Suicide Tw - Blog Posts

This is important

Hello everyone I have a friend who will stay anonymous who is going through a really tough time right now.

One note=one day they'll stay alive

Please boost this I can't lose them

and i think there's something to be said be here about the medical system and how it's reflected in marlene.

doctors, whether they mean to or not, have an amazing knack for dehumanizing you and corroding your attachment to your body

Silver Lake already severed some of that attachment and ownership she feels over her body (just based off the disassociation we see and logic)

so if Joel, say, insisted on waking her up and trying more tests first. or if he wanted the situation explained to ellie before she made the decision. i think we would have ended up with the same problem

if marlene, someone ellie trusts to keep her safe and has that connection to her mother, reaffirmed the idea that ellies body was a commodity, she would have chosen to die

even if joels decision making process wasn't this layered (which it wasnt), the situation still had a lot of nuance that is ignored typically

tw for pretty in-depth discussion of fictional suicide attempts/suicidal ideation ///

i just. think a Lot about how the idea of “well ellie should have had a choice!” often ignores the implied fact that ellie, on the day she was entering the hospital, was struggling with some degree of suciidal ideation to the point where joel opened up about his attempt and ellie’s immediate response was:

“i know why you’re telling me this”

because she’d been so nonresponsive, so far removed from her usual self in her depression, that joel was worried for her and thought the story of him recovering from his attempt, feeling that hopeless, would resonate with her.

“yeah, i reckon you do” – that’s….yeah. 

and she goes for the “time heals all wounds” to wrap it in a bow– the cliche of “it gets better, you just have to give it time” that we give to people struggling especially with suicidial thoughts and joel in a moment of rare vulnerability says “it wasn’t time that did it” – him telling her that he loves her and cares about her, that that is what healed him, that that is why he’s opening himself up because he doesn’t want her to hurt like he did. that it’s not just going to be time, he’s here and he’s not going anywhere whatever healing looks like for her. and it hits her like a gut punch because it’s the last thing she’s expecting and the thing that breaks through to her.

so if you’re asking the teenager with sucidial ideation, who has spent her entire life being told by an institution that she is inherently expendable and her life is worth nothing, coupled with her mom’s friend echoing that same sentiment – of course she would have said yes. marlene with the “what would she want?” gee i wonder how putting her in a system that sees her as expendable would affect like worldview on top of countless traumas! and joel is the one person in her life who does not see her as worth sacrificing, who would mourn her and care about her to the point where he’s unwilling to mourn her even if it means she hates him. 

when people we love and care about go through something like that, we don’t go “oh i guess it’s your choice”. it’s “i will drag you kicking and screaming to go on with me if i have to because i love you and i don’t want to do this without you, because you are worth more than how you’re feeling right now.” it’s what tommy did for joel. he dragged him out of that ditch, took him to a medic camp even though joel swears up and down it’s what he wants and never lets him do it again and he can’t go on and do this. it’s what joel does later for ellie. 

so yeah.

no i don’t think joel should’ve woken up ellie like

“r u sure?”

my ocs

sorry 4 bad quality

original image below!

sorry for the ifunny logo I COULDNT FIND THE ORIGINAL ANYWHERE EIWFJGETOIJO

Get your head together stardust!~

I relapsed, idk why I'm posting this, just needed to say it somewhere ig

Edit: I feel awful, like a piece of shit, ughhhh

This is just extremely helpful right now, if you are feeling overwhelmed by current events, and maybe tempted to give up on the whole notion. TW for non-graphic suicidality at the link (but like... how to deal with it!)

Thank you for writing and sharing ❤️

I wrote a post as someone who has gone through months-long periods of time when I genuinely believed it was the end of the world and couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed because of it. These are some emotional strategies I figured out along the way, and hope they’re helpful to someone else.

sighs i rly wanted to get up actual full-bodied requests in the tag but @ this pt i don’t think that kind of thing is going to happen before opening tmrw (this post itself might even be too late) basically this is a v quick v badly described run down of all the request-esque things i’m looking for for certain characters 👀👀👀

blaise hwang (23 yrs old, lee taeyong) - a messy ass streamer house (they all live under the same roof in seattle, having their own rooms to stream from) probably do a lot of group streams, a lot of collabs, dumbass prank videos filmed exclusively for their group youtube channel (i dnt have a team name yet kill me) following every single trend & posting their own versions of them, posting memes in their group chats, etc. but i was thinking they could potentially be a lgbtq+ stream team on twitch ? (they all dnt have to belong to twitch & twitch exclusively btw - some could be youtubers, some could be tiktok, some could belong to multiple platforms - as long as they have some form of social media presence they could fit in this) n by messy i want past relationships, future flings, this person slept w/this person but then this person the next day, just !!! messy (i’m bad @ explaining i’m so sry) 

unnamed kim hyojong (i’m working on it i swear) (25-30 yrs old) - an ex/baby momma/future poly female basically needing the mother of hyojong’s daughter/son (haven’t decided which yet) there are some TRIGGER WARNINGS for this req (drug use/abuse/addiction mainly - as hyojong is a recovering addict) rn baby momma (wat i’ll call her for now) is dating someone new (anywhere from a yr or less) who’s rly good to her (not to say hyojong was horrible but obviously when he wasn’t sober he wasn’t him), who’s good for their kid/good w/them, but hyojong has been going on 1 or 2 yrs clean now (the longest he’s ever been clean) & mb things are reminding them of how things used to be between them (when he wasn’t as addicted as he ended up being - tbh u can have her have been using too or not, that’s completely up to u, but mb he did push or pressure her into trying some things w/him while he was high & she did them bc she was that stupid in love, didn’t think much of w/e drug it was) anyway, obviously feelings redevelop but she also still has feelings for her current partner & this is where we’re going to work things into a poly w/jace’s jung wooseok (currently unnamed) obviously some things we can all work out together but some fc ideas are: kim hyuna, lee siyeon, hirai momo, minatozaki sana, open to other suggestions/western fc suggestions too (if none of these r ur fancy) the only other thing solid abt her is that she should be close in age to hyojong (anywhere from 25-30) 

