So in case y’all didn’t know it’s Morgan’s birthday today and she writes some absolutely amazing fics. So ya know here’s her Masterlist, you absolutely should check it out and support her writing and wish her a happy birthday
i wanna live in an cosy apartment where it rains a lot and it snows and i live near a coffee shop and read books all the time and play piano and fall in love with someone is that too much to ask
a/n: tonight was one of the hardest of my life and I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it and I know no one can help me but myself, but I wish I had someone holding me right now, I feel like that would make it easier
this is not my usual way of writing, it's kinda messy, but I guess that's the point of this whole one shot
tw: depression, panic attacks
word count: 2,276
She could feel her heart beat in her chest, pushing against her lungs, forcing the air out of them. She could feel its continuos thunderous thud thud thud in her head. It was like a hammer inside her shell. It had all been sudden. The sorrow, the grief for someone she hadn’t even known. It wasn’t normal. She knew as much. But she couldn’t help the pain, the emotion clogging her throat. It was all too much. Was it possible for someone to feel so many things in one moment? She felt like she was going to explode and there was nothing she could do to make it stop.
And at the same time, she felt hollow. If someone were to walk in her room in that moment, they’d be met with a dreading picture. Beause she was trashing in her sheets, begging for help. She’d done this before, many times. She’d screamed for someone to save her and they’d come. Someone had always came. She had never been alone. She had people she could count on.
Nesta thought for a second, “Someone will hear me, someone will come”, but she soon realized she wasn’t screaming.
It was inside her head, and it wasn’t.
Looking straight forward in the lit room, she only saw her books and felt the softness of the blanket wrapped around her, but even that was starting to feel overwhelming.
She couldn’t breathe in that position. But she remained still.
There was no point in attempting to move, she knew nothing would change.
She didn’t know what it was. But it was there–oppressing. She felt the bile rise and then drop down in her stomach, she heard it. As if she weren’t the body undergoing these sudden changes, but an outsider who’d managed to enter her esophagus and was now trying to escape whatever was going on. She felt like she wasn’t there, but she knew she was.
Her body was panic. Just that.
This was it, right? A panic attack. Her teeth felt soft, like they were made of sand and they would crumble if she tried to touch them. She knew they wouldn’t. She’d tried once, to make sure she wasn’t about to become a toothless person. She’d put her fingers in her mouth to assure herself that they were still there and not on the verge of falling off.
She felt like she was falling off, too.
But she was lying down on her bed.
How could that have been possible? She wasn’t falling.
I am.
I am falling. Can’t you see?
The roaring of her heart came back, she heard it in her ears. The blood flowing. The bile boiling and rising–panic, again. Again? It never left. It never left. It never left.
A startling thought struck her. What was that disease where you hear your own body sounds? Tinnitus, right? Yes, that was the name. She knew because her sister had told her that one of her favourite singers had to take a break from music because of the condition.
But why was she thinking of that?
She didn’t know. She didn’t care.
She just wanted it to end.
What’s happening right now? I should call someone. I should tell my friends. I need help.
She closed her eyes and counted to a hundred. Or at least she thought so, because when she came to her sense again, she wasn’t counting anymore and her mind had ran off. So far. To the last year of her life.
What had changed? What had made her so weak? Weak. Mentally. Physically.
She couldn’t focus and she wanted to. Desperately so. And yet she couldn’t. Her brain was just running and running.
She wanted out of this.
And running. She was so tired.
I can’t do this anymore.
This was what she got for not taking care of herself. It was her fault.
If she’d just paid enough attention to her needs. She stank. If she washed her hair, changed out of her pyjamas, she might have not smell like her grandmother after a whole morning of cooking. If she managed to get out of the house for more than just a few minutes, maybe her friends wouldn’t have felt like being left out of her life.
What life, she had meant to ask so many times.
This was her life.
But they’d told her so many times they wanted in. they wanted to know her, to be able to help her.
