awaiting the hearts

Greg doesn’t get the credit he deserves for being a highly shrewd and creative kid. He’s maybe five years old, alone in the woods, hungry and disoriented, freezing his tiny face off, and he not only meets the Beast’s challenges (which, if you ask me, weren’t even intended to have answers) with clever solutions of his own devising, but manages to procure the necessary materials and bring them back.

I like to imagine that the Beast was secretly pretty frustrated by the end of it, because the idea was to set some classic Impossible Tasks and paralyze his victim with the enormity of the undertaking–a tactic he’s probably used before–and instead Mr. Never Give Up rose to the situation so dauntlessly that the only way to make him despair of his life was to just plain hang him out to dry and await results.

  • Hook: Emma, you’ve given me A Heart Full of Love.
  • Emma: Killian, I used to be On My Own, but now I have you.
  • Archie: You guys do realize your wedding vows are just Les Mis references, right?
  • Emma: Dammit Archie, this is the musical episode and we’re going to milk it for all it’s worth.

pluto is astrology. people fear pluto as she encompasses death and chaotic emotion, but i find it to be the most peaceful and loving energy of all.

pluto isn’t out to kill. as someone begins to die, pluto wraps a heavenly cloth around them, and holds them close. the moon weeps and the wolves howl in a team of discordant harmony, but at that moment, they are soaked in holy water and decorated with feathers and jewels. they begin levitate and the stars bow their heads in mourning, the sun splits in two. the flowers behead themselves. just for you. a re-awakening ceremony, attended by the gods. nothing is more bitter and upsetting, but in that, we find ourselves, and who we are meant to be.

pluto isn’t the end, either. scorpio is just stage viii. you have four more lifetimes awaiting you, my sweet-heart

  • yakov: you two get over here
  • georgi: noo,,, my heart weeps the sorrows of my past,,, its demons haunting my every moment,,, a desolate inevitable death awaits,,,
  • yurio: my heart aches for the day everyone just stops,,,, the noise,, the screams,,, the pain,,,, it all will never fade,,,, the agony will overtake me,,,,
  • yakov: i swear to god
On Anger at the Healthcare Machine.

I follow our INR patients on coumadin on a weekly to monthly basis. There was one patient, Randy, who was never quite compliant, but was always cheerful and friendly. 

Randy liked his drinks, and would joke when his INR was too high or too low that it “must be the whiskey”. Randy was on warfarin because of a heart valve replacement about 10 years ago. In the beginning, I always chastised him - nicely - to not drink and to do better to have his INR taken when I told him to take it. But overall, he was not a difficult patient and I always looked forward to getting to talk with him.

On one of our monthly calls, he had a congested cough, and I heard his wife gasp in the background. He was saying, “No, no, don’t tell them.” and his wife took over. 

“Randy is coughing up blood off and on for weeks now! And he won’t tell the doctor because he doesn’t want to have to take time off work.” 

Rightfully concerned, we made an appointment to see him in the office that week. The doctor ordered an urgent CT scan, only to have it denied by Randy’s insurance. 

Really?! You’re going to deny a CT scan of a man with a mechanical heart valve who’s coughing up blood? Insurance drives me mad. 

After two weeks of appeals and peer-to-peer calls, the insurance finally let us move forward, and he got his CT. I came in the next morning to a flurry of messages in my EMR - radiology apparently hadn’t been able to get ahold of the physician, but there was a problem with the valve and the troubling signs of the beginning of an aortic dissection. The back up doctor called the patient at 5am and urged him and his wife into the ER. 

I checked the chart and saw, thankfully, Randy had followed advice and gone to the ED. Reading through the ED notes, it looked like there were no beds available in the hospital, so he was being held in the ED to await workup with the heart team. I felt anxious and checked his chart every couple hours for updates, along with our physician who called the ED docs for report a couple times that day. We both lamented that it was terrible he had to sit in the ED because of a lack of ICU beds - he should be in surgery already! My doc decided to ask them to transfer to another hospital, but got roadblocked at every turn.