rehab group ? don’t rly have much in mind for this yet bc it’s literally sth i just thought of for him but just a big mess of ppl regularly going to a support group for recovering addicts (of drugs and/or alcohol) if anyone has any additional interesting ideas for sth like this def drop me a discord or tumblr dm/ask - obviously some can be recovering as long as hyojong (1-2yrs) but maybe some are ppl who are a week clean, come in & talk abt how they relapsed & did such & such drug again, rinse & repeat ? ppl who aren’t sober rn but still come for the support, those of them that are sponsors, etc. just a big mess of people needing the help & support & hopefully finding it in each other - mb a bit of a makeshift family for one another 🥺 

unnamed hwang hyunjin (again, i’m working on it cries) (19 or 20 yrs old) - adopted family v loosely based on netflix’s umbrella academy this one is harder to explain in a quick para but... essentially a rich couple adopting different ethnicity babies/children (would be adopted young) from around the world (a way to include diversity in the family so pls try not to double up on an ethnicity if possible [just bc i’m playing an asian ethnicity doesn’t mean other asian ethnicities can’t be included as well tho]) n while these children don’t have super powers (obviously) most of them r gifted (weren’t born that way but were given the opportunities [& pressures that come w/those] growing up) for ex: hyunjin is going to be an olympic lvl figure skater BUT i am looking for this family to have a klaus-esque character too (aka a total fuck-up - or so most their family thinks) someone who doesn’t try (mb they did @ 1 pt/showed they could do it if they tried but...) also thought abt the possibility of including the ‘ben’ TRIGGER WARNING suicide and/or suicide attempt - mb all the pressure rly got to 1 of the kids to the pt of them either committing suicide successfully, or if someone is interested in playing them, having attempted suicide (i know it’s not rly said wat’s happened to ben in the show but i saw a fan theory for this @ 1 pt) 

this family will either have 5 or 6 (if someone wants to make the ‘ben’) remaining spots (not including my character) pls keep in mind none of the other characters (besides the klaus/ben) have to resemble any characters from the show @ all (& the klaus/ben are able to be played differently from how they r in the show - u can completely take the char & do it up however ud like to, as long as the concept is similar) but if u want to resemble them slightly off a character feel free to, this req is rly just v loosely based on the family aspect of the show/them being ‘gifted’ - age range can be anywhere from 18-early 30s (give or take) 

drop me an add on discord sigh™duck#1141 or send me a dm/ask here on tumblr if ur interested in any of these requests !!! probably won’t have official site requests up for most of these for a little while 

Ever the optimist, Didyme's innate positivity had fought back against the call for darkness. Perhaps just as sorrow was a condition of humanity, self-preservation was a condition of the eternity her brother had gifted her with. Trying to burn herself in the sun and join her siblings had resulted in only a temporarily charred wrist. Though on the other side of her temptation she saw a clearer truth; she had lost herself. She remembered how precious life had been in humanity. How one more hug, one more meal, one more sunrise was a blessing and none of them were promised. And there she was with an endless abundance. Who was she to shun such things?

Still, when death seemed as much a promise as the joys of life she knows it harder to resist the temptation to meet it earlier. A small, thoughtful smile crosses the vampires delicate features. "You're right, I do not know you." But she knew humans. She had seen a plethora of them, countless lifetimes, of the way they could be. Some prettier than others. The yellow jewel of her necklace catches the light of the moon, illuminating her face as she moves closer. "But I am willing to bet you did not start this way. No one does." Not even her cold and controlling brother, even he had once been a child full of light and hope. As she moves, so does her power, invisible tendrils attempting to take hold of the woman's heart and fill it with a warmth she surely had not felt in some time. Reaching for the human's arm, Didyme's own heart aches as the others pain hits her even harder. In her tear stained gaze she sees but a broken child. When was the last time someone held her?

Overwhelmed, the ancient pulls the woman into her embrace, trying to envelop her with a certain protection from the harsh fate that awaited on the other side of the cliff. "It's going to be okay. Not every day will feel like this." It was only the two of them under the evening sky, but her words are still whispered. A gentle offering of comfort from whoever she needed it to be from. From wherever she had never felt it.

Sorrow wasn't apt enough a word for the depth of Esme's grief— her pain. Every breath felt like needles in her lungs, pricking tears from eyes just for her to then choke on them. They had to pull her fingers from around her son's body, pry her arms from around him so they could take him to the morgue. All while she screamed and begged for another hour.

The silence afterwards was incomparable to anything she'd experienced before. They had threatened restraints on her, but one of the nurses managed to convince the doctor otherwise; she was just a grieving mother, not a danger to anyone's safety—

Well, perhaps her own.

Her lungs burned as they did bringing her boy into this world. Over the past few days she had become accustomed to heaving lungs; labour of different kinds, one now to reward her the end of this tortuous existence.

Through her tears, Esme thinks that perhaps the figure and the words to be her mother. The innate kindness of them make her yearn for the familiarity of a mother's embrace, but as she blinks the tears away, Esme focuses instead on a stranger.

The breeze is non-existent on this humid, August night. The stars glisten like silver above and Esme can't help the way she finds peace in this landscape being her end.

"How could a stranger know if I'm myself or not?" Her words are spat. She is so close now. If her son can't be with her, she'll be with him. "They couldn't, so don't pretend you're any different."

ANSWERED ASK - DIDYME

@wastheheart asked: “i appreciate your concern, but let me take care of myself. okay?" (for whoever you think vibes!)