Her heart beat faster every passing second. Her hands losing all sensibility as she lost sense of reality. Her eyes zooming out without her even noticing. Her regaining perception of her surroundings a second later. Or hours.
She wouldn’t have been able to tell.
She was in her room.
She frowned. Where had she gone?
What was happening?
Gwyn
Gwyn.
Her friend.
She’d told her to call her.
When this happened.
But was it happening? No, this wasn’t the same thing she’d been warned about. This was normal.
This was the feeling that walked with her through daily life. It was holding her hand and never letting go. It was the thing that never left her. It was her only certainty. This was normal.
She couldn’t lean on others to do this.
To live.
“You can’t.” she whispered.
Her breath shortened and her eyes started to water.
Finally, she thought. I’ll finally sleep.
But she wouldn’t.
“I need someone.”
She could hear the the sound of her computer on her desk. The disk spinning inside that device that she hadn't bothered to turn off a few hours earlier and didn't have the strength to close at that moment. Why was getting out of bed so distressing? The thought of having to get up to turn that damned thing off distracted her for a second.
She sat up suddenly. She couldn’t breathe.
In, out, in, outinoutinoutinout.
Let me help, please.
That’s what he’d told her.
We just want to be there for you. Talk to us.
It was like being there again. In the streets of her city, a drink in her hand as she laughed and joked with her friends. And then the whole situation had came tumbling down. It had felt like falling from the clouds. Why did they feel the need to make her talk? She didn’t need it.
She was fine.
Nesta lay back again and rolled in her bed, on her right side-
Not the right side.
She rolled again on her left side and sighed.
Her heart wasn’t beating anymore. She couldn’t feel it in her chest. She couldn’t feel it in her head.
She’d calmed down.
Or maybe not, because she wanted to cry some. Let her body come down from up there, in that messy state. It was hard to explain but her brain always seemed to move faster than her. It was as if it ran and yelled at her for being too slow. Keep the fuck up. But she couldn’t and she screamed and nobody heard. Nobody heard cause she had no voice and no air and she wasn’t moving. She was impossibly still. Her lungs constricted and she tensed.
Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.
Stop.
Stop.
“Please.”
She reached for her phone and opened her texts app. She had a bunch from her friends. They were talking about their plans for the weekend. She knew she’d agreed to go with them. She also knew she’d be fine for when the time came. She wouldn’t feel like this for days.
It was useless to let them know she wasn’t doing okay right then.
They wouldn’t have cared.
That’s a lie.
She knew it was, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it.
This is too much. They can’t know.
They know.
Thye know.
They know.
They wanna help.
I can’t let them.
Let us.
But how could she? They didn’t deserve this. They didn’t need her dumping her problems on them every day. She could handle this herself. She had to. She had to.
She couldn’t.
Nesta closed her eyes and pictured him.
He was standing there smiling. Reaching out his hand.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
She opened her eyes and the light of her phone blinded her for a moment. Her head spun.
She pulled up the thread with Cassian and started typing.
Can you come her? I need you.
She deleted the text.
This wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair for him. He deserved better.
I wanna end things. Don’t talk to me ever again. We’re done.
She didn’t have the courage to send that as she started pressing the delete button frantically.
Nesta took a trembling breath.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry.
And yet her body felt empty and she couldn’t find the strengh to do so.
How could somebody feel so utterly destroyed they couldn’t even cry?
From: Nesta Archeron
To: Cassian Navarro
Cass.
She hit send.
He didn’t even take thirty seconds to reply.
From: Cassian Navarro
To: Nesta Archeron
Hey love
She clicked the home button and turned off her phone. She couldn’t do this do him. Not again.
The phone vibrated in her hands.
It was a text from him.
Can I come over? I miss you
And while she was reading that, another came in.
I could stay over for the night, if it’s not a bother
Nesta reread the last text a thousand times. It was him asking her to come over. Not the other way around. She wasn’t asking for his help. She wasn’t using him.
She would have gotten over it by the time he arrived at her house and they would have spent the night together, enjoying each other's company. There would be no tears or comforting hugs. Just quality time together.
