fault, or called her the worst names under the sun. But I didn’t.. I couldn’t figure out what I did wrong, I thought maybe she thought I felt this way because of something she thought she may have done so I said it isn’t her fault and that I never thought that, and never wanted it to come across that way. She said it didn’t, but I am torturing her by telling her my struggles cause she doesn’t deserve to hear it. She said That it’s abusive to put my problems on others, which was not my intention so I felt terrible.. I promised I wouldn’t talk about any negativity to her no matter how I feel.

My boyfriend told me to stop being so negative and said only I can help myself. He thinks I’m focusing on these awful memories like I want to, not that they invade my mind whenever they feel like it. He said I’m “playing victim” and continued by saying “ it’s over with” and to stop acting like I’m some weak victim still, but In my eyes, I was a survivor not a victim.. I was only trying to speak of how I felt for my safety and maybe get feedback on what may be helpful for these moments, or just get some physical love, a hug, at very most maybe just feedback from the two people who I thought know me best..

But talking about how I’m feeling and hoping for some empathy or what would be above and beyond to me, would be an idea or plan to make things easier when episodes happen and I’m alone, because I don’t have a counsellor yet that’s coming this week. So, thinking he’d say let’s watch a movie to distract or something, was so wrong. Wanting support knowing I’m unable to handle it myself, or talking about the issue at all apparently makes me some kind of monster..

But How do you explain to some who doesn’t get flashbacks that there’s no way to control it? They don’t seem to get it.

I’m told I seem to want to be a victim. That I’m weak. Should’ve been over it by now. The people who are supposed to love me and care, think I’m abusive for wanting help, advice, comfort, anything..even just company which was all i ended up asking for at all. there were no harsh words said, no abusive behaviour done, I was just wanting comfort. And somehow that is abusive of me, to want sympathy. Not pity. I don’t fucking want pity. That is the last thing I want, it feels demeaning and desperate on my end if that’s what I wanted. I hate pity. I won’t give it and don’t want it. But I will give understanding and empathy. And obviously I want that too.. Or even just a hug.. all I asked was for my boyfriend to sit with me so I don’t feel so alone. I need something just until counselling is ready for me after creating a new file and giving me a worker. But It’s abusive to put that on someone else they said. To ask for the man I love to sit in the same room as me, just for comfort, is being an abusive burden. Being upset that I still have to deal with the past like it’s the present makes me a victim who wants to play that role still apparently. Thinking it’s not fair to still have to relive it after it’s all done years later, they say, makes me unreasonable. talking about it is unreasonable, so is hoping for at least an indication that I’m allowed to open up like I always have been before, an indication that the people I care about the most have my back. It’s my mom and boyfriend, I thought they did... they always have. I’m hurting and it’s my fault that I can’t stop, they say it like I don’t try, that I haven’t tried dbt, cbt, inpatient trauma rehab, every medication I could have tried, individual therapy with over a dozen different therapists, even 45 visits to the psych ward. But I’m still not trying enough..? Or haven’t at all!? I’m victimizing myself and it’s my fault I’m struggling because I feel all the past trauma happen all over again because of a disorder that I haven’t gotten under control of yet?? I should be stronger I’m told, not let it get to me. I agree I should be stronger. After all this time I should know better, feel better. But the drugs numbed me for so long I haven’t felt this in so much time that it feels worse than before. Opening up about it to them both, to me, took strength.. but I wasn’t just shut down I was told everything I feel is invalid, everything I’ve done to make progress wasn’t really progress cause I wasn’t really trying, and in some weird way I agree. cause it didn’t work. And to talk about it to the loml, to my family, is evil of me. They act Like I’m putting it in my mind myself , starting the flashbacks on my own, and talking to them for some type of relief, to them is me trying to make their day worse and make them feel guilty. They’ve always done more than enough and I make sure they know I feel blessed, this all felt so out of nowhere..