And then…at 3pm that day, I went to check his chart again, and received the notification - “You are entering the chart of a deceased patient. Would you like to proceed?”. I instantly clicked “no” - I must have clicked the wrong Randy!

Typing in the info again, I again got the warning, and my heart sank. 

Randy’s pressure had been climbing, and despite repeated administrations of IV beta blockers, they couldn’t get his pressure down. He gasped, screamed, and began to code. The team knew he’d fully dissected. In less than two minutes, he went from v. fib to asystole, and in less than 15 minutes, they called time of death.

I was mad for days. I still am mad, and that’s part of why it took me months to write this. At every turn, if something had gone better, he’d likely still be alive. 

If he’d told us sooner. 

If his insurance hadn’t denied and fought us for the CT. 

If our CT availability hadn’t put him off two more days.

If the physician could’ve been reached immediately. 

If the hospital would’ve had available beds.

If they would’ve transferred him to a hospital that had availability.

If. If. If. 

So many of the ifs caused by a broken healthcare system in which people you’ve never met determine whether you can have the tests ordered by the physician who has known you for 15 years and went through years upon years of schooling. A system in which state hospitals are overrun with people who cannot afford primary care, often blocking access to people who need it most.

A system in which sees dollar signs in open heart surgery instead of a life to save. 

A Miracle of Love

For about 4 weeks, I rotated through the cardiac care unit (CCU) during my intern year of residency.  Many would argue that the sickest patients in the hospital resided within the CCU. I came into the rotation hoping to perform several invasive procedures to further my skills as a young doctor. Patients could end up spending months in the hospital waiting for a new heart. While waiting, they were subjected to a litany of labs tests and interviews just to have the opportunity to be placed on the transplant list. Amidst the white walled hallways and vasoactive drips was a small woman in Room 503. Ms. S we will call her. Ms. S had been a resident of the CCU for about 3 months. She was a small, middle-aged woman with a heart that was growing weaker and weaker each day. Several days into my rotation, a heart became available for Ms. S. The entire CCU was a buzz with the news of a fresh heart awaiting transplant. It is rare in the emergency department when I am able to actually give good news to a patient. But I will never forget the look of Ms. S when she was informed by my supervising doctor that a new heart, one of the correct size and correct immune profile to provide the lowest chance of rejection, was available for her. The look expressed almost a bewilderment coupled with insurmountable joy.

While we were preparing for the upcoming surgery, the only request Ms. S had was for an in-hospital wedding to her longtime boyfriend. Faced with probably the most important surgery of her life, the patient’s mind was on something she waited her whole life for and if something were to go wrong with the surgery, she wanted to be united with the love of her life. And that union was not only with her boyfriend but also with her God facilitated by our hospital chaplain. Over the next week, my time in the hospital was consumed by caring for sick cardiac patients and planning a wedding. Paper flowers and EKG streamers strewed all over our call room. One day prior to the scheduled surgery, the patient was transported down to the hospital chapel. She was taken by wheelchair with her intra-aortic balloon pump, covered in colorful fabrics, towed behind her. The CCU staff sat on one side of the aisle while the patient’s family sat on the other side. The patient’s loud pump was briefly turned off during the ceremony. Afterwards, the staff and family held a reception in a room nearby with cake and refreshments.

During my medical school education, we were required to spend a day shadowing a hospital chaplain. The chaplain could be of any faith and my experience was with a Catholic priest. For those reading this who have never worked with a hospital chaplain, I highly recommend the experience. I can’t promise it will be a positive experience but it will certainly be memorable. I was under a misconception that a chaplain’s function was to comfort families when a patient was close to dying. Most patients we visited were not dying but were in the hospital for an “extended” stay. Religion was an important part of their life outside the hospital and they had few outlets of expressing their faith now that they were confined to a hospital bed. The priest would read the “Sacrament of the Sick” and say a healing prayer to comfort the patient and the family. I bowed my head during the prayer and gave the family space as they cried in the arms of the chaplain. My most memorable experience took place in the room of a newborn child. The child was too sick to go home and the family requested an impromptu baptism. I, personally, had never been a part of a hospital baptism. I was elected videographer for the event and was excited at the thought of new life in the hospital vs the death and dying I expected when the day began.