Her heart began to beat faster again.
You can't.
She couldn't. If she made him drive up to her house without telling him anything, it would be like making him fall into a trap. She didn't want to do that to him.
To: Cassian Navarro
From: Nesta Archeron
I don't think that's a good idea. I'm not doing so well.
When he took too long to reply, she knew it was because he had had enough. This was too much.
It was too much for her, she couldn’t really blame others if they wanted to leave her. This was how it worked anyway. She got them.
She would have left too, if she could have.
To: Nesta Archeron
From: Cassian Navarro
I’m on my way
Normally, she would have gotten up at that message. She would have felt a rush of adrenaline, driven by the terror of showing herself for what she really was. She would have tidied up her room and run to the bathroom to wash and dress herself. She would have pretended for the umpteenth time to be well. She would have put on a smile that would have made the most beautiful women in the world envious and would have opened the door of her house, welcoming whoever was on her doorstep.
But not that day.
She couldn't.
She dropped the phone on the mattress and closed her eyes.
Her head ached.
Her throat hurt.
Her chest.
Her stomach.
She wanted to sleep. It was the only place in the entire universe where her problems wouldn’t follow her.
What problems? You don’t have any problems.
She didn’t hear her front door open. She didn’t hear him calling out for her, asking where she was.
She barely heard his soft whisper once he reached her bedroom.
“Nes-”
She opened her eyes and there he was. Kneeling next her bed, his face contorted in that grimace of pain and suffering she’d been trying so hard not to give to him.
She’d never wanted this. Never needed someone.
When Nesta spoke, her voice was unrecognizable to her own ears. “Why are you here?”
“Baby-” Cassian’s face crumpled and he grimaced.
“Don’t.”
He nodded. He looked around the room–for what, she couldn’t have known.
When his eyes went back to hers, they were watery. He swallowed loudly, as if he too couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. She’d done that to him.
“Can I get something for you?” he whispered.
Nesta didn’t respond, only starred back.
No, go. Save yourself.
He closed his eyes briefly, and his voice was hoarse when he talked, “Can I lay with you?”
Please, go. “Okay.”
You can’t help me.
Cassian rose and moved further into the room, where Nesta couldn’t see him from her position on the bed. She heard him step out of his pants and took off his jacket and then the matress shifted behind her. She didn’t bother moving, she knew he’d come to her.
“Can I hold you?” his voice broke and that was it.
Nesta’s dam collapsed.
She felt her throat close up entirely and her vision blurred so fast she thought she’d lost her sight altogether. Her body started spasming and she didn’t know what was happening until she felt his arms around her. She was sobbing. And the tears fell silently.
He was talking. She could hear him.
But the only thing she could think of was that it was not fair. It wasn't right for her to drag him into the depths of this abyss with her. It wasn't fair that he felt compelled to go to her house and help her when she was hurting. She couldn't let him do that.
She couldn't.
Yet she did.
For she knew that if he let her go, Nesta would never get up again.
(Rolls eyes hardcore) I am continuing this fic for literally five people. Smh.
~
Nesta comes to their tutoring session late and that’s the first thing that tips him off. Already his phone is in his hand ready to call 911. He has Nesta’s number in his phone saved. The first person listed in his text log under Nerd. He can always text or call her. He belongs to The Rat Pack in Nesta’s Snap Chat group, and he knows he can always contact Emerie or Gwyn if something is truly wrong. Yet he dials in 911 and his thumb hovers over the call button.
If she doesn’t show up in fifteen minutes, Cassian swears he’ll call.
Nesta’s never late. In fact, she’s annoyingly early. She practically has a stop watch in her hand at all times, counting every minute she waits. When Cassian comes running in five minutes later, as he so often does, panting with some excuse, Nesta doesn’t even bother looking up from her textbook. She merely gestures to the seat, a heavy sigh on her lips, like she’s running out of time to bore him death even as she fascinates him to pieces.