How do I make them see that I can’t control it? That I could be thrown back into a terrible memory, so vivid I can see it and feel it all over again, one that completely ruins the progress I’ve made. How do I get them to see that I try to build myself back up all over again, but that it’s almost impossible to do alone, and that I can’t help it I can’t control ptsd episodes and if I could I would. Why would I want to remember this shit? Let alone relive it?? Is it so evil to know that I need support from people who matter most to me to build myself back up and ask for that support in the form of just being nearby ? I live with my bf, neither of us work currently, so asking to sit in the same room shouldn’t be so terrible it shouldn’t be something evil to ask.. we always spend every hour of the day together and it has always been great, we don’t get sick of each other etc.. but today he’s been ignoring me and playing video games. I’ll repeat myself and he will reply “I heard you. Not sure what to say”. But he always knows what to say. I think he’s just sick of my baggage, sick of me not being better yet. I thought he knew I do what I can though, and that it’s not a mind over matter type thing. When I told him he didn’t believe me.

They don’t say all these things about my seizures and it’s the same type of thing. Even if I feel it coming on, I can’t stop it. If I say I feel like I may have a seizure they listen and jump into action but when it’s my mental health it’s horrible of me to make it clear that I’m struggling. They say they think I want to stew in my emotions and drag them into it. I’m working on getting help through new resources, but until that day comes, I thought the people who always have helped would be supportive. Or even just be nearby, at least respond. I do what I can, it’s not enough. If all this happened without the calling me abusive and a victim etc, I’d understand. I know they aren’t professionals and have no obligation to help I don’t expect anything but a hug or even to just sit in silence with someone. But why is my pain what makes me so horrible? If I did shit like blame them, or told them they aren’t helping or doing enough, swore, called names, directed anger to them, I’d understand then.. ya that’s abusive behaviour. but to want to feel loved, not alone, and just a bit of empathy, To want any sort of support I think is okay… but in their eyes it means I’m weak for wanting that or even feeling how I do. I have to do it alone or I’m “trying to be a victim”, “trying to get attention” “want to keep the victim mentality going so others pity me”. Pity to me, is the last thing I want. But if to want support or ask to talk, to sit in a room together, is evil and abusive and makes me a weak victim that doesn’t want change then what am I supposed to do? These words make me feel unworthy of life and unworthy of treatment, like I don’t deserve to get better. If that’s how I am why should I deserve any good at all ? Would I still be so terrible if I began keeping my pain, my thoughts, my body, my everything, to myself? Would they love me more if I were silent? Put on a smile, wear a mask of a person who is doing well, play the part, bottle up whatever’s not pleasant for others sake (and mine so I’m not alone) so I can open it when I’m alone, vulnerable, irrational, at risk? or maybe never open it again..? Have my mind suffer but keep it separate from the persona everyone wants to see. The caricature of someone with no baggage, happy all the time and doesn’t have any diagnosis that makes me more than imperfect but makes me totally unbearable and makes everyone near me miserable. I feel like with a bit of time and help professionally, mixed with support from loved ones, I’d be that person eventually, maybe not exactly but I wouldn’t be faking at least..

They deserve the best, I love them both to death and they’re great people so I must be doing something wrong, they’re probably right and if I’m not at my best and it makes me a monster for them to know that, then I’ll act okay again. The fake it till u make it doesn’t work in this specific scenario ptsd doesn’t work that way for me, but It seems like the only solution right now, to keep my family and boyfriend happy hopefully, or at least keep me in their lives.

I thought I was a survivor..but apparently I’m still a victim. Or at least that’s what others see. Someone who will always be or “want” to be the victim.

I just wanted to be a survivor. I thought that’s how I came across..like a kind, loving, strong, survivor. Not a weak, abusive, victim who is a bother to be around or know..

The lines have began to blur. Is it really so wrong to explain your feelings to the people closest to you ..? Am I really so terrible?? Should I even keep getting real help and more of it if I seem like a victim, like I’m trying to be one? Do I really not seem like a survivor? Does pain mentally really make me weak..?