Humans were full of sorrow. It was a condition of their very existence - something they must experience so they could appreciate joy. Didyme had grown accustomed to sensing it whenever she chose to move among them, choosing the right occasions to use her gift on them unsuspectingly. Though they must experience it, they did not always have to. Some sorrow was able to be dispersed to be felt another day, to stop the weight from crushing them. Some sorrow was particularly potent - as potent as blood from an open wound - and she had learnt to sniff it out just as easily.

She had followed the woman to the outskirts of town, toward a steep incline. Her sorrow seeped from her, covered head to toe in an invisible loss that Didyme felt reach for something deep within her own memories. Her youngest siblings cut down by war. You could have prevented it, you bastard! Fingers twitch, still feeling as though they were pounding against Aro's chest as she wept. Why me? Why me?! I should have died with them! A deep, deep, sorrow even her usual optimistic outlook could not fight. It had wanted to pull her in to itself, drown the life from her. That was what this woman felt now, she knew it. The cliff was calling her like a siren song, making whatever lay at its depths seem more appealing than what she had experienced in this life. She had stayed carefully behind her until they reached an opening, taking the opportunity to ask if she required assistance.

"Forgive me, my child, but I do not think you are entirely yourself right now." She knows the words must seem odd leaving her mouth. The woman looked at least 4 years her senior despite Didyme having more than three millennia on her. But something tells Didyme the woman needed a guiding presence more than anything right then.

sometimes I want to slit my throat and cut deep into my arms but I can't do that, not infront of everyone

You can click and drag to make cuts that bleed on this website, fataltotheflesh.com! The faster you drag, the more blood you get. Works on both desktop and mobile (I personally like desktop more but the gifs are from mobile! Please link back to this post if you reupload the gifs)

Great for when you need the catharsis of creating a wound and/or seeing blood because it gives you that but doesn't damage you or anyone else!

WHY....just why you made me cry..... God why it's like hanahaki disease whyyyyyy

Unrequited love, any ship, that one where a song starts playing in someone's head once they fall in love and will keep playing until the person goes insane or until the person they fell in love with confesses, but they kill themselves before the other one gets a chance to?

Just an idea

do it or you're white

A/n: Hey, it didn’t take her months after the last one this time! I still apologize though ‘cause I know this was still sent in so long ago. Also I may have gotten carried away uhhh. Safe to say, I loved the prompt and my head and fingers went brrr. I apologize in advance. Hope you like it, fam!

Too Close, Too Late

Warning/s: Major Character Death, suicide, mention of suicide attempts, suicidal ideation, self-harm, figurative mentions of sharp objects, panic attacks, unrequited love, please please tell me if I missed anything

Pairing/s: Unrequited Analogical (Virgil x Logan)