Her books should already be splayed onto the table, her pencils straight and neatly lined up. Today, the table is empty.
He’ll give it fifteen minutes and then he’s calling.
Reminder that even though Nesta was exhausted, dehydrated, and miserable, she immediately moved to help Cassian because she thought he was the one falling:
Her ankle twisted on a loose stone, and she gritted her teeth against the lash of pain, but continued. Cassian hadn’t so much as stumbled once. She would know: she watched him all day long. But he stumbled now. Nesta lurched forward, but— No. That was her. She was the one falling. (ACOSF, Pg498)
My love language is *eye contact* *holding your hand and guiding you through a crowd* *recommending books* *making playlist* *bookstore date* *resting on your shoulder when I'm tired*
Cassian can’t boast anything in this cabin is beautiful or grand, but Nesta lays with him on this worn sofa soaking up warmth.
“This is the first holiday I’ve ever had that doesn’t feel uncomfortable,” Nesta admits.
Her words are a little sleepy, and Nesta stares at the fire as quiet as the winter wind. She doesn’t seem angry about it and there’s nothing about her tone that suggests she’s unpleased, but still Cassian feels himself pause.
His fingers still in her hair where Nesta lays her head on his chest. Her feet are entwined in his and there’s nothing about them that can become closer. Their souls are already so twisted, knitted together like a soft, wool sweater. He’s never been more at ease and yet, Cassian fixates on the thought.
She was… uncomfortable before.
Last Solstice, she’d enjoyed herself, he thought. She conversates and she takes his gift, and they accept a mating bond unknowingly. The golden strings of love filling their hearts with music.
The solstice before that…
Well, she stares out the window that evening while he stands next to his friends. The sound of their laughter distracting him from her silence. She scares him that day… how quiet she seems, but Cassian shoves a gift in her hand or tries to. Says words he doesn’t stop himself from saying and Nesta is uncomfortable.
And if she’s uncomfortable then, than she’s uncomfortable standing in front of the Riverfront Estate, entering that house where they stare at her like they’ve never seen her before, because they never bothered to look.
Cassian doesn’t listen. She’s quiet then, too, but a different quiet than she is now. Different in a way he can’t quite explain, because he’s never listened well enough.
How did he not know?
And now, she lets him run his hands down her soft hair, golden brown flowing, free across her shoulders. Guilt is pulling on his heartstrings and it looks a lot like brass. Sounds so similar to Nesta’s silence. Because he didn’t want to see her pain and now he hears the confirmation coming from her lips.
He always knew she was drowning. It’s plain as day, but he doesn’t reach out his hand. Cassian doesn’t even let her speak. He goads and he towers and he roars, and he ignores… He ignores her all night.
What if she’d been waiting for him?
If he’d held his hand out out in front of her and lured her to the tree decorated in frost and bulbs, to the snow where it fell gently outside, to hot coco where he’d show her every single spice and sweet that could be placed in a cup so that she could drink in its warmth, would she have followed him albeit grumpily and exhausted? Exactly like the Nesta, he knows.
She can’t be so different. She’s not a new person, but it’s that thought that has his heart thundering loud enough for her to hear.
He should’ve pushed… just a tad. Just enough to show her that he was there, waiting and listening for when she was ready to speak. He should have shown her that she wasn’t alone. His hand should’ve been held out, open for her to entwine her fingers, so that he could prove how beautifully she could fit.
His heart has always had room for her, and she shouldn’t have had to push against walls for her to know.
Nesta lifts her head, burnished hair falling, all brass and gold fluttering across a wool sweater.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I do understand why your sisters love you. Every reason why.”
“You rescued me when my mind was a prison. You set me free when no one else would listen. Now I finally feel complete, and I will follow you into the sea of eternity-” Broadside
-Crescent City AHOEAB dribbles because I love these two idiots <3 Prompts are currently open.
CW- Pure fluff only
Ear Ache-
Bryce woke up knowing the day would be terrible.