I don’t know what’s real anymore.

I don’t know what to think or feel anymore.

I’d rather feel nothing at all.

Hear nothing.

Be nothing.

Because Then who will I burden?

I can’t be a burden if I’m alone. If I’m gone.

Maybe it’s what’s wanted, what’s needed. I’m not even sure what to do or what’s worth it anymore. Doesn’t seem like anything is tbh. I try so hard to be a good person, at least be better than before.. to hear I’m doing the opposite today, when before i was told i was doing well because I didn’t complain about my mental health, hearing this is how loved ones think of me, no matter how much I have tried, is so discouraging. I’m looked down on. All I wanted was to hear it’ll be okay. Hear “I’m sorry that must be hard” or an “I’ll be here if you need”, even offering a damn tea.. I would be so happy, I’d know they’re trying too. In times like these, I think anyone and everyone deserves kindness. In dark times sometimes we can’t be our own light. These two people have always been that light for me, but they must have had enough. I don’t blame them.

I need to be strong for the ones I love, not trauma dump and in return be looked down on and seem like I’m trying to keep myself in pain or bring others down with me.

That’s not who I am. I can’t believe this is who I’m seen as now.. I’m gonna lose the people I love and need most over my mental heath being too much baggage, and my past following me into the future. If only I hadn’t been so trusting, letting these traumatic bs things happen to me. I should have had my guard up. I only wanted a shoulder to cry on, to vent a bit or hear a couple kind words, I just wanted to feel loved. I never wanted to seem so horrible, seem like I’m trying to make this who I am or ruin someone’s day or relationship with me by speaking about my issues. I figured they know me best, they’d know what to say or at least how to reassure me. I can’t always do this on my own but I’m gonna have to until a counsellor picks up my case. But then will I burden them..? I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know who I am anymore. I know when I do wrong and I know when to apologize I do everything I can to be the best I can. Pain changes people, I wanted to get input from people closest to me before the pain changed me for the worst. But I’m already not the person I thought I was apparently I’m everything I always wanted not to be… if anyone has any sort of words good or bad I just need to know what to think at this point. Should I keep to myself from this point on?? Just deal with the flashbacks hold back tears and pretend it didn’t happen ? Am I really being that way to them ? I see how it’s unfair because both don’t like to open up about feelings but I make sure constantly that they know when they’re ready to they can. It just hurts knowing that isn’t reciprocated. If anyone can give me an idea on how not to be so awful to them but still hopefully get the support I need I would be very grateful. I know there’s probably no one reading this. But if you did thank you. I just need to turn this around so I’m not the person they see me as cause now it’s all I can think about.

[louisepalanker]

My Norman Lear story begins at Metromedia Square where I finally landed a much coveted job as a studio page. These jobs were said to be our gateway into show biz land and, gratefully, the legend proved true for me.

At Metro-Tape, (Sunset and Van Ness) I was a studio page for The John Davidson Talk Show, Gimme A Break, The Family Ties pilot, numerous telethons and all of that year’s Norman Lear sit-coms, including Diff'rent Strokes, The Facts of Life, One Day At A Time, and The Jeffersons, where a girl named Louise quickly and proudly earns the nickname, Weezy.

I was a page for one year during which the entertainment industry dreams of a kid from suburban Buffalo were realized every day I drove my silver Honda hatchback onto the studio lot.

I was responsible for seating the studio audiences, running errands (James Brown needed clear nail polish before he would sing on the Davidson Show. I found some,) and filling in where needed in offices around the lot.

At Christmas, I received a free turkey coupon from Metro-Tape, (Not a great gift fit for me and my toaster oven) and one state-of-the-art Dustbuster from Norman Lear. Yes, his Christmas list extended to include the studio pages. The dust-buster went to my cousin Trish as the maid’s room I inhabited offered only one electrical outlet. She reports that it can still bust the hell out of some dust.