Word Count: 6898 words

Song: Too Close by Alex Clare

~~~~~

You know I'm not one to break promises

I don't want to hurt you but I need to breathe

Virgil drags out a breath as he plops backward onto his bed, eyes closed and headphones over his ears. Thomas has gotten attached to this one particular song lately -- “Too Close” by Alex Clare. Virgil doesn’t understand why Thomas suddenly grew a liking to it. The song was released ten years ago, and it was hardly a masterpiece. But Thomas likes it, ergo, Virgil does too, much to his dismay. 

It’s catchy, though. He’ll give it that.

He’s put his playlist on shuffle for the past few days to try and get the song out of his system, but for some reason the darned thing just keeps popping up, and Virgil never has the will to skip it.

It isn’t that the song is terrible, it isn’t the opposite either. It’s that it reminds him too much of a certain side; a side he’s been avoiding lately, one who’s started noticing.

It reminds him of Logan.

At the end of it all, you're still my best friend

But there's something inside that I need to release

They’ve always been close. Roman and Patton’s undying, exuberant energy was too much for them, while Janus and Remus’ chaotic antics didn’t always sit perfectly with Virgil or Logan as well. They both grew to find indulgence in harmless little debates, peace when they sat in silence on the couch reading books, company in the way they made coffee together, calling each other out for their drastically different tastes. 

He dared to call Logan his best friend, and Virgil was stupid enough to fall in love.

He knew he was truly, deeply fucked when his chest ached in warmth and his eyes stared in wonder every time Logan talked about the universe and the heavenly bodies it contained. He knew it when his breath hitched every time their hands brushed as they hunted for books in the mindscape library. He felt it when Logan left them in Patton’s room once when they were all drowning in nostalgia and no one had listened, the empty space beside him too obvious and too real. 

He realized it when Logan gave him that audiobook gift card for Christmas and they spent the whole afternoon browsing through catalogues and listening side by side. He confirmed it when he stayed with Logan through a stressful week, getting him to smile for the first time in days, keeping the beauty of his laughter all to himself.

He falls in love with Logan a little bit more each day that it hurts to even just be near him; close enough to touch, but never daring to. 

Which way is right, which way is wrong

How do I say that I need to move on

You know we're headed separate ways

Logan is the sun-- dazzling, bright, and radiant in all the magnificence of its rays, but scalding,  deadly, dangerous once one veers close, lest they desire to suffer ‘till their forms are reduced to nothing but ash.

And maybe Virgil is already burnt, walking Thomas’ mindscape as ash, wanting to drift through the breeze if only to graze Logan’s brilliance at a microscopic scale, forever fearing the possibility of disintegrating into anything further.

He wants to stay friends, he really does. Every second he spends in avoidance of Logan is a thorn to his chest, and he pretends not to notice the lack of luster in Logan’s voice when he declines yet another visit to the library earlier that day. He feels awful subjecting his best friend to this isolation, and it feels just as excruciating for Virgil to lock himself away like this.

When he thinks of being with Logan, he thinks of how he relishes in his presence, how he feels so much at ease, how he can be himself, how he treasures every star they’ve counted and every song they’ve listened to. But he also thinks of how much he longs to linger in his arms, how he wishes to cup his face in his hands, how he yearns to link his fingers with Logan’s, to trace every fine line in his features, drink in his every word and cherish his every breath. He thinks of how he wants more than what they have, what they are.

Then, as the song comes to an end, he thinks of how he cannot have that, and he thinks of how it hurts.

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

There's nothing I can really say

I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more

Roman invites him out of his room later that night to join them for dinner. Patton always tries to rope everyone together with different activities. None of them mind the efforts; in fact, some of Pat’s pursuits were well received and appreciated, becoming habitual and routine. It’s just that each of them were all so different, too diverse for these events to come about naturally.

Virgil remembers the last time he declined one of Morality’s little get togethers and has well-learned from it. 

He doesn’t know whether it was by chance, fate, or choice that the empty seat laid out for him happens to be beside Logan, but he notices how Logan’s eyes are locked on him as he approaches, and Virgil decides to be courteous enough to look at him back and shoot him a smile. 

Already he feels the rapid beating of his heart, the overwhelming rush of emotions, the falling of his guard. He reminds himself that Anxiety is not supposed to feel safe. His entire facet pivots around emergency exits, towering walls, jolts of fear, and guards paying vigil. Yet as his elbow brushes against Logan’ sleeve sitting down, he feels the trust and tranquility hidden beneath the friendship and infatuation. He fears it, tries to clamp down the feelings rising in his chest, and eats in silence.

Got to be true to myself

The whole table settles into light conversation. Every time Logan talks Virgil’s cheeks grow the slightest bit hotter, yet he remains unspeaking. Logan tries to spur Virgil into joining the talk, tempting him with mentions of double-edged song lyrics and book titles; but he only replies with halved answers and carefully guarded words. If he cannot distance himself physically, then perhaps he can still do so in other ways. 

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

Then he hears it. It’s soft, and almost unnoticeable, but Virgil hears it. His neck snaps to the side right in the middle of Logan’s sentence, trying to look for the source of that same song.

“Virgil? What’s wrong?” Logan asks, and Virgil’s eyes flit towards him, ears still picking up on the faint sounds of the song.

“Don’t you hear it, Lo?” It feels new to be talking to Logan again like this, but he pushes his former agenda aside, if only to at least find the source of the music.

Logan looks around, fork hovering over the food and neck stretching to listen. “I do not hear anything, Virgil.”

Virgil looks to the rest and finds them listening in as well, only for them to confirm nothing but the sounds of cutlery and breathing. As he takes another glance at Logan’s familiar, worried face, the song seems to resound louder.

So I'll be on my way

“Virge? What are you hearing, kiddo?” Patton inquires, napkin clutched loosely in his hand.

Virgil’s fingers shake around his silver utensils, spooked and confused at the premise of no one else but him hearing the recognizable riff. He considers telling them, but anxiety makes him dread what they must think of him once he reveals his plight, what Logan might say upon knowledge of his ridiculous predicament.

So he doesn’t.

“Sorry, uh… it was nothing, probably. Just thought I heard something from the imagination. Maybe I just need sleep or whatever.”

The line works on most of them, sending them into a cascade of reminders for Virgil to take better care of himself, and a few teasing words from Janus and Remus. Logan stays silent, and from the corner of Virgil’s eyes it’s hard to miss how Logan’s brows furrow, before it smoothes again into the usual stoicism he holds often.

