Shades of Dusk

Ink on the Pages of My Life

~:*:~A/N--I want to put a quick warning here; there is some thoughts on past self-harm and depression; not ideation, but on the process of healing. Nothing graphic by any stretch, but there is reference to Project Semicolon. <3 Take care of yourselves, okay? ~:*:~

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Forth looks himself over in the mirror, the harsh light making the lines and colors painting his skin even harsher. Beam's question that morning had been a reminder that the two of them didn't know all that much about each other yet. Not in the grand scheme of things, at least.

And this... well.

Forth traces the lines with his eyes, remembering each stroke of the needles; thoughtful and sad, happy and grinning, all changing based on the tattoo. His life's story is painted across his skin in harsh, dark lines and splatters of color. They are as much a part of him as his black hair and brown eyes are, anymore. He has so many that he's largely lost count of what and when and why.

All except for three, his biggest specific pieces.

The tattoo on his right shoulder, his first, was one he had gotten when he was just 14. He'd cried the whole time, silent tears of agony that had nothing to do with how much it hurt to have the needles forcing the ink into his skin. He remembers the tattoo artist had been a grim-faced man who had complained nearly the whole time about tattooing on someone so young, but who had still done it anyway.

He was 14 years old when his mother... died. She had called him her little dragon when he was younger. So, the harsh, abstract lines had gone onto his shoulder, reminding him of her nickname for him, getting touched up each time he got new ink pressed onto the canvas of his skin.

The second was on his other shoulder, done at 15; it is made up of more abstract lines but softer, filled with vivid blue, purple, pink, shots of burning gold throughout. It was meant to represent his first relationship, his only relationship before Beam. He'd been young and hopeful when he'd gotten it, thinking that the young man he'd been with at the time would be his "forever". The first colors of sunrise staining his vision and thoughts, making him anxious and giddy all at once. But not only had he caught the boy with Grace behind the bleachers, the boy had--

Well. There was a reason why, at barely 16, he'd added the sharp, painful-looking red slash marks to that tattoo. Like claws had dug deep into the muscle of his shoulder, down through the socket, through and to his chest cavity, dragging out his heart, making him bleed all over that beautiful color. It looks like he'd torn the canvas to the bloody truth beneath. He can't quite remember, now, what the tattoo looked without them, and he's rather glad of it.

He'd gotten his last tattoo to cover up the scars on his thigh when he'd finally come back to himself, when his heart and mind had reconnected with reality. At 18, freshly accepted into university, he'd gotten a...well. It was slightly cliche. But he'd gotten a feather in monochrome, all shades of black and gray,that had birds flying up off it's top, as though finally breaking free from the broken past. The difference from the usual cliche, of course, was that the feather was a quill, and just beneath the tip was a semicolon. He remembers when he'd found the idea on the internet; the idea that the pain, the scars on his body, it was all a pause where things could have ended, but had continued on for the better. It was his most recent tattoo, but it is one that he feels the most connected to; it, at least at the moment, is the tattoo that holds the most meaning for him.

He has several other little tattoos, but none of them were overly significant. Not in the way those three are. He had the stupid little one on his inner ankle bone, the little crab from The Little Mermaid because that was his little sister's favorite movie and she cried when their father said she couldn't be like Brother Forth and get a tattoo.

So, he'd gotten it for her. The tattoo artist had been thoroughly amused the entire time that damn little crab was being done, and his little sister had been wide-eyed excited the entire time she sat and watched. She had vowed to never get a tattoo, then, since it looked so painful, but she still smiled whenever she saw it.

He also has the questionable butterfly on his right hip that he can't quite remember getting. He remembers the girl he'd gone out for drinks with commenting on how much she loved butterflies, but he can't remember much else except for vague, random details. But he'd woken with the pain of the new tattoo, so he can only guess at what happened.

His next tattoo? Is one that's starting to terrify him. The thought of it, the implications, the hope that this time it really is forever... the appointment has been set, though. It's been set since he got the all clear from his doctor after having the hammer fall on his head.

Since he and Beam became officially a couple.

Beam had asked him the meaning of his tattoos, and he wants to share it, all of it, with the medical student. He wants to share the lines, the scars, the hopes and failures that have built him to who he is today, and the dreams of a future where the universal symbol of medicine can intertwine with the gear of this engineer.

Forth takes a deep breath and pulls on a dark, nondescript t-shirt, his faculty year's blue uniform shirt over the t-shirt, and heads to class.

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A/N: First and foremost, I want to one more time touch on some of the things discussed in this chapter. Depression is a battle that is continually fought, and a lot of people aren't nearly as lucky as Forth is here; that isn't to say that he's "cured" by any stretch, but it means that he has reached a place where it isn't entirely steamrolling his day-to-day life. Self-harm is also hard to come away from, because it can act as a way of coping with emotional pain when there isn't any other option.

Please, please: if you are struggling, if you are down in that hole, please reach out for help. <3 To quote the late Chester Beddington of Linkin Park: Who cares if one more light goes out? Well. I do. I am personally here if you ever need to talk; just shoot me a PM/DM. 

Project Semicolon, in case you weren't aware, is a way of helping to start the discussion on mental illness and suicide prevention. This is in no way idealizing either depression, or self-harm; instead, it helps highlight the fact that it is a sturggle that real people are living with, possibly even more than healthy people realize. For more information, you can go to projectsemicolon.com 

As always, please take care of yourselves <3 I will update with the next chapter soon-ish; I am going out of town for American Thanksgiving and won't be back until 27 Nov. I want to make sure I have the next part for you guys up before I leave.