Don’t Panic but I think it is Common Courtesy to tell you how I Feel about you. My love for you is Sempiternal and The Drug In Me Is You. I would Stand Up And Scream your name until my voice would Collide With The Sky. You are Restoring Force of my love for you every time we talk because I hope our love will last until we go to The Other Side. If anyone is a Challenger to me, it will be a Wretched and Divine fight. Its my Best Intentions to treat you right. Will you be mine?
If someone asked me out like this I would sob forever
If he was honest, that would be a lie. His first memory is something mundane like his mother singing to him or watching TV with his father. But what he remembers most, brightest, strongest is this: standing on the ledge of his family’s second-story apartment balcony, gazing down at the little section of the tiny backyard Mrs. Turner has used for her garden (bushes grown up high, hopefully high enough) taking a breath, closing his eyes and leaping.
He remembers flying.
That glorious moment of weightlessness fighting gravity, when he was moving faster than light, faster than sound, the fastest thing on this planet. He was invincible.
He doesn’t remember hitting the ground, but he remembers rolling off his broken arm to stare up at the blue blue sky and thinking someday it would be his. Someday he’d never have to land.
(”He fell,” his little sister Jeanette insists with a pout when his mother comes home and panics at not finding Jim where he should be. He can hear them through the window. “He fell, Mama.”
His mama looks over the balcony and screeches, going back inside. Jeanette stares at Jim through the bars of the railing. “I didn’t fall,” he tries to say, but he’s six and the pain is finally catching up to him. He can’t feel his arm. He cries when his mother picks him up.)
based off of the au, ‘we’re both sick and we both grabbed for the last can of soup at the store’
word count- 1.6k
You trudged into Ralph’s, your wallet and keys in one hand and the other rubbing your stuffed nose. You had made the mistake of babysitting your neighbor’s kids for a night and a few chaste kisses and shared utensils later, it turned out that the two toddlers had come down with the flu, meaning they had probably, most likely given it to you.
Your immune system wasn’t the strongest so the sickness hit you like a brick wall the next morning and you wanted nothing more than to jump in front of an 18-wheeler and end your pain, but instead you were at Ralph’s, buying soup for yourself. Your fever had hit 101° but no matter how hot your skin was, it didn’t stop you from shivering and wrapping your hoodie-covered arms around yourself as you walked past the freezers and over to the canned food. The fatigue in your body was unreal and you felt as though you would pass out any second, and probably bust your head open and die considering there was nobody in this damn grocery store to help.
The store was pretty deserted considering it was midnight, the only people you’ve seen were the night-shift cashier, who was an angsty 16 year-old that liked to blast Bring Me the Horizon from his headphones and you were pretty sure he cracked your eggs on purpose sometimes and an unrecognizable figure strolling near the ice cream. It was usually pretty dead considering everyone started going to the Target down the street a few months ago, but you liked to come here because it was quiet, checkout was short, and they had all your favorite snacks.
You sniffled, keeping your head down as you coughed into your sleeve, your eyes scanning a pair of checkered Vans much like your own before making your way over to where you remembered were the rows of soup lined up against the wall. You looked up at the shelf expecting to see rows and rows of tin cans but instead your eyes met a lone can, surrounded by dust and not much else. You scoffed as you read the label, chicken and rice.
’It’s not even chicken noodle…’ you thought to yourself, shaking your head in annoyance. But it was soup, nonetheless, so you rolled your eyes and got onto your tiptoes to grab it, only to be taken by surprise as another, much taller, figure grabbed the soup in their ring-adorned hand before you could.
“What the hell!” You fumed, your voice cracking from the sickness, but nonetheless ready to slap this mystery person as you turned around, only to fall quiet as your eyes met a pair of blue ones that not even the ocean could be compared to. His eyes were slightly red and puffy and the tip of his nose was a flushed red, the rest of his face sickly pale, giving you the impression that he was also under the weather. But if he looked this attractive while sick, you could only imagine how much more attractive he would become while healthy.
“Oh, were you reaching for this?” He asked with raised eyebrows, the innocence in his voice making your heart swell as you noticed the small gap in his teeth, which you thought was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.
You were caught off guard by his appearance but soon recovered and returned to being slightly annoyed, “Well- I mean, I wasn’t reaching for anything else.” You replied, motioning to the now-completely empty shelf as you sneezed into your elbow before shivering again.