The song comes to an end, and Virgil thinks his suffering ends there.

From beside him, Logan stands abruptly. He thanks Patton for the meal, places his dishes in the dishwasher, and retreats into his room. His absence both relieves and disappoints Virgil, bringing him back to when he’d usually follow suit with a half-coherent debate topic on hand, ready to get verbally beaten by Logan in a light-hearted battle of wits.

He doesn’t expect the song to start again.

You gave me more that I can return

Yet there's so much that you deserve

He’s mostly kept to his room since the dinner. He spent the entirety of that night hunting for the source of the music. He checked his phone, his speakers, his headphones. He ventured through the mindscape to relentlessly hunt for where it was coming from, only to come back defeated, tired, and losing his mind over hearing the song for more than ten times in a single night.

He concluded, as he stood in the middle of his messy room, that it was coming from his mind. He didn’t sleep that night, and he still can’t now. It’s grown a bit louder over the days. He tries to ignore it, blasting louder music to drown it out or occupying himself with watching conspiracy videos and writing half-assed poetry until the sun rises yet again without his knowledge. 

But the song’s ceaseless beats continue its tune, like a broken record left to play for eternity.

Nothing to say, nothing to do,

I've nothing to give

He finds his answer at the one-week mark, after scouring countless of articles on the web and timing his visits to the library at times when no one, especially Logan is around. It’s an odd ordeal being in a library when Alex Clare’s voice is playing over and over in your head at a certain volume. He reads about a thing called Musicalia and how this curse happens when one falls into the unfortunate circumstance of unrequited love, only ending once the love is finally reciprocated. That is, assuming the individual has not lost themselves to insanity yet.

The words brand itself in his consciousness, mingling with the notes and lyrics on-repeat. Virgil shuts the book close with trembling hands and heaving breaths, panic threatening to take him over. He tips his head back and breathes, trying his utmost best to keep a steady rhythm despite the confusing tempo in his ears. Images of Logan find its way into the forefront of his thoughts, memories playing out in time to the song, biting Virgil with every lyric and moment his brain throws at him.

He recalls the number of times Logan had emphasized how he did not feel things and how Virgil always corrected him after, telling him to quit denying the fact and spending whole nights in Logan’s room trying to prove to him that he does indeed have the capacity for emotion. 

Though Logan never believed it, Virgil always did-- still does. However, the prospect of Logan harboring feelings for Virgil? It was more impossible than a rock growing wings. Virgil desperately tries to stop the tears from flowing once he thinks about how Logan may never see Virgil the way he sees him, how there is nothing about himself Logan or anyone can possibly love beyond friendship, and how Logan will only ever see him as that. A friend.

“Too Close” restarts again, and he yells, hoping the echoing of his screams will be enough to scare away its taunting notes. He yells as he thinks about how he might have to live with this song trapped in his head forever. 

He cries as he realizes he may not even have forever.

But he can stay sane. He will stay sane. For himself, for Thomas, and for Logan.

I must leave without you

You know we're headed separate ways

He knows he cannot hide in his room forever, and circumstances where he is forced to leave the comforts of his room are unavoidable. None of the sides can control when they are summoned, so Virgil learns to divide his attention. He trains himself to push the record player to the back of his mind to listen to what the rest have to say. He grows accustomed to hiding the twitching of his eyes, the throbbing of his head, and the gritting of his teeth. He clamps down pained groans in front of the others and manages to hold conversations without looking off into space too often.

He still talks with Logan, albeit professionally. They discuss the advantages and disadvantages of attending a social gathering, right times to hold livestreams, mistakes and inconsistencies in their scripts. Virgil sees how the wonder in Logan’s irises have diminished, how the words have lessened, how the cadence of his voice has flattened. And Virgil aches to reach out if only to see Logan’s smile again, to laugh with him until their stomachs hurt, to wear his tie and have him wear his hoodie, to have things back to where they were before.

But every minute he spends with Logan is another notch higher in his curse’s volume, another hit on the replay button, another shard in his head and a thorn in his heart. So he swallows his yearning and keeps their acquaintanceship as a forlorn shot at dwindling his own suffering. 

Sometimes, Virgil thinks if he should instead go the opposite route and restart the fire; mend their friendship and hope for it to grow into something beautiful, something that will throw him out of this endless loop. But every time the suggestion comes to him, the insecurities and the anxiety attack ten-fold, reminding him that Logan never will, especially not now. And he again chooses to instead see how far he can push the fragile threads of his mind.

How long can he last in this never-ending nightmare?

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

There's nothing I can really say

It gets louder with each passing day.  He is not sure how many weeks or months have passed, but to him it’s been eternity. 

Other times he gives in, hopelessly singing along and tapping his palms and fingers against his desk with nothing to do but ride along the song’s sickening, lively beat. He’s memorized it by now, knowing every rise and fall of the singer’s voice and every pitch of the synthetic accompaniment. He doesn’t even register any longer when the song has ended and when it’s started again. 

Most times he’s frantic and furious, exhausted and desperate to have one minute of silence. During those days he loses his control over his body and he lets rip the loudest, ear-curdling screams into the expanses of his room as he throws everything he can lay his hands on. He digs his fingernails into his scalp as if tearing open the skin there will release the song from its cranial prison. He helplessly runs his hands across his face, nails dragging against pale skin, breaths loud and heavy.

All the while he can only think of Logan, the very virus who caused him his anguish and the only person who can cure him of it. Logan, the beacon in the night he blindly flew into, like a moth drawn into the brightest flame in the sky. 

I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more

Got to be true to myself

He’s on his bed hugging his body tight one night, tear stains still fresh and lips mumbling the godforsaken lyrics when it happens. 

He almost doesn’t hear it over the deafening sound waves of the cursed song, but there’s a knock.

He hauls himself out of bed, does a quick check in the mirror, wipes his eyes and dabs powder over his face to give a semblance of stability, and breathes deep as he opens the door.

The volume hikes up again once he sees who’s behind it, his heart hammers in his chest, and it takes all of his strength not to wince from the sheer loudness of the song.