In the hospital at which I work, each cardiac arrest that is called overhead will automatically send a page to several other services. One service I always see respond is the chaplain service.  This service is invaluable when it comes to consoling family after a loved one has passed away. No matter which denomination they are called for they are always willing to bring together family when they encounter an unexpected situation in the hospital. As doctors, we encounter bad outcomes on a regular basis and are expected to pick ourselves up and return to work as if nothing happened. We set aside time to inform the family of what has happened but the chaplain is able to offer more comfort by just “being there.”

As a whole, doctors are not viewed as an overtly religious species. We are viewed as pragmatic, calculating and data-driven. But medicine and religion are not mutually exclusive. When those who tell stories of witnessed miracles often cite a hospital setting. A sick family member who is close to death and has exhausted all of medicine’s resources. Then, with family’s prayers and faith, the patient will make a recovery. Some will say they have experienced a miracle, something intangible and not explained by objective data. I have seen many sick patients pass through my hospital, though it may seem like a small amount compared to a more experienced doctor. I’m not sure what my definition of a miracle would be but I think all those who have experienced a miracle would agree that you know when you are in the presence of one. Looking back at this experience, a hospital wedding prior to a heart transplant surgery, I may never have this experience again. I can now say I have experienced a miracle, a miracle of love in our hospital.

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

-Lao Tzu

Perfect  [ T.H ]

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Request: Hii! Can I request something with Tom Holland? The reader is a plus size girl and they like each other, way more than friends do, but every time Tom’s tries to tell her, she changes the subject bc he’s Tom Holland and she’s afraid that he’s kidding bc she thinks it’s impossible for someone be in love with her. In the end lots of kisses and fluff?

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1226

A/N: I. Am. So. Sorry. This. Took. So. Long. Also, I really hope this is alright for the anon who wrote this! I feel as if it did come out slightly different in the end and that my writing for this also just wasn’t great. 

Tom held your hand softly as the two of you walked through the overgrown grass of the park beside his home. The silence between you was eating at him alive and all he wanted was to speak his mind about how he felt towards you.

The two of you were already practically dating and the feelings that you felt towards each other were painfully obvious but you shied away every time Tom tried to talk about whatever it was that had been brewing between you. There was always an excuse for you to get away from the conversation.

You didn’t want to hear it from him. In fact, you were afraid of hearing it from him. You weren’t like the other girls he hangs around - at least that’s what you thought. To you, they were more beautiful. They were just more. The only thing that differentiates you from them was that they were all much skinnier. You were pretty adamant on the fact that Tom doesn’t feel anything that he says he feels for you and you were also pretty damn sure you were the butt of some sick joke he may have been playing.

But that was nowhere near true. Sure, you may be bigger than other girls but by no means did that mean you weren’t beautiful. You are beautiful. You are so much more than beautiful and just because you weren’t as thin as the other girls you see in magazines or on TV doesn’t mean that they’re any better any more beautiful than you are.

“I need to talk to you about something. You can’t-you can’t try and change the topic this time,” Tom sighs, readjusting his grip on your hand. He was honestly growing tired of you dodging the conversation that you know you need to have. “Just hear me out, yeah?”

You sigh, your eyes dropping to the grass. It was almost softer than your pillow underneath your feet, the grass tickling the exposed skin of your ankles. You were pretty much in love with Tom, there was no question about that. It was known to you that you would have to tell him, whether or not he really does like you back the same way and the thought ate away at your insides every single time you had managed to get away from this very discussion.

“What are we?” Tom sighs, “I mean, we’re basically dating right? I just - I really like you Y/N. I - I’m even in love with you and here you are, avoiding any sort of finalisation between us. I know that you feel what I feel. And I want, no, I need more than anything for you to be mine and for me to be yours. I need to hear something from you. I need your confirmation before we become something new. I need to know that you want this just as bad as I do.”