Within a year, I was offered a job at PM Magazine which led to writing for Rick Dees and co-founding Premiere Radio. One of my many privileges at Premiere was interviewing celebrities, which led to one day, years later, a chance to speak with Mr. Lear about his new sit-com, The Powers That Be.

Despite the opportunity to properly thank him for my Dustbuster, It was not going well. I had run through any questions I may have prepared and was beginning to think that he really did not like me when he suddenly began interviewing me.

Where was I from? What did my job consist of? Did I hope to become an actor? I told him that I wanted to write sit-coms. He asked me to send him a script.

Wow. That turned quickly. A friend and I wrote a spec script for The Powers That Be. We were called in to meet the producers. It was there that Mr. Lear pulled me aside and said, “What have you written by yourself?” My spec scripts were stale so I went home and wrote a Seinfeld spec and sent it in. I then received a phone call from Norman Lear who said, “You don’t need to write with anyone else.” OH. MY. GOD!

I was called in to pitch story ideas for The Powers That Be. My memories of this are quite vivid. I’m sitting around a conference table with maybe 15 people. One of them keeps falling asleep. I’m boring him. I better rush. Norman Lear asks me why I’m talking so fast. I can’t point and say, “Because that guy is asleep,” so I slow down. Another fellow is listening to each of my story ideas, nodding and then offering, “We did that on Maude.” OH. MY. GOD! How did I arrive in this room with these people! Astonishing.

About a week later, The Powers That Be was cancelled by NBC with episodes yet to air. You should know that David Hyde Pierce and Joseph Gordon-Levitt were on this show. Two of our finest three named actors! Also, John Forsyth, and Holland Taylor! What the hell, NBC! Also, the show brilliantly skewered modern D.C. politics, featuring a Senator, his anorexic daughter and her suicidal congressman husband. So good.

This is one tiny window into how Norman Lear walked through life. He was consistently sharing his great gift and offering opportunities to the next generation.

Having him and his important voice here on Earth with us for 101 years has been a lesson and a blessing. Mr. Lear, we are so very grateful.

[mx-lamour]

Hauntings of the Mind

Some personal meta/background for Bloodstain/"It's all right." (and that last sonnet):

My best friend and guardian died when I was 8-1/2 years old. At night, before I fell asleep, I would usually see him walk past my door, doing his rounds of the house to make sure everything was as it should be.

I watched him die. It wasn't my hand that killed him, wasn't even my choice to make, but somehow I felt responsible. It wasn't even my first dead body, or even my first dead loved one, but it was the first time I'd witnessed the spark of life leave someone's eyes. The first time I'd felt the breath leave someone's body under my touch and not come back.

When I tell you my best friend and guardian was a cat, it doesn't matter. When I tell you he was 18 years old and ready to go, it doesn't matter.

I bargained with whatever god would listen to give him back to me. He wasn't even mine; he'd been my dad's best friend since he was a kitten. My pleas went unanswered.

My mom has told me her story of taking care of her father through his struggle with cancer. There came a point when it was clear he was never going to make it, but it was near Christmas time, and my grandpa was a stubborn fiend who refused to die on what was supposed to be a joyful occasion.

When January came, my mom bravely went to him and said, "It's okay, Dad. You can go now."

That was my first funeral. I was two years old then. And, according to my mom, I wouldn't leave the casket's side. This explains why I have such a vivid memory of looking down on my grandpa's waxlike hands holding a red rose. My grandpa loved roses. He tended them.

That's beside the point.

Around the time I was 13, I started having dreams that someday I would have to kill my romantic partner, whoever that would be. It wasn't so self-direct. I was a daydreamer and a reader of books, so I would make up stories. But sometimes they were only scenes.

And one of those scenes which plagued me was the image of someone kissing their lover, then stabbing him in the gut. They didn't want to do it; they had to. Tears streaking down their face, they apologized while the dying one looked on in shock.