“Oh- yeah, right. Here’s the thing, usually I’m like, a gentlemen, and I can tell you’re sick and I’d give this can to a p-pretty girl like you in a heartbeat, but I have the flu and I really need this right now.” He attempted to explain, holding up the dented can of chicken and rice soup. You didn’t have time to be flattered at him calling you pretty because your patience was seriously being tested right now.
“Well,” you began, grabbing the can from his much larger hand, “here’s the thing, I also have the flu and I also really need this right now.” You tried to puff out your chest and stand up a little straighter to come off as intimidating to the boy who was at least 8 inches taller than you, but failed as a cough tore through your throat, making your eyes water at the pain as you coughed into your sleeve. It soon turned into a coughing fit and small tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as you began to feel as though you were choking on the cold grocery store air surrounding the two of you.
Butterflies erupted into your stomach as the mystery boy grabbed you gently and started rubbing soothing circles into your back. The coughing fit stopped almost immediately after he had started rubbing your back and you looked up at him, brows furrowed in gratitude but also confusion at the trick.
“Oh- uh, my mom taught me that when I was like 10. It’s like scaring someone to make the hiccups go away, stuff like that, y'know?” He explained as you nodded your head in understanding, a small smile on your face as you realized how caring the boy actually was.
“I’m Y/N, sorry I was mean. I just don’t like being sick,” you began to apologize as you shook his large hand, enjoying the way it fit into yours.
“I’m Daniel, and you don’t have to apologize, I get it.” He laughed, motioning to his stuffy nose and watery eyes as you smiled.
“Well, we never really settled on an agreement.” You brought up, motioning to the can of soup that was settled into your clammy hand.
As much as you wanted to stay here in the empty Aisle 7 of Ralph’s talking to a boy you knew literally nothing about yet were completely infatuated with, you were sick, and every minute spent standing just made your skull pound a little harder and the pain in your stomach a little sharper. But if you got to talk to the cute boy with a gap in his teeth then you supposed it was worth it.
“Right.” He furrowed his eyebrows, seeming to be in deep thought before shrugging, “Go ahead and take it. I can always walk to Target or something.” He insisted, confusion flashing across his face as you shook your head, grabbing his hand, trying to ignore the inviting warmth of it, and placing the can into it.
“You take it, you’re really nice and really nice people deserve soup.” You protested as a giggle left his lips. “Plus, you’re sick, and walking like 10 blocks down to Target would not be smart, I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I have a proposition.” Daniel began, grabbing your cold hand and placing the can back into it as you nodded you head, furthering him to continue, “How about I buy this can of soup for the both of us, and you come back to my house and we can share it.” He offered, raising his eyebrows as you placed a finger on your chin, pretending to deliberate the plan before nodding, earning that beautiful smile of his to tug across his lips.
“I guess that’ll do…” You trailed off jokingly as he smiled at your adorable sense of humor.
“Anything else I can buy you to repay you for my lack of chivalry?” He asks semi-seriously, making you roll your eyes and giggle before shaking your head and keeping comfortable small talk as the two of you walked over to the only open register, where the teenager with a permanent frown etched upon his face sat, shoulders slumped as his uninterested eyes scanned a comic book.
Daniel set the soup down awkwardly onto the revolver, getting the cashier’s attention. He rolled his eyes and sighed before setting his comic book down and looking up at the two of you, distaste and annoyance in his face. He kept eye contact with Daniel as he grabbed the can and scanned it, before setting it down in front of the register for one of you to grab easily.
Daniel cleared his throat awkwardly as he pulled a $5 out of his pocket, setting it down onto the platform murmuring a quick, “Keep the change.” Before grabbing your freezing hand in his sweltering one and pulling the two of you out of the grocery store and into the stuffy Los Angeles atmosphere.
“That was awkward.” Daniel spoke as the two of you laughed in agreement.
“He’s the worst cashier. You know I’m pretty sure he cracks my eggs on purpose. He doesn’t think I know but I know.” You joked, partly saying it just to hear that angelic laugh leave his perfect lips one more time.
“I was thinking, Y/N,” Daniel began, and a small blush rose onto your cheeks as you noticed the two of you had not disconnected hands, “I was wondering if, maybe when we’re both feeling a little bit better, you’d wanna go out with me…like, a-a date?” He asked, nervousness radiating off of his lanky body as a smile made its way onto your face.
“O-oh, yeah, I mean- sure, yeah- totally.” You attempted to reply cooly, trying not to sound too excited at the thought of going on a date with the cute boy named Daniel from Aisle 7, but failing as your voice raised an octave.