Pain stabbed through her skull like shards of glass through the soft flesh of her brain. She felt cold but knew her skin would be hot to the touch. Every little noise sent lashes of pain through her ears that ripped and tore until all she wanted to do was curl into a ball on her bed and cry.
She had an ear infection.
A common condition that put could put most fae out for days. Even a half-breed like her. Their ears were sensitive on an average day, like delicate instruments, they picked up the slightest sounds and caught the faintest melodies. They also required a lot of care. Tiny pains that would only pose a sight nuisance to most creatures could send a fae soldier to their knees.
Bryce had only suffered through this a couple of times in her life. Once when she was a toddler and her mother had just met Randall. When Ember couldn’t console her crying child and was on the brink of an exhausted mother meltdown, Randall swooped in and saved the day. He’d laid her over his shoulder and massaged the insides of her ears. A trick he’d learned in Pangera to soothe fae children whose sensitive hearing became shot from the explosives.
It could put Bryce to sleep in minutes, and Randall still bragged to the present day. Not that she complained. Even as a teenager with school-induced migraines, she would lay her head in his lap, and just the comfort of it could ease the ache in her head…and her heart.
Bryce wished he was here now as she smothered her head under a pillow to block out the hum of the firstlights. Pain. Shattering, consuming pain.
“Bryce, are you awake?” Hunt knocked on her door.
Damn his knocking. Bang. Bang. Bang. Her eyes watered, and tears poured down her face. Bryce would holler for him to please shut up if the sound of her blood rushing through her head wasn’t bothering her.
“Bryce?” The door creaked open. She’d put off oiling the hinges. Squeel, Squeak, Scratch.
She sobs quietly.
A feather-soft touch brushes against her cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong, Sweetheart.”
His warm voice that would typically send chills down her spine makes her body quake in a not so pleasurable way. Bryce doesn’t dare reach up to touch the source of her pain for fear they may suddenly erupt. Thankfully, Hunt notices her flinch. His eyes crawl up her figure, scouring her for illness or injury.
“My ears,” she mouthes to him.
Hunt’s eyes shine with sympathy. He picks up Bryce’s phone from her bedside table and shines the light on bright down into them. His eyes squint, and he examines them with as much care as a medwitch.
Frowning at whatever he discovers, Hunt makes his way out of the room with all the quietness of the Umbra Mortis. When he comes back, he has a long, heating compress in his hands. One that Bryce used to wrap around her thigh on bad days when she still had the venom from the kristallos clinging to the bone.
Gently guiding her into a sitting position, Hunt squeezes himself behind her so that her back is flush to his chest. He takes the heating compress, lays it across his front, and then carefully positions Bryce’s head, so one ear lays against the warmth.
A large, scarred hand appears at her mouth and slips a tablet between her lips, followed by an icy drink of water. A softly hummed melody vibrates the side of her face, soft enough not to disturb her ears. The rhythm is low and soothing, making Bryce’s eyes droop in content.
A warm finger massages the ear that faces away from him, helping release the pressure building up inside it. Relief wells up in Bryce so strongly that a breathy sigh escapes her lips.
Soon, she is blissfully asleep in a cocoon of soft velvet feathers.
When she wakes, it’s late in the afternoon. The fading sunlight forms a warm pool on the floor where Syrinx is curled up happily. Bryce nestles her head against the hard pillow of Hunt’s impressive pecs. Cracking her eyes, she sees a pair of shoes that are not his at the bedside.
“Ruhn?” Bryce’s voice is barely a whisper to keep from agitating her own ears.
He looks a little too smug at their position and waves a small dropper and bottle in her face. “Hunt texted me that you would need this,” Rhun said, matching her volume, keeping his voice soft. “Also, I fed Syrinx. You’re welcome. He was nearly about to break in here and bite your ass.”
Bryce laughed, then winced at the spike of pressure throbbing in her ears. The motion of which causes Hunt to stir beneath her.
Rhun looks at her in sympathy. “Come on. I’ll help you put the drops in.”