I never really made the connection as to why.

Now, I'm married to a man who is nearly always struggling. He's chronically ill and terribly intelligent and horribly depressed. Inside of all that muck is a sweet, imaginative little boy who long ago lost his brother and his faith in all things. Now a grown man, he's also practical. Pessimistic. A bit obsessive-compulsive. He DM'd our Curse of Strahd campaign.

We both fear abandonment.

When his thoughts have taken a dark turn, as they sometimes do, he considers giving himself over to death. To not have to try anymore.

Early on, this terrified me. "But I'm here," I would think, never realizing my mistake, that it had never helped before.

And sometimes that image would come back to me unbidden: Would I have to kill him myself one day? If I couldn't bear the thought of him hurting himself, but if there was also little choice left in the matter, would I do the work for him, to retain some modicum of agency in our doomed relationship? There seemed to be little else I could do.

This was, of course, very distorted thinking. And I never did do that thing, and I suspect we never will go through that. We're getting better. And we're changing side-by-side.

But there were several times, probably yearly if I would have been keeping track, possibly close to the anniversary of his brother's death, when I wondered if and when I would be forced to put the man I love out of his misery.

Because I know what grief is. And I know regret, and rage, and despair. I know it hurts. And I know it's exhausting. I know.

And with the amount of perseveration that goes on in my anxious autistic head (or did, especially before I'd done any real healing, myself) I know that the inability to fix your own tragic mistakes, to correct for factors you couldn't have known about is devastating.

I know how an event can haunt you into eternity, throwing you into a repeat of that same moment, again and again, from something so little as the passing of a number on a calendar page, and still leave you bereft of any real closure.

The window glass is so horrifying because, even though you can see tragedy unfolding on the other side, there is little you can do about what you cannot touch, whether what you're reaching for is the past itself or the despair clouding another person's mind and heart.

[foreverinlovewithyousworld]

Hello!

I'm starting House M.D and I love him and Wilson together, so I made a little fic (or shot if you will) about them. It goes around season 2 of the show. Hope you like it!

Wilson woke up from a very vivid dream. It took him a minute to gather where he was. It was House’s couch. The headache hit him like a ton of bricks, the light from the outside hurt his eyes. 

“Finally, the sleeping beauty has woken up, I was worried that I might had to kiss you because you’ve been sleeping for 12 hours”

Wilson, freak out checked his arm watch. It was 2 p.m. He put aside a blanket that he didn’t remembered grabbing; just to see that he didn’t have any pants on.

“House…where are my...”

“Just so you know, you did arrive with them on, you only took them off after I put on that little Richie record on and danced to Long Tall Sally” House blurted while giving him a cup of coffee. 

Wilson begun to have some memories from last night event. After leaving House with Stacy at the hospital, guilt had swarm him over and decided to go for a drink. But a drink turned into tree, and then four, and so on. A feeling of sorrow drive him to get blacked out drunk, he felt guilty because he couldn’t come clean to House about his true feelings. About their own relationship, his jealousy he felt towards Stacy. He didn’t comprehend why House wanted to get back with her, after all the damage, all the sleepless nights he spend with House, to try make him feel better. He felt a little betrayed by House for choosing her over him.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened with Stacy?”

“What happened with Stacy?” Wilson said with a monotonous tone

“She is going to move out, with him”

Wilson’s heart sunk. Even if it wasn’t House choice, they wouldn’t be back together again, Wilson smirked a little. 

“House”

“Yep?”

“I need to tell you something”

“Are you going to say that you love me and that I was making a terrible mistake by wanting to be with Stacy? I already know it, don’t’ worry”

Wilson spit out his coffee and, while he was coughing, House grab him a napkin.

“Before you arrived, you left me a message in my machine, you want to hear it?”

“Oh god please no”

“Let’s hear it anyways” House grabbed his cane, and with it he presses the play bottom. 