You were now full on smiling as you heard a small ’yes!’ leave his lips as he pumped his free hand in the air.
Anon request: “you should write something where you’re connor and zoe’s little sister and connor finds you passed out in the bath tub with clothes on and a bottle of pills on the counter”
This is so bad and the endin sucks but here you go, in finally catching up on requests y’all despite the fact that I’m so stressed ugh
Tw: drug overdose, suicide,
Connor knew something was wrong when he heard the playlist coming from your room. He had one too, tailored to when he felt depressed or sad, and they were very similar in some aspects. Connor’s playlist was more angry and heavy than yours, which consisted of raspy men singing slower punk songs. He considered going to your room to check on you, but decided you would be annoyed if he bothered you at the moment. He’ll talk to you later, see if you’re okay after the fact, even though he knew damn well you won’t admit anything too dark. You and Connor were close and always had been, both before and after him and Zoe’s relationship started falling apart, even though you were two years younger than him. More often than not you sided with him and let him cry on your shoulder, you were his rock. Unfortunately this meant you couldn’t break down at all, or at least let Connor know you were suffering. Everyone has sad times, but Connor was clueless to how alone you felt constantly. He was ignorant to the nights spent crying yourself to sleep, or the scars littering your thighs and arms, or the bottle of pills grasped tightly in your hand. You feared they might burst open with how hard you were holding them, but you couldn’t loosen your grip. Leaning with your hands against your vanity, you looked up slowly into the mirror, seeing the mascara streaks down your pale face behind your mop of messy brown hair.
‘You can’t pussy out now, grow the fuck up and do what you have to do, c’mon y/n, they’ll be better off when you’re gone and you know it,’ you gave yourself a cruel type of pep talk before opening your door and rushing to the bathroom down the hall. You closed the door behind you, too hard almost, as you winced at the sound, and locked it. Hand shaking, you grasped the child-safe lid with your other hand. Somehow you managed to get a grip and got the cap off within a minute. Your hands trembled even more as you looked in the mirror yet again, before throwing the pill bottle back and swallowing at least ten of them dry. Each individual pill felt like a dumbbell down your throat since you took them dry, but you figured you didn’t deserve the luxury of water to wash them down. The room began to sway and you felt sick, but you couldn’t throw up; if you did you run the risk of waking up later, and you didn’t want that to happen ever again. You fell back into the bathtub and brought your legs to your chest, hiccuping slightly and curling into a ball as you grabbed your stomach in pain. You gritted your teeth as it felt like your stomach was caving in on itself to come up out your throat. Within five minutes the sensation was gone, or rather you couldn’t feel the pain in your comatose state.
Connor’s ears perked up at the sound of a Bring Me The Horizon song playing from your room. He recognized it instantly, knowing it was Drown, the song he’d snuck on your playlist one day. It was one of his favorites, and one of your least favorites. Again, Connor know something was wrong, since the song had been playing for a minute and you hadn’t skipped it yet. He knew you never played your playlist without skipping this song, and would never listen to it willingly. Getting up he left his room to yours right next to his, knocking on he door a few times.
“Y/n? You alright in there?” He knocks again. “You fucking hate this song, why are you listening to it?” He chuckles nervously as he decides to just open the door, seeing your room missing you. The window’s closed, so there’s no way you snuck out. Connor began to worry as he racked his brain for a possibility of where you were. He left your room and knocked on Zoe’s door, knowing that you too were somewhat close and bonded over girl shit he didn’t understand. The soft music coming from her room stopped and was replaced with the sound of her equally soft footsteps, before the door swung open. She seemed caught off-guard when she saw it was Connor on the other side, seeing as he hasn’t been near her room in years.
“Have you seen Y/N?” Connor asked as calmly as he could manage, in order to avoid freaking Zoe out or her yelling at him. She again seemed weirded out by his unnaturally cam behavior.
“Uh, n-no, why?” She said quietly, studying Connor’s face to see why he was acting so differently.
“No reason, I’m sure she’s downstairs or something,” Connor replied before backing away form the door, signaling Zoe to close it. She hesitated before doing so, blinking slightly at her brothers odd behavior before deciding he was probably high. Once it was shut softly and her music began again Connor quickly walked downstairs, his long, lanky legs nearly tangling and tripping him as he ran downstairs, calling your name as he went through each room. He went back upstairs, growing increasingly worried when he noticed the closed bathroom door and light shining from the bottom of it.