Tom’s eyes held a sincerity that went unnoticed by you. And if only you had glanced up to meet his gaze for a mere second, every single doubt you had may have just washed away. But, as he spoke you had dared not made direct eye contact with him incase it brought your nightmares to life. It would have been too painful for you to have seen anything in his brown eyes that contradicted the words that he had said.

“Say something. Please.” Tom almost whimpers. His eyebrows are furrowed as you don’t lift your head, hiding the tears that forcefully well up in your eyes from his view. You didn’t want him to see you crying.

There was an ache in your chest. No way could he mean that, right?

“Are you - are you lying, Tom? Be honest with me, please. I just–”

 “Why would I lie? How could you even think that, Y/N?” Tom was taken aback by your accusation. He was completely flabbergasted. He didn’t understand why you thought he was lying because it just didn’t make sense. His breath caught in his throat as you muttered your next words.

“I’m not good enough for you, Tom. All the other girls, they’re all so-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t even say it.”

“Why, Tom? It’s true. You could be with someone so much better for you than me. Someone more beautiful, someone just as perfect as you are. Why wouldn’t this be a joke?” You reply. Tears were slowly making their journey down your cheeks by now. The idea of hiding them completely slipped you as you moved your gaze to meet his own.

“It’s not true. None of it. How could you even say that? How could you even think that I would want to be with anyone else just because you think you aren’t as beautiful as you? Dammit, how could you even say that–that you aren’t as beautiful as any other girl?”

Tom was flustered, his cheeks painted pink as a berry. Ragged breaths left him as he awaited your answer, his heart beating at a mile’s worth per second. He just didn’t understand.

“I-I’m not like the other girls you hang out with Tom. I’m bigger, I’m just not as well, as beautiful as you deserve. I can’t give you what they can. The press already make their comments about how I’m not what the other girls are.” You stop for a minute, your words floating through the air that’s thick with tension and unspoken emotions.

“You’re so perfect, Tom,” You carry on, “I’m not.”

“So what if your not thin? You’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my damn life. And yes, I do spend time with beautiful people but none of them can compare to you. None of them. You shine, you make me-you make me feel so damn different. You don’t need to give me anything except for your love. And for fuck’s sake, anyone who says or thinks otherwise can deal with me.” Tom’s eyes welled with tears, the both of you standing facing one another. Tom’s hands grip each of your shoulders, his eyes piercing into your own.

You could see in his eyes, that he meant everything he had told you. He did love you. And it hurt him so much that you didn’t see what he saw. It hurt that you thought you weren’t good enough, that you weren’t as beautiful. Tom’s heart ached and all he wanted to do was treat you to everything this world and any other could offer. He wanted you to have it all, he wanted you to feel like the princess you are to him.

You’re perfect.” Tom rests his forehead on yours as he whispers, “You’re so fucking perfect and you have no idea what you do to me.

“Tom,” You mutter, the feeling of his breath on your face sent shivers down your spine. His eyelids flutter, his eyes sparkling under the angle of light coming from the sun. Every doubt you had about yourself disappeared as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close to him as possible. “I love you.”

“God, I love you.” His lips meet your own for a brief second, your lips tingling from the lack of warmth that you had felt. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he leaned down to place his lips on yours once more. “I love you so much.”

Next time by the will of Allah we will meet in a better place with no shackles or a cage, and all the dreadful memories and heartaches will be filled with joy and laughter instead. Don’t worry we await with our hearts yearning at your remembrance, and remember what awaits you is better than what I can offer.

The Soother of hearts awaits you from dusk till dawn,

He patiently waits for your return,

Why are you so lost in this world when another life awaits you so soon?

Without you

Originally posted by ssquadupdates

Hi! Firstly: I love your oneshots and imagines, this is my favourite blog on tumblr and thank you for giving me things to look forward to and 2. I was wondering if I may request a oneshot? If so, please could you do a digger harkness oneshot where the reader dies trying to protect him? I just need angst. Thank you and keep writing! X

For @jehantheflowerboy – I’m super sorry for the delay, please forgive me! I hope this has enough angst!

Captain Boomerang/Digger Harkness x Reader

Words: 2631

ANGST – Reader death

I promise that I tried really hard to do emotional things here but I’m not great at it!