Careful not to wake Hunt, Rhun grabs her under the arms and moves her to the foot of the bed. Tilting her head, Bryce allows him to drip the correct number of droplets in each ear.
The relief is swift as the throbbing subsides to a dull ache. “That’s some powerful stuff.”
A shift of the bed, Hunt’s eyes open, and he quickly takes in her state and the number of people in the room. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to sleep through the invasion of their shared space, even if it was just her brother—insufferable males. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I meant to wake you before Ruhn got here, but I dozed off.”
He sits up and gathers her in his arms once more. Bryce is more than content to comply, his warm body like a drug to her too-cold skin.
Hunt lets her nuzzle her face into his neck as he gives Ruhn a predatory look over the top of her head. “You can go now.”
“I literally just got here,” her brother complains, brows furrowed in annoyance.
Hunt leans back with Bryce in his arms, combing a hand through her wine-dark hair. “You could have just called up and given me the drops downstairs, but you showed yourself inside. “You’ve brought me the medicine, and now you’ve overstayed your welcome. Your sister is very sick. Not fit for company.”
Bryce could swear the testosterone was flying in the air like sparks as they got into a silent pissing contest with one another.f
Grumbling, Ruhn finally concedes and bids her goodbye. Cursing out Hunt for his lack of appreciation as he shows himself out the door.
“There. All better. Now we can watch Lunathion Lover’s Lockdown without judgment. It’s a new episode.” She looks up at Hunt to find him mischievously grinning down at her. “We can make popcorn.”
“Popcorn and Trash TV?” Bryce murmurs. “You really know the way to my heart, Athalar.”
Hunt moves her to the couch and buries her in a mound of blankets. After coffee, popcorn, and several hours of mind-numbing reality shows- albeit at a barely audible volume- Bryce felt leagues better.
Later on, after Hunt had gone to take a shower, she opens her messages to see Ruhn had texted to check on her. Juniper had dm-ed her and offered to bring food by for both of them. And she had missed calls from her mother that Bryce decided she would get back to later.
Bryce’s heart swelled. It had been a long time since she felt so loved. Many things had changed, and just maybe, they were finally for the better.
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Prompts for this fic are OPEN :) DM them or feel free to send them through the ask feature. I love hearing from everybody!
Therapy was a necessary evil, Rowan soon found out.
He spent an hour, twice a week, cooped up with a stranger who tried to coax his feelings from him. He’d never been an emotive person. Aelin was the rare exception, the one person he’d always gravitated to when something itched at him. She was always available with an attentive ear when he needed to release a burden from his shoulders, but upon arriving home, it became apparent he couldn’t do that anymore.
because jaskier largely thinks he just chatters on while geralt ignores him when they first travel together (which he’s fine with, honestly, it’s frankly just nice at first to be with someone who doesn’t tell him to shut up or who gets impatient), it throws jask for a loop the first time geralt mentions something in passing that jaskier said to him mONTHS ago. because geralt??? listened to him? remembered what he said? and then brought it up as an additional point to build on what jaskier is saying now? (”so then elfric, duke of being a total prick, in the middle of elven poetry said-” “is he the same one who stole your lute strings before your final performance for your first composition class?”)
and it totally shifts jaskier’s perception of his dynamic with geralt. he knows already that geralt has to be smart to know and apply so much knowledge of monsters and technique, but the fact that even if he’s not responding, geralt is still listening to him and remembering totally knocks jaskier off-balance. he’s used to being the center of attention (and loves being so), but geralt’s quiet listening fills him with way more warmth than he expected. he wanted to be geralt’s traveling partner from the very start, but he never fully registered the opposite, in which he’d gain a partner as well.
and it fuels jaskier even harder right from the beginning to shift the perception of witchers because it pisses him off to no end when people treat geralt like a mindless weapon at best or a dumb animal to be sent to fetch at worst.
because jaskier’s been a talker his entire life, but traveling with geralt has been the first time anyone has really bothered to listen, and jaskier will do whatever he can to try and return that kind of love.
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