#fandomgrief

⚠️ Trash post / intrusive thoughts from a writer in crisis. Sorry for being annoying. 😭

A few days ago, I came up with another idea. Yes. Another one. 💀

Because apparently my brain has decided that living in peace will simply never be an option for me. 😅😇

I’m one of those people who constantly has millions of stories running through their head at the same time. Some stay stronger than others. Some dissolve somewhere between dreams, probably in the hands of you-know-who… and when I wake up, they’re just gone. 🌙✨

I will not be making further comments on the matter because my formal complaint has already been filed in the Dreaming. I am currently awaiting an administrative response. 📝🖤

Anyway.

The point is that I’ve been writing a new idea for days while simultaneously trying to finish all the previous ones, which is, yes, probably some kind of narrative karma. 😭

But I can’t stop thinking about posting it. Because sharing it —even if nobody reads it— is my way of getting it out of my system before it consumes me alive.

So I’m probably going to share what is, in my opinion, one of the most brilliantly devastating things I’ve ever written. Well… maybe there have been others throughout all my years as an emotionally unstable pseudo-writer, but the problem is that now I cannot stop imagining Tom saying certain lines with that whispered British cadence that honestly leaves me in psychological shock. 🫠🖤

And so you can fully understand the level of emotional damage I’m currently dealing with, I present evidence:

POV Tom:

"I feel the tremor in your voice vibrating against the palm of my hand, which is still cradling your jaw. The warm trail of your tears dampens my fingers. Seeing you cry like this, surrendered in my arms, torn between the love you have for me and the absolute need to save yourself, breaks something inside me in a way there’s no cure for.

I close my eyes for a second, swallowing down the knot of agony tightening my throat, and rest my forehead against yours. Our breaths mingle together. The lavender scent lingering on your hands, the warmth of your skin… all of it feels like a refuge I’m about to be exiled from forever.

"—I promise you,” I whisper, and the words tear through my chest, but I say them with absolute conviction, looking straight into your eyes so you won’t have the slightest doubt. “I swear on our children’s lives, Y/N. Tomorrow morning I’ll close these suitcases and walk out that door. I’m not going to use this to confuse you. I’m not going to use this to beg you or chain you to a marriage that left you gasping for air. Tomorrow, I give you your life back.”

I let go of your wrist gently, lowering my hand to wrap around your waist and pull you the last millimeter closer. I can feel your frantic heartbeat slamming against my chest. With the thumb of the hand still holding your face, I slowly wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"—But tonight…” my voice breaks, turning into a rough murmur just inches from your mouth. “Tonight let me be the man who wrote those letters. Let me say goodbye to my wife. Let me give you the season finale our story deserves.”

I don’t wait any longer, because the surrender in your eyes and the way your hands don’t push me away are the only answer I need. I close the distance and press my lips against yours.

There’s no rush. No brutal desperation, only painful and absolute reverence. It’s a slow, deep kiss, heavy with a grief so immense it tastes like salt to both of us. My lips move against yours with a devotion that arrives twenty years too late, memorizing the texture, the warmth, the exact way we always fit together in the dark, even when everything else in the daylight was broken. My hands trace the line of your back, pulling you closer, feeling every shiver running through your body. I kiss you as I slowly guide you backward, forcing us into blind, clumsy steps across the room until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, right beside the half-packed suitcase. I pull away from your lips only for a second to kiss your damp cheek, your jaw, and that spot on your neck where your pulse beats wildly.

"I love you,” I whisper shakily against your skin, letting my own walls finally collapse and allowing the tears I held back all weekend to finally fall. “I love you, I love you…”

It isn’t just to ask for your forgiveness. It’s so you’ll carry it tattooed into your memory. So that tomorrow, when you watch my car disappear down the driveway, you’ll know I loved you with everything I was, and that letting you go is the greatest and most painful act of love I have ever done in my entire fucking life.”

AND YES. THAT IS EXACTLY WHY I AM NOT PSYCHOLOGICALLY OKAY. 💀🖤

So anyway, this is the end of this trash post. Although another one is coming. A longer one. 😭

Because once again I have suffered the ultimate curse of being fandom-dependent and I am currently going through an entirely fictional yet completely real emotional grieving process in my head… which basically means getting way too attached to fictional characters and then having the universe —also known as the writer, showrunner, screenwriter, or whatever evil entity is responsible for writing that character’s life— decide to psychologically destroy you for sport. 🫠

Yes!!!! 😶‍🌫️ 😶 They killed the main character.😱 And I was just sitting there like: WTF. 😭💔

So if you see a flood of videos, edits, scenes, texts, or creative delusions from me over the next few days… that’s simply my way of surviving the psychological damage inflicted on me by someone else’s story. 🎬🖤

My creative brain is currently operating at full power trying to process the grief my fangirl heart is carrying. ✨❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹💔

End of statement. 🖤

P.S.: If you want the emotional damage to hurt even more while reading this, I’m leaving below the song I’d personally listen to while writing it. 🎧😭