“Houseeeeeee, house, house, houseeeeeeeeyyyy, listen to me ok? Are you listening?  You are making a bad choice House, am telling you, and am the one who’s been married three times, could you give me another?” Wilson burped 

The background noise told him that he was still in the bar when he called House.

“Please, House, stop it”

“Shhhh, shhh this is my favorite part” House answered while the message continued

“Oh… where was I? yeah you and Stacy could never work, you are an arrogant, selfish son of a bitch and she left you for it. You know what was the longest relationship you ever had? With me. I put up with all your crap because of a simple reason. I love you. Ok? I loooooooove you, I said it. And you are also the longest relationship I ever had. Why don’t we make it official and go to Las Vegas to get married? We can have Chase as a flower girl…boy…whatever. And have Cuddy as a witness, Cuddy is amazing you know? Well, this is all I wanted to tell you...also it’s 3 am and maybe you are sleep, so I’m going to go and tell you this in person, wait for me. Hey, could you give me the check?” The message had finished.

Wilson felt all the blood going to his head. He couldn’t believe that he told, who could be the love of his life, all his feelings while being blacked out drunk. He thought that he was better than that. 

“When you arrived, you forgot the real reason why you came here for, you told me that you gave my address instead of yours to your taxicab, because you forgot where you live and I believed you, because of your drunkenness.  I only listened to this message after 10 am” House gave a sip to his coffee.

“I... I don’t know what to say” said Wilson, while being visibly flustered 

“You said everything in the message. I do have a cellphone; you know? It could have been more romantic. You, waking me up in the middle of the night just to pour your heart out to me, almost modern age Shakespearian…Do you really mean all of that?”

“Yes” Wilson, almost for the first time in his life was left speechless- “Well, maybe not the getting married in Las Vegas, but apart from that, I did mean it”

“Too bad. I was already picking out a very nice tuxedo, also a very nice touch having Chase as a flower boy, but I always thought of him as a very cute golden retriever, the hair gives it away, maybe we could have him go to the altar in all four legs, its Las Vegas, they have seen weirder stuff”

“Do you?” Wilson asked 

“Maybe…” House replied “Someday I mean…Wilson, we haven’t even kiss yet”

“You did try to remember? In that news’s year’s eve party at Cuddy’s, you said It was very unlucky to start the year without a kiss”

“And you refused it, and now you are divorced for the third time, and I had an affair with a married woman that left me, I was right” 

The room was left in silence. House grabbed the Tv remote to put some background noise and break it.

“I mean, it could work out. As you said, you put with my crap, I put out with yours. No one is better for me than you” House said while surfing for a channel 

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” Wilson said finally 

“I thought that you never ask...oh look the O.C. is on” answered while putting the remote next to him

House hand was next to Wilson’s. He made the first move and grabbed his pinky. Even though that Wilson still had a massive headache, the comfort of House’s hand gave him happiness. After all these years, all it took him was alcohol and an answering machine to be able to express his repressed feelings over House. The anxiety, and the burden of this secret was finally lift of his shoulders. 

“Do we tell Cuddy?” Wilson added

“Let her figure out” House exclaimed “Maybe we could make out in the halls, make her see us, and when she asks us about it we could deny everything, it’s going to be so fun watching go nuts over us” House exclaimed

In all his three marriages, Wilson had never felt so at home than with House. No matter where they were. It had never occurred to him that House might felt the same way as him. He was his, and no one could ever take away from him. 

[kissmejusttokissme]

do number 89 for the wrapped ficlet?

Thank you so much for this! Sorry about the angst and the Wayne centric nature of it. (There will probably be a part two at some point as well!)

-/-

There are exactly three things Wayne Munson knows to be true about the world.

The first is that he only has his job at the plant because his floor manager, a balding man with rosacea and a wedding ring on his swollen fingers, is still in love with his dead sister. The second is that thanks to that job at the plant, he nearly has enough money saved to buy Eddie the guitar he’s been raving about for his birthday. And the third, perhaps the saddest of all three, is that, despite Eddie being gone now for a month and a half, he still talks about him in present tense.

