i've bled too long | {ventus blanchard}

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

.  VENTUS BLANCHARD  .
so i bare my skin
and i count my sins

He loved the dark once.

He loved the sounds of his little brother sleeping in the bed next to him, the night creatures preaching their sermons for nothing in particular, and the sounds of soft wind through the limbs of the willow tree outside his home. He loved the crisp air the silent world offered, the rush of being alone, but never feeling that way. He loved the night, but now he lived in it.

Every time he closed his eyes, even for the slightest moment, fear consumed him. (It was supposed to be you, Ventus. It was supposed to be you.) His eyes became home to dark circles from a lack of sleep, his mood irritable and lonely, oh, so l o n e l y.

It was the first time he had really tried to do something about his fear, swallowing his own pleas to just go back inside, get to safety because they'll get you, Ventus. You'll be next! He swallowed his pride, not even caring that tears clouded his vision and dampened his cheeks. He was only human, and barely that anymore.

An owl seemed to sense his fear, hooting and cawing and flapping his wings, doing whatever he could to mock the poor boy, and also whatever he could do to terrify him, so he ran. At first, only a slightly upbeat walk, but soon a sprint, as fast as his feet would let him, certain they were always right behind him, suits of white dyed silver by the moon, guns and batons and those menacing expressions, letting him stay just out of reach as if toying with him like a pack of cats with a lone mouse, and finally came to a stop.

As if the night was not already terrifying enough, he had chosen a graveyard as his destination. The wrought-iron gate squealed a sign of danger, and he pushed through it anyway. It had been about a year since he visited this place, and it haunted him every day. Too many times, his dreamscape was taken over by corpses crawling from their resting places. Rotten, flesh-dissolved monsters. Random strangers, dead relatives, even past tributes like Aelia Vanderwell crawled toward him, lifeless eyes trained on him like they were starved. But one person in particular always led the escapade, and that person was Gavin Barker.

Ventus wouldn't blame him if he died hating him. He couldn't have. (It was supposed to be you, Ventus.)

He found himself at the base of the boy's grave. Flowers decorated it, and his name was displayed in proud, bold letters. "G A V I N B A R K E R" and Ventus felt the space where his heart once was shudder, because for a moment, he could have swore his own name was in Gavin's place.

Wasn't that how it was supposed to be?

"Why did you do it?" he choked to the cold tombstone. "You could have lived, dammit! You could be perfectly fine!" He fell to his knees, once again overcome by grief. "I didn't want this! I didn't want anyone to die for me! And now look what it has done to me!" Nothing was the same when he watched Leon jab his spear into Gavin's skull. He had gone deaf after it happened, and he forgot how to breathe. "It's okay," Bryony had claimed, but it wasn't. Nothing was okay. He missed him now, wished he had treated him better. But Bryony was just another thing Ventus didn't deserve. What else was it he didn't deserve? Suddenly his pocket felt heavy, and he reached in to pull out an orange bottle, capped in white, sounding like a baby's rattle when he shook it.

"But I'll pay you back, Barker. I'll make things the way they were supposed to be."

And with that, he tore off the cap, and turned the bottle up. Bitter pills filled his mouth, and he shook with fear.

(He was so tired of fear.)

What else didn't he deserve?

Life.

So he swallowed.

and i close my eyes
and i take it in

[pthalorarity]

I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens

In every nightmare he had ever had, nothing had come close to the reality that Bryony Greer now faced. His heart ached with every breath he drew as he slowly made his way to the Blanchard household. It was a slow process, taking each step with hesitation and uncertainty, but at last Bryony had made his way to the door. He stood silently for a moment, swallowing back the lump in his throat as his internal monologue debating turning away and walking home.

Bryony took a deep breath, and before he could decide whether to knock or turn away, the door flew open and two children came flying out, laughing and playing like nothing was wrong. He bit his lip as he took in the scene before him. Ventus’s father soon followed at the door. His face was tired and worn, but his smile was warm like his son’s. This only left Bryony more nerve wracked. He stumbled through an explanation of who he was, but Mr. Blanchard seemed to recognize him once he stated his name and welcomed him inside. After a brief hello to Mrs. Blanchard, Bryony was directed to Ven’s room. The house was small and rickety, but it felt homey all the same.

Once he took a moment to collect his thoughts—though he may have flat out turned around and left the house had the Blanchards not been there—Bryony quietly entered the room of the boy he loved. He was pretty sure Ven was still asleep, so he shut the door gently before sitting down on the foot of his bed. His breath shook as he sucked in air. It was the only warning he had before fresh tears fell from his eyes. “Why?” He chocked out, not entirely aware he had spoken aloud. He grit his teeth in frustration. “Why!”

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

ventus blanchard .
{ can't s l e e p,
i keep me awake . }

He thought it was over. (Oh, how he wished it was...) But his eyes fluttered open and blinding white lights made it hard for him to see at first. "Dad?" he had called when his vision cleared. He was in a hospital. He was alive.

Figures that he would be just pathetic enough that he couldn't even properly commit suicide.

He had to explain things to his father, then to his mother, and he was sure several others would ask the same questions they did (though only one person in particular actually made his breathing quicken.) He agreed to go to counseling sessions in school once he started again twice a week to discuss things, but honestly it was mostly just to put his parents' worry to rest. After a few days, he was cleared to go home, and in his opinion it was a few days too many. (If he was going to try killing himself again there were plenty of ways to do it in the hospital, perhaps even more way than he could at home.)

He slept most of the time, and always seemed even more tired when he woke up than he did in the first place. But this time in his restlessness, he felt a body watching him. He opened his eyes, and his heart and his soul both reminded him of his bruised past. "Hey, cap'n..." he whispered, but it was not in the usual cheery tone he used to have. He almost wished he hadn't greeted the boy like that, because it was a reminder that things were not okay anymore. That they might not ever be. And Bryony was well aware of it, too. He was trying to be quiet, but not successfully, so Ventus sat up and patted his leg to calm him.

"It just- it seemed like the right thing. At the time. But I'm better now, and I'm sorry." he hated himself for lying. He wasn't better. He wasn't, and he hoped Bryony couldn't tell, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt him anymore than he already had. "I'm sorry, Bry. I'm so sorry."

That, however, was the truth.

[pthalorarity]

I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens

His whole body tightened as he realized that Ventus had awoken, and he quickly tried to wipe away the tears. After a few more sniffles, Bryony turned to look the boy before him in the eye. The pain hit him in another wave, but this time it wasn’t his own. It was the pain in Ventus Blanchard’s eyes that hit him like an icy wall and left him feeling as if he’d just been plunged in an icy river.

Bryony lowered his eyes and bit his lip. He shook his head silently as Ventus spoke, because he could hear the truth behind it all. No one who had just tried to end their own life was okay, even someone as weak as Bryony knew that. Hell, maybe someone especially as weak as him.

He shuffled his position so that he was sitting up beside Ventus now. “I know you’re not better, but you will be.” He wrapped his arms around Ven’s chest without thought for consequence as a stray tear warmed his cheek once more. “I promise you will be. I may not be much, but I’ll try and be strong for you. I promise…” His body curled more closely as he clung to Ventus, trying to hold the life inside of him… trying to bring it back out.