Logan looks like a deer caught in headlights, as though he was not expecting Virgil to open the door. He’s carrying a tray with a plate of Crofters-filled pastries and two glasses of juice, standing slightly awkwardly in his place. Virgil stands just as rigidly, fingers in a death grip on the door knob.

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

“Oh, uhm, hel--salutations, Virgil,” Logan begins, face back into a neutral expression while his arms shake ever so slightly. “Janus and Patton tried their hand at baking a while ago and requested me to bring some in for you. They’re asking for a sort of ‘peer review’ on their work, if you don’t mind.”

Virgil’s grip on the doorknob tightens while his fight or flight instincts try to kick in. His hands then quickly fly out to quite clumsily take the tray from Logan, the slight brush of their fingers intoxicating.

“Cool. I’ll tell them how it is later. Tell them I said ‘thanks’ for me, Lo.” Virgil begins to move the door closed with his foot. “Now, uh, if that’s all--”

“Wait!” Logan sets a hand on the door from his side, keeping it open, eyes wide and staring into Virgil’s intently. “I have also been meaning to discuss something with you, if I may.”

Their eyes stay on each other through the small opening, the tray shaking slightly as the song continues to blare through his mind, and Logan speaks again.

“Please.”

Virgil swears he hears so much emotion in that one word that he double checks to see if this person in front of him is actually Logan. Despite the loud alarms saying otherwise, he finds his walls crumbling once again in front of this man and before he knows it, his foot is nudging the door open.

“Okay. Come in.”

Logan does, and the emotion is expertly wiped off his face. “Thank you.”

Virgil sets the tray on his desk as he sits on his swivel chair, and Logan silently asks permission to sit on his bed. Virgil gives him the ‘go’ signal in the form of a nod and a pained smile. The moment feels wrong. Both of them are too silent, too distant, yet the music in Virgil’s mind is too loud, too alive.

“So, what did ya’ wanna talk about?”

Logan looks down for a bit before looking back up at Virgil. “I only want to know how you are fairing, Virgil. It has been… a while since we last held proper conversation outside of work.”

Virgil feels something in his chest grow heavier. Instinctively, he grabs a pastry from the plate, leans back against the chair, and takes a bite; a false display of laxness and soundness. “Thanks for the concern, pocket protector, but I’m doing a-OK. Honestly don’t know why you’d ask that.”

“Maybe I asked it because you are obviously not.” There’s much more of a bite now in Logan’s tone, and Virgil knows him well enough to be wary when his voice shifts in this manner.

“What are you talking about, Lo? I’ve been attending the meetings, I show up fine when summoned. Hell, I’ve never missed one of Pat’s little ‘family nights’--”

“Let me rephrase the question, then.” Logan clears his throat and the quickest burst of emotion flashes through his features; gone as quick as it came. “How are we fairing?”

The pastry stops short of his mouth, and the song reaches another verse. “Pardon?”

Logan visibly breathes, chest rising and falling asynchronously to Virgil’s personal jukebox. “Virgil, if you need space, then that is respectable. If you wish to have time for yourself then I cannot say or do anything against it.” Logan’s hand goes to his tie, moving as if to adjust it but ending up crumpling it in his grip. “My only request is that… if I have done anything, anything at all that has caused you this distress, anything that may have caused you to disengage from our usual routines together, please tell me.”

Logan keeps face, but the slight gleam in his eyes gives him away. The energy of the song ruins the moment but it doesn’t make the emotions between them any less real.

“Logan… it’s-- it’s not that--”

“Then what is it, Virgil? The easiest course of action for me to take would be to accept your answer, rid myself of unnecessary guilt, and let you be. But these previous months I cannot help but notice how your approach towards me has changed along with a decrease in our customary activities together. I’ve noticed how you have been avoiding me, Virgil, and if I have done anything erroneous at all to bring upon your behavior then I ask that you tell me, so I may make my amends.” Logan’s lips tremble after his words and he waits for Virgil to speak.

Virgil merely stares right back, heart about to beat out of his chest and temples about to burst from throbbing. “Logan, you’ve done nothing wrong, I swear--”

“Then what can I do?” His voice shakes and the neutrality of his features are gone, his most raw emotions lain bare for Virgil to see. “I want what is needed to be fixed, fixed. I want to help you, Virgil. I want us to be okay. I want you to be okay; because I--” Logan pauses, then visibly gulps. “--I am your friend.”

There it is. Friend. The word mocks him, reminds Virgil of his place. He feels a piece of his heart shatter while the song blares even louder, a possibility he wishes never existed.

“Is this not, by definition, what friends do?”  

A sticky concoction of emotions and panic lodges itself in Virgil’s chest, and his next words slip out of his mouth before he even has the chance to think about it twice. 

“No. Friends are supposed to not snoop around and milk answers to wash the guilt out of his hands. Friends are supposed to understand when the other doesn’t want to say shit. And friends leave the other alone when he wishes him to.” Virgil barely hears himself over the thunderous tune, but he is aware of how much he is shaking, sees how uncomposed and trembling Logan is in front of him.

It doesn’t suit him.

So I'll be on my way

“Do you… do you wish for me to? Do you want me to leave you alone?”

No. Virgil’s head and heart both scream “no,” but he is reminded of the dangers, of the pain he might cause both of them if he drags this on any longer. His lips move on its own accord.

“Yes. Please.” It’s barely a whisper, but the pain in Logan’s eyes tells him that he was heard. 

A single tear rolls down Logan’s cheek, but he irons out his features, acting as though the answer doesn’t hurt him. He stands up, smoothes the creases of his tie and shirt, and takes one last look at Virgil. 

“Then as your friend, I will gladly oblige. Don’t forget to send Patton and Janus your thoughts on the confectionary. Good day, Virgil” Logan is out of the door in a few quick strides; pastries and drink forgotten on Virgil’s desk.

So I'll be on my way

The panic finally dislodges itself from Virgil’s throat, and he lets go. He shakily moves to his bed and hugs his knees close to his chest, breaths painful and heaving, cries bouncing off his walls. He regrets every word he said as it replays in his mind, an incoherent mix of his own and Alex Clare’s words fighting for dominance in his head. The music continues to mock him, his hands coming up to once again claw at his scalp and pull at his hair in the midst of his attack.

He knows he was wrong. Oh, so wrong. But it is too late now to do anything. He’s too far gone. The derisive replays of both the events from earlier and the fucking song tortures him, digging figurative daggers into his brain, leeching the sanity out of him. He does not even notice when he begins banging his head against the wall, eyes closed, jaw clenched tight, groans and screams falling out of his lips.

He only stops when he opens his eyes to see red on his bedroom wall. 

It takes a while for the panic to settle down and even longer for him to be coherent enough to tend to his wound. 

As images of Logan flood his mind, the song ends and starts again.

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