And you can call it the grieving process if you like. You can say that it’s a temporary thing. That, eventually, he’ll learn to stop saying that his nephew lives with him and, instead, say that he lived with him.

But Wayne wouldn’t agree.

See, he has done his fair share of grieving. He has outlived his parents and his siblings and most of the friends and lovers that he has ever been lucky enough to have. He knows loss like the back of his hand. But this… This doesn’t feel like loss. It feels raw and unjust and painful but it also feels wrong. Because he can still feel Eddie. Still hear the echo of his voice in the trailer and the songs he whistles on the porch. Sometimes he dreams of him and it’s not like any dream he has ever had. It’s vivid and real and he wakes up with dirt under his fingernails and the taste of copper in his mouth.

Because the dreams are always the same. His nephew is in the ground and Wayne has to dig him back up. It’s hard ground, so hard it rips at his skin as he claws at it, but he can hear Eddie calling for him through it. Can feel the tremors of him trying to dig his way out. The dream always ends just before he gets to him.

(Wayne stays awake for the rest of the night after those dreams. He bandages his bleeding fingers and washes the dirt away and prays to a god that he no longer believes in to make it make sense. He never gets an answer. Sometimes he wonders if he’d believe it if he did.)

#

Unlike the other mourners in Hawkins, no one brings Wayne food or condolences or a single fleeting moment of acknowledgment. The only visitors he ever gets are people seeking vengeance. They throw paint at his new trailer or smash the windows of his car or come in groups with bats and whatever other weapons they’ve managed to find on their way over.

So he buys another gun, something small that he can sleep with under his pillow, and he becomes accustomed to sleeping with his back to the door. He has a knife too, back from his hunting days, but looking at it makes him feel every bit the person they say he is. He keeps it in a box by the door and tells himself it’s only for life and death situations. The truth is that he’d probably not use it even then. That, at this point, he’s not sure why he’s even trying to defend himself.

All of this to say, he doesn’t quite believe it when he gets a knock at the door followed by a quiet voice explaining that they’re a friend of Eddie’s. “It’s me, Mr Munson. It’s Dustin. I gave you his necklace. I, uh, I told you that…”

He knows exactly who Dustin is. That day is etched into his mind so deeply that he will never be able to smooth out the lines. As unfair as it is to the kid, Dustin is synonymous with death in Wayne’s mind. But he was Eddie’s friend and Wayne doesn’t know how to say no to that. So he lets him in. He lets him in and he offers him coffee and he stands quietly while Dustin tells him everything.

And Wayne finally knows for sure then that he’s not losing his mind. That the dreams have always been more than dreams. That the blood and dirt and the ache in his chest weren’t part of his imagination.

And he knows, before the words come out of Dustin’s mouth, that Eddie is alive. In what state, he doesn’t know, but he is alive. In this hellish dimension. Broken and in need of help.

And here enters a fourth truth, perhaps the most important truth, that Wayne Munson would do anything for Eddie. He made a promise on the day that he was born to protect him with his life and he isn’t about to break that now. He would walk into hell to bring him home.

And that later night, he does.

[teo-linh]