“Well, your plan worked out so well.” Digger snarled from the window of the warehouse.
“Will you shut up?” You snapped and rushed to the window beside him. Careful not to leave yourself exposed, you peaked out of the window to access the situation while he stayed crouched beneath it.
They’d brought a squadron?

How cute.

The leader shouted through a megaphone for you both to give yourselves up peacefully, yeah like that would ever happen. You gnawed your lip, a nervous habit that Digger constantly mocked, you were sure that you’d lost The Law after your latest heist and after three days of laying low in the abandoned mannequin warehouse you’d dared to think that you were in the clear.
How wrong you were.
At least you’d gotten to spend the last few days drinking and eating with your partner in crime who also happened to be the biggest coward that you’d ever met when it came to the mannequins.

Seriously, he’d refused to sleep if any of them had been facing you both.

“What do you think?” Digger asked you, his face set in a sneer, “Shall we surrender, get ourselves some lovely little jail time, eh?” he let out a breathy scoff.
“Now Digger, where is the fun in that?” You smirked and leaned down to pat his shoulder.
He raised his eyebrows at you and when you moved your hand he mimed brushing off his shoulder so you flicked the side of his head.
Sneaking out another look at the literal Army awaiting you swallowed hard, your heart was pounding, spurred on by the pure adrenalin that coursed through your body.
“So wants the plan?” He mumbled and shuffled from under the window so that he could stand fully.
“First we need a visual, I’ll cover you.” You instructed and he readied one of his boomerangs equipped with a camera. You took a deep breath and leaned forward to smash the window with the butt of your gun and Digger rushed forward and threw the Boomerang with an efficient skill that always surprised you.
He dove back beside the window, his phone already out as he studied the footage before turning the phone to face you knowing that you were the brains of the operation when to strategy. You watched the footage, the squadron was big, bigger than you’d expected but you didn’t care to admit that to Digger.
At least you got some amusement from seeing the soldiers trying to shoot down the boomerang before it zipped back into the window and Digger caught it mid-air. Sometimes it was easy to forget how athletic he was beneath his layers of muggy clothes.

His hand clenched tightly around the boomerang, he held it ready for whatever you instructed and asked, “Well?”
“Well, it’s a complex plan but try to follow,” you started and he nodded enraptured in your explanation, “We bust out of here ‘Young Guns’ style, kill all those fuckers, go sell the jewels on, find the nearest bar and go get shitfaced. Got it?”
He gave you an unabashed grin and pulled his revolver from his inner jacket pocket, “Got it.”

With a grin and a cheeky wink to hide his panic, the pair of you set about moving the warehouse to suit your escape. You moved swiftly and it was good job too because the soldiers quickly grew bored of waiting the doors to the warehouse were blown open.
“They definitely wanted to come in.” Digger mumbled beside you and you nudged his arm with your elbow, now wasn’t the time for jokes, it was time to focus.

Do or die.                                                  

The squadron where highly trained, that was obvious just from watching them manoeuvre through your mannequin maze, they kept their ranks tight, posture  professional and weapons raised. They were out to kill but you weren’t in the mood to die, not today.

You took your time, scouting out their routes, watching their moves and when the time was right you went to work, Digger helped but he was much heavier and louder than you so he stuck to only taking out the hangers on at the back of the group.
Knives, you had found, were always messy but they were effective and most importantly they were silent and that was exactly what you needed right now. By the time you’d done one sly route of the room and with Digger’s help one the side lines, you counted two men left alive.

But they weren’t for long.

No longer worried around highlighting your presence, you shot them both dead in quick succession.
“That was cold.” Digger commented as you both turned to leave.
“Well someone had to take charge.” You teased as you pushed him playfully, not managing to move his large frame far.
Digger was turning, no doubt to slur out some bad joke, when you heard the click.


You couldn’t have miscounted.

You didn’t check to see if you were right, you just moved instinctively. Slamming your body into Digger’s you whipped out your gun and shot the solider twice.
But they’d already fired.