They never talk again after that, save for when the circumstance gravely requires it. Eventually the amount of scabs on Virgil’s scalp, head, and face along with the grave repetitiveness of the music make it near-impossible for Virgil to come out and face anyone. He spends most of his time hysterically trying to drown the musical noise from within him. The bags in his eyes are enough to fool anyone into thinking it as eyeshadow, his pallor a ghostly white, cheeks sunken, and eyes deeply haunted.

He whiles away the hours pacing his room, lips mouthing the lyrics, fingers picking at the threads of his jacket, feet tripping over each other as it treks through his wrecked quarters. He hopes, wishes and prays for it to stop. He’s grown addicted to the few seconds of silence brought about by the song’s ending, slowly fading out into tranquil nothing, and he finds himself chasing it ‘till it restarts. 

He cannot remember the last time he’s slept, eaten, or opened his door for anyone. If they had knocked at his door, he would not have known. He hears nothing else anymore; nothing but the music’s unending harmony.

There's nothing that I can really say

In the violent waves of his cursed melody, he still sees Logan. Often he lays in bed, staring at his black ceiling fan, allowing his memories to play out as movies before him. His exhausted form luxuriates in images of the two of them laying in Logan’s room, watching the constellations on his ceiling dance above them. He relives how Logan named each one, telling Virgil of the myths behind them and the stories they bring. He remembers how he’d tease Logan with astrology, waiting until Logan scrunches his nose in distaste of such “fallacious predictions.”

Often in his maddened state, his thoughts tread further. He thinks of how he wants to keep his hand in Logan’s, how he longs to card his fingers through his soft locks, aches to count every dip of his face and every spot on his skin, wishes to lie side-by-side and face-to-face, forms locking together like jigsaw pieces, yearns to memorize the feel of Logan’s lips on his own.

He misses him, cares for him, wants him, needs him. He loves him.

His tangled thoughts bring him back to when he first read about his condition in the library. There are only two ways to end this loop. Either Logan reciprocates his love, or he shuts down the very source of the music -- himself. One of those two are more improbable, more impossible than the other, and Virgil dreads to think that it might be the former.

I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more

He’ll be lying when he says he hasn’t thought of it before. There have been multiple days where his brain cracks under the pressure of the song’s torturous tones, where the invitation is all too tempting, the thought of release too sweet to resist. But he’s stood strong, still here and alive with countless scars and painful memories to prove it.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can stay that way.

It’s a daunting thing to realize that this song may stay in his head forever, that he may have to live with this for all of Thomas’ lifetime. But he’s so, so tired. He just wants the song to end. He wants the instrumental to fade out into nothingness for one last time and to never hear it fade back in again. Is it too much to ask? 

Now, as Virgil fruitlessly fights to claw the chorus out of his skull, there are only three things in his mind. The motherfucking song, the love of his life, and how badly he wants to end everything.

He drags himself to the mirror with a pained sigh and runs his eyes over himself. He traces every wound, scab, and scar on his face and body with his hands, fingers moving along to the relentless beat. Tears flow from his eyes yet he laughs. Virgil cackles as he counts every mark dotting his sickly skin. His nails drag across every one as he giggles and gasps out the lyrics, body swaying out of rhythm, arms reaching up to the imaginary constellations in his ceiling. He keeps his head tipped back, eyes straight north as he loudly sings along. 

Got to be true to myself

He twirls, and twirls, and twirls until he falls onto the ground, a non-existent phantom of Logan catching him, lifting him up and setting him down onto his bed. He feels wetness seeping out the back of his head and remembers when Roman brought them all into the Imagination, where Virgil had pulled Logan out of the shade and into the rain. Logan had taken his hand and led him into a dance, and they laughed and spun ‘till the sunset shone through the droplets.

The manic laughter dies down slowly, and in its place he’s thrown head-first into the first real taste of fear he’s had today. His thoughts veer into dangerous territory yet again, and Virgil finds himself staring once more at the steady spiraling of his ceiling fan. His gaze drifts off and lands at the top of his cabinet, where a roll of rope peacefully sits.

Fatigued and deep into the inky depths of insanity, Virgil breathes; then he makes himself a deal.

If the song starts again, that’s his final straw.

A dazed smile creeps on his face as he sings the last chorus, waiting for the inevitable way the last bit of instrument dies down. He closes his eyes and listens. It fades in, then--

You know I'm not one to break promises

His eyes snap open, and he snickers. The snicker turns into a giggle, and soon he’s cackling, chortling to the emptiness of his room. That was his signal. It can finally be over. Logan should be proud of him for coming up with this solution on his own.

He leaps up and almost falls out of balance. He mouths the words as he drags a chair to his dresser, climbing up and grabbing the rope. Before he does anything else, he pulls out a letter pressed between the pages of his and Logan’s favorite book. It’s creased and not so purely white anymore from how many times Virgil had considered ending his suffering, chickening out at the last minute every time.

But not this time. He is a man of his word. He places the envelope with a neatly-written “Logan” decorating it back down on the book.

The next steps are easy enough, and the killer tunes make everything much more fun. He feels silly placing his head through the clumsily-tied noose while standing on a rolling chair. He closes his eyes, conjures the beautiful image of Logan to the front of his mind, and kicks.

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

So I'll be on my way

The rope is rough on his neck, itchy and uncomfortable. The panic settles in quickly, just as fast as the breath is knocked out of his lungs, denied a way of re-entry. He spasms and fights for air, body looking for anchorage he’ll never have. 

Knock knock knock.

His eyes widen when he hears it, almost missing it through the unbearably loud chorus playing in his head. He shoves his fingers between the rope and his neck, a final fight for life just to know who it is.

“Virgil?”

So I’ll be on my way

He gasps as he recognizes the voice. The knocks continue its ministrations as Virgil’s vision blurs further and further around the edges. His lungs begin to burn, punishing him for the lack of oxygen as his legs continue to struggle for footing.

The knocks grow louder and more frantic but the door stays closed. He’s too late, Virgil thinks. He whispers an apology to his room, hoping it might relay the message to Logan for him once he’s gone.

A tear falls from Virgil’s eye as he feels the last huff of breath leave his lungs, vision going black and eyes rolling to the back of his head. He closes his eyes to the dazzling imagery of Logan’s smile, the sound of knocking, and the fading of music.

So I’ll be on my way

It doesn’t start again.