Blood of the Beast

The Viis moves to perch on the edge of the pool table, facing the small gathering of friends and acquaintances. “It is not mine own story that I bring before you, but rather one told to me by my Ahmah.” He crosses his legs in front of him and rests his hands gently on his knees. “I remember the scent of sandalwood and ash as if it were only yesterday when she sat before the hearth and gifted it to me.” A strand of white hair dips into his eyes and he bows his head. “And it is a similar way that I gift it to you. So that you may share in keeping her memory alive.” When his head raises there is a darkness to his vivid purple eyes. “There is a beast that stalks the banks of Tusi Mek’ta. Whether he is drawn to the waters by birth or by bondage, no one knows. Many believe him a descendant of the Fuath. The blue of his skin lends credence to their claims, but the horns that sprout from the top of his head and the wings that unfurl, tattered, and feathered, from his back only bring about more questions. Is he cursed? Corrupted by the light? Touched by a world not our own? No one knows. Not those who tell the stories around their fires nor those who have called him forth from the depths seeking succor, aid, or to merely satiate their own curiosity.” The lights in the room seem to dim and flicker almost like firelight. The shadows appear to dance towards Teo as he speaks. Is he doing that? “It was aid my Ahmah sought. She had heard the tales herself. Stories of how the beast might grant wishes to those of both pure heart and motive. And so, she packed her things and made the pilgrimage, bringing gifts of tea, poultices, and tinctures. Anything she could think of that might foster enough good will for him to grant her what she wanted most.” He finally brushes the stray bit of hair from his face. “For she and her husband had been mated for some time and still found themselves without a child. She had prayed to every god both old and new. She had used every herb and every spell she could learn or concoct. All to no avail. Their home remained silent and the cradle empty.” “When she arrived, she arranged her offerings all in a neat row at the edge of the lake, just close enough that the water might lick at them, but not soak them through. To give him a taste of what it was she offered.” He remains still, hands on his knees. “Moments bled into one another until a near bell had passed. Perhaps the tales were false. The songs she had heard sung of him were nothing flights of fancy, invented to scare and entertain.” Teo begins to hum a sad little tune. His voice is breathy and his pitch wobbles. He does not sing well, but that he will do anything the story requires. The shadows continue to reach for him, coming closer and closer as he reaches crescendo. “She sang them through, letting her voice rise and swell for it was not as if there were any around to hear her. Or so she believed.” The shadows snapped back to their rightful places suddenly. It was jarring enough to give anyone a little spook. “Until a second voice joined hers. An eerie harmony to her melody sung through a mouth of razor-sharp teeth.” “He sat, perched among the leaves of a nearby tree, water dripping from his iridescent black feathers. Why had she called upon him? What demands did she wish to make?” Teo shook his head. “She had no demands. Only hope. Hope for a new life. On that he did not seem willing to give her.”

“These gifts were not enough, he said. For he, too, could mix moss with herb and stone. He did not want for what the land already gave him. What did she have that he did not?” Teo flips his left hand over on his knee and with a hastily muttered word in an unknown tongue purple flames consume his fingertips. “She showed him the fire that danced in her heart and the wind that brought forth her dreams. The water that soothed all pain and the stone that made each step sure. She offered each on unto him and he took them all in turn, leaving her with only her hope, her tinctures, and the promise now shimmering upon both his skin and hers. The physical manifestation of a bargain well struck. She would have her heart’s desire. She only need go home and wait for it.” The fire in Teo’s palm is suddenly snuffed out. “And home she went, bubbly and bright and awaiting what it was that she wanted most in the world.” “Bells turned into days and days turned into months. She and her loved aged. Wrinkles set into her brow. Her hope began to wane.” Sadness seeps into his eyes. “When the sineaters claimed her mate as they had so many, she knew it to be lost. She was alone. No love. No hope. No magic. There would be nothing for her in this life. She had nothing left to give to the beast and nothing to show for her sacrifice.” “It was a moon or maybe two after she lost him, that mine own mother arrived on her doorstep…” His voice his thick with sadness, but he continues. “She was unwell. Her condition had taken quite a toll. My Ahmah did everything that remained in her power to heal her. To give her the chance at the life and the hope that had been denied so many.” The Viis sucks in a deep breath before continuing. “Alas, there was nothing to be done. Even with her magic, the outcome would have been the same. A fact I grew up knowing, but she could never be convinced of.”

He looks down at the floor for a moment before looking back to the group. “You see, I was many things to my Ahmah. As she was many things to me. I was her hope. I was her grief. I was her guilt. I was the child bought with blood from a beast.”