You landed on Digger and slumped heavily over him as you both crashed to the floor. He cursed and pushed you off harshly, surprised by the contact. You cursed as you fell back to the floor your hands instinctively finding your stomach but your eyes fixed on Digger’s coat which was saturated in blood.

Your blood.

His eyes followed yours to his jacket before running his gaze up your body to your stomach. You’d been hit, twice, and as you pressed your hands to the wounds blood seeped through your joined fingers and ran down your forearm to the floor.

In the time it had taken Digger to snap out of his shock and fall to his knees by your side, you already knew that you were a goner. One bullet wouldn’t have been so bad but even then where could he take you to save you? You were so far away from civilisation that the authorities felt save in sending in a squadron to kill you.

The thought that they’d partially succeeded made you feel sick but then, that could have been the bullets lodged in your abdomen.

Digger was stammering and sliding his hands beneath your body when your caught the lapels of his jacket with a bloody hand to stop him.
“Dig, that’s a waste of time.” You whispered, he didn’t remove his hands but moved them up so that he was holding your torso up to him.
You hissed in discomfort.
“Why did you do that? That was so stupid – why did you-” the words died on his tongue, his eyes welled as they desperately searched your face. You don’t know what he was hoping to see, maybe a sneaky smile to give away that this was all a sick practical joke?
No such luck.
“I don’t know. I just acted.” You mumbled and reached one hand up to his cheek, knowing that he wouldn’t care about the crimson that you were painting over his face, “If I thought about it I would have used you as a shield.”
He huffed a breath to try and sound amused but it was betrayed by the quiver in his voice, “As if you could, you know I’m too pretty for that.”
You smiled and focused Diggers face, his bright weeping eyes, the scruff of his cheek under your hand and the bruise under his eye where you’d accidently whacked him when fleeing from your last job.
“You look a lot prettier than I do right now.” You joked and he shook his head and in doing placed a kiss on the inside of your palm.
“I don’t know what to do.” He admitted after a few moments in silence.
“This is new to me too.” You tried to reassure him he when he adjusted you, you hissed out in pain. Fuck did it hurt.
But, slowly, you could feel the pain ebbing away, you were thankful for it but you knew what it meant and you couldn’t face that. Not yet, not without knowing that Digger would be okay.

“Y/N I’m so fucking sorry.” He mumbled and pushed his head down into the crook of your next, his beard scratched your neck but it was hard to find it anything other than reassuring. Your hand moved from his cheek and into his hair as you gently moved your fingers through it.
“Digger, you don’t have to stay, you don’t have to see this.” You mumbled into his ear. He pulled back so that his face hovered over yours, his eyes were hard and red.

“No, I’m going to be here, I’m going to help you be comfortable.” He whispered, you’d never heard his voice so soft and in the back of your mind you wondered if anyone would hear this tone slip from his lips again because it sounded like he’d created the melody solely for you.

True to his word, he made you as comfortable as he could, after some initial distress he moved you so that you were lay side by side with you wrapped in his oversized jacket when you’d complained of feeling cold. It helped some but you knew that there’d be no relief from the cold for you now, it was in your bones, it was in your soul and it meant that you didn’t have long left.

If Digger understood what it meant then he didn’t show it as he rambled about the time he’d robbed a bank single handed with just a spoon, you smiled and laughed when you needed too, you’d heard this story a million times and each time the utensil changed but the spark because his eyes was gone.
That mischievous glint in his personality had dulled when you’d landed on him bloodied and broken and it was all you could do to hope that it returned at some point after your parting.
You tucked the coat further around yourself and Digger’s face fell and instantly he snuggled closer in the hopes that his body heat would help you.
You were glad that you couldn’t see yourself, with how drained you felt you could imagine how pale, bloodied and purely ghastly you must look. A gruesome visage that you’d become to ward people from a life of crime.
God, how was it so cold?