~~~

Finding Virgil’s body was the most horrifying experience Logan could have ever subjected himself to. He had cradled Virgil’s lifeless form back then, his fingers horrifically running through every uneven mark littering his ghastly skin, tears falling onto Virgil’s hoodie and cries billowing around the room.

It’s Remus who had handed Logan the letter with a sorrowful look on his face. Logan had torn it open then and there, with Virgil’s hauntingly light form still limp in his arms. All reservation for emotion had been thrown out the window once he finished through it, his chest aching and entire body trembling once Virgil’s entire explanation, story, apology, and confession had been laid out for Logan to take in.

Virgil loved him. Virgil suffered through that maddening condition because he loved him. Virgil is dead because he loved Logan.

He’s dead because he thought Logan did not love him back.

And for a while Logan thought the same thing. For so long he had denied his capacity for emotion, pushed down any and all indications of romantic affections, made way for objectivity and logic.

But he loved Virgil-- loves Virgil; and he was too caught up in his role to admit it. He was too late.

He supposes he deserves the pain he’s harboring now. Virgil in his letter had told him never to blame himself, that he’d come back to haunt him if Logan ever does. And Logan tries. He does not succeed all the time, but it’s a valiant effort. 

He is still Logic, and so he does what he knows best -- he plans. The next best step would be to move on from the depressing event and carry on with their respective responsibilities. It’s a difficult task to execute given how his memories with Virgil invade his every sleeping and waking moment, but he desperately convinces himself that he has to.

It’s what the others would have told him. It’s what Thomas needs. It’s what Virgil would have wanted. 

They all wait. Anxiety is still a crucial part of Thomas’ personality, and it is only a matter of time before the mindscape conjures up a persona to take Virgil’s place. Logan thinks it’s better this way. This will be an entirely different individual, one he holds no emotional attachment to, one that will not discredit his unbiased facet, one that is not his best friend, not Virgil. 

Logan does not know whether it’s a good or bad thing that the new Anxiety comes late at night, when Logan goes to refill his coffee mug, standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. Logan’s breath comes out shaking as he drinks in the same jacket, same purple shirt, ripped jeans and purple-laced shoes. The facet meets Logan’s gaze, looking lost and scared, and Logan swallows when he sees the same black eyeshadow under his eyes, the same tufts of hair that fall in front of his face, and same terrible posture.

But his pallor looks a healthy color, not a single mark mars his skin, and there is no recognition behind his irises. Logan reminds himself that this is not his Virgil, evens his breathing, and does what is expected of him.

“Salutations. I’m Logan, Thomas’ logical side.” Logan begins his introduction, cautious to keep his distance from the obviously confused side. “Apologies. It appears you have materialized at a late hour, when everyone else is asleep. May I… may I have your name? If you feel comfortable doing so, of course.”

The side twists his fingers in his hoodie strings, an action that screams too much of Virgil. It takes his entire willpower not to break down then and there.

“I’m Virgil, Thomas’ Anxiety, I think.”

The name has Logan’s breath catching in his throat. Suddenly, he’s filled with the overwhelming urge to cry, to envelope this side in the tightest hug and not let go, to tell him how much he loves him and mutter unending apologies ‘till his lungs hurt. But his rationality still takes the upper hand, and he exhales, adamant on keeping his professionalism, set on carrying out his duties.

“Welcome, Virgil. There is already a room set for you in the corridor. I can escort you there right now if you wish to. After all, rest is a requirement to maintain optimal heal--”

“I’m, uh, actually not tired right now,” Anxiety says, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I dunno if this is an effect of just having been born but uh, yeah. I don’t feel tired at all.” The side huffs out a single laugh and looks at Logan.

Logan wants nothing more than to retreat into his room and prepare himself for the surely torturous days he will be having ahead of him; but he knows to be courteous and dismisses his own selfish desires. “Ah, of course. Then would you like to remain here for the time being? I, myself, am not feeling fatigued yet.” Logan pauses, watching as the new side hops up on the counter, swinging his feet and looking around at his new environment. “In fact, I was just about to make another cup of coffee. Would you like some?”

Anxiety’s eyes light up and he nods. Logan obliges and makes drinks for them both. He doesn’t realize that he’s just made Virgil’s exact coffee mix, brown and creamy with just the lightest bite of bitterness. The mug is already in New Anxiety’s hands before Logan can realize the fact. 

The side thanks him, takes a sip, and closes his eyes with a hum and the softest smile on his face. He leans back until his head rests against an overhead cupboard before taking another sip out of the concoction.

“Logan, right?” He asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Correct. How’s the drink?”

“It’s perfect. Just how I’d like it.”

Logan does his best not to choke on his own mug. 

They slip into light conversation after that with Logan remaining standing, hip leaning back against the counter only a few inches away from where Anxiety sits.

As the hours drag on, Logan internally gasps in anguish at how achingly Virgil this new side is. He’s got everything down to his smirk, his manner of speaking, choice of words, the way his hand clasps over his mouth in laughter and how his voice drops lower in teasing.

Every second he spends with the new side twists the figurative stake already lodged in his chest. They talk for as long as they can hold their eyes open, going into topics he and Virgil once talked about under the starry night sky. For a second, Logan thinks this may be his Virgil, yet he’s reminded by the way this side has no memory, no knowledge of the library’s awaiting secrets nor of the constellations’ mythical stories that he is indeed, not.

It hurts, but Logan stays. He stays by this facet’s side until he is tired enough to settle into his room, leaving Logan to gasp for air in his own quarters; mind going haywire at the prospect of him having to deal with a Virgil he can reach with his very fingertips, so painfully real and close to the love he once knew, but never being able to touch him.

Logan misses him, and this new, living, breathing reminder that he is still very much in love with someone he cannot have burns him like a hundred lightning strikes at once.

You know I'm not one to break promises

I don't want to hurt you but I need to breathe

At the end of it all, you're still my best friend

But there's something inside that I need to release

The song starts.

~~~~~

I hope y’all can forgive me for that. Don’t hesitate to hit reblog and hmu if you want to be added/removed from the tag list! Keep hydrated and safe, loves! <3

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