He knocked softly, “Hey, Y/N, are you okay in there?” You didn’t answer. He knocked again, “Y/N?” He tried the doorknob, finding it to not move. “I’m busting the door down if you don’t answer me,” he warned, hearing no response and ramming his shoulder into the door. He heard Zoe’s music pause again as he rammed his shoulder into the door once more, this time it swung open violently as Zoe opened her door, rushing to his side to question what he was doing now and how high he was. That was before the two looked into the bathroom and froze at the sight, Zoe’s mouth gaping as she stared in horror while Connor froze.
“Quick, start your fucking car, I’ll get her, fucking go!” Connor yelled at Zoe, shoving her towards her room where she ran to grab her keys and then sprinted downstairs. He heard the car start as he carefully reached into the bathtub and grabbed beneath your knees and around your shoulders, carrying you quickly down the stairs and kicking the front door closed behind him. He got in the backseat with you laying in his lap, ordering Zoe to drive to the hospital. Praying she wouldn’t get pulled over for speeding, she raced to the hospital while Connor tried everything to wake you up, not wanting to check your pulse to confirm his fears. After the longest ten minutes of his entire life, the hospital was in sight. He opened the door and jumped out with you in his arm before Zoe had even completely stopped, rushing into the building with you in his arms.
“Help, please, fucking somebody!” He yelled, startling patients and doctors. A nurse with a stretcher in tow ran to him, before she could ask the question he answered her. “Overdose, I-I found her in the bathroom passed out, please tell me she’s gonna be okay, she has to fucking be okay.” He reluctantly set you on the stretcher, grasping your hand tightly and running with the nurse guided stretcher til you reached a room he couldn’t enter. He stood outside, watching through the glass as many nurses began to work to keep you alive. One checked your pulse, shaking her head to another who took out defibrillators, rubbing them together before putting them to your chest, once, twice, and a third time. Connor watched as your body spasmed each time, and felt himself sink inside when you stayed asleep after each time. Your pulse was checked again, the nurse making eye contact with Connor afterwards and making no movement or sound. Slowly, the nurses moved away from your body, which was now confirmed dead. Connor’s vision began to darken and blur at the edges, he backed away from the window to the wall of the hallway behind him, sliding down as his arms shook. He felt like throwing up or screaming and ripping his hair out, so he chose the later. He yelled, his hands going to intertwine his fingers within his hair as he threw his head between his knees and breathed heavily. His face was wet but he didn’t recall beginning to cry. Zoe was by his side within a minute, him flinching at the feeling of her hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her and saw her watching the room in horror. He stood slowly, his entire body shaking. She pulled him into a hug, burying her face within his chest and sobbing. Connor rested his chin on her head and let his hand pet her hair as he pulled her close to him, tears falling down his face which showed no emotion and was almost lifeless.
The year anniversary of your death fell on the first day of senior year. Not that your mother and father seems to recall, based on how they yelled at Connor for wanting to skip school today or not being able to survive the day without being high. Not that he had been able to survive any day since you died without drugs. Zoe tried to forget, and refused to mourn you today, not letting herself be the dead girls sister. All that raced through Connor’s mind was how you’d start sophomore year this year, and how you didn’t deserve to suffer, and how much he missed you. But that wouldn’t last long, soon enough he’d be able to see you again, and hug you and cry for you.
Connor Murphy died a year on the dot after Y/N Murphy, both of drug overdoses.
A/N: Hi, so I’ve decided since I won’t be continuing the story I’m allowing and encouraging everyone else to do it. So this will be one 1/3 of the writing prompts I’ve written in long word counts, feel free to write your own interpretation and please do tag me so I can check them out! :-) x
Rating: NC-17 (Trigger: Strong language, violence, read on risk)
Summary: Wanting revenge after the rival gang shot Michael in the arm, Ashton plans to kidnap another member from their rival gang. But plans change when they realize
Y/N, the little precious sister of leader Andrew in disguise. And little did Luke know that he had been chrushing on her in his early days of high school.
Why is Keith always listening to My Chemical Romance in fics? Or he has their posters? Why don’t people write him listening to harder bands like Bring Me the Horizon or Black Veil Brides? Why isn’t he listening to Sleeping With Sirens or Pierce the Veil? Hell, he could be listening to Metallica or Wheezer or AC/DC or Avenged Sevenfold. Why isn’t he listening to Alternative Rock like Blink-182 or Green Day? There’s more rock/metal bands than just MCR.