“I bet you wish I’d just hurry up and leave.” You managed out through chattered teeth.
Digger barely suppressed a wince at the weakness of your voice, “Don’t say things like that. What’s your favourite animal?”
The laugh you gave came out hallow and breathy, “Changing the subject? Good call Harkness. Unicorn’s are my favourite if you must know.”
“You know they’re not real right?” He mocked and leaned down into your ear to let out a deep chuckle at your expense.
“You can’t tell a dying girl that Unicorns aren’t real, don’t you have a heart?” You mocked and your words hit him like the bullets had hit you.
His expression turned serious and he brought his hands to your face and held you softly, he was memorising you, you could see him trying to soak up every detail of your face. The way your nose crinkled when he stunk of beer, the smile you gave at him at his bad jokes and now for the first time he was seeing the path that cold tears made down your cheeks and fear in your eyes.

It was much easier for you to focus on the way he studied you than the darkened blood over his face, your blood. You almost retched, it was like just the sight was enough for your brain to know something wasn’t right but you couldn’t bring yourself to react properly, that was how you knew the time was close.

Still holding your face, Digger finally asked, “What do I do without you?”
You couldn’t stop the sob, did he realise that he was crying?

Your own hands found his face and you wiped away his tears with your thumbs, he was openly sobbing now and if you’d had the strength you would have joined him. He sobbed, his breath hitching as repeated, ‘I don’t know what to do’, over and over.
It was odd, seeing your hands lay still on his face when your body felt like you were shaking so hard that you were vibrating, even his body against yours gave you no comfort.

You held his face still and gave his nose a soft kiss, before kissing both of his closed eyes, and then you gave him your last smile, “Think what would Y/N do right now? And Digger promise me that you’ll find people that care about you, that you can care about. You are so much more than how you present yourself Digger.” You gave his lips a soft kiss, “I love you, remember that.”

You kissed him again softly and he pulled away, “I promise.” He whispered and finally opened his eyes to gaze into yours but they were closed. Your lips were already paling; you had gone before you could hear his promise.

He held your face to his chest to the longest time, sobbing and tangling his hands into your hair. He wailed and prayed and bargained with whoever would hear him but no miracle came and you remained cold.

“Please, please Y/N, I promise, I promise, tell me that you heard.” He whispered as he held you but silence was his only answer. He kissed the tip of your nose and each of your closed eyes like you had done for him before kissing your lips softly and laying you down to rest.

Turning away from you he ran his hand down his face and sobbed when he felt the dried blood on his face crack under the movement, the blood you had spilt saving him.

It was all his fault.


When the Suicide Squad where given the chance to collect their personal affects, after dressing, the first thing that Digger did was pull Pinky out of the trunk. Harley Quinn made her way over next to him and leaned over on her heels to sneak at peak at the doll.
“A unicorn? Aren’t ya a little old for a unicorn doll?” She asked as she rolled her baseball bat over the curve of her shoulder.
“Keep your nose out.” Digger snapped gruffly and slipped a beer can in his large pocket with his other hand.
Harley stomped a heeled foot, “Oh come on, is it ya girlfriends or something?”  She smacked her lips like she was chewing gum.
“Or something.” He snapped and with a pout Harley sauntered off to bother El Diablo about using his powers to impress girls.
Digger squeezed the soft material of the doll once, “Not these idiots but it’ll get this thing out my neck and keep looking.” He mumbled and hoped that somehow, you’d be able to hear him through Pinky, he wanted you to know that he’d keep his promise to keep looking for his place in the world, even though now that was without you.

you let her go - for someone else. she fell in love with you even after being told not to.she started opening up & trusting you.she thought about you for days.she went away for a while & still did all these things but while she was away you thought you should rekindle a past mistake & you did.she came back & shared how much love she had for you & that evening you broke her heart - not hurt it,but broke it.
hope you feel accomplished :)
but trust me you won’t get that love back from her or anyone else.
you tossed it,you trashed it & you became trash.

- her heart awaits heartbreak (via @natashasaburii)

Time dissipates,
but burning wicks and melting wax
won’t ponder other fates.
Your heart awaits
but we all know that you’re searching
for a voice who advocates.
She speculates
every hour you’ve been suffering,
to reduce it down to nothing,
until you’re the one left treating all the burns
and cleaning off the slates.
—  Your Heart Awaits // Grazia